The Zero Speed Pursuit: Leopold Einstein, #2

By Duncan Lane

The hilarious sequel to Leopold Einstein in the Sixteenth Dimension.

 

Leopold's pan-dimensional days are behind him, but life in deep space takes another bizarre turn when he encounters the ghost of a one-armed android.

 

He boldly sets about solving the mystery--when not distracted by alien lifeforms, a rampant computer virus, a leather-clad princess, defrosted zombies, and mind-boggling science!

 

Leopold is certain that his old nemesis, evil Commander Valiant, is behind everything. But how and why? The answers lie at Zero Speed….

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duncan Lane
• Release date: Oct 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223835240

Duncan Lane

Duncan Lane was born and raised in England, but later moved to California. He is married and has two children. His degree in engineering initially led to a career in hi-tech. He wrote his first novel in his spare time (midnight to 2a.m.) over the course of several years. When it was published, he promptly quit his day job. He now has multiple novels and a screenplay to his credit. He currently lives and writes in San Francisco.

Book preview

A Brief History

Leopold Einstein had once been a pan-dimensional being, albeit accidentally. He'd also been dead a few times—again, through no fault of his own. Now, things were back to normal (no more extra dimensions to pan across)—just regular everyday life in deep space. Which, if he was honest, was a bit of a drag. Where was the pleasure of doing nothing when you had nothing to do?

He’d eventually come up with an idea to occupy his time and set about it with gusto. After two days, gusto had dwindled to mild enthusiasm and then on down to plodding determination. But he had stuck with it, and today was the big reveal.

He was in his quarters, seated in an armchair, a thin pile of papers on his lap. He was fiddling nervously with the big black clip on the corner of the papers, unsure how to begin. Across the glass coffee-table, Fil and Sid were sitting expectantly on the sofa. Fil was in his usual brown business suit, thin hair neatly combed and his immaculate false teeth overly white. Sid, shorter and wider than his friend, was eclectic as ever in yellow and green striped trousers, a red velvet jacket and a bowler hat.

Sid nodded encouragingly. So, what's the big surprise?

Leopold held up the papers so that they could see the front cover. Fil read out: The Official Autobiography of Leopold Einstein by Leopold Einstein.

Catchy title, Sid said.

It’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Fil said.

It’s only the first chapter, but I’m really excited to have got started. It means I’ve overcome the greatest fear of any writer.

Hemorrhoids? Sid asked.

No, it’s—

Writers do sit a lot, Fil interrupted.

No. It’s the blank page.

That’s stupid, Sid said. If you didn’t have a blank page, whatever you wrote would get mixed up with the stuff that was already on there.

You can’t argue with logic like that, Fil said.

Yeah, all right, you two. Just shut up. This is important to me, and I wanted to share it with you. Leopold flipped over the first page, glanced shyly at his friends, and began to read. "It all started with an explosion on the Gran Bretan that created four parallel realities, and I was the only one that could pass between them. That must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate."

That's a bit flowery, isn't it? Sid said.

I think he's borrowing literary devices, Fil replied.

He had my pen too last week. I still haven't got it back, Sid said.

Leopold gave a short cough and continued. Four copies of the ship and four copies of the crew, though each person's personality split along distinct lines. For instance, the Professor's daughter, Princess—

She goes by Fiona now. Apparently, that's her real name, Fil said.

Well, she was Princess back then. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Her personalities were: an Amazon warrior; a drugged-out hippy; an air-headed Disney Princess; and a three-hundred-pound sexpot. When the realities collapsed, everyone’s split personalities re-combined and—

You can’t say that in the first chapter, Fil said. It gives away the ending; takes away all the dramatic tension of whether the crew will ever get back to normal.

Normal is over-rated, Sid said. "I liked the Princess’s four split personalities better than the combined one, even the one that wanted to kill all of us. Now that she’s Fiona, she's just a pain in the ass."

Fil nodded. And another thing. You said everyone re-combined—you're forgetting about Commander Valiant.

