A Rift in Space and Crime

by R E McLean

  Pip took a step forward. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m arresting you. You have the right to—”

  Pip laughed. A peal of thunder rumbled overhead, quietly. Lacey felt her stomach prepare to turn a somersault.

  “Where you gonna take me, cop? Alcatraz?”

  “I said, don’t move.”

  Pip lowered his hands.

  “Pip, I’m serious,” said Lacey. “We need to get out of here.”

  Behind her, more boxes were being ripped open. Twenty-six tiny limbs were clawing at her legs. She was wearing jeans, but there was only so long her skin would hold out.

  One of them jumped on to her shoulder. It sank its teeth into her skin.

  “Ow!” She flung it away. It landed in front of Rabbit Man, who glanced at it before turning back to Pip.

  She pushed Pip forward as two more cats dragged themselves up her legs. She could feel her skin exploding in warts now, swellings the size of onions. In a few minutes, they’d be the size of potatoes.

  She clutched her throat.

  “Can’t breathe.”

  Pip turned to her.

  “Don’t move!”

  She sank to the ground. Her vision was blurring. There was a cat on her chest, clawing at her t-shirt. She tried to push it off but her hands were lumps now, useless for anything.

  “My EpiPen,” she moaned. “Need it.”

  Pip bent over her. He looked confused.

  She heard footsteps. Could they get her home in time?

  “Don’t worry,” said Pip.

  A light appeared above her head, small and round. It started to grow.

  A hand struggled to grasp her swollen fingers, now like knobs of ginger.

  The hand lifted her upwards, toward the light.

  She closed her eyes as she felt herself being dragged through it.

  53

  Shakespeare

  “Where’d they go?”

  Mike fired his gun. A pink bubble popped out of the barrel. It grew slowly, wobbling in the breeze from the water. After a few seconds it popped, leaving a mess of bubble gum on his hands.

  “Fat lot of good that was,” he said, holstering the gun. “But where did they go?”

  “He made another portal,” said Alex. “He’s taken her home.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Sarita. “He could have taken her anywhere.”

  Alex turned to her. “So how many worlds are there? And how many have you been to?”

  “You don’t need me to answer the first question, Ms. Physicist. And the second I can’t answer. Classified.”

  “You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?”

  Mike approached them. “Come on, you two. Save the tiff for later.”

  Alex shook her head out. It felt heavy and tired. The air in this world slowed her down, made her feel like she’d aged twenty years.

  “You’re right. Let’s get back to the Hall.”

  Neither Mike nor Sarita moved.

  “You did come here that way, right? Via the Spinner?”

  “Yes,” said Sarita. “But we sent it back. Didn’t want Pip stumbling on it.”

  “So how did you intend to get home?”

  “There were a few options,” said Mike.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really,” replied Sarita. “Just trust us, OK?”

  Alex sighed. She’d been in this world for what, six, eight hours in total? She was tired and dirty and she needed to sleep.

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “The bitbox,” said Sarita. “I assume you still have it.”

  “Of course I do.” She pulled it from the pocket of her skin suit.

  Sarita extended her hand. Alex passed it to Mike.

  Mike placed a thumb on its surface and twisted it.

  He waited. They all watched it, expecting something to happen.

  He twisted it again.

  “Give it to me,” snapped Sarita. She held it up to her face. She squinted as if examining it for faults.

  “It’s dead,” Sarita said.

  “What?” Alex and Mike cried in unison.

  “Battery’s dead. Looks like someone made too much use of it.”

  Alex said nothing. Then she had a thought.

  “Doris!” she said.

  “Sorry?” said Mike.

  “I’ll call her.”

  She turned her back on them and imagined herself walking through Silicon City with Doris, on the night she’d gone in chase of Claire Pope’s would-be killer.

  “Can I help you darlin’?”

  Alex grabbed Doris’s face in both hands. She planted a wet kiss on her nose.

  “I hardly think that’s appropriate behavior, sweetie.”

  Doris drew a delicate lace-trimmed handkerchief from the neck of her dress and used it to wipe her nose. Then she inserted it back into her neckline, tutting loudly.

  “Moisture interferes with my circuits. Please, do not do that again.”

  “Sorry, Doris.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Doris, can you get us home?”

  “I’m afraid that’s beyond my capabilities, honey.”

  “Can you get us back to the MOO?”

  “Can’t help with that either.”

  “This is useless, “said Mike. Let’s go back to the Hall.”

  Alex raised a hand. “Doris, can you summon the Spinner for us?”

  “I’m afraid I’m unable to do that either.”

  “What can you do, Doris?”

  “Well, I have the complete works of Shakespeare in my memory banks. And Beethoven’s piano concertos. If you’re looking for some quality entertainment, I’m your woman.”

  “Thank you, Doris, but we don’t need entertaining. We need to get back to the MOO.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so, honey?”

  Sarita stepped forward. “Doris—”

  Alex raised a hand. “Let me. Doris, can you communicate with Madonna in the MOO?”

  “Why of course I can. She’s my creator.”

