What if you had a power nobody else had, and everybody wanted?

    Sutton hung up on Garner and looked over the screens, examining the data flows.  He wasn't the expert, but he'd worked with them enough to know that what they had looked good.  The disturbances were clear, the echoes of that adjacent world showed through the slight diffraction and refraction changes in the air.  The spectra readings in the slivers of light that flickered through with Daniel showed the rotation alignments and something of the nature of the world they were looking for.  It would take a lot of full analysis, but they were so much closer, so much closer than they would ever have gotten just from thieving data from du Champs, and the others.  Sutton could almost feel it, the sense that it would take just a little more research to work up their own machinery to be able to angle out the way Daniel did with just a thought.  A simple will and he rotated away.

     "Sir," Seth said.  "We have to go."

     Sutton watched the video loop again.  Daniel rotating in, as if he was rebuilding like a teleportation in an old movie.  He grabbed his sister and niece and turned the three of them all away, fading out again.

     "Sir."

     "A moment."  Sutton pointed to one of the feeds.  "Why is that blank."

     "We lost one of the sensors, sir.  When that woman started smacking on the door.  Probably just a loose connection, plug popped out."

     "So we've lost a whole stream of data?"

     "There were multiple redundancies," Seth said.  "Just as you requested."

     "Of course."

     "And we really do need to vacate the area sir.  Central are asking why we're not moving already."

     "I just spoke to Garner," Sutton said.  He frowned at Seth, and turned to the trailer door.  As he opened it he turned back to Seth.  "Why don't I feel I can trust you?"

     "Sir, we just have a job to do here."

     "We've worked together for a long time.  I've always thought that you are very good with the details, you keep the nuts and bolts of our operations tightened.  I have trusted you for a long time, but now ..."

     Seth licked his lips and tilted his head a little.  Sutton could feel his discomfort.  "Sir," Seth said.  "Those were different times, a different administration."

     "Mm-hm.  I understand."

     Seth glanced back at the two others in the trailer, both busy with closing down systems and locking things up for getting underway.  It was a mobile operation, but the equipment still needed care and security.  At a pinch they could run a scaled back operation while on the road but much of the sensitive equipment, though transportable, needed to be stationary for sustained accurate operation.  Seth stepped closer, moved past and out the door, down the steps.  Sutton followed.

     "You can trust me," Seth said, looking Sutton right in the eyes in the dull light from the doorway.  "But we've got to make sure we do stuff that fits the current administration.  We're more accountable now than in the past, as I'm sure you're aware."

     "Certainly."  Sutton wondered where this was leading.  He'd always run his operations off the grid and under the radar, metaphors he liked.  It was results that mattered, not all the technical details.  Retrieving data was paramount in this operation.  Tonight was just a part of a bigger operation on which governments would stand or fall.

     "So we don't have quite the flexibility we might have had at other times.  That stunt at the gatehouse nearly got through.  It was unnecessary and people here saw it.  We caught the feeds before-'

     "Who do you think you are?  I run-'

     "Sir.  I need you to understand that we are at a difficult juncture here.  We need discretion and subtlety."

     "I am the authority on subtlety."

     Again, Seth sighed.  "That you are sir.  Now, please, if you would just move your car so we can get going."

     "Okay, that's simple."

     "And please don't shoot anyone else for a while."

     Sutton laughed and clapped Seth on the shoulder.  "Sure, anything you like."

     "Goodnight sir."  Seth turned back into the trailer and closed the door behind him.

     Sutton strode across the paddock towards the Mercedes.  The truck which had tried to be so intimidating had doused its lights and killed its engine.  The black-clothed figures inside paid Sutton scant attention as he passed by.

     He opened the car door and pressed the ignition.  Quickly he got the vehicle turned and heading back along the lane towards the sealed road.  He pushed the car, testing its limits on the gravel.  Mercedes had extraordinary stability research - part of the reason he would only ever buy the brand - and he was quickly up to seventy.

     Sutton was furious.  That they would take over the operation without consulting him.  He had autonomy.  That was the deal.  Get the results the way he saw fit.  What did they think they were doing to start ordering Seth around?

     Seth was loyal, he knew that.  He knew Seth would only behave that way if pushed.  And that made Sutton even more furious, that they would back his people into a corner like that.

     He came to the road and the Mercedes momentarily took some of the control, slowing and turning onto the road.  He was tempted to flick the AI off, but there was a kernel within that kept him back.  Through his training he knew how to be objective about his own behaviour, able to see that his reflexes were slightly impaired by the anger and that the car did know better.

     Sutton breathed.  Anger under control

     It was time to call in and get the operation steadied.

    
    Cherie watched as the inferno engulfed the compound.  Several of the FBI vehicles had been abandoned and were caught in the conflagration.  The central building was ablaze and the missiles had stopped.  Cherie checked her phone from time to time to keep up with the newsfeeds, but there was very little filtering through.  There was one distant chopper newscam, which just showed what looked like a forest fire.  The FBI were keeping a tight lock on what was getting out.  They had their own aircraft around, chasing off the inquisitive.

     Cherie knew that whatever happened it was going to what people would call a "classic PR nightmare" for the bureau.  Another razed cult compound.  Every time this happened they promised that their procedures had changed and it wouldn't happen again.  What really happened was that the administration was swept clean of the supposedly responsible mid-level managers and new people were installed.  Cosmetic changes.

     A building collapsed with a noise like a train wreck.  Gouts of flames and cinders spiralled skywards.  Somewhere down in all that, Daniel was probably already cremated, she thought.  The agents were all pulling back and just letting the compound burn.  She could feel the heat on her face.

     Cherie didn't know what to do.  Even if she could get past the rows of FBI, there was no way to find him.  There were some agents just down the hill from her, perhaps thirty yards away.  With the heat, no wonder they kept edging back.  She kept as low as she could.

     She just had to hope that he made it.

     "Cherie?" someone said behind her.

     She jerked and flipped over.

     Daniel with a woman and a girl, their faces glowing orange in the firelight.  Daniel collapsed to his knees, then fell onto his side.  The other two crouched to him.

     Cherie scrambled across.  "Elise?" she said.

     "He's okay?" Elise said, as much a question as to reassure herself.

     Cherie crouched.  He was breathing okay, just passed out.  "Yes," she said.  How had they got here, got around behind her?

     "He's exhausted.  What did he do?"

     "He got you, it would seem."  Cherie loosened his clothes.

     "God, look at the fire," Elise said.

     "Who are those people?" the girl, Lanie, said.

     Cherie looked around.  Some of the agents were peering up the hill.  Had they noticed them?  "Help me with him," she said to Elise.  They lifted him and Cherie got him across her shoulders.  He wasn't a big man, but she wouldn't be able to carry him far.

     There was a shout from down the hill.

     "Move," she said to Cherie and Lanie.

