Murder in the Multiverse

by R E McLean

  A section of the blank gray cylinder in the center of the space had receded and shifted to one side. Beyond it was an empty, black space. She looked at Mike, who was checking his pockets for something. Nemesis handed him a small brown object which he placed in the inside pocket of his jacket. The jacket was lime green with red lapels and turquoise sleeves.

  “Here we are now,” trilled Madge. “Time to get started.”

  Alex looked up at the ceiling, wondering what Sarita was doing. Watching them on a monitor? Designing her next tasteful outfit? Kicking back with a beer and thanking the heavens they’d gone?

  Nemesis cleared his throat. “Welcome to the Spinner. This is the machine which the Hivers have provided for us to travel to their version of San Francisco.”

  “Didn’t you build it?” asked Alex.

  “I wish I had. But the Hivers are technologically advanced, as you’ll learn. It was they who created this machine, they who found the portal. It was lucky that the plumber who was working on the drainage under this parking lot when they first came through was of an imaginative disposition. He immediately brought them to the University, from whence they came to me.”

  “How long has this been here?”

  “Just a year or so.”

  “A year or so?” Surely the ability to travel to alternative realities was the kind of thing where you’d remember how long you’d been able to do it.

  “Three hundred and seventy-two days and twenty hours. And ten seconds, if you want to pick nits.”

  She nodded. All this time she’d been sitting in her broom cupboard, scratching her head over data, navigating the waves of faculty politics and recording just how long you had to stand at the coffee machine before it would actually give you coffee, and this was here all along. And she was about to use it.

  “So do we go in there?”

  “You do. Mike, lead the way in.”

  Mike stepped through the door and immediately disappeared. Alex followed him, expecting to rematerialize somewhere else as soon as she walked through the door. As she reached it Madge grabbed her arm.

  “Remember, don’t mention his facial hair,” she whispered.

  Alex stepped through the door, screwing her eyes up and then quickly reopening them. She was in a dark space, Mike a dull figure just an arm’s length away. She raised a hand and found a curved wall. Madge and Nemesis were outside, waving. She was still here, in a garishly painted van in the parking lot of the Hall of Justice.

  The two scientists stopped waving and turned to the external wall, where they started sweeping their fingertips across controls and jabbing screens. Every now and then Madge would grab Nemesis’s arm and point to a readout. He would stare at it, puzzled, then give it a thump and stand back with a smile.

  Madge stopped jabbing. “It’s time. We’re closing the doors.”

  Alex felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. She could hear Mike’s breath in the enclosed space and smell the hot dog he had eaten on the way over here. She wrinkled up her nose and clamped her mouth shut. Suddenly her bowels felt very loose.

  The door slid shut with the same satisfying swish-thunk as it had opened and they were plunged into darkness. Alex stood very still, focusing on her breathing, trying to keep herself from accidentally touching Mike.

  A blue light grew in the ceiling above her, falling over them like a shower in the world’s most bizarre spa. Alex shivered. Mike was standing quite still, staring down at that object in his hand, the one Nemesis had given him. She herself carried nothing; no phone, no notebook, no tricorder. It made her uneasy. But Sarita had told her that anything made of manmade materials would fall to pieces as the Spinner picked up steam.

  Were they about to be spun into oblivion like some stick of quantum cotton candy? She clenched her fists and forced herself to breathe.

  “Ready, people?” Nemesis’s voice came from all around her.

  “Ready,” replied Mike.

  He glanced sideways at Alex. “It feels odd the first time, but once you’ve brought up your dinner, you’ll get used to it.”

  Thinking about being sick just made Alex feel sick. Like the time she had watched her brother puking over the side of a ferry and had soon joined him; then she had remembered it the next day and had to run to the hotel bathroom.

  Stop it, she told herself. Vomiting after the jump would be acceptable, she imagined, but doing it now would just make a mess of Mike’s purple leather shoes.

