by Wendy Devore
“Whoa, look. Shiny! And holograms.” I held the sheet up and turned it in the light, watching a hologram of the Statue of Liberty rotate.
Andrew snatched it out of my hand. “Don’t be so obvious.”
I kept my hand low in the bag and counted the rest. “Looks like twenty-seven dollars. And a mobile phone,” I whispered.
“Hand me the cash, her ID, and the mobile.”
I nodded and handed him the loot. He pocketed the mobile and took a quick glance at the ID before handing it back to me.
“Head to the women’s restroom. Leave the bag there.”
I shrugged but followed his instructions, where I left the bag conspicuously on the restroom counter. I pulled my loose hair back from my shoulders, twirled it up into a messy bun, and pulled the elastic band from my pocket. I took a moment to check the mirror. Dark circles gave my eyes a hollowed cast. I may have felt a bit like a secret agent, but I looked like a tired twentysomething in grungy clothes who had indulged in too many late nights.
Andrew checked the time on the pilfered mobile phone. “It’s just seven; everything will still be closed,” he said. “Are you ready for a walk?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
We left the hospital, Andrew his usual cool self and me trying to conjure a casual facade. The early morning sun cut through the haze in the gray sky. So far this slice didn’t seem so different from our own. As we headed down Campus Drive, Andrew pulled the stolen mobile from his pocket and began trying unlock codes.
“Where are we headed?” I asked.
“You know the Rodin sculpture garden?”
“Of course. Do you think it will actually be there?”
Andrew continued trying passcodes, and we walked on among the sparse early morning traffic. “No way to know except to go.”
We’d just come into view of the building I knew as the Cantor Center for the Arts when Andrew exclaimed, “Got it!”
I looked at him with wide eyes. “How’d you do that?” I made a conscious note not to let him near my mobile phone.
“Keen understanding of human nature,” he quipped. “She used her birthdate in reverse as her lock code.”
As he tapped at the phone, he headed purposefully toward the iconic Rodin bronze called The Thinker. It was a very quiet morning in the garden; no other visitors were in sight.
My growing optimism that this mission would be accomplished quickly was trampled by the dark look that crossed Andrew’s face as he scrolled and scanned the stolen device.
“This slice is not going to help us. The ecological damage here is not quite as severe as what we’re dealing with in our own reality, but it’s too close for comfort. We need to get out of here before anything leaks and try again.”
Andrew set the phone gently on the steps to the Cantor Center and turned to me expectantly. I found I suddenly had trouble swallowing. This was it—this was the part where my boss expected me to plant one on him. I couldn’t even begin to quantify the ways in which this was all just wrong. Completely against my will, the sensation of his breath against my neck resurfaced from my nightmare, and my mutinous body began to hum in a way that was awkwardly pleasant but relentlessly confusing. I pointedly looked away and gave in to an irresistible urge to pace.
“Kathryn, I’m not going to stab you,” Andrew chuckled, with a slightly bemused expression. “I’m not going to surprise you, assault you, or injure you in any way. I’m not even going to stand within your personal space.” He took a step backward. “This has to be your choice.”
“Well, that’s something new,” I grumbled, using all my willpower to root myself in one spot without fidgeting. “And it’s Kate,” I corrected with a withering glance. But inside my chest, my heart pounded as if it were trying to escape the confines of my rib cage. I tried to conjure an air of outward cool, but inside I felt seriously nauseated. I was already drenched in cold sweat. Seconds passed, then one minute, then another as he stared at me and I squirmed.
“I don’t know how to do this!” I finally protested. “I barely know you and I’m not even sure I like you.”
“Am I really so repulsive?” he asked, cocking his head and cracking the smile that made other women swoon. He extended his hand. “For the sake of thousands of lives?”
Of course he was not repulsive. That was a big part of the problem.
