Murder in the Multiverse

by R E McLean

  “Sorry,” he said, and continued on his way. He didn’t register anything unusual about her.

  She pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. She pushed again. Nothing. She leaned her weight into it, puzzled. Still no movement.

  A group approached from inside. She stepped back, waiting to hop into the doors as they started moving. But when she tried, she couldn’t. It was as if an invisible force field was preventing her from going inside.

  “Dolores, why can’t I get in?” she said.

  “Can’t get in where, honey?”

  “Can’t get in this building. The Hall of Justice.”

  “You mean you are unable to enter the building, not can’t get in. Tut. And this is not a building. It’s a figment of your imagination.”

  Tell me something I don’t know, she thought. “OK. But why can’t I get inside?”

  “Inside what, my dear?”

  “Inside the Hall of Justice. Why can’t I enter it?”

  “Oh, that. You can’t enter a building you created in your head, because it don’t exist.”

  “It does. I went there.”

  “Not in Silicon City, you have not.”

  Alex wrinkled her nose, wishing there was some physical manifestation of the AI that she could give a good slap.

  Then a woman materialized next to her. She looked just like Blanche from Golden Girls except she had a large ginger cat cradled in her arms, and wore an apron of shimmering satin over a pink and blue silk dress.

  “Schrödinger?” Alex said.

  “Meow.”

  “Rather a handsome fellow, ain’t he?” said Dolores.

  Alex put a proprietorial hand on Schrödinger’s back. He purred. “Is he real?”

  “As real as anything, honey. You wanted me?”

  Alex stared at her. She looked too kindly to slap. “Sorry. No.”

  There was a kind of puff, like the sound Alex’s phone made when it sent an email. Dolores/Blanche disappeared. So did Schrödinger.

  “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place,” came her disembodied voice.

  Alex stepped away from the doors. “How long do I have?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “How long till my alarm?”

  “You have no alarms set.”

  “Yes, I do. I asked you to set an alarm for five minutes. I said please.”

  “You would like me to set an alarm for five minutes?”

  “No! I already did. How long until you’re scheduled to pull me out of the Hive?”

  “Oh, that. Three and a half minutes. Give or take thirteen seconds or so.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said through gritted teeth. She didn’t have long.

  She turned away from the building, surveying the street. This was the familiar sight of Bryant Street from her own world. Bail bond agencies flanked the opposite corners and a cop stood outside, leaning on his motorcycle and squinting at her.

  Along the street was a phone booth. Probably out of use, most likely vandalized. But it might give her access to records. Virtually speaking.

  She hurried along the street, shimmying through the crowds. It felt good to be back in her own city.

  She bundled herself into the booth. There was a shelf, covered in graffiti. And on top of it, something she’d never seen before. Or at least it looked like…

  “Dolores, what is this?”

  “It’s a telephone directory, sweet pea.”

  She started rifling through it. It was thick already, but as she flicked through, it seemed to morph around her hands, the sections she had leafed through dematerializing and being replaced with more that she hadn’t looked at yet. Was this an infinite phone book?

  “Dolores, please tell me what geographical area this phone book covers.”

  “The entirety of Planet Earth.”

  “Which version?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t understand you.”

  “Hive Earth, or Old Earth, as you call it?”

  “I don’t call it anything, darlin’.”

  Alex sighed. “Does this phone book correspond to the virtual world in which I’m standing right now, or the real world outside the Hive?”

  “Oh. I do know that. The phone book corresponds to the real world. Does that answer your question?”

  “Not quite. Which real world?”

  “Why, this one, of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Glad to be of service.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Meow.”

  “Shrew? Do you still have him?”

  “As I said, he’s a very handsome young man.”

  “Be nice to him.”

  “Would you expect different of me?”

  Alex opened her mouth to speak and then thought better of it; a conversation with Dolores could last a lifetime. Instead, she pictured her own name in her mind, the letters spelled out in the kind of blocky serif font you’d find in a phone book. The book’s pages started shifting beneath her fingers as it rifled through itself. Eventually it came to a halt with the back cover facing upwards and the book closed in front in her.

  She pictured her name again, substituting Alexandra for Alex this time. The book flicked through itself again, working from back to front this time. After a few seconds, it stopped, with the front cover on top and the book closed again.

  She closed her eyes again, picturing her mom’s name. Heather Strand. The same result. Then she tried her mom’s maiden name; Heather MacDonald. Still no result. Feeling at a low ebb, she tried it with her dad’s name. Again, nothing.

  “You might want to try a previous version of the phone directory,” said the disembodied voice of Dolores.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The book you are searching through corresponds to the Earth of this exact second. Try working backwards.”

  She stared at the book. That would take too long. “Dolores, can you speed this up?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  She smiled. “Good. Please can you find me the most recent phone record for Alex, or Alexandra Strand, and for Heather and Duncan Strand.”

