by Chris Dolley
"He'll be fine, now," said Annalise. "He's with me."
* * *
Graham awoke early the next day and immediately felt guilty. He should have lain awake all night. He didn't deserve sleep. He'd left Annalise lying in the road. How could anyone sleep after that?
He tried to make himself busy. He tried to imagine what she'd say to him if she found him wallowing in self-pity. She'd shout at him, he was sure. She'd tell him to snap out of it and climb some roofs or race through an abandoned building.
After breakfast he checked for listening devices, looking in all the usual places. The house was clean—either that or ParaDim had learned to hide them in different locations. He checked his notice board. No mention of Annalise. Perhaps he'd flipped to a world without her. Or maybe she was back at home, struggling with voices that she couldn't understand. Maybe he should find her phone number and call her? He could help her . . . and, maybe, she could help him.
* * *
He arrived at work as normal, sweeping in unnoticed behind a group of people. He presented his card and walked through to the Post Room.
He printed the staff list and checked the names—the usual mix of additions and departures. Sharmila was back and Brenda was using her maiden name again.
Graham sighed. Brenda and Bob were the happiest couple he knew. They shone in each other's company; apart they merely endured. Brenda lost her bounce and Bob . . . well, Bob was a different person. Married Bob had a twinkle in his eye and laughed as he worked. Single Bob, or married-to-someone-else Bob, worked hard, kept his head down and couldn't see the funny side of anything. Work was his life but it wasn't a life worth . . .
Graham considered his own life—the one he had before Annalise. Was that a life worth living? Go to work, come home, go to bed?
"Morning, Graham," said Sharmila from the doorway. She sighed as she heaved a heavy shopping bag onto her desk. "Did you see that note I left you?"
Graham shook his head.
"Frank dropped it by yesterday. He wants to see you this morning. Something urgent about ParaDim."
Graham closed his eyes. It was all happening again. ParaDim! He should have realized when he saw the medical appointment from the Cavendish Clinic. Would he never be free of them? He scanned his desk. Sharmila's note was stuck to his terminal. Frank Gledwood called. Wants to see you first thing Thurs. a.m. Room 551. Urgent.
"If he gives you any trouble, come and get me."
Graham took the lift to the fifth floor. Perhaps he deserved it? Punishment for abandoning Annalise.
He knocked on the door of 551 and went inside. Frank Gledwood was leaning back in his chair, his hands crossed behind his neck.
"About time," Frank said. "I have someone here who wants to see you." He withdrew his hands and let his chair fall back to rest with a thump. "Tamisha Kent," he said, waving an arm towards a woman in the far corner, "meet Graham Smith."
Graham turned, he hadn't noticed anyone else in the room, and instantly froze.
The woman was not Tamisha Kent.
Thirty-Five
Annalise smiled back at him. An Annalise with brown hair this time—straight, cut close against the face, a slight curl at the end, a fringe at the front. And she'd discarded her jeans and trainers. She was looking smart and businesslike in skirt, blouse and heels.
"Hi," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm the ParaDim liaison for the Census project."
They shook hands. Annalise beamed. "Your family history greatly interests us, Mr. Smith. I hope I can persuade you to work with us."
Graham stared. Why was she calling herself Tamisha? Was this a prearranged plan? Something the previous Graham had omitted to document?
"I've been talking to Mr. Gledwood . . ."
"Frank. Call me Frank . . . Tamisha." He pronounced the last word with every syllable oiled and followed it with a smile that wouldn't have looked out of place on an Argentinian gigolo.
Annalise didn't appear to notice. "I've been talking to Frank," she continued. "He thinks he can persuade the department to release you for another day or two. If that's agreeable to you."
"Of course it's agreeable to him, isn't it, Graham? Time off, a change of scenery, the beautiful Tamisha. What else could anyone want?"
Annalise coughed. "Sorry," she said, glancing in Frank's direction. "My throat's dry. Is there somewhere I can get a drink?"
