Into the Fourth Universe

by Robert Wingfield

  In a clump of trees at the top of the hill, a large silver cylinder was flattening a patch of ‘Rosa Karacanis’ which had been planted by Tom especially to attract the machine. Willyou stood, legs apart and hands on hips surveying it thoughtfully. “I feel I should know this machine,” she said to Allan as he sidled up and hugged her from behind, his hands cupping her breasts. “I thought you said we needed to see if there were any spares we could use from this..?”

  “Of course.” He let go immediately and then felt worried as he realised that the idea had been hers, not his. Was she losing her mind, or finding it, or worse still, twisting the facts to make him disagree in order to trigger those forgotten memories? He was going to have to be even more careful now.

  “Then I wonder how we get in.”

  “Let me try.” Allan ran his hands over the smooth surface of the machine. At one point it slipped into a hidden indentation. The metal seemed to adjust itself to him. A voice very much like that of his companion spoke in a language he did not recognise. There was a slight tingling in his skull, and then the message was repeated so that he could barely understand it.

  “Attention unfamiliar person. This message recorded at UD20564.5 by Nishant Systems: We are really apologies for the same but is this a cloistered craft and any unconstitutional access will be described to the needful authorities. Trust this will not happen again. Even we always keep such things informed to team here.”

  “Right, er, I think.” Allan was none the wiser.

  “I should have a try.” Willyou gently moved him to one side and placed her hand in the same hollow. The machine gave a contented sigh, and a hidden door slipped open to reveal the internals of the control room. “It seems to know me.”

  “I expect it is purely because it recognises a fellow machine,” explained Allan hopefully. “Perhaps the safety features are to prevent humanoids from trying to fly it themselves and getting into trouble.”

  “That sounds reasonable. It does seem familiar though.”

  “Let’s go in and see what we can find.”

  The machine itself had a central unit and what looked like a command centre to one side. Fixed around the walls were a number of storage crates, comfortably adorned with pink cushions. The outer door closed silently and the internal temperature rose a few degrees to what it apparently thought would be comfortable for both of them.

  Allan glanced anxiously towards the sealed hatch, which had now disappeared as the storage boxes shifted around. “I hope we can get out again.”

  The android seated herself at the command console and started exploring the controls.

  “Do you think we can fly it?” he prompted.

  “Shhh, I’m busy. Let me concentrate.”

  “I thought you machines were multi-tasking.”

  “Only when there aren’t other things going on.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a look round then.”

  Allan was disappointed to find out that the machine was no bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside, though he did not know why. It took very little time to explore. The cylinder was exactly that, a cylinder. What lockers he could open simply contained component modules, but nothing that looked like they would be any use in his own ship. He was puzzled by a recess in the hull opposite where the door would have been if he could have seen it. “What’s this for?” He stepped into the space to investigate and found himself floating gently upwards. He relaxed as he arrived in what reminded him of an expensive form of the boudoir of a lady he knew from the ‘Sailor’s Rest’2. The room had soft pink lighting; around the walls were many cupboards, cabinets and vanity units, all with mirrors, and all reflecting the solid wooden four-poster bed which extended into the centre. It was hung with rich tapestries and buried under many pink cushions with pictures of kittens, rabbits and other cute furry creatures that he did not recognise. He ran his hand over the material and felt the softness of the bed-sheets. “Hey, this is brilliant!” He stepped forward to investigate and suddenly the connection hit him. “Oh will you believe this?”

  “You called, Allan?”

  “Er, no. Nothing to see up here. It’s best you stay at the controls and try to get this crate airborne.”

  “Can I see?” Willyou was suddenly standing beside him. (How did she do that?) She stared around. “Some sort of bedroom,” she said unnecessarily. “It looks to me as though the former owner was one of those travelling courtesans.”

  “Phoist,” muttered Allan to himself, “Don’t start thinking now.”

  “Sorry, I have to keep thinking.” The android’s systems were returning to normal now that she had liberated the woodlice from the channels to her audio receptors, and had picked up his remark. “Somehow I have to get my memory back.”

  “So you think it belongs to a travelling prostitute?”

  “For some reason I have a fairly clear recollection of their function.”

  “Me too,” agreed Allan hopefully. Perhaps the android would not make the connection.

  “I could never do that sort of thing,” continued Willyou thoughtfully. “It requires a special sort of mentality I think.”

  “Thank Oilflig.” Allan stopped himself muttering. “Or a need for lots of cash,” he continued.

  “I suppose it is a life of freedom though.” The android gabbled. “Go anywhere, do anything, only a bit of lying down and grunting…”

  “Do you think we will meet her?” Allan tried to prevent her making any more connections.

  “Or ‘it’.” Willyou had stopped to investigate a unit on one of the walls. “This looks as though it’s a reconstitution unit…”

  “A what?”