    Melanie stopped catching her breath on a corner.  They must have seen her leave the apartment.  Surely it wouldn't be just one man.  Unless this was one of those stupid straight-from-the-movies things where they were herding her, trying to get her to do something specific.

     Like head straight for the lab.

     Or just get her out of the building.

     They couldn't know about the car, whoever they were.  That was all off-grid.  There was no record of it in any of her data files.  As far as public records were concerned it was just her personal vehicle, her Audi sports that she commuted in and took up to the mountains on occasions.  All the Radio-Shack retro-fitting, as Reg called it, was strictly secret.

     "Really" he'd told her as they started working on it quietly in the parking garage under the lab, "We should use a DeLorean."  Reg was a fan of old movies.  He'd told her about some time-travel movie and sequels that used an old sports-car as the time machine.

     "Except this is the car I own," she'd told him.  He'd tried to make her watch all the movies, but she gave up partway through the first one.  He was sweet, but she needed to make sure he didn't get the wrong idea about their professional relationship.  Years ago they'd fallen into bed, once, accidently, and ever since he'd thought that it might lead to something.  Years later and he was still pining.  "Anyway, there are no roads where we're going," she'd said.

     "Yeah, that was the same," he'd said grinning at some subtlety from the movies she'd missed.  But ultimately he'd had to accept that any kind of sports car wouldn't cut it in the wilds.  Especially, she'd told him, unreliable museum pieces.

     Not the lab, then, she thought.  The car.  There was nothing she could do, really, at the lab now.  The stuff had been stolen, vandalised.  What would be left?  All the important material was in her head and she could just write it down.  Even her phone numbers.

     She came onto Seventh and there was more traffic and that gave her an idea.  Two blocks down she found a 7-11 and slipped inside.  If they were watching her closely, this was a waste of time, but it might be an opportunity.

     Wandering down the aisles, she found the phones, arrayed on hooks in blister packs.  Grabbing a Nokia with a free net-access set up, she raced back down to the counter.  She realised that she'd left her wallet at home, with all her cards.  But some things from Daniel still stuck.  He'd always said to have emergency money in bags and jackets.  She knew it was pretty OCD of him, but more than once it had been useful.  Unzipping one of the jacket's inside pockets, she found a twenty and a five.  It was enough for the simple starter phone.  It had nothing like the capacity of her iPe, but it would do the job.

     Back on the street she pocketed the change and stripped off the blister pack.  Binning the trash, she quickly activated the phone, waiting for it to scroll through it's welcoming messages.

     As the phone clicked itself into the networks, Melanie saw a bus across the road, heading the other direction. Perfect.

     Scrambling through the light traffic, only getting one horn blared at her, she ran to the bus shelter and hailed the bus.  She could ride one stop back towards home and ditch her old phone.

     The bus stopped, the doors hissing open.  She stepped up and dropped the change into the slot.  The driver punched it down and she went down the bus.

     "Ma'am," the driver called back.  "Ma'am."

     Melanie turned, leaning against one of the seats.  The other passengers ignored her, except a punkish kid chewing gum.  He gave her a little grin.

     "Yes, sir," Melanie said.  She sat herself down next to the boy.

     "Ma'am, that's not the right change."

     "Oh," she said.

     "No ma'am.  It's $3.50."

     "$3.50."

     "You put in $1.05."

     The phone had been $23.95.  With 100 free minutes.  That was all the change she had.

     "I'm just going one block," she called.  Some of the other passengers were paying attention now, a fat old woman with heavy shopping bag, a man dressed all in black with dark wraparound shades.

     "Fare is $3.50."

     Don't call attention to yourself, she thought.  "Okay," she said.  "I'm sorry."  She stood up and went to the front of the bus, going down the steps.

     "Just put in another $2.45," the driver said.

     "No," she said, stepping back out to the sidewalk.  "That's the last of my change."

     "I have a card-swipe."

     "Left my wallet behind.  I guess I can walk."

     The driver shrugged and the doors hissed shut.  As the bus pulled out, the punk kid grinned at her out the window, holding up her iPe.

     "Hey," she called and took a couple of steps.  The boy was laughing now.  He waved and turned back around as the bus went out of reach.  Melanie smiled to herself.  Just a little charade and the kid thought he was too lucky and clever.  She'd killed the address book, but it should keep working fine.  He might even learn a lesson if they really were tracking it.

     Melanie started walking and called Reg on the Nokia.

    At 11pm Sutton pulled up outside the building in Warwick.  It was an unpresupposing brownstone house on an ordinary street, filled with other plain brownstones.  The trucks would be unhitching in the depot on the edge of town before the crew came in to the house.  Sutton sat for a moment, turning off the engine, letting the Rachmaninov run to the end of the movement before shutting off the media player.  He did enjoy the night drives with heady classical music, even if he couldn't quite figure out how to really run the media player.  His daughter had tried to explain it all, back when she would talk to him.  Still, give him a decent solid CD anytime, something you could hold in your hand.

     Popping the door, Sutton crossed the road and walked up the steps to the house.  It had a simple old key and he let himself in.  The foyer was just like any of the other homes in the street; a stairway to upstairs bedrooms, a credenza by the door with a vase and tray for keys, some paintings of old sailing ships along the walls.  If the Jehovah's Witnesses came calling, then nothing would seem different to anywhere else they'd visited.  The lounge was also the same as any normal house, Sutton had insisted on that.  They needed, he argued, somewhere to relax, to feel at home.  Other workplaces had staff cafeterias, didn't they?

     He went into the lounge and sat in one of the leather armchairs.  He was the first one here and there was nothing he could do until the rest arrived and they could begin interpreting the data.  With the remote he put on a live baseball game out of LA.  The Angels were up by two at the bottom of the third.  He knew he was impatient to get the operation moving, to find out if the data they had was saleable, but he also needed to slow down.  His brain moved too fast for most people, even sometimes for him.  Rachmaninov and Vivaldi helped, so did baseball.  Time to tune out.  Vargas hit the ball out of the park, bringing the scores level, with only one out.

     Sutton woke up, hearing other people in the building.  The baseball had finished.  How had he fallen asleep?  He shouldn't be tired.  He looked at his watch.  It was after 1.30am.  He stood and stretched, went out to the functional kitchen - definitely not anything like the kitchens in the rest of the neighborhood.  It's main purpose was coffee making and reheating Minute Meals.  There was coffee in the percolator.  He took one of the stack of glass mugs and filled it. He headed out to the hallway to go down to the basement and two of the operators came in through the back door, both carrying cardboard boxes of equipment.

     "Sir," they both said, nodding.  They went down the stairs ahead of him.

     Sutton found Seth down in the main operations room in the basement.  He was behind one of the big computer stacks, adjusting plugs and settings.  When Seth came back out, Sutton smiled.

     "Okay," Seth said.

     "Shall I get you a coffee?"

     "I'm good."  Seth pointed to one of the tables where vapour wafted up from a cup.  "Preliminaries aren't looking so good."

     "Preliminaries?"

