by Anna Jarzab
Also by Anna Jarzab
All Unquiet Things
The Opposite of Hallelujah
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2013 by Anna Jarzab
Jacket art copyright © 2013 by Oleg Babkin/Shutterstock (girl), Florian Adronache/Shutterstock (bird), and jupeart/Shutterstock (stars)
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Jarzab, Anna.
Tandem / Anna Jarzab. — First edition.
pages cm. — (The many-worlds trilogy ; book 1)
Summary: Sasha, who lives a quiet life with her grandfather in Chicago but dreams of adventure, is thrilled to be asked to prom by her long-time crush, Grant, but after the dance he abducts her to a parallel universe to impersonate a princess.
ISBN 978-0-307-97725-0 (hc) — ISBN 978-0-375-99077-9 (glb) — ISBN 978-0-307-97725-0 (ebook) [1. Science fiction. 2. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction 3. Impersonation—Fiction. 4. Identity—Fiction. 5. Orphans—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.J2968Tan 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2012046712
Book design by Sarah Hoy
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v 3.1
For Eesha, who believes in the impossible
Contents
Cover
Other books by this author
Title page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Earth
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Aurora
7 Days
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
6 Days
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
5 Days
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
4 Days
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
3 Days
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
2 Days
Chapter Thirty-One
1 Day
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
0 Days
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Earth
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
When I was a sophomore in high school, I enrolled in a Western philosophy class to fulfill a graduation requirement. On the first day of the semester, my teacher, Mr. Early, wrote three words on the board: Kata to chreon.
The phrase, he said, was ambiguous, both in origin and meaning, but basically it was translated “according to the debt.” The ancient Greeks, Mr. Early told us, believed that the universe was an ordered place, where everything had a price that was collected in due course. The universe, he said, strives for harmony and balance. All that is born will someday die. Ashes to ashes. Things fall apart.
Those guys might’ve died centuries ago, but they were on to something. Science tells us that matter can neither be created nor destroyed, but also that every action has an equal and opposite reaction—all debts are eventually paid in full. I don’t remember much else from the class, but that particular idea stuck with me. Kata to chreon.
Apparently, the universe won’t let you get away with anything, at least not for long.
It was almost midnight. The Castle was quiet, but through the open windows she could hear the breeze rustling the leaves and flowers in the garden below her bedroom terrace; the smell of roses and lilacs rushed inside upon those same soft winds and wrapped itself around her neck like a scarf. Up in the sky, the aurora danced; the incandescent whorls of green light usually lifted her spirits, but tonight they gave her a melancholy feeling. For days she’d been on high alert for ill omens, signs of impending disaster, something that would tell her definitively that she was making the wrong choice, heading down an unsafe path. She wasn’t normally so superstitious, but anxiety buzzed beneath her skin like a fly trapped against a pane of glass, and she wondered if, maybe, the universe might intervene in some unforeseen way on her behalf and make everything clear for once. But here she was, in the eleventh hour, and no clarity had come. She was truly on her own, with nothing and no one to guide her. The door was closing on her fate.
She could turn back. She didn’t have to leave at midnight. She could lie down on her comfortable, familiar bed, close her eyes, and wait for the next day to begin the same as always. She could remain who she was—Juliana, Princess of the United Commonwealth of Columbia, heir apparent to the throne. In six weeks she would be eligible to rip the regency out of her stepmother’s greedy hands and step into her appointed role, the one that she’d been born for. And if that was all that awaited her, she might have stayed. But who she was, was not the whole story. There were other elements at play.
For one, there was her father, a once-great man now reduced by a sniper’s bullet to little more than a body on a bed. Not long before he was shot, the king had bestowed upon her a truth she did not yet understand. The bullet that had put him at death’s door, that had destroyed the very essence of him—his mind—had come from an assassin’s gun. The King’s Elite Service simply assumed it was Libertas, though the rebel group hadn’t claimed the crime and there was no proof. In the months since it happened, she’d started to have doubts. But no matter who was behind it, someone had tried to kill her father. It stood to reason that the same person would try to kill her as well. She didn’t want to die, and yet she knew that, if she stayed, she would live the remainder of her life in a crosshairs. Perhaps it was cowardly of her—in fact, she knew it was—but she had encountered nothing in her life up until now the love of which would compel her to step forward to greet her own end.
