The Absolutely Foolproof Alibi

by James P. Hogan

  “Rudi, for heaven's sake, listen to me. You don't—"

  “Shut up."

  “A second pass through the process will—"

  “Move, or I'll shoot you now and take you through dead. It's all the same to me."

  Osternak stepped into the chamber. Gorfmann squeezed in with him, keeping the muzzle of the gun jammed against the professor's ribs. He closed the door. Moments later, Osternak felt a brief dizziness as the transfer proceeded, nothing more. But Gorfmann screamed suddenly, sounding hideous in the confined space, and the gun clattered to the floor as he clutched his hands to the sides of his head. He slumped against Osternak, and his body slid downward as far as the narrow chamber would permit. The door opened, and Osternak struggled to heave the inert form onto the floor outside. He stepped out behind and stooped over it. “That's what I was trying to tell you.... “But there was no point. Gorfmann was unconscious.

  Osternak hurried through into the control room and scanned the instrument readouts. Through some fluke nobody seemed to be around, although it was still late in the working day. He thought back, replaying the events of the last several hours in his mind as accurately as he could. Yes, there was still time. He picked up the telephone handset from the hook on the side of the console and tapped a number.

  “Yes,” a voice acknowledged at the other end.

  “Professor Osternak?” he queried, just to check.

  “This is Professor Osternak, yes. Who is this, please?"

  “I am a version of your later self."

  “Oh.... Oh really? That is most interesting,” the other Osternak's voice said.

  “There isn't a lot of time. Now, if my guess is correct, Rudi Gorfmann is there with you at this moment, and you are having a rather disagreeable conversation about going public with the program. Am I right?"

  “Yes, that is true, quite true.” The other Osternak was doing a commendable job of managing to sound casual.

  “And it is true, is it not, that you have been fearing that an illicit transfer will be made sooner or later?"

  “Yes, that is so. But how do you—"

  “I know what you think, because I am you, you see. But then again, I don't have to tell you, because you are me."

  “Of course. Amazing! And so it happens."

  “It has happened—a transfer. We have a problem."

  “So, what can I do for you?"

  “Not me, for yourself. I am you, from about five hours in the future. Five hours ago, I was you, sitting in that chair and taking this call."

  “This is astounding. I—"

  “Listen. Gorfmann is a lot worse than you think. He's insane."

  “You are serious, yes?"

  “Later this evening he is going to murder you."

  “This is unbelievable. When does he intend to do this?"

  “After eight, while his other self is at the banquet."

  “Ach, so...."

  “I haven't worked out all the details, but he seems to have set up another self as an alibi. He'll leave your office in a few more minutes, which will give us a couple of hours. I think we might be able to stop him."

  “Can we get together and talk about this?"

  “That's why I'm calling you."

  “How?"

  “Right now I am in the transfer control room. There is another version of Gorfmann here, too, but he is unconscious. He has gone through two transfers in too short a time, and I think the stress has deranged him—exactly what we have been worried about. There's no one else here at the moment, but I'm going to move him into the motor room in case anyone comes back. As soon as the one that's with you leaves the office, get over here as fast as you can and give me a hand to move him somewhere safer. Then we can talk about what to do."

  “I shall be most interested to meet you."

  * * * *

  The two Osternaks used a dolly from the materials store to cart the still lifeless Gorfmann across the Compound and into the Keep, where they took him to Professor Prandtl's office, since Prandtl was away for a week, and laid him out on the sofa by the window. They loosened his tie and made him comfortable with blankets and a pillow borrowed from the medical room on the floor below. As an afterthought, Osternak Two removed the car keys from Gorfmann's pocket. “I think as a precaution we'll hang on to these,” he said. “It wouldn't do to let him go driving if he got out.” Then they closed the door and went across the corridor to their own office to discuss what to do next.

