Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,67

moved the glass closer, and the words came into focus. His breath caught in his throat as he made out –

YouSpace 1.1

User’s Manual

“Oh, my God,” Matasuntha said softly.

Theo moaned quietly. “I’ve been carrying it around with me all this time—”

“Correction,” she pointed out. “You dropped it. I found it.”

“Yes, well.” He frowned. “What happened? Why didn’t it do this when you opened it?”

She shrugged. “At a guess, DNA recognition security protocols. It only came on when you breathed on it.”

“Ah, right.” He stared a moment or so longer, then scowled. “It’s stuck. How do I make it scroll down?”

“I don’t know, do I?” She clicked her tongue. “You’re the science wiz, as you never seem to tire of reminding me, you figure it out.”

He tried. He prodded the hinges, stroked the rim with his fingertip, tapped on the lid, ran his fingernail over the mirror: nothing. The original message grinned back at him unchanged.

“This is hopeless,” he snapped. “Useless frigging thing—”

“You’re going to hit it now, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Well, like I said, you’re a man. You’ve done the swearing-at-it thing, so hitting’s obviously next. Try talking to it.”

“Don’t be so—” He stopped. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Next.” Immediately, the screen cleared and was replaced by a column headed List of Contents. He didn’t turn his head; but he could feel her smirk burning the skin on the back of his neck. “Right,” he said. “Let’s see.” He moved the glass forward again and said aloud: “Getting Started.”

The screen changed. The phone rang.

Theo froze. The phone rang again, and Matasuntha picked it up and said, “Hello?” He shook himself, and crouched forward to read the next menu, as Matasuntha said, “Who’s calling please?” in her best receptionist’s voice. 1.1. Security protocols –

“It’s for you.”

“What?”

She was holding the phone out for him to take. He scowled horribly at it. “Take a message.”

“I don’t think so.”

He made a terrible sighing noise, then grabbed the phone and snapped, “Yes?”

“Theo Bernstein?” A man’s voice, unfamiliar.

“Yes. Look, I’m really busy right now—”

“Armed police. We have the hotel surrounded.”

YouSpace isn’t the only place where a fraction of a second can last for years. A fraction of a second later, he managed to mumble, “You what?”

“Armed police. Throw out your weapon and come out with your hands up.”

Matasuntha gave him a sympathetic shrug. A nice thought, but it didn’t really help much. “I haven’t got a weapon,” Theo said.

“Oh. Hold the line, please.”

“I think Uncle Bill’s got a baseball bat you could borrow,” Matasuntha whispered. “If it’d make things easier.”

“Hello? Mr Bernstein?”

“Hello, yes?”

“Are you quite sure you haven’t got a weapon?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, come out with your hands up.”

“But—”

Click, whirr. Theo stared at the phone, then put it back. “I thought you said—”

“Mphm. I thought so too. Maybe Uncle Bill changed his mind or something.” She shrugged. “You’d better go out,” she said. “I’ll get Uncle Bill and we’ll come down to the station and sort it all out, I promise.”

He looked at her, then at the compact in his hand. He really didn’t want to, but –

“Here,” he said, “you take this. Look after it, all right?”

“Thanks.” She took the compact, picked up the sponge and started dabbing at her nose. “Well, go on, then,” she said. “Otherwise they’ll be kicking the door down.”

He turned to go; she stood up quickly, darted in front of him and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Try not to get shot,” she said. “Promise?”

Theo nodded dumbly and headed for the door. He opened it and peered outside. There didn’t seem to be anybody about. Feeling more than a little foolish, he lifted both arms above his head, like a Chicago voter in a show of hands, and walked forward.

“Hold it right there,” said a voice. “And don’t try anything smart.”

There was something about the voice. It was doing its best, bless it; the words were rasped out and bitten off, with a definite attempt at menace, but the voice itself was high and thin. “Hello?” Theo called out. “Where are you, I can’t—”

“Shut it,” quavered the voice. “All right, throw down your weapons and—”

“Um,” Theo said. “We’ve been through all that already, I haven’t got any.”

“Positive?”

“I think I’d have noticed.”

A clump of the head-high nettles that grew up through the tarmac of the hotel drive parted, and two men came out. One of them was well over six feet tall, fair-haired, skinny, roughly seventeen years old and fitted with the biggest ears Theo had ever seen on a