Vicky shimmered. Fear evolved into anger, then indignation. "What gives you the right? "
Words spun to hurt, hitting targets in Jessica that the younger woman didn’t know existed. "I told you," she said. "Wait for the overlay. It’ll all make sense in a moment."
Around them, the darkened lab seemed to listen, as if an unseen audience sat watching the spot-lit table with its checkered cloth and identical glasses of iced tea. Use of the TRV had been giving Jessica that sensation more and more of late, as if hidden eyes watched her. This was certainly no more than a side effect of her work, in which she was the watcher, spying on the lives of people who remained completely oblivious of her presence.
Vicky stiffened, one hand going to her cheek in a mannerism Jessica had begun to anticipate. Then, as the memories of their past encounters settled in, her green eyes began to look less like hard glass and more like twin emerald lakes.
"I . . . see," her daughter said. "I had no idea."
Jessica smiled. These first moments after a grab were always tense. Viewing was passive, unsensed by the target. But when the TransReality Viewer was used to enable a grab, the subject quite naturally reacted with alarm, sometimes violence. And when it was her own child, the difficulties multiplied.
"Then you remember who I am, where you are, everything?"
Vicky nodded, eyes flicking left and right as she evaluated the new inner landscape. "Incredible! It’s . . . wonderful."
Jessica smiled. "Try your tea," she said gently.
Vicky’s eyes sparkled as she wrapped slender fingers around the condensation-fogged glass. This was a ritual game, part of what had become the most meaningful event of Jessica’s week. Only on Thursday night did she have the lab to herself. The cleaning crew’s night off–put to good, if highly illegal, use.
Vicky took a sip, swirled the liquid around in her mouth. She looked so solid, so real, it was hard to believe she would cease to exist were she to step outside the TRV’s projection field.
"Green tea . . . with lemon and honey . . . and . . . Is that ginseng?"
Jessica smiled in approval, but shook her head. "Ginkgo Biloba. You got everything else, though. Not bad."
"For an alt-person, you mean."
Jessica frowned. "We’ve been through that, remember? You’re real, back in your universe–as real as I am here."
Vicky nodded, took another sip of tea. "I know, Mom. But this me"–she touched her chest–"is just a facsimile, right? A cut-and-paste copy. Temporary. Disposable. I exist only for this conversation, and when you turn off the machine I’m gone. My original back in my reality continues her existence uninterrupted, with no idea that any of this happened."
Jessica looked down, took a drink from her own glass to postpone having to answer. Their time together was so brief, so precious. To waste it speaking of such things . . .
"Does it bother you?" she asked. "I wouldn’t bring you here if I thought it made you uncomfortable."
"No," Vicky said quickly. "I didn’t mean that. It’s just weird, you know? One minute I’m in my dorm room studying for an anthropology exam, the next . . ." She snapped her fingers and whistled eight notes from The Twilight Zone theme.
"I know it must be unsettling. That’s why we developed the memory overlay. Repeaters yield the best information, but it got tedious explaining it to them each time."
Vicky ran a hand through her hair–hair that, while shorter than Jessica’s, shone with the same auburn luster. "Is that why you bring me here? To pick my brain about my version of reality?"
Jessica frowned. "No, honey. This is strictly personal. I enjoy talking with you. I like to hear about your life, your dreams, what you love and hate, what passions drive you."
Vicky beamed. Jessica felt that swelling in her chest that came only in these times, when a place that had lain empty for twenty long years was suddenly filled.
Her daughter told her of mountain biking across the New Mexican desert, of weekend outings with the archeology club, of a secret crush on an older classmate. Jessica hung on every word, drinking in the enthusiasm, the zest for life, the eagerness and sense of boundless possibility that only a twenty-year-old can possess.
On her other visits, Jessica hadn’t let it hurt her feelings when Vicky had failed to ask about her, dismissing it as self-absorption typical of that age, but this time Vicky surprised her.
"Enough about me, Mom. What about you? You’re a scientist, that much I know. And you like tea . . ."
They giggled, their laughter so alike they might have been sisters.
Jessica swallowed. "Well, there’s not much to tell. I’m single–divorced after a brief marriage back in my twenties, and never remarried. I love my work, though the security’s gotten a little ridiculous since the university gas attacks."
"Since the what?"
