Murder in the Multiverse

by R E McLean

  They arrived at a small structure that protruded from the roof. The Prof touched its wall and a door swish-thunked open. Alex followed the others inside and into what seemed like an elevator.

  They emerged into a vast, crowded space, filled with rows of desks and workstations. People dressed in vibrant colors moved around the room in silence. Every now and then two of them would come so close she thought they would collide, but then a look of recognition passed over their faces and one or the other would side-step, narrowly avoiding a tangle of human bodies.

  The Prof cleared his throat. “Welcome to the Multiverse Operations Organization.”

  Alex looked at all the people. Hundreds of garishly attired bodies shifting around the room. “Why is no one talking?”

  “They’re all plugged into the Hive. See?”

  A short, stocky man in a pink balaclava and an orange jumpsuit passed, oblivious to them. The Prof pointed to the man’s ear, behind which the balaclava was tucked. In his ear was a silver device that looked like a cross between a hearing aid and a bluetooth earbud.

  “What’s the Hive?” she asked.

  “It’s our version of what you call the Internet. But better. A lot better.”

  “How so?”

  The Prof frowned for the first time. “That’s not for us to discuss right now. Let’s get you in your camouflage gear.”

  He went to a door, which opened to reveal a room full of clothes that looked as if they’d be more at home in Alex’s own version of San Francisco.

  Madonna passed her a dark jacket. “Here, try these on.”

  “But Sarita deliberately dressed us like this. To blend in.”

  “Sarita. Her heart’s in the right place. But you need to make yourselves invisible. The more fashionable your clothes, the more attention you’ll attract. Now put these on and we’ll show you how to get to your destination.”

  20

  Blancmange

  Silicon City

  26 March, 08:16am

  The Prof ejected them through another swishing set of double doors, transparent from the inside, liquidly silver from outside. They stumbled onto the street, Alex’s heart pounding.

  Instead of being a gray, blocky lump with rats in every corner and urine seeping from the ceilings, the Silicon City version of the Hall of Justice seemed to be made entirely of mercury. The building shimmered a soft silver in the sunlight, and seemed to move internally so that the metal enveloping its structure flowed continuously. It at once had the effect of forcing you to stop and stare and making the whole thing seem to disappear into the background.

  Mike fidgeted and shuffled in his camouflage clothes; a pair of black trousers and a charcoal turtleneck that, when paired with the goatee and the frown, made him look like an extra from a ‘Welcome to Quebec’ video.

  He looked at his watch; Alex herself had a sleek black band on her wrist. Madonna had apologized for its old-fashioned-ness but Alex was secretly hoping she could take it back with her.

  “Come on then,” he barked. He stepped forward and raised his arm. A wedge-shaped object adorned with video ads swooped down from above and hovered in front of them.

  “This is a Hackney,” Mike told her, and stepped inside. She followed.

  “A Hackney?”

  “Hackney, as in Hackney carriage. British slang, all the rage here. A cab.” He looked at his watch again.

  “How long do we have?” she asked.

  “Another forty-two minutes.”

  “Forty-two minutes?”

  “Forty-one.”

  “Is that all?”

  She sat on the molded plastic bench that ran along the back of the vehicle, shuffling to get comfortable on the hard surface.

  “Sit still,” he told her.

  She felt the bench beneath her shift. She held absolutely still as its shape molded to hers.

  “Wow,” she breathed.

  Mike allowed himself a smile. “Plenty more of that,” he said. “You like gadgets?”

  “Can’t get enough of ‘em.”

  “Then you’re gonna love it here.”

  To say that Alex liked gadgets was a bit of an understatement. In 2002, aged just five, she had persuaded her dad to buy her first laptop. She’d used it to learn Visual Basic and play Chuckie Egg. A year after that she’d found a Walkman in a charity shop and her love for retro tech was born. Since then she’d acquired four types of MacBook, every PlayStation going, and even had an Apple Newton. Not that she admitted to it. She could only imagine what the toys would be like in a world where people plugged themselves into the Internet via an earpiece and taxis floated down from the sky to pick you up.

