The Broken Universe

by Melko, Paul

  “Yes! I know he hurt her. I know he hurt Yolanda. She cursed me when I visited her in the hospital. I didn’t do it. He did.” Cecil looked up. “I didn’t know he was going to do that to Amalona. I swear. I swear I didn’t know he was going to do anything to her.”

  “But you knew what he was capable of?”

  Cecil Inkster nodded sadly. “I knew.”

  “What did he do to Amalona?”

  Cecil shook his head.

  John said, “You were there, weren’t you?”

  Cecil nodded again.

  “What did he do?”

  “We left the dance with a bottle of booze,” Cecil said softly. “They started kissing, but she wasn’t into it. She pushed him away. He kept kissing her. Then he lifted up her shirt and…”

  “You watched,” John said flatly.

  “Yes,” Cecil whispered. “He lets me.”

  John stared at him. Cecil stared at his hands.

  “Did she tell him to stop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she try to fight him off?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “What?”

  “That’s what he likes.”

  John exhaled.

  “Stay here, Cecil. Don’t leave this room.”

  John wrote a note on a piece of paper, folded the paper, and placed it in an envelope. He opened the door to Devon and said, “This needs to go to Home Office right away, and then find me John Superprime.”

  “You got it.”

  John shut the door to the office, leaving Cecil inside.

  * * *

  Grace Home came first, as he waited for the others to arrive in Melissa’s office.

  “He confessed?”

  “No,” John said. “But Inkster admitted to witnessing it.”

  “Then it’s open and shut.”

  “I know!” John said sharply. “It’s just that…”

  “It’s not murder, John,” Grace said. “It’s a state execution.” Grace’s calmness horrified him. She had already accepted Grayborn’s death as inevitable.

  “I accept that he must die,” John said. “He’s guilty. It’s how we ascertained his death that worries me.”

  “Cecil Inkster witnessed it.”

  “But what made Inkster admit that?” John said. “Evidence from another universe.”

  “It’s still Grayborn,” Grace said. “He’s still guilty of those crimes.”

  “Then I’m guilty too,” John said.

  “What? Oh,” Grace said. “Prime.”

  “Yes, if we hold a person guilty of any crimes his or her doppelgangers commit, then I committed every crime Prime did. I am no better than he.”

  Grace nodded and looked away. “No.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You aren’t Prime,” she said simply.

  “But we’re on the slippery slope—”

  “No,” Grace said. “Inkster witnessed the rape of Amalona. Case closed. It doesn’t matter how we obtained the leverage to make Inkster implicate Grayborn. The fact is, he did it. This Grayson is guilty. There is no doubt. You can’t be held accountable for anything Prime has done, nor can Grayborn in any other universe be held accountable for Amalona’s rape.”

  “By the argument, Prime’s crimes could be used to implicate me in another crime, simply because it raises a doubt of my innocence.”

  “But if you weren’t guilty, there’d be no problem,” Grace said. “John, Inkster was there. He saw it. He says Grayborn did it.”

  John nodded. “He’s guilty. I know it.”

  “Then we do what has to be done.”

  * * *

  Casey came next.

  “Come on,” she said, staring at him behind Melissa’s desk. “Let’s walk.”

  She led him to the northeast along the river.

  “How many times have we crossed this river to get somewhere downtown?” Casey said. “And here there’s no bridges, no roads, no university. It’s amazing, really.”

  “Yeah.” This was a small downtown in nine universes out of ten. But what they saw here was as it had been thirty thousand years before man.

  There was a path of sorts, a game trail widened by the colonists who followed the river. Casey kept hold of his hand as they walked.

  “Everyone knows what’s going to happen,” she said. “Everyone here and in every colonized universe.”

  “I figured when I sent the note, everyone would know pretty fast.”

  They flushed a quail that chirped at them as it ran into the brush.

  After watching it disappear, Casey said, “We think you shouldn’t do this thing.”

