A Thousand Pieces of You

by Claudia Gray

  Dinner is some chicken thing that comes wrapped in an airtight pouch, and vegetables that emerge from deep freeze with a bad case of soggy. Out here, probably, nothing is fresh except seafood; that would be fine with me, but I’m guessing the rest of my family, after a few years on the Salacia, is sick and tired of it.

  But I don’t care about the crappy meal. We’re all together, me and Josie, Mom and Dad. I took that for granted in my own dimension until it was ripped away. So I’m not making that mistake again. From now on, I’m very aware that every moment I’m with my dad might be the last.

  “We only got half the data packet out before the comms went down,” Mom says to Dad as she pours herself some tea. “And the forecasts are only getting worse.”

  “Swaying like a hammock already,” Dad says cheerfully.

  “That’s why you’re the boss here.” Josie shakes her head. “Only you are weird enough to love storms at sea.”

  He smiles with genuine pride. “As to the count of weirdness, I plead guilty.”

  Now that he mentions it, the floor is swaying slightly; I realize the Salacia must have been built with a certain amount of give, so that it can work with the tides and currents instead of constantly being battered by them. Normally I’d be wretched with motion sickness, but this Marguerite must have gotten her sea legs years ago.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Mom says to me. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve been a little off all day.” The back of her hand finds my forehead, checking for fever as if I were still five years old.

  “Just thinking. That’s all.” I miss my real Mom, back home. A lump rises in my throat, but I manage to keep it together. I don’t want to spoil the evening.

  After we eat, Josie asks me if I want to watch the surfing competition with her. I find it hard to believe I care about surfing a whole lot more in this dimension than I do at home—which is to say, at all—but any distraction seems like a good idea. So I sit beside her on the sofa while Dad starts on the dishes, but when he starts to hum, I once again have to struggle against the urge to cry.

  Josie squints at me. “Mom’s right. You’re weirder than usual today.”

  “Ha ha.” I brush my hair back and try to act casual. And then I remember the T-shirt Theo wore: The Gears.

  My mind is working fast, comparing the knowledge of different dimensions.

  The Beatles never existed here. The Gears were a band featuring Paul McCartney and George Harrison—not John Lennon. But John Lennon is the one who wrote “In My Life” for the Beatles. I’m sure of it. That song doesn’t exist in this dimension.

  So how is Dad humming it?

  I think back to what Paul told me in San Francisco. He’d found the dimension that was spying on our own, and proved what Conley was up to. Yet he wouldn’t come back with me because now he had learned something else, something important. Something he couldn’t tell me, because it would be too horrible if he were wrong . . .

  When we travel into a new dimension, our bodies are “no longer observable.” At the time I left home, the authorities hadn’t yet pulled Dad’s body from the river. They were dredging for him then—dipping nets into the water, sending divers down into the muck. I was hardly able to think about it, because the images were so horrible. Worse was the idea of Mom having to go identify the body after it had been in the river for a few days, after it no longer looked like Dad, or like anything human.

  But what if he wasn’t lost in the current? What if his body was simply not observable, because he was kidnapped into another dimension?

  What if Dad isn’t dead? What if he’s right here?

  “Marguerite?” Josie copies Mom’s hand-to-the-forehead move. “You’re seriously zoned out.”

  I can’t even bother with an excuse. “Be right back.”

  Heart pounding, I walk into the kitchen area where Dad is finishing up. He gives me a pleasant, somewhat distracted smile. “Don’t tell me you’re still hungry.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not here. In the corridor, maybe.”

  Despite his evident confusion, he says, “All right.”

  Nobody pays any attention to our stepping outside our quarters; Mom is in the bedroom she shares with Dad, and Josie is already concentrating on her computer again. The corridors of the Salacia aren’t necessarily private, but most people seem to be eating dinner now, which means my father and I are alone. Our only witnesses are the fish swimming by the porthole window.

