Murder in the Multiverse

by R E McLean

  “You have one hundred and sixty-nine minutes and ten seconds.”

  “Till midnight? But it’s only about half past six.”

  “Not here, dear.”

  “Oh. Why’s that?”

  “The gravitational pull of the jump. It messes with time.”

  “Not a word I’m sure Einstein would have used.”

  “Who is Einstein?”

  Alex sighed. “Never mind. Give me a reminder every fifteen minutes, starting at nine fifteen.”

  “Alarm set at fifteen-minute intervals starting at nine fifteen p.m.”

  “Thanks. And get me those records.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Get them, please. And hurry.”

  A desk materialized in front of Alex, moving with her as they walked.

  “What’s this, Dolores?”

  “It’s a projection. A hologram. Tell me what records you want to bring up. And make it snappy. Please.”

  “I want the most recent records of my parents. Heather and Duncan Strand.”

  “Very well.”

  On the top of the desk, a screen appeared. It looked a lot like a microfiche reader.

  “The time is nine fifteen p.m. You have one hundred and sixty-five minutes exactly before you need to jump.”

  “Thank you, Dolores.” Alex looked at the microfiche reader. “Is this the best you can do? Isn’t it a little low tech?”

  “Stop grumbling.”

  Alex peered at the microfiche screen. In its center, magnified perfectly, was a newspaper article.

  Alex read it. She stopped walking. The reader stopped with her.

  She read it again.

  “Your body temperature has fallen by two degrees,” said Dolores. “Do you need medical attention?”

  Alex turned to her. “We’re in the middle of this stupid tunnel and you’ve killed a man. And now you say you can call 911?”

  “I’m concerned about you, dear. Are you alright?”

  Alex squinted at the microfiche. This changed everything. “No, Dolores. No, I’m not alright.”

  49

  Bakelite

  Silicon City

  28 March, 9:17pm

  Claire cradled the dog in her arms, rocking him back and forth.

  He’d been stabbed twice in the shoulder. One of the cuts was shallow, like a trial run. The other deep.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She placed her fingers on the cuts. They were small, created by a fine, sharp instrument.

  Not her chef’s knife, then.

  Her earpiece was in the study. That was the only way of calling for help. She couldn’t leave her dog.

  He whimpered in her arms.

  “Shush, honey. It’s OK. Mommy’s here.”

  She had to do something. She reached towards the sink and grabbed a tea towel from the hook. She balled it up and pushed it against the wound. Red bloomed on it, making her gag again.

  She pulled him gently onto his side, so his weight would keep the pressure on the towel. She couldn’t just stay here.

  She watched his face as she moved him. His eyes were dull and he stared straight ahead. She felt a lump form in her throat.

  “Sorry, Leo. I’ll be right back.”

  She pushed up and sprinted to the hallway. She stared at the door. Could she go out there? Did she have the strength to call for help, not knowing who would come?

  Her throat was dry, her palms wet.

  No. She couldn’t face it. Besides, her hands were shaking so much she never would have pulled all eight of the bolts.

  She ran into her study. Her earpiece was lying on her desk, right where she had left it. She grabbed it and plunged it into her ear.

  It hurt. Inserting an earpiece was a delicate operation, something that shouldn’t be done in a hurry. She’d probably injured her ear. She didn’t care.

  She kept her eyes open, staying in the upper levels of the Hive so she could still see her apartment. She stood up.

  She heard movement, in the kitchen. Leo?

  She froze, her senses alive. She could hear every sound in the apartment, like the building was breathing.

  The building wasn’t breathing. Over the deep sound of Leo’s panting she could hear shallow breathing, fainter than her own.

  There was someone here.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and dove into the Hive. Her Bakelite phone was waiting for her, on a plain white table in an otherwise empty apace. She’d spent weeks perfecting the art of creating this space, of hiding her real whereabouts. She grabbed the handset.

  She dialed.

  “I need you to come over here. Now.”

  He materialized in front of her, smiling. She squinted; behind him, his offline location shimmered like a film set. He looked like he was in an apartment very similar to hers. It even had the same color walls. Was that where he lived, in real life? Or—?

  When he saw the fear in her eyes his smile fell. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  He took a step towards her. She shrank back. Could she trust him?

  “No. Not in the Hive,” she said. “I need you to come to my apartment.”

  50

  Old-fashioned

  Silicon City

  28 March, 9:23pm

  Alex’s eyes were tiring and her feet were aching.

  “What’s that noise?”

  She’d heard a rumble beyond the wall of the tunnel.

  “That’ll be the cable car, dear. I mean Alex.”

  “It goes under the Bay?”

  “It most certainly does.”

  “Can we ride on it?”

  “Only from a station.”

  “And they’re only on land.”

  “Oh no, Alex. There’s one just ahead.”

  Alex felt her heart lift. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  Alex ran ahead, listening to the faint rumble beyond the grey concrete. Up ahead was a dim light; she’d thought it was the distant shoreline, but now she knew better.

  The tunnel spat her out into a dimly lit space with a single track running along it.