Heart now pounding like a runaway freight train, I stepped toward him, wiped my sweaty palm on my jeans, and awkwardly took his outstretched hand. Nothing happened. We just stood there, holding hands. My heart continued to thump at an alarming speed, and my stomach lurched upward into the vicinity of my trachea. Then I did what I always do in times of crisis; I closed my eyes, focused on my breath, and began to empty my mind.
It took forever, but finally my breathing returned to normal. Andrew stood so stock-still that I forgot about his hand; I forgot about my hand; I forgot about the slice of alternate reality. My heartbeat slowed, and my breathing became calm and measured. When I finally opened my eyes, I found him silent and transfixed, gazing at me with the same inscrutable expression as always.
Before my newly restored inner peace could be disturbed, I took a sudden step toward him, reached my arms up to encircle his neck, and drew him toward me. In one quick motion, I closed my eyes and met his lips. In an instant his hands were caressing the small of my back, his body pressed close to mine. My hesitance was met with his startling passion and the kiss deepened. The sensation took my breath away; legions of bright white fireworks exploded behind my eyelids. I had the alarming sensation of falling, floating, soaring—then a bittersweet yearning so intense that it nearly knocked me off my feet.
I was confused for a moment when I opened my eyes and observed the slew of medical machines all humming and whirring. I was back in the hospital room; we were back in the hospital room, still reclining in our beds but fully awake and still dressed in our street clothes.
“Not the right slice, but a perfectly executed exit,” Andrew remarked calmly, glancing pointedly in my direction. A glimpse at the monitors revealed that my heart rate was quite elevated. Through the vestiges of euphoria, I could sense the beginning of a migraine behind my right eye.
Dr. Daniels examined me with an arched eyebrow.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah…” I replied, avoiding his scrutiny. “The headache is coming on, though.”
“Nurse,” Dr. Daniels called. “Ten milligrams IV metoclopramide, please.”
I again found myself sprawled unceremoniously on the hard linoleum floor, but this time I took a couple of deep breaths before opening one eye. A quick glance around confirmed I was in a patient room at the hospital. I sat up quickly and was relieved to find the room was unoccupied. Andrew pulled himself up on the other side of the bed. “Let’s get going.”
I struggled shakily to my feet. “More petty larceny? Or can we just go to the library this time?”
Andrew grinned and checked the time. “It’s eight ten. Maybe we can get on the net at the Green Library.”
“That will only work if public computers are available without checking in with a student ID. Empty pockets, remember?”
Andrew shrugged. “Let’s give it a try.”
The walk to the Green Library took twenty minutes, and I was glad I was wearing my comfy and well-worn Chuck Taylors. I was getting a lot of exercise for a woman who was technically sedated in a hospital. As we walked, I looked for differences in the campus. As we walked past the Quad, I could see Memorial Church situated exactly where it should be, resplendent as always with its mosaics and stained glass windows perched above familiar sandstone arches. The flowers planted in the center of the Oval’s green grassy fields were still red. In fact, as far as I could tell, nothing seemed different.
The Green Library was also exactly where we expected it to be and was already open. The public internet terminals were right by the information desk, just as expected. I didn’t need to flash an ID to gain entry
after all. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and tried to contain my nervous urge to continually scan the room. Within minutes, Andrew had completed his search.
“This slice isn’t going to help us either,” Andrew decided. “Stats look bad here too; I’m going to have Amir reprogram to an even more divergent slice. Time to make a hasty escape.”
His probing gaze was tempered by a hint of charm that I hadn’t bargained for. Why didn’t this ever get any easier? I began to suspect he was intentionally messing with my head.
“What, here?” I stalled.
“If you have a library fetish…”
“Absolutely not!” I hissed. I hurried to the exit before things could get out of hand.
Nerves made me stride quickly across the lush, grassy field outside of the library. It was another block until I reached the Meyer Green. A tranquil park bench tucked beneath a tree would be the perfect place to rest and re-center my breathing. Andrew plopped down on the bench beside me.