     "We did the analysis we could on the way up here.  There are gaps.  There must be something missing from Dr Du Champs research.  We'll confirm that once we run it all through Big Mac," Seth nodded at the stack he'd been working on, "but it doesn't look good."

     "There aren't gaps in her research.  She knows what she's been doing.  We know that.  She has rotated items."

     Seth nodded.  "So if we have all the data, how come we can't?"

     "That's why we needed to track Davenport.  That's why we've put ourselves through this whole ridiculous charade." Sutton sighed, thinking of the time invested in getting the cult scenario set up.  There really had to be an easier way to dupe people.

     "Yes, of course."

     "But we have full data from his rotation, no?"

     "Just about.  As I said, we did lose a feed.  I think it's all covered."

     "Hmm."  Sutton sipped his coffee.  "Okay, you carry on.  Let me know when you have something more concrete.  I'll be upstairs."

     "Sir."

     Sutton went up to his office on the second floor and fired up his old PC.  If he could nut through the documentation on the operation, he might be able to figure out how and why Garner had been able to pull the plug.  Really, Sutton thought, it might be time to go independent, strike out on his own.  Tougher to get jobs, but he could do it his way. And name his price.

     His phone rang and he picked up.  Bolton.  The independent field agent he had out in the background.  Sutton accepted the call.  "It's done?" he said.

     "They got away.  We weren't expecting them to-"

     "Got away?"

     "They're in the field somewhere.  There's still an FBI perimeter so they won't get far."

     "You're forgetting that they already got in through that perimeter.  You need ..." Sutton sighed.  "Mr Bolton, you need to find them.  The woman and her child have seen me.  They will be able to identify me.  You understand what that means, don't you?  You will be in jail long before I'm even arraigned."

     "You can count on us sir."

     "I hope so."

    Melanie kept watching the building entrance.  There was a truck there now.  This was what they had been planning, perhaps.  It didn't make sense at all.  Burglarizing the lab, stealing the data, then doing a home invasion, then watching, expecting her to return.  Possibly it was just an innocent truck, but this late at night?  Nobody delivered furniture or installed cable at midnight.  Perhaps they were watching the lab too, though, covering all eventualities.

     The little phone rang.  She'd got Reg to dump his own phone too - despite his protests that his whole life was in there - it had taken some sweet talking.  So now he had a disposable too, though he'd had to pay with his card.  He never had cash, thought she was quaint and cute because she still did.  If, and it seemed ultra-paranoid to think that, but if they, whoever they were, could get into her apartment and the lab, then perhaps, just perhaps, they could track her movements through her card swipes.  You saw it in movies all the time, the fleeing husband given away because he pays for a motel with a debit card registered in his name.  Yes, she was being too paranoid, but she knew that she could excuse herself because someone had broken into her apartment.  With a gun, with night goggles.  And now, someone was watching her place.

     The phone rang again and she picked up.  "Reg?"

     "Hey.  God, this is a horrible phone.  It feels like it's made of rubber.  And the screen is this crappy little-"

     "Reg!  Where are you?"

     "And it has buttons for dialling.  I feel like I have to hit them with a hammer to make them connect.  Where is the subtlety and elegance?"

     "Reg."

     "I'm just coming down your street now.  A couple of blocks out.  I'm at ... I can't read the sign."

     "Turn onto Lexington.  I'm just around the corner.  There's a truck outside my building."

     "A truck.  Like one of those surveillance things?  With all the antennas and dishes and stuff.  And it says something like Dalton's Carpets on the side."

     "Yes, Reg, just like that.  Dalton's Carpets."

     "Huh."

     "Just turn down Lexington and park about halfway down the block."

     "Watcha gonna do?"

     "Tell you when you're here."  She rang off as someone got out of the truck and walked over to her building.  Another truck, smaller than the first, but with a longer cargo box drove by and pulled across the road, turning in and parking nose-up to the other truck.  Someone jumped from the cab and ran around to the back, pulling open the doors.  A bunch of black-uniformed men and women leapt out.  She counted fifteen before they became too jumbled to keep track of. They ran across to the building.  Melanie put her hand to her mouth.  They hadn't got what they needed at the lab, she realised, so they were here.  They would find her, of that she had no doubt.  How could it be so important?  What had changed?

     She'd always known that there could be military implications to her research, which was why she was always careful to keep the grants applications far away from anything that might associate with that.  Certainly there would be lots of money, but the idea of moving thousands of troops so secretly made her pall.  Imagine a hostile army able to safely drive a hundred miles into enemy territory, then turn back zero.  Unthinkable.

     A beat-up car passed her by and drove down the block.  Reg.  He turned and parked.

     Melanie took another look back along at the trucks.  The soldiers - she had to think of them as that - were now lined up at the entry.  In the shadows, she made her way along the sidewalk to his car.  Bending down, she tapped on the window.  He looked over and released the door.

     "Sheesh," he said, "What a night."

     "Yeah."

     "Are we getting out of here?"

     "We're getting my car."

     "But we've got mine."  Reg looked offended.

     Melanie looked around the cluttered cabin.  Reg was nearly thirty, but still like a college junior.  Crushed burger boxes and empty Double Gulps littered the car's floor.  The upholstry was torn, the panels outside dented and roughly resprayed.  How could someone like this, someone never growing up, ever seriously think that she would be interested? "That won't work," she said.

     "I know it doesn't look great, but it runs well."

     She shifted in her seat.  "Do you even remember the work we did on my car?"

     "Oh, the rotating equipment.  Sure, but-"

     "That's what they're after.  They've just sent a troop into the building.  They won't find anything in the apartment, but surely they'll check the car at some point ..."

     "And then they'll find everything."

     "Almost.  We're nearly ready to try it out.  Just a few things to finish off."  She'd never told him that it worked and that she'd used it.

     "But if they do get it, they'll be able to work it out pretty fast."

     "Exactly."  She looked back through the rear windscreen.  She couldn't see what was happening around the front of her building.

     "And then they'll publish.  I hadn't realised how militant academia had become."

     "I don't think they're acad-"

     "I was kidding."

     She glanced at him.  Sometimes his sense of humour tripped her up and reminded her why she liked having him around, slovenly habits and all.  "Of course."

     "So we need to get into your garage."

     "But they're all over the front of the building.  If we could climb up the back, on the fire escape, get into one of the corridors, then take the lift down we could-"

     "Better idea," he said.

     "What?  How else will we get in."

     "This whole area was a new development, right?  Only a couple of years ago?"

     "Yes."

     "So they dug up the street here at the same time.  If I recall rightly.  Anyway, the garage from the building here goes right under the street."  He pointed up at the five storey block beside them.  "It joins up to your garage with some emergency exits.  All we have to do is get in there."  He pulled out his phone and clicked something into the port on top.  "And with this we can override the lock."

     "I thought I told you to get rid of that.  They were probably tracking it from you talking to me."

     "Sure, but, like I told you, my life is in here."  He grinned.  "But now you're glad I didn't get rid of it, right?"