  Dad’s not wearing a Firebird. Then again, if he’s been kidnapped, someone brought him here and then stranded him. Without his own Firebird, Dad not only wouldn’t be able to get back home; he wouldn’t be able to receive any reminders. He would have no idea who he is. My father would be only a glimmer within this version of Dr. Henry Caine—a part of his subconscious.

  The part that would still hum a song by the Beatles.

  “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” Dad folds his arms in front of his chest. “What’s this about?”

  “I need you to trust me for a minute.” My voice has begun to shake. “Okay?”

  By now Dad looks deeply worried, but he nods.

  I take the Firebird from around my neck and put it around Dad’s. He raises an eyebrow, but I ignore him, instead going through the motions that will set a reminder. I drop it against his chest, realizing I’m holding my breath—

  “Gahhh—dammit!” Dad says, staggering backward as he grabs the Firebird. But then he freezes. First he slowly looks down at the Firebird in his hand, recognizing it, then lifts his face to mine. “Marguerite?” he gasps. “Oh, my God.”

  It’s the same face, the same eyes, but I see the difference. I know my dad.

  Then I’m laughing and crying at the same time, but it doesn’t matter, because Dad’s hugging me, and we’re together, and he’s alive.

  And now I know why Paul brought us here.

  25

  “DEAR LORD.” DAD RUNS HIS HANDS THROUGH HIS HAIR, AS absolutely bewildered as anyone would be to wake up in another dimension. “How long has it been?”

  “Almost a month. It’ll be a month on January fifth, so, three days from now.”

  “A month gone. No, not gone. I remember it—I was aware—but it was the strangest state of being, Marguerite. The way it is in dreams sometimes, when you’re both watching the events around you and living them at the same time. It never occurred to me to wonder where I was, or why.”

  Maybe this fugue state is what it’s like for most people traveling between dimensions. “You remember now,” I say, taking Dad’s hand. “And I’ve got the Firebird, so I can remind you as much as you need.”

  By now we’re sitting together in the cafeteria. This late, no one else is here, and the illumination comes mostly from external lamps filtering through the windows. In the dark waters beyond, the occasional fish swims by, but the currents have become choppy as the storm front starts to come in. Even the fish are looking for safe coves now. Mom and Josie must realize Dad and I are having a heart-to-heart about something—though nobody could blame them for not guessing exactly what.

  “My poor darling Sophie.” Dad closes his eyes, as though in pain. “And Josephine. My God.”

  “They’ll be okay as soon as you’re home.” A broad smile spreads across my face. Home. I get to take Dad home.

  “I don’t know whether to strangle Paul and Theo or thank them. Both, I think.”

  “Don’t be angry, Dad. They’ve been so strong, and loyal to you, and protective of me. I never knew how amazing they were before this. Paul and Theo both love you a lot.” I want to tell my father how Paul and I feel about each other, but that can wait until we’re all back where we should be. “Was it Conley who kidnapped you?”

  “No. It was someone else, someone I’d never seen before. A woman . . .” His voice trails off, and then he shakes his head. “It’s all rather murky, I’m afraid. I’d driven to the university, to find out what the devil had
happened to our data, and as I got out of the car, she came toward me. I remember thinking she must be a new graduate student, or a prospective faculty member. Something about her was a little too polished, I suppose, for the average undergrad.” Dad sighs. “The next thing I knew, I was twenty thousand leagues under the sea. I had my memories for a few minutes, but no Firebird. So I knew I was stranded in this dimension, possibly forever. That was . . . difficult.”

  His face shifts in a way I haven’t seen since Gran died years ago, and I realize the memory of that powerless fear has brought him close to tears. Hatred for Wyatt Conley blazes through me, and I tell myself we’ll deal with him when we get back. He has the power right now, but all his power is built on my mother’s genius and my parents’ hard work. We have Paul. We have Theo. And if I’m the ultimate weapon—they have me.

  Against all of us, together? Conley doesn’t stand a chance.

