Into the Fourth Universe

by Robert Wingfield

  “I knew there was some danger.”

  “She would have come on holiday with me, but there was a sale on at the hippodrome.”

  “Probably fortuitous. Anyway, thank Phoist you’re still alive…”

  “How did you get on in the cellar? Sorry I nodded off, but that walk up to the house took it out of me.”

  “So you slept through it all?” The Magus was glad that the Charman had not tried to block the escape; he might have been hurt, especially if he had started shooting. He would have been a large, easy target. “The crooks got away, you know.”

  “Sorry my friend.” Gottstein opened his hands. “Would this be any use though?” In the fleshy palm was a business card.

  The Magus took it and read, “Magus Investigations: No job too small, large or odorous…”

  “No, on the back.”

  He turned it over. Written in Rannie’s neat small script was a set of numbers. “Galactic co-ordinates,” the Magus muttered. “Where did you find this?”

  “On the floor before I dozed off. I meant to call you, but…”

  “I know.” He patted the ample shoulder. Do you think you can stay awake while I search the cellar?”

  “I will try.”

  Back downstairs, the Magus made a quick examination but did not really expect to find anything. He was disappointed at being wrong when he turned up a number of torture instruments. There was a bloodstain on one of the sharper ones. The gadgets on the benches included a DNA analyser cum satellite navigation unit cum camera cum mobile phone. He ran a quick test on the blood and was not surprised when it formed the pattern he knew and loved. Rannie’s odour was still in the room, and most strongly on the coffin. He felt a lump in his throat and wondered if she had been still alive when she was brought here. Had they tortured the coordinates out of her? But then, how did she know any coordinates? She had been his friend, lover, confidante, secretary and rabbit minder, but galactic coordinates… On a hunch, he pressed a few buttons on the apparatus. Coffee leaked out on to his shoes, and the explanation ‘Out of Cups’ appeared on screen. He snorted. He had seen this sort of security device before; a simple ruse to prevent any further investigation into the real use of the machine. He rekeyed the request and the operational history of the system was revealed. There had been a sequencing of Rannie’s DNA, and the navigation unit had generated a set of coordinates. He compared them with those on the business card; they did not match.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You called?” Gottstein had wedged himself into the cellar doorway.

  “Yes, I have a mystery here.” He climbed back up the stairs and helped to shove the big man back into the corridor. “We have coordinates on the card, but those in the machine downstairs are different.”

  “The card would seem to be the one to believe. I’ve never trusted those gismos.”

  “Okay, I’ll book a flight, but first I’ve got to find a good barber.”

  * * *

  At the spaceport, the Magus bade goodbye to his friend, who had come to see him off. He planned to recover the doku he had left in quarantine, but the authorities seemed reluctant to let him have them back. There were formalities which had to be followed first, apparently. As he tucked into a burger in the café, he tried to book a flight over the system. It requested a destination. He did not have one of course; even Boggling the coordinates revealed nothing. Finally, he typed the numbers manually into the console, and to his surprise, a reservation was confirmed. He even had a choice of flights, but the first few were fully booked. It was going to mean a couple of hours waiting, but he vowed to use the time to buy essential supplies: toothbrush, body-razor, hand grenades, throwing knife, doku fodder and a fridge magnet of the planet with the caption,

  “I’ve found Paradice; it was in the shaker with the real dice.”

  The flight was called, but still no sign of his animals. The Magus left a forwarding address and credit card details, and boarded a ship. A look at his fellow passengers worried him. They were mostly middle-aged: businessmen in suits a bit too tight, and looking decidedly self-conscious, or women with close-cropped hair, who stared hatefully at the men. A voice made the announcements. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Wang, and I would like to welcome you aboard this scheduled flight to ‘Freedom’, our destination for those of you who did not know. I regret that if you are on the wrong ship, I am unable to allow you to return to the Port because of the nature of this journey. We will be cruising at a speed of 100c, so our journey time will be some 30 days depending on storms, space pirates, space traffic control strikes and the price of fuel. Please make yourselves comfortable, but before we offer you the stasis facility, I would be grateful, even if you have travelled before, that you observe the safety presentation. Our demonstrators today are Sergeant Dong and Lucinda Lovelock. Enjoy the flight.”

  The announcement continued in a different voice, this one pre-recorded. “Hello everyone, these are the safety instructions: In the event of turbulence, please keep your seatbelt fastened. It is engaged, tightened and released like so.”

  The cabin crew demonstrated the seat belt.

  “In the event of a crash, don’t bother adopting the brace position because we’re travelling so fast you won’t even notice.”

  The cabin crew mimed the ship hitting an asteroid at super-light speed. The Magus did not believe this possible, but then remembered his mate’s party impersonation of cheeses, and how he had laughed at the one of ‘Rubing’.3

  “What we can demonstrate,” the announcement continued, “is the main emergency you are likely to encounter at your destination.”

  The stewardess bent over, lifted her skirt and revealed a large pair of unenticing panties which were not there.

  “In the event of an emergency, prophylactics like these will drop down from the panels above your head.”