“You are making me incredibly nervous,” I mumbled through clenched teeth.
“I could help; after all, we’re on a schedule here.”
I closed my eyes and tried to move my focus from his amused badgering to the sensation of my breath. “Just…give me a minute.”
He couldn’t even manage to stay silent for sixty seconds.
“Perhaps it’s time to do a little boundary testing,” Andrew suggested.
“Uh, okay…” I replied, rubbing my temples. “We never did extensive testing on the edge cases to shake out the potential errors in our code. It’s not even really finished, but I guess it’s never too early to start. But I don’t see how we’re going to do any debugging here; our code base is hanging out in some other reality.”
“You are so literal…” He chuckled, shaking his head.
I could feel my face flush, and I quickly looked away. Was he making fun of me? Was he trying to flirt with me? I felt completely out of my element. He lifted my left hand and carefully traced the outline of the angry welt with his finger. Electric jolts of fission ran up my spine, and I resorted once again to slow, calming breaths.
My mouth went dry. I wondered why I suddenly felt queasy. “You mean you want to test my boundaries, then. You probably do this all the time. Seducing women.”
His casual shrug answered the question perfectly. “I was just trying to help. We should establish exactly what it takes for you to trigger the exit.”
It sounded so logical, yet it was infuriating. And nerve-racking. I stared at him with silent determination. He responded by gently kissing the injury on the back of my hand. I struggled to contain the gasp that completely shattered any hope I had of remaining calm.
I couldn’t bear it for another instant; I turned sharply and pulled him close, my fingers tangled in his hair. I wanted him, wanted his embrace, and as he responded once more to my kiss, I found myself again opening my eyes in a hospital bed, hooked up to a dozen wires and sensors in the dim room at Stanford Medical Center.
Chapter 21
Kate
September 28
I knew before I even opened my eyes—this time it was different. My hands clutched loose soil; I could detect the scent of the morning sun as it burned the dew from the golden grass. I slowly opened one eye, then the other, and waited for the vertigo to subside. Andrew stood up and brushed the dry brown soil from his jeans, then extended a hand and pulled me up from the patch of dirt and brush I was sprawled upon. When he released my hand from his grasp, I was embarrassed to admit to myself just how dismayed I felt when he withdrew even this simple touch.
“There’s no hospital here.”
“Roger that, Captain Obvious,” Andrew retorted, already heading east through the field toward Campus Drive.
“Now he’s cracking jokes,” I muttered to myself, hurrying to catch up.
Campus Drive wasn’t where it should be. The Cantor Center for the Arts and the Rodin sculptures were not there. Dozens of buildings were missing. Entire streets were missing. Stanford of this slice was a much smaller version of the university that I knew. I was relieved when we finally reached Roth Way and could see the familiar green grass of the Oval, the rows of trees along Palm Drive, and the sandstone arches of the Stanford Quad. My world was shattered again when I saw the car that drove by. Sheathed in iridescent blue paint, the automobile was small, low to the ground, sleek, and aerodynamic. It looked like the unlikely offspring of a forties roadster and a squashed jelly bean. It was elegant and futuristic, and I couldn’t stop staring. It literally stopped me in my tracks.
“Is that a concept car some rich Silicon Valley tech baron commissioned?” I murmured.
Andrew, now several steps ahead of me, turned and motioned impatiently.
“Stop staring,” he muttered as soon as I was within earshot. “You’re supposed to be blending in.”
Another beautiful streamlined car passed by, nearly soundless, similar in appearance but with a deep, ruby-red iridescent finish. I tore my eyes away and instead focused on Andrew’s retreating form as he moved quickly toward the sandstone arches that guarded the entryway to the university.
We skirted past Memorial Church and cut through the Quad. “Are we headed back to the Green Library?” I asked. The place was still early morning quiet, but we passed a couple of women wearing linen skirts and blouses. Both were sporting thick, wide headbands that shimmered in the morning sun in shifting iridescent hues. They stared at me for a long moment, then looked away. I was instantly uncomfortable and self-conscious.