Jessica told her what she knew of the incident, which wasn’t much more than a week of CNN had provided at the time. Her university, thankfully, had been spared, but the whole staff had lost a week’s work while every millimeter of the campus was searched.
Vicky nodded. "I remember reading something about a plot," she said. "But in my universe they caught the guys before they could pull it off. Some clerk at a pool supply store recognized one of the terrorists from an FBI poster when he tried to purchase a large quantity of chlorine."
Jessica made a mental note. These discrepancies fascinated her. "But this is supposed to be pleasure, not business. Tell me more about this upperclassman of yours."
And so they spent the next two hours, sipping tea and filling each other in on the details of their lives. Jessica kept it mostly about Vicky, diverting her when she asked questions that might lead toward the one subject she was not yet willing to discuss.
All too soon, it was time for good-byes.
"Thanks for having me," Vicky gushed, touching Jessica on the wrist and winking. "Simply love what you’ve done with the universe."
Jessica smiled. "Then you won’t mind if we do it again?"
"I’m counting on it. Next Thursday, right? I’ll clear my schedule."
Jessica kissed her forehead, her lips tingling against the pseudomatter. Then she moved quickly to the control console. This part was never easy.
"Bye, Mom," Vicky said. "I love you."
Jessica said nothing, not wanting to spoil the moment with tears, not wanting her daughter to hear the quiver in her voice. When she reached out to press the dissolution button, it always felt like she was aborting her all over again.
Most people rank Monday as their least favorite day of the week. For Jessica Tengler, it was Friday. Ever since her Thursday night sessions with Vicky, Friday had seemed slow and tedious, an anticlimax during which her work held little interest and her mind incessantly replayed the previous night’s encounter.
Not that the work was dull. To the contrary, they were tuning into fascinating alternate realities every day. Beagle’s group was studying an alt-universe in which the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs had missed the Earth. These millions of years later, the saurians had evolved into man-sized, technological creatures who built cities and sailed the oceans and dreamed of traveling to the stars. Their level of advancement was roughly that of the steam age, and though Beagle himself declared they would never make a grab from this universe–the species barrier and all–Jessica felt certain it was only a matter of time before a saurian stood shimmering in the projection field, raising as many questions as he answered.
Her own team was currently engaged in a research project. Each alternate reality occupied a discrete niche in a hyperspatial architecture. Taking our own reality as the center, the closer a universe fell to it, the more it tended to resemble present-day Earth. And while study of vastly different realities was fascinating, the most useful information tended to come from universes closely resembling our own. Jessica’s team sought to catalog these realities, to create a kind of map. Future grabs would be aimed at obtaining technology and science from closely aligned universes, with the goal of combining knowledge from a variety of realities to accelerate our own advancement. Washington loved the idea, and while Jessica enjoyed the pure exploration the TRV made possible, it was the grant money tied to the acquisition of new technology that drove all the peripheral programs.
Around noon, Nat Childers popped his head into her cubicle. "Hey, Jess. How goes it?"
She answered without looking up from her terminal, where the three-dimensional map of the reality tree rotated hypnotically. "Oh, it goes. What can I do for you?"
Nat was her team’s coordinator, which meant that he liaised between her teammates and the professor. He was balding, had hands twice the size they should be, a voice to match, and liked to refer to the professor, though never in his presence, as Jeff.
"Jeff wants those coordinate logs by the end of the day. Any problems?"
"None. I’ll get on it right after lunch."
He smiled, his teeth so white against his salon tan that they made Jessica want to dive for the sunglasses. "Actually, I’ve been in a meeting with Jeff all morning myself. Maybe you and I could step out for a bite?"
Jessica shook her head. "You never give up, do you?"
Nat made that clicking sound she found so annoying. "You know me. So you may as well give in now and save us both a lot of trouble."
She did glance up then, giving him her best I-know-how-to-press-sexual- harassment-charges look. "Nat, I’m sure there’s an alternate universe out there somewhere in which I find you absolutely irresistible." She made his little click sound, pointing her finger at him like a pistol. "Fortunately, this isn’t it."
"Ouch," he said, clutching his chest. "I’m shot."
She returned her attention to the screen, rubbed her eyes, entered the hyperspatial coordinates of another universe and assigned it an icon. Only when a shadow fell over her desk did she realize her coworker had not left.
"Can I help you with something, Mr. Childers?"
He leaned forward to look at the monitor, then turned his gaze on her. "Just concerned for a team member, Ms. Tengler. You seem a little tired. Not overdoing it, are you? Taking your work home with you? That sort of thing?"