  The second Osternak—the one who had come back through the machine with Gorfmann—had a better idea of what was going on and assumed the initiative, taking the chair behind the desk. The other sat down opposite. “Fortunately, since we already share most of our thoughts, we don't have to waste a lot of time talking,” Osternak Two said. In other words, Osternak One was already aware of the logical uncertainties surrounding this kind of situation. He didn't know if the events already established on a timeline could be altered; whether the situation involved parallel universes, branching universes, or heavens alone knew what; or what the complexities would be of skipping from one line to another. On the other hand, everything might be predetermined. That was precisely what the experiments currently in progress were designed to find out. Also, double passes through the process within too short a span of time caused disorientation of the central nervous system, and what the effects might be on somebody in Gorfmann's already unbalanced condition was anybody's guess.

  “Agreed,” Osternak One said. Which took care of the hours they could have spent debating things like that.

  “I suggest that we play it safe until we're out of this wretched loop that Gorfmann has initiated,” Osternak Two said. “Having two maniacs around is more than I know how to handle. So I say, let's play everything as it happened until the time that Gorfmann transferred back the first time to commit the murder. After that version of him goes back, there will only be one of him left, which will be a much simpler situation. We can worry about what to do next at that point."

  “What time was that—when he went back?” Osternak One asked.

  “I don't know. I'm not even sure when he arrived. But since there have been people working in the transfer dome all day, I suspect he's already here somewhere. My guess is that he arrived last night or early this morning, and is holed up somewhere until the time he has picked."

  Osternak One nodded slowly. “Ah, I see ... which will no doubt coincide with the time his other self is publicly visible at the banquet in Innsbruck."

  “Exactly,” Osternak Two said.

  “Hmm.” Osternak rubbed his chin. “Which one of us is going to get murdered?” he asked uncomfortably.

  “Well, I've already been who you are right now, so it will have to be you."

  “Oh.” Osternak One didn't sound overthrilled. Then his expression changed as the implication struck him. “Wait a minute, Osbert. If you were me, and you're not dead, then you can't have been killed."

  “Yes, I know you feel slightly stupid for having taken so long to see it. I felt the same thing myself at this moment, so don't worry about it. The next question is, how are you going to stop him doing it?"

  “You could tell me, of course."

  “Which is what I said, too, when I was you, of course. But I also know that you realized while you were saying it that it wouldn't do. It has to be your idea, to keep things the way they happened. We can experiment later with what happens when you deliberately change things—but let's get out of this situation first. Which I remember is what you are thinking yourself at this moment, anyway."

  “Well, if he is hiding in the building somewhere, we could search the place and ... No, that wouldn't work, would it? That can't have happened with you."

  “You're catching on."

  “Why? Did you start to say the same thing?"

  “Yes."

  “But I assume I must come up with something, since you evidently did."

  “I hope so. If not, God alone knows what happens."
r />   Osternak One ran his fingers through his halo of white hair. “Well, the only think I can think of is that we—I, that is, must fake it. Where do I get shot? Nothing gruesome, I hope."

  “Twice, in the chest."

  “Whose gun does he use?"

  “Yours, from the desk. He makes it look as if an intruder was disturbed."

  Osternak One thought for a moment, and then his expression lightened. “Ah, yes, well, in that case I could reload it with blanks. The sticky red solvent they use in the plating shop should make a passable blood substitute.... Er, does this happen in good light?"

  Osternak Two beamed and nodded approvingly. “No, right here in the office. He lures you up to Hoetzer's lab for a few minutes with a bogus phone call, and when you get back he has fixed the lights. Complete darkness, apart from the light from the corridor."

  “So a handful of the stuff carried in and smacked to the chest when he fires?..."

  “Splendid, splendid!” Osternak Two said. He had a painful bruise on his hip from where he had fallen over the chair, but saw no need to say anything about that. “Now, you have to stay here to take the phone call, which will come at about eight-thirty. Before then, I will have left a jar of red solvent from the plating shop on the table by the graphics printer in Hoetzer's office. You'll find out why when Gorfmann phones you. Also, I intend to install a hidden camera in the transfer-chamber room, running off a timer, to record when Gorfmann makes his first transfer back. Once that has occurred, we shall be out of the loop."