     She glanced out the back window again, half-expecting to see the contingent there looking in at them having tracked his phone.  The street was clear except for an electric streetsweeper making its way automatically around vehicles. "You know Reg," she said, "I am glad."

    Daniel let cool air seep into his lungs.  Keeping his eyes closed he tried to assess his body, all the aches and stretches.  They'd done a little bit of multiple rotating in the old days, when he was working with Melanie in the labs, but he was younger then, and it was in controlled conditions.  Lots of electrolyte fluids waiting for his return, and heart monitors, blood tests and samples.

     Nothing like racing around a burning compound trying to find his kidnapped sister.

     He was in a vehicle, he realised.  Lying on the back seat.  Moving fast.  He kept his eyes closed.

     How many times had he rotated?  He counted back.  First on the hill, then in the meadow when he came out in the compound.  Two.  Then back to the meadow, then when he'd nearly been caught, meadow, garage, meadow, getting Elise and Lanie.  Eight.  Then, with them both back to the meadow.  He'd taken things with him before, that was easy, he just had to be in contact and aware when he went.  Nothing too big, spatulas, beakers, cameras, audio recorders, bigger sensor packs.  Then rats and cats.  One time a goat, but that was it.  He had offered to take Melanie once, but she'd said they needed more tests.  Before things went sour and he couldn't continue.

     And then with both Elise and Lanie at the hilltop.

     Ten rotations.  No wonder he felt like he'd run a double marathon.  Without training.

     The car slowed, then accelerated.  He was starting to feel a little better.  He stretched his legs a little.

     It was years since he'd rotated.  Lucky, really, that he kept the opticule.  Call him sentimental, but it was like keeping a twenty dollar bill in your jacket pocket - never knew when you might need it, but it was there if you did. Melanie would call him obsessive, but he could never have done ten rotations without the opticule.

     He stretched his legs out again and touched someone.  Opening his left eye he tried to see.  It was dark, occasional streetlamps flashing through the car.  The steady clicking of the tires on a freeway, but not out in open country, must be passing through a town.  Coming back to Manhattan?

     Looking down at who he'd trampled with his feet - he saw that his shoes were off, just his white socks.  There was Lanie, head nodding against the door pillar as she slept.  They were okay.

     Daniel tried to sit up, but there was a seatbelt around his waist.  He unclipped it and, careful not to disturb Lanie, sat up, calves and back protesting.

     Cherie was driving.  Elise was asleep in the passenger seat.  He didn't recognise the car.

     Pick-up, he realised then.  He looked over his shoulder, neck aching, through the back window, and saw an open tray with heavy equipment.  Hard to tell what it was in the bad light.

     "Nice ride," he whispered, leaning forward to Elise.

     She jumped fractionally, then glanced at him and grinned.  "Yeah.  Hope it's not being tracked."

     "Oh.  Not yours?"

     "Nope."  She looked back at the road.  "Nice to see you're awake."

     "Stolen?"

     "Well, it's already owned by the taxpayer, so technically, as a government employee it is mine."

     "You're not a government employee."  Humour, he thought, it's so late and she's trying to be funny.

     "I pay my taxes.  Technically I'm still on the FBI payroll."

     "Technically?" he said.

     "Best not to talk of it too much."

     "Uh-huh.  Please tell me it's just a line vehicle or something."

     "What?"  She glanced at him again, then back at the road.

     "From the local utility company.  The stuff in the rear tray is just cable drums and circuit breakers.  Stuff like that, right?."

     "Um, couldn't be sure."

     "It's not a law enforcement vehicle, is it?"

     "Strictly ... well, no."

     "It's FBI, isn't it?"

     "Well, it was handy, it had keys, and, best of all," she paused and looked around smiling.  "It let us just drive straight through their lines."

Top of Page

His Other Self

by Elliot Richard Dorfman

    On the morning of the test in the lab at INCREDA, a large scientific corporation that hired geniuses to work on all sorts of highly secret projects, a dozen scientists waited anxiously around a machine. One such genius, Shelby Prect, the inventor of the machine, manned the controls. A large platform topped with a dome stood some distance away. After what seemed like an eternity, the dome suddenly filled with white light. Then just as suddenly, the light drained away. A figure now stood on the platform, smiling and waving at them--an identical figure of Shelby, except that it was stylishly dressed and groomed, unlike his unkempt counterpart, who looked like he had slept in his clothes for a couple of days.

    The other scientists escorted the figure of Shelby off the platform with expressions of shock on their faces.

    “Better shut the machine off until you’re ready to use it again,” the replica told them.

    At a signal from his boss, Shelby shut down the machine. The portal disappeared.

    The figure of Shelby walked about the office. “Actually, there are quite a few parallel dimensions, but mine is the closest to yours, so that’s what your machine latched on to. The authorities of my world decided I would be the best person to cross over since I am the inventor’s duplicate.”

    Some of the scientists glanced at Shelby. The figure walked up to Shelby and firmly shook his hand. “Hi. Since we probably have the same name, call me Buddy, because that’s what we’re going to be while I’m here.”

    Shelby, growing nervous, began to tremble.

    Buddy laughed and slapped him on the back. “While we both may physically look alike, and probably have the same intelligence, our personalities seem to be opposites. No insults meant, but you appear to be some wuss.”

    Shelby noticed the other scientists whispering to each other, but before they could say anything directly, the visitor from another dimension took charge:

    “Gentlemen, I have been assigned to check out your world. If all goes well, maybe you can come into ours and do the same. I’ve decided the best way to learn about your world is to exclusively stay with my counterpart. Since Shelby will be showing me around, you won’t be seeing him for a while. At the end of the month, we’ll come back and have a meeting with you. Goodbye until then.”

    Shelby gasped as his counterpart hooked its arm in his.

    “Okay, let’s get going” it said. “Where’s the exit?”

    Shelby could hardly believe what was happening. It was only the other day that his boss, Creswood Mather, had called him into the office to tell him about this project.

    “I’ve got some exciting news for you,” Creswood said as soon as Shelby had arrived. He came and took Shelby’s hand and shook it vigorously.

    “My boy, we’ve decided to build the alternate universe machine you designed and submitted. If it is successful, you will become the most successful person on earth.”

    Shelby’s heart began to beat faster. “When will you start?” he stammered.

    Creswood chuckled. “I don’t blame you for being anxious. Actually, we’re starting this morning, and of course we need you to supervise the whole thing.” Creswood shook his hand again. “Congratulations, my boy.”

    Inwardly, Shelby had been afraid; if the machine failed, he’d be fired. That’s always what happened after failures at INCREDA.

    Building the prototype of the transporter and setting up the complicated connections to an atomic power transformer took most of the week. Finally, the compartment where the action would take place was finished. It wasn’t much to look at, just a platform with a dome. Inside was where the portal to another dimension would open, if successful. A test was scheduled for Friday at dawn.

