Tales from the Multiverse Page 13

  "Beats commuting, but actually it's like it doesn't happen. There's no in between."

  "No thrill." Xen nodded. "Okay, you all want a lecture about multiple dimensions?"

  "Yep. Got people just panting to know all about it, so we'll record you."

  "Right. What you see as reality is actually something your brain interprets from the hundred or so parallel realities your senses can detect. Your brain does a sort of running average. But not everyone zeez the same hundred, nor averages it the same. That's why political arguments are so pointless, and eye witness accounts differ and all that.

  "Every time you, and everyone else, makes a decision, does this instead of that you get a tiny split, a blister, that heals over as soon as it doesn't make any difference any more. I could walk around the table to the right or the left—actually I do both, somewhere, but by the time I've walked out the door the blister has flattened out, because it didn't matter.

  "The wider the ramifications of an action, the larger the blister, the slower the remerging. Very few things are so large that they completely separate, so the Xen who went left can't see the dimension where another Xen went right, but if you asked him, he'd shrug and say he didn't remember which way he went, because of the conflicting memories of having actually gone both ways.

  “Big wars create a blister that covers the whole world. But even they tend to heal. Get some historians together and ask them about the Hundred Years War or the Thirty Years War. Listen to them argue about how many wars there actually were, and how long they lasted. Even the Worlds that split over different nuclear wars of the twentieth, twenty-first and twenty-second centuries are showing signs of re-aligning and merging.

  "The biggest splits we've seen are caused by astronomical disasters."

  "Astronomical?" Marsden asked. "As in large, or as in the Rain of Fire meteor shower that hit the East Coast three years ago?"

  Wolfson grinned. "The meteor shower that hit New Jersey. Yes, that sort of thing. Several variations of it, in fact. In the first World to discover Gate travel, a hundred meter diameter chondritic meteor exploded over Siberia in 1908. But in some dimensions it missed and hit on the next orbit, or the next. There's a whole branch of the Multiverse that frizzes out according to when that one hit. There's a huge canyon between the Worlds where a big one killed the dinosaurs, on this side, and missed on the other. My World is one of a large cluster that branched from the rest of the Earths at the end of the last ice age when something hit the asteroid Hygeia and sent chunks of it all over the Solar System."

  "So. Think seven main branches of the local part of the tree of the Multiverse.

  "My Hygeia Branch, your Rain of Fire Branch, the Tunguska Branch, the Main Branch – there's a lot of argument about that designation – a Neanderthal Branch, an Elf Branch – an intelligent hominid evolved from some other Australopithecus – and at least two branches where no intelligent species evolved at all.

  "All the branches have Worlds were humans became extinct. Early or late. The Hygeia Branch is, as far as we've explored, all empty of native humans." He grinned. "And how, you say, did I get there? Involuntary colonization by my ancestors."

  "Earth 1908 Tunguska had two World Wars in the Twentieth Century, ended the second with the first two atom bombs. Small nuclear exchange between Pakistan and India in the early twenty-first. Larger one between Pakistan and China on one side, India on the other, concurrent with several Arabian states ganging up on Israel. The US was never damaged, apart from hysteria over fallout. They became very adept at genetic engineering, cured all genetic diseases, then optimized performance, then went for the cosmetics, and finally power. They raised all the ESP stuff right up out of the background noise, and scared the hell out of themselves.

  "When they discovered dimensional travel, they saw the perfect way to commit genocide. They exiled everyone with engineered genes to Hygeia branch worlds, expecting the constant rain of comets and meteors to take care of the messy part, and leave them with their hands clean."

  "Some of the Engineered escaped early, to a World on the Main Branch, where they've since taken over what they call the One World.

  "Most of us got herded to Hygeia Branch Worlds, and at least four of those Worlds have been able to deal with the meteors and survive.

  "That was fourteen hundred years ago. They forgot about us, we forgot about them except for some jumbled versions in myths. I think they even forgot about Gate tech for awhile. But they rediscovered it, and started exploring again three-hundred years ago or so.