  “He could have come back from several days ahead,” Osternak One pointed out. “But of course, you are already aware of that."

  “Yes. And that's why I'm going to set up a camera and not risk dying of cramp and cold trying to maintain a vigil there in person."

  They stood up and regarded each other curiously. Finally Osternak One said, “Well, time is getting on. I have my preparations to make, and so do you. Is there anything useful I can do when I've cleaned up after being shot?"

  “I'd just keep an eye on our sleeping friend across there,” Osternak Two said, nodding his head in the direction of the door.

  “Yes, well, I don't know if we're supposed to meet again, but in case not...” Osternak One held out a hand. The other shook it. “It's been ... an interesting encounter.” Osternak Two came around the desk, and walked toward the door. “One thing,” Osternak One said. Osternak Two turned. “I don't know when I'm supposed to go back to become you."

  “Oh, I think that will take care of itself,” Osternak Two assured him. He turned away again and left through the door.

  Outside in the corridor, Osternak Two looked briefly into Professor Prandtl's office to check on Gorfmann. The body was still out cold, but breathing more regularly now. Satisfied that there was no immediate call for medical help, he left the Keep through the rear entrance and went into the instrumentation lab to collect the things he needed to set up the camera. He carried the bits and pieces to the control room and found a suitable hiding place that commanded a good view of the transfer room and the door into the chamber. The camera and film were designed for extended-duration scientific work and would silently capture a frame every five seconds for twenty-four hours. There would be no trouble in coming back to change the magazine once a day if need be.

  He worked slowly and meticulously, his mind wandering over the peculiarities and apparent contradictions of the situation. How could the same object be physically present twice at the same time? What happened when somebody deliberately undid what had been done? Were memory patterns somehow altered to correlate with the changed circumstances? There were questions that he didn't have the beginnings of answers to yet. Time drifted on, and he became preoccupied with his thoughts.... And then his attention focused with the sudden realization that it was approaching eight-thirty ... and his heart missed a beat. Oh God, he'd forgotten the solvent!

  He dropped what he was doing and hastened out into the compound and over to the plating shop. There, he scooped a glob of the red goo from its container into an empty can, stuffed the can in a plastic bag, and hurried over to the Keep and in through the rear door. Just as he was about to ascend the rear stairs, he heard a voice coming from the passage leading through to the front lobby. Fearful that it was the other Osternak looking for him after failing to find the solvent, which would have meant that he'd missed his cue and ruined everything, he changed course and charged into the passage. But as he came closer to the lobby he recognized the voice as Gorfmann's and ducked hastily into a darkened doorway. Gorfmann was speaking under the canopy of the pay phone in the alcove at the end of the passage.

  Gorfmann must have heard him come in, Osternak was certain. Yes, he could see Gorfmann's shadow form leaning out of the alcove to peer along the passageway toward the back door. Osternak froze in the doorway, not daring to move a muscle. And then, to his relief, Gorfmann moved back into the alcove again, and his voice resumed, “I'm sorry, but it is important.... I wish to speak to somebody there called Gorfmann. A Dr. Rudi Gorfmann.” Osternak frowned to himself in the darkness. He had guessed that Gorfmann must have made his call from somewhere nearby. The time was right, but the call wasn't. Why was Gorfmann calling himself? Was there a conspiracy being enacted between the two Gorfmanns, which he had never suspected? A sinking feeling of impending disaster came over him. From the alcove, Gorfmann's voice continued, “Just put me through, please ... Thank you ... Just checking.” Gorfmann sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. Then, “It doesn't matter. Let's just say that, as I know you'll be pleased to learn, you're even cleverer than you think.” There was a click as Gorfmann hung up.

  Osternak agonized in the darkness along the passage, wondering what to do. Then he realized that Gorfmann was making another call.

  “Professor Osternak?” Gorfmann said, in a thick voice which the Osternak along the passage recognized instantly as something he had heard before. “Sorry to trouble, you, Professor, but this is Security at the main gate.... We've just had a call from Dr. Hoetzer, in Innsbruck.... Yes. He says that he was in a hurry to leave this evening, and..."

