Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,73
into orbit. Actually, that’s a very good analogy.”
“Max was the monkey.”
“Mphm. Not quite as intelligent and far less self-disciplined, but considerably more expendable. They fake Max’s death, and Pieter sends him to Somewhere Else.”
Matasuntha frowned thoughtfully. “And there he still is.”
“Presumably.”
“Then who’s phoning you from a bar in Caracas?”
The history of science doesn’t record the moments of hesitation and doubt; as, for example, when Archimedes’ wife yelled at him for slopping water all over the bathroom floor, or Mrs Newton said, “So an apple fell on you. So what?” You have to extrapolate that there were such moments, and the genius in question rose above them and moved on. “I don’t know, do I? Maybe it’s someone who knows what happened and thinks I know where he is. Maybe he’s found a way to come back.”
“YouSpace.”
One of only three in existence. Leaving two unaccounted for. “Maybe.”
She took the lid off the coffee pot and peered inside. “This isn’t any good,” she said. “Can a human being die of caffeine deprivation? Let’s not find out.” She went out, and came back a few minutes later with a fresh pot, two mugs, a carton of milk and a sugar bowl.
“Better now?”
“Marginally,” she replied, pouring coffee into both mugs. “Milk and sugar, right?”
He nodded. “You think Max may have got hold of a YouSpace bottle?”
She lifted her mug and gobbled energetically. “Well, you can find out easily enough,” she said.
“Can I?”
“Sure. Go there.”
“What?”
She gave him an even-you-should-be-able-to-understand look. “Tell the bottle you want to go to the universe where Max is hiding out,” she said. “Simple.”
Two voices in his head; one shouting Yes, the other yelling No. “Hold on, though,” he said. “Multiverse theory.”
“Excuse me?”
He took a moment to think it through. “Multiverse theory states that in an infinite multiverse there’s a universe for every possibility. Thus, if I formulate the possibility of a universe where Max is hiding out in YouSpace, it’ll exist and I can go there. Question is, would it have existed if I hadn’t conceived of it, or am I calling it into existence just by thinking about it?”
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
Fair comment. “I was only trying to think of every possible outcome, just in case—”
“Drink your coffee before it gets cold.”
For once, the bad thing he was being urged to forestall had already happened; the coffee was tepid, and she’d put in too much sugar. “I still don’t like the idea,” he said.
“You don’t want to find out if your brother’s still alive?”
“I meant the whole idea of fooling around with alternate realities,” he said, though she’d been closer to the mark than he felt comfortable with. “I mean, for all we know there could be the most appalling consequences we haven’t even begun to imagine. Trust me,” he added bitterly, “I know about what happens when things go wrong.”
She looked at him. “Yes, and every time a butterfly flaps its wings, there’s a risk of hurricanes in Kansas. What are you going to do? Tour the Amazon with a can of bug spray? If everybody thought like you, nobody’d ever do anything.”
“Yes, but—”
“And what happened to you,” she went on mercilessly, “was because you made a mistake. You got it wrong. You screwed up. Try not to screw up this time, and it’ll be fine.”
The foul taste in his mouth was probably only the coffee. “Fine,” he said. “That’s your considered judgement on messing around with the nature of causality.”
“Pieter van Goyen thought it was OK.”
And there she had him. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “All right,” he said. “But first I’m going to do the maths. Properly, not rushing. And then I’m going to check it, five times, maybe six. And then—”
He yawned. “Sure,” she said. “That’d be sensible. Maybe you should get some rest first, you look dead beat.”
She had a point. He did feel tired. In fact, for two pins he’d close his eyes again and take a nap right now. “I think I might just lie down for a moment,” he said.
“You do that.”
He looked across the room to the bed. It was ever such a long way away. The floor, on the other hand, was much more conveniently situated, and he could get there simply by falling. So he did that.
“Sorry,” she said, reaching over him and picking up the powder compact. He started to protest, but a yawn took control of his face and stretched it till the skin burned. “Happy landings,” she added, as she picked