“We’re going to try,” he replied, still several steps ahead of me. “Let me do the talking.”
The arched facade of the Green Library looked just as I remembered, but the building was missing a huge wing. I walked through the doors hoping to find computers flanking the information desk, but I was disappointed.
“Student ID?” the desk attendant requested. She was dressed conservatively, in a beige button-down blouse with a wide collar. Holding back her short brown hair was a thick and broad headband, similar to the ones worn by the women we passed on the Quad. It sparkled in iridescent green and violet, like the wings of a dragonfly. She looked up from behind the standing-height wooden desk, examining us from behind her black-rimmed spectacles, and frowned.
“Ve are visitors,” Andrew responded, his words thick with an accent that I didn’t recognize. He smiled coyly and leaned casually against the counter.
The woman at the desk removed her glasses and beamed at him with a slightly dreamy look in her eyes, but still asked, “Photo ID, please?”
Andrew patted his rear jeans pocket. To my surprise, he produced two pink-tinged IDs that read “FØRERKORT NORGE” in big block letters along the top. His black and white photo graced the top one, and I frowned at the particularly unflattering photo of me on the second. The attendant took another long look at Andrew, then me, and asked, “Where was it you said you were from?”
“Ve are visiting from Nor-vay,” Andrew replied, using a singsong cadence that sounded comically fake. At least he had blond hair and blue eyes. Me, Scandinavian? Not likely. I held my breath, certain that the woman behind the desk would see through the ruse.
“Well, that explains the outfits,” was the attendant’s acerbic reply. She penciled in our fake Norwegian identities on two lines in a large ledger and handed Andrew the cards, waving us in.
“I can’t believe that worked,” I whispered as we moved deeper into the library in search of a computer. I regarded him through narrowed eyes. “And I thought you said you weren’t carrying anything in your pockets.”
“Not entirely accurate,” he whispered, handing me my fake Norwegian ID. I shoved it into my jeans. “Technology won’t come through, but sometimes non-tech items will. Anything too familiar would almost certainly be wrong in other slices, but I was banking on the fact that a Norwegian driver’s license is unfamiliar enough anywhere in the States that a fraudulent document from another reality wouldn’t be questioned.”
I shook my head. What hubris. Lucky for us it worked. “I guess you’re a twofer—crackpot visionary and criminal mastermind.”
All I got in reply was a quick grin and another impatient gesture.
We walked the entire first floor without locating a single computer.
Andrew paused by the staircase. “There are four more floors; we’ll get through this faster if we split up. You take two and three. I’ll take four and five. Meet me back here. If you find a terminal, get stats about sea level rise, or CO2 concentration, or average temperature.”
I nodded and we split up.
I walked the entirety of the second, then the third floor without spotting a single piece of technology, which seemed impossible. I wouldn’t have been so surprised to find that public computers weren’t a thing here, but as far as I could tell, not even the library staff had access to the machines.
I was on my way back to the first floor to meet Andrew when I idly ran my hand over a row of thick volumes. I stopped when I realized I was standing before a shelf housing a row of almanacs. I grabbed a thick volume called World Almanac and Book of Facts and flipped through it. On page 1650, I found a list of population by states and was about to continue paging when the figure for California caught my eye. Just a few weeks ago, I’d read an article in the news about how the population of my adopted state had just surpassed the entire population of Canada. Thirtysomething million people. But the almanac put the population of California at a measly 10.68 million. The small size of campus suddenly began to make sense. I tucked the huge book under my arm and hurried toward the stairs.
When I reached the first floor, Andrew was leaning impatiently against a huge cabinet filled with hundreds of tiny drawers. “There aren’t any computers—public or otherwise—in this building, as far as I can tell. I think I’m going to need…”