Frank bounced out of his chair. "Would you like a coffee? I can get you one if you'd like?"
"That'd be great."
Frank scooped a coffee tray from Shenaz's desk. "I won't be long," he said, smiling one last time from the door before slithering away.
"You can close your mouth now, Graham. He's gone."
Graham had but one thought. "Have you heard from Annalise Fifteen? Is she okay?"
Annalise looked surprised.
"Why do you . . ." Then came the realization. "Have you just come from Fifteen's world?"
"I was with her yesterday. I think she was shot. Have you heard from her?"
"Yes . . . no." She was confused. "She was shot?"
"I think so. I was flipping worlds at the time. She was running behind the bus. There were gunshots and she fell."
"Stop. Slow down." She grasped his shoulders. "What gunshots? Who was shooting at who?"
He told her. He told her about the black car, the flaming waste bin, the smell of petrol, the gunshots, his stupid decision to jump on a passing bus. Annalise listened, shaking her head.
"I talked to her yesterday," she said, her eyes distant. "She said the two of you were hiding in a changing room. I thought she was joking."
Graham shook his head. "She wasn't."
"I'll contact her now," said Annalise. "Nudge me if anyone comes in."
She sat on the edge of Frank's desk. Graham's eyes flicked between Annalise and the door. He prayed for a long queue at the coffee machine, a gaggle of senior managers for Frank to suck up to, anything to ensure Annalise had sufficient time to get through.
Annalise looked worried. Graham stopped glancing towards the door. Her eyes were closed, her face alternating between concentration and concern.
Graham waited for her to say something—to open her eyes and tell him he'd been mistaken, she hadn't fallen, there'd been no gunshot, he'd hallucinated it all in the throes of flipping worlds.
After two minutes she opened her eyes.
"She's fine," she said. "She tripped, that's all."
A great weight fell from Graham's shoulders. He could breathe again. He felt as though he'd been holding his breath for hours.
"What happened? Where is she? Are you sure she's okay?"
"She's fine. And she wants you to know that she caught up with that bus."
"She did?" Graham was amazed.
"Yeah, she caught up with it, all right." Annalise looked away and for a brief second there was a hint of worry in her face. Then back came the smile. "Wow, you are so unlike the other Graham I had."
"I am?"
"Totally. Don't get me wrong. I know you've all been through a hell that none of us could even begin to imagine but you've spoken more in the last five minutes than the other Graham managed in three whole days. You're almost . . ."
She stopped and bit her lip. Graham finished the line for her. "Normal?" he suggested with a slight lift of his eyebrow.
"Yeah, and I mean that in a good way. Something only another freak can say, right?" She laughed. "I'm Annalise Six, by the way." She held out her hand. "Good to meet you, Mr. Smith."
A few seconds later, the door opened and Frank came in with two coffees on a tray.
"Thank you," said Annalise, taking a sip. "I'll take it with me."
"You're going?" Frank looked devastated.
"Yeah. There's no problem getting clearance for Graham, is there? I was told that if anyone could swing it, you could."
"You were?"
"Sure. You know they call you 'Frank the Facilitator' at ParaDim?"
"They do?"
&
nbsp; Graham watched in awe. Annalise had barely met the man and yet she played him like an old instrument. Frank Gledwood, the mention of whose name was enough to ruin the brightest of Graham's days, was being wound around one of Annalise's perfectly formed fingers.
And Frank neither realized nor cared.
* * *
"Where are we going?" asked Graham as they left the building.
"ParaDim," said Annalise. "Didn't I say?"
Graham stopped dead. How could she even think about going to ParaDim?
"It's okay, Graham. ParaDim's different here. It's not like the other worlds. Everyone's really open and friendly."
Graham couldn't believe it. "ParaDim's the same on every world. Kevin said it was something to do with the resonance effect. They can't help it."
He looked around. He felt uncomfortable talking about ParaDim so close to work. He grasped her arm and hurried her along the pavement.
"Trust me, Graham, it's different here. Gary and Tamisha are great."
