Free Chasing Schrödinger’s Cat - A Steampunk Novel by Tom Hourie Page A

conspiracy, then who has been painting the letters ‘BLF’
on walls all around London?   And more
important, who stole the dimensional translator and why?”
    “Very pertinent questions, young
man,” Lord Newford said.   “Is there really a conspiracy?   Do we have a traitor in our midst?   Questions we had hoped to answer by setting up
Schrödinger’s shop.”
    “Hang on,” I said.   “You set up Schrödinger’s shop?”
    “It was Fox’s idea.   We knew that whoever had stolen the
translator would have little idea of how to use it.   Fox planted an article under Schrödinger’s name in The Journal of Scientific Progress which
discussed the possibility of using a communication device to contact alternate
worlds.   The hope was that the thief or
thieves would contact Schrödinger to
find out more.”   He stopped to take
another sip of his tea and looked up suddenly.   Once again I was reminded of a sleepwalker who had just awakened.   “You must think me very rude,” he said.   “May I offer you anything to drink?   I have some excellent whisky.”
    “You know I never touch spirits,” Sarah said.
    “No problem,” I said.   “I’ll have
her share.”
    Lord Newford poured me three generous fingers
of the best Scotch I have ever tasted and I settled back to enjoy its peaty warmth.   “I’m still confused,” I said, after my second
gratifying sip.   “Why is this Dimensional
Translator thingamajig so important?   As
far as I know, all it does is make bad movies.”   As you can tell, I was still offended at being cast as ‘Backward Bob.’
    “You are quite right in saying that we use it as little more than an
electrical peephole to another world, but even that capability has its
dangers.   It has, in fact, caused a major
shift in the policies of Her Majesty’s Government.”
    “In what way?”
    “I will offer a brief history
lesson, if I may.   The Dimensional
Translator was invented four decades ago by a very brilliant chap named Charles
Babbage.   Babbage was devoutly religious
and came to believe the device was a tool of Satan.”
    “So why does it still exist?   Why didn’t he smash it?”
    “It seems he didn’t have the heart
to destroy his creation.   He locked it in
a vault beneath his home where it was discovered a number of years ago by his
son, Henry, who had none of his father’s scruples and used it to produce
popular entertainment such as you describe.”
    “So where’s the danger?”
    “At first there was none.   But then the phantom world in Henry’s kinescopes
began to deviate from our own.   Its
social order began to crumble.   Monarchies became republics. Empires disintegrated.   We began to see signs of unrest in our own
world, despite the fact that none of the new kinescopes had been released
publicly.”
    “Almost as if ideas were using
dreams to spread themselves from one dimension to another,” I said, recalling
Bill Fowler’s comment when I showed him the ornament from Max’s collar.   What was it he thought it looked like?   A vacuum tube?
    “Indeed.   And then young Babbage made the error of
releasing a film featuring a German Jew named Karl something or other.”
    “Marx?”
    “That’s the Johnny.   Marx’s prediction that the internal tensions
of the existing class structure would lead to its collapse proved to be the
final straw.   Her Majesty’s Intelligence
Service seized the device and brought it here to Amesbury Park.   Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful in
retrieving Babbage’s notes, or Babbage himself, for that matter.   Chap vanished and hasn’t been seen since.   Our last information is that he is somewhere
in Devon.”
    “If the Translator is so dangerous
then why didn’t you destroy it?”
    “The simplest explanation would be
that the public have become partial to the entertainment it creates and it
suits the interests of Her Majesty’s Government to keep the people happy.”
    “Bread and