A Million Worlds with You
Page 75
We’re trapped, I think. I imagine the Home Office, what it was like to be there, and wish the sheer force of my loathing could shake the place apart. If only I could return, rip their Firebirds apart with my bare hands . . .
. . . but I could, couldn’t I?
The idea of returning to the Home Office has been sneaking around in the back of my mind for a while, but it never emerged as a fully conscious thought. I can’t go to a dimension I don’t exist in, and Wicked is off on her demonic field trip through the multiverse, so she’s not there for me to inhabit . . .
. . . but her body is there. Just “not observable.”
That’s never really occurred to me before. I’ve never tried going to a dimension with a body that, well, wasn’t being used at the time. As I turn the idea over in my mind, more facets become apparent to me, until this isn’t just a raw theory I’ve come up with.
It’s an opportunity, one unlike any other we’ve had.
Coud I leap into Wicked’s body while her mind is completely absent? If I did, then her body should become observable again, fully corporeal, the moment I arrive. It’s hard to wrap my mind around that. While I know that bodies remain behind, their invisibility and intangibility make it seem as if they go off into the ether somewhere. But they don’t.
If I jumped into the Home Office right now, Wicked’s body would be right there waiting.
And instead of always being the one on the run, chasing after the Home Office’s plans, I could finally take the fight to them.
Normally I’d ask my parents and Paul whether I’m correct about this. But I don’t need the physics equations to tell me that this is how it works. After months of traveling through the dimensions, I’ve got this much down pat. More important, I can’t tip them off about my plan. They’d try to stop me. They’d say it was too dangerous.
And it is dangerous. Even after days on end of fighting for my life, I know this could be my deadliest journey of all.
But trillions of lives are on the line. That makes it worth the risk.
Dad and Paul remain embroiled in their discussion of Moscow maps. I scoot my chair back and get to my feet. When Mom looks at me, puzzled, I quickly write, Valentina needs more milk. If I’m going to stay here until you guys have this universe covered, then I should run to the store now, while you can watch her. I think I saw one not far away, yesterday.
Which is a lie. Last evening I was far too overwhelmed to remember anything like the location of the nearest grocery. But I’m obeying Theo’s first law of lying—keep it simple, stupid.
Sure enough, Mom nods. She writes, Are you sure you’ll be able to buy something? There used to be incredibly long lines for goods at Soviet stores.
I shrug. We still need milk, so I have to try. I’ll be back as fast as I can.
My coat and gloves from yesterday hang from the hooks I put them on last night. As I bundle up again, then slip a few rubles from my knapsack into my coat pocket, I see my mother explaining to my dad and Paul what I’m doing. My father nods and smiles at me, starts to speak, thinks better of it, and then gives me a little thumbs up. I smile back, trying very hard not to dwell on the danger of what I’m about to do.
Paul looks at me searchingly. Does he suspect where I’m really headed? No—if he did, he’d tackle me to keep me from walking out the door. But he gets to his feet, as if to walk me to the doorway. Valentina chooses this moment to pull at his trouser leg. Even if he’s not exactly her daddy, apparently he’s close enough, and she wants his attention now. Paul leans down to scoop her back up in his arms.
I watch him studying Valentina, taking in the shape of her face, her eyes. Is he, too, thinking about our child in the Russiaverse, and wondering if this is our glimpse of her? My heart twinges as I realize this is probably the last time I will ever see this little girl that could have been mine.
But she belongs to this Marguerite, this Paul, this world. That’s why I have to protect them all, at any cost. I wave goodbye and go through the door, shutting it behind me and never once looking back.
I walk out of the apartment building and move quickly along the sidewalk, taking turn after turn, getting myself as thoroughly lost as possible. I go through my pockets to make sure I don’t have any identifying information with my address. Since I left my wallet at home, everything seems to be in the clear. If Wicked leaps into this body, she won’t know how to find her home or the people waiting there, and it might take her hours to sort everything out.
This world’s Marguerite, though—she’ll remember everything. She’ll understand why I have to act.
So I know she’ll also take a note back to my parents, and Paul.
I reach a small park, which is nearly deserted on this cool, overcast morning. Taking a seat on a bench, I pull out the pen I nabbed from the dining room table and the one piece of paper in this coat pocket. The back is large enough for me to write:
Everyone—
I’m sorry I didn’t talk this over with all of you, but you would’ve stopped me, or at least argued with me for a long time. But I have to do this, and I have to do it now.
We’ll never stop the Home Office by chasing after them. We can only go back to the source. And as long as Wicked is running through other universes, her body remains in the Home Office, existing but not observable until she returns.
Or until I do.
I’ll have Wicked’s body to myself. That could make me the ultimate weapon or even make her the ultimate hostage. Could I hold a blade to her neck the way she held one to mine?
Valentina’s face shimmers in my mind, replaced by the sight of the grand duchess asking Paul what to name their baby. Her dimension is one of the ones I must save.
Yes. I can do this.
Keep going. Keep saving world after world. Don’t wait to find out what happens, and don’t come after me.
I love you all—Marguerite
After a moment, I add at the bottom: We can make a better world.
That’s for Paul, only for him. He’ll understand that. But will he believe?
I slide the paper back into my coat pocket for this Marguerite to refer to in a minute. Getting to my feet, I see St. Basil’s and the Kremlin in the distance, vividly colorful against the wintry grays of the city and the sky. A wave of nostalgia sweeps through me for this country I’ve known in two different guises. One of them showed me the heights of wealth and tragedy; the other cradled me in love and security.
