The Quantum Thief

He stops for a moment under one of the Avenue’s cherry trees and breathes in the smell of the blossoms to clear his head. Nothing but reputation and a certain flair separate his enemy from any common gogol pirate. Somewhere, le Flambeur will have made a mistake, and Isidore is going to find it.

Gritting his teeth, he heads for the side alleys of the Avenue, to find a Watchmaker’s shop.

*

‘Interesting,’ says the Watchmaker, squinting at Unruh’s Watch through a massive brass eyepiece. ‘Yes, I think I can tell you how it was done.’

The eyepiece lens flickers with digital information. The Watchmaker is a lanky, middle-aged man in a black T-shirt with ripped sleeves, blue hair, a scraggly moustache and ears stretched by implants and earrings. His workshop is a cross between a quantum physics laboratory and a horologist’s workspace, full of sleek humming boxes with holodisplays hovering around them and neatly sorted piles of tiny gears and tools on wooden work surfaces. Violent music plays in the background, and the Watchmaker bops his head up and down frantically to its rhythm as he works. After Isidore told him the story of Unruh, he was more than happy to help, although it takes some effort to ignore the occasional lewd glance he casts at the young man.

He pulls something out of the Watch with the pincers that the fingers of his gloves end in, miniature hands with fingers extending to the molecular level. He holds it up against a light. It is barely visible, a tiny flesh-coloured spider. He places it into a tiny tempmatter bubble and magnifies it: it becomes an insectoid monster the size of a hand. Isidore takes out his magnifying glass, prompting a curious glance from the Watchmaker.

‘This baby here has EPR states in its belly,’ the Watchmaker says. ‘It wormed its way into the ion traps of the Watch where the Time credits are stored, got the stuff in its stomach entangled with the trap quantum states, sent out a signal of some kind – and bamf, the states got teleported away. Almost the oldest trick in the quantum mechanic’s handbook, although this is the first time I’ve seen it used to steal Time.’

‘Where would the receiver be?’ Isidore asks.

The Watchmaker spreads his hands. ‘Could be anywhere. Qupting does not need a strong signal. Could be in space, for all I know. This little bug is definitely not from around here, by the way. Sobornost, for my money.’ He spits to the floor. ‘I hope you catch ’em.’

‘Me too,’ Isidore says. ‘Thank you.’ He looks around the shop. There is something familiar about the Watches under the glass counter, something that tickles his mind—

A Watch. A heavy brass face. A silver band. The word Thibermesnil—

Where does the memory come from?

‘Are you all right, son?’ asks the Watchmaker.

‘Yes, I’m fine. I just need to sit down for a moment.’ Isidore sits down on the chair the quantum horologist offers. Closing his eyes, he revisits the exomemories from the party. There: a bizarre sense of seeing double, just after he spoke to the thief, just before he stole Time from Unruh. Of course: if the thief used Isidore’s own identity key to pretend to be him, he has access to the exomemories created during those moments.

‘Could you turn the music down, please?’

‘Sure. Sure. Would you like a glass of water?’

He massages his temples, carefully sifting through the memories, separating the ones that are his from the ones that should not be. He looked at his Watch. That is his Watch. And there are other thoughts there too, glimpses of architectural drawings, a beautiful woman with a scar on her face, and a butterfly-like spaceship with glittering wings. Emotion, too: arrogance and self-confidence and bravado that make him angry. I’m going to get you, he thinks. See if I don’t.

He opens his eyes, head pounding, accepts the offered glass and drinks deep. ‘Thank you.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘One more question, and then I’ll stop bothering you. Have you ever seen this Watch?’ He passes a co-memory of the Watch he just saw to the Watchmaker.

The man considers it for a moment. ‘Can’t say I have. But this looks like something that old Antonia would have made, two streets down. Tell her Justin sent you.’ He winks at Isidore.

‘Thank you again,’ Isidore says. ‘You have been a big help.’

‘Don’t mention it. It’s difficult to meet young people who appreciate Watches these days.’ He grins, putting his gloveless hand on Isidore’s thigh. ‘Although if you really want to show your appreciation, I’m sure there’s something we can come up with—’

Isidore flees. As he hurries down the street, the roar of the music starts again, mixed with laughter.