  “But watch out for the NeoHivers.”

  “The NeoHivers?”

  “Obsessives. Insane. Judging by how Claire Pope made her millions in this reality, they could be responsible for her death.”

  “But I thought the whole point was that she isn’t dead here.”

  “Not yet.”

  Alex felt a shiver ripple down her back. They were supposed to keep Claire alive here. Just her and Mike. That was like sending Alvin and the Chipmunks after the Unabomber.

  She kept quiet about her qualms as the Hackney drifted skyward. Below her, the city became a map of low, sleek buildings. Further to the North, along the shore of the Bay, the low buildings gave way to tall, sharp high-rises, like the icicles she’d get in her freezer when she didn’t defrost it.

  The Bay was wider here. The land ended somewhere around North Beach and where she remembered Fisherman’s Wharf being was a dark island. Its only feature was a floodlit crab sculpture. She sighed; some things never changed.

  After a few minutes the Hackney began its descent. The cab darkened as they sank to street level and found themselves surrounded by pink, blobby forms, buildings that seemed to sway in the breeze like blancmange. The street was deserted.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “At home this is Pacific Heights. Where Claire lived. Here it’s a bit different.”

  Mike hopped out of the vehicle and landed smoothly on the ground. Alex followed. She stumbled in the doorway and landed flat on her face with her foot still caught on the lip of the cab’s doorway.

  Mike stood over her, hands on hips.

  “Help me up, you numpty,” she told him, wondering what Monique would say if he arrived back at SFPD with a black eye.

  He reached for her hand. She pulled her foot clear of the Hackney and it rose away from them, glinting in the sunlight as it cleared the nearest buildings.

  “We didn’t pay,” she said.

  “Didn’t have to. It picked up my bitbox. Well, Madonna’s bitbox. It allows us to get around here, to pay for stuff, without a Hive Earth biological signature.”

  “Is that the thing Nemesis gave you, before we jumped?”

  “Yup.” He pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it from hand to hand before putting it back. “It’s Hive Earth tech, so it can get through.”

  “You mean there’s a whole planet like this?”

  “There are a few far-flung places that haven’t embraced the Hive yet. But yes, it’s global. You like it?”

  She nodded, unsure whether she did or not.

  “Come on,” said Mike. “We need to find Claire’s apartment.”

  She stumbled after him, her ankle sore. The air here was just as clean as on the roof where they had landed. What had the Prof called it? The Multiverse Operations Organization.

  Here, instead of flowers and peppermint, the air smelt very slightly of the water to their north. The faint but pleasant nip of salt was overlaid with another smell she couldn’t place, until she turned a corner and spotted a massive pile of fur, all curled up in a heap where the sun beat down through the gap between two buildings. The warm, heady smell of a hundred clean cats.

  “Have you seen those?” she asked Mike.

  “This place is full of ‘em. Cats everywhere. And all of them as clean as Jimmy Osmond when he’s stepped o
ut of the shower. I think they go home when the sun comes down, when their owners unplug from the Hive.”

  “There are no animals in the Hive?”

  “Not as far as I know. No dogs chasing toddlers on YouTube. No lolcats. They have no idea what they’re missing.”

  Mike stopped outside a tall building. It gave out a reddish-pink glow that reminded Alex of the inside of a very shiny watermelon. Beyond it, glimmering through the gap between buildings, was the Bay, just a few streets away.

  She headed toward the water.

  “Where are you going?” Mike called.

  “I want to see the Bay.”

  “Why?”

  “I just do.”

  The Bay was Alex’s favorite part of San Francisco. This was the part of the city where things opened up and she felt almost as if she was at home in Scotland. And here, in this clean, gleaming version of San Francisco, it would be something to behold.

  “Wait!” he called.