    After leaving the lab at INCREDA, Shelby drove his lookalike to his apartment. On the way, the visitor intently looked at everything in its sight, holding out a tiny cylindrical object that videoed the surroundings.

    When Shelby let the visitor into his studio apartment, Buddy shook its head in dismay. Shelby was struck by the realization that the furniture looked rather shabby and dull. He opened the window to let in some fresh air.

    “Not very nice. This place is so drab and small. I gather you must get a high salary for what you do, and since you obviously don’t spend it, you probably have tons of money just sitting in the bank building up interest. Time you spend some of it and improve your life. Tomorrow we’re going to find a new apartment and furnish it properly.” Buddy checked Shelby’s clothing closet and grunted. “I was going to borrow some clothes to wear, but not until we get you an entirely new wardrobe. Only a loner could live like this. Man, how are you ever going to attract some decent women if you dress like a geek? Tell me, when is the last time you’ve dated?”

    Shelby shrugged. The thirty-four-year-old bachelor spent nearly all of his waking hours, including weekends, working in the lab at INCREDA. When he was home, he usually was in bed by 8:30. He never invited anyone over. “Well, I’ve been very busy down at the lab.”

    Buddy sighed. “Oh, sure; excuses, excuses. Do you really want to remain a miserable and lonely bachelor all your life? It’s hard for me to understand how two identical people like us can have such different personalities. Guess something in your life must have altered your way of thinking.”

    Shelby walked to the window and looked out. “Perhaps. How did your mother treat you when you were growing up?”

    “Just fine, as did my father. They gave me a loving and stable environment, No doubt that’s why I grow up having so much confidence in myself. Today, while I’m a successful scientist like you, I also have a loving wife and two sons, ages eleven and seven.”

    “Guess my problems started when I was eight,” Shelby said. “That’s when my dad, who owned a large electronics store, was shot and killed by some robbers. Mom flipped out after that, becoming very strict and possessive. Since I was the only child, she focused her entire life on me. If I ever tried going against her wishes, she knew just where to verbally hit below the belt. I never got a chance to do anything independently until she took her own life a couple of years ago.”

    Buddy affectionately hung its arm around Shelby’s shoulders. “Sorry that you went through so much. It seems like things happen in your world that are much more violent than in mine. Where I come from, people are more civilized. Well, in any case, you’re independent now and we’ve got to try and make you a happier person. The first thing I suggest is to get you a new apartment as fast as possible.”

    Early the next morning, Shelby and Buddy looked through the real-estate section of the local newspaper and were lucky to find a condo—with four large rooms and a terrace facing the river—that was available for immediate occupancy. As soon as they looked at it, Buddy became ecstatic and urged Shelby to take it. For the next few weeks after the deal was signed, they remained busy purchasing new furniture and replacing Shelby’s wardrobe with smart and up-to-date outfits.

    There were a few negative incidences that the visitor from another dimension noted: a man trying to snatch a woman’s bag as they came out of the supermarket, two people getting out of their cars and violently arguing over a fender bender, and a husband loudly cursing and pushing his wife as they walked in the street.

    As the days progressed, Buddy’s dynamic personality and warmth began getting Shelby to loosen up. And after Shelby had numerous positive discussions with Buddy, his confidence increased better than any psychologist’s “pep talks” could have done.

    Two nights, before they returned to INCREDA, Shelby agreed to go to a well-known nightclub with Buddy. At the bar, Shelby watched in alarm as Buddy pointed him out while talking to a woman. He shifted nervously as they came over to him.

    “Shelby, this is Veronica. Her friend never showed,” Buddy said. “Veronica, Shelby.”

    “You two must be twins,” she commented.

    Buddy laughed. “You can say that, except Shelby is the more sensitive of us two.” Shelby found Veronica sweet and attractive. His nervousness subsided. He and she hit it off; Buddy strategically moved away.

    “See later at home, Pal” Buddy said, quickly leaving before Shelby had a chance to protest.

    At about 2:00 in the morning, Shelby returned home, his face beaming.

    “Veronica is terrific. I never thought love could come at first sight until now. We have a date for tomorrow night. I hope you don’t mind being alone.”

    Buddy smiled—“No, not at all.”—then went to the bar and poured two drinks. Handing one to Shelby, it made a toast. “Here’s to you, a bachelor who won’t be one for too much longer!”

    Before Buddy appeared that day at the INCREDA lab, a small robot had been placed on the platform. If the portal appeared, the scientists figured that robot would go in and explore around, recording whatever it saw and heard. If it were deemed safe, they would send in a human later.

    The scientists assumed that a live broadcast would not transmit from another dimension, so the visual and audio results couldn’t be seen until the robot returned. After the machine was turned on, a large glowing oval entrance appeared. The robot then rolled into the portal. Later, when Buddy appeared, the robot disappeared. Shelby had begun to wonder what the robot would reveal.

    On the appointed day, Shelby and his counterpart returned to the lab. It was now time for Buddy to return to his world. The lab was full of scientists.

    Creswood went up to Buddy. “Well, I hope you had a good month. I’m sure you had a good chance observing our world in this dimension. Now, we’d like to do the same with yours. Perhaps you would like to take your parallel self with you.”

    Buddy shook his head. “I’m afraid not at this time. Shelby, please get the machine ready, I am ready to go back. I can’t wait to see my family. I’ve really missed them.”

    Creswood was furious, “Not at this time, why is that?”

    “Your people are not emotionally or disciplined enough ready to visit our planet. You could contaminate it with your actions. You need more time to evolve, perhaps in another thousand years or so.”

    The boss and owner of INCREDA waved his hands and shouted at Buddy. “Either you let us go with you, or we’re not going to let you go back.”

    Buddy pushed him aside and stepped into the transporter.

    “Okay, Shelby,” Buddy said with a nod, “start the machine.”

    Creswood walked over to the console. “Shelby, don’t you dare do it.”

    Shelby feigned an expression of innocence. “Sorry boss, I already pushed the button. It’s too late to stop.”

    The portal appeared and Buddy walked through it. A moment later, the robot they had sent in last month rolled out, disheveled and broken. Suddenly the machine sparked and burst into flames.

    “I’ll bet that Buddy had something to do with this. Darn it, it will take years to rebuild this machine,” Creswood lamented. “Oh, well, Shelby, I guess we’ll have to start all over. Perhaps this time you’ll build in a few more safeguards.”

    “Sure, Mr. Mather,” Shelby replied.

    Silently, Shelby thanked Buddy for all of its help, hoping his thought would transcend the dimensions and reach it—reach him, for now he realized that Buddy had really been his other self. He couldn’t explain it, but he was glad to have met his acquaintance.

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Lucien’s Ghost

by Lawrence Buentello

The Voice was the only one Lucien knew. It was always with him, pervading his thoughts, instructing him where to go and what to do. In all his travels across the universe, he had heard no other voice.