  “For rebuilding matter into different shapes. There appears to be a set of standard programs…” Her hands flickered over the control panel, bringing up different life-form shapes in the holographic display. “I wonder if it would work on me.”

  “Let’s not try it.” Allan put his arm around her naked shoulders. “You are absolutely perfect as you are. Now while we’re up here, shall we try out the bed?”

  “I thought you were looking for engine parts.”

  “Exploring, er, for engine parts,” he added quickly, trying not to change the objective again. “It’s our duty to check out the facilities before we take anything away, and that includes the bed. After all, the owner might come back.”

  “Or it could be already here,” the android said ominously as she called up a picture of a four poster bed in the display.

  Allan looked nervously around the room, wondering which items of furniture could possibly be the occupant. Then he remembered he had probably already met her. It was now his priority to make sure she did not find out. If he could repeat the lie often enough, she might eventually believe it (after all, it worked for business leaders, politicians and telecoms engineers) and then his life was safe; not only his life, but his sex life too. If she could change her form using the reconstitution unit, she could be anyone he desired; a bit like that celebrity, ‘Classy Seasoning’, who reinvented her image every time she appeared in public. The thought caused stirrings. “I suppose there is one way to find out,” he suggested hopefully, pointing at the four-poster.

  “You may be right,” said the android, removing her belt.

  Investigatory Best Practice?

  T

  he flight was mostly uneventful. The Magus’ arsenal had been safely stowed in the hold, along with a few of the more persistent Doku. The remainder of the herd had been returned safely to the grazing around his property and now seemed to have taken the role of guard-beasts. The latest reports were that the perimeter was secure, and his mail was now not being delivered, owing to the twin factors that the creatures would gore anyone who came on to the property, and mail had been outsourced to a planet on the other side of the galaxy. The new postmen were working to rule, so they would only deliver when they could get back home within a week. They were cheap however, so everyone was h
appy.

  On the planet, ‘Paradice’, the Magus collected his property and headed for Customs. The alarms went off as soon as he approached, and he was intercepted by a posse of security guards. “Sorry, sir, can we ask you to put your hardware through the machine please?”

  “If it will help.” The Magus placed his weapons one at a time on a conveyor, which fed them through. The laser rifle was returned to him melted into a solid block of metal, but his pistol, and the other pistol and the pistol for the back of his belt that was not there, that he had purchased in Duty Free, were returned unchanged, along with a leaflet from the Space-port authorities describing the dangers of discharging them in proximity to sentient life-forms. He replaced the weapons in their usual locations and was heading for luggage reclaim when he was stopped again.

  “Are these your creatures, sir?”

  The Magus eyed the line of doku following him through the customs post in single file. “Er, I guess so.”

  “You are aware that importing pets through passenger channels is forbidden without the correct quarantine arrangements?”

  “They came on as hand luggage…”

  “I’m sorry sir, but did you not read the notice?”

  “What notice?”

  “This one.” He indicated a large laminated sheet blocking the exit.

  “Oh.” The Magus read out load, “The Administration request that you place all dangerous items in this container before proceeding. These include sharp objects, nail scissors, plastic bottles containing more than 50ml of liquid, unstable explosives and beasts of burden over 50cm in height… There you go then. The doku aren’t beasts of burden.”

  “Sorry sir, it is difficult to tell without a jockey or a plough, but I will have to ask you to leave them here. You may collect them upon your return, along with the bill for fodder and the necessary cleaning.”

  “Fair enough. Can I go now?”

  An hour later, the Magus stood outside an impressive holiday home across the road from one of the exquisite beaches. The usual hot doku breath on the back of his neck was entirely absent at this stage. The sun was warm, but not too warm, and a pleasant scented breeze gently wafted the hair on his head and other places to keep him comfortable. He felt relaxed and sleepy, but then he remembered his quest to find out what had happened to Rannie, and strode purposely up to the entrance. The presence detectors announced his arrival, and the door was opened by a dark skinned maid. “Please come in,” she said. “Herr Gottstein is expecting you.”

  “Good, lead on…”

  * * *

  “Magus! It is being very good to see you!” A large, red-faced man squeezed out through one of the doors leading off the hall.

  “Ludwig, so good to see you too. You’ve put on a little weight since we last met. It, er, suits you.”

  “The good life, it fits comfortably with me. And you, if my old eyes don’t deceive me, you are a little bit more hairy. I quite like the look. It sets you apart from the normal.”

  “I’m not sure about that. I guess I should get it looked at, but I’m busy at the moment.”

  “Jah, you mentioned the problems you have been having. My commiserations concerning Rannie; you must be feeling the loss.”

  “Until I know what happened, I’m not giving up.”

  “But you said you thought she was dead.”

