But… I'm Peter Parker!
I sat at the table trying to collect my thoughts, watching silent Aunt May bustle around the kitchen. My shoulder still ached terribly where the juvenile delinquent had hit me, and my jaw responded to any movement with a dull throb. At least the bruises on my face had almost faded by the second day of rest — something, at least.
Over those two days I'd more or less gotten back to normal. Psychologically and physically.
A large part of that was due to reading the history of my past world. Who would have thought. That hedonistic bastard Luo Ji turned out to be the one who managed to protect humanity from the threat of complete extinction. The Wallfacer Project had seemed like nonsense to me from the beginning, but we all make mistakes sometimes. I want to believe that somewhere out there my home Earth still exists. Which is reasonable enough, given that the book, with some exceptions, describes the history of the conflict with Trisolaris fairly accurately.
The most significant difference between the book and reality is the gender ratio. Nearly all the characters in it are women — at first I attributed this to the author herself being a woman, but then, putting the pieces together…
How on earth had I managed not to notice this all this time? This insane world has been taken over by women! I'd seen a few men on the street while Bobbie was driving me home, and that was it. I'd searched the global network for an explanation of this phenomenon, but found nothing. The locals see nothing strange about it. According to observations by local scientists: the higher the level of development of a species, the fewer males are required for its survival. Regulation of the number of male individuals is part of the natural homeostasis of the population. Radical feminists would be thrilled! This universe perfectly matches their ideals — even the ones they themselves never imagined. At present, in developed countries, there are ten or more women for every man, and these men serve merely as an appendage to women. A rather well-situated appendage, I must say. Most of these guys don't even work, living off their wives. It's remarkable that under such circumstances the institution of marriage has developed and hasn't yet fallen apart!
Evidently deciding that since all the upheavals of the past few days hadn't driven me insane, there was nothing left to fear, my subconscious decided to hand me more memories — this time from the life of the other Peter Parker. Yes, now I'm completely certain: the person I was before and the person whose body I'm now occupying are two entirely different people.
From now on I'll refer to whoever lived here before me as Peter. It'll be simpler that way. At least I won't feel like I'm losing my mind.
Peter was an extraordinarily withdrawn person. He almost never spoke to anyone unless absolutely necessary. And even when someone managed to get Peter talking, it was hard to call it a dialogue — he was really talking to himself, even when addressing another person, leaving those around him to translate and interpret as best they could, to take away as much meaning as they were capable of absorbing.
To be fair, other people were as much of a mystery to Peter as he was to everyone around him. Peter had difficulty perceiving the emotions and motivations of these "objects." In short, he had no skill at interacting with people and no desire to learn. He was extraordinarily lazy and apathetic. He couldn't be bothered to adapt his thoughts for other people. He never even put his own ideas into practice. If something could capture his mind for a short time, that was already an event — as it had with Doctor Stans' paper. That theory held Peter's interest for an entire month, and he even overcame his laziness enough to write Stans an email pointing out several flaws in the theory and offering a couple of his own ideas. But he was too lazy to fully explain his reasoning in the letter, deciding that since the subject in question was the author of the paper that had interested him, she could surely figure it out on her own. Evidently she couldn't.
Aunt May, who had arrived this morning, informed me that my absences had worried my teachers and reminded me that finishing school was my responsibility. Aunt May doesn't live with me in this house — she just brings groceries, sometimes helps with cooking and cleaning, pays the bills, and leaves some pocket money. I understand — it's hard to live with someone like Peter had been. I'm glad she never referred him to a specialist. From the outside, Peter's condition must have resembled a high-functioning form of autism, even if it wasn't actually that. A specialist's diagnosis could have ruined Peter's life — and by extension, mine.
When Aunt May started getting ready to leave, I asked to come with her. I said I wanted to talk to Uncle Ben. She was surprised, but didn't object. I wonder what surprised her more — my wanting to, or the fact that I was speaking in plain, clear language.
I vaguely recalled that besides Aunt May, Ben had a few other wives, though they didn't all live together. That was normal practice here. Few people were interested in — or capable of — arranging shared living for an enormous family of six or more adults and dozens of children, though it all varied case by case. Many women valued their independence highly — even when binding themselves to a man in marriage, they had no desire to be with him constantly. Ha, you could understand them — the local husbands were something else entirely.
Aunt May drove a pickup, and we rode it to Uncle Ben's home: a three-room apartment he shared with two of his wives, one of whom was Aunt May. His other three wives lived nearby but weren't frequent visitors to this apartment, nor were their children.
I'd suspected that the Ben of this world would turn out to be a completely different person, but I still wasn't prepared for what I saw. Aunt May's husband suffered from third-degree obesity, along with the full accompanying bouquet of related conditions, which was quite lavish given the man's age. Add to that a quarrelsome, cantankerous personality… with a personality like that he'd have made an excellent domestic tyrant, if he hadn't been so helpless.
He was not glad to see me. I'm no expert in psychology — actually, a complete zero, I've never had any interest in the subject — but even I could see some surface-level reasons for his dislike of me.
Besides the fact that I'd torn Ben away from watching some idiotic television show, in his eyes I was a living reminder of youth and health that had been squandered — presumably for nothing. Of what he could never get back. I shouldn't have come here. I realized I had nothing to talk to this man about, but to justify the visit somehow, I tried asking about my parents, ignoring Ben's openly hostile stare.
— Why would I know anything about your parents, boy? — A surprised Ben even lost some of his anger. — He was May's brother, not mine. I saw him a couple of times in my life, that's it.