  “And can you use that communication link to ask her to bring us back to the MOO? Back to Silicon City?”

  “It’ll take a while.”

  “How long.”

  Oh. Let me see… Exactly three minutes, thirty two seconds—“

  “Do it, please.”

  “Don’t interrupt.”

  “Sorry.”

  “As I was saying. Three minutes, thirty two seconds and ten nanoseconds. Maybe a picosecond or two. And thank you for the please. Your manners are improving.”

  “Thank you, Doris. Do it, please.”

  54

  Volcano

  Lacey opened her eyes. They weren’t swollen anymore. Her face felt less tight and the itching on her back had subsided. Not gone; there were still six dozen fire ants on there doing their work. But it wasn’t like a volcano was being tipped over her skin from a great height.

  She was in a brightly-lit room. The ceiling had a wavy gray pattern and a pink and purple striped curtain had been drawn around her bed.

  She clenched her fists. This wasn’t Point Zero. Was she home?

  She sat up. Her head span and shapes flickered in front of her eyes. She closed them, regaining control of her balance.

  She squinted to look around. The curtain wasn’t just striped; it was shifting, patterns drifting in and out. It coalesced from purple to red, from pink to yellow.

  A hand drew it to one side. Its owner was a tall, heavy-boned woman wearing a white coat. She had an earpiece in her right ear; a chain of diamonds hung from it. They shimmered and sparked in the bright light.

  The light wasn’t coming from anywhere; instead it was all around them. In the curtains as well as the walls and ceiling, it cast a uniform glow that was soothing and gentle.

  “Good morning,” the woman said. Her voice was clipped, businesslike.

  “Uhh,” Lacey groaned. Her throat hurt; she knew from previous allergi
c reactions that it would have all but closed up. She was lucky to be alive.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She prodded her arms. They felt like they’d grown two sizes too large, shrunk to the size of a Barbie’s arms, then reverted to the correct size. “OK, I suppose.”

  “Good. You need to rest, though. We’ll be keeping you here. Now you’re conscious, we’ll be sending you into the Hive for treatment.”

  “What? No! No, you mustn’t!”

  Lacey was even more allergic to bee stings than she was to cats.

  The doctor put a hand on her wrist. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again, smiling.

  “Slightly elevated, but not too bad. Don’t worry, the Hive is perfectly safe. But you’ll know that…won’t you?”

  The woman dropped Lacey’s arm like it was on fire.

  Lacey shook her head. “I can’t go into any hive. I’m allergic to bees. Wasps, too.”

  The woman laughed. “Not that kind of hive, my dear. The Hive.” She twisted her mouth. “But if you have no experience of the Hive, then there may be a problem.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re one of them. You won’t have insurance.”

  “Where are my parents?”

  “Wait a moment.”

  The doctor pushed through the curtain and muttered to someone beyond it. The curtain had changed again; shooting stars were blasting across the fabric, exploding in a riot of pinks and yellows. It was ghastly.

  The curtains parted again and Pip entered. He’d cleaned himself up; his clothes were still dirty and torn but his face looked like it had been scrubbed.

  She recoiled. “What are you doing here?”

  “He brought you here,” the doctor said. “Found you in the Bay. You washed up on North Beach. You were the size of a trolley car.”

  She shook her head. “He’s not with me. I want my parents.”

  “Who are your parents?”

  “Monty and Julia Ashford.”

  “Right.”

  The doctor put her hand to her earpiece and closed her eyes. A moment later she opened them again. She looked stern.

  “Those people don’t exist. At least,” she cocked her head. “Not officially.”

  “Of course they do. They live in Illinois. They—we—are on vacation here, in San Francisco.”

  “This city hasn’t been called that for fifty years. More.”

  “Of course it has.” She frowned. “Hasn’t it?”

  “This is Silicon City, girl. I know you Hive Deniers like to live in the past, but at least keep up with the name of the city you live in.”

  The doctor sniffed and put a hand on the curtain.

  “And I’m afraid we’ll need you out of here.”

  “But you said I needed to rest.”

  “That was before I found out you don’t have insurance. You’ve already cost the hospital thousands in drugs. Epinephrine, Beta-agonists, Antihistamines. I could go on.”

  “Those don’t cost thousands. My dad gets them from the drugstore.”

  “How archaic. Well, they may not cost much on the black market, but I can assure you that in a hospital like the Madonna Ciccone, they cost plenty.”

  “The Madonna Ciccone?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “The singer?”

  “No. Stupid girl. The internet genius. Inventor of the Hive.”

  Lacey looked at Pip. He clearly had no more idea what was going on that she did.

  A man hurried into the room, holding a clear plastic bag. Inside were Lacey’s clothes.

  “Get dressed and leave, please.”

  The doctor swished out and the man followed her. He was wearing a similar coat to hers but his was bright yellow instead of white.

  She turned to Pip. “Where are we?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “But you brought me here.”

  “Made a hole. Thought it would take us to your world, get help. You were dying.”

  She frowned. “You were prepared to take me home, because of the cat attack?”