  “If she is, why then did her body disappear and my house get tidied up as though nothing had happened?”

  “My old friend,” Ludwig put his arm round the Magus’ shoulders and gave him a squeeze which nearly cracked his rib cage, “I am sorry to say this, but you must prepare yourself for the worst. From what you said, I think there is little hope.”

  “Little hope is better than none. Did I expand on why I’ve come here?”

  “For a holiday with your old friend?”

  “That, yes, but also I traced a flight which seemed out of place; one which had a container on the manifest, which could’ve contained a body.”

  Gottstein looked thoughtful. “It is, how do you say, a long shot.”

  “All I’ve got to go on at the moment.”

  “Come in and make yourself at my home. We can talk about it with good beers in our hands.”

  “That is an excellent idea. What have you got on?”

  “I have ice-cold Charman beer for you to try. It is called ‘Koenig Wilhelm the Third’s Essence of Life’, or ‘Williwater’ for short.”

  “Sounds enticing. You wouldn’t have a pint of ‘Bengal Nobber’ though? The Charman beer is a bit to fizzy and tasteless for me.”

  “No, Williwater is very good on a hot day. That is an interesting name for your beer though.”

  “I’m told it was created for a special occasion. Apparently all the doors in the main palace were replaced in honour of India winning the World Cup on that planet ‘Mud’ or something, in that other universe I was telling you about. They named the ale in honour of the unique door hardware.”

  “I always thought it rained too much. I have decided not to go there for my holidays.”

  “Great ales though.”

  “So you keep saying, but I regret I have none of these ales. I do not believe they travel unchanged across the portals between universes.”

  “I don’t think anyone has quite been able to reproduce the portal thing yet, since that case when I sorted out the mad bastard who was trying to shut his universe down and bugger up the equilibrium. The gateways all closed as balance was re-established, so sadly I’ll have to leave it as a fond memory. Oh go on then, Williwater it is.”

  * * *

  “I am making enquiries with my business contacts at the space-port.”

  “You are very kind, Ludwig.”

  “It is no trouble. You are my eternal friend after that job you did for me, and very reasonably too.”

  The Magus sipped at the cold yellow liquid in his glass, pretending to enjoy it. “Yes, the ‘Case of the Missing Champagne’. I suspected all along that it was your butler’s antelope’s groomer’s friend.”

  “That Champagne was very precious to me since the universe transit portals all closed. It was impossible to get a really good vintage anymore.”

  “It always amazed me how many people were using the portals to ferry merchandise between the universes, but that’s all over now, the portals closed and hopefully the businesses returning to normal. Anyway, tell me what else you’ve been doing.”

  They spent some time catching up on Ludwig’s business ventures and other cases the Magus had solved, and then retired to a sumptuous meal in the dining room. Gottstein took a call over the ‘Doku Burger’. “Ah, they have identified the passenger you mentioned, and the crate, and also an address.”

  “Let’s go. We should start right away.” The Magus was on his feet, but Ludwig pulled him back down.

  “Eat, and sleep on the problem, my good friend. We will work on a plan in the morning.”

  “We?”

  “You do not think I would miss this chance to work with the best P.I. on the planet, do you?”

  “Best? You’re very kind. How many other investigators are there?”

  “Alas none that I know of; we do not have crime here, you see.”

  “Sounds like a very peaceful place.”

  “Ah, you misunderstand me.” Gottstein poured another glass. “The reason there is no crime is because nothing is illegal. We do not have a police force.”

  “Nothing illegal? What if there’s a murder?”

  “Why would we need to kill anyone?”

  “I think I’ve said before, that all problems everywhere are caused by only three things: greed, stupidity and horniness.”

  “We do not need to be greedy because everyone has everything they need.”

  “All right then, supposing I see a car that’s better than mine, and want to steal it?”

  “Why would you, when you can order a new one and get it delivered the sam
e day?”

  The Magus racked his brains. “What happens if I drive it too fast, and run someone down?”

  “That someone should not have been on the road. It would be their fault of course.”

  “And the poor people; you know, tramps, beggars, nurses, Java developers… Don’t they want to take what is yours?”

  “We have no poor people.”

  “What about your maid..?” His voice tailed off as the girl came in to the room to remove some plates and bring in the next course.”

  “What do you think, Maria?” Ludwig smiled at his maid.

  “Of course sir.” She grinned back. “This is how I keep busy. I do this job because I enjoy it, not because I need to do it. Where most people are holidaymakers and pay enormously for their vacations, I live here permanently. This means that I can do something I like and not get bored. Herr Gottstein is fun to work for.”

  “You like being a maid?”

  “I was born to it really, I suppose. Anyway, I must get on. I’m having a new car delivered later tonight and need to finish.” She bustled out and Ludwig smiled again.

  “So you see, she does her work because she wants to.”