I barely kept my face neutral. It was unexpected, but inside I felt relief that this man wasn't my blood relative. I hoped my father hadn't been like this.
— It's just that Aunt May… — I tried to come up with some reason, — well, a woman's perspective, you're the only man who knew my father that I can talk to…
God, what nonsense.
— I already told you, I didn't know him, — Ben's irritation returned, and having lost interest in the conversation, he turned back to the television.
— Peter, — I heard my aunt's voice behind me, — you could talk to Doctor Connors — she worked closely with Richard, and her husband was a friend of your father.
— Oh, thank you, Aunt May, — you just saved me from this awkward situation! — Do you have their contact information?
— I'm afraid not, — Aunt May thought for a moment, — but you can find her phone number on the Empire State University website.
I'll definitely find it — I still need to keep the promise I made to Bobbie and check on Stans' condition, whose research was strikingly similar to the work of a different Doctor Connors from my past.
— No, would you look at what she's doing! — Uncle Ben's animated exclamation reached us.
Glancing sidelong at her husband, May pressed her lips together in displeasure but said nothing. I'd never had any love for television shows, but the aunt and uncle in my real memories had loved spending evenings watching something like America's Got Talent, and Ben was apparently watching something along those lines. On the screen, a gymnast in a tight white-and-pink costume was performing acrobatic tricks.
— Just look at this, ladies and gentlemen! — the announcer was saying with enthusiasm, — this girl could give Mrs. Fantastic a run for her money!
— Ben is a fan of this Spider-Woman, — Aunt May confided.
Spider-Woman. What an absurd name.
STOP. Spider-Woman?
— What did you say? — I jumped.
— What? — May seemed surprised. — You haven't heard of her yet? The television hero of our city, — the woman gave a short laugh, — like a real superhero, only on TV.
And her costume really does look like mine! But what the hell?! How is there another — well, another Spider-Woman in this world? Surely there's a limit to how insane things can get!
— Aunt May, do you happen to know — did my class go on a field trip while I was missing school? — I asked, afraid to hear the answer.
— There was something like that, I think the teacher mentioned it… yes, right, something about a field trip, maybe a week or two ago, — May said thoughtfully, and immediately added, — but that girl really is impressive. Making money from her ability. That's how it has to be these days — without money you can't find a good husband, — and she gave Ben a look worn thin with old disappointment.
Right, of course — I wasn't kidnapped right away. When I'd become aware of my past, I'd fallen into a depression that led to subsequent amnesia — I'd forgotten my past as Spider-Man and lived as the Peter Parker of this world. That must have been when I missed the field trip.
I decided to walk back. My head was empty, so I simply watched the locals in the light of the setting sun and the many signs around me. This world is strange. Well — if women made sense, since they combined the concepts of the strong and the beautiful sex simultaneously, hence the enormous variety of types, then the men here…
This creature was not only rare, it was distinguished by an abundance of… peculiarities. Out of the dozen or so guys my age I encountered, four were overweight, three appeared overly effeminate — though within the straight range — one was definitely gay, and only one looked normal. There was, admittedly, one more, but this wonder in a skirt I tried to forget the moment I saw him; the only comfort was that other passersby also noticed him, treating him to looks that were either unfriendly or simply mocking.
Was this what I was going to be among now? I caught another appraising glance from a girl walking toward me… damn. What was I supposed to do if my powers had gone to someone else? Someone who was using them only for personal gain? What if she just kept entertaining audiences on a television show? Who would prevent the star reactor from exploding, who would stop the city from being infected with the Lizard's serum, who would stop Electro? And if that greedy girl merged with Venom, it would be a catastrophe! Hell! On top of everything else, I was used to a healthy, powerful body. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life as a weakling with terrible eyesight.
— Look! — a woman ahead of me cried out and reached for her phone to film a girl in a tight costume running across rooftops.
Speak of the devil! Did she absolutely have to be running through this exact spot, right in front of my face? What the hell are you even doing racing around the streets — it's not like you're catching criminals!
The girl meanwhile jumped from a rooftop straight onto the road. Grabbing a traffic light pole in mid-flight, she executed a beautiful acceleration maneuver using centrifugal force and swung to the other side of the street. She was showing off on purpose! She's not even a hero yet and she's already trying to attract people's attention!
— I know her, — an excited woman's voice somewhere nearby, — I know her, that's Spider-Woman, from the TV!
Less excitement, please! She doesn't even have webbing! And anyway, why has she become popular so fast? How much time has passed since the field trip? A week? Two?
The acrobat slips from view, but people keep watching the spot where she disappeared for a while longer.
— She's so cool, — sighs a girl of about thirteen next to me, — I'd want to be like her.
Yeah. So would I — because I'm Peter Parker, the real Spider-Man.
To hell with everything.
I came home in low spirits and would have gone straight to bed, but sleep refused to come. So, to kill time, I decided to do some work. While uploading the data I'd copied from the computer in Stans' lab, I thought over my next steps.
I should probably contact the local version of Connors as soon as possible. Stans' formula had been close to what Kurt had been working on. It had the same basis, but Stans hadn't been trying to use it to graft reptile genes. Reading Stans' notes had given me the impression that the scientist herself hadn't fully understood what she was dealing with — she'd seemed to be trying to adapt the formula to interact with the emitter. This formula was unlikely to be her own original work; most probably she'd been trying to replicate someone else's. It was possible that Stans' and Connors' formulas shared a common origin.
Thirty more minutes of thinking later, I found myself sketching out diagrams for web-shooters…
You have got to be kidding me.