  “Be careful,” warned Dolores. “It’s fast. You don’t want to stand on that track.”

  Alex stepped back, just as a bulky object whizzed past, nearly taking her nose off. “That’s the cable car?”

  “It is.”

  “It’s fast.”

  “It needs to be. You wanna stop it?”

  Alex nodded and Dolores brought her forefinger and thumb to her holographic lips. She let out a piercing whistle. Up ahead, the car shuddered to a halt.

  Alex ran towards it and swung herself onto the backplate. Dolores dematerialized.

  Alex fell into a seat as the car lurched into motion. The conductor approached. He was in his seventies, and didn’t seem to be wearing an earpiece. His skin was blue.

  “Where does this go?” asked Alex.

  “All the way to Vallejo Street,” he replied.

  “The time is nine thirty. You have one hundred and fifty minutes before you need to jump.”

  “Who’s that?” he asked. “No AIs on the trolley, Miss.”

  “Sorry. Will we go past Lafayette Park?”

  “Lafayette Park? Ain’t no such thing, I’m afeared.”

  “No. Of course. Gough Street?’

  “Oh no, Miss. I can get you as far as Washington and Hyde. Then you’ll need to foot it.”

  “Right. How far is it from there?”

  “I reckon it’s about five blocks, Miss. Maybe six. May I see your ticket please?”

  She padded her jacket, wondering if Dolores would have deposited something in a pocket. Then an object flashed in her hand. She held it out. It was a paper ticket.

  “Thank you, Miss. We like to do things the old-fashioned way on the cable car.”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  The car sped up and the conductor moved away into the darkness. A man and woman sat ahead of Alex, both plugged
into the Hive. There was a moment of confusion when the conductor asked for a physical ticket. Then the woman put a steadying hand on the man’s shoulder and reached into her ear. She withdrew two small paper tickets. The conductor smiled and clipped them, whistling as he headed towards the front of the car.

  Alex felt movement beside her. Dolores shimmered into life, giving her a wink. She’d lost the blue coat and was wearing a purple kaftan with a long chain of seashells around her neck.

  “You again. He mustn’t see you. Stop the reminders,” Alex whispered.

  “Just trying to help.”

  “Help me with this. Sean Wolf. Who is he, in this world? Where does he live?”

  “Give me a sec.”

  Dolores opened her eyes again. “He’s a retired ballet dancer. Forced out of the profession by a calf injury five years ago. Now manager of the San Francisco Ballet.”

  “Manager? Not Philip Gladstone?”

  Dolores’s eyes closed again. “I can’t find a Philip Gladstone.”

  “Philip Gladstone. He’s the manager. Or maybe he’s a dancer, if Sean is the manager.”

  “No one by that name anywhere in the Bay Area. Sorry.”

  Alex felt air hit her face as they left the tunnel. The trolley didn’t slow down, instead taking turns and running red lights as if it had a red light on its roof.

  “Right,” she said. “And where does Sean live?”

  “In Vista Del Mar, my dear. Alex. He has a rather grand apartment with an ocean view. Six separate AIs. That’s just greedy.”

  “Here we are, Miss.”

  The conductor was gesturing towards the window. Washington and Hyde. Alex thanked him and jumped down.

  She had to get to Claire’s apartment, and fast.

  51

  Beer

  Berkeley

  28 March, 9:49pm

  Mike knocked on Alex’s door. He didn’t like doing this, but he equally didn’t like the way Monique had spoken to his would-be partner.

  She was an idiot. She’d been a liability in Silicon City, too impulsive and naïve. But she’d cracked the gluons thing. She’d even explained it to him in a way he could understand.

  Monique wouldn’t let her back on the case: that was about as likely as a year without fog over the Bay. But she had that file still; maybe he’d be able to make sense of it. Maybe he could ask her to help him.

  The door opened. “Mike?

  “Sarita?”

  “Mike.”

  “Er, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you two were…”

  She grabbed his arm and bundled him inside. “Don’t be stupid. We’re working together, is all.”

  He looked around the apartment. No sign of Alex, or that cat of hers. “Where is she?”

  “She went to get beers.”

  He eyed Sarita. “Beers?”

  “I was thirsty, OK?”

  He looked around the space. A bottle of beer sat on the kitchen counter, condensation dripping down its sides. It was almost full.

  “Going for a heavy night, are we?” He gestured towards it.

  Sarita shook her head. “I think you should leave. We can talk in the morning.”

  “Why is the world’s biggest cardboard box in the center of the floor?”

  “Alex had a delivery.”

  “Of a kangaroo?”

  “Physics stuff. She’ll be back soon, and she won’t be happy to see you.”

  He frowned. The status of Sarita and Alex’s relationship was no business of his; clearly they’d taken advantage of Alex being hauled off the case.

  “Right,” he said. He wondered if he had time to stop off for a beer on his way home.

  As he grabbed the door handle, there was buzzing behind him. He turned to see Sarita’s hip glowing purple.

  He approached her. “What’s that?”

  “My phone. You were leaving, weren’t you?”

