The Wilbert Dunlevy Himmelfarb Presentation Festival of Undergraduate Research is held every year in mid-to late March, depending on when spring break ends and Easter occurrs, on the main campus of Arbor State University. This year, it landed on March 21 through 23, 1984. Sponsored by the Albert Kahn School of Arts and Sciences, the festival took over almost an entire floor of the Modern Language Building, with programming running concurrently in more than two dozen classrooms. Drawing from all the satellite campuses including my own extension in midtown Detroit, the programming featured mostly seniors giving brief synopses of the senior theses they had completed during the fall semester, but ambitious underclassmen could also enter to showcase their research projects.

Named after someone who apparently had nothing better to do but to spend years of their life squirreling away in rare book and manuscript libraries, scholarly archives, and collections of microfilm, Wilbert Dunlevy Himmelfarb of was the author of the magisterial 48-volume Recrudescence of Gnostic Cosmology in English Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century Pastoral Verse, which only five people—now all deceased—were ever known to have consulted the eight-volume abridgement.

Both Stella Starlight and I were slotted on the first day, Stella in the morning and me in the afternoon. For me, it felt like a dress rehearsal for graduation, little more than six weeks away. Avie and I woke up early in Detroit and got all dressed up—I wore a skirt suit and Avie looked svelte—having dropped some twenty pounds working out—in slacks and a nice sweater. It would be the first time in a long time I would spend all day in Ann Arbor concentrating only on school affairs, without any thought of megaheroics or Ms. Megaton Man on my mind.

Avie drove the two of us in her Pacer. The weather was cooperative, but there was a tie-up due to road maintenance leading into campus that delayed us by twenty minutes. By the time I got registered and we found the room, the presentations were already underway, but luckily Stella’s was last of the three that hour and she hadn’t started yet. The typical presentation garnered fewer than half a dozen attendees, but Stella’s room was packed because Stella was Stella, and because her parenting partner Trent Phloog, their child Simon, and even her parents Seymour and Serena Starlight were there.

Stella’s half-brother, Chuck Roast, was also in attendance.

“What’s he doing here?” whispered Avie, who was horrified.

“He’s staying at the Ann Street house with Stella and Trent,” I said.

I hadn’t mentioned to Avie that Chuck was even back in the United States, then completely forgot we might very well run into him in Ann Arbor. Avie hadn’t seen Chuck since he abducted her and attempted to rape her in the flying Q-Mobile over New Jersey more than a year before. But Avie, to her credit, took it in stride, and we quietly found our seats as the last presenter before Stella finished up.

Avie had a newfound confidence since adopting the persona of the Wondrous Warhound and working out, even though she hadn’t come close to fighting any crime. Chuck was on his best behavior, of course, all sweetness and smiles, probably because Stella’s parents were also in attendance. Seymour Starlight, a professor emeritus at the university now wheelchair-bound, had been one of the original thirteen scientists to work on the Atomic Soldier with my grandmother Mercedith Robeson-James, specifically Project Meltdown, which gave Stella and Chuck their megapowers. Seymour was Stella’s adoptive father; Serena Surge, his much younger wife, was Stella’s birth mother. I never met them before, but I assumed that was them.

There was no time for small talk before Stella’s presentation began. Her talk was on her senior thesis, naturally, which was in the field of speculative quantum physics. Entitled “Speculations in the Multimensions: Probing Impossible Fusions,” it was jargon-laden and theoretical, and over my head much of the time. But I did recognize the example of Schroedinger’s cat, a weird illustration some German thought up to idea of alternate realities. I don’t know why anybody would want to throw a cat in a box to see if it lives or dies, or for that matter how that’s supposed to illustrate how minute, sub-atomic variables can result in completely different realities. But still she went over it.

After dispensing with Schroedinger’s cat, Stella continued, “We know the natural tendency of the Multimensions is to continually branch off into alternate realities, not only with every conscious human decision, but with every flip of the coin, as it were—with every possible variations that could take place in the physical world. Because of this, the possibility of alternate realities is truly infinite, with every moment increasing the manifold possibilities innumerable times.