  She didn’t stop until a jolt of electricity slammed into her and sent her hurtling to the ground.

  “I told you to wait,” Mike panted. He stood over her, looking irritated.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  He pulled her up.

  “What was that?” she asked, rubbing her neck and checking that she did in fact feel fine. Energized even.

  “It stops people from walking into the water. If a Hiver walks out here while they’re plugged in, they’ll just keep on walking and fall right in.”

  “Oh.” What a waste. Maybe this place wasn’t perfect after all.

  “But you’ve done well,” said Mike. “Look up there.”

  She followed his outstretched finger upwards. “What?”

  “Claire’s apartment. It’s that window six stories up.”

  “Right. Let’s get up there.”

  Mike gave her a look. “Up there?”

  “To interview her. Find out who might have killed her, in our world.”

  “Don’t be insane.” He looked away from her, towards the Bay. “Jeez,” he muttered.

  “I think we should,” she told him. “Who better to give us clues than the murder victim?”

  “Just do as you’re told.”

  “No.” She sniffed. “Wait.”

  She moved towards Claire’s apartment block; the smell receded. She frowned and shifted back to the center of the street.

  “That’s odd.”

  Mike was looking at the bitbox, prodding it with his forefinger. “What?”

  “I thought I…” She leaned towards Claire’s apartment block again. As she did, the smell receded again. “No. I must be imagining things.”

  “What is it? Physics stuff?”

  She had a mental image of the lab; the spilled bottle of water, the cat.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

  “You need to tell me, Alex. This is just the kind of thing you’re here for.”

  “It’s just a smell.”

  Mike huffed out a sigh. “You said it was odd.”

  She shook her head. “Everything smells off in this place. But I’d like to go inside Claire’s block, see what there is.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  She looked up towards the spot where she imagined Claire’s window being. “Is there someone here already? Is she in danger?”

  Mike followed her gaze. “She is in danger, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  He held out the device. It was vibrating. “Because we’ve been recalled. Monique’s orders.”

  21

  Teapot

  MIU

  26 March, 11:42am

  Sarita leaned on the outside wall of the Spinner as they came out, grabbing Alex by the arm and supporting her as she threw up. Alex was horrified to see that yesterday’s clam chowder wasn’t entirely digested.

  “Don’t worry,” said Sarita. “It affects everyone at first. It’ll improve with time.”

  Alex gasped a thank you, took the tissue Sarita offered and wiped her face. Mike stood to one side, watching the two of them. He wore a bushy mustache that made her think of Ron Swanson from Parks and Recreation. He was stroking it, exposing its edges with his fingers and clearly trying to decide if it was an improvement on the goatee or not.

  “Monique wants us,” said Sarita. “Upstairs.”

  Alex followed Sarita and Mike out to the parking lot, puzzled. When they stopped at the fifth floor and Sarita breezed into Monique’s office, she became even more confused. What did Sarita, materials scientist and would-be expert on the fashions of Silicon City, have to do with Monique, and the case?

  “The travelers return.” Monique closed her laptop. “Take a seat, you look like you need it.”

  Alex let herself drop into a chair and closed her eyes. The room was swaying. Beyond Monique, outside the window, San Francisco was still there. She was half expecting to return to a low three-story building that looked like a blob of mercury.

  Mike sat next to Alex. Monique turned to him. “Mike,” she said. “How was it?”

  “Not so bad.”

  “Did you go to—?”

  “I kept well away.”

  “Good. I know it’s not easy, and I wouldn’t have you on operational duties so soon, but we have no one who can take your place.”

  “I know. Thanks.” Mike fidgeted in his chair and returned to stroking his mustache. Alex gave him a puzzled frown which he ignored.

  “You found Claire’s apartment then?”

  “Kind of,” said Alex. “We were six stories below it.”

  “Well, it was your first jump. Can’t expect too much.”

  Sarita sat down opposite Monique, who stiffened. “What else did you find? Anything unusual?”

