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  Christmas in the Multiverse

  A Multiverse Investigations Unit Story

  R E McLean

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  Thanks,

  RE McLean

  Contents

  1. Ho ho ho

  2. Heisenberg

  3. Elf

  4. Rudolph

  5. Gallop

  6. Candy

  7. Comrades

  8. Impostor

  9. Stomach

  10. Santas

  11. Click

  12. Chicken

  13. Splat

  14. Santa Baby

  15. Fat Cat

  16. Box

  17. Cat

  18. Nose

  19. Dream

  Murder in the Multiverse, Book 1 of the Multiverse Investigations Series

  Read about Schrödinger’s Exploits - free and exclusive

  One

  Ho ho ho

  It was the day before Christmas Eve, and for the love of Santa and all his evil minions, Alex Strand didn’t want to be working.

  But here she was at the San Francisco morgue, having received an urgent call from her boss twenty minutes earlier.

  She pushed through the double doors and spotted Monique leaning against a wall, muttering into her phone. She was a tall, willowy woman who exuded sophistication until she opened her mouth. Her voice was like the loudest and most obnoxious punk band you could imagine—on a day when they’d been munching on barbed wire.

  “Where’s Mike?” asked Alex.

  “At the MIU. Getting ready.”

  Sergeant Mike Long, Alex’s partner, was probably trying to tame his facial hair. Last time she’d seen him, his beard was in the shape of an Adelie Penguin.

  “I don’t see why you need us for Santa getting shot.”

  As the Multiverse Investigations Unit’s resident physicist, Alex was normally only summoned to crime scenes with a trace of the inter-dimensional about them. A straightforward shooting wasn’t her concern, even if it was the Macy’s Santa, the pinnacle of Santadom for all the city’s impersonators of the red-suited man.

  Monique waggled a finger at Alex. She muttered something that sounded a lot like pasta and meatballs into her phone then hung up.

  “Follow me.”

  They passed from one patch of quivering fluorescent light to the next, stopping at a door that was suitably imposing and cold, like the doorway to the pits of doom. Monique pushed it open and called out.

  “Doctor Sanchez, it’s Lieutenant Williams. I have my colleague.”

  A short woman wearing a lab coat at least three sizes too big appeared from the shadows. She wore a heavy bloodstained apron.

  “Hello,” the woman said, extending a gloved hand. Alex shook the fingertips.

  “Hello, I’m Alex Strand. I work with Lieutenant Williams.”

  “She’s told me all about you.” The pathologist shrugged her shoulders. “Short, ginger Scotswoman with an inferiority complex.”

  Alex frowned. “I wouldn’t be quite so—”

  “Don’t worry, lassie. That’s not what she said. Just my intuition.”

  So this was what a doctor with the bedside manner of a mass murderer did for a job. At least the dead wouldn’t hear her making assumptions about them.

  The pathologist turned away. “He’s over here. I’m not sure what to do with him.”

  They followed her to a spotlit gurney. On it was an elderly man with a large stomach, pale skin and bushy white beard. He looked to be at least six and a half feet tall.

  Alex wrinkled her nose. “Where’s the wound?”

  The pathologist shook her head. “That’s just it. It’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Vanished. The first time he woke up.”

  Alex looked at Monique. “You thought you’d wind me up to celebrate the holidays.”

  Monique shook her head. “Wait. Watch him.”

  Alex squared her shoulders, aware of the pathologist’s skin-piercing gaze. She probably had Alex’s bra size in her head and knew that she was wearing days-of-the-week underpants. Today was a Tuesday, and she was wearing Saturday. No harm in optimism.

  They watched the body in silence. His skin was smooth, despite the white hair, and there was a hint of ruddiness to his cheeks.

  Alex blinked.

  She stepped back.

  She looked at Monique, who nodded.

  “Is this normal?” she whispered.

  “Nope,” replied Dr. Sanchez. “No more normal than Saturday coming on a Tuesday.” She winked at Alex.

  Alex looked back at the body. His cheeks were definitely getting redder. In fact, they now looked as ruddy as a drunk’s nose. Alex could hear Monique’s breathing, as loud and hoarse as her voice.

  Then he twitched.

  Not a big twitch. Not the kind of twitch you’d make if you were about to sneeze, but more the reaction to a mosquito flying exactly three inches away from your face.

  Alex held her breath.

  He did it again. It was a bigger twitch this time, as if the mosquito had come in to land. Alex batted the air. Maybe it was his reflexes. He’d fart next.

  Then he opened his eyes.

  Alex shrieked and jumped back. She slammed into Monique who pushed a hand into her back.

  The pathologist barked a laugh. “Got me the first time too.”

  “The first time?”

  “He’s been doing it on and off for the last hour.”

  The body sat up. He widened his mouth into a smile.

  “Ho ho ho,” he said.

  “Watch,” said the pathologist.

  Santa fell back to the gurney. His cheeks paled and his body went slack. Dr. Sanchez placed a hand on his wrist.

  “He’s dead.”

  Monique whispered into Alex’s ear. “One for the MIU, don’t you think?”