  She took a step back and put her hands on the wall behind her. It was smooth, like the inside of a glass cylinder. Would it come with them, she wondered, or would they find themselves alone and unprotected in some alien version of the city?

  And why hadn’t she bothered to ask anyone what was going to happen before agreeing to this insane idea?

  “Brace yourselves,” came Nemesis’s voice. Alex felt her throat tighten. She closed her eyes and the world went white.

  17

  Gosling

  Silicon City

  26 March, 06:30am

  Claire was woken by the feel of a damp tongue working its way into her nostrils. In her dream, the tongue belonged to Ryan Gosling. It was exploring her face gently, getting to know every nook and cranny before it moved down to her neck and beyond.

  She peeled herself awake, reluctant to leave the dream. She clamped her eyes shut and willed herself back into unconsciousness, ignoring the paw that had landed on her forearm.

  Another paw dropped and Ryan melted into the night.

  She groaned and raised an arm to clap her hand down onto Leo's head.

  “Malcolm, what time is it?”

  “The time is six thirty am.”

  The dog walker would be here in fifteen minutes.

  She heaved herself out of bed and padded to the kitchen, enjoying the feel of the deep pile on her finely manicured toes. She did all her own personal grooming—as a recluse, this was something of a necessity—and had become good at it over the years. Not having a social life freed up a huge amount of time for pampering, and Claire sported what were probably the finest finger and toenails this side of the Square Mile.

  In the kitchen she made herself a green bean and marshmallow smoothie and then went back to the bedroom, where she slid open the closet door. For a hermit, she had a surprisingly large and sophisticated collection of clothes. She enjoyed looking good, and would spend time each morning picking out an outfit that would be admired by no one other than her mirror.

  And the AI.

  Once she was dressed, she looked at it and said, ”Malcolm, how do I look?”

  “Mirror, mirror on the wall, you're the fairest of them all,” he replied, as he always did. She allowed herself a smile. This was her favorite of the programs she'd created for Malcolm when she'd hacked his software one bored evening.

  “Why thank you, Malcolm.”

  “My pleasure,” he purred. She'd hacked his voice too; instead of the default version, expressionless and robotic, he had a voice that would be more at home on a small reptilian creature sitting in a lounge. Innuendo and everything. But it was too early for those routines.

  “Time, Malcolm,” she said. Sensing the urgency in her voice, he replied with a cursory, “Six forty-four.”

  One minute. She took Leo's lead from the kitchen drawer, ignoring his paws at her skirt. He loved Tammy, the dog walker. She was a petite girl of no more than twenty who did this to fund her way through college and looked as if she could no more control a pack of six dogs than she could bite off a man’s ear. Claire had tracked her on the first day she'd had Leo, hacking into the girl’s earpiece as they made their way to Golden Gate Park and checking that she was taking the planned route. Tammy had carried out her duties perfectly and Claire hadn't felt the need to spy on her again, except for the sheer joy of watching Leo play with the other dogs.

  The buzzer sounded. She brought up Malcolm's visual display in the kitchen to see Tammy standing outside her front door, shifting from foot to foot. She w
as jogging and didn't want to break stride.

  Claire slipped the lead over Leo's head and opened the inner door to the hallway. She gave him a quick pat and threw a dog biscuit into his snapping jaws—remember who's your owner, boy—then closed the door between them.

  “Malcolm, open the outside door.”

  She hated those words. The outside door was the barrier between her and the world, the ring of steel that kept her safe. She only opened it for deliveries—always left for her in the hallway—and for the dog walker. As she watched it opening on Malcolm's screen, she felt her chest constrict. She had to stop watching this, it would give her a heart attack one day. But it was a compulsion, something she couldn't draw herself away from.

  Tammy bent to let Leo run to her. She grabbed his collar before he could slip out into the corridor. She placed her hand in front of the screen and gave a little wave. Tammy was a sweet girl, always friendly to Leo and still waving every day a year and a half after starting this job, despite never having seen Claire's face. She wouldn't even have found her image in the Hive; Claire had made sure of that.