"You like Tamisha?"
"Sure, why wouldn't I?"
Graham relaxed and released her arm and thought about a girl with orange hair. "Yesterday, I thought you were going to push her through a window."
Annalise looked worried. "Annalise Fifteen tried to push Tamisha through a window?"
"She thought about it. And Tamisha had been asking for it."
Annalise looked shocked. "But Tamisha's one of the nicest persons I've met."
"You wouldn't have thought so yesterday. Pressure does strange things to people."
"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" She gazed away into the distance, her mind elsewhere for an instant. "Anyway, Tamisha loaned me her ID until Gary can sort something out. She's in the States all week recruiting for the Resonance project. So, as far as this country's concerned I'm Tamisha Kent, ParaDim liaison to the DTI. Gives me access to you while you're at work and to ParaDim when I need to see Gary. Beats those cloak and dagger phone calls."
"Isn't there a picture on the ID? You don't look anything like Tamisha."
"Don't need to. ParaDim don't use pictures. All their security over here is automatic—retinal scans and fingerprints. Gary had Tamisha's file updated with my details. I tell you, anything the Resonance project wants they get. No questions. Gary said change the file and the security guy jumped to it."
It still sounded wrong to Graham. ParaDim was like a big, bloated spider with a foot on every strand of existence—it may let you walk softly around its outer edges for a while but that didn't mean it wouldn't rush out and bite you when it felt like it.
"They're really great guys down there," said Annalise. "They've given me guided tours and this pass gives me unrestricted access. I can walk anywhere I want and, believe me, there's nothing scary going on there at all. Just a bunch of guys trying to save the world."
"So why are we going there? You've seen the building and I must have had every medical test there is yesterday."
"Didn't I say?"
He shook his head.
"It's your DNA results. You know, they started coming through yesterday? The message in the changing room?"
"I remember."
"Well, they finally worked out what was going on. Gary stayed up all night double-checking the results from nearly ten million worlds."
"And?"
"They found your parents."
Thirty-Six
"Gary can explain it better," she said. "Do you want to sit down?"
"No, just tell me."
"Okay. Gary says you're some kinda composite. He thinks you must have hundreds of parents, maybe more than a thousand. It's difficult to tell because so many of the donors appear related."
"Donors?"
"Gary says it's like someone took genetic information from all your parents on all the worlds and combined it into a single Graham Smith hybrid. No one has a clue how. It's way beyond anything they can do here. Gary's downloading genetics data from every advanced world he can find to see if there are any parallels."
"I'm a hybrid?"
"Of all your parents. Some kinda Smith soup that blended together to form two hundred billion identical Grahams."
"Smith soup?"
"Sounds kinda icky, doesn't it?" She screwed up her face. "Howard came up with it and . . . it kinda stuck. Sorry."
* * *
They took the tube to Putney Bridge. ParaDim's office was over the river—a modern tower block ten storeys high, gleaming white concrete and black tinted windows. Annalise inserted her card, placed her palm on the security panel by the front door and stared into the retinal camera. Graham stood to the side, trying to peer inside but seeing only his reflection in the black glass doors. A green light flashed and the door opened.
A lone security guard watched them walk across the foyer. "Good morning, Miss Kent," he said. "Is this the gentleman to see Mr. Mitchison?"
Annalise agreed on both counts. "It is a good morning, isn't it?"
She seemed so happy. Graham couldn't understand why. How could anyone walk into a ParaDim office and feel happy?
He swept his eyes around the marble-clad foyer—so huge, so quiet, so deserted. Where was everyone? And why the one-way glass? He could see people walking by outside—ordinary people going about their business, shopping, sightseeing, taking the dog for a walk. Not one of them glanced his way. Not one showed any interest in the strange unmarked building in their midst.
"Keep this with you at all times, Mr. Smith," said the security guard, handing Graham a temporary pass.
"Come on," said Annalise, dragging Graham towards the lifts. "Watch this."
She placed her palm on a console panel. "Location required for Gary Mitchison."
