Doughnut

by Tom Holt

  “Fine.” She stood up, and he took her place. Now she was leaning over his shoulder, and the ends of her hair were just touching his cheek. He tried very hard to ignore that. “Right,” he said briskly, “here goes.” He licked the tip of his index finger and pressed it to the glass of the mirror, which immediately brought up –

  YouSpace 1.1

  User’s Manual

  “Next,” he said, and when the list of contents appeared, he said, “Getting Started.” The screen cleared, a tiny red horse galloped across his face, and a page of text stood out on a white background.

  “You need a PIN number,” she said in his ear.

  “Already done that,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  He pretended he hadn’t heard. “What I want to know,” he said, “is how you cancel the security protocols. The ones that keep landing me in life-threatening situations.”

  The screen cleared again, the red horse cantered across the bridge of his nose, and –

  6.2.1 Cancelling security protocols.

  In order to cancel the security protocols, wish for the security protocols to be cancelled.

  “Is that it?” she said.

  He shrugged. “Is that it?” he asked. The screen cleared, and-

  Yes.

  “Oh well,” Theo said. “Right, then. How do you choose where you want to go?”

  27.6.13 Choosing where you want to go.

  In order to choose where you want to go, choose where you want to go.

  “We’ve got to try this,” she said. “It can’t be this easy.”

  “What, now?”

  “Got anything else you really need to do?”

  He frowned; then he took the bottle from his pocket. “I’m not sure about this.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  Her hair was tickling the side of his neck. “Do you get upset when people lie to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “In that case, I trust you.” The bottle was resting on a nest of his fingertips. “The hell with it,” he said. “Where would you like to go?”

  “I don’t know. My mind’s gone a complete blank.”

  “Mine too.” He closed his eyes. Somewhere nice, he thought. Oh, and deactivate the security protocols.

  Somewhere nice…

  He opened his eyes and saw a seagull.

  Somewhere nice. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, and sand under his bare legs. Lying beside him, in a bikini, was a woman with long red hair. He could only see the back of her head, but that was all he needed to see –

  “Amanda?”

  “Mphm.” It was her all right. Nobody else in the world could do that soft sleepy grunt of utter contentment. Quickly he glanced down. His right hand was still visible, and there was a wedding ring on its fourth finger.

  “Honey,” he said, “what’s the date today?”

  She told him. She was quite right too.

  He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. Somewhere nice… Somewhere, a time and a place, where the VVLHC hadn’t blown up, he was still married to Amanda, and they were lying on a beach together in the sun. And – because that was what was so very different about YouSpace – it was real –

  The sky, he noticed, was emerald-green.

  She grunted again, and he realised he was staring at her right shoulder blade. He’d always been ridiculously fond of it, though when he’d mentioned the fact she’d accused him of being weird. And all he’d done was think somewhere nice.

  If it’s real, he thought, I don’t have to go back.

  He lifted his head, just to make sure. He didn’t recognise the beach, but it was everything a beach should be: a perfect interval between the blue sea and everyday life, a thin golden ribbon of calm joy. So, if the VVLHC hadn’t blown up, presumably he still had his job. And – his mouth went suddenly dry – the money. Maybe, if he was quick, there’d be time to get all the money out of Schliemann Brothers before the crash –

  About fifteen yards away, he saw the back of a man’s head, just visible over the top of a colossal sandcastle. It was blond and curly, and it had enormous ears. He blinked, then shifted a little, just enough so that he could see round the side of the sandcastle. Sure enough; there were Lunchbox, in swimming trunks, eating a bacon, lettuce and tomato roll, and the old man, in a raincoat and a scarf, screwing a long lens into a camera body. Well, he thought, almost perfect. But close enough can be good enough, sometimes. Behind him, he heard a crunch, which he recognised as the sound of someone biting into an apple.

  Amanda growled and turned over. He smiled at her. She smiled at him. And then her face froze.

  “Theo,” she said, “who the hell is that?”