  “Of course. There is no record of an Alex or Alexandra Strand. Nor an Alexandria, an Alexandre, a Xander, an Alexa, Alexis, Alejandra, Alastrina, Aleka—”

  “OK, OK. I get the idea. I don’t exist here. I never have. What about my parents?”

  “The most recent record of their names is in 1997. In Gretna, Scotland, United Kingdom.”

  She felt her heart lighten. So her parents did exist after all! But why no record of them after that? Not even her dad?”

  “Dolores, how long do I have now?”

  “Based on your current heart rate, muscle tone and the kind of food you eat, I estimate that you have approximately forty-eight years and four months. And a day.”

  “I didn’t want to know how long I have left to live.” Was her diet really that unhealthy? “How long before you’re due to pull me out of the Hive?”

  “Oh, that. Two seconds.”

  “Two seconds?”

  “One second.”

  “One?”

  “Zero seconds. Sorry, honey.”

  Alex felt a rush of air. The street around her went hazy and the phone booth began to shimmer. She put a hand out to steady herself. It rested on something cold and smooth. She opened her eyes to see an avocado bathtub. She leaned over and threw up into it, feeling the earpiece fall from her ear.

  “You OK in there?” It was Mike, outside the bathroom in the apartment opposite Claire’s. So Dolores had done exactly as she’d asked. That was the biggest surprise so far.

  She raised her arm and stuck her thumb up, then realized he wouldn’t see. She shifted her weight to bend over the toilet and hurled noisily into it. Going into the Hive did have a physical effect on her after all.

  She took a deep breath and pushed herself up, closing her eyes. She grabbed the earpiece from the floor and pushed the door open. Mike was standin
g outside, looking like he’d just swallowed the kind of wasp that could go five rounds in a wrestling ring. That made a change from him looking annoyed.

  “You look like hell,” he said.

  “Thanks. Can I get a glass of water?”

  He went to the kitchen and returned with a tall blue glass filled with water. She drank it in one.

  “Thanks. Get me another one, will you? Just in case.”

  “Here.” He already had a second glass in his other hand. She smiled her thanks.

  “What were you doing in there?” he asked.

  “How long was I gone?”

  “About an hour.”

  “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Let’s sit down, near the window,” she said. “I need to look at the horizon.”

  He led her to the windows, pausing occasionally to look over his shoulder and wait for her to catch up. At last they reached the cool glass and she leaned against it. She eased herself to the floor. The cold surface on her cheek felt good.

  She took a deep breath, hoping her enfeebled state would prevent him from losing it when she told him what she was really doing.

  “I went into the Hive,” she said.

  He cocked his head.

  She pulled the earpiece out of her pocket. “I got one of these. I went in.”

  “What did you do that for?”

  She closed her eyes, trying to ignore her stomach. “I wanted to find Sean.”

  “You could’ve died.”

  “I checked first.”

  “What is there to check?”

  “If you don’t exist here. If you don’t have an opposite number. It means you can use the Hive. It doesn’t like duplicates, or something.”

  “So does that mean they lied to us? MOO?”

  She shook her head, then regretted it. “I think they’re trying to protect us. I had to persuade Madonna to give me this. I told her to look me up.”

  Mike paled. Alex could hear his breathing, short and sharp.

  “Did she look me up?” he asked, in a small voice.

  “If she did, she didn’t tell me.”

  “Right. So what was it like?”

  “What?”

  “The Hive, of course. Is it as bizarre as everything else around here?”

  She allowed herself a chuckle. “It’s like augmented reality. You’re traveling in the same physical space, but with a virtual layer added on top. And you can make things happen just by thinking about them.”

  “What did you make happen?”

  She looked at the building opposite. “I went over there. I found the apartment opposite this one. I saw you, watching Claire from over there.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “I’m not sure I was really there.”

  “Oh.”

  “I saw Sean too.”

  “Sean?”

  “Her ex.”

  “I know who he is, dummy. Where did you see him?”

  She swallowed. Her throat felt as if it might spontaneously combust. “He’s four windows along, behind me.”

  Mike’s eyes widened. “In this building?”

  “Yes. He’s watching her too.”

  “We have to get back to base. God knows what Monique will make of this.”

  “No, Mike. We have to find him.”

  “We have our orders. Don’t interfere.”

  “But he’s watching her. She’s in danger, you already said. We can’t just up and go.”

  “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “I’ve handled too many cases like this. Too many cases where someone has died in one version of San Francisco and is perfectly fine in the other.”

  “But there’s too much coincidence going on here.”

  “Wait,” interrupted Mike. “But then, maybe with a delay of a few days, they mirror each other.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Events repeat themselves in the other world. Someone who dies here also dies there, and vice versa. It’s happened too many times, Alex. Claire may be alive here now, but she’s at risk. If we get this right, we can prevent both their deaths. We have to tell Monique.”

