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  “Angelina Jolie’s 27 clones do.”

  Noomi sighed. That was the bathroom mirror’s answer to everything. Boyfriend troubles? Angelina Jolie’s 27 clones all have perfect relationships with movie stars, sports stars, famous politicians, two ex-astronauts and an unemployed peanut farmer. War in the Middle East? Send Angelina Jolie’s 27 clones to the trouble spot, and they’ll have peace breaking out in no time. Not sure you believe in god? Spend some time with any of Angelina Jolie’s 27 clones and you’ll find the answer you seek. It had only been a week, and Noomi was already tired of it.

  Noomi looked at herself in the mirror. She liked her smooth dark brown skin, the big, brown deceptively compassionate eyes, the way her sharp features radiated strength. Her hair was the sticking point of the deal. It defied physics. It looked like each strand had been placed at a 90 degree angle to every other strand. It wasn’t true, of course: if it had been, her hair would have had to exist in several thousand dimensional space. It was, however, one more example of scientific description capturing a poetic truth.

  “You know, it would probably be a good idea to take your finger out of the light socket,” the mirror smirked. “Really. Any time, now.”

  “Hunh,” Noomi half laughed, half grunted. Fully lunted. “You know, you have absolutely zero possibility of getting into any of Angelina Jolie’s 27 clones’ pants.”

  “I don’t want to get into the pants of any of Angelina Jolie’s 27 clones!” the mirror screamed at her. “My love for Angelina Jolie’s 27 clones is pure and it will not be sullied by your disgusting thoughts!”

  Noomi smirked through her entire shower.

  “Boysenberry pancakes with chocolate covered ant sprinkles,” Noomi said as she tucked into breakfast. She was famished from her efforts to wrestle her hair into some semblance of normalcy. “How did you know they were my favourites?”

  “I looked it up on your Facebook page,” the stove, without much enthusiasm, said.

  “Something wrong?” Noomi asked.

  “You really going to be leaving?” the stove asked back.

  “I start my new job today,” Noomi explained between mouthfuls of fruity, chocolate covered insecty goodness. “I have to go.”

  “We’ll miss you,” the stove simply stated.

  Noomi felt like she had just kicked a puppy. A metallic puppy. That could burn the apartment down with its flames. But, a puppy nonetheless.

  “I’ll be back tonight,” she pointed out.

  “Really?” the stove perked up.

  “Of course,” Noomi reassured it.

  “Promise?” the stove happily insisted.

  “I promise,” Noomi grinned.

  “Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Oh, boy! I’ll make you something superspecial for dinner!” the stove told her.

  “Thanks,” Noomi grinned. Uhh, even wider. It was nice to feel wanted, even if it was by a kitchen appliance.

  * * *

  Noomi got to Transdimensional Authority headquarters ten minutes before she was supposed to report to the front desk for assignment. She spent most of that time in the atrium, people in crisp black pants and white shirts (not unlike those she was wearing, in the sense that they were exactly like the ones she was wearing) and colourful vests rushing around her. It was like watching a kaleidoscope on heavy seas. Or, it would have been, if Noomi had been paying any attention to it; but her attention was riveted on the huge Dimensional Authority coat of arms set in the tiled floor.

  The coat of arms depicted an eagle morphing into a sheep with a rocket in its talon and Blackberries in its paws. Above the animals were banners that flowed from green to blue to yellow to orange to red. Although they may have had some meaning before they were adopted by the Transdimensional Authority, they now represented the five branches within the organization. Various plants that only a botanist could love draped themselves around the animals.

  Noomi had wanted to be a member of the Transdimensional Authority since she was a little girl. Some of her fondest memories were of the family gathered around the hi def computer screen in the wall of the den watching Jack Ryan, Transdimensional Authority Police. Her first blog was devoted to fan fiction of the series CSI: Multiverse and, when it was cancelled, she played the spin-off computer game endlessly. When she was a little older, she graduated to the Transdimensional Blues series of games. Her favourite reading consisted of the novelizations of the film version of Jack Ryan, Transdimensional Authority Police. The pleasure she derived from playing with her Jack Ryan action figure made Barbie (who, after all, was only a doll – at best, an inaction figure) jealous. On Halloween, she went out dressed as a Transdimensional Authority Officer.

  Okay, frankly, she was a little obsessed. Her parents worried. But, Noomi had gotten a job with the Transdimensional Authority, making her obsession work for her, and all had been forgiven.

  After checking in at the front desk, Noomi was directed to a large but bland room. A dozen other people stood to attention in the room. They were all fire hydrants with limbs, dark glasses and buzzcuts, men with names like Bob Blunt or Barry Butts or Bill Blatt or Bobbo Bruit or Brett Blurp or Bart Bleet. They could have been clones, but she had been at the Alternaut Academy with many of them, and she knew they were not. What were the odds? (Actually, Barbara Brundtland-Govanni, Noomi’s mentor at the Alternaut Academy, used to say that the odds of a universe developing the capability of sustaining life were extremely remote, so anything that you could imagine happening in such a universe was almost a certainty! She loved her mentor, but Noomi sometimes wondered if she spent more time in the spaces between universes than was, strictly speaking, healthy for a person.) Noomi took her place at the end of the line; she felt like the answer in a real life version of Sesame Street’s “One of These Things Is Not Like the Other” game.