  The door closed with Tammy, Leo and two other yapping, jumping dogs on the other side. Claire closed her eyes and let herself breathe. Only an hour till she had to open up again.

  She finished her smoothie and sat down in the recliner with its corner view of the Bay and Golden Gate. On the side table next to it was her earpiece. A plain, functional model, adorned by none of the frivolous products from which she'd made her fortune. Horrible things, they were. She wouldn't allow them in her home, but she was more than happy that everyone else loved them.

  She looked across to the buildings opposite: apartments just like hers. In a window, at the same level as her own, something glinted in the sunlight. She squinted and leaned toward the window to see better. There it was again; sun reflecting off glass. The windows themselves were dull, made of a glare-free glass. She put her hand to her chest. Binoculars?

  Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. This wasn't a Humphrey Bogart movie.

  She picked up the earpiece and pushed her hair behind her ear. Closing her eyes, she eased the tiny, perfectly shaped object into her ear and entered the Hive.

  18

  Pancake

  The Spinner

  26 March, 06:30am

  After what felt like hours but was probably about twenty-seven seconds, the light behind Alex’s eyelids dimmed. She screwed her eyes up even more, not ready to open them yet.

  “Open your eyes,” said Mike.

  She blinked them open and stared at him. He was looking at her quizzically, a deep frown creasing his brow, which had developed a rash of yellow spots. His beard was unchanged but above it, his nose bent over his mouth like a banana.

  There was a flash and she became aware that the smooth gray walls had become a blur of light, spinning around them. She and Mike, however, were still. She felt her stomach do the Fosbury Flop. She closed her eyes again and took deep breaths.

  “We’re nearly there,” he told her.

  She opened her eyes. The blur was slowing, shapes and patterns becoming distant. There was a photograph of the Taj Mahal, another of the Eiffel Tower, which seemed to advance at them as if it was growing out of the wall, and yet another of Alex’s Auntie Morag laughing her carbuncles off at a Christmas party.

  Then the Taj Mahal became a trolley bus, the Eiffel Tower morphed into the Sears Tower and her Aunt Morag became Schrödinger, giving her one of his where are my biccies stares. A ginger and white paw appeared from out of the wall and swiped at her, scratching her wrist. She looked at the skin, which was sore but not bleeding.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Mike warned her. “Ten seconds now.”

  The images coalesced into patterns and shapes, like a lava lamp in a student bedroom. Bubbles fizzed up to the ceiling, popping at the top then reforming and making their way back down again before repeating the whole thing in the opposite direction. Every time they changed tack, they would change color too; from green to red to silver and then to a bright blue that was the same color as Mike’s skin.

  “I did warn you it would be a bit odd,” he said.

  “Odd?” she breathed, not sure if she’d actually said odd or god. “This is like that episode of The Simpsons where Homer gets high.”

  Mike shrugged.

  She shook her head then instantly regretted it. Her stomach was doing impressions of a pancake on Shrove Tuesday.

  “We’re slowing,” Mike said. “And now we’re stopped.”

  She felt herself lurch forwards and then backwards. She waved her hands in front of her, desperate to hold onto something, anything, even Mike. She felt her limbs turn to blancmange and slid to the floor, finally bringing up the popcorn in a little puddle in front of her.

  “Well done,” he said. “Neutral colors.”

  She kept her eyes closed, resisting the urge to look at it, then felt a fine mist on her face. She batted at her skin, irritated.

  “The Spinner cleans itself up,” Mike said by way of explanation. “Your popcorn will be gone in no time.”

  The walls of the spinner were still now, but instead of being a pale, featureless gray, they looked as if a child had painted a rainbow on them.

  The door made its familiar swoosh-thwack sound. A man was coming through, approaching Mike. The two of them shook hands, and the man turned to her.