  “Grace convinced me he’s guilty. I—”

  “No, it’s not about the guilt,” Casey said. “It’s about the execution. We don’t want you to do it.”

  “‘We’?” he asked.

  “Some of the Caseys. Casey Low, Casey Pinball, Casey Case.”

  “Casey Prime?”

  Casey shrugged.

  “He’s hurt a lot of women. And he will again,” John said. “It’s our duty to put a stop to this.”

  “Really? Our duty, and that means your duty? Who made you king?” Casey said. “All you did was find a device. All you did was be in the wrong spot at the wrong time. It’s not your duty at all.”

  “When we decided to bring those colonists here, we took on this responsibility,” John said. “Maybe not explicitly, but it was there. Society demands we do this.”

  “Exile him,” Casey said simply. “Send him to 1000 or 2000 or 3000. Someplace far away.”

  “He’ll hurt someone else.”

  “So?”

  “You can’t be callous to that! He’ll rape again.”

  “No, I’m sympathetic,” Casey said. “But you’re my concern. This path—where you are arbitrator and executioner—I don’t want it for you.”

  John nodded. “I can’t ask someone else to do it.”

  “If you won’t exile him, have Prime do it.”

  John swallowed. Prime would do it. Prime would pull the trigger.

  “No, I can’t do that.”

  Casey turned and faced him. “I’m begging you, John, not to do this.”

  John looked into her eyes. He’d told himself that he’d do anything for her. Yet, Jason Grayborn was a vile human being that had to be put down. He’d made the decision.

  “They’ll be here soon,” he said. “I need to go back.”

  He turned to go, but Casey didn’t follow.

  * * *

  John waited until all of them arrived. Ten John Rayburns stood on the hill across the river, with Jason Grayborn standing in the middle of them, shackled at his wrists and ankles. They’d used the one boat to cross the river. John had wanted their destination to be within a short walk, but not easily accessible. Only John carried a gun.

  On the far side of the river, near the boat dock of the settlement, a group of settlers stood and watched silently. It had not taken long for the news to spread. Among them, he spotted Casey Home standing next to Grace Home.

  “Let’s go,” John said.

  He led the way. John Superprime took Grayborn’s shoulder and guided him forward.

  “I didn’t do anything!” he cried as he took a step. “It’s her word against mine! You can’t do this!”

  “Shut up, Grayborn,” John Superprime said. “Or we gag you.”

  “There are rules! You can’t punish me like this!”

  Superprime punched him in the gut and Grayborn doubled over. He drew back to punch him again, but John stopped him.

  “Don’t. Let him whine his last minutes away if he wants to,” John said.

  Grayborn stood erect slowly. He didn’t try to speak again as they set off toward the copse of trees.

  No one else spoke as they walked slowly to the line of trees, limited by the short gait of Grayborn’s shackled legs. Once, he fell, stumbling in a gopher hole. He grunted, but none of the Johns stepped forward to help him up. Gritting his tee
th, he stood and the group continued on.

  “I’ll go on alone,” John said when they reached the trees.

  “No,” John Ten said. “We’ll come.”

  “No,” John said. “This is my job.”

  One hand on the pistol in its holster, one hand on the shoulder of Jason Grayborn, John led him into the trees. The winter sun, already weak, disappeared behind the masses of gray tree limbs, but not so much as to leave them in darkness. The air was musty.

  The land sloped down into a small hollow, a gorge three meters deep that ran to the northeast, dug out by spring rains over the years. John helped Jason down and stood him against the dirt wall.

  “This isn’t justice. It’s just her word against mine,” he said. “You’re creating a fascist state where you’re the godlike leader. Fear is what you’ll get out of this. Not justice.”

  “This isn’t just for Amalona,” John said. He took a sheet of paper from his pocket and read a list of names, “Yolanda Kishtan, Jennifer O’Reilly, Cathy Reese, Quinn Pollank, Martha Abble, Julie Balusha, Gabriella Freeman.”

