itself, for the sake of her, Kate Breton. I have become unique, she thought gratefully.
The feeling of excitement centering around her like an emotional cyclone grew even stronger, triggering slow undulations in her torso: Kate got up and stared at herself with speculative eyes in the long mirror.
Jack Breton stood at the window of the guest bedroom, gazing out at a world dressed in its morning grays. The Time B world. It occurred to him that there must be visible differences in the two time-streams, apart from the vital one of Kate’s existence. In this world a psychopathic killer had died in strange circumstances, which would have altered some things — especially for the future victims he never got around to. There was also the fact that in the Time B world the Breton engineering consultancy had prospered in John Bretons hands, giving him the chance to influence events in possibly significant ways. Jack reminded himself to watch out for differences and get used to them quickly, so that he could step into John Breton’s shoes with as little fuss as possible.
He frowned at the dark, stolid beeches in the back garden as he considered the disposal of the body. Apart from the purely mechanical problem, there was the more delicate question of Kate’s reaction. If she ever suspected, for even an instant, that he had murdered John it would be the end. She would have to believe that John had agreed to vanish from her life, or — if that could not be arranged — that he had died in an accident.
Jack’s eyes suddenly focused on a small silvery dome which could be seen beyond the line of beech trees. So John had got around to building a proper observatory in the garden — that was a thing he had always wanted to do and had never managed to find the time. His other self had done it, though. His other self had gone on ahead with Kate and done lots of things.
Feeling cold and lonely, Jack Breton stood at the window a moment longer, then became aware of movement in other parts of the house. There was a faint smell of coffee and frying ham in the air. He went out of the bedroom, down the long stairs and into the kitchen. Although it was very early, Kate was fully dressed and groomed, wearing a brushed wool cafe-au-lait sweater and white skirt. She was laying plates on the kitchen table as Jack came through the door. The sight of her stilled his heart, then sent it into a series of great, lumping spasms.
“Good morning, Kate,” he said. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Oh… hello. No, thanks.” He saw tinges of pink appear over her cheekbones.
“But you shouldn’t have to spend your time on housework,” he said with mock gallantry.
“You can set your mind at ease on that score,” John Breton said from near the window, and Jack suddenly became aware of his dressing-gowned appearance. “We have a cook-housekeeper who acts as a bulwark between Kate and the necessities of domestic life. What time does Mrs. Fitz get here, anyway?”
“She won’t be coming,” Kate answered tartly. “I called and told her we wouldn’t need her for a few days.”
John appeared not to hear. He was leaning on the window ledge with his ear close to a radio, apparently waiting for something. Jack ignored him and turned back to Kate.
“There you are!” He smiled. “You wouldn’t have to do it if I wasn’t here. I’m entitled to help.”
“It’s all ready. Please sit down.”
Kate’s eyes met his briefly and he almost reached out to take what was his. Instead, he sat compliantly at the table while all his instincts protested their frustration. The exhaustion of the previous night had lifted, and once again his mind was filled with the wonder of Kate’s existence. She was alive, warm, real; in the aura of her emotional significance more miraculous than all the starry infinities of the Time B universe…
John Breton’s fingers suddenly spun the volume control on the radio and the voice of a newscaster washed through the kitchen, causing Kate to frown at him.
“Do we need that radio so loud?”
“Keep quiet a minute.”
“I don’t see why — “
“Just keep
“… now continuing in the eastern hemisphere. A spokesman for the Mount Palomar observatory said the meteor display was already the most brilliant in history, and was showing no signs of slackening off. Televised reports from Tokyo — where the meteor display is now at its height — will be available on major networks as soon as the malfunctioning of the communications satellites, which developed a few hours ago, has been corrected.
“Mr. C.J. Oxtoby, president of Ustel — the major satellite operating agency — has denied an early report that the Courier satellites were drifting out of the synchronous orbit. Another possible explanation for the communications failure of last night — which have already led to the filing of massive compensation claims by a number of civil users — is that the satellites have suffered meteor damage.
“And now, on the local scene, fierce objections to the one-way street system proposed…”
John Breton turned the radio off.
“The world still goes on,” he said with a hint of challenge in his voice, somehow excusing himself for not having had anything important to say on the subject of the John-Kate-Jack triangle. Jack briefly wondered to whom the apology was addressed.
“Of course it does. The world does still go on. Have some breakfast and don’t think about it too much.” Jack felt a macrocosmic amusement at his other self’s preoccupation with trivia.
“I don’t like those meteors,” John said as he sat down. “Yesterday was one hell of a day. A gravimetric survey goes haywire, the Palfreys arrive, I drink a ruinous quantity of Scotch I don’t even want, I take the longest trip for years, even the sky starts to play tricks, and then…”
“To cap it all, I show up,” Jack completed. “I know it’s tough on you, but don’t forget I have every right to be here. We settled all that last night.”
“
“What is there to talk over?” Jack Breton ate steadily as he spoke, enjoying himself.
John’s fork clattered to his plate. He sat with hunched shoulders for a moment, looking down at it, then raised his eyes to Kate in a level stare of disgust.
“Well, how about it? Have you weighed up our various merits and demerits yet?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” Kate’s voice was taut with anger. “You’re the man around this house — if you don’t like Jack being here why don’t you do something positive about it?”
“Positive? You’re the one that’s in a position to do something positive — he said so himself. All you’ve to do is tell him to leave because you would prefer to go on living with me. What could be easier?”
“You seem to be trying to make it difficult,” Kate said slowly. “Are you doing it deliberately?”
“Very good, Kate,” John commented, abruptly recovering his composure. “I like the way you turned that one around. Very neat.”
Kate’s lips moved soundlessly as she raised a bottle-green coffee cup to her mouth, shooting him one of her exaggerated, schoolgirl looks of scorn over the rim. What an unlikely emotion, Jack thought, to cause rejuvenation.
John Breton pushed his food away and got to his feet. “Sorry to break this up, but somebody around here has to work.”
“You aren’t going to the office!” Kate sounded shocked.
“I’ve got to — besides, you two will have lots to talk about.”
Jack concealed his amazement at the other man’s seeming indifference to how near he was to losing Kate. “Do you have to go? Why not let Hetty handle things for a few days?”
John frowned. “Hetty? Hetty who?”
“Hetty Calder, of course.” Cool vapors of unease swirled momentarily in Jack’s chest as he saw the perplexed look on John’s face. This was supposed to be a duplicate world, perfect in every detail. How could John Breton have any difficulty in placing Hetty Calder?
“Oh, Hetty! It’s been so long, I’d almost forgotten. She’s been dead for seven or eight years.”
“How…?”
“Lung cancer, I think it was.”
“But I saw her just a week or so ago. She was all right — and still smoking two packs a day.”
“Perhaps she changed her brand in your world.” John shrugged casually, and in that instant Jack hated him.
“Isn’t that strange?” Kate spoke in a child’s wondering voice. “To think that funny little woman’s alive,