I wish I could forget him, Leopold replied.

Is that because he’s your nemesis, lurking down in Pod 4, plotting vengeance against you? Sid asked with a leer.

No, it’s because it’s hard to explain how we ended up with three Valiants.

Two, Fil said.

Uh-uh, there’s three of them. We started off with one, then four, then five—

Five!

Yes, Leopold replied. When the realities got split, there were four copies of the ship and the crew, including the original Valiant. Then, in one of the realities, the Professor made a vCrew copy of him named Prince Valiant along with six vCrew hairdressers as companions for his daughter who was a dopey Disney princess in that reality. Hence five Valiants.

Oh, perfectly straightforward now that you put it that way, Fil said. But how did we get to three?

Leopold scrunched his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. Have you forgotten everything about our adventures?

Pretty much, especially all the complicated science stuff.

Me too, Sid said. I know we ended up with a nice Captain Valiant, a dumb vCrew Prince Valiant, and an evil Commander Valiant, but I’ve no clue how we got there. Guess I’ll have to read your book to find out. Speaking of which, are we in it?

You will be, but not in the first chapter. I plan on having loads of stuff about all the zombies.

We're not zombies—we just had that nasty disease, Fil said. He slipped out his false teeth and gave a gaping grin, showing off his single remaining front tooth as a reminder.

I know, but it was a disease where most of the crew went all blotchy blue and ugly, and bits of them dropped off. They went round trying to eat people.

We're all better now, declared Sid, who was still somewhat blue around the edges despite the layers of make-up powder he always applied. And we never once died, so calling us zombies is just lazy writing. You should change that.

Do you guys want to hear my story or not?

We’re just providing constructive feedback, Fil said. Speaking of which, an autobiography should start with stuff about your early years—background for how you came to be a janitor on a spaceship.

I—

Yeah, how did you wind up with doody duty? Sid interrupted.

I—

Doody duty. Nice alliteration, Fil said.

Thanks. I’ve always been good at it. In high school, Miss Frobisher often told me I was alliterate.

I think you may have misheard her, Fil said.

Enough already! Leopold tossed his story onto the coffee table and flopped back in his armchair. You two obviously aren’t interested, and I’ve got to be somewhere soon.

I think we’re being dismissed, Fil said.

Perhaps doody duty calls, Sid said with a smirk.

If you must know, Leopold said. I have to go to see the Professor and have my brain uploaded again. He needs to program another vCrew with my janitorial knowledge.

What happened to the last one? Fil asked.

He got his head stuck in a toilet yesterday. The Professor thinks something went wrong with my knowledge upload and wants me to do it again.

Sid chuckled. I reckon the upload was fine—I can see you with your head stuck in a toilet.

An hour later, Leopold was in the women's bathroom on deck B19 supervising the new vCrew janitor. No one had told him to supervise. He just felt it was the right thing to do. So far, so good. The robot janitor had arrived on time, wearing a blue jumpsuit like Leopold’s, and pushing a small cart containing all the requisite tools. He had nodded a silent greeting and carefully parked the cart next to the sinks, like an actor finding his marks. He was now kneeling in the leftmost of the four toilet stalls, stemming a leak from where the pipe connected to the back of the tank. Perfect so far—it made Leopold feel more superfluous than ever. He sighed and turned to look at his reflection in a mirror above the washbasins.

Normally, he would have puffed out his chest and admired his fine features, but not today. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the sink, and stared into his own eyes. Deep-set, blue eyes that today seemed too close together and underscored with dark rings; his nose, too large and the stubble on his chin uneven where his electric shaver had done a poor job. Even the wavy curls in his black hair seemed lank and sad; some strands still adhered to the sticky patches on his temples from the pads of the memory upload machine. He pulled the strands of hair free and tried to rub away the stickiness.

So do you have all my memories now? he asked, looking at the reflection of the vCrew janitor in the mirror.

Pardon me.

Leopold walked over to the stall. My memories; do you have them?