And yet, there it had been: an apparition—and even more disturbing, its voice, or what he thought was its voice. Perhaps he'd been mistaken.

Lucien continued climbing the red mountain. The Voice had sent him to this place, just as it had sent him to other planets, here telling him to climb ever higher into the thin atmosphere, which was devoid of sound or fauna. At this height, the light of the planet’s star burned through the haze in the air, causing the crystals in the rocks to sparkle beautifully. He knelt to study the effect, concentrating on the variations in the stone, the perforations and crevices. The Voice had asked him to look for any sign of fossilization, but he’d seen nothing pertinent. The light that blazed from the irregular spires of the crystal-imbedded rock seemed ethereal, and he enjoyed the sight of it more than any rote pursuit of fossilized life.

It was as he climbed the steep face of the red mountain that Lucien first saw the apparition. He was almost convinced that what he’d seen was only a play of shadows, and not the willowy form of another human being—after all, no other human being could possibly be with him on the planet. This particular world was enveloped in an atmosphere poisonous to earthly organisms, and he’d seen no other varieties of life at all during his time there. This absence of life seemed unimportant to The Voice, but Lucien would have preferred to see something living, something reminiscent of life. So he continued to climb.

When he looked up from the rock-crystal he saw the apparition again, clearly, standing on the crest of an outcropping far above his head. It stood in shadow, or was naturally dark, and he thought he saw strands of hair falling over its shoulders. Was it a shadow, was it a dust storm? It shouldn’t have existed. With its appearance came a soft ringing in the air, as if a thousand shards of crystal were falling on a frozen lake. He didn’t call out, but watched it as it moved easily over the rocks. It lingered above him, perhaps watching him, too, before vanishing into the glare of the star.

Lucien knew it was impossible to have seen such a manifestation, and had no explanation for it.

He stood waiting for the phenomenon to reappear, but it never did, and so he resumed his analysis of the mountain, though his thoughts kept coming back to the odd encounter.

***

When he reported what he’d understood of the mountain to The Voice he also mentioned the apparition.

The matter of the planet’s plate tectonics was of most importance, and he reported his observations of the geology as clearly as possible. The pressures of active mountain ranges produced fascinating effects in the mantle of the worlds he’d seen, and this world was no exception. He seemed to have knowledge of geology, of planetary physics, but he couldn’t remember where he’d learned these things, or why he should even know them. He’d found no fossilized organic matter, of course, and he knew this would disappoint The Voice; but when he finished his report, and then referred briefly to the entity, The Voice seemed not to care about the mountain at all.

How did this vision appear? The Voice asked.

Lucien was surprised by The Voice’s indifference to his report. He stood overlooking a vast basin beyond the mountain, perhaps once a lakebed, or the repository for some as yet unidentified ice field. It seemed unlikely, given the absence of life and active water sources, but the planet may have known a unique evolution.

Lucien, The Voice said again, how did this vision appear?

“It appeared in shadow,” Lucien replied, still studying the basin. “Or was a shadow? I couldn’t see it clearly.”

A moment passed before The Voice spoke again.

It was an illusion. It was an atmospheric phenomenon.

“Perhaps.”

Don’t be deceived by illusions.

The Voice then told him to travel to another planet far from the one on which he stood.

Lucien listened, still observing the basin. He thought about the apparition again, and then considered what The Voice had said. Yes, it had been, in all probability, an illusion.

***

First there was darkness, then there was light, and then he stood on the vast surface of the valley floor, a valley that may have contained the remnants of an alluvial flood, or the artifacts of lava flow. A wide belt of striated soil spread outward toward the curving horizon, met on either side by flat rock sprinkled with finely ground sand. The sand didn’t spread spontaneously, because the area saw little, if any, wind. The bell of the sky swept from side to side as a sheer violet gauze, unaffected by clouds or vapor. The star’s light was rising from behind him; the glare from the rock and soil shimmered and reflected the light.

Lucien began appraising the valley, first the larger boundaries of it, and then the permutations of the soil and rock.

He knelt to study the curious striations, reminiscent of the gouges left by surface rock moved by glacial flow, though he knew the mechanism that produced the effect certainly had nothing to do with glaciers. He’d seen no evidence of ancient waters, nor the tale-tell signs of ice fields, nor the sedimentary deposits that would have been left by rivers and floods. This saddened him, because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d viewed a living world.

He raised his head and scanned the plain.

And once again he saw the apparition.

Now he was certain it wasn’t a trick of the atmosphere.

He stood and watched as it paced far off in the distance. He felt a strange sensation then, of fear, or perhaps anticipation. The entity walked along the edge of the striated field, and he clearly discerned its legs moving, and its arms. It was a human shape, he was certain.

“There it is,” he said to The Voice, because he was certain The Voice must be with him.

But The Voice didn’t reply.

“Do you hear me?”

The Voice still didn’t reply.

Lucien watched the phantom moving in the distance. He wished that The Voice would reply, he wished The Voice would acknowledge that the entity was real. Or, if it wasn’t real, then at least it was a mirage, and not an illusion of the mind.

The apparition stopped and turned. It stood as if regarding him. He heard again, as if from far away, the soft tinkling sound of crystal on ice.

Though it was a distance away, Lucien decided to move toward it.

But no matter how far he paced over the wide valley floor he seemed to get no closer. He stepped farther, but when he did the starlight flared against the rock and he lost the figure in the light. When he recovered his vision the apparition was gone.

Strange, he thought, how I never got any nearer to it. I must have gotten closer.

Later, The Voice asked him what he’d seen of the valley.

But Lucien first spoke of the entity, and the strange effect he’d experienced trying to gain proximity.

What did it look like? The Voice asked.

Lucien described the willowy form, the thin arms and legs, the black cloud of hair sweeping from side to side as it walked.

Did it look like a woman?

Lucien thought about this for a long time.

“Yes,” he said, “it could have been the silhouette of a woman.”

Don’t go near it.

“Why not?”

Don’t go near this thing, Lucien, The Voice said, it is very dangerous.

“Why is it dangerous?”

It will destroy you.

Lucien wondered why some vague shadow should pose such a threat.

“How would it destroy me?”

A moment passed before The Voice spoke again.

Lucien, do you trust me?

What a strange question to ask, he thought. Of course he trusted The Voice. The Voice was all he knew, was all with whom he ever communicated, or acknowledged in any way. There was nothing in the universe but The Voice. He didn’t understand.

“Yes,” he said, “I trust you.”

Then don’t go near this thing. It means to destroy you.

“I don’t understand.”

You only need to trust that what I say is true.

Lucien gave his report on the valley, though his thoughts were preoccupied by the notion of why the apparition might want to destroy him. It seemed innocuous enough. And if it had wanted to destroy him, why hadn’t it already done so? It had displayed nothing but elusive tendencies. Something else was happening, but he couldn’t imagine what that might be.

***

The Voice then sent him to a world of volcanic caverns.