  The steward waved the item at the passengers and then dropped his trousers.

  “Remove the protection from its casing and stretch it like so…”

  The steward demonstrated the removal.

  “In the event of it failing to have the desired effect, please give a sharp tug as shown. Attach it to your appendage as demonstrated and then, holding the back straight, insert…”

  The Magus slipped down in his seat, pulled his collar up and went into meditation, planning what he was going to do when he arrived. A little while later, a stewardess plugged in his stasis unit, and in what seemed like an instant, he was revived at their destination. He checked the ship’s clock and reset his watch; they had been travelling for a month.

  The Magus had a bad feeling when he descended the steps on to the surface of the port and saw a few doku outside the perimeter wire. However, the stewardesses had all removed their lower garments and the reception committee appeared to be bosomy girls in hula skirts. One of them placed a garland of flowers around his neck.

  “Welcome to ‘Freedom’ sir. Please accept this souvenir goody sack.” The outside of the bag depicted high magnification views of various bacteria and viruses.

  “Er... thank you.” He took a quick look inside. It contained a welcome gift set of condoms, Viagra and ‘Egyptian Fly’.

  “When you said ‘Freedom’, what did you mean?”

  “That is what this place is called.”

  “Why wasn’t I able to see the name when I booked the flight?”

  The girl looked puzzled. “Censorship of course, sir. The powers that be have decided they have the right to stop us using the name because of its sexual overtones.”

  “Why?”

  “To protect the innocent.”

  “What, are there any ‘innocent’ these days?”

  “I don’t believe so, sir, apart from the morons in the government.”

  “So if I’d have Boggled ‘Freedom’ I would have got no results?”

  “No, sir, and it is playing havoc with the outdoor holiday and ladies�
�� sanitary industries, and the suicide rate at prisons has rocketed. Anyway, please move along, sir, I have other travellers to greet.”

  At the customs post, the Magus was asked to remove all of his clothing to put through the analysis machine. He hovered at the end of the conveyor, but none of his garments or weapons reappeared.

  “Excuse me.” He braved a security guard wearing jackboots and toting a machinegun (nothing else). “I am waiting for my clothes, but they seem to have disappeared. I am particularly fond of the coat and the hat, because they are part of my investigator’s uniform.”

  “I understand, sir; one moment.” The guard made some strange hand signals to the conveyor staff and the Magus’ hat started on its way towards them. “Clothing is not permitted for visitors here, apart from essential equipment. Please take the hat. The rest of your property has been placed in secure storage and will be returned upon departure. If you are embarrassed,” the guard gave him a disdainful look up and down, “there is shaving equipment available at baggage reclaim.”

  The Magus followed a fellow traveller wearing nothing but a socket-set to the taxi rank. All the cab drivers were female and wore blue peaked caps. He took the car at the front. “Welcome,” said the driver. “If you are looking for a hotel, I would recommend that you stay at the ‘Shovet Inn’. It is very reasonable and but a short drive. I could take you via a long detour to make the fare worth my while, but it is your choice.”

  “I’ll take the short route,” said the Magus. “I’d like to freshen up after my journey and I’m on a limited budget.”

  “I would really recommend that you see the sights first. You won’t be disappointed. The fare will be the same, whichever way we go.”

  “Oh, go on then. I suppose a bit of local colour will give me some background to the investigation.”

  “Wonderful,” said the driver. “I’ve always wanted to see how a real investigator works. We don’t get many of your type around here.”

  The trip through the city was lengthy, but the Magus was able to take in most of the bright lights and exotic buildings. One hotel that was pointed out to him was reputed to have ten thousand rooms, and was like a small city in itself; people who went to stay there only returned when they were ejected after running out of money. There were many detours up side alleys, where the cab driver attempted to sit on his face, or stops to allow other near-naked girls on board, and drop them off some time later. By the time he arrived at his hotel, the Magus had a very good idea of the structure of the place, and was completely exhausted. He was glad to check in and follow the curvaceous bottom of the bell-girl up to his room. It then took some time to shoo out all the chamber-maids waiting to pander to his every wish. His wish was that they gave him time for a shower and a rest, but even that was difficult, as the bathroom-girls refused to leave until they had helped him with his ablutions and completely shaved his body. It was not until several hours later, when he woke up with his arms round the blonde twins who shared his bed, that he remembered his mission. He slipped on a bathrobe, left his companions still sleeping and found his way to Reception. The man on reception was correctly dressed in a smart uniform, and wore a blindfold. “Can I help you, mister?” he said, before the Magus could speak.

  “How did you know I was a ‘mister’?”

  “The ladies would never come near me, mister.”

  “Why not?”

  “I am a sex offender, mister. Where I come from they don’t do imprisonment or execution for any crime; this is my punishment, to know and smell, but never see or touch.”

  “The punishment fits the crime, I see, but why don’t you take the blindfold away?”

  “It is wired to my genitals, mister. To remove it would trigger a localised explosion, and I would lose my job.”

  “Unpleasant for sure. Not quite the bang you’d have hoped for?”

  “Yes, mister, where would I get something that pays this good anywhere else?”