The vCrew reached back with his left hand and flipped up a small panel under the synthetic hair on the back of his head, exposing the glowing surface of a memory cube. The cube containing all your knowledge.

Yeah, but does it contain all my memories, all my thoughts, all my feelings? The cube I had when I was pan-dimensional contained everything. It was a bit weird, really. People could play it back, watch stuff and—

Are you vCrew?

No, I don’t have a hole in my head like you, at least not a useful one. I carried the cube to the copies of Reginald in each reality to update them on what was happening. It was a special one.

All memory cubes are the same. In answer to your original question, I have access to all your knowledge, but I am not equipped to interpret emotional content.

The Reginalds could.

Androids have superior capabilities, both mental and physical.

Yeah, Reginald is... was... is very capable, and a good guy.

The vCrew paused as if accessing data. In that case, why did you chop his head off?

Ah, so you do have my memories, Leopold said. There were four Reginalds, one in each reality. I knocked one off the ship, disintegrated one and did, indeed, chop the head off another one. But the fourth one saved my life... before he disintegrated. Still, they built a new Reginald 2.0 better than ever.

Why are you telling me this? the vCrew asked. He stood and turned to face Leopold. His smooth plastic face and unblinking eyes were disconcerting.

Just making conversation. But hey, if you don't want to chat, we could do something else. Since you've got my memories, we could do a bit of rehearsing for the next play I'm putting on.

Star Trek—Yet Another Voyage?

That's it—the sequel to the last one we did. Me, Fil and Sid put it on and used vCrew for extra cast members. Sid is Captain Kirk, Fil is Mr. Spock and I'm Scottie 'cause I can do the accent. We did it for crew morale.

To improve it?

Yes, it went over great last time. So, you want to help me rehearse?

No, the vCrew replied and knelt back down to resume work.

Well, suit yourself. I'll do it on my own.

Leopold rummaged in the tool cart and pulled out a power washer. The thin green coils of hose attached to the wand promptly tied themselves into a knot. He undid the worst of the tangles, screwed the end of the hose onto a spigot on the wall by the sinks, held the wand like a microphone and raised an eyebrow.

Janitor's log, star date ten-point-three-point-whatever. Having wiped out every cling-on in the bathroom, it's time for the power-wash...

He skipped a step to his left and adopted his best girly pose and high-pitched voice. Not the power wash, Captain.

A skip to the right and back to being manly. Yes, I'm afraid we've no other choice. He gave the spigot a quarter turn and squeezed the trigger on the wand. An insipid dribble of water came out. He hit the communicator badge on his lapel.

Engine room, I need more power.

He cranked the spigot wide open and adopted his fine Scottish accent.

I'm giving her all she's got, Captain. She can nay take much more.

What are you talking about? demanded a voice from his communicator.

Leopold gave a guilty jump. Sorry, I was just mucking around. I didn't mean to really transmit anything. Who is this?

Pen... your wife.

Oh, that’s good, Leopold said with a sigh of relief. I thought it might be someone important. What are you doing?

Flying the ship.

I'm power washing a bathroom.

Silence. Leopold didn't like silence; he squeezed the trigger and swung the wand back and forth, sending a hissing jet of water zigzagging across the white tile floor. Eventually, Pen spoke again.

Are we still on for lunch?

Sure, absolutely, wouldn’t miss it. I'll finish up here, then come pick you up on the Bridge.

We can meet in the cafeteria, Pen suggested.

Nonsense, I'll come pick you up. Power-washer, over and out.

He gave a last flourish with the power-washer, which unintentionally, but satisfyingly, scored a direct hit on the rear end of the vCrew janitor.

Having changed out of his overalls and into his best T-shirt and jeans, face washed, and hair combed, Leopold was waiting for the elevator to take him up to the Bridge. A solemn looking vCrew wearing a khaki-colored jumpsuit and pushing a trolley laden with Klein bottles came along the corridor. He stopped at the elevator.