  She was looking past him. He wriggled round, and saw Matasuntha, wearing two pieces of string and biting into an apple. She smiled, waggled her fingers and said, “Hi, Theo.”

  Amanda moved like a cobra. She sort of slithered and reared up out of the sand, and the look on her face was one he’d seen ever so many times before, though never quite at this level of intensity.

  “Um,” he said.

  It was what he’d always said, and it had never done him any good. In fact, he remembered, it was surefire guaranteed to make things much, much worse. “Well?” she snapped. “I’m waiting.”

  “I’m Mattie,” Matasuntha said. “Who are you?”

  There’s never a doughnut when you want one. “I’m his wife,” Amanda said, in a voice you could’ve preserved mammoths in. “For the time being, anyhow.”

  Matasuntha frowned. “You never said you were married. I’m not sure I’d have come here with you if I’d known you were—”

  “Theo—”

  And then he saw it: fifty yards or so down the beach, under a canvas awning, a man in a white T-shirt, frying doughnuts over a portable gas ring. “Just a moment,” he said, swooping and grabbing Amanda’s handbag. “Won’t be long.”

  When he got back, twirling the doughnut round his finger, Amanda and Matasuntha were more or less where he’d left them. Amanda snatched her bag back from him and lashed out at his ankle with her foot. He swerved to avoid her, darted behind Matasuntha, who turned her head to look at him, and smiled at them both. “I’m going now,” he said.

  “Theo,” Amanda said. “If you leave now, don’t bother coming back, you hear me?”

  He ignored her. He was smiling straight at Matasuntha, who finally got the point. “Theo,” she said. “How do you—?”

  “Ah,” he said. “That’d be telling. Well, have fun, you two. I feel sure you’re going to be great friends.”

  The doughnut was a circular frame for a miniature of Matasuntha Suddenly Worried, but not for very long.

  He just had time to sit down and put his feet up on the desk. Then she was back.

  “You bastard,” she said.

  She looked different: pale, thinner, hair tangled and bedraggled, fingernails bitten short. “Hi,” he said, as she dropped to the floor, sat with her back to the wall and pulled her shoes off. “You got home all right, then.”

  “Eight weeks,” she spat at him. “Eight weeks I was stranded there, you total—”

  “But you figured it out in the end, I take it.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was rummaging about in a dustbin looking for something to eat, there were some cakes and things, I picked one up to see if it was edible, and here I am. No thanks,” she added bitterly, “to you. How could you?”

  Theo gave her a pleasant smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the same way you made Amanda believe we were having an affair. You might care to explain that.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” She was massaging the soles of her feet. “If I hadn’t, you’d have stayed there, right?”

  “Yes,” Theo said crisply. “And why the hell not?”

  “Because we need you here.” She picked up her shoes and threw them across the room. “Here, give me the compact, I need to do my face. I spent four nights sleeping on a bench in the
bus station.”

  He hesitated, then snapped the compact shut and tossed it to her. She caught it one-handed, without looking. “I may forgive you,” she said, “if you bring me food, right now. And coffee,” she added, with a catch in her voice. “You know how long it’s been since I tasted coffee?”

  So he went to the kitchen, where he found Call-me-Bill busy at the stove.

  “Potato dauphinoise,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  Theo hesitated. Of course, he’d get all the news from Matasuntha soon enough. “Hopeful signs,” he said.

  “Great.” Call-me-Bill poured cream into the pan from a large jug. “How hopeful?”

  “Cautious optimism.”

  “That could mean anything,” Call-me-Bill said. “Like, if it wasn’t for cautious optimism, I wouldn’t bother getting out of bed in the morning.”

  Theo opened some cupboards until he found a tin of corned beef, which he opened and turned out on to a plate. “Any coffee going?”

  Call-me-Bill nodded at a pot on the stove. “Oh, there was a phone call for you. I took a message.”

  “Who from?”

  “I think he said his name was Captain Zod.”