  Jason Grayborn looked at him in shock. “Where’d that list come from? Who’d you talk to?”

  “You’re the same in every universe.”

  Jason looked at him dumbly, and then he smiled. He laughed, a huge belly laugh of pure joy.

  “You fool!” Grayborn cried. “Punishing me for things I didn’t even do. This is worse than fascism. This is thought control.”

  “I’m sure you raped Amalona,” John said. “Cecil Inkster confirmed it. There’s no doubt that this instance of you deserves to die.”

  John Rayburn took the gun from the holster, turned off the safety, and aimed the revolver at Grayborn’s chest.

  Jason Grayborn stared into the mouth of the gun, and said, “And every one of us in every universe will continue to live, and breathe, and be the despicable beasts you fear. There’s nothing you can do about—”

  John fired a single shot into Grayborn’s heart, and he was flung backward. His body twitched in the collection of brown leaves and then he lay still, dead.

  Nausea rocked John’s body, and uncontrollably he fell forward onto the wet, leaf-covered ground. He vomited bile.

  He felt a hand on his back. A John stood above him. Another John lifted him up by his shoulder. The first handed him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. John turned to find all nine of the others standing there.

  “What have we done?” John said.

  No one spoke, but they all crowded close, each placing a hand on his shoulder or chest or back. John breathed in deeply. He felt his guilt and nausea drift away.

  In unspoken agreement, they left Grayborn’s body to the elements and animals. His would not be the first body to be buried in the New Toledo cemetery. There would be no honor for the guilty.

  CHAPTER 30

  After getting Henry’s frantic call, John drove straight to the quarry. He found Henry engrossed over a video camera.

  “Tell me,” John said.

  “This is 7351. John Champ’s world.”

  John peered over Henry’s shoulder. He wasn’t certain what he was looking at. The camera was panning over a blackened, charred ruin. Then he recognized the back wall of the quarry transfer building in 7351.

  “What happened?” John said.

  “We hadn’t gotten a packet from 7351 in three days,” Henry said. John tried to remember details of 7351. The seventh settled universe, where John’s basketball team had won the state championship. Thus its nickname, Universe Champ. All four of them were in that universe: John, Grace, Henry, and Casey. They’d taken Clotilde there when she’d fallen ill after the cat-dog attack. Otherwise he could remember nothing about it, who was president, what the key technologies were. His mind was a blank.

  “What happened to the transfer gate?”

  “I’m getting to that!” Henry snapped. “Sorry. I’m trying to figure it out. I sent an emergency packet. No response. That’s the packet right there on the ground,” Henry said, pointing to the leather satchel.

  “So I set up a reconnaissance camera,” Henry said. John remembered that Henry was devising various ways to gather intelligence on a remote universe. He’d settled on a helium-filled balloon with onboard stabilizers. Even in a twenty-kilometer-per-hour wind, the balloon would remain motionless in relation to its starting position. He’d added a rotating mount for the video camera that panned the local area. “I cycled it through for thirty seconds. This is what I got.”

  “It’s a total mess.”

  “I think someone triggered the self-destruct on the transfer gate.”

  “No!” Their argument for the self-destruct devices had been simple. They couldn’t let the technology get into the hands of a local government. It was too easy to build a transfer gate and if an entire universe had access to it, there’d be travelers everywhere. Henry had added an explosive device to each transfer gate with a simple double switch to activate it on a thirty-second timer. John had never expected that anyone would have to use it.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “And there’s been no sign of John Champ or anyone else in that universe?”

  “None. Their gate is down. There’s no way they can get to us.”

  “Send me there,” John said.

  “Hold on,” Henry said. “The quarry area has been compromised in that universe. You can’t go there from here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can’t use my device to go backwards,” John said.