  “Not much use to me dead.” He grinned. His teeth were gappy and yellowing. Two of the top ones were missing.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Now get out while I get dressed.”

  55

  Cotton Wool

  The Prof opened the door to the Spinner. Sarita looked pale. Alex wasn’t going to make the mistake of helping her this time.

  “Welcome, team! Good to see you. Come down to the office. We’ve got news.”

  “What news?” asked Alex.

  “Come down to the office. It’s cold up here.”

  To Alex, the roof was like a spring day. Point Zero had been cold and blustery. The air here felt like cotton wool against her skin.

  The ‘office’ was a vast, light-filled space with banks of screens and servers humming along one wall. On the other wall was the biggest window she’d ever seen. Thirty feet tall and fifty wide, it had a view of the mercuric skyscape of Silicon City.

  Madonna was in the center of the room, facing the window. She had her earpiece in and her eyes closed. When she heard them enter, she opened her eyes and smiled.

  “One moment. I’m just in the final stages of a medical project.”

  Madonna raised a finger, twisted it, then gave a squeal. She opened her eyes.

  “Done,” she said.

  Sarita stepped forward. “Done what?”

  “Cure for cancer.”

  “Seriously?” said Alex. “You’ve just developed the cure for cancer?”

  “I was at a symposium, in Japan. World’s finest minds. Professor Hito will be working on synthesizing what we’ve agreed right away. Of course, it’s much easier to distribute medicine via the Hive.”

  Madonna clapped her hands together. “So, what are you all here for? Oh yes, I remember.”

  “Come and see.”

  She grabbed Alex’s arm and dragged her to the center of the room.

  “This is great, Madonna. Really great. But we’re looking for someone. Lacey Ashford. We need to get back to San Francisco, asap.”

  Madonna shook her head. “I don’t believe you do.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Madonna touched her earpiece and sighed. “Oh, it’s so tiresome that you people aren’t allowed into the Hive.”

  “Madonna. Please. Lacey?”

  “Yes.” Madonna touched her earpiece then grabbed a small black object that looked a lot like a TV remote.

  She pressed a button. The window flickered and became a screen.

  “Is this your girl?”

  Alex blinked. In front of them, thirty feet high and swollen as a pumpkin, was Lacey. Her eyes had disappeared into folds of smooth, bulbous skin and her cheeks were so red she could have lit up a brothel with them.

  “Lacey!” Alex cried. “Where is she?”

  “She was admitted to the—ahem—Madonna Ciccone hospital just an hour ago. They’ve given her everything she needs. She’ll be fine.”

  “The Madonna Ciccone hospital. Where is it?”

  “North, toward the Bay.”

  “Great.”

  Alex turned to Mike and Sarita.

  “Coming?”

  56

  Jodphurs

  Lacey and Pip clattered through the hospital doors, the woman at reception yelling after them. She wore the most bizarre uniform of any public servant Lacey had ever seen: a green wind cheater over a purple shirt and red-and-yellow striped jodhpurs.

  “Where is this place?” she asked as they found themselves on the street. Vehicles flew over their heads. People glided along the sidewalk, their gazes blank. A man almost walked into her then stepped sideways and skirted her neatly, even though his eyes didn’t register her presence.

  She grabbed his shoulder. “Excuse me?”

  The man raised a hand to flick her off. He carried on walking.

  She stared aft
er him. “Who are these people?”

  She turned to Pip. “Is this another part of your world? Did you take me to another city or something?”

  “Pip can move in one spot. Between your world an’ mine. Thought this was your world. Doctor knew you.”

  “Know me? She kicked me out after I told her I wasn’t going to consent to some sort of beehive therapy.”

  “Beehive?”

  “Kill or cure, I guess. Quack. How did you know what was happening to me?”

  “Fred. Allergies. Dust mites. Perfume.”

  “Oh.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. What kind of kid killed his own brother then went to all this trouble to get her treated for anaphylactic shock?

  “So what now?” she said. “Can you make another portal? I think it’s time I went home.”

  “No.”

  “No, you can’t create a portal, or no I’m not going home?”

  “Can’t. Tried in that hospital. Came outside. People looked at me funny.”

  She looked him up and down. His clothes hung off him and his curly blond hair looked like a hedge had been dragged through it rather than the other way around. The cape had gone and the mask was now little more than a shoestring. He looked like Superman after a hard night on the whisky.

  Everyone here was neat and tidy. The people passing them now, shifting in their trancelike walk to pass, were dressed in garish colors but none of them were dirty. None of them smelled like a rat that had spent the night sleeping in a cesspit.

  “You can’t create a portal anywhere?”

  “No. Different, in Pip’s world. Pip never came through a hole before.”

  “Nuts.”

  She looked up and down the street. How far were they from Fisherman’s Wharf? Maybe if they went back, there would be traces of it. Maybe he could wake it.

  “Come on, Pip,” she said. “I’ve got an idea.”

  She started walking. Pip stayed put, his head hung low.

  She turned. “Come on! We aren’t going to get anywhere if we stay here.”