Time passed, and Lucien found himself striding through the never-ending nexus of lava tubes, which were burned dark and let in little illumination, though from time to time fissures in the tubes bled through enough daylight to keep them from seeming completely lightless. The caverns were a network of serpentine tunnels that wound in and out of the crust, perhaps ancient, or perhaps relatively recent. The Voice wanted to know if a caldera still existed beneath the formation.

When Lucien began his descent he was interested in what the formation might tell him of the planet’s evolution, but now he’d grown weary of the unending sameness of the exploration. The darkness intensified, too, and though that seemed inconsequential to his movement, it produced a superstitious fear in him that was almost palpable. He fell farther and farther into the depths of the world, and then he paused to see what he could of the tube floor, for it was in the consistency of the volcanic rock that he would find signs of planetary evolution.

Lucien saw a light appear down the length of the tube.

At first he thought it must be the star’s light advancing through some natural well, but then he realized that it wasn’t a natural light.

The apparition appeared before him, no longer in shadow but shrouded in a pale and translucent glow. The light obscured any detail of the form, but it seemed to be approaching him, and when he realized this he began moving backward through the tube.

‘It will destroy you,’ he remembered The Voice saying.

For the first time in a very long time he felt afraid. The manifestation continued moving toward him, and Lucien turned and struggled into an adjoining tube. Though he moved as quickly as possible, the entity seemed to move more fluidly. He became lost in shadows. Then the light appeared before him, and he was surprised. He didn’t understand how it could be behind him one second and in front him the next.

He ceased his motion and waited; the specter remained before him. If it could move as if the walls of the tubes didn’t even exist then he knew he could never escape it. Not here, not in the depths of this world.

“What are you?” Lucien asked.

He watched the apparition define itself, losing the obscuring glare of its internal light. It was a woman, naked, her face pale and inexpressive, like a still image. Her lips moved; the air chimed loudly around him.

To The Voice he called: “Are you there? Do you see it?”

But The Voice once again failed to reply.

The woman’s skin seemed to absorb the issuing light, until she stood quiescently and almost human. Her face was small and thin, her arms gracile, and her hands and feet perfectly formed. Lucien stared at her in amazement, her full breasts and hips, the small mound of her stomach, and the beautiful dark hair surrounding her shoulders. He studied her intensely, and thought he recognized the glimmer of tears.

“Who are you?” He realized that he could do nothing to defend himself should she actually wish to hurt him.

She looked on him for a long time before speaking.

I’m your wife.

Her voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once, and it was nothing like The Voice he knew.

“I don’t understand. I have no wife.”

Yes. You had a wife. And her name was Rachele.

“You’re a phantasm,” Lucien said cautiously, “you’re trying to deceive me.”

For what purpose, Lucien?

“How do you know my name?”

I’m your wife.

“You’re not my wife.”

I am your wife. And I’ve come to be with you.

“You will destroy me.”

Who told you that I would destroy you?

Lucien paused, uncertain of what he should say.

“The Voice told me.”

The Voice lied to you.

“The Voice doesn’t lie to me.”

The Voice doesn’t tell you the truth.

Lucien wondered why the apparition was telling him these things—but perhaps it was all an illusion. Why didn’t The Voice respond to him? Why didn’t The Voice come to tell him the truth?

Remember, Lucien.

“Remember what?”

Remember the truth.

“What is the truth?”

The truth is that you were once a scientist, an explorer. You were a trained xenologist, you wanted to study alien worlds in star systems beyond any distance that human beings could travel. Don’t you remember?

“I’m an explorer now. And I study alien worlds. Isn’t this an alien world? You’re only telling me what I already know.”

No, Lucien. You were a scientist in life, but you’re not a scientist now. You only believe you are. But you’re not alive anymore.

Lucien laughed.

“I’m not dead.”

You are dead. You prepared to be an extraterrestrial explorer, but you couldn’t do that while you were alive.

“I’m not dead. I communicate every day with—”

With who?

“With The Voice.”

Lucien, what is The Voice? To whom does it belong?

He’d never asked that question. The Voice was ever-present; The Voice was his guidance and his connection to the universe. The Voice simply was, and was always there to speak to him and listen to his reports. Why should The Voice be anything else?

“You’re trying to confuse me,” he finally said.

The Voice you hear is the contactee to whom you make your reports, she said. He is a psychic operative of the agency you worked for, Lucien. He speaks to you across space, and interprets the impressions you give him of the places you travel to and explore. It’s the only way human beings have ever been able to explore extra-solar worlds. It was your dream to be able to do this, but in doing so you sacrificed yourself to be a ghost on all the worlds of the universe.

“That’s impossible. How could the ghost of a dead man explore other worlds? When a human being dies, he ceases to be. He has no consciousness beyond the physical body.”

There is a consciousness beyond the body, she said. And it can be controlled, but only if that consciousness wants to be controlled. As you wanted to be. Space exploration was your passion in life, and now it is your obsession in death.

“That’s not true.”

It’s true. If you try to remember you will remember. You’ll remember me, too.

“I don’t remember. And I don’t remember you.”

You must.

“Why are you here, then? What do you want from me?”

I am your wife, and I love you, she said. I died for you. And I followed you to the end of the universe.

“Why?”

To save you from this purgatory. I couldn’t leave you in this place. Here, you’re nothing but a machine. I want us to be together. I want us to go over together.

“But I belong here.”

No, Lucien, you’ve only been conditioned to think you belong here, but you don’t. Once we die, none of us does. You’re a ghost here and that’s all you’ll ever be.

“This is a trick,” Lucien said, though he was terribly shaken by what the apparition had said. He wished that The Voice would answer his silent calls.

Remember, Lucien, and come with me.

“No.”

I can’t wait forever. I need to go over, too.

“I think this is all a lie created to destroy me. The Voice warned me—”

The Voice would keep you from finding your destiny. It’s the only way to keep the program thriving. But you’re not the only one. They wouldn’t miss you. Come with me. I love you.

“I don’t remember,” he said. “I won’t come with you.”

A moment passed as he watched her pale, beautiful face sadden at his words. But he couldn’t believe her.

After a long moment she nodded and turned away from him.

I will come one more time for you, she said. And then you must come with me, or be lost in this universe forever.

The ghostly vision vanished, and Lucien suddenly found himself alone in the darkness of the endless lava tubes.

He felt that he had to escape the claustrophobic closeness of the tubes. This was an effect he’d never before experienced, and thought it must be a result of his confrontation with the apparition.

He stood for a long time staring out over the alien landscape, the black volcanic troughs striping the mounds of accumulated lava rock before him, and the pretty, red-blue hue of the horizon beyond. The star was setting, and long shadows flowed over the ground. He stared up at the sky and watched as unfamiliar stars appeared.

The next morning, The Voice asked him about the lava tubes.

Lucien said nothing, but kept staring at the horizon as the morning light threw a glow over the ancient soil.

“I saw the phenomenon again,” Lucien said.

The Voice said nothing for a long time.