  “Transfer from Pleistocene,” Henry said. “The gate at New Toledo is close to Toledo.” The problem with the transfer gates was that they were fixed in their location. The gates located at the quarry would always transfer to the quarry in another universe. John’s personal unit was not so hampered, only it transferred upward in universe number; it could never go back. Positioning the devices at the quarry in all universes was convenient until situations like this came up.

  “Send me through to 7322,” John said. 7322—Universe Low—was their farthest downstream settled universe, the only one farther downstream than 7351. “I’ll come into 7351 from there using my device. If things are no good, I’ll come back here.”

  “Okay,” Henry said. “You gotta be careful. Maybe we should send a couple people. Or—”

  “It’ll be okay. Send me.”

  “Okay, okay.” John waited while Henry powered up the gate. “Be careful!”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, wait!” Henry ran and grabbed a backpack off the wall. “Survival pack. In case. It has a gun.”

  John took it, though he was unsure how he felt carrying a firearm after the events with Jason Grayborn.

  “Who knows about this?” John asked.

  “Just us, and my Grace.”

  “Better put together a warning not to go near 7351 until we figure this out.”

  “Right,” Henry said. “Here we go. Three … two … one.”

  The room shifted, and he was in 7322. Grace Low looked up.

  “Oh, I wasn’t expecting anyone, John,” she said.

  “I’m John Home,” John said.

  “Oh, sure,” she said, but John already felt the odd change in manner—an odd reverence—he could expect from people who didn’t know him, even from these versions of Grace, Henry, and Casey who he felt he should know. He wanted to shout that it was just dumb luck that put the transfer device into his hands. Nothing else.

  “We have a problem in 7351,” John said.

  “I haven’t heard anything from them in three days,” Grace said. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “The self-destruct on their gate was triggered.”

  Grace’s eyes went to the switch near her desk.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah, I need a ride out to Grover Estates, in Toledo,” John said.

  “Is that where Grace and Henry live in 7351?”

  “Yeah,” John said. “The quarry site is probably compromised. I’ll try reaching them at home.�
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  “Right. I’ll call John to drive you over.”

  * * *

  As darkness approached, John found the address in 7322, Universe Low, for Grace’s and Henry’s house in 7351. He had no idea if the floor plan was the same or even if the house was in the same exact location.

  “How about that line of trees there?” John Low said. A clump of old trees marked the boundary between two subdivisions. With any luck the trees were there in both universes.

  “Okay.” It would be a three-hundred-meter jog back to the house from there. “Drop me off right there.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He shook hands with his doppelganger.

  “Let us know what’s going on, okay?” There seemed to be real fear in John Low’s voice.

  “As soon as we know.”

  The car turned around and disappeared around the corner. John found a moss-covered boulder among the trees, something that looked like it had been there for millennia. He stood next to it, changed the universe count to 7351, and pulled the lever.

  The same boulder, the same subdivisions.

  “Good,” he whispered. He knelt and dialed the device to 7535—the Pleistocene world. In case he had to transfer out, he wanted the device ready. John peered up the street toward Grace’s and Henry’s house. Nothing moved.

  He walked slowly, nonchalantly down the sidewalk, his eyes open for some sign that something was amiss. Nothing on this late-winter night. Old gray snow clumped in piles near mailboxes, having melted in the day’s sun and ready to freeze again at dusk.

  A car turned down the street. The beams of the headlights danced past him. The car continued on.

  He stopped in front of the house. No lights were on. He opened the mailbox. It was crammed with mail. No one was home, and no one had been home for days.

  John paused. He took a step toward the front door. Then he saw the driveway. When had it snowed in 7650? Two days ago? Their driveway was clear. The walkway was clear. The house had a northern exposure—the walkway to the house would not have seen the sun. Someone had shoveled since the incident at the transfer gate three days prior.

  It didn’t mean anything, his mind said. They could have hired a neighborhood kid to do it whenever it snowed.

  John took a step up the driveway. He looked around. Nothing. No alarms. No one was watching. The street was clear.