If anyone can help you,
it would have to be the smartest guy in the world. You saw him on the
news talking about some sort of fancy space theory about… something.
Whatever it was, it was definitely about space. Math was involved too,
but you know even less about math than you do about theoretical physics.
He'll probably know what to make of your alien DNA sample, and
hopefully, he'll be able to dumb it down for you. Lucky for you he keeps
a summer home nearby.
You ring the doorbell
and wait, anxious to get some resolution to this whole alien conspiracy
thing. You wonder what Dr. Hawking is like in person. You hope he's not
as big an ass as the last Lucasian Professor you talked to. To your
surprise, he doesn't answer the door himself, and instead you find
yourself face to face with a foxy nurse. She asks your business, and
through an amazing amount of willpower, you manage to say you‘re here to
see Dr. Hawking without mentioning the nurse's giant rack. You hope he's
somewhere close, as you don't know how much longer you can stay this
smooth.
The nurse leads you to Hawking's private lab in the basement. You are a
bit jealous of the fact that his lab is a bit more modern than your lab,
but then again, your lab is much tidier. Therefore, you are the better
scientist. Thus, when you finally do meet the man, your nose is upturned
ever so slightly. Of course, you'd need to lower your nose in order to
see the wheelchair-bound professor, but you don't want to show any
weakness. Hawking is somewhat annoyed by your impudence, but with a
quick blink, his wheelchair rises until he is looking down on you.
Touché, Hawking.
"Good day to you. I
understand you have business with me?"
You explain everything to him in excruciating detail, including your
senseless pants-ing of the mayor. Hawking lowers his chair and takes a
moment to consider all that you've told him.
"This is incredible. A discovery like this comes along once in a
lifetime. I am lucky to hear of it. Let me just go and phone… other
scientists."
You could swear you detect just a hint of menace in his voice, but then
you remember that electronic voiceboxes don't have that feature yet, and
you put the thought out your mind. "Mr. College" is definitely
impressed, so it's only fitting that you rub his nose in it a little.
After all, you must've set a record for the least amount of work spent
on making an incredible intergalactic discovery. Suddenly, Hawking's
voice, well you know what I mean, blares over an intercom:
"While you wait, how about you help me test a theory of mine?"
Before you can reply, one of the shinier machines whirs to life. You
notice a slight breeze in the lab, which is intensifying rapidly. Within
moments, you are holding onto the lab table for dear life as you try to
save yourself from being pulled into a blackish, hole-ish thing being
generated by that same machine. Hawking chimes in to explain things:
"You see, I have a theory about black holes. My singularity generator
will help me test the theory, but I need a test subject, and the animal
shelter is onto me. This is where you come in. Do not worry; I will make
sure your discovery gets to the right people." His flat, mechanical
laughter is the last thing you hear before you're sucked into the
miniature black hole and crushed by the intense gravity. Or maybe you're
just farted out into another universe. We don't really know how those
things work.