  “Whose phone glows purple and is…” She withdrew it from her pocket. It was a solid white cube, shrieking and glowing alternately purple and orange. “…that’s a bitbox,” he said. “Why did you take a bitbox out of the MIU?”

  He lunged for it but she was too fast. She threw an arm out and placed her fist on his chest. She was surprisingly strong.

  With her other hand, she twisted the bitbox and it stopped yelling at them. “This isn’t good.”

  “Why not? None of us is over there right now. Unless it’s Claire?”

  Sarita looked up. Her eyes were dark and her jaw set. “It’s Claire. And Alex.”

  “Alex?’

  “She jumped.”

  “I just came from the MIU. She left.”

  “She used alternative technology.”

  “Like what?”

  Sarita gestured behind her. “Don’t ask. Look, Mike. We don’t have much time. Alex is in trouble.”

  52

  Gigabits

  Silicon City

  28 March, 9:47pm

  Claire’s building was only a few blocks away. Alex ran, occasionally stopping to dance around a passer-by who was inside the Hive.

  The street was busier than it had been earlier, brightly colored figures passing through, doing that familiar dance around each other as they came closer. A family passed her: mom, dad and a little girl. She wore an earpiece with a brightly colored Pearl adorned with tiny parrots.

  Alex rounded the building opposite Claire’s and stopped. She leaned against it and bent over to put her balled fists on her thighs. Riding the trolley car, talking to Dolores about Sean, had taken her mind off what she’d learned in the tunnel, from that nonexistent microfiche. But now the panic was over, the terror gone. She was back in familiar territory. Her mind cleared and created space for the shock to take a run at her.

  Her parents were in that Hive Earth phone directory for a reason. They’d lived in the same house her dad lived in now, in Gretna. Prior to the rise of the Hive and the obsolescence of any other communications technology, they’d had a telephone. In her world, it sat on the table at home, still there like a museum piece despite her dad reluctantly switching to a cell phone a couple of years back. She’d taken him out to their closest branch of Carphone Warehouse to buy it; he wasn’t going to be coaxed as far into the twenty-first century as to order it online. There he’d engaged the salesman in a bizarre conversation about bandwidth, gigabits and data. She’d been impressed until she’d spotted the dawning look of incomprehension on the salesman’s face. Her dad had read about phones in the Reader’s Digest, hadn’t he? And none of it made the first bit of sense to anyone who actually understood them.

  In the version of Scotland almost five thousand miles east of where she stood now, that phone would never ring. Its owners had been killed in a car accident in 1992, six months before she should have been conceived.

  She tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter, that this was a parallel universe and had no bearing on her real life. But ever since Mike had told her about the technology, she’d had two goals. To solve the case and bag herself a job at the MIU; and to find her mom. To see her face and breathe in her familiar, warm scent again.

  And now it would never happen. Not only was her mom not here, but nor was her dad.

  She wanted to go home.

  She leaned back against the smooth pink building. The walls of all the buildings around here sloped at an oblique angle, which made a perfect spot to rest. She wondered why no one else did it.

  “Dolores,” she whispered. “What time is it?”

  “Nine fifty-three- and twenty-four seconds p.m.,” Dolores replied in a whisper. “You have one hundred and twenty-six minutes and thirty-six seconds.”

  Alex sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her mascara was all over the place.

  Then she saw him.

  Sean Wolf, letting himself into a building to her right.

  She stood up, suddenly alert. She must have had it wrong; there was another building between her and the one she and Mike had entered, a
nd she was leaning against it.

  As the door swish-thunked closed behind Sean, she stretched out her sore neck. She headed after him, taking care to avoid the growing swarm of Hivers.

  She was between the two buildings now. She looked back at the one she’d leant against. On this wall there was a coffee shop identical to yesterday’s. The Bumble Bee. This one was The Wasp. She peered inside. There was that barista, standing behind the counter and staring into space. She frowned. It was one thing having two yellow-and-black insect-themed coffee shops, but quite another having two identical baristas.

  She looked back at the building opposite, the door Sean had disappeared through. Then it hit her. He had gone into Claire’s building. He was on his way to kill her.

  53

  Balcony

  Silicon City

  28 March, 9:51pm

  Alex ran into the building. There was no sign of Sean in the deserted lobby.

  “Dolores, how long now?” she whispered.

  “You cancelled the reminders.”

  “I know, but how long do I have now?”

  “Do you need me to start reminding you at fifteen-minute intervals again?”

  “No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “Nor do I. Give me the reminders. Please.”

  “Thank you for asking nicely.”

  She hurried to the elevator. After a few moments’ wait, the door glided open and she stepped inside.

  The elevator was playing some sort of Star Wars simulation. As the doors closed, the walls went black and became dotted with stars. A TIE fighter zoomed past, making Alex jump. It was followed by an X-wing. Then, even more dramatic than in The Empire Strikes Back, the second version of the Death Star, complete with an unconstructed section, rose from the floor beneath her feet and settled into place on the wall beside her. She put out a hand to touch the wall, but was disappointed to find it smooth and unresponsive.