  "They found empty Worlds, and didn't have the manpower to exploit them, found Worlds with the people still at low tech levels and took people from them to be virtual slave labor on those empty Worlds. This caused a lot of problems, wars, uprisings brutally put down.

  "The One World had developed their own Gate tech, and followed in the Earth's footsteps.

  The Earth found one of the One World's colony worlds, and captured it. Then they both found my World at about the same time, and we had to repulse attackers from both Worlds. And we developed our own gate tech.

  "There was a World where some sort a cataclysm ripped a chunk of the Universe loose and sent it careening through the other dimensions—when they developed gate tech they learned how to do aggressive merges, which we stepped in and stopped."

  He flashed a grin. "And human nature being what it is, we have a criminal gang with dimensional abilities running loose. Now it is your turn to be the target. Hopefully, just of the gang, but I didn't like the looks of those soldiers."

  Marsden sighed. "How long has this been going on?"

  "There was that bit fourteen hundred years ago. Then nothing until about three centuries ago. My grandparents fended off the Earth's attack about sixty years ago. I helped with the One Invasion, umm, twenty years ago. We started the Embassy World six years ago. We've been trying to get an independent Multi-dimensional police force going ever since. The Cannibal World mess was two years ago."

  The Director nodded. "So, are you, or aren't you, an independent police force?"

  "We are still operating under the laws of, and with the backing of, Comet Fall—my World. We have members from multiple Worlds, but like me, they are all temporarily assigned from their own police or military organizations. Actual independence remains a distant goal—and frankly probably unattainable. I'm not sure this isn't better. More oversight, less ability to become a problem instead of a solution."

  Another aide walked in with a note.

  "Good. Come with me. We have a location for you to make one of these Gates. The President is in Europe, at the moment, and we're keeping this . . . event close, so the Speaker of the House and the Secretary of State have been informed and approved the location."

  Marsden and Hansen exchanged glances and followed. Until he had orders to the contrary, Marsden wasn't about to opt out of the show. The Director shot him a look. "You'll have to go home sometime, Cliff."

  Marsden nodded. "I know." He caught Wolfson's curious gaze and sighed. "My wife and son were badly injured in a car crash three years ago. My wife is institutionalized with brain damage, and my son in a wheelchair. He and I haven't been getting along well lately."

  Wolfson nodded. "Gates will give access to other medical systems. The stuff in my hip flask has, umm, nano stuff. Medical repair ribozymes and such. It is so stupid that some Worlds can only think about war when they get a Gate."

  "And you'll sell us this nano medicine?"

  Wolfson shook his head. "Give it away. Some Worlds don't want it. I should talk to your biological warfare people about it. There has never been a problem with it, but some people react badly to the thought of it."

  The Director was sitting up in alarm. "Biological warfare!"

  "They would understand the danger. Do you know what a von neumann machine is?"

  Marsden nodded uncertainly. "A machine that makes exact copies of itself—which continue to make exact copies of themselves until everything is used up?"


  "Yes. This has a very very small molecular assembler that can make any of about a hundred specific repair molecules. The assembler makes copies of itself until it runs low on either the somewhat rare chemicals it needs or on energy, which it gets from alcohol and sulfur, then it shuts down and inside of three days disassembles itself. It needs sulfur and alcohol to work. It's been spilled, even spilled in hotsprings full of sulfur, and never lasted more than a few days, never tried to disassemble a person to make more of itself." Wolfson ducked into the car and scooted over for Marsden and the Director. Hansen took the front passenger seat and the car rolled smoothly out of the FBI's garage.

  "We don't hand it out without letting the receivers know what they are getting." He squirmed a bit. "Anymore. The One World freaked out about it."

  "Bet that got trade off to a rough start."

  "Well, at that point we were still running around spying on each other following their very brief attempt at conquest. But even now, ten years later, they're still scared of it. They quarantine anyone who comes to the hospital on Embassy for a month before they'll let them go home."