  Alex leaned in. She could smell peppermint and coconut on Sarita’s breath. “We smelt something.”

  Sarita licked her lips. “And?”

  “It was…” she looked at the two cops. “It was the same thing I smelt at the lab. When the cat’s face appeared.”

  “I knew it.” Monique’s cheeks were flushed. “Where?”

  “Outside Claire’s apartment.”

  “What was this smell?” asked Sarita.

  “Let her tell us in her own time,” snapped Monique, giving the room a gust of her halitosis. Alex sniffed, trying her hardest not to cough.

  Sarita gave Monique a level stare.

  “I’m not sure,” said Alex. “It’s sharp and dull, both at the same time. It whacks you round the earhole and then when you pay attention to it, it recedes, like a puff of smoke.”

  “Very poetic,” muttered Mike.

  “Have you smelt it any other times?” asked Sarita.

  Alex looked at her. “Yes.” She didn’t add on my cat.

  “Alex, I want you to be alert for that smell,” said Monique. “And not just in Silicon City.”

  “Right. Why did you call us back, anyway?”

  “Our suspect has gone missing.”

  “Damn,” breathed Mike.

  “Uh-huh,” replied Monique. “Hasn’t turned up for work. No sign of him at home. I think we can assume it’s related.”

  Alex licked her lips. “Do you think he could have gone to Silicon City?” The smell. She lifted her sleeve and sniffed it. Was it on her?

  Monique shook her head. “Only we have a Spinner. He’s made a run for it, just like thousands before him.”

  “You need me to investigate?” said Mike.

  “I’ve already got a team looking for him. And we need to protect Hive Claire. You and Alex go back.”

  “It’s not safe,” interrupted Sarita. “You know you can’t—”

  Monique waved an arm. “As soon as enough time’s passed. I know the risks.”

  “Good.” Sarita gave Monique a cold stare. “We’ll turn you round and send you back again tomorrow morning, six am. We’ll give you a couple of hours, for your second time.”

  “But for now,�
� said Monique, “tell me everything you can about Claire’s condo. Security, architecture, that kind of thing.”

  Mike cleared his throat. “The main entrance is secured by a Secured Hive Intercept Timer.”

  “Hive Earth sure like to have fun with their acronyms,” said Alex.

  “You should wait till you see their hospitals.” Sarita winked at Alex.

  “If I could continue?” asked Mike.

  “Go on,” said Sarita.

  Mike licked his lips. He seemed suddenly surprised at what he found at the tip of his tongue. He gave a tiny shake of the head, a look of disgust crossing his face.

  “As I said, the outside door has impenetrable security,” he said. “The windows are pretty robust too. The first and second floors have Post-Ocular Overrides.”

  “That’s all well and good,” said Monique. “But not pertinent, seeing as her building here is so different from the Hive version. What we need is evidence of a suspect. Someone she has contact with, despite the reclusive tendencies. She is a recluse in Silicon City, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Sarita.

  Alex caught movement in the corner of her eye. Beyond the glass wall that separated Monique’s office from the rest of the Homicide department, Madge stood looking in at them. She was holding a china cup of steaming liquid—probably tea, but you couldn’t be too sure—and stirring it with a teaspoon.

  Monique’s gaze had moved to Mike. Sarita flicked her eyes to Madge and frowned. Alex wondered if Madge would be invited in.

  Madge mouthed something at Sarita, whose cheeks reddened. Then Madge dropped the spoon and pointed at the cup, her eyebrows raised. It seemed she was offering Sarita a cup of tea.

  Sarita shook her head again. Madge shrugged and ambled away, her cardigan standing out in the dinginess of the Homicide department.

  Mike had his back to the glass and hadn’t noticed Sarita or Alex looking over his shoulder. “There was no sign of lights on in the apartment,” he said. “We’d need to gain access to another building for that. The sixth floor of one opposite.”

  “It overlooks the park,” Alex said.