“The converse, of course. is an impossibility. Once separated, no two realities that were once one could ever fuse back together. Indeed, disparate dimensions can never fuse, according to our laws of physics; they can only perpetually be split apart. The notion that two realities that had once been one could even find one another among the limitless Multimensions would seem an even more remote impossibility. Because of this natural and abiding law, we can be assured than any speculation on our part will never have any practical application.”

“Just what academia is all about,” I mused under my breath, perhaps a bit too loudly. I think the man I took to be Seymour Starlight must have heard me, because he turned and winked at me.

I looked around the room and spotted, another gentleman with a professorial air sitting further back. He wore a black turtleneck and slacks, and had wavy grey hair and a beard. Avie was also looking around the room also and spotted him, too.

“Who’s that?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure, but I’m guessing he’s Stella’s thesis advisor. If so, she’ll be studying under him in grad school.”

“I’ll bet, the way he’s gawking at her.”

Stella continued, “We are free to ask, then: What rules could possibly govern such an impossibility as two alternate realities—two completely different worlds, two completely different societies—fusing together? For example, if the same person existed in each dimension, but had made different life choices, which of the two lives would take priority? Would they be blended together in some fashion? And if so, which attributes would be kept? Only the best? The worst? A random assortment? By the same token, if one parcel of land was developed in one dimension but remained vacant in another, would that building exist in the compound dimension, or not? Would human will have any role to play, or would determinations be made impersonally, mechanically, simply at random?”

I noticed her thesis advisor smiling and nodding.

“Take Schroedinger’s cat, for example,” Stella continued. “In one reality, it died; in the other, it lived…”

“It could be a half-dead cat,” muttered Avie.

“Human will had nothing to do with whether the cat lived or died—it was merely molecular chance. Why should human will play a part when dimensions fused back together? Or, is there some divine order to the Multimensions that we cannot sensibly perceive?”

“It could be a half-dead cat,” muttered Avie. “I’m glad Kozmik Kat’s not here. He’d wonder why it always has to be a cat that gets it in the neck.”

“Shh.”

Stella wrapped up her presentation. “I will be exploring these issues further as a graduate student under the guidance of Professor Terrell Smythe, who happens to be in the audience.” She acknowledged the grey-haired gentleman. He nodded and smiled at the polite applause.

Seymour Starlight, simply smiled bemusedly, and slightly shook his head.

***

Afterwards, I went up to Stella and congratulated her. “What big words you’ve learned in college,” I said. “That was a great presentation. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks,” said Stella. “Clarissa, I’d like you to meet my father, Seymour Starlight—I mean, Sternlicht. Dad, this is Clarissa James.”

Seymour proffered a gentle hand. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Ms. James. I worked closely with your grandmother on the Meltdown line.”

“I know,” I said. “What do you think of her argument, though? Isn’t it obvious the Meltdown and Megaton dimensions have fused back together? I mean the evidence is right there,” I said, pointing to Simon.

“You were great, Mommy!” said Simon, who ran up to her and grabbed her legs. She picked him up and held him in her arms.

“Nonsense,” she said to me. “There have only been a few too many uncontrolled crossovers lately. Didn’t you hear what I said? The laws of physics don’t permit two dimensions to actually fuse together.”

“I can’t speak to the fusion of realities,” said Seymour. “But I can certainly attest to the splitting apart. I was there when it happened.”

“I’d like to hear about that sometime.”

***

Out in the hallway, I asked Trent where Dana was. “She doesn’t live with us on Ann Street anymore,” he said. “She couldn’t abide Chuck. Can’t say that I blame her. You see how well I get along with him. I wish I could move out and get my own apartment, sometimes.”

Chuck, I noticed, was already collaring my sister. “I’m sorry how things played out in New York,” he was saying. “I hope you’ll let me make it up to you and take you to dinner sometime while I’m in town.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Avie, horrified. “I’m a megahero myself now, and I think I should warn you, I’ve been working out.”