  There was a crash as the plate hit the floor. “Captain—”

  “Zod. That’s an Albanian name, isn’t it?”

  Theo stooped, gathered up the corned beef with his fingers and stuck it in his pocket. Then he grabbed the coffee pot and ran out to Reception. On the desk was a little yellow sticky: Captain Zod, and a number.

  He called the number. It rang and rang.

  “What kept you?” she demanded, as he returned breathless to his room. “I was just about to start gnawing the edge of the desk.”

  He fished the corned beef out of his pocket. It had crumbled into three clods, which had acquired a surface coating of grime and bits of fluff. She didn’t seem to mind. “Is that coffee?” she asked with her mouth full.

  “Yes. Damn, I didn’t bring a cup.”

  “No matter.” She grabbed the pot, put the spout in her mouth and tipped her head back. After a long interval of glugging she sighed and wiped her mouth and chin with her wrist. “I think,” she said, “I’ll be all right now. It was close, but—” She stopped, and frowned. “Who are you calling?”

  Theo had the phone to his ear. It rang and rang. After fifty-six rings, he gave up.

  “Well?”

  He sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. “When I was a kid,” he said, “about ten years old, my brother was eleven, we were nuts about Star Trek.”

  “Not to worry,” she said. “You grew out of it, that’s the main thing.”

  “We used to play this game,” Theo went on. “I was Captain Sherman of the Dauntless. My brother Max was Captain Zod of the Fremulan star destroyer Ob.”

  “Really?”

  “Mphm.” He handed her the yellow sticky. “The thing is, it was a secret. Nobody else knew.”

  She looked at him. “That’s Uncle Bill’s writing.”

  “Yup.”

  She frowned. “What about your sister? She must’ve known.”

  He shook his head. “She hated Star Trek. Star Wars fan.”

  “That would explain a great deal. So, not her, then.”

  “No.”

  “And you tried the number.”

  “No reply.”

  She took another swig from the coffee pot, then stood up wearily. “Mind out of the way,” she said, elbowing him gently aside so she could sit down at the computer. “Now then.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Tracing the call.” She played a piano concerto on the keys, and a screen full of numbers appeared. She glanced down at the yellow sticky and typed. “Uncle Bill has friends in low places. Right, here we are. Your call – oh.”

  “What?”

  “Came from a payphone in a bar in Caracas,” she said. “Sounds to me like someone’s jerking your chain. You sure it couldn’t be your sister?”

  He shook his head. “Thanks for trying.” He sighed, and took her place on the floor. “Why is it,” he said, “I’m never here to take my calls?”

  “You ought to get a cellphone,” she replied, tapping keys. “You want the address of the bar?”

  “Not particularly.” He played back how he’d said that in his mind, and added, “Thanks for offering, but I don’t think it’d help.”

  “He left the number. He wants you to call him back.”

  “I doubt it.” He could feel his temper slipping away from him, like the last glimpse of land before it sinks below the horizon. “I think someone’s been to a parallel universe where he’s still alive. He’s got Max to tell him about the Star Trek thing, and now he’s playing mind games with me.”

  “Why would anyone—?”

  “I don’t know, do I?” The bump and wrench, like a tooth being pulled from an anaesthetised gum, had been his temper finally letting go. He didn’t particularly want to be angry right now, but it seemed he had little choice in the matter. “It’s a hypothesis,” he said. “That’s what scientists do. They think up something that sort of fits the facts, and then they see if they can prove it. If they can be bothered. I’m not sure I can, to be honest.”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “Was my brother. And you know what? I never liked him much.” He paused. It had never occurred to him to wonder why, until now, when the answer suddenly turned up on his mental doorstep. “He cheated.”

  “What?”

  “He always cheated,” Theo said. “At everything. Even when we were playing Star Trek. There was a bit where you had to throw a dice, and his always seemed to roll off the table on to the floor, and he’d pick it up and say it was a six before I had a chance to look.” He listened to what he’d just said, and laughed. “Not just that. He cheated at every damn thing, and he still always lost.”

