Tandem (29 page)

“In a manner of speaking. Technically, in a hall of mirrors, you—your physical self that stands before the mirrors—is a sort of source code that exists only in
apeiron
. Your DNA—and everything else that makes you look as you do—adjusts in order to deliver that predetermined result.”

He turned back to his keyboard and brought up a three-dimensional illustrated rendering of ten or so human beings standing in a dispersed group, connected to each other by dotted lines. Dr. Moss indicated one of the lines.

“Dr. March and I—”

“Who’s Dr. March?”

“Don’t ask,” Thomas muttered under his breath.

“Dr. March was my research partner,” Dr. Moss said. I shot Thomas a questioning look. What was so weird about that?

“Dr. March and I developed a theory—that analogs with a single
apeiron
source are connected across the universes by what we call a ‘tether,’ ” Dr. Moss said. “An invisible cord that binds you all together, through the tandem and beyond.”

“A cord? A cord made of what?”

“Energy,” Dr. Moss said. “Dark energy, to be precise. Don’t worry, it’s not nearly as ominous as it sounds. The word ‘dark’ merely implies that it’s hypothetical. We believe it exists because when two analogs come into contact with one another, energy is released, which causes the destruction you witness as a disruption event.”

“So this tether … ,” I prompted, trying to get him back on point.

“It’s the thing that makes you and Juliana—and countless, perhaps infinite copies of you out there in the multiverse—analogs and not identical twins, or clones, or mere coincidental look-alikes. Every analog is connected to each of their other analogs by one of these tethers, forming an intricate web across multiple parallel cosmos. Like DNA, the tether is what carries the code that informs your physical similarity to your other analogs.” Dr. Moss smiled, impressed with himself. “To put it simply: you aren’t connected to your analogs because you look alike—
you look alike because you are connected
. Your appearance is a kind of echo, and the tether is the medium upon which it travels. The bond is stronger than genetics; it’s probably one of the strongest forces we’ve ever encountered. Theoretically, of course.”

“An echo?” The word sounded so empty and lifeless. “Does that mean that I’m not really a person? That I’m not really me?”

“Oh, no, you’re most definitely a person,” Dr. Moss said. “Certainly yourself, whatever that means. As far as I can tell, you are a singular human being. Rest assured of that at least.”

“So you think that the visions I’m having of Juliana are coming to me through this so-called tether?” I asked. My head was spinning, but I was pretty sure I’d managed to follow everything the scientist had told me. Dr. Moss nodded. “But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me? Thomas doesn’t see visions of his analog,” I pointed out. “As far as I know, nobody else does, either. But I’ve been having dreams of Juliana since I was a kid. That can’t be normal.”

“Well, normal is relative,” Dr. Moss told me. “But it’s highly unusual, I must admit.”

“So why me?”

“Frankly, my dear,” Dr. Moss said. “I have no idea.”

TWENTY-THREE

“So that’s it?” I demanded. “You just don’t know?”

Dr. Moss shrugged. “I don’t have all the answers. If I did, the world would be very different.”

“I think Sasha was hoping to get advice about how to control what she’s seeing,” Thomas put in helpfully. “If she can force the visions, she might be able to lead us to Juliana.”

Dr. Moss paused to consider this. “I suppose you’re right. Well, the good news is that the connection has already been partially established. From what you’ve told me, I have to conclude that you are involuntarily witnessing events in your analog’s life in your most vulnerable moments—when you’re asleep, when you’re unconscious. When your mind’s natural defenses are at their lowest.”

“Yeah, except I don’t remember them clearly when I wake up,” I reminded him. “If I could only have a vision when I was awake, I might be able to get some real information.”

“There are other times besides sleep when your mind is similarly unguarded,” Dr. Moss told me. “When you’re feeling an extremely heightened emotion, for instance. Like fear, perhaps, preferably brought on by physical peril, when your mind is so busy defending your body that it can’t concentrate on defending itself.”

“Are you saying that if I can somehow scare myself enough, I might be able to force a vision?”

“I can’t promise you that,” Dr. Moss said. “But it’s certainly possible. The question is, are you willing to do what it takes in order to open the floodgates?”