“And you look really good,” said Chuck, turning on all the greasy charm you’d expect from a sociopath in denial that he’d ever attempted to rape Avie in the first place.

“Give it up, Chuck,” said Trent. “The girl’s not interested.”

Chuck wheeled on Trent, glaring. “Who’s to stop me? What are you going to do, Phloog? Turn into Megaton Man?”

“No, but I will,” said a voice. “And I’ll kick your ass, just like I used to do to your no-account father.”

My biological father, Clyde Phloog, must have slipped into the back of the classroom right behind me and Avie. Tall and fit in a well-tailored suit, the Silver Age Megaton Man was in his civilian form, but could change into his megaheroic physique merely by swallowing a capsule.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead, Clyde,” said Alice2, who was right behind him. “We’re here to celebrate Stella’s accomplishments, and Trigger was her father, too.”

I never saw a facial expression go so quickly from a raging sneer to soft, childlike innocence as when Chuck laid eyes on Alice2.

“You’re the Mod Puma!” he exclaimed. “You were on the Quartet with the Young Meltdown.”

“I was indeed,” said Alice2. “I was telling Stella all about the old days, last time we were in town…”

“Yes, she mentioned it,” said Chuck. “But she wouldn’t repeat them. She said I should hear the stories from you.”

“Well, I’ll tell ‘em again, if you’ve got all afternoon.”

At least Chuck completely forgot about Avie as he was lured away by Alice2.

I asked, “Dad, what are you two doing in town?”

“Seeing your presentation, of course,” said Clyde. “And Stella’s, too. After all, they were so nice to us when we visited them in the evenings on Ann Street.”

“Does Alice Too really have stories about the good old days on the Quartet with the Young Meltdown?” asked Avie.

“No, of course not,” said Clyde. “Trigger Flintlock was a no good, dirty rotten scoundrel. She made some stuff up.”

“Hey, did anybody see where Stella’s advisor went?” I asked. I looked around, but the grey-haired gentleman was nowhere to be seen.

***

Naturally, nobody had given any forethought to lunch. Serena, who had much such a great effort to transport Seymour and his wheelchair from Redford, wanted to take Stella, Trent, Simon, and Chuck out, but Simon screamed, “We see Grandpa and Grandma all the time…I want to have lunch with Aunt Clarissa and Aunt Avie!” This made Stella more than a bit cross, but after some discussion, Trent brought Simon over to me, Avie, and Clyde. “I guess we’re going to lunch with you,” he said. “They’re going to have a hard enough time finding a restaurant in downtown to accommodate a big group, not to mention that wheelchair.”

So, our group went out looking for a bite before my one p.m. presentation. The eatery we chose could only exist on a college campus, let alone be beloved—a beefsteak joint with the interior décor of an impoverished mobile-home park, replete with Formica countertops and stools bolted to the floor. Clyde, Avie, and I were extremely overdressed for it, while Trent wore his usual bookstore black polo, nametag, jeans, and sneakers. We had Philly cheese all around, and Simon was happy as a clam with a mountain of French fries as big as his head in front of him. All of us had to cover ourselves with dispenser napkins to keep the grease from dripping all over our clothes.

“I used to love this place when I was a freshman,” I said. “But now I can remember why I haven’t been back since.”

“It’s not so bad,” said Avie. “It’s got a lot of character. Just think, you’re almost a graduate! No more cramming for SOC 101 exams in places like this at three in the morning.”

“No, just cramming for grad school seminars in places like this, except around midtown Detroit,” I replied. “So, how was New York, Clyde?”

“I call it Megatropolis,” said my father. “It’s strange how you have multiple names for all your cities in this dimension. Anyway, it’s all right—it hasn’t changed much. Sorry we didn’t have time to say goodbye to you properly before we left. Unfortunately, we’ll only be in Arbor Harbor for a short while this time, too.”