  Dad says, “It was like being stunned. Or drugged. I was a part of this person who was both myself and not myself, and not even aware enough to fight it. Locked in the perfect prison.” He takes a deep breath, and when he looks at me, he smiles. “Until my brave girl came and found me.”

  I had thought I’d never feel this happy again. “Now we just have to get you back home.”

  Although my dad is still smiling, I can sense his sadness. “Marguerite, you must have done the math by now. There are two of us, and you only have one Firebird.”

  “For now,” I say. “You made one, so you can make another. When Paul and Theo get here, they can help.”

  “Constructing a Firebird takes months . . . wait. Did you say Paul and Theo were coming here?”

  “Theo’s already on his way. Paul might be too, but communications have been down so long, I don’t know.”

  “Heading out here with a storm like this coming in? That’s madness.” Dad sighs. “Then again, jumping through dimensions to chase a dead man is madness too. I had long suspected their lunacy but this confirmation is nonetheless disquieting.”

  “See? Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Dad brushes my hair back from my face, the way he used to when I was a little girl who got messy playing in the backyard. “The resources to make a Firebird were difficult enough to come by. In this dimension, obtaining them might be impossible.”

  “Impossible?” Then I realize what he means. One of the metals used in the Firebirds is found in only one valley in the world, and other components are rare and valuable, too. This is a world where even desalinated water is a hot commodity; nations aren’t as free with their resources any longer. Getting the materials we need will be a considerable challenge.

  “If you have to go back without me,” he says quietly, “you’re to tell your mother how very much I love her. Josie too. And you must warn them about Triad. If Conley would do this, he’s capable of anything.”

  “Stop it. We’re going to figure it out, okay? We will.”

  Dad’s only reply is to take me back into his arms.

  As I hug him tightly, looking out at the churning sea, I know I’m going to get my father back home, no matter what it takes.

  Even if I have to give him my Firebird. Even if I’m the one who stays here forever.

  Once we’re back in our family quarters, the night becomes a pleasant one like almost any other. Mom doesn’t pry about the father/daughter chat, and Josie’s so engrossed in watching surfing that I’m not sure she even noticed we left. I curl next to Dad on the couch the way I did when I was little, still reveling in having him back.

  Yet I’m turning the situation over and over in my head.

  Triad kidnapped Dad. But why? For leverage over my mother? No, because then they would have told Mom what they’d done, rather than let her think her husband was dead.

  Was it—for leverage over me? If Theo and I hadn’t taken off when we did, would Wyatt Conley or someone else from Triad have come to me and made it clear that if I didn’t travel for them, do whatever they said, my father would never get to come home?

  Yes. They would have.

  This was all about getting to me. All the anguish Mom and Josie felt, the pain they put Theo and me through . . . it was all so Triad could control me.

  My mind still can’t wrap itself around the fact that I’m at the center of all this, after years of half listening across the room while Mom, Dad, Theo, and Paul brainstormed their phenomenal technology. Yet that’s where I seem to be. I also have no idea how I’m going to stop Triad from hurting the people I love, or trying to control me.

  But if I have a power Triad wants—that means I have power. And I intend to use it.

  By the time I stagger to bed, I’m utterly exhausted. Yet I’m not so tired that I don’t notice the blinking light that means I’ve received a message. I dive for it, instantly rejuvenated. Communications must have cleared for a few minutes, long enough for Paul to get something through.

  The message is from Paul, but it’s not video, not even audio. Probably I should have known not to expect a love letter from a guy who expresses himself through actions rather than words. He sent only three words, but they’re the only words I need: On my way.

  “Put on your waterproofs,” Mom calls to me as I grope for my alarm the next morning. “There’s a break in the storm, but not much.”

  Yes, even in hellacious weather conditions, the morning maintenance has to get done. My waterproofs turn out to be a neon orange parka and pants made out of plastic, so I look super hot. As I head out through our kitchen, Dad walks right past me in the front room with only a groggy smile, no acknowledgment of the night before. He’s this Henry Caine again, and my dad is merely a flicker inside him, watching without knowing.

