Timecaster: Supersymmetry (3 page)

“Green,” it said. And it didn’t sound robotic at all. If anything, its accent was Midwestern.

“My wife, and a guy who looked like me. Did you see where they went?”

“Green,” it said again.

Getting nowhere, I turned away. Obviously, the technology on this earth hadn’t advanced to the point where robots could think. I began to walk off but the bot lashed out and caught my arm, squeezing tight.

It hurt like crazy.

“WTF!”

The robot pulled me, without difficulty, across the damp floor of the brewery. I tried to beat him in his head and kick him in the side, which did nothing but make
clang!
sounds and hurt my hand and foot. I looked frantically around for a human supervisor, someone who could shut this tin man off.

Then I saw where he was taking me.

The gigantic copper brewing kettle, with a ladder spiraling up around its circumference. A conveyor belt overhead was dumping things into the boiling liquid.

Human-shaped things.

I began to thrash and yell, my eyes locking onto a gigantic aluminum lauter tun, used as a holding tank and filtering vessel for the beer. Painted on the side was
Soylent Green Pale Ale
.

People. They’re making beer out of people.

“Got another one for the fire,” the robot said, leading me to three other robots. They each grabbed one of my limbs and we began the slow ascent up the brew kettle. It was throwing off heat like a furnace, and sweat broke out all over my body, but that could have been the result of fear rather than temperature.

I stared overhead and watched another naked corpse fall off the conveyor belt, into the boiling brew. A few tiny droplets of wort splashed out of the top of the kettle, landing on my face, causing tiny little burns. One hit my lip, and I shot my tongue out to cool the burning sensation.

Tasted pretty good.

I continued to struggle and yell, to no obvious effect, and they eventually carried me all the way up. I threw my TEV—the one that would allow me to save Boise—off to the side and onto a crate of machine parts, hoping it didn’t break. Then I screamed for help.

Incredibly, there was a real flesh-and-blood human being standing on the top platform, fiddling with the touch screen of his digital tablet.

The bots held me over the boiling liquid, which churned and bubbled like a witch’s cauldron, complete with floating body parts and malevolent-looking steam.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Hey, budd too much woman for that.”

“you opportunitety!”

The guy looked up and blinked, as if surprised to see me there.

“Stop,” he commanded.

The bots all froze, suspending me immobile above the kettle.

Stop? All I needed to do was say stop?

“You’re not dead,” my savior said.

“Thanks for noticing.”

“The brewing process only calls for dead people. We don’t typically use live adjuncts. Unless there was a change in the recipe.” He checked his digital tablet.

“There’s been a mistake. I’m not an adjunct.”

He padded over to me, using his DT to scan the chip embedded in my wrist. The chip served as permanent identification. It also functioned as a key for electric locks and was directly hooked up to my credit account, so a swipe of my arm opened my doors and paid for my purchases.

The scan didn’t work, thanks to the obfuscation disk I’d placed over the chip. But the brewmaster noticed the sticker and peeled it off with a grubby fingernail, flicking it over his shoulder. He scanned again.

“Talon Ace Avalon,” he said. “You’re a Chicago Peace Officer. A timecaster. Your profile doesn’t mention you’re supposed to be brewed.”

“That’s good to know.”

“But it does say you’re the most wanted man in the USAC. It says you destroyed Boise, Idaho, killing half a million people.”

I shook my head, some sweat rolling down my face and into the kettle. It was pretty damn hot up there.

“They aren’t dead,” I told him. “They were transported to a parallel universe and are on an alternate earth ruled by dinosaurs. Also, it wasn’t me. That’s Alter-Talon. He’s a perfect genetic match, and has the same chip ID. He’s also psychotic and his hands are falling off.”

The brewmaster stared at his DT and shook his head. “I don’t see that on here.”

“You have to let me go,” I pleaded. “Alter-Talon has my wife.”

“Your alter-wife?”

“My real wife. He’s working with my old boss to destroy earth.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The alter-earth? Or this earth?”

“To you, it’s an alter-earth. To me, this is the alter-earth.”

“Kind of confusing, isn’t it?”

“I know it all sounds like a crazy science fiction novel…”

“You ever read
Minority Report
? P the antidote for the nanopoison to get opportunitethilip K. Dick?”