Good afternoon, Leopold said.

No reply—just a baleful stare from dull eyes in the plastic face of the automaton.

I love those things, Leopold said, nodding at the Klein bottles. Geometric impossibilities, they say—I've got several of them in my apartment. Where are you taking those?

Down.

They’re an example of a non-orientable surface, Leopold said, proud to have remembered something about them from Wikipedia, despite not knowing what it meant.

The information elicited no reaction. He tried again.

You know they can’t really exist in three dimensions. They’ve got warp coils inside so they’re actually four-dimensional things. That’s why they’re all shimmery. Drives your eyes buggy. I love them. The first ones ever made cost millions, now they’re dirt cheap.

Again, no response.

The elevator arrived with a bing and an up arrow. Leopold stepped aboard. I might be interested in getting a couple more of them. Are those for sale?

Destruction and salvage.

What? Why?

By order of the Chief of Staff.

Who? The doors closed before Leopold realized the vCrew was referring to Reginald 2.0. The android's new title was odd and his responsibilities somewhat vague, but a definite step up from being Leopold's butler. That former assignment had been a joke, or perhaps a punishment, but it was never going to last—especially after Leopold married Pen.

The elevator only went up one floor before stopping. The doors opened and two ragged figures waltzed in. They were Vernon and Irene Nimm, the ship’s ballroom dance champions and former zombies, still dressed in their tattered finery. They continued to waltz as the elevator resumed its ascent. Leopold ducked under their interlinked hands as they spun round.

Do you mind not doing that? There’s not a lot of room in here.

They paused. Vernon stared blankly at him, but Irene gave a lopsided smile.

I suppose we might as well stop. Would you push the button for the deck with the hibernation chambers?

Leopold pushed it. Are you thinking of going into hibernation?

It seems like the best choice. Constantly doing the waltz is getting very tedious. Poor Vernon can’t remember the foxtrot, tango, quickstep, cha cha cha—all gone—and his fandango is positively limp.

Well, that comes to us all in the end.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Vernon suddenly pulled Irene close to him, check-to-cheek, and strutted boldly out with her clasped to his side. She gave a small gasp of pleasure. A tango... he’s remembered. A final one before we sleep.

The doors closed as they paraded away down the corridor. The Captain had imposed mandatory hibernation for all dangerous and deranged zombies. Now, many of those less affected by the disease were opting for it to escape the tedium of their own existence.

When he arrived at the Command Deck, Leopold paused outside the door of the Bridge. After a quick final check to make sure he had zipped his fly (he didn't want to make that mistake again), he stepped forward. The door slid open with a welcoming hiss. He remained on the threshold, in awe of the scene before him—this was where he should be, not cleaning bathrooms.

The Bridge was a circular room, about fifty feet across. The walls sloped in slightly leading up to a domed glass ceiling. Consoles lined the lower portion of the walls where various vCrew engineers were monitoring status panels. In the center of the room was the Captain's chair, occupied by Captain Valiant. In front of him, to the left, was Pen at the pilot's console. To her right, the seat at the navigation console was vacant.

A giant computer screen high on the wall in front of Pen’s station was displaying a complex wiring diagram. Both she and the Captain seemed absorbed in studying it. Leopold was more interested by the view through the domed glass ceiling. He had only been on the Bridge twice before, and on those occasions, the Gran Bretan had still been in deep space. Seeing the endless star field had been impressive, but that was nothing compared to the current scene.

The ship was in orbit around the third planet of the Alpha Centauri system—a blue-green world shrouded in wreaths of white mist. It filled the entire domed ceiling, save for a small arc of the blackness of space punctuated with distant stars. Leopold stood, open-mouthed, lost in daydreams of exploration and adventure.

The automatic door chose that moment to decide it had lost track of whoever had entered and promptly closed on him.

Jeez, stupid forking door, Leopold exclaimed, dragging himself free and stumbling forward.

Pen glanced back and sank down in her seat; Captain Valiant spun his chair round