  I can get him back, I remind myself as I touch the outline of the Firebird against my chest. Anytime I want, and soon, for good.

  “This is what she calls a break in the storm?” I call to Josie as we walk out onto the platform.

  “C’mon, you’ve seen it worse than this!” Josie laughs.

  Seriously, have I? Because this weather is dire. Gusts of wind, sharpened by salt and sea, beat against me. My baggy waterproofs flap and snap in the gales, and my hood blows back almost instantly. A little wet hair never hurt anybody, but the wind and water have made it cold, even though it’s midsummer here. Overhead the sky is low and gray with clouds in a specific rippled pattern that must mean trouble.

  So I whip through the maintenance, doubly glad for my safety harness. Within minutes I’m back down and headed for the door, when I hear Josie shout, “We’ve got refugees!”

  I look in her direction and see the helicopter approaching from a distance.

  Josie joins a handful of other people to ready the helipad. I don’t. This is one situation I don’t intend to bluff my way through; those people need help, not me screwing things up. But I watch the others prepare to tether the chopper to the deck as soon as it lands.

  The rotor blades churn the air up even more as I stand there, squinting against the rain. All around us the ocean has darkened to the color of steel. As soon as the helicopter has landed, people spring into action, attaching cables even before the rotor stops spinning. I go for the pilot’s side door to help him out. The moment I open it, the pilot holds up his hands and says, “Don’t blame me, all right? This guy insisted he’d pay me triple. Which he’d better.”

  “I’m good for it, buddy. Relax.” Theo leans across him and smiles at me. “You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

  Ten minutes later, even though my belly is growling for breakfast, I’m still in the landing bay with Theo, bubbling over with everything I’ve learned. Theo, meanwhile, is still arguing.

  “You’re imagining things. Anybody would, by this point. It’s been the craziest month of your life,” he says as we sit on one of the low plastic benches that stretches between the equipment lockers. “I would know, because it’s been the craziest month of my life, too, and as much as I loved Henry, he wasn’t my father.”
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br />   “Love.” I can’t stop grinning. “Present tense love. Dad’s right here.”

  Theo sighs into the towel he’s using to mop his damp hair and face. “Do you not see that everything Paul’s told you is exactly what you want to hear?”

  I cock my head as I study him. “I never realized before just how cynical you are.”

  He’d like to argue with me, but that’s the moment when my father walks in, fixing Theo with his most piercing stare. “I hear we have some refugees from the storm,” Dad says. “But I’m most interested in exactly how it is that one of these refugees knows my daughter.”

  “Sorry about this,” I say to Dad as I rise to my feet and slip the Firebird over his neck. A few clicks, one reminder that makes Dad curse in pain, and—

  “Theo!” Dad laughs out loud, then immediately touches the chain of Theo’s Firebird, visible beneath his flight suit. “My God, Theo. I’m going to bloody well kill you for bringing Marguerite along. Whatever were you thinking? But first, come here, son.”

  As Dad wraps his arms around Theo, Theo’s eyes go wide. “Holy crap,” he mutters. “Whoa. Whoa.”

  “I told you.” I can’t help laughing.

  Theo hugs Dad back, fierce and hard. “Henry. I’m glad you’re all right. You don’t know—you can’t know how much.”

  Dad slaps him once on the shoulder, I guess so they can both feel like the hug is all manly. “I meant what I said. You’re in serious trouble for pulling Marguerite into this. But it looks like my daughter’s a bolder traveler than I ever realized.”

  I want to protest that Theo didn’t pull me into this; given what I now understand about Triad’s real agenda, and my abilities, I know I would have been involved sooner or later. Still, first things first. “Now all Theo has to do is figure out how to make another Firebird. You rebuilt the others, so you should be able to build one from scratch, right, Theo?”

  “Probably. Maybe. Wow. I gotta think.” Theo’s expression looks completely dazed, like he got hit by a truck. I can’t blame him. “It’s going to be a while before I can say anything more coherent than wow.”