  “Good morning,” he said. “And you must be Alex.”

  She eased herself up, taking him in. “Nemesis?”

  “The one and only. Well, the one and only in this universe. Now you know why he—and I—can’t jump. Too risky.”

  She looked him up and down. It was Nemesis alright; same beady, twinkly eyes, same wild hair. The lab coat, this time, was a pristine white.

  “It would cause a rift in the space-time continuum,” she suggested.

  “Me and my doppelgänger being in the same room at the same time?”

  She nodded.

  “You and I both know there’s no such thing.”

  “I thought there was no such thing as inter-dimensional travel until about an hour ago.”

  “Touché. No, me meeting my doppelgänger wouldn’t cause any rifts. But it would result in one of us finding ourselves turned into a pancake on the nearest wall.”

  She shuddered. “So there isn’t another version of me?”

  “Not in this building. Not in any of the Hive universities. We’ve looked, quite hard. Wouldn’t want to turn you into a crêpe, after all.”

  “So I don’t exist here.”

  “I have no idea.”

  She nodded, somehow reassured that she might be here in another form somewhere, that she existed in both the known worlds. Would she seek herself out?

  “Anyway,” said the other Nemesis. “Enough of this idle chitchat. You’re here to do some policing work. Come with me and we’ll get you into your uniform.”

  19

  Breathe

  MOO

  26 March, 05:32am

  Alex expected to see a replica of the space she had just left; a circular room with screens and dials on the wall. Maybe a version of Madge waving at them. Instead, they came out onto a low rooftop. She held her breath for a moment, worried about the air in this new world.

  “Breathe,” said the other Nemesis. She decided it would be easier to think of him as the Prof.

  She took a few gulps of air; it was sweet and pure, not like the San Francisco air she was used to. Next to her, Mike took off his multicolored jacket and slung it over his shoulder, turning his face up to the sunshine.

  She looked up. One sun; that was good. And the sky was blue, not some bizarre shade of vermillion. In fact, the sky was an achingly beautiful shade of blue that would be at home at the Sistine Chapel. Gentle clouds scudded across it behind large reflective objects that glided through the air.

  She stepped forwards to get a better look. Those objects were wedge-shaped, with smooth corners and what looked like advertis
ing on the side. She couldn’t read the words but could certainly make out the colors. They matched her outfit.

  A woman came hurrying toward them. “Hi! So sorry I’m late. I hope your jump went smoothly.”

  Alex took her gaze off the sky to look at this woman. She was tall and blonde, with a perfect, slightly snubby nose and large brown eyes ringed with eyeshadow that made Alex think of a 1980’s version of…

  “I’m Madonna.” The woman gave Alex a wide, red-lipsticked smile. She had expensive-looking teeth and smelled of violets. “You’ve met my counterpart, on the other side?”

  Alex nodded. “Madge.” The woman sighed. “I wish I could look like that.”

  Alex barked out a laugh and Madonna frowned. “I mean it,” she said. “She’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Maybe the idea of human perfection here was the cozy granny in slippers and a knitted cardigan. That wouldn’t be such a bad world.

  Alex breathed in again, marveling at the air. She couldn’t remember what her own world smelt like; she had gotten used to the smells of the city waking her up and beating her nose to a pulp every morning. But here, the air was thick and sweet. She could smell peppermint, and chocolate, and Pop Tarts.

  “Now, let’s go downstairs and introduce you to the old place. Or rather the new place,” chortled the Prof. Madonna bustled after him. She had the body of a woman who should have moved gracefully, like a cat crossed with an anaconda. But instead she shuffled along like a hamster trying to maintain balance in its wheel.

  Alex raised her eyebrows at Mike. “Is it always like this, or does it change?”

  “Stays the same,” he said. “But you’re not here for sightseeing. Let’s get a move on.”

  The bald patch in his beard had gone. Instead, he had a tiny goatee that made her think of a pantomime villain. He kept stroking it absently.