The thought of running from her obligations to her country didn’t fail to shame her. If Thomas knew what she was planning to do—what she had already done—he would try to stop her. Six months ago, before her father’s attempted murder, the king had broken the news that he was marrying her off to the enemy in order to secure some measure of peace and safety for the Commonwealth. He’d tried in vain to convince her that this was the only way, but she’d refused to accept his reasons, had raged against him, scowled and snapped and played the spoiled brat, anything t
o make him change his mind, but he wouldn’t. Thomas had told her that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the good of all. She’d been so awful to him after that, had hardly spoken to him since that conversation, even after what happened to her father. All she’d wanted was to ask Thomas what she should do, but she couldn’t bring herself to say a word to him. Now here she was, five minutes from betraying him, betraying everyone, all the people that depended on the royal family for strength and leadership and salvation, and she knew that whatever happened next, however and whenever her life did eventually end, like all lives do, she would regret not thanking him for his friendship, and not saying goodbye.
It was three minutes to twelve. She had to leave now if she was to meet her co-conspirator at midnight. When he’d come to her a few days ago and offered her this choice, she’d been repulsed. She’d never liked him in all the years she’d known him. He’d always seemed too slick to her, slippery as an eel; he reeked of insecurity and desperation, which she especially hated because she feared she might sometimes come off that way, in her weaker moments. Her father had always told her that the things people hate most in others are likely the things that they hate in themselves. When it came to this particular person, the thought made her cringe; if she was anything like him, perhaps that was the reason she was doing what she was doing. Running away, hiding, avoiding her duty—it was what he would have done. After all, he was the one helping her to do it.
At first she hadn’t understood what he was offering her. How could he, of all people, give her what she wanted—the chance to live a normal life, away from the Castle, away from her responsibilities, the chance to be who she wanted to be, whoever that was. But then he told her about Libertas, that they were willing to help her disappear for the right price. But he was only the messenger, the thief inside the Castle. It was the Monad who really wanted her. It was the Monad who would set her free.
There was one last thing to take care of before she went. She wrote her note to Thomas quickly and, knowing that it needed to look inconspicuous or it would never reach him, folded it into the shape of a star, pressing her thumbnail against its edges so that it would puff out. Then she placed it in the drawer of her nightstand. Her message was short, for there wasn’t much room to write, and she didn’t have much to say:
T—I’m sorry, but I can’t. I wish I was better, but I’m not. –J
She closed the drawer, then crossed the room and stood beneath a painting that had been done long ago. It showed her mother’s country estate of St. Lawrence, which belonged to her now. She’d spent every summer there as a child, on the banks of Star Lake; it was there that some of her happiest memories were set. It broke her heart to imagine that she might never see it again, might never see her mother again. Her mother was an exile, forced to live out the rest of her days in a northern country for the mere crime of having loved the king and not having been loved enough in return. That old wound throbbed as she took her last look at regal, historic St. Lawrence and recalled the childhood she’d lost, but then she put it aside, knowing full well that nostalgia was a phantom limb, painful but useless.
She stepped out onto the terrace to take one last, long look at the Castle gardens, her favorite place in the whole Citadel. High above her the Tower stood, blacker than the night itself. She imagined Thomas asleep in his quarters, blissfully unaware of the fact that when he woke the next morning, she would be gone. She imagined the General in his office, painstakingly plotting out a future that she would not be around to take part in. The first she would feel guilty for turning her back on; the other could rot in hell for all she cared. Above the Tower, higher still, the aurora spun and turned the way it always had, the way it always would, with or without her. It had an indifferent beauty that reminded her how minuscule she was in the face of infinity. This thought was a comfort. In the grand scheme of things, she didn’t matter at all. Knowing that made it easier to do what she was about to do.
THOMAS THROUGH THE TANDEM
It was hard to get used to the sky without the aurora in it. He hadn’t given it much thought before he came through, how much he’d miss it. He wasn’t overly sentimental about those sorts of things, but it was strange to look up and see only an empty blanket of black pockmarked with stars. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of toggles, popping them into his mouth one by one and savoring the taste of the smooth chocolate before biting down softly upon the fruit center. It was his one vice; there was nothing on Earth to compare with toggles, so, even though it was against the rules to bring something from his universe that did not exist in this one, he couldn’t resist carrying a bag through the tandem. He ate them compulsively when he was anxious, and they reminded him of home. It seemed to be worth the risk.