  “I bet you are glad you’re not a pyromaniac.”

  “Yes mister.”

  “Anyway, I need some information. I’m looking for news of a lady called Hianna Reedrate, who may have arrived on the planet in the last few days.”4

  “I’ll check, mister.” The man’s fingers sped over the keyboard, and the Magus could hear slight whisperings from the headphones attached to the blindfold.

  “Nothing I’m afraid, mister.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “No mister.”

  “What about checking all the flights from Paradice? I’m looking for groups of people, possibly with a lady or a large trunk.”

  “As you know, mister, we don’t allow any luggage at the port. Everything is provided here as part of the package. I will check for groups of people though.” Again there was a pause while the receptionist checked the manifests. “I’m afraid not, mister; no groups of any sort. In fact not even any couples, or anything booked at the same time. All our visitors are singles, looking for non-stop fornication.”

  “I understand.” Indeed he did. The blonde twins had found him again, had removed his robe and were now engaged in rubbing themselves noisily up against his body. “Please don’t do that,” he gasped, trying to mean it.

  “Please stop them, mister.” The receptionist was sweating as he listened to the activity. “This sort of thing is not permitted in Reception.”

  The Magus gave a contented sigh, and the twins were literally purring. “Please give me a moment girls,” he begged. “Mr Reception, I need to check out of the hotel now. It looks like I’ve been sent on a wild doku chase.” The girls gave a moan of protest. “I should check out.”

  “There is no bill, mister.” The man was panting now. “It is already paid up for as long as you want to stay, along with all charges for the ladies and the toothpaste.”

  “Paid up, by whom?”

  “A lady, mister,” the man forced out, as the girls continued to try to get the Magus’ attention.

  “Her name?” He tried to ignore them.

  “Hianna Reedrate, mister. Please stop those girls.”

  “Her again. You said she wasn’t on any flight.”

  “No mister, she wasn’t.” The man’s breath was coming in gasps now, as the clamour of sucking and rubbing and kissing from the twins increased. “She lives here,” he ejaculated. There was a short but messy explosion from behind the desk as the Magus succumbed to the writhing heap of naked females on one of the reception couches.

  Outsourcing Challenges

  T

  he day passed slowly. Tom spent some of his time checking out the offices for hidden listening devices, but apparently the hardware had been delayed by Customs and then stolen by the locals, so nothing active showed up. It was getting dark. He called to Amber. “What’s going on? Is it time to go home?”

  “Not yet, sir,” she called back.

  “Why is it going dark?”

  “It always does at this time of day, sir. It goes dark, it rains, it gets light again.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He switched on his desk light. Nothing happened. “Amber, can you call Maintenance please, if there are any.”

  “I’ll check.”

  A short while later the intercom lit up and Tom pressed the ‘receive’ button. “Yes,” said Amber’s voice, and Tom noticed a suspicious click on the line before she continued. “They have been recalled to the building. We have a full team.”

  “Good. See how quickly they can get here.” He made a mental note to talk directly to her next time. It seemed as though he was still having his conversations monitored.

  Five minutes later, a man in overalls appeared; a man who did not look like he was from Nishant because he spoke with an accent that Tom could understand. “What seems to be the difficulty, sir?”

  “My light won’t work.”

  He checked the lamp. “No trouble—I’ll swap the bulb.” He opened his bag. It appeared to be empty. “Oh…”

/>   “A problem?”

  “It’s a non-standard fitting, sir. I’ll have to go back to the workshop and get the right one.”

  Tom stopped him before he closed the bag. “You don’t have any bulbs in there at all.”

  The man looked embarrassed. “No, sir, we don’t normally carry spares, because most people are too stupid to know how to switch things on. Usually we reconnect the power cord, or for more complicated equipment, switch off and then back on again.”

  “Okay—off you go at the double to get my bulb. Take the old one with you so that you get the right replacement.”

  “I will, sir. Thank you.”

  Ten minutes later the man was back, with a bulb. He fitted it into the socket and switched on. Nothing happened. “Ah. One minute, sir, I’ll check the power supply.”

  “Have you got a meter?”

  “Back in the workshop, sir.”

  “Go and get it. Why don’t you carry it around with you in your toolkit?”

  “We only have the one, sir—budget cuts.”

  “Budget? Do you work for SCT then?”

  “No, sir. SCT have contracted maintenance to ‘Broguemine’. We used to work for SCT, but we got Tuppied.”

  “Tuppied?”

  “Slang for ‘shafted’, sir.”

  “Okay. Then go and get your meter.”

  Fifteen minutes later the engineer returned with the meter. “Sorry about the delay, sir; I had to get it back off Old Pete.”

  “Old Pete?”

  “Yes, he is our best guy. He sits in an office all day being brilliant, testing out new bits of kit and then recommending anything that isn’t from ‘Microsquat’.”

  “Does he do anything else?”

  “We would never ask him to, sir. He is Old Pete, you know.”

  “Of course, please carry on. Would you check the power now?” Tom leaned back in his comfortable Doku-Leather chair and watched the man working. It took some time, but eventually he stood up.