  Two

  Heisenberg

  They stood outside the elevator down to the MIU, in the basement of the Hall of Justice. Monique hadn’t taken her eyes off Alex the whole journey from the morgue.

  “You sure you’re OK?” she asked.

  Alex nodded. Her pulse was like that of a hamster and she was sweating. But she wasn’t about to let Monique know that.

  “Whatever this is,” Monique said, “It’s not from our world. Fluxing in and out of life like that.”

  “Right.”

  Monique put a hand on Alex’s arm. “First visit to the morgue isn’t easy.”

  “It’s not that.” Alex had seen a dead body before; her own mum, three years ago. She was attempting to track her down in parallel universes so they could be reunited.

  “There’s no physical phenomenon that involves fluxing in and out of life and death,” she said. “Not when you’re being watched, anyway.”

  “What about Schrödinger’s cat?”

  Alex frowned. “How did you know?”

  “You work for a top-secret police unit, kid. Of course we know about your weird cat.”

  Alex’s cat, Schrödinger, was a quantum cat. He had a habit of dying in his box. It was very inconvenient, especially when her best friend Rik popped by with his cat-loving daughters.

  “Schrödinger can only change his quantum state when no one’s observing him. The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle states that—”

  Monique held up a hand. “Save it, boffin.”

  “But that Santa. We saw him die. That can’t happen.”

  “It just did.”

  “You sure he doesn’t have some kind of conditio
n? Narcolepsy, or something?”

  “He was shot, Alex. Right in the chest. I saw it, at the crime scene. Christmas at Macy’s has never been so frantic.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “No idea. But Madge has an idea.”

  Madge was a member of the MIU team, who masterminded communications between Alex’s world and others.

  “Don’t you have his address? Any next of kin?” Alex imagined being told that your husband or father had been gunned down two days before Christmas, dressed as Santa. Then she thought of her dad. He’d found a job as Santa in their local Poundland, back home in Scotland. Don’t be daft, she told herself. Gun crime, in Gretna?

  “He’s not from around here. He’s from a place called San TaClaus.”

  “Very apt.”

  “Seriously. It’s the universe where Christmas comes from.”

  “Christmas doesn’t come from anywhere. It developed from centuries of pagan tradition.”

  “Uh-uh. It comes from San TaClaus. And I’m sending you and Mike there.”

  “Of course you are.”

  Alex hoped this mission could be over quickly. She hit the elevator button. As she stepped inside, Monique held the door.

  “One more thing. Alex. This guy is important.”

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “He’s the real thing. Santa. Saint Nick. Father Christmas. The original and best.”

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Uh-huh. You have to get him back where he belongs. Or there’ll be no Christmas.”

  Three

  Elf

  The MIU was decorated for the holidays in its own eccentric style. Garlands of mistletoe were draped over posters of Einstein wearing a Christmas jumper, topped by baubles that looked a lot like atomic models.

  On all the surfaces were models of a molecule consisting of Oxygen, Hydrogen and Nitrogen atoms.

  Alex picked one up. “What’s this?”

  “It’s called Red Nose,” replied Nemesis. “By-product of Rudolphomycin.”

  “Just ignore him, my dear,” said Madge. “He gets very excited at this time of year.”

  Alex put it down and headed for the double doors that led to Sarita’s base of operations. Sarita was the unit’s material scientist, and she occupied a constantly shifting white space with Escher-like dimensions.

  Mike was already there, Sarita admiring the costume she had given him.

  Mike’s eyes were flashing and his eyebrows knitted together, and not just because his last jump had turned them into something resembling a yeti’s left ear.

  “You look very—er—very festive,” Alex said.

  “Shut up.”

  Sarita gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. It was covered in brown, spotted fur. Or a simulacrum of fur, at least.

  “You look the part,” said Sarita. “That’s the point.”

  Sarita had a habit of seeing them off to alternate realities dressed in the least appropriate clothes possible. In Silicon City they’d arrived in garishly colored outfits and quickly been given darker, less obtrusive clothing by Madonna, the genius who’d invented the Hive and presided over Silicon City’s version of the MIU, the Multiverse Operations Organization. Or MOO, for short. For their jump to Greater Castro, Sarita had produced two outfits worthy of the winning floats at San Francisco Pride. The only problem was that in a world where being gay is the norm, wearing pink feather boas and a chest wig made them the local equivalent of Amish.

  So Alex was more than a little worried about Mike’s reindeer costume. It looked like it had been stolen from an elementary school staging San Francisco’s most poorly funded Christmas production.

  “Why so scruffy?” asked Alex. “Your outfits are normally perfectly tailored.”

  Sarita tipped her nose. “Intel, sweetie. Intel.”

  Alex blushed at the sweetie. She was trying to hide the massive crush she had on Sarita, and failing badly.

  “So what will I be wearing?”

  A rack of headgear swooshed towards then and Sarita grabbed a pair of fluffy antlers. She plonked them on Mike’s head.

  Sarita stood back to admire her handiwork. “Perfect.” She clapped her hands and turned to Alex. “Now you.”