  "Hmm." The Director pulled out his phone, and spoke without hitting a button. "Call the lab and pass that on to them immediately." He eyed Wolfson. "Anything else we should know about?"

  "Err, dimensional pockets let me carry a bunch of stuff around without it being detectable by anyone except another Dimensional expert. I've got three dogs and two horses, along with a bunch of tools, weapons, shelter and food along with me."

  "Horses?"

  "Well, my World is a bit low tech, except where we've got advanced nano and dimensional tech."

  They were all looking him over now. "Sorry, but you never know if the Government you run head on into is going to believe you're the Dimensional Cops, or decide you're a dangerous nut."

  "I wish I had that option." The Director looked out the windows. They were on the express motorway headed south. "But there's just something so convincing about people climbing in and out of holes in the universe."

  Chapter Four

  Andrews Air Force Base had apparently been chosen for this odd experiment. They were directed to an underutilized corner, an entrance for heavy equipment that looked to have been unused for months. Xen looked around and walked out across a mown weedy field. "Shall I leave space for parking and building? It isn't too hard to move Gates. Anything under a mile is an afternoon's work, and we can always close it and make another." He stopped a hundred feet in and sat down.

  Marsden stood and watched him just sitting cross-legged and relaxing in the sunshine as far as he could tell. After a moment, the air rippled and another scene took over a circle roughly ten feet in diameter. A storm darkened plaza. The young woman from the warehouse was there, sitting opposite Xen. Four others sat, and even more were frowning at whatever they saw, but only two of them were actually looking through and meeting peoples' eyes. Interesting.

  The sitting people stood up and the young woman grabbed a backpack and walked through. "Zo, Sen. We were getting worried when we couldn't find ya anywhere over tere. Wut's going on?"

  "As you probably noticed, we've got two very close Universes, and in that one the Combat Group is up to no good, with this World the target. We haven't figured out just what they are trying to do. That corridor you were studying exited to the White House, as in the President of the United States." Xen reached and touched her forehead.

  "Not good. Assassination, perhaps? Any sign of Heso or Eldon? They're the only ones left from Ricardo's gang. Rior has, so far, been sticking to uncomplicated robbery with a minimum of violence and a maximum of rape."

  And when she spoke, the accent was entirely gone. Shit. Telepathy on top of everything else? Telepathic learning?

  "How's he manage that?" Marsden eyed her. Tall and good looking, one of those women without an ounce of sex appeal in their whole body. She was wearing a dark grey pants suit, a bit looser in the pants than stylish here. No doubt to accommodate sitting cross-legged on the ground.

  "Magic. They like to hit high society parties. Put everyone to sleep, take their jewelry and play as many nasty games as they have time for. Sell the jewelry in another World."

  "We keep pruning them back, but we've never gotten the core of the group. They pick up more muscle and go right back to the same damned crime spree." Xen looked unhappy about it. "We've been trying for five years, now."

  Xen introduced them all. The young woman was Doctor Quail Quicksilver, and generally just called Q.

  She turned back the 'gate' and waved her arms. The ground churned, gravel popping up to the surface and forming an arch around the gate. The rock all flowed together like putty and stood there as she turned away.

  "This is important. Gates are more powerful than corridors, and you can get into a lot of trouble with them. Don't try to feel it. You can't hold still in it, it'll either suck you in or spit you out. Passing, going opposite directions, is very bad, sometimes deadly. If there's any metal involved you can get sliced up. Two cars meeting head on tends to result in a violent explosion of metal scraps both directions. And little bloody gobs. I've heard rumors that drivers have actually survived, but never seen any myself.

  “We dimensional magicians cannot see what's on the other side. I presume you can? Good. Always look and always yield the right of way. End of lecture." She smiled wryly.

  The Director looked at the people on the other side, then over at Q. "So, why not a corridor instead of a gate?"

