Tandem

parents?”

“Are you familiar with Anaximander’s theory of apeiron?” Dr. Moss asked. I stared at him blankly. He sighed. “No, I thought not. Anaximander was a Greek philosopher in the sixth century BC. Apeiron means ‘boundless’ or, perhaps more colloquially, ‘infinity.’ It describes a sort of hyperreality from which everything ultimately descends. Anaximander believed that everything we see in every world originates in apeiron, that what exists in the universes is a mere fragment of a greater whole. As far as I can tell, that’s what an analog is—a worldly fragment of one whole and perfect being that exists only in apeiron.

“Have you ever visited a hall of mirrors, Ms. Lawson?” I nodded. “Imagine standing in one, then. Everywhere you turn, there are multiple reflections of your own image. The mirrors are expertly arranged so that these reflections appear to multiply in every direction, stretching out into infinity. You look alike, you move in perfect harmony, but the reflections are not you. They simply have their origin in you. You are the primary being, and they are mere copies. That is an imperfect but adequate example of what I mean.”

“And in this scenario, I’m the apeiron being and they’re … analogs?” I ventured.

“In a manner of speaking. Technically, in a hall of mirrors, you—your physical self that stands before the mirrors—is a sort of source code that exists only in apeiron. Your DNA—and everything else that makes you look as you do—adjusts in order to deliver that predetermined result.”

He turned back to his keyboard and brought up a three-dimensional illustrated rendering of ten or so human beings standing in a dispersed group, connected to each other by dotted lines. Dr. Moss indicated one of the lines.

“Dr. March and I—”

“Who’s Dr. March?”

“Don’t ask,” Thomas muttered under his breath.

“Dr. March was my research partner,” Dr. Moss said. I shot Thomas a questioning look. What was so weird about that?

“Dr. March and I developed a theory—that analogs with a single apeiron source are connected across the universes by what we call a ‘tether,’ ” Dr. Moss said. “An invisible cord that binds you all together, through the tandem and beyond.”

“A cord? A cord made of what?”

“Energy,” Dr. Moss said. “Dark energy, to be precise. Don’t worry, it’s not nearly as ominous as it sounds. The word ‘dark’ merely implies that it’s hypothetical. We believe it exists because when two analogs come into contact with one another, energy is released, which causes the destruction you witness as a disruption event.”

“So this tether … ,” I prompted, trying to get him back on point.

“It’s the thing that makes you and Juliana—and countless, perhaps infinite copies of you out there in the multiverse—analogs and not identical twins, or clones, or mere coincidental look-alikes. Every analog is connected to each of their other analogs by one of these tethers, forming an intricate web across multiple parallel cosmos. Like DNA, the tether is what carries the code that informs your physical similarity to your other analogs.” Dr. Moss smiled, impressed with himself. “To put it simply: you aren’t connected to your analogs because you look alike— you look alike because you are connected. Your appearance is a kind of echo, and the tether is the medium upon which it travels. The bond is stronger than genetics; it’s probably one of the strongest forces we’ve ever encountered. Theoretically, of course.”

“An echo?” The word sounded so empty and lifeless. “Does that mean that I’m not really a person? That I’m not really me?”

“Oh, no, you’re most definitely a person,” Dr. Moss said. “Certainly yourself, whatever that means. As far as I can tell, you are a singular human being. Rest assured of that at least.”

“So you think that the visions I’m having of Juliana are coming to me through this so-called tether?” I asked. My head was spinning, but I was pretty sure I’d managed to follow everything the scientist had told me. Dr. Moss nodded. “But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me? Thomas doesn’t see visions of his analog,” I pointed out. “As far as I know, nobody else does, either. But I’ve been having dreams of Juliana since I was a kid. That can’t be normal.”

“Well, normal is relative,” Dr. Moss told me. “But it’s highly unusual, I must admit.”

“So why me?”

“Frankly, my dear,” Dr. Moss said. “I have no idea.” 

TWENTY-THREE

“So that’s it?” I demanded. “You just don’t know?”

Dr. Moss shrugged. “I don’t have all the answers. If I did, the world would be very different.”

“I think Sasha was hoping to get advice about how to control what she’s seeing,” Thomas put in helpfully. “If she can force the visions, she might be able to lead us to Juliana.”

Dr. Moss paused to consider this. “I suppose you’re right. Well, the good news is that the connection has already been partially established. From what you’ve told me, I have to conclude that you are involuntarily witnessing events in your analog’s life in your most vulnerable moments—when you’re asleep, when you’re unconscious. When your mind’s natural defenses are at their lowest.”

“Yeah, except I don’t remember them clearly when I wake up,” I reminded him. “If I could only have a vision when I was awake, I might be able to get some real information.”

“There are other times besides sleep when your mind is similarly unguarded,” Dr. Moss told me. “When you’re feeling an extremely heightened emotion, for instance. Like fear, perhaps, preferably brought on by physical peril, when your mind is so busy defending your body that it can’t concentrate on defending itself.”

“Are you saying that if I can somehow scare myself enough, I might be able to force a vision?”

“I can’t promise you that,” Dr. Moss said. “But it’s certainly possible. The question is, are you willing to do what it takes in order to open the floodgates?”

Thomas, ever-watchful, noticed my apprehension and shifted closer to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said.

I closed my eyes, trying to shut everyone else out so I could think about Dr. Moss’s question properly. What was I willing to do? This was, quite possibly, my only shot at freedom, my only chance to get home. I was willing to do just about anything.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked Dr. Moss.

“That depends,” he said. “What are you most afraid of?”

“Er … I don’t know,” I said. “Snakes?”

“That’s not it.” Dr. Moss and I both turned to look at Thomas.

“Oh? What am I most afraid of, then, if you’re so smart?”

Thomas said nothing, only looked up at the ceiling and raised his forefinger in the same direction. I recalled sharply the fizz of anxiety that had traveled through me when I’d realized how high up we were in the Tower two days ago. He cocked his head at me knowingly.

“I really don’t think—” I began to protest, but Dr. Moss hopped off his stool and clapped his hands in a fit of excitement. Every scientist loves an experiment, I thought bitterly.

“You’re afraid of heights?” Dr. Moss asked. He lit up like a Christmas tree with glee. “Splendid. That’s it, then. Come now, hurry; I gather we haven’t much time, from the way Thomas has been eyeing his watch.”

“Wait,” I asked, following Dr. Moss and Thomas out of the lab. “Where are we going?”

“To the roof.”

I’d foolishly hoped they meant the roof of the Castle. At four stories tall, it wasn’t too high, and I thought I could stand it well enough. But the Tower was one hundred and fifteen stories, which was completely