Thomas, ever-watchful, noticed my apprehension and shifted closer to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said.

I closed my eyes, trying to shut everyone else out so I could think about Dr. Moss’s question properly. What
was
I willing to do? This was, quite possibly, my only shot at freedom, my only chance to get home. I was
willing
to do just about anything.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked Dr. Moss.

“That depends,” he said. “What are you most afraid of?”

“Er … I don’t know,” I said. “Snakes?”

“That’s not it.” Dr. Moss and I both turned to look at Thomas.

“Oh? What am I most afraid of, then, if you’re so smart?”

Thomas said nothing, only looked up at the ceiling and raised his forefinger in the same direction. I recalled sharply the fizz of anxiety that had traveled through me when I’d realized how high up we were in the Tower two days ago. He cocked his head at me knowingly.

“I really don’t think—” I began to protest, but Dr. Moss hopped off his stool and clapped his hands in a fit of excitement.
Every scientist loves an experiment,
I thought bitterly.

“You’re afraid of heights?” Dr. Moss asked. He lit up like a Christmas tree with glee. “Splendid. That’s it, then. Come now, hurry; I gather we haven’t much time, from the way Thomas has been eyeing his watch.”

“Wait,” I asked, following Dr. Moss and Thomas out of the lab. “Where are we going?”

“To the roof.”

I’d foolishly hoped they meant the roof of the Castle. At four stories tall, it wasn’t too high, and I thought I could stand it well enough. But the Tower was one hundred and fifteen stories, which was completely unmanageable, especially if we were going to be outside.

“What if somebody sees us?” I hissed as the elevator for the subbasements arrived at the main elevator bank, where we were to switch over to the one that would take us to the roof.

Thomas peered through the open doors. “There’s nobody in there. Quick, let’s go.”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” I said, twisting my hands at my waist as the steel elevator shaft gave way to a glass one; we were riding up at the rate of about three floors per second. I covered my face and turned away from the view. “Oh my God,” I moaned. I hated heights, but I didn’t like elevators very much, either, and the combination amplified by the speed at which we were traveling made me want to be sick all over Thomas’s perfectly shined shoes.

“It’ll be all right,” Thomas said, putting a hand on my shoulder. He was trying to soothe me, but I didn’t want to be touched by anyone. I just wanted to go back
down
.

“Don’t comfort her, Thomas!” Dr. Moss admonished sharply. “She’s
supposed
to be scared—that’s the point!”

“So? I can’t just watch her suffer!” Thomas cried. Then, perhaps thinking the better of his outburst, he took a deep breath and regulated his tone. “If you want to stop, we can stop. You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way, or we just won’t do it.”

“We’re doing this,” I insisted. “Dr. Moss is right. Just ignore me.” I was sort of hoping we’d never have to get to the top, that my immediate fear would be enough to trigger the connection I was looking for, but nothing was happening and I could tell that mere anxiety wasn’t going to cut it.

“Listen to the girl,” Dr. Moss chided him. “You’d think she was more of a lionheart than you are, the way you’re carrying on.” That did it; in the face of having his reputation as Brave Man on Campus sullied, Thomas stopped squawking and left me alone.

The elevator came to a smooth stop. I was trembling, and a panicked sweat was gathering around my hairline. The door opened and we stepped out onto the roof, into the bright afternoon sunlight. I followed Dr. Moss reluctantly to the edge of the building.

“Look down,” he commanded. After a moment’s hesitation, I did so. A wave of nausea bore down on me. The ground was
so far away
. “Stay here. Thomas, come with me.”

Dr. Moss led him to the opposite end of the roof. “Where are you going?” Neither answered me. I watched their conference; first, Dr. Moss proposed something, which Thomas vehemently opposed. Dr. Moss argued with him for several minutes and then, finally, Thomas’s objections were subdued. As they approached me, Thomas’s face was pale and drawn. Whatever Dr. Moss had told him to do, he wasn’t happy about it; his fists were clenched at his sides, and his mouth was a straight, unreadable line.