  Noomi realized that none of her confreres (literally: criminal brothers) from the Alternaut Academy had acknowledged her presence, but, before she could become indignant, a tall, lean man with a clipboard walked into the room. “My name is Sergeant R. Lee Ermey,” the man shouted. Over his crisp white shirt, he was wearing a red vest. He did not seem happy about it. “I will be giving you your vest assignments.,” he told the new recruits. Then, he started bellowing names off the clipboard.

  Noomi thought of herself as a practical, down-to-earth, fairy tale and global-warming disbelieving kind of gal; she had to be to make it through the male-dominated Alternaut Academy. Yet, standing in this nondescript room with all of these nondescript men, she found herself…tingling with anticipation. She hadn’t been this excited since Moulder Skully, who had played Jack Ryan in the TV series, came to her high school to talk about safe Home Universe Generator™ surfing! If Rod Blagorsopodd, her high school sweetheart, had excited her half as much, she might have married him. But, ahh, let us not spoil her proud moment with such sad memories – reality will do it soon enough.

  “Rapier, Noomi!” Sergeant Ermey finally bellowed. Noomi stepped forward, and was handed a yellow vest.

  Noomi looked at the garment with dismay. “No, wait,” she protested, “there must – this has to be a…a mistake!”

  Sergeant Ermey looked at her like she was something icky that had just adhered to the underside of his ballet slippers. “We don’t make mistakes,” he told her.

  “But…but…but…” Noomi sputtered.

  “We’re like that hat,” Sergeant Ermey calmly continued. “You know, the one that assigns kids to their houses in that magic story? We don’t make mistakes.”

  “That’s crazy!” Noomi, finding her outrage, shouted. “I was first in my class at the Alternaut Academy! My investigative skills were praised by every instructor I had! I have a letter of recommendation from Barbara Brundtland-Govanni that all but demands that I be given a knighthood! Or, at least, a Nebula Award! I…I…I…” Noomi trailed off when she realized that the other newbies had started giggling.

  “You finished?” Sergeant Ermey asked, sanguine.

  “Uhh…yea
h,” Noomi, humiliated, answered.

  “Then, step back, please,” Sergeant Ermey ordered her.

  Noomi stepped back.

  “Rivera, Geraldo!” Sergeant Ermey bellowed.

  * * *

  Once the investiture ceremony had been completed, Noomi dejectedly went to the elevator and made her way to the seventh floor. As the doors opened, she was met by a brassy, sassy middle-aged redhead. Her hair was so red, it attracted bulls from miles around. It was so red, motorists half a dozen blocks away stopped in the middle of the street although they had no idea why. It was so red, bees tried to pollinate it (and were devastated when they could not – perhaps that’s why they were disappearing). The redness of the woman’s hair was a big hello to the world that sometimes left the woman breathless trying to keep up.

  “Noomi Rapier?” the woman asked with a heavy eat European accent and a light Mediterranean brunch.

  “Yeah?” Noomi unenthusiastically responded.

  “I’m Xenia Zaifman. You’ll be working under me.” Xenia led Noomi down a corridor, adding: “Well, I don’t mean you’ll be working under me – hierarchy is such an outdated, bourgeois concept, don’t you think? We’ll be working together. Of course, when decisions have to be made, I’ll be the one to make them – lord knows, everything would grind to a halt if we had to find consensus on every little matter. But, just because I’ll be making decisions, I don’t want you to think of me as your boss. Think of me as…a co-worker with privileges. Ah. Here we are…”

  Xenia opened a door for Noomi and waved her into the room. “After you…”

  Noomi walked into a large cubicle farm. It only took her a moment to notice: boobs. Everybody working in a cubicle had a pair. Noomi was not anatomically competitive with other women: some of the women had larger boobs than she did, some had smaller. Overall, although she was a little short, Noomi was well-endowed, curve-wise. No, her boob-consciousness came from another source.

  “This is a secretarial pool!” Noomi blurted.

  “Actually,” Xenia pointed out, “it’s the Data Collection and Interpretation and Technical Support branch of the Transdimensional Authority.”

  “This is a secretarial pool,” Noomi corrected herself, “with a fancy title!”

  “Well,” Xenia, a bit uncomfortably, responded, “a lot of us had that impression, at first, but, if you give us a chance, I think you’ll find –”

  “I was top of my class at the Alternaut Academy!” Noomi lamented.

  “So was Gillian,” Xenia told her.

  “Hello,” a voice arose from behind a cubicle.

  “Martina, Tuvola and Barbara-Kim were second in their class,” Xenia continued. Noomi received more anonymous greetings.

  Xenia sighed. “I was only fourth in my class,” she said. “A bit of a straggler, I’m afraid. Still, I worked hard and look at me now – I’m in charge! In a pseudo-democratic, I’m happy for everybody’s input even if I have to reject it and make the final decisions myself kind of way.”