Her hand trembled over the keyboard. She withdrew it quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed. "I’m fine," she said, smiling. "But thanks for your concern, Nat."
The charm worked, and he finally left her alone. She held out her hand and looked at it. The tremors were getting worse. She wasn’t eating right, wasn’t sleeping. She’d once been praised almost daily for her intuitive flashes, her leaps that had, in the professor’s own words, taken them in days where careful thinking would have taken them in years. But weeks had passed since she’d contributed anything meaningful. People were beginning to notice.
She looked back at the monitor. Suddenly the rotating points of light meant nothing to her. The more she stared at them, the more they made her dizzy.
I need a break, she thought.
She opened the top drawer of her desk, took out two caffeine pills, and swallowed them dry.
Jessica retouched her makeup, experimented with putting her hair up, decided to leave it down. The black dress? No, the green–it matched her eyes and complemented the highlights in her hair.
Only when everything was perfect did she cover it all with the nondescript trench coat she’d bought at the second-hand store. Then, in evening’s gathering darkness, she crossed the campus to the physics building, ignored by amorous young couples who strolled in the lamplight or others who bent into the crisp October wind intent on errands the nature of which she could only guess.
Past the security checkpoints, where a swipe of a card worked miracles, and finally into the lab.
Thursday night solitude. Computers labored, silent but for the clicking of their hard drives as they massaged the data gathered during the day. A cursory check verified that no one was working late. Jessica moved to the TRV, removed her trench coat, and set up the folding table and chairs. She used a Bunsen burner to heat the water for tea, and while it was heating she activated the machine.
A subsonic hum filled the air. Static electricity stood the tiny hairs on her forearms and at the back of her neck on end. The viewer crackled with the exact sound a TV set makes after you’ve just turned it off.
Jessica tuned in the coordinates by memory. The screen flickered and steadied, showing a lab that was clearly this lab, but instead of the TransReality Viewer, some ungainly contraption of spiraling glass tubes filled the space. The same spatial coordinates greeted every operator regardless of what reality was being viewed. From there it was simply a matter of moving knobs and changing the physical viewpoint, exploring the world like a ghost.
Beyond the city, she flitted through the black desert night. She found Roswell, spotted the university, flashed past it to the dormitory. Vicky’s room was empty. Jessica’s pulse quickened. What if she couldn’t find her?
She tried across the hall, where her daughter sometimes went to hang out with her girlfriend, Yolanda. Yolanda was there, but when Jessica caught a glimpse of bare skin and the muscled male abdomen rising up between open brown thighs, she quickly twisted the knob and moved the viewpoint outside.
There.
Two figures walked along the reflecting pool, their faces moonlight pale. Vicky was laughing at something the boy was saying. In observation mode, the TRV displayed only the visual image, so Jessica had no idea what they were talking about. It didn’t matter. This was merely the preliminary stage. Now that she had a target, she locked it, waiting while the computer prepared to make the grab.
After ten seconds it beeped, and the image of Vicky appeared bracketed in a flashing green box. Jessica pressed the red button on the console. At once the elevated circular pad in front of the viewer began to pulse with pent-up energies. A swirling pattern of white lights formed above the pad. The lights spun faster, deepening in color from white to yellow to red as they drew closer together, and then with a suddenness that still startled Jessica, her might-have-been daughter Vicky stood blinking in confusion, her arm outstretched where she’d been holding the boy’s hand.
"What . . . where . . . who the hell are you? You look just like my . . . mom? "
Jessica moved forward with the practiced nonaggressive gait her team had developed for these encounters. Visitors presented no physical danger until she stepped onto the pad within their existence-radius, but psychological damage presented its greatest threat in the first few seconds.
"Yes, Vicky, it’s me. Please have a seat. I know this is confusing, but it will all make sense in a moment."
Vicky remained where she was, moving only her eyes. "Sense? Oh, yeah, this makes perfect sense. I’m walking with Brian, he’s doing his impersonation of Professor Locklear, and then whoosh, I’m beamed aboard the Starship Excalibur and who is the captain but my own dear mother." Vicky squinted as Jessica drew nearer.
"Except Mom wears her hair short like mine. And I’ve never seen her wear a dress. And your skin . . . You look–pardon me for saying so–older. Like you’ve been through hell and back. But you are my mother . . . aren’t you?"
