“It’s important to understand that my memories aren’t the same as yours,” old man Herbert said. “The instant you went through the wormhole, you split off from my reality and created a completely different parallel-event path.”

“Just so you guys know, I’m already confused,” Alex said.

“It isn’t complicated,” Herbert explained. “There are two co-existing versions of our lives. There’s the one we live—we were neighbors, blasted through a wormhole, and arrived here.”

“And then there’s the one I live,” Old Man Herbert said. “We were neighbors, we didn’t find a wormhole, and lived a long, long time to get here.”

Alex gave Old Man Herbert a concerned look. “In your version, we weren’t…friends or anything, were we?”

“Far from it. Our mothers forced us to have a playdate together. It was a disaster. We had nothing in common.”

“Whew,” Alex and Herbert sighed together.

“Until we met Sammi.”

The two looked at Old Man Herbert.

“We put on the N.E.D. suits I’d invented and went to Alex’s backyard to play on his new jungle gym. We found Sammi hiding in the tube slide. She didn’t want to go to her swim meet. Alex was embarrassed to be seen in the N.E.D. suit, so we took them off.”

“And missed out on discovering the wormhole,” Herbert said to Alex. “Way to go, ignoramus.”

“It wasn’t me,” Alex said. “It was the umbrella-path version of me.”

“Parallel-event path,” Old Man Herbert corrected him.

“Right. That’s what I said.” Alex shot a look at young Herbert. “See? Try paying attention.”

Old Man Herbert continued. “Alex was eager to come up with fun things to do so Sammi would stay and play with us. I recall he created strange food-related rhyming nicknames. Very odd.”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Alex said.

“Yes, it does,” Herbert shot back.

“So did we spend a lot of time together?” Alex asked. “Sammi and me, I mean.”

“No. It was just that one day. The reason I remember it so well is because years later, when all the reporters wanted to know what you were like as a boy, it was the only story I had—a crush on that girl, and food-related rhyming nicknames.”

“Reporters asked about Alex?” Herbert asked.

“Was I famous?!” Alex asked.

“Yes, you might say that,” Old Man Herbert said to both of them. “When I was sixty years old or so, the G’Daliens came down to Earth. They kindly offered to run our planet for us, and allowed the human race to enjoy their vast knowledge and technology. They saved us, and almost everyone loved them.”

Old Man Herbert looked directly at Alex. “You’ll notice I said ‘almost.’”

“Here we go.” Herbert smiled as he settled in.

“I’m confused again,” Alex said.

“You—or rather, my parallel-event-path version of you—were scared witless of the G’Daliens. And you were very vocal about it. You’d rant on and on to anyone who would listen, and many who wouldn’t. You were sure the G’Daliens weren’t here to help us, but to eat us. You’d talk loudly on buses, give inappropriate toasts at children’s birthday parties, and eventually were banned from every karaoke restaurant in Merwinsville.”

“But—some of my best friends are G’Daliens,” Alex said.

“The media called you ‘Fraidy-Cat Filby.’ They made fun of you on all the TV shows and in the papers—your paranoid buffoonery was blasted on MonitOrbs all over Merwinsville. As your next-door neighbor, I was constantly interviewed. Everyone wanted to know if you were a strange child growing up. I had to say yes. I mean, rhyming food nicknames? Who does that?”

Herbert was beaming. “This makes perfect sense. When we first came through the wormhole, you were terrified of G’Daliens. You hid behind me, hoping they’d eat me first.”

“Interesting,” Old Man Herbert said. He studied Alex as if he were in a test tube. “You and Fraidy-Cat Filby had the same fearful tendencies. I’m fascinated with intersecting traits in parallel-event-path selves.”

“Okay,” Alex snapped angrily. “So what happened to me? Did they lock me up or something?”

“No one knows. After a year of failing to get anyone to join your Anti-G’Dalien League, one day you just went away. Vanished. That was nearly fifty years ago. No one’s seen or heard from you since.”

Alex got very quiet.

“So…the old man version of me could be anywhere. I’ll never find myself.”

“Hey, you don’t have to think about it that way,” Herbert offered. “Look on the bright side—maybe you’re dead!”

Old Man Herbert watched Alex for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” he said.

Alex looked up at him. Young Herbert stopped grinning.

“Before you three showed up, before I even knew my parallel self existed, I began having this odd feeling, like there was something I couldn’t quite remember. It grew stronger and stronger, until one day I found myself on the rooftop of Andretti’s Pizzeria, looking inside an old, rusty air vent. I don’t even like pizza. But I knew where my parallel-event-path self—you, Herbert—would hide something for me to find. And there it was. My first glimpse into intersecting event paths.”

“So…you’re saying my older self might feel I’m here, and could come and find me?” Alex asked.

“No. I’m saying you might have the power to find him. If my theories are correct, I believe you already know where your future self is.”

“But—I don’t,” Alex said.

The older Herbert peered closely at Alex again. “Ask yourself this question: If you were suddenly alone, betrayed and friendless in this world, where would you go?”

The more Alex thought about this, the more it made Herbert nervous. “I know what you’re thinking, and you can forget it,” he said. “You’re not running off on a wild Old Man Alex chase to find yourself—you’ve already got a job protecting the city! You’re an AlienSlayer, remember?”

“Who better to find Fraidy-Cat Filby than his parallel-event-path self, AlienSlayer Alex?” Old Man Herbert said excitedly.

“Will you stay out of this?!” Herbert barked at the old man. He turned back to Alex. “Okay. Suppose while you’re off wandering around looking for yourself there’s an alien attack? What then?”

“Oh, you mean the tetraquadzillion-to-one possibility? Strange how suddenly you’re so concerned about alien attacks. Of course, you’re right—I’m the only one who’s always on constant lookout! I’m the only one who stays vigilant and ready for action! I’m the only one everybody cheers the loudest for! You practically admitted it—I’m the only real AlienSlayer in this whole stinkin’ city!”

“Well, finally we agree on something. You can’t just go off looking for yourself. Your expertise at alien slaying is far too important. Maybe you should even consider going solo.”

“Fine! Maybe I will go solo! Maybe I’ll become, uh—SoloSlayer Alex! No, that’s not a good name. But maybe I’ll think of a better one! And then maybe I’ll get a costume! And maybe I’ll be the greatest AlienSlayer in all the galaxy!”

“Excuse me, Alex? You asked me to remind you when it was time to go underwear shopping with your mom.”

They turned. Chicago stood near the SlayerVator, wearing a bright red, brand-new shirt. EL-ROY was beside him, struggling beneath a pile of what looked like grayish-green rubber.

“It’s time. I’m off to do my interview, so EL-ROY will be in charge of today’s exit operations.”

A tentacle wiggled out and waved. EL-ROY’s squeaky, muffled voice came from somewhere under the folds of rubber.