. . . but I could, couldn’t I?
The idea of returning to the Home Office has been sneaking around in the back of my mind for a while, but it never emerged as a fully conscious thought. I can’t go to a dimension I don’t exist in, and Wicked is off on her demonic field trip through the multiverse, so she’s not there for me to inhabit . . .
. . . but her body is there. Just “not observable.”
That’s never really occurred to me before. I’ve never tried going to a dimension with a body that, well, wasn’t being used at the time. As I turn the idea over in my mind, more facets become apparent to me, until this isn’t just a raw theory I’ve come up with.
It’s an opportunity, one unlike any other we’ve had.
Coud I leap into Wicked’s body while her mind is completely absent? If I did, then her body should become observable again, fully corporeal, the moment I arrive. It’s hard to wrap my mind around that. While I know that bodies remain behind, their invisibility and intangibility make it seem as if they go off into the ether somewhere. But they don’t.
If I jumped into the Home Office right now, Wicked’s body would be right there waiting.
And instead of always being the one on the run, chasing after the Home Office’s plans, I could finally take the fight to them.
Normally I’d ask my parents and Paul whether I’m correct about this. But I don’t need the physics equations to tell me that this is how it works. After months of traveling through the dimensions, I’ve got this much down pat. More important, I can’t tip them off about my plan. They’d try to stop me. They’d say it was too dangerous.
And it is dangerous. Even after days on end of fighting for my life, I know this could be my deadliest journey of all.
But trillions of lives are on the line. That makes it worth the risk.
Dad and Paul remain embroiled in their discussion of Moscow maps. I scoot my chair back and get to my feet. When Mom looks at me, puzzled, I quickly write, Valentina needs more milk. If I’m going to stay here until you guys have this universe covered, then I should run to the store now, while you can watch her. I think I saw one not far away, yesterday.
Which is a lie. Last evening I was far too overwhelmed to remember anything like the location of the nearest grocery. But I’m obeying Theo’s first law of lying—keep it simple, stupid.
Sure enough, Mom nods. She writes, Are you sure you’ll be able to buy something? There used to be incredibly long lines for goods at Soviet stores.
I shrug. We still need milk, so I have to try. I’ll be back as fast as I can.
My coat and gloves from yesterday hang from the hooks I put them on last night. As I bundle up again, then slip a few rubles from my knapsack into my coat pocket, I see my mother explaining to my dad and Paul what I’m doing. My father nods and smiles at me, starts to speak, thinks better of it, and then gives me a little thumbs up. I smile back, trying very hard not to dwell on the danger of what I’m about to do.
Paul looks at me searchingly. Does he suspect where I’m really headed? No—if he did, he’d tackle me to keep me from walking out the door. But he gets to his feet, as if to walk me to the doorway. Valentina chooses this moment to pull at his trouser leg. Even if he’s not exactly her daddy, apparently he’s close enough, and she wants his attention now. Paul leans down to scoop her back up in his arms.
I watch him studying Valentina, taking in the shape of her face, her eyes. Is he, too, thinking about our child in the Russiaverse, and wondering if this is our glimpse of her? My heart twinges as I realize this is probably the last time I will ever see this little girl that could have been mine.
But she belongs to this Marguerite, this Paul, this world. That’s why I have to protect them all, at any cost. I wave goodbye and go through the door, shutting it behind me and never once looking back.
I walk out of the apartment building and move quickly along the sidewalk, taking turn after turn, getting myself as thoroughly lost as possible. I go through my pockets to make sure I don’t have any identifying information with my address. Since I left my wallet at home, everything seems to be in the clear. If Wicked leaps into this body, she won’t know how to find her home or the people waiting there, and it might take her hours to sort everything out.
This world’s Marguerite, though—she’ll remember everything. She’ll understand why I have to act.
So I know she’ll also take a note back to my parents, and Paul.
I reach a small park, which is nearly deserted on this cool, overcast morning. Taking a seat on a bench, I pull out the pen I nabbed from the dining room table and the one piece of paper in this coat pocket. The back is large enough for me to write:
Everyone—
I’m sorry I didn’t talk this over with all of you, but you would’ve stopped me, or at least argued with me for a long time. But I have to do this, and I have to do it now.
We’ll never stop the Home Office by chasing after them. We can only go back to the source. And as long as Wicked is running through other universes, her body remains in the Home Office, existing but not observable until she returns.
Or until I do.
I’ll have Wicked’s body to myself. That could make me the ultimate weapon or even make her the ultimate hostage. Could I hold a blade to her neck the way she held one to mine?
Valentina’s face shimmers in my mind, replaced by the sight of the grand duchess asking Paul what to name their baby. Her dimension is one of the ones I must save.
Yes. I can do this.
Keep going. Keep saving world after world. Don’t wait to find out what happens, and don’t come after me.
I love you all—Marguerite
After a moment, I add at the bottom: We can make a better world.
That’s for Paul, only for him. He’ll understand that. But will he believe?
I slide the paper back into my coat pocket for this Marguerite to refer to in a minute. Getting to my feet, I see St. Basil’s and the Kremlin in the distance, vividly colorful against the wintry grays of the city and the sky. A wave of nostalgia sweeps through me for this country I’ve known in two different guises. One of them showed me the heights of wealth and tragedy; the other cradled me in love and security.