Jessica smiled. "Yes and no. I’m the Jessica Tengler of another reality. We’re experimenting with a device called a TRV. It allows us to explore alternate realities, worlds existing in parallel with our own. Every possible event creates–"
Vicky held up a hand for her to stop. "So you just reached in and took me? What gives you–"
"–the right. I know. You always say that."
"Always? I don’t understand. I’ve never been here before in my life. I’m sure I’d remember."
"Please, Vicky, take a seat. I’ve prepared us both a nice cup of hot tea. It will all make sense presently. Trust me."
Vicky hesitated. The dynamics of this opening bit were always different, depending on her mood just prior to the grab. This time she was taking it particularly well. She’d been relaxed, at peace, walking by the reflection pool with Brian.
"Well, I guess there’s not much I can do about it." She pulled out the chair and sat, and Jessica moved up to take her own place at the table. "So if we’ve done this before, why don’t I–"
Jessica saw the change in her daughter’s eyes as the memory overlay kicked in.
"Oh. I see."
"Hello, Vicky. It’s good to see you again."
Vicky smiled. "Has it been a week already? Time flies."
"When you’re having fun?"
She blushed. "I guess you saw Brian on the viewer. Isn’t he a dream?"
Jessica made a noncommittal grunt. "Honey, I’m just concerned. Your friend Yolanda–"
"Oh, her and that football jock of hers are going at it every night now. You didn’t–"
"Just an accidental peek, dear. But it was enough to get me worried that–"
"Mom. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Brian and I are just friends. So far, anyway. And if it becomes more, well, just because they cured AIDS doesn’t mean I’m not careful."
Jessica’s breath caught in her throat. "Cured AIDS, have they?" She made a note to have the team run down the details. One more payoff for the program.
Vicky took a sip of her tea, blew on it, took another sip. "Mmm. This is a nice variation. Let’s see. Morning Thunder? With real sugar and cream. And just a touch of cinnamon."
Jessica smiled. "That’s my girl. I remember when I was a college student. I called this my coffee."
Vicky took another sip. "It packs a punch, that’s for sure."
Jessica took in her daughter, noting the rosy flush to her cheeks, the extra sparkle in her green eyes. They usually only flashed that way when she talked about cross-country cycling or digging for pottery sherds. It hit her then. Whether Vicky admitted it to herself or not, she was falling in love.
It took her back to a time when she was even younger than her alt-daughter was now, when having a boyfriend was all that mattered, when saying no seemed riskier than saying yes. She’d been pregnant by seventeen. And when she made her decision, the boy who had said he loved her like the Moon loved the stars decided to leave, saying he couldn’t be with someone who could do such a thing.
"Where’d you go?" Vicky asked.
Now it was Jessica’s turn to blush. "Sorry. It’s just that you remind me of myself when I was about your age. Tell me, how’s your father?"
Vicky smiled, pride clear in her strong chin. "Jon’s fine. So’s Mom. He’s gone to full-time writing again, and mom’s selling her sculptures. They’re happier than I’ve ever seen them. Not getting rich, mind you, but happy."
Jessica felt a pain in her chest. Jon. The love of her life. In Vicky’s reality, he’d had no reason to leave her.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
Jessica forced a smile, took a sip of her tea. "A writer, huh? Jon always wanted that. I’m glad he’s getting the chance to do what he enjoys."
"What about in this reality?" Vicky asked. "You said you were married for a while. To Jon?"
She shook her head, suddenly unable to raise her eyes from the tablecloth. "No. Your father and I dated in high school, but there was a . . . problem, and he . . ."
Cool fingers on her wrist. Jessica did look up then, to see Vicky’s eyes focused to a sharpness that looked like it could drill through metal.
"Mom, what about me? Do I even exist in this reality?"
Jessica felt a cold knot in her stomach. Her greatest fear had always been that Vicky would hate her, would reject her when she learned that in this universe her mother had chosen to terminate her. She’d rehearsed it a thousand times and never found a way of telling her that didn’t make her sound like a cruel and selfish bitch.
Now she looked into her alt-daughter’s face, looked at the hunger to know the truth, and she simply couldn’t do it. Carefully, she changed the subject. Vicky went along with it, but Jessica knew her curiosity had been aroused. It wouldn’t be long before the subject arose again.
What she would tell her then, she had no idea.…
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