“I missed that one.”

“I always thought the timecaster program was always kind of a rip-off of that. You know, preventing crime by seeing into the future.”

“Timecasters don’t see into the future. They see into the past.”

“Still, lots of similarities. And this whole alternate universe thing you’re talking about, that sounds suspiciously like Harry Turtledove.”

I couldn’t believe we were talking about books at a moment like this. “Look, you have to believe me.”

He tapped his chin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I believe you. Set him down.”

The bots set me down. I rubbed my wrists, working to get the circulation back.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t thank me. I should thank you. There’s a ten million credit reward for your arrest. Immobilize him.”

The nearest bot reared back and kicked me square in the groin. I doubled over.

“You said you believed me,” I groaned.

“I do. But I’m morally ambiguous. I’d rather be rich than do the right thing. Taze him.”

All four of the bots zapped me with their built-in tasers, and that was the last thing I remembered before blacking out.

I heard a voice
in the darkness, reading me my rights.

When I opened my eyes I saw I was in leg irons and handcuffs, kneeling on the lawn outside the brewery, with an EPF collar around my neck. Six peace officers surrounded me, tasers at the ready. Ralph, my CAA—easily identifiable because he wore a digital nametag that read
Hello My Name Is Ralph, Your Court Appointed Attorney
—was squinting at his DT.

Like my earth, this alter-earth seemed eco-friendly. The roads were cultivated clover. Every building had a green roof and vines covering the outside. Right next to me was a hemp bush, her buds fat and ready to harvest. Around me the streets were bustling with utopeons on biofuel scooters and kermits in the powerbocking lane. Blue sky, yellow sun, people looked like people. The real only difference I could discern was that everyone seemed to be overweight. But that might have been a Wisconsin thing, not a parallel world thing.

“While you were unconscious,” Ralph said, “you were given your Miranda pill, so you are no doubt fully aware of your rights. As a former peace officer, that probably wasn’t necessary, but we go by the ebook here in Milwaukee.”

I was an old pro at this, having been on the arresting end of this process hundred applause.

&Bci carbon nanotubeI pus of times. I’d never taken a Miranda pill before, though. It tasted like justice, with a hint of synthetic cherry. When I closed my eyes, I could hear my rights read to me; a neurological phenomenon rather than an auditory one. The sound was all in my head.
Ear pills
, as they were called, wore off within an hour. They were useful for grocery lists, cheating on tests, and making sure suspects understood their rights. There were some pr0n applications as well, but I’d never tried those.

Okay, I tried them once. But the moaning and squishy sounds were more annoying than erotic.

“Judge Crouch is caught in traffic,” Ralph continued. “The state apologizes for the delay in your guarantee of a speedy and fair trial, and he has already agreed to reduce your predicted sentence by ten percent for being in breach of your protected Constitutional rights.”

“What is my predicted sentence?” I asked.

“Death. Though, if you sign a confession and plead guilty, I might be able to get it reduced to life plus four thousand years.”

“What are the charges?”

Ralph turned his DT around, showing me the screen. A computer-generated face of the Virtual Prosecutor appeared. He looked like that old 2D movie actor, John Wayne, and spoke with a similar drawl.

“Talon Ace Avalon, you’re charged with 462,009 counts of murder in the first degree.”

A very long list of names began to scroll by. Alphabetically of course. I sighed, closing my eyes, hearing my Miranda rights repeat again.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was ghastly.”

I peeked and saw Judge Crouch—easily identifiable because he wore a digital nametag that read
Hello My Name Is Judge Crouch
—smoothing out the wrinkles in his black judicial robe, which was hemmed up over the ankle so it didn’t get tangled in his rocket skates. He was very short and kind of resembled a weasel.

“Good afternoon, your honor,” said Ralph.

The computer generated prosecutor repeated the greeting.

“Good afternoon.” Judge Crouch pressed his nametag and a gavel appeared on the screen, striking a sound block. “Court is now in session. Has the defendant been given his Miranda pill?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“And does the defendant understand the charges against him?”

Ralph nudged me.

“Yeah,” I said.

“How does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty,” I said. “It wasn’t me.”

