Murder in the Multiverse

by R E McLean

  “Oh, yes. He went south, through the tunnel.”

  “The tunnel.”

  “The Bay Tunnel, dear.”

  “But I’m nowhere near the Bay.”

  “Yes you are. You’re right beneath it. In the Bay tunnel.”

  The Bay went further south in Silicon City than it did at home. Maybe it went further north, too.

  “You mean, there’s a pedestrian tunnel under the Bay?”

  “There sure is. And we’re standing in it.”

  Dolores materialized beside her. She was wearing a floaty sky-blue coat and a deerstalker hat. She winked at Alex. This time she looked like Lily Tomlin. “Much nicer when you’re in the Hive though.”

  “Can you help me with that? Get me into the Hive?”

  “Oh no, dear. I really don’t think that would be wise.”

  Of course not. “So I need to walk south to get to Pacific Heights.”

  “The tunnel comes out very close to where you’re heading, you’ll be pleased to know.”

  “Good.” She started walking, glad of the faint light emanating from the hologram at her side.

  After a few minutes, there was still no sign of light up ahead.

  “Dolores, how far is this tunnel?”

  “Nine point two seven three miles. You landed zero point three four miles in, and have travelled zero point five six miles so far, which means you have—”

  “Eight point three miles. I know.”

  “Eight point three seven three miles. Eight point two miles now. Listen to me, bamboozling you with numbers. I’m so sorry.”

  Alex ignored the insinuation that she wasn’t good with Math. “That’ll take hours.”

  “At our current speed, two hours and forty-three and a half minutes.”

  “I don’t have that long.”

  “Would you like me to talk to you while you walk? It can make the time pass more quickly. Or at least, it can make it seem so.”

  “No. I need you to help me get there faster.”

  “I’m sorry dear. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  Alex sighed. “Alright then. Give me progress reports.”

  “Progress reports.”

  “Every ten minutes. Tell me how far we have to go, how long it’s going to take. I need to speed up.”

  “Very well.”

  Alex picked up the pace. “And talk to me.”

  “What shall I talk to you about?”

  “Tell me something about Silicon City.”

  “Very well. Silicon City was founded in seventeen hundred and twenty-seven, by a group of colonists from Spain.”

  “That’s earlier than in my world.”

  Dolores said nothing. The tunnel was very quiet. Alex shivered. “Go on.”

  “You don’t plan to interrupt?”

  “I wasn’t interrupting.”

  “I was telling you about the history of Silicon City, just as you asked, Then you—”

  “I’m sorry. Alright? Just carry on talking.”

  “Thank you. It was originally a part of the Mexican territories of the Western Americas, and became part of the USA in—”

  “’Ello ‘ello, what’s this then?”

  Alex stopped walking. “Dolores, was that you?”

  “It most certainly was not.” Dolores dimmed a little in irritation.

  “Shush.”

  The air around her was cold. She smelled stale urine, cigarette smoke, human sweat.

  She looked towards Dolores, who had dematerialized.

  “Dolores?” she whispered.

  Nothing.

  She crashed into something. Something soft, and large, that smelt of rotten fish that had eaten yet more rotten fish.

  “Who the sweet Jesus are you?” it asked.

  46

  Zippo

  Silicon City

  28 March, 8:41pm

  A flame flicked on in front of Alex. She drew back. Beyond it was a face, its lip curled. It belonged to what she imagined was a man, although she couldn’t see much of him through the dirt that ringed his mouth and eyes. His forehead was wrinkled, but his eyes looked young.

  She swallowed. “I’m just passing through,” she said. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “This is my tunnel,” the man told her. “You can’t just come waltzing through like you own the place.”

  She took a deep breath. She thought of the Tai Kwon Do class she’d enrolled for at Berkeley. A shame she hadn’t actually turned up.

  “Just let me pass and I’ll be out of your way,” she told him. “No harm done.”

  He laughed, hot rank breath gusting at her. “No harm done?” he said. “I was asleep. You woke me. I don’t like being woken.”

  “I’m very sorry,” she said. “If you let me pass, then you can sleep again.”

  “Sleep? Who said anything about sleep?”

  “You just told me I woke you.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yes. You did.”

  This was hopeless. She felt as if she was talking to Dolores, not to some thug who wanted to mug her. Then she realized she didn’t have anything to steal. That probably wasn’t a good thing.

  She started backing away. The man was short, not much taller than her, and judging by his hollowed-out cheekbones he was skinny too. Not so much of a threat as he thought he was. Maybe she could push past…

  “What’s going on, Carrot?” Another voice, older this time.

  “It’s alright, Grandad. I’m just telling this woman she woke me up.”

  Alex squinted at him.

  “Why does he call you Carrot?” she asked, hoping to distract them.

  “Because of his goddamn hair,” said the older, invisible, voice. “Not very bright, is she?”

  Her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom now and she could make out the first man’s entire head in the light cast by the flame. He was clearly bald.

  “But you don’t have any hair.”