  “Sounds like he’s trying to cheat at being dead.”

  “He’ll lose. He always loses. You know, if sometimes he won, I could’ve forgiven the cheating.”

  There was a pause; then she said, “None of this would matter if it’s really just someone pretending to be him.”

  “That’s cheating too,” Theo said furiously. “Like when he paid some guy to pretend to be him in an exam. Now he’s getting someone to do his living for him.”

  “Did he pass the exam?”

  “No. The guy he paid didn’t know spit about higher maths. Got sixteen per cent.”

  Matasuntha was nodding slowly. “I can see how you’d lose patience with someone like that. Still.” She shook her hair out of her eyes. Amanda used to do that, but not quite the same way. On balance, he preferred how Matasuntha did it. “He’s dead. That’s final. Nothing can change that.”

  There are moments in every great scientist’s life when a light comes on, illuminating shapes previously indistinguishable in the dark. Sometimes there’s apples and bathwater and tramcars to give a little nudge, though they usually miss out on the glory; when did you last see a copy of The General Theory of Relativity, by A. Einstein and A. Tramcar? Theo wasn’t like that. “What did you just say?”

  “What? Well, just that your brother’s dead, and nothing can—”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  She gave him a sweet and simple smile. “Right,” she said. “He’s not dead. Instead, he’s emigrated to the Isle of Avalon, along with Elvis and JFK and Princess Di, and every now and again he pops over to Caracas to make annoying phone calls. Next he’ll be talking to you from your microwave. Come on, Theo. They found an actual body.”

  “No, they didn’t. All they found was one tooth.”

  She frowned at him. “I’d forgotten that. You think—”

  “He was mixed up with some nasty people,” Theo said. “And he was Pieter’s ex-student. And Pieter was ridiculously kind-hearted sometimes and a lousy judge of character. He liked some really useless people.”

  “You mean your brother?”

  Theo nodded. �
��I never could understand why. I mean, Max never did any work, he spent his whole time boozing and doing drugs and demonstrating a totally unreconstructed attitude towards sexual politics. Basically, all he did was buy drinks for people and have a good time.”

  “And you can’t see why Pieter liked him.”

  “No, it’s a complete mystery. But…” Theo closed his eyes for a moment. “Consider this. Max is at the end of his rope, he needs to get far, far away and make himself very hard to find. Pieter, meanwhile, is at a crucial point in his experiments with alternative universes. He needs to send someone over there, to see if it works. Like putting a monkey in a spaceship and blasting it into orbit. Actually, that’s a very good analogy.”

  “Max was the monkey.”

  “Mphm. Not quite as intelligent and far less self-disciplined, but considerably more expendable. They fake Max’s death, and Pieter sends him to Somewhere Else.”

  Matasuntha frowned thoughtfully. “And there he still is.”

  “Presumably.”

  “Then who’s phoning you from a bar in Caracas?”

  The history of science doesn’t record the moments of hesitation and doubt; as, for example, when Archimedes’ wife yelled at him for slopping water all over the bathroom floor, or Mrs Newton said, “So an apple fell on you. So what?” You have to extrapolate that there were such moments, and the genius in question rose above them and moved on. “I don’t know, do I? Maybe it’s someone who knows what happened and thinks I know where he is. Maybe he’s found a way to come back.”

  “YouSpace.”

  One of only three in existence. Leaving two unaccounted for. “Maybe.”

  She took the lid off the coffee pot and peered inside. “This isn’t any good,” she said. “Can a human being die of caffeine deprivation? Let’s not find out.” She went out, and came back a few minutes later with a fresh pot, two mugs, a carton of milk and a sugar bowl.

  “Better now?”

  “Marginally,” she replied, pouring coffee into both mugs. “Milk and sugar, right?”

  He nodded. “You think Max may have got hold of a YouSpace bottle?”

  She lifted her mug and gobbled energetically. “Well, you can find out easily enough,” she said.