“Ms. Lawson,” Dr. Moss said. “Will you consent to do whatever it takes in order to force the connection with Juliana?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “What are you going to do?” I addressed these words to Thomas, who looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

“It’s best if you don’t know,” Dr. Moss told me. “Look again.”

I peered down and a feeling of light-headedness engulfed me. I was sure I was going to faint and began to step away from the concrete balustrade, an automatic response in the face of my worst fear.

“Now, Thomas!” Dr. Moss commanded.

In one deft movement, so swift and smooth it was almost graceful, Thomas grabbed me by my wrists, lifted me off my feet, and whipped me over the edge.

I opened my mouth to cry out, but no sound emerged. I was falling, falling, falling. I felt like I would never stop. And then I did. I was hanging off the edge of the roof, anchored only by Thomas’s tight grip on my wrists. I looked up, terrified, into his face, which showed the strain of bearing my weight as I hung thirteen hundred feet in the air.

“Don’t let go!” The words came out choked and broken; it was possible he hadn’t even heard them over the shrieking sounds of the wind as it rushed by.

Dr. Moss’s face appeared over the balustrade. “Close your eyes!” he shouted. “Channel everything you’re feeling into the tether. Let yourself feel it all and focus it!”

What he was telling me to do was impossible. My mind was a frantic jumble of panicked thoughts, and my mouth tasted like copper, the metallic tang of fear I recognized from the moment I woke up in Aurora. I could hardly breathe, and was sure that I was going to pass out.
No,
I told myself, shocked that I could even manage to formulate a single coherent thought. I wrapped my fingers around Thomas’s wrists, holding him as tightly as he was holding me; if I went limp, he might drop me, and I would surely die. I stared into Thomas’s eyes, expecting to see fear there, but there was nothing but fierce determination to hold on. If I’d ever cursed Thomas’s single-mindedness, I was grateful for it now.

Having no other option, I yielded to Dr. Moss’s instructions. I forced myself to inhale deeply and closed my eyes, focusing all my attention and energy on the fear that writhed inside me. At first, nothing happened; then I felt an abrupt, almost physical snap, like that of a knuckle cracking or a shoulder being forced from its socket—except that it was in my
mind
—and after a brief, dark moment, images came rushing forth, pieces of long-forgotten dreams, one on top of each other, small fragments like shards of glass.

The black phoenix on a red background, swaying back and forth in a sweet country breeze …

A girl no older than twelve, wearing the Libertas symbol—the tetractys made of stars, stitched on a forest green armband—taking away a dinner tray …

The darkness of the secret tunnel and the bobbing yellow orb of a flashlight as Juliana followed a young man stealthily toward freedom …

A thin blue strip of paper being folded into the shape of a star to conceal a message and being placed in the back of a drawer where no one else could find it …

The painting of the lake house …

A face—the young man’s face, older than Thomas but not by much, his lips curling up into a self-satisfied smile …

The images came so fast and there were so many that I only saw them for a fraction of a second. Some were old, worn, and blurry at the edges, while some were sharp, more recent. But they were all from the past, all pieces of dreams I’d had before. There was nothing from the present. And then, another snap, and there it was—the tether. In my mind’s eye, it looked like a tiny, brilliant filament of light, shifting this way and that, curling in on itself and then stretching infinitely in both directions. I stared into it as it grew larger, closer, and, summoning all the bravery I had, I let it consume me.

There was a knock at the door, but whoever was on the other side entered without waiting for permission. She sat on the tiny bed—she hadn’t slept on something so small since she was in a crib—her book in her lap. She closed it as he entered and appraised him coolly, but it was a front. She’d been in the custody of Libertas for two weeks and the only people who’d come to talk to her were him, at the beginning, though he was gone now; the girl at the previous location, who had not accompanied them to the farmhouse; and a new woman, a taciturn old country broad with a sparse mustache on her lip and a mean look in her eye, who brought her meals and did her wash, albeit begrudgingly. This man was entirely new to her. He was thin and wiry and tall, dressed in all black with no outward signs of his affiliation.

“Who are you?” she asked him imperiously, as was her habit.

“They call me the Shepherd,” he told her. He pulled the chair out from underneath the small white writing desk and sat on it backward.