  Alex hoped she wasn’t going to be playing the back end of the reindeer.

  “Now.” Sarita drummed her fingers against her perfectly smooth chin. “You’re short, pale and ginger. What shall I dress you as?”

  “I think—” said Mike. Alex glared at him.

  “I’ve got it!” exclaimed Sarita. “An elf.”

  Alex sighed. It didn’t matter. Madonna would find them new outfits as soon as they arrived in Hive Earth, their stopping-off point for all jumps.

  Sarita opened a white drawer, perfectly camouflaged in the bright space, and pulled out an elf outfit.

  “Go and put this on. Then come back and get your gadgets.”

  Moments later, Alex emerged from the changing room in her elf outfit. Stripy blue and white tights, a long red jacket with gold buttons, shoes so long they tripped her over with every step. And a tiny yellow hat that perched on top of her ginger curls.

  She looked like a ten-year-old.

  Mike nodded. “Very fetching.”

  “At least I don’t look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge by Donner and Blitzen.”

  “Oh!” said Sarita. “That reminds me.”

  She reached into the pocket of her jade leather jacket and pulled out a red nose. She popped it onto Mike’s nose.

  She turned to Alex. “I’ve got two, if you want one.”

  “No thanks. Not very elf-like.”

  “Suit yourself. Now. You need some special kit for this jump. Take these.”

  She plunged a hand into her inside pocket and brought out a beautifully wrapped parcel and a candy cane.

  “That’s your bitbox,” she said, gesturing at the parcel. A bitbox was a communications device developed in Hive Earth.

  Mike shoved the bitbox into his reindeer leg. Alex sniffed the candy cane.

  “Don’t eat it,” said Sarita. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll find out. Now, time to jump.”

  Four

  Rudolph

  Nemesis and Madge were waiting for them. Madge wore a red cardigan with a reindeer design and Nemesis had made himself look festive by dyeing his normally white shock of hair bright red.

  “I like the hair,” said Alex.

  He put a hand to it. “What? What’s happened to it?”

  “Sorry,” said Alex. “It looks fine. No change.”

  “Hello, dears,” sad Madge. A pair of glasses on a wire entwined with tinsel floated over her ample bosom and the reindeer on her knitwear seemed to catch the light and dance the can-can as Alex watched. She blinked and they switched to going a conga.

  “Hey Madge,” said Alex. “Ready for us?”

  “Yes, my dear. And we’ve got a treat for you today.”

  Alex narrowed her eyes. Madge’s treats normally involved saltwater taffy.

  “A direct jump,” Madge continued.

  Nemesis was at the circular console in the center of the vast wood-lined space that formed the heart of the MIU. He jabbed at the screen in front of him.

  “We’re sending you straight to San TaClaus,” he said. “No stop-off in Hive Earth.”

  Alex felt herself deflate. No Silicon City meant no outfit change.

  “Isn’t it safer to go via the MOO?”

  “We don’t have time, my dear,” said Madge. “The Macy’s Santa isn’t the only one.”

  “Not the only one?” asked Mike. “Surely there’s only one genuine Santa?”

  “Of course. No, he’s not the only one missing.”

  “What?” said Alex. Her chest felt tight.

  “Santas all over the world are disappearing into thin air. We’ve had reports of twelve more in San Francisco. Forty-two in LA, although I’m sure that’s just their idea of a cosmic joke. Two
thousand and seventy-three across the States. And,” she looked at Alex, “three hundred and seventy-one and a half in Scotland.”

  Alex swallowed. “My dad?”

  Madge shook her head. “We don’t have any IDs as yet. But all the big stores have been affected. All the amusement parks, and libraries.”

  “Poundland isn’t a major store,” replied Alex. “Maybe he’ll be OK.”

  Madge cocked her head. “I hope so. But let’s send you over there to make sure, eh?”

  Alex followed Mike to the Spinner. She tried not to think of her dad, scowling at the kids on his knee and refusing to tell them Santa would bring them a PlayStation. He meant well really.

  She heard shuffling, followed by what could only be braying.

  “What’s that?”

  Nemesis grinned. “That’s Rudolph.”

  “Don’t talk about Mike like that,” returned Alex.

  “Seriously,” replied Nemesis, as a fully grown, fur-covered reindeer wearing green tinsel in his antlers appeared in the doorway to the Spinner. “He’s going to get you to San TaClaus. Stick a reindeer in the Spinner and you end up in San TaClaus. Trust the technology.”

  Alex eyed Rudolph. His nose was flashing like a stripper at a hen party. “Doesn’t look very technological to me.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” said Nemesis, ignoring Madge’s sigh. “It’s a quantum nose.”

  Alex opened her mouth to ask a question then thought better of it. If that was a quantum nose, she was a chipmunk in stripy tights.

  Mike grabbed her arm. “Come on.”

  They stepped inside the Spinner. It was glowing red, with green patches swirling around the walls. Tinsel draped from the ceiling and in one corner was a fake Christmas tree decorated in shades of orange and purple.