The Broken Universe (29 page)

“Won’t it be dangerous to start a colony in the middle of winter?”

“Henry is tracking the temperature,” John said. “We think the temperatures are milder than in the other universes we’ve seen. It may not even snow.”

“Maybe I’ll emigrate too,” she said.

“Sure! I’ll come with you,” John said. He cast one more look around the suite. “Let’s go. We tried.”

*   *   *

Though John should have been hip-deep in Henry’s plan to bootstrap the entire computer industry in 7650, he found his mind wandering back to Melissa Saraft and her daughter.

“Silicon monocrystals, John! Did you hear me?”

“Apparently not,” John said. They stood over an open computer from 6013. They were in the old Pinball Wizards factory, empty now of all pinball-making facilities. Grace had transferred that to a new facility in Cleveland where an assembly line built ten machines an hour. They had had access to a huge lab, with any electronics or gadgets they wanted from any universe they’d explored, but in the end they’d returned to the pinball factory to work and tinker.

“Logistics are putting a crimp in our profit,” Henry said. “We need to figure this out.”

For a month, they’d been reselling computers from Universe 6013 in Home Office. Unfortunately, one universe could hardly supply the necessary volume to feed the demand in two universes. Nor was transporting thousands of boxes a day particularly feasible for the workers of Pinball Wizards, Transdimensional. There were only a couple dozen Wizards, and they couldn’t just hire stevedores in 6013 and 7650 to load boxes out of the transfer gates. Someone would notice.

“There’s millions of circuits on this board,” Henry said. “We need to be able to manufacture semiconductors. We need to develop photolithography here.”

John listened as Henry made lists, but his mind was elsewhere.

Would a private investigator be able to find things they couldn’t? he wondered. And going back to 7538, maybe there were clues. Maybe Melissa went back to her hometown in 7539, or maybe they could find who her relatives were in 7538 and track them in 7539. But Casey was right. Traveling to 7538 was dangerous. Too dangerous. Not without safeguards.

“You’re still not listening.”

“Sorry, Henry. My mind is wandering.”

“Sure. I get it. Wanna pick up again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.”

They locked up the pinball factory and parted ways. John stopped at his and Casey’s apartment. She was out, a note saying she was working on their business plan for marketing PCs to the automotive industry. John left his own note, then drove to the quarry and transferred to 7539. It was just after five in the afternoon.

Taking the car they’d left at the quarry, he drove up to Toledo and reached his destination just after six. The bar was just around the corner from the
Toledo Barker
offices. He was certain he’d find Joe Cursky there.

*   *   *

He was easy enough to spot. He looked just like his smiling byline photo, only he wasn’t smiling. He was grimacing as he walked into The Loose Mongoose where John had sat and waited for fifteen minutes, drinking three Zingos, avoiding the bartender having to card him. He had no valid driver’s license after all, not in this universe. But the bartender didn’t seem to care if he sat there and drank sodas.

Joe Cursky was alone, but nodded greetings around the bar as he worked his way to the counter. The bartender placed a shot glass in front of him without his having to order. Apparently he was a regular.

John, on the far side of the bar, let him take a sip from his drink. Then he walked over and took the stool next to him. The bartender gave him a stern look, as if everyone knew that Cursky got his first drink alone and undisturbed.

“Mr. Cursky,” John said, “I need your help.”

Cursky looked at him for a long moment. “Jesus, not you again. Shandy, Shaft, Saraft. That’s it. Melissa Saraft,” Cursky said. “I recognize your voice.”

“I thought if you saw me, you’d know I was sincere,” John said.

“Shit, what do you think I am, a bullshit detector?”

“I need to find her.”

“Forget it.”

“Her story wasn’t made up,” John said. “It’s all true.”

“Right, parallel universes,” Cursky said. “So much shit. Get lost, kid.”

The bartender leaned over the counter. “Time for you to leave, buddy.”

John nodded. “Fine. But read these.” He tossed three newspapers on the counter and left.

John was a block down Huron Street when he heard Cursky behind him.

“What the hell is this?”

John slowed but didn’t turn. Cursky grabbed him by the shoulder. He spun John around and shoved the three newspapers into his face.

“What is this?”