  It was all still on track! He hadn't caused a disaster after all. Osternak drew a deep breath to recover his wind, and then emerged from the doorway and backed quietly away along the passage. From the front of the building, he heard Gorfmann finish his call, leave the alcove, and go running up the front stairs. Osternak paused again for breath at the bottom of the rear stairs. Oh God, three flights.

  When Osternak Two got to Hoetzer's office, Osternak One was already there, searching frantically under the table by the graphics printer and along the shelves above just as Osternak Two had realized he would be. But Osternak Two was too breathless to explain, and besides there wasn't time. He opened the bag containing the can and held it while the other dipped his hand, and then waved weakly toward the door to send Osternak One on his way. Then he leaned against the printer for a while to regain his breath and composure. Just as he was coming back out onto the stairs, the sound of two shots in rapid succession came up the stairway from below.

  When he was halfway back across the Compound, it came to him that there were now not two, but three Gorfmanns loose: one at the banquet, one on Prandtl's couch, and the one who had just shot the other Osternak. So even when one of them made the transfer back through time, it would still leave two. The situation wouldn't simplify itself in the way he had imagined. He shook his head wearily, unable to grapple with any more of it and feeling like a piece of flotsam being carried along on a tide of events that was long past any ability of his to control. Resolved at least to complete what he had set out to do, he went back into the transfer dome to finish setting up the camera.

  * * * *

  Professor Osternak One waited until he was sure that Gorfmann had left, then picked himself up slowly from the floor. His hip ached from the knock he had taken from the chair when he went down. Osternak Two could have warned him about that, he reflected huffily. Since he had no intention of lyi
ng there for the rest of the night, it followed that Gorfmann would know anyway that the murder attempt had failed, should he choose to come back to the office for any reason. Therefore, Osternak reasoned, he might as well use some of the time he had to tidy things up. But first, he went to his lab to collect the spare shirt, tan sweater, and pants that he kept there in case of chemical spills and other accidents—the same clothes that Osternak Two had been wearing, he had noticed with curiosity, but it now made sense and then proceeded to the washroom to change and sponge the worst of the stains from the clothes he had been wearing. Then he bundled up the wet clothes, returned to his office, and stowed them in a cupboard for sending to the cleaners the next day. That chore taken care of, he spent the next hour righting the furniture, returning the books to their places, and picking up and sorting through the papers that had been scattered all over the floor. It was a shame about the broken clock and the figurine, he reflected ruefully as he put them back in their places. Then he sat down and poured himself a brandy. He had just been murdered, after all. That deserved some compensation.

  Only then did he remember that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the Gorfmann in Prandtl's room across the corridor. Muttering a reproach to himself for his forgetfulness, he went out of the office, pushed open Prandtl's door, and looked in. And his jaw dropped in shock and dismay. The couch and the room were empty. There was no trace of Gorfmann to be seen.

  Osternak One ran back into his own office and called the transfer-chamber room on an internal line. The ringing tone seemed to go on interminably, while all the time he tried frantically to think of the most likely places that Gorfmann might have gone. But with a madman, who could tell? Then the ringing stopped and his own voice answered cautiously, “Yes?"

  “I'm in our office. He's gone. Gorfmann has gone. He's loose somewhere."

  “I was just coming back. I've finished on the camera here. I'll be over there right away.” Osternak Two hung up.

  The car! Gorfmann mustn't be allowed to get to his car. In his present state he could cause a massacre. He usually parked it in the executive area in front of the Keep, Osternak knew. The thing was to check if it was still there. He went back into the corridor and along to the accounts office at the front of the building, which overlooked the executive parking area. He turned on a light, crossed the room to a window, and peered down, shielding his eyes with a hand. Gorfmann's car was still down there. That was something at least. And then he remembered that Gorfmann couldn't use the car anyway, because Osternak Two had taken his keys when they put him in Prandtl's office. Silly of him to have forgotten. Where, then—