  “It’s not right!” Noomi protested. “With all of the intelligence in this room, we should be running the Transdimensional Authority!”

  “What makes you think we don’t, dear?”

  Finding Noomi at a loss for words, Xenia took her by the elbow and led her past the cubicles to a small boardroom. “We’ve produced a little orientation video for your viewing pleasure.”

  “Orientation video?” Noomi gulped.

  “You know. To help…orientate you.”

  Noomi was about to point out that she had grown up with Jack Ryan, Transdimensional Authority Police, and, therefore, knew all she needed to know about the organization when she was 12 years old, but Xenia had already slipped out of the room and the lights had started to dim.

  FADE IN:

  EXT. PRAIRIES FIELD – DAY

  Wheat. And, lots of it. Waving in the breeze.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  Wheat.

  Cliché, Noomi thought.

  EXT. TAR SANDS – DAY

  The kaleidoscopic colours of slurry.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  Oil.

  Another cliché, Noomi thought.

  EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT

  A POLICE OFFICER (young, rugged) jumps out of a car with flashing lights on it, pulls his gun and aims it at SCUMBAG (young, scummy), who is running towards the camera. We can see the CN Tower in the background.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  Third-rate knock-offs of American cultural artifacts.

  POLICE OFFICER

  Freeze, scumbag!

  How long is this video? Noomi thought.

  ANIMATION

  A map of the world. Arrows originating in Canada grow until they are pointing all over the place (but, mostly, towards the United States).

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  These have traditionally been Canada’s exports to the world.

  They can’t seriously expect me to spend a lot of time watching this drivel…can they? Noomi thought.

  EXT. PRAIRIES FIELD – DAY

  Burned out stalks of wheat. Lots of them. Waving limply in the breeze.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  But, what happens to our wheat when global warming makes much of our land no longer arable?

  We eat cake? Noomi thought.

  EXT. TAR SANDS – DAY

  The slurry has reached a waterway.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  What happens when the oil runs out?

  We use cake to run our cars? Noomi thought.

  EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT

  A Police Officer jumps out of a car with flashing lights on it, pulls his gun and aims it at Scumbag, who is running towards the camera. We can see the Empire State Building in the background.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  What happens when Hollywood, suffering from a phobia of originality, produces its own third-rate knock-offs…with 10 times our budgets?

  POLICE OFFICER

  Freeze, scumbag!

  We…uhh…we…nope. No cake jokes possible with this one, Noomi thought.

  ANIMATION

  The arrows pointing at places around the world (but mostly the United States) shrink back into Canada (the previous animation in reverse).

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  What happens to our resource-based economy when the resources run dry?

  Film… too… banal. Thinking… like… swimming… in… concrete… Noomi thought.

  INT. LABORATORY – DAY

  People of diverse ethnic backgrounds and genders in white lab coats, many holding clipboards, stride purposefully through the lab. ZOOM IN: on a Dimensional Portal™ along the far wall.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  We find new resources, of course. And, gosh darn if Canada didn’t do just that! Transdimensional Space-Time!

  Must…resist! Hobbes! Nietzsche! Seinfeld! Help…me! Noomi thought.

  INT. HOSPITAL NURSERY – DAY

  Newborns lie in cribs and incubators, being adorable all over the place.

  NARRATOR

  (voice over)

  We here at the Trans-dimensional Authority are making the Multiverse safe…for the children.

  In a small boardroom, no one can hear you groan. But, Noomi groaned anyway.

  * * *

  Forty-three minutes later, Xenia reappeared in the boardroom. “So, that’s us,” she chirped. “What did you think?”

  “Ungh bidi bidi bidi brap brap!” Noomi croaked.

  “Yes, a lot of our new recruits have that response to the orientation video,” Xenia assured her.

  “Gagungen henya henya hey?” Noomi asked.

  “Not to worry,” Xenia responded. “Your ability to form and articulate complex thoughts will return shortly. Shall we go to your workspace?”

  “Baga…bahootiga…k.”


  “See? You’re getting better already!”

  Xenia took Noomi by the elbow once again (this habit was why her department had a rate of Repetitive Elbow Stress Syndrome that was 27 per cent higher than the Transdimensional Authority average) and walked her through the maze to a cubicle that was bare except for the necessities: a desk, a chair and a computer.

  “Think of this,” Xenia enthused, “as your home away from home.”

  “Do I geraff to?” Noomi grumped.

  “I’ll assume that’s the orientation video talking,” Xenia cheerily chirped. “Give it a couple of months, and you’ll have this Personal Office Environment (POE) feeling like home. Now, let me show you how to log onto the system…”

  Xenia set Noomi up with a password. Then, with a brassy sassiness that Noomi was beginning to resent like hell, Xenia opened several long files that outlined the different forms that the Transdimensional Authority used and the circumstances under which they were to be deployed. Long files. Waiting at the dentist for a root canal long. Listening to a Parliamentary debate on telecommunications policy long. Watching a Jim Jarmusch film long. Noomi settled in for a long day’s reading.