“Newspapers.”

“
The Toledo Dispatch
?
The Toledo Telegram
?
The Toledo Scabard
? That’s all bullshit.”

“Not in another universe.”

“And Irv Trilpio is dead! Do you hear me? Irv is dead.” Cursky ripped open one of the newspapers to the opinion page. A picture of an older reporter stared at him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cursky,” John said. “He’s not dead in every universe.”

Cursky looked shaken. “He shot himself. After the Palmer Helmon trial, when that bastard went free. Said he was soul weary, tired of life.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Joe looked at the editorial, began reading. “Jesus. This is him. This is exactly what he’d write. How’d you do it, kid? How’d you make this? What’s your goddamn angle?”

“I stopped in some neighboring universes, Mr. Cursky, on the way here.”

“Bullshit! He’s dead! I … I spoke at his funeral!”

“Not in every universe,” John said. “Listen, I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Just forget it. I didn’t know he was dead here and that he was your friend.”

“No,” Cursky said. “Show me.”

*   *   *

John waited outside the small bungalow while Cursky went inside. He didn’t want to see the emotions that played through Cursky’s body when he saw his old friend. He shouldn’t have brought Cursky to 7574. He shouldn’t have opened so much emotion.

In 7574, Cursky existed and Irv Trilpio was still alive. Maybe no Palmer Helmon lived here, and so there was no way that Trilpio could lose faith and end his own life. Maybe … It could have been any combination of events that saved Irving Trilpio’s life here.

The door opened and Cursky walked out. His face was puffy from where he’d been crying. Trilpio appeared at the door.

“You sure you’re all right, Joe?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, Irv. Just a little emotional right now.”

“Sure, I understand.”

“Do me a favor and don’t mention this to … me, anyone tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Cursky glared at John as he approached, as if it was his fault Trilpio had died in his own universe.

“Get in the car,” Cursky said. They got into the car they’d rented in 7574 for a huge sum so there’d be no need for a credit-card hold. “Drive.”

John headed the car back toward the car lot.

“Tell me again from start to finish.”

*   *   *

John stood outside the diner in Sebewa, Michigan, peering into the window, wondering if it was her. Then he saw Kylie, two years older, sitting at the counter and drawing, while her mother worked. It was Melissa Saraft; he’d found her. He watched as she sat another milk in front of her daughter and then took the order of a customer.

John entered the diner and helped himself to a counter seat.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” she said, handing him a menu and hurrying off.

Cursky had known right away. “She went up to Michigan, said she was from some little town near Lansing. I have it in my notes. Said she was from there,” he said.

“She was all right?”

“No! She was screwed in the head!” Cursky said. “She had been institutionalized because of you. She thought she was from another universe, so she got put in the mental ward. Don’t think you aren’t liable for that crap sack of luck.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

A crowd of breakfast customers came in, greeting Melissa as they sat, and John found he couldn’t say what he had been planning to say, so he ordered instead, a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and corned beef hash.

He ate it slowly, watching Kylie doodle at the end of the counter. After three cups of coffee, the crowd left, off to work, and it was just John in the diner. Melissa didn’t dawdle over him even then, keeping his coffee filled, but not engaging in any conversation.

Finally, he raised his hand for the check, and when she came over, he said, “I know you.”

Her smile was guarded. “Yeah? How’s that? You’re not local.”

“From Toledo,” John said.

Now her expression turned darker.

“You with the newspaper? Huh?”

“No, I brought you to Toledo,” John said.

She responded faster than he expected.

“Get the hell out! Maurice! We got an asshole out front!”

She grabbed Kylie, who looked at him with big doe eyes.

Maurice, the cook, came out carrying a butcher’s knife.

“Him?” he cried.

“Stop!” John cried. “Let me explain, Melissa!”

Maurice started coming toward him.

“I remember him,” Kylie said.

“What?”

Maurice seemed hell-bent on hacking John to pieces and would have too if the counter wasn’t between them. Maurice made for the opening, and John skirted the other way.

“Mommy, I remember him. He helped us.”

“Wait. What did you say, Kylie?”

“When you were hurt and my leg was broken,” she explained, “he helped us.”

Melissa looked at John hard.

