Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,133

Not often, I have to say.”

“I have. When I was a kid, I used to lie awake at night thinking about it.”

“You did? That’s—”

“Yes. And what I asked myself was, if in the Beginning there was a big explosion that blew up a lot of stuff, where did the stuff that got blown up come from?”

“A fair question,” she said charitably.

“And all I could come up with,” Theo went on, “is that the multiverse must be a circle, not a straight line. If the multiverse is curved, not linear, and Time is a loop—”

“There’s no beginning.”

He shook his head. “That’s one way of looking at it, but not helpful. I preferred to think that any point on a circle can be the beginning. Or the end. Or both.”

She shrugged. “I could do with another coffee. How about you?”

“Now,” Theo went on. “Consider what conclusions we’ve arrived at about YouSpace.”

“Sure,” she said. “after I’ve ordered another coffee. Where’s that waiter?”

“Shifting between realities only works,” Theo said, “if you can go back to the source, the terminal, the bus station. The point at which all possibilities are still implicit. In other words, the moment before the Big Bang. That’s when all the matter and all the energy is still cooped up in one single blob. A second later, and it’s already starting to fly apart. Directions have been chosen, trajectories have been committed to. As soon as the Big Bang goes bang, there’s no going back.”

She’d forgotten all about coffee. “No,” she said. “No way.”

Theo shrugged. “If it’s a circle, the beginning can be any point. Also the end. And the end of the universe is exactly what some people said would happen if the VVLHC ever blew up.”

“Nutcases,” she said. “Journalists.”

“Maybe they were right. Maybe, when Pieter set off his fireworks, the multiverse ended. And began.” He licked his lips, which had become very dry. “I was there. It was a pretty big bang.”

“Oh my God.”

“We’ll come to that,” Theo said drily, “in a moment. Let’s think about what happened next. All across the multiverse, I came across realities that all had one thing in common. A disaster. I think it was the VVLHC. And what’s the only thing every reality in the multiverse has in common? The beginning.” He breathed out slowly. “I think that in the beginning were the words, and the words were, Pieter, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Followed by an explosion. Followed by—” He shrugged. “Genesis.”

Her eyes were as bright as stars. “Making him—”

“Him and me. But not Max. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.” He breathed in again. “And that’s why YouSpace works. I imagine Pieter would say something about omelettes and eggs; knowing Pieter, immediately followed by, which came first, the omelette or the egg? To which the only answer has got to be, both.” He looked at her. “Have I missed something? Please tell me I’ve missed something.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “And on the seventh day, God made himself scarce, hotly pursued by the product liability lawyers. Sorry, I’m not a scientist. I’m not qualified to comment.”

“Please?”

“What do you want me to say? It’s not your fault? Earthquakes, wars, mortality, entropy, the perennial paradox of evil in a dualistic moral system? Sorry, I’m not sure I—”

“Please.”

She nodded. “It’s not your fault. There. Better?”

He smiled feebly. “I guess it’ll have to do,” he said.

“My pleasure,” she said. “Actually, I do feel for you. I remember, when I was a kid, there was an old priest we knew, and I asked him that old chestnut about can God make a rock too heavy for Him to lift.”

“Yes? What did he say?”

She grinned. “Yes and no. A good answer, I’ve always thought. One I’ve always tried to live by, at any rate.” She leaned forward a little. “If you really are God,” she whispered, “do you give out lottery numbers?”

“I can do. The wrong ones, naturally.”

“Of course.” She leaned forward slightly more; he leaned back. “So,” she said. “What about Max? And Professor van Goyen?”

Theo signalled to a passing waiter. “I forgave them. Sort of.” The waiter had reached the table. “I’d like six empty beer bottles, please.”

“Senhor?”

“Gostaria seis garrafas de cerveja vazias, por favor.”

“Vindo direto.”

She scowled impatiently. “Max.”

“What? Ah yes. I forgave them. For some reason, they seemed rather put out about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Theo shrugged. “Though maybe that was because I told them they couldn’t have YouSpace. Or at least, they couldn’t have access to