"Gary Mitchison is in 5G, Miss Kent." A woman's voice—American, natural, not a hint of being computer-generated.
"Neat, huh? You can find anyone in the building." She held up her card. "We're tracked by these."
They took the lift to the fifth floor. The doors opened on a wide corridor that stretched nearly the entire length of the building, doors and entry consoles were dotted along both its sides.
But still no people. The corridor was deserted. There was no glass in any of the doors, no sounds from within or without save the steady hum of the overhead lights.
They found 5G, three doors down on their left. Annalise went through the motions, the green light flashed, the door opened. Graham wondered if he was supposed to do the same? Was there somewhere he should insert his pass?
Annalise flowed into the room. "Gary?" she called.
Graham followed. There were banks of desks and screens around the walls. Two men were talking by a terminal in the corner. They both looked round. Graham recognized the shorter of the two men—Howard Sarkissian. A feeling of guilt washed over him. Was the Howard that he knew dead?
"You must be Mr. Smith. Can I call you Graham?" said the other man—tall, early thirties, a hint of a Scots accent. He held out his hand and smiled as he advanced towards Graham. "I'm Gary and my friend in the corner is the redoubtable Howard Sarkissian."
"Charmed, I'm sure," said Howard, bowing.
Graham shivered. He'd heard the exact same words barely twenty-four hours earlier. The same words, the same voice, the same craggy smile, the same twinkle in the eye behind the same thick-lensed glasses. It was unnerving.
"Have you told him?" Gary asked Annalise.
"On the way over," said Annalise, smiling up at Gary.
"So, what do you think about your remarkable family history, Mr. Smith?" asked Howard.
Graham shrugged. He didn't know what to think.
"The data's still coming in," said Gary. "At the last count you had 472 fathers and 4,487 mothers."
Graham blinked. The numbers meant nothing to him. He had one father and one mother. The others were mere strangers, as anonymous as a page of Smiths in a telephone directory.
"We'd like to perform further tests. If that's agreeable to you," asked Gary.
"We know you can exchan
ge your consciousness," said Howard. "We're wondering if you can exchange other material as well?"
"Like genetic material," said Gary. "Could the source of your remarkable genetic make-up be in part caused by a transference of genetic material."
"We're very much in the dark," said Howard. "Unfortunately, we're not geneticists."
"Which is why Tamisha's in the States busily recruiting. We're desperately short of expertise."
"Graham flipped yesterday," Annalise told Gary. "Is that any help?"
Gary looked from Annalise to Howard to Graham. He looked as though he could barely contain himself. "Before or after the medical?" The words came out slow and precise. "This is very important."
"After, wasn't it, Graham?" prompted Annalise.
Graham nodded. He didn't like the way Annalise was looking at Gary. She had barely taken her eyes off him since entering the room. And did she have to stand so close?
Gary exchanged glances with Howard. "This is exactly what we wanted," he said. "We can do a before-and-after test and look for anomalies." He turned to Graham. "You couldn't have come to us at a better time."
Three faces smiled at Graham. Graham tried to smile back but Annalise turned and touched Gary's arm. He watched her fingers curl and caress and move away. He felt betrayed and stupid and guilty and . . .
What was the matter with him! How could he be jealous? She was Annalise and yet he knew she wasn't his Annalise. She wouldn't step in front of a gunman and threaten to set herself alight. She wasn't Annalise Fifteen. Annalise Fifteen was unique. There could never be anyone else like her.
And yet . . .
And yet there she was, standing right in front of him. Annalise Fifteen in a different guise—maybe the girl that Annalise Fifteen would or could have been if circumstances had been different.
It was disconcerting in the extreme.
"I'll call Shikha," said Gary, picking up a phone. "She'll want to see you anyway. And she'll need time to coordinate appointments with the Cavendish."
"Where is Shikha?" asked Howard.
"Trawling the medical databases last time I saw her. Looking for any world that has experimented with ways of measuring consciousness."