Free No Other Story by Dr. Cuthbert Soup Page A

“And when I say
great
, I mean that in more ways than one. After all, how else would you describe the first woman president of the United States of America?”
    From the box, Sullivan retrieved a small, circular pin, bearing the words
Cheeseman for President
. He pinned the campaign button to Catherine’s shirt.
    â€œSeriously? Me? The first woman president?” Young Catherine Cheeseman’s mind raced with visuals of her meeting with world leaders, delivering inspirational speeches, and making decisions that would affect hundreds of millions of people. She imagined what it might be like to have her image on the new thousand-dollar bill or on a commemorative stamp.
    â€œYup,” said Sullivan. “First and last.” Sullivan’s demeanor had suddenly darkened.
    â€œWhat do you mean,
last
?” said Catherine.
    â€œI mean,” said Sullivan, “that there will never be another president of the United States of America, man or woman, because it’s now the United States of Plexiwave.”
    Jason gripped the ball tightly and grit his teeth. “We’ve got to try to stop them from taking over. But without the LVR-ZX, we’re stuck here. How do we get back?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Catherine. “But we will get back. It has to be that way, don’t you see? The fact that you’re now holding that baseball means that we made it back. And, more importantly, the fact that Steve exists means that Mom lived to knit it for Simon. It means that we must have found a way to save her life. Somehow we were able to get back!”

Chapter 7
    A light, quiet snow fell upon the rooftop of a small house, sitting in a small town, located in a big world, situated somewhere along the ever-expanding Time Arc.
    Inside, Christmas music played through the dozens of speakers Ethan had rigged up around the cozy home. Also heard was the voice of Olivia Cheeseman, speaking in a tone she reserved for those rare occasions when one of her children had done something to displease her.
    â€œSimon Cheeseman,” she said.
    Simon was in his bedroom, busy organizing his collection of dirt clods shaped like celebrities, when he heard the call for front and center. He decided it best to leave the clumps of dirt for now and hurry off to the living room to avoid making whatever trouble he was in any worse.
    He found his mother standing in front of the mantel, her lips pursed and her hands upon her hips.
    â€œListen, mister,” said Olivia, with no idea that she was speaking to a future famous novelist. “How many times have I told you the nativity scene is not a toy?”
    Sure enough, his six-year-old brain had failed to remind him to remove the evidence, which consisted of a half-dozen green plastic army men standing atop the stable and a toy dinosaur positioned next to the three wise men. Wedged between the dinosaur’s mighty teeth was a sheep.
    â€œSorry,” said Simon.
    â€œDon’t be sorry,” said Olivia. “Just don’t do it, okay?”
    She snatched the dinosaur and the other nativity interlopers and handed them to Simon. “Now go get your boots and your coat. We’re going to get the tree.”
    As Simon hurried off to the closet, his mother assured him that he had not ruined Christmas after all. She did this by reaching out and giving his spiky blond hair a good scruffing up.
    While Simon fetched his coat and boots, Jason and Catherine were busy in the kitchen, stringing popcorn and cranberries, which was a good way to decorate a tree inexpensively. It was also a good way to start an argument.
    â€œNo, no,” said ten-year-old Catherine. “You’re doing it wrong.”
    Jason looked down at his handiwork resting on the kitchen table and saw nothing but popcorn-and-cranberry-stringing perfection. “What do you mean?”
    â€œYou’re putting four popcorn, two cranberries, three popcorn, and two