“You mean Ann Arbor?” said Avie.

“See what I mean? Multiple names.”

“I go to Arba Harba Daycare,” said Simon, before stuffing his face with a fistful of French fries.

“He means Arbor Harbor Daycare,” said Trent. “Which reminds me, I have to go to work after lunch, right after I drop Simon off. We got him out of the morning session but they’re going to let him visit this afternoon. I’ve got to work, I’m afraid—I won’t get to see your presentation, Clarissa.”

“But I will,” said Clyde. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. My daughter, a college graduate.”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” I said. “So, things must have gone okay with the Megatropolis Quartet.”

“Not exactly,” said Clyde, “Rex and Bing are still dithering on a location for the new Quartet headquarters. In the meantime, I got an offer from the Devengers, believe it or not.”

“The Devengers?” said Avie. “You’d be living in the Doomsday Factory.”

“They kicked me out when I was Megaton Man,” said Trent. “The Lens told me he was through with all nuclear-powered heroes.”

“Alice Too must have softened him up,” suggested Avie.

“Actually, I won’t be taking the slot with the Devengers, I’m afraid. You see, Alice and I also went down to Washington, D.C. to visit with your grandmother. Dr. Robeson-James convinced Alice she needed to back here near the Troy+Thems, which means the Mod Puma will be staying here. As for me, I’m going to be taking a desk job in Alexandria, Virginia.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Avie. “I get to continue my Wondrous Warhound training with the Mod Puma.”

“Does that mean you’re breaking up with Alice Too?” I asked.

“No, we’ll just be doing the long distance thing for a while, as you kids say,” said Clyde. “We’re used to it—being from different dimensions it kind of comes with the territory. I realized I’m getting too old to be America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero. Besides, these capsules”—he pulled the pill bottle from his suit pocket—“that enable me to change from bulging megahero to ordinary civilian with a glass of water made me realize what I’m missing in life. I just want to slow down and let the next generation take over.”

“The Silver Age Megaton Man, retiring!” said Avie.

“There will still be lots of travel,” said Clyde. “I’m an Air Force pilot, after all. I’ll be back and forth to Troy to see your mom—I mean, your mama from another dimension. And, I’ll always have these on hand in case I’m called upon,” he said, putting the vial back in his pocket and patting it under his jacket.

“Looks like your America’s Nuclear-Powered Hero again, Clarissa,” said Trent.

“Great—just what I need to add to my nerves before my presentation!”

***

Mama and Daddy showed up for the event—Alice One and my adoptive father—and Clyde and Alice Too. Seymour and Serena returned, along with Stella, who dozed off halfway through it. And of course Avie was there. Chuck, thankfully, had disappeared. Mama looked great, by the way; she looked like she’d lost ten pounds since the holidays—since Alice Too arrived in this dimensions with her old beau.

My presentation wasn’t nearly as cosmic or as far-reaching in its potential implications as Stella’s, at least in my opinion. It was about the Defense Asset Corporation policy encouraging the dispersal of military armament factories during World War II and in the postwar era, and how that policy tended to—intentionally or unintentionally—foster white flight and industrial disinvestment from inner cities, and create suburban sprawl.

Not very interesting, right? But Daddy’s eyes lit up; he took a notepad from his pocket and jotted down a few things. Later, when I asked him what he had noted, he wouldn’t tell me. “I’ll have to get back to you, was all he’d say to me.

After the event was over, Clyde and Alice Too insisted on taking us all to dinner. Seymour and Serena bowed out, having to get back to Redford, and Stella had to get home to Trent and Simon. So it was just the two Alices and my two fathers and me and Avie. They took us to that nice Chinese restaurant on the edge of town I always liked.

After dinner, Alice Too and Clyde apologized to me profusely for having missed my birthday in February. So, they presented me with a wrapped little gift box.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Open it,” said Alice Too.

It was a pin of a golden puma.

“Schroedinger’s cat!” I said.