  "Corridors are weak, they usually from place to place on the same world. They can't go very far across dimensions. Gates can. The World the Black Island gang is operating out of is very close, nearly identical to your world. There's a, umm, sheaf of Worlds all with recent diversions from each other, and still very close to each other. I'd like to invite some of your researchers to try and find the splitting points." She hefted the backpack. "I bought a bunch of history books and magazines over there, to compare to the same in your World."

  More people had been gathering as they chatted. MPs for security, and now some large black cars from the State Department. Marsden spotted the two fellows generally referred to as the Secretary of State's forward observers. They walked around the Gate before approaching.

  "Director, what on Earth are you doing? Erecting a new outdoor theatre for the troops?"

  "Xen Wolfson, Jack Wittington and Tony Sardinni. May they cross the Gate? They are the two you need to persuade first."

  "Certainly. Gentlemen, the rules are simple. Don't stop until you are all the way through and don't stop where you'll cause someone else to stop in contact with the Gate. Don't go in if you see someone coming the other direction."

  The Forward Observers gave him a pair of dubious looks, but followed him as he walked up to the Gate and hopped through, and walked out on that stormy plaza. Jack-the-Wit hesitated and jumped through a bit clumsily. The Sardine walked up and stepped through with a bit more push off as he cleared the Gate. They exchanged looks and circled around in opposite directions and out of sight.

  Wolfson stayed in sight, talking to the other people, then to Sardinni and Wittington. Then he turned and walked back through, with Wittington following.

  The Wit grinned. “Tony’s going to stay and talk to them. I need to talk to my boss, and hope he doesn’t hand me over to the psychiatrists.”

  ***

  No one got committed.

  The Secretary of State, towing both the majority and minority Congressional leaders, arrived, and they all walked through, got a brief tour of “Embassy” and the Headquarters of “Disco” where anyone could come and complain about cross-dimensional misbehavior.

  They were all looking a bit stunned by the time they walked back out to . . . their world.

  The Director eyed Wolfson. “We . . . are going to have a long talk, and while we’re not going to invite you, we’d appreciate it if you were to hang around in case we have questions.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

&n
bsp; After some minor squabbling over who got to host the meeting, they wound up in the White House. As close to Neutral Territory as they could find . . . until the President got back from his European Tour.

  “And we’re not going to tell him until he’s back.” The Secretary of State eyed them all, even Marsden, sitting quietly beside the Sardine, and hoping to not be excluded.

  Hansen and Wit were babysitting an amused Wolfson two rooms down the hallway from this super-secure room.

  The Director nodded. “We really can’t trust the security of transatlantic communications. I have sent code beta to his Secret Service detail. They know the potential for an assassination attempt is high, but I gave them no details.”

  The House Speaker nodded. “So we have two issues. One, this criminal gang who might just be thieves, but could be assassins. Two, multidimensional diplomacy and how to acquire some of these ‘Empty Worlds’ for mining and or colonization.”

  Nods around the table, with the Secretary of State adding, “And not getting into a war over access to them.”

  Some dubious looks.

  Fatty leaned and raised a finger. “Wolfson spoke as if there were a whole lot of Empty Worlds. No reason other nations or regions shouldn’t negotiate for their own worlds. Completely separate from ours.”

  “Ah.” The Secretary of State looked down the table. “Mr. Sardinni? Go ask him.”

  The Sardine slipped out.

  “We’ll need an ambassador, to talk to them, to negotiate trade agreements. Monetary conversions, import/export duties . . .”

  Sardinni slipped back into the room. “Yes, other polities can have their own Empty Worlds, and the Vice President is here and demanding to know what’s going on.”

  Various groans and winces.

  Fatty blinked. I’d heard he was . . . less than stellar . . .

  The Director looked over at the Secretary. “If this was an assassination plot, we’d have to consider the VP as a possible perpetrator. I suggest that we tell him there was a serious security breach in the White House, and we’re discussing what to do to protect the President when he returns.”