“Your honor,” drawled the Virtual Prosecutor, “we have timecast video of the defendant destroying the entire city of Boise, Idaho.” the antidote for the nanopoison to get potato chipset

The VP’s face was replaced by the timecasting video of Alter-Talon pressing the button that imploded Boise. I’d seen the footage before, but it was still horrible to view. The entire town was sucked into a single point and vanished.

“The prosecution rests,” said the VP.

“That’s not me,” I said. “That’s an alternate version of me from a parallel universe.”

“The ID chip clearly shows it is Talon Ace Avalon,” the VP said, adjusting the viewing settings and showing an X-ray close-up of Alter-Talon’s arm. His ID, and his DNA, matched mine exactly.

Judge Crouch nodded. “Indeed it does. Do you dispute this evidence, Mr. Court Appointed Attorney?”

“No, your honor. But I would like a moment to confer with my client.”

“Moment granted.”

Ralph turned to me. “They’re probably going to electrocute you, but I can ask the court to be merciful and give you a lethal injection instead.”

“I can prove I didn’t do it,” I said. “Do a trace on my chip. You’ll find another person with my ID running around, right now.”

“Mr. Prosecutor?” the judge said.

“I’ll check on that.” The VP’s face was replaced by a map of the USAC. There was only a single blinking dot, and a satellite camera quickly zoomed in to me, kneeling there. “Nope, no other Talon Ace Avalon found.”

That’s because Alter-Talon was blocking his chip. I closed my eyes, trying to think of how to get out of this, but my Miranda rights kept repeating, over and over, interrupting my train of thought.

“Can I call a witness?” I asked.

“Witnesses don’t matter in cases where timecast evidence is present, your honor,” said the VP.

“This witness will prove that ID chips aren’t infallible,” I said, “and can be duplicated.”

The judge looked at his watch. “Okay, but you have to make it quick. I’ve got to be at an assault case across town in seven minutes.”

“Do a search for my wife, Vicki Maria Avalon.”

Again, the VP’s face was replaced by a map. But this time, there were two blinking lights. That meant two Vickis with the same ID chip.

The judge frowned. “Huh. Never saw that before.”

Ralph said, “How is that even possible?”

“Ask for an extension,” I told Ralph.

“Oh. Good idea. Your honor, in light of this new development, the defense requests an extension.”It’s too late.”at?” Talon’s wife asked.G

“The prosecution agrees.”

“Extension granted,” the judge said. “Pick up the two citizens with the identical ID chips, and we’ll get this sorted out. Court shall reconvene in two hours. Until that time, the defendant will be remanded to the Milwaukee Correctional Facility. Court adjourned.”

The judge pressed his nametag, and the virtual gavel came down. Then he hit the boosters on his rocket skates, speeding off across the greentop.

Ralph was beaming. “That’s the first extension I’ve ever gotten. I need to call my wife and tell her.”

He pressed his earlobe, activating his head phone. While he made a private call, the surrounding cops picked me up and carried me to a black and white paddy wagon. Besides the city busses, there weren’t many vehicles on the roads. Paddy wagons were an exception, looking a lot like antique vans. This one had a green roof, its red and blue flashing lights nestled in a matching patch of red carnations and violets. They tossed me in the back, locking the door behind me.

Imagine my surprise when I realized I wasn’t alone.

“Hello, Talon.”

It was my old partner, Teague.

Only hours ago I’d cut off Teague’s hand and flushed it down the toilet. But that was the real Teague. This was Alter-Teague. He looked exactly the same, though his hair was a bit shorter, and he was a bit more muscular from steroid abuse. On my earth, Teague hated me.

Maybe in this parallel universe we had a better relationship.

“Hey, buddy. How’s things?”

“You dirty, stinking, SMF,” Teague said. Then he punched me in the face.

So much for a better relationship.

Peace officers were subject to the same rules and laws as all taxpaying utopeons, and brutalizing a perp resulted in fines, suspensions, firing, and in extreme cases, jail time. Since timecasting technology was invented, no one could get away with anything. Any suspect who claimed peace brutality could request a timecast of the event to prove it. That took a few days, though, and chances were good I’d be executed within a few hours.