  41

  Gluons

  San Francisco

  28 March, 3:46pm

  Monique was under stress, and it was showing.

  Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed since yesterday, and her skin had a blank dullness that came from wearing foundation but no other makeup.

  She sat behind a mountain of files on her desk, stifling a yawn as Mike brought her up to speed.

  “It was definitely Sean?” she asked, steepling her fingers in front of her face and resting her nose on them.

  “Yes,” said Alex. “He was watching Claire’s building. In Silicon City.”

  Monique sighed. She’d lost the fire that Alex had noticed in her, and looked like someone who’d be happier curling up for a nap under her desk than sitting in this meeting.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” said Alex.

  Monique dropped her face into her hands. “Nothing about this case is making sense right now. I think we have to discount what you’ve seen in Silicon City. I think this is that rare case where there’s no relationship between what’s going on in the two worlds.”

  Alex cleared her throat. “I disagree.”

  Monique looked up, a flash of the old fire crossing her face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She’s right,” said Mike. He turned to Alex. “You smelled it, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Where?” asked Monique.

  “The stairwell in Claire’s building. It was full of it. Someone there had jumped.”

  Alex’s eyes widened. “I know what it is,” she said. “And Sean was covered in it.”

  “Yup,” said Mike, not looking all that sure he knew what Alex was talking about. His credibility wasn’t helped by the fact that his beard had turned white and bushy. It was as if Santa Claus had come down from the North Pole to solve the crime.

  “I asked my lab partner to run some tests,” said Alex. “The smell. It’s the same thing we get with our research. The same thing my cat smells of.”

  Monique stood up. “Your cat?”

  “I know what it is now. Rik got a pal in the Chemistry department to analyze it.”

  “You mean you’ve been telling your Berkeley buddies about the MIU.”

  “No, absolutely not. I told them it was for something else. That you’ve hired me as an expert witness.”

  “Hmm. So tell me, what it this substance?”

  “It’s gluons.”

  “Gluons?”

  “They’re subatomic particles,” said Mike. Alex grinned at him; he’d been paying attention.

  “What are subatomic particles?” asked Monique.

  “Errr…” said Mike. He looked at Alex.

  “They’re really really tiny things,” said Alex, “way smaller than a molecule, or an atom. Hence subatomic. They’re the building blocks of the universe.”

  “I wish I hadn’t asked.”

  “Look,” she said. “Rik and I are doing this experiment—well, we aren’t really doing it, Professor Katz does most of the good stuff—but we’re analyzing it. It’s called the Cheshire Cat experiment. We use something called an interferometer.”

  Monique sighed. “Maybe you should go back to your day job.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. The interferometer, it produced the same smell. The night Claire died. I got my lab partner to run the data.”

  “Your lab partner?”

  “I didn’t tell him what it was for. It’s gluons. And that’s what I smelled on Sean.”

  “Our Sean, or Silicon City Sean?”

  “Both. It’s the same guy.”

  “How can it be the same guy, when our version is dead?”

  “Mike told me.”

  Monique looked from Alex to Mi
ke and shrugged.

  “The temporal delay,” he said. “Nemesis told me it’s something to do with general relativity.”

  “Jeez.” Monique pulled a hand through her tangled hair. “More oddball physics.”

  “But it messes with time when you jump,” said Alex. “It’s the gravitational field in the Spinner. That’s why there’s a delay between crimes in the two worlds.”

  “Wait a sec.” Monique stood up. “You’re telling me that the version of Sean in that world is an earlier one than in this world?”

  “Yes. And in that world he’s going to die too.”

  “But Claire’s still alive over there.”

  “She was. We don’t know if she still is.”

  “How can Claire be behind us over there but Sean be ahead?”

  “It’s to do with whether someone has jumped. I believe Sean has.”

  Mike stood to face Monique. “She’s right,” he said. “She has it. The Sean we saw over there isn’t our Sean’s doppelgänger. He’s the same guy.”

  42

  Ramifications

  San Francisco

  28 March, 3:52pm

  Alex’s heart was pounding. Monique looked between her and Mike. She didn’t seem convinced.

  “I think we should go back,” Alex said. “See if we can make contact with either of them.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” replied Monique. “The first rule of the MIU is you never make contact with someone in Silicon City who’s part of a case here.”

  Alex said nothing.

  “Understood?” asked Monique.

  “Understood.”

  “Good. How did you get into Claire’s building, anyway? That’s how you’re saying you saw him watching?”

  Alex felt her skin run cold. She waited for Mike to tell Monique what she’d done. She racked her brains for a convincing lie but nothing came.

  “Alex discovered that the entry code worked for both buildings,” said Mike. “The code we had for the apartment I hired worked for its opposite number in the other building.”

  Alex wanted to hug him.

  Monique raised an eyebrow. “Really? That seems a little lax.”