  “Yes I do,” he replied. “It’s a lot like yours.” He reached a hand out and stroked her hair.

  “The time is eight forty-seven. You have eight point one three miles to go.”

  “Dolores?” Alex felt herself breathe again.

  “Wha?” asked Carrot. “Where’m I going?”

  “Dolores, shush,” Alex hissed.

  “Do you need me to cancel the reminders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say please.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Politeness costs nothing. Say please.”

  “Please.”

  “Very well.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Carrot’s hand was still in her hair. He watched her, his forehead creased. She wondered who had the fewest marbles of the two of them.

  He took a ginger strand and twisted it around his finger. It glimmered in the light of the flame, which he brought closer.

  “I think you can make an exception to your rule,” she said.

  “What rule?” The owner of the other voice stepped forwards. He had a long purple scar running down his cheek and the remains of a black eye. He opened his mouth to flash her a grin, showing just three teeth.

  “Your rule about not letting people come through here. Not letting people wake you up. I’m a ginger, like him.”

  This would only work if he really believed he had hair, and that it was red.

  The younger man laughed. “You really are stoopid, foreign lady! I’m not gon’ let you through here just ‘cos you’re a ginge. You passed the first test is all.”

  “The first test?”

  She wondered which would take longer; humoring him, or going back and taking the long way round. Maybe she could flag down a Hackney. But there could be more like him behind her.

  “Yeah,” the old man said. “Carrot likes ‘is tests. “E ‘as a second one, an’ all.”

  “Go on then,” she said. “Try me.”

  “Ooh Grandad, we got us a real good ‘un ‘ere! She likes a challenge.�
��

  Alex licked her lips then regretted it; she could taste the stench of these two on the air. She gritted her teeth and clamped her mouth shut.

  Suddenly it went dark.

  “Aww hell!“ the old man cried. “What you done with Percy?”

  She wondered who Percy was; surely he didn’t name his lighter. Then the light came on again. Carrot gripped it unsteadily in his left hand, licking the fingers on his right. He leaned in towards her.

  “Ready for the second test?”

  She nodded, not wanting to open her mouth for fear of passing out.

  “Good. Tell me where you’re from.”

  “Where I’m from?”

  “Yeah. You don’t have one of them dongles on your ear. Which makes you an outsider. Where you from?”

  “That’s it? That’s your test?”

  “Yeah. We collect foreigners, me and Albert ‘ere. Last week we ‘ad two Frenchmen and an Italian. British is the best, though. Meaty.”

  Alex felt the hairs at the back of her neck bristle. Were these men eating foreign tourists? British tourists?

  She had an idea. “So which are the worst?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  “The worst. The worst nationality. The ones you don’t like.” She closed her eyes. “Not meaty.”

  “Tha’s easy. Scottish.”

  She felt a warm glow run through her. For once she was glad to face someone who didn’t know that Scottish people were British. “Scottish?” she replied, letting the soft vowels of her birth come out in her speech. No hiding the accent tonight.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Och aye, laddie,” she said, hating herself. “I’m a wee Scot myself. Haggis. Nessie. Toss the caber. Och aye the noo.” She hesitated. “Not your type at all.”

  Carrot shuddered. “Eww. Too much blurkin’ haggis for me. Go on then.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You be on your way. Wishin’ you a good evenin’.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then realized what he was saying. She started to push past him. He pulled back, letting her through. There was no sign of his elderly friend.

  As she walked, keeping her pace brisk but avoiding a run, she heard their voices again.

  “What you do with her?” asked Albert.

  “I let ‘er go. She’s Scottish. Blarrghh!”

  “You stupid little eejit.”

  “What? What did I do wrong?”

  “She was lying to ya, daft little runt. Come on, let’s get ‘er before she disappears.”

  Alex dropped the nonchalance and started to run. It was dark ahead; she had over eight miles to go.

  “Dolores! Help!”

  Dolores shimmered to life in front of her. Alex glanced at the AI then kept running.

  “Stop them, Dolores!”

  “Stop them?”

  “Yes!”

  “Are you authorizing me to use force?”

  “Just stop them!”

  “Very well.”

  Alex heard an electrical sound, followed by two cries. She stopped running and turned to see Dolores standing over two inert forms. She had a halo of red light round her, like the Ready Brek kid.

  “What did you do?”

  “You authorized me to use force.”

  “Not…” Alex approached the two men. She prodded one of them with her foot. “Not deadly force.”

  “You should have been more precise. They are no longer a threat.”

  “No.” Alex stared down at them, glowing red in Dolores’s light. It was fading now to the faint blue she was used to.

  How would she report their deaths? Would the authorities in Silicon City even care?

  She would tell Madonna, at least. If she ever saw her again. Could she be arrested for a crime committed by her AI?

  She clenched her fists. “Just get me to Pacific Heights, Dolores. We need to hurry.”

