London. Max-Earth.
2543. January.
There were many aspects of being on Max-Earth that were making Kaminski’s brain hurt. Chief among them was how high everything was - even the spacious garden he was currently walking through was perched atop a skyscraper, the city far below. Everything was scaled up to the point of incomprehension for anyone more used to the squat industrialism of Mid-Earth. By contrast, Max-Earth gleamed. Tallest of all the structures was the space elevator, arcing up and away from the river and disappearing into the sky haze before it dipped below the horizon. He couldn’t begin to fathom the engineering required for such a thing.
He took a deep breath. The air tasted enriched, as if it contained more oxygen than back home. Probably because it did; there was barely any pollution here, certainly not compared to the thick smog of 1970s England, where you had to chew on the air before inhaling. They’d even provided him with a pack of cigarettes that was apparently free of carcinogens and which had no negative health implications. Somehow that made them less appealing.
“One of the many peculiarities when comparing the two Londons,” said Justin, walking beside him, “is that there are centuries-old buildings here which were never constructed in your dimension.” They pointed over the railing to a squat, spherical, glass building far below. “30 St Mary Axe. They called it ‘the gherkin’ for a time. It doesn’t exist in your dimension. Some still presume that we have a shared history, but it diverged two hundred years ago.”
“Are you saying that’s a bad thing? We got to some things sooner than you. Outlawed slavery decades before you did.”
Justin smiled, the skin around their mouth barely creasing. “That was a requirement of our trade deal, if you recall.”
“My history school certificate was a long time ago.” Kaminski took in the city, some of it below, much of it at their elevated level or even higher. It was unrecognisable as being London, other than the glimpses of the Thames winding through the middle.
“Indeed,” Justin said, smiling again. There was a smugness that grated on Kaminski. That was another thing he couldn’t wrap his head around: Justin wasn’t even a her. It was a woman’s body, but Justin had explained that it could just as easily have been male - dependent largely on what was available at the time. There were gender neutral bodies as well. It all sat awkwardly for Kaminski: he had nothing against any of it, but the world seemed simpler back home, where men were men and women were women. Everything on Max-Earth was fluid and changing and fuzzy, his brain straining to keep up.
He needed to get back to his own world.
*
Two days slipped by. Kaminski had been upgraded from an immigration holding cell to a room ordinarily reserved for diplomatic visitors.
“You’re not a diplomat,” Justin had observed, “but you have prompted something of a diplomatic incident. Questions are inevitably being asked about why a serving officer in the SDC was stowed away in a cargo container during portal transit. I’ve kept a lid on it, but this was never going to go entirely unnoticed.”
Kaminski had kept quiet. The truth was awkward: he had only been there under the false pretence of an expired warrant, and as part of an off-the-books investigation that only he and Bakker knew about. Callihan’s box of evidence had been hidden behind a desk in his house for a reason, and Kaminski triggering some kind of diplomatic meltdown was exactly the attention they didn’t need.
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There was a gentle chime and a display on the door showed Justin’s face. She - they - had visited each day since pulling Kaminski out of the cell. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with that amount of attention from a sentient computer.
The door slid silently open and Justin entered, long, dark hair swaying as they crossed the room. There was an almost uncanny perfection to the body, as if he was looking at a cartoon character, or a sculpture come to life. Part of Kaminski’s unease was a consequence of him finding Justin undeniably attractive. It would be so much simpler if they were a real human. Everything about Max-Earth that made him feel primitive, like a caveman wandering out of a cave to discover he’d slept for ten thousand years.
“When we first met you explained that your body was the only one you could find. So why are you still using it?”
Moving over to the window, hands behind their back, Justin took in a deep breath. It occurred to Kaminski for the first time that it was an artificial gesture, with no biological need. “Changing bodies would be confusing for you, given that this is your first time visiting this side of the portal.”
“Why even bother having a fake human body in the first place? Couldn’t you just be a robot, or a fridge with wheels?”
“Convenience and empathy,” Justin said with a smile. “It makes for simpler negotiations, generally, I find.”
Kaminski snorted. “Nothing about this seems simple to me.”
“I suspect the humans who were alive in our version of the 1970s would have felt similarly challenged, detective,” Justin said gently. “It is true that I could forgo this simulant host and simply communicate with you via voice or text, but I suspect our conversations would then be considerably less interesting.”
The light through the window from the late morning sun was soft and warm. Kaminski turned away and walked to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. At least the place was well stocked. He couldn’t wait to fill Chakraborty in on all that had happened. Though that would mean explaining to her why he’d been stuck in a shipping container. He sighed poured himself a shot of whisky. The cat was out of the bag, one way or another.
“You’re going to need a cover story,” Justin said, as if reading his thoughts.
He paused with the whisky tumbler halfway to his lips. “What?”
The robot - there, that made it easier, if he thought of Justin as a robot - gestured at the ceiling. “Don’t worry, I have temporarily disabled the surveillance equipment in this apartment.”
Kaminski blinked, then drank the shot. “What?”
“The confidential investigation you have been avoiding discussing was clearly illegal. There is no official record of you having a warrant to search the portal station on the Mid-Earth side, and therefore there is no legitimate cause for you to have been inside the container, deliberately or accidentally.”
He stared at the robot, not yet knowing where the conversation was going to come down. It could be assumed that Justin was stronger and faster than him, and probably cleverer. Saying as little as possible seemed like the safest way forward.
“This would ordinarily be a problem primarily for you, your superiors and the Joint Council,” Justin continued, “until a recent development. The container you arrived in has gone missing.”
“Missing?”
“It was impounded after you were found inside. The cargo was unregistered and unidentified. I had been clearing away some bureaucratic hurdles before inspecting it myself this afternoon, but the container is no longer where it should be.”
This was getting interesting. Kaminski started to sense that maybe he wasn’t in as much trouble as he had expected. “So where did it go?”
“The port records show it departing on the space elevator, but it does not have a valid destination ID.” Justin frowned, the perfect, unblemished forehead wrinkling ever so slightly. “Its whereabouts are unknown. It has vanished.”
“Sounds like you have problems of your own.”
“This is correct. You are therefore the only person to have seen inside the container for any length of time. Can you describe to me again what you saw?”
“Get me a pen and paper and I’ll do you one better.”