Then: What happened?

“I spoke to it. It was a woman.”

Lucien, what did it tell you?

Lucien told The Voice what had happened in the tubes, and what the woman had said to him of who he was and what he was doing on alien worlds. And that the woman had been his wife.

The Voice didn’t respond for a long time. But just as he was beginning to worry, it spoke again.

Lucien, didn’t I tell you that it would try to destroy you?

“Yes, but—”

It’s trying to destroy you with lies. It will come to you with a fantastic story, and then try to convince you to go with it. And then it will destroy you. You didn’t see a woman, you only saw what the entity wanted you to see.

“But why can’t I remember?”

Remember what?

“Who I am.”

You’re Lucien.

“Then, who are you?”

I’m the one who has always been there to guide you. Don’t you know this?

He thought about this and realized that that had always been true.

“Yes.”

The entity will destroy you if you believe what it tells you. This is the only way it can delude you into letting it have you.

“I don’t know.”

You must believe me. It’s only trying to deceive you.

“What is the purpose of its deception? I don’t understand what it would gain by deceiving me. This doesn’t make sense to me.”

The universe is filled with unknowable things, The Voice said. Dangerous things. But I’m here to prevent those things from harming you. As I’ve always been. Don’t you know that this is true? Don’t you see how this entity has placed doubt in your mind?

“But why would it say these things?”

To keep you from your purpose.

“What is my purpose?”

You already know your purpose. You’ve always known. Haven’t you?

“It’s the only thing I remember.”

It is your truth. Lucien, do you believe me?

Lucien stared out over the beautiful world. He could think of no other truth in which to believe.

“Yes,” he said, “I believe you.”

The next time you see this creature you must send it away.

“I will.”

You must send it away as harshly as possible so it will never return to you.

Lucien promised to do so, and then described the lava tubes as precisely as he could, though his encounter with the apparition had badly compromised his observations.

When he completed his report The Voice instructed him to travel to another world—a frozen world.

***

The southern pole was a raised mass above a trench that was the result of tectonic compression sometime in the planet’s distant past. The mass was a combination of ancient formations, and mostly covered by a thin layer of frozen liquid. The southern pole was cold, incredibly cold, and the liquid, now a thin ice shield, could have been composed of many things. He stood on the ice and studied it, trying to determine its chemical composition from the indications he received from the reflected light. He stood still for a long time watching the star’s light illuminate one angle and another. When the star was at its polar zenith, the apparition reappeared.

He stood on the ice, frightened, but comforted by The Voice’s instructions.

The phenomenon was no longer cloaked in light or shadow, but was simply the pale flesh of the woman. What was its true appearance? he wondered—

The woman walked barefooted over the ice and stood very close to him.

He was afraid, but stood still.

Have you remembered? she asked.

“I haven’t remembered anything,” he said calmly.

She stood for a long time, and now he was certain he saw tears falling on her cheeks. She was so very beautiful.

You must remember!

“I don’t,” he said.

And then, remembering what The Voice had told him, he spoke again.

“Now you must go away and leave me alone.”

Lucien, you must remember me! You must!

“I don’t. Please, go.”

Do you love space so much more than me that you would force yourself to forget? Even in death? Can’t you let go of that obsession, even now?

“What obsession?” he asked. “I have no obsession. I only have my work.”

She raised her arms toward him in supplication.

He stepped back, and she dropped her arms pitifully.

Do you remember what I said when you told me that you were going to enter the program?

Lucien stood silently.

I said that if you killed yourself just to do this thing I would come and find you. That if you killed yourself just to be in this program you would also be killing me. Do you remember?

“I don’t, I swear I don’t.”

I love you, Lucien. And it’s taken me so long to find you, so very long. I’ve had to fight through all of the psychic defenses the program has constructed around you. I’ve had to follow you across the breadth of space. Please, come with me.

She raised her arms again and opened her hands to him.

He stared at her thin, lovely arms, and he wondered how it would feel to be held by them.

But then he said, “I can’t.”

Please.

“I won’t.”

She dropped her arms again and lowered her head; and then she quickly looked up at the sky.

I guess you didn’t love me as much as you loved the stars, she said. But how could I have expected to hold your love over an entire universe?

“I’m sorry.”

I’ll leave. But please, just say my name. So that I’ll remember.

“No.”

Please. Then I’ll be gone forever.

“All right, if you will go.”

He couldn’t understand why shy wanted him to say her name, or why he felt so hesitant to do so. But then he spoke—

“Rachele,” he said.

The ghostly woman lingered silently for a moment, then finally replied.

Good-bye, Lucien.

“Good-bye, Rachele.”

Lucien saw the glittering light in the substance of her tears, shining like the silica he’d examined, the precious stones, the crystalline formations of a thousand worlds. He looked on the apparition as he had looked on the physical features of a thousand planets, and he suddenly remembered a feeling for a feminine beauty, the first true memory he’d had since—

But then she was gone.

***

Lucien?

It was The Voice. Lucien didn’t reply. He sat on a high rock overlooking the great expanse of the frozen pole. He’d been sitting there for days.

Lucien? Why don’t you speak to me?

“She’s gone,” he said.

The Voice said nothing for a while.

Tell me about the southern pole, Lucien.

He said nothing.

Lucien? Tell me about the southern pole.

He said nothing. He was remembering. His memory had begun evolving from the fossils of the past, and it had taken him many solar days to assemble enough of them to represent some version of the truth. If it took only one vision of a woman’s tears to break down every barrier that he himself had created—but he hadn’t quite gotten back that much of his memory. Not everything would come. Not everything essential.

“You knew who she was,” he said. “How do I find her again?”

The Voice said nothing for a very long time. Lucien thought it might never say anything again, but it did, and it was the last thing it ever said to him, or the last thing it said that he would ever let himself hear.

I don’t know.

“She was my wife,” he said.

***

Lucien left the frozen world and continued exploring the universe; all he knew to do in death was to explore the alien worlds he’d once loved and adored in life, to watch the seas and the deserts, to climb the mountains, haunt the caverns, and search the forests. But there had been purpose to these explorations, if only an unconscious purpose, and now that purpose was gone. But he thought that, perhaps one day, on one of the ten trillion worlds his consciousness would touch, it was possible he might see her again, and if he spoke to her again she would realize his love no longer had an objective quality. Then they could go on together to the place he would never know without her—

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Universal Sonnet

by John Grey

Before they were fated to double bills 
And lame sequels bordering on lampoon, 
Dracula and Frankenstein were a boon 
To dullard lives in need of shock and thrills, 
And the werewolf notched up numerous kills 
Hairy and scary beneath the full moon 
Meanwhile, slithering from the Black Lagoon, 
The creature seethed from webbed feet to gills.

The invisible man could disappear 
And still put on a nerve-end tingling show 
While it was beauty killed the beast I fear 
And such a dreadful sidewalk busting blow 
But we are talking Universal here 
And that was actually RKO.

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