He had entered this universe through a door that wasn’t there. No one saw him do it; night had fallen several hours before, and the small, quiet stretch of South Kenwood that ran along Bixler Park was empty. His entry was undisturbed; only a small tremor that rattled the swings on the playground signaled his arrival. He’d taken up his position behind the thick trunk of an oak tree and waited for his analog to appear, twisting the gold KES ring he wore, running his thumb over the inscription on the band, the KES motto: Surpass to outlast. At 9:40 p.m., Grant Davis left a restaurant on Fifty-Seventh Street with a small group of friends. Thomas watched as Grant said goodbye and separated from the group, jogging across the street with his hands in his pockets. He was on his way.
Thomas considered the bizarreness of what was about to happen, what he was about to do. He did have a choice. He could let Grant pass him by, let him walk up the street and disappear into the warm yellow light of the house he shared with his mother, a law professor and amateur ornithologist who rode a bicycle to work and bought all her groceries at the neighborhood co-op. But if he wasn’t going to do it, then why was he there? Yes, he had a choice, but barely. This was his mission. The General was counting on him, and, even though they didn’t know it, so were all the citizens of the country he’d pledged a solemn oath to protect and serve. Tonight the fate of an entire universe rested upon his shoulders. He couldn’t go back on his promises now, no matter the doubts that tugged at his mind and asked him, did he really think he was doing the right thing?
Grant’s footsteps grew louder as he closed the gap between them. Thomas readied himself. This would have to be done with absolute precision. There was no room for error. At least the park was deserted. At least there was no chance of anyone bearing witness to what was about to happen.
When Grant was but a few feet from him, Thomas stepped out from behind the tree and raised his eyes to meet his analog’s.
It was an uncanny thing, meeting one’s analog face to face. There was a feeling of unnaturalness to it, as if it betrayed the most fundamental laws of physics—which it did. People were not meant to cross from one universe to another; that was why the tandem existed in the first place, a veil that fell between the worlds, a barrier that was supposedly impermeable. And yet, they—the scientists of Thomas’s universe—had found a way to cross it. There were consequences, of course. Moving in and out of universes created disruptions, imbalances of mass and energy with destructive results. The quake that had occurred when he came through the tandem this time was just part of the process, a ripple effect caused by his sudden entry and the energy it had taken to get him there. That itself wasn’t such a big deal. A small imbalance made for a small disruption, one that no one had even seemed to notice. But the second complication of moving between universes was another thing altogether.
In Thomas’s world, they called it the analog problem. Put simply, analogs—doubles, for lack of a better word—from different universes could not touch. If analogs did make physical contact, one of them would be ejected from the universe they both stood in, thrown through the tandem to restore the balance. Normally, it would be the analog who didn’t belong; universes knew their own, and called for them across the wilds of hyperspace. But Thomas needed to
stay on Earth. He couldn’t be the one thrown back. Around his wrist, he wore a bracelet, a slim, close-fitting thing of shining silver that would allow him to stay.
Thomas had prepared his world for Grant. On the other side of the tandem, three agents of the King’s Elite Service lay in wait; they would take him into custody and keep him safe until the time came to return him to his home world. All Thomas had to do now was get close enough to Grant to administer the touch that would toss him through the tandem like a rag doll and deposit him on the other side to fill the slot Thomas had left vacant, if everything went to plan. But Thomas had learned long ago that such things rarely did.
Grant looked Thomas up and down, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Whoa,” he breathed. Thomas’s veins thrummed with adrenaline and power. A faint singed smell hung in the air, as if lightning had struck somewhere nearby. Electricity danced in Thomas’s fingertips. This was it. The time was now. All he needed to do was take one step, and he would be close enough to touch Grant. Then it would be over, and his real mission would begin.
But Thomas was paralyzed. He hadn’t given much thought to what it would be like when he finally met his analog. There were things he knew about Grant, facts and dates he’d been forced to memorize in order to ensure he could effectively impersonate him, but none of that information was relevant now. He had so many questions for Grant, and about him. He wanted to know, for the first time, what it was like to actually be Grant, to live in his skin and see the world—his world—the way he saw it.
Dr. Moss had tried to warn him about this. “Don’t believe for a second that just because you know what he is that it won’t affect you,” Mossie had said, but Thomas hadn’t listened. And now it was too late. There was no more time. Grant Davis had to go.
“Who are you?” Grant demanded, his voice tight with fear and anger. Thomas hesitated before replying, not sure what to tell him, knowing that he shouldn’t tell him anything at all. During that moment’s pause, so slight a mouse couldn’t slip through it, Grant took advantage of Thomas’s uncertainty and lunged at him.