“Stop, Maurice,” she said. Maurice didn’t look like he wanted to, but he lowered the butcher’s knife.

“You sure?”

“No, but maybe Kylie remembers,” she said. “I need ten minutes, okay?”

“Sure, sure, Melissa. Whatever you want.” Maurice stared at John for a long moment, and then said, “Be careful.”

CHAPTER
24

John Prime built his second secret gate in a weekend. He’d expected a visit from the police, from the fire department, someone. But apparently demolition of tree stumps was a common enough occurrence that none of his neighbors—kilometers away to be sure—cared. After a couple days, he’d hired a crew to rebuild the destroyed Quonset.

Prime crossed 1214 off his list of universes to explore.

For whatever reason, it was patrolled and defended by robots.

Robots!

Perhaps he’d have to stay away from every universe listed in Corrundrum’s notebook. Luckily, the notebook had been in the front seat of his car when the lab blew.

“9000,” he said. “I’m going to Universe 9000.” Pinball Wizards hadn’t gone far from the 7000s. Why not try to go somewhere distant? Someplace really upstream?

He’d asked for one more camera, unwilling to ask for four more for fear of arousing suspicion. But instead of the four-direction mount, he built a small motorized lazy Susan that rotated the camera 360 degrees in just sixty seconds. This provided a full view of the surroundings.

Prime sent his single camera through to Universe 9000, counted sixty on his stopwatch, and brought the camera back, ready to run if there was an explosive charge attached to it.

The camera reappeared, still turning at one rpm. There was no surprise explosive with it.

He rewound the tape and played it.

A dilapidated farmhouse stood in the distance, and slowly panned away. A rolling hill, a fence and then a gate twenty meters away, the gate askew, a field of late fall grass, unmowed, the hills to the north, and then the farmhouse again. Then—flash—the image of him grabbing the camera.

Prime played the video again, searching the sky for aircraft, searching the frames for nearby human presence. Nothing.

He tried another video survey, this one five minutes long. Still no sign of anything human or robotic. Ten minutes. Twenty.

Satisfied that no robotic guardian awaited him in 9000, John Prime powered down the transfer gate and drove to the electronics store to figure out how to build a timer device.

*   *   *

It was far easier than he expected. A simple electronic timer did the trick, but as he talked with the salesman, he convinced himself he needed a backup in case of power failure. Though if the power failed, the transfer gate wouldn’t power up anyway. But a mechanical fail-safe would work if the electronics reset for some reason. The salesman managed to configure an effective solution.

Prime spent a week testing it, letting it run on an hourly cycle, making sure the site in the remote location was secure. In all that time, he found no sign of humans on the remote site. No airplanes in the sky, not even a jet contrail. If it wasn’t for the dilapidated farmhouse, he would have guessed it was a Pleistocene world, with no humans at all.

He planned his first excursion for the next day, a one-hour survey of the nearby locale, then back to Universe Prime, no worries, no fuss. His supplies included two watches—so he knew exactly when one hour was up—a handgun, a compass, a flashlight, a kilogram of gold in small ingots, and the video camera. In case things went badly, he had left a message on his desk at home for Casey to find.

Come find me in Universe 9000 near the new lab building on Glidden Road if you don’t hear from me in 24 hours.

She was his final fail-safe.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He didn’t want to explain. Hated the idea of explaining to anyone.

He set the timer for sixty seconds and took his place atop a platform in the transfer zone. His watch clicked down to zero seconds. The walls of the laboratory disappeared.

Prime stepped down from the platform, dragging it out of the zone.

He paused, waiting. Nothing. It was as desolate as he had seen on the video camera. No sound but the breeze in the branchless trees. The wind was chill against his skin. He rolled up the collar of his jacket.

Nothing here.

Prime glanced at the abandoned farmhouse. No need to explore that. He decided to walk the driveway to the main road and hitchhike into town, the same thing he’d done dozens of times before when he’d found a new universe. He just had to be careful that he didn’t end up doing something stupid and miss the pickup time. He didn’t have the device. He couldn’t leave instantly. He had to go back to the transfer zone. Before he forgot, he marked the transfer zone—a scooped-out chunk of a sphere—with spray paint.