  47

  Lamb

  Silicon City

  28 March, 8:39pm

  Claire tiptoed into the living room, sniffed again, and almost fainted. The smell was stronger in here. It was coming from the kitchen. Maybe Leo had gotten into the fridge, broken the packaging for tonight’s dinner.

  She took a series of sharp breaths.

  “Malcolm, please tell me if the front door has been opened.”

  “The front door was installed on September 19, 2014. It has precisely eight locks and a ZenSec camera trained on it.”

  “That’s not what I asked. When was it last opened?”

  “It was last opened by Tammy, the dog lady, at seven forty-five am.”

  She felt her chest relax. There was no one here.

  She turned back to the bedroom. The drapes were still; it was just a breeze, from the change in temperature when she opened the study door.

  But she should check, just in case.

  She edged her way to the window and reached her hand out, expecting the glass to push back. Instead, she found herself almost falling through a gap where the sliding door had been left open.

  She grabbed the drapes and pulled herself upright, her mind racing. No one could get through her passcode security, and no one could get up to the sixth floor. How had the door opened?

  The drape had ripped where she’d grabbed it, leaving a ragged shard of fabric in front of her eyes. She looked past it at the world outside.

  Out there, in the huge, smelly, terrifying world, people were moving around.

  Hackneys glided above the rooftops, taking advantage of the restricted fast lane that only they could use. In the apartments opposite, lights glinted in the darkness. Below her she could make out the faint yellow haze of the electricity barrier that kept Hivers out of the Bay.

  The balcony outside the glass showed no sign of occupation.

  She turned back into the room.

  “Malcolm, has anyone come though this door?”

  “The window was exited at eight thirty-eight pm by Claire Pope.”

  “No, has anyone gone through it before me?”

  “Thank you for asking. Yes, I can change the day of your grocery order.”

  “No, Malcolm.”

  “I’m sorry. Please can you repeat your order?”

  She sighed.

  “It’s alright, Malcolm.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say so.”

  “Malcolm, stop.”

  The AI went quiet. That smell was stronger now. Did she have the courage to investigate it, or would she have to call the police?

  Police would mean people with dirty boots tramping through here, barking into their Hive connections and drinking her best coffee. She shuddered.

  She crept through to the hallway. She stepped into the living space.

  She grunted. The smell was huge now, filling the space with its heat and depth.

  “Please tell me what you would like me to order for you.”

  “Malcolm, shut up!” she grabbed a wooden ornament from the hall table and hurled it at his wall unit.

  “Please don’t damage the wall unit,” he said. She screeched at it then turned back to the kitchen. All this noise should have woken Leo.

  “Leo?” she called. “Leo, you lazy boy, are you awake?”

  She thought of the dinner ingredients in the fridge.

  “Mommy has some nice lamb for you.”

  A sound. A cross between a growl and a whimper.

  She rounded the wall between the living space and the kitchen, her eyes flicking to the spot under the kitchen island where Leo’s dog bed was.

  She screamed.

  She ran to it, tripping over her robe and slamming onto the floor with a painful thud.

  The dog whimpered at her.

  She put out a hand and felt the fur on his back. It was wet. It was red.

  48

  Microfiche

  Silicon City

  28 March, 9:03pm

  Alex’s run soon slowed to a brisk walk.

  “How are we doing, Dolores?” she
asked through clenched teeth. “How far?”

  “Congratulations, you now have seven point eight three miles to go. You are making good progress.”

  “Congratulations? You just killed two people, and you’re congratulating me?”

  “It seemed appropriate.”

  Appropriate. This was why AIs were dangerous.

  “OK. While we walk, you can make yourself useful.”

  “With pleasure, my dear.”

  “And stop talking like that.”

  “Like what, my dear?”

  “Like that. All the over-the-top politeness. The ‘my dear’ing. Call me Alex.”

  “Certainly Alex.”

  Alex bit down her anger.

  “How would you like me to make myself useful, Alex?”

  “Can you help me with something?”

  “Try me.”

  “Can you find me records for my parents?”

  “Aren’t you here to save the damsel in distress?”

  “Yes, but we have almost eight miles to walk. We may as well fill the time.”

  “You have to solve her murder. Save the day, win the girl. Blah, blah.”

  “Dolores, what movies have you been watching?”

  “I can consume a standard Hollywood movie in the space of two point six nanoseconds.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Apologies. All of them.”

  “What?”

  “The answer to your question is all of them.”

  “You’ve watched every movie ever made?”

  “Every movie. Every TV show. Every book.”

  “Even The Apprentice? Even Fifty Shades of Grey?”

  “Some things aren’t suitable for the delicate sensibility of a respectable AI like me.”

  “Go on then, Dolores. Get me those records.”

  “You do realize you need to be back here by midnight?”

  “I’m Cinderella. I don’t believe it.”

  “There’s a limit to how long an Old Earther can stay here without becoming, let’s say, trapped.”

  “Trapped?”

  “Well, not trapped. Not really. But that’s the closest word you have for it.”

  “So how long have I got? Before midnight.”