to accept that people didn’t always react like you’d expect them to. He had to account for that in his plans. They couldn’t be strictly logical. He had to think outside of the box. Only, that wasn’t his natural way of thinking. It wasn’t logical. He could do it. They’d practised it. He would carve a different reality for Mara and for himself, but it wouldn’t be easy.
Sometimes, when he tried to get facts straight in his mind, the intricacies of living in two different worlds left him in a worse tangle than when he’d started. Even with his technical bent, which allowed him to understand the process in minute detail, he didn’t have the capacity to truly understand the science of how rifts existed in the first place and how different worlds came to be. You had to have a special type of mind for that. If anyone truly understood it, that is. He knew the theory, that different branches broke off with each decision you made and created new realities, repeated millions of times over by every person on the planet, every creature, every insect. Was that really possible?
He was counting on it.
The only alternative was a simple past, future and present. Go back in time, risk killing your grandmother and end up never existing. Paradoxes. Loops. Impossibilities. The thought of that being the truth was depressing, but he was certain it wasn’t, because this world was different. He’d looked up his family tree, easy enough on the Internet, and it wasn’t the same family tree that he knew, not completely. His great grandparents had still existed, but they hadn’t had children. They’d tried, but three miscarriages were listed in the records. It had made him shudder. Was there really going to be no Leo on this world? The only explanation was that alternative realities, alternative worlds, where small differences existed, was the correct explanation for how things worked.
He knew full well that the Mara who’d just come to visit, who’d run from his flat, was not the only Mara he knew. She had branched off so many times along the line since they’d last seen each other and so had he. Millions of Maras and millions of Leos all living slightly different lives. Some meeting again. Some not.
He’d come to think of these millions of possibilities as containing the essence of someone rather than an actual person. An essence of Mara had come to a world where an essence of him existed, and their essences had been drawn to each other via a chance meeting.
Well, not exactly drawn, or chance. He’d been looking out for a rifter. He’d made sure that if someone arrived on this world, in this reality, that he would know about it.
He threw the stained towel into the laundry basket, slathered his face in burn cream and returned to the scene of devastation in the kitchen.
He wished he was in a version of the world where he hadn’t been able to buy the Parmesan from the little deli down the street on his way home, and that she’d stayed a little longer at the flat. It was unlikely she’d come near him again. He would have to track her down.
He couldn’t call Atwood and ask for back-up. The Department couldn’t know who’d come through. It was too dangerous for them to know. Essences were fragile and could be snuffed out in a second, he knew that. He was going to have to be sneaky, to tell half-truths and full-on lies. But he’d known that all along. He’d been doing that all along.
The kitchen stank and what it looked like defied reasonable description. It was a good job Mayra wasn’t due that evening. She’d go ape if she saw it. Not that it was any of her business. It was his flat.
He went into the lounge and took a moment to look out over the river before starting the clean up. He knew Mara was out there somewhere, almost within touching distance. She was scared and confused, just like he’d been when he’d first arrived. A few hours was nowhere near enough to assimilate the differences, or even to accept
Sometimes, when he tried to get facts straight in his mind, the intricacies of living in two different worlds left him in a worse tangle than when he’d started. Even with his technical bent, which allowed him to understand the process in minute detail, he didn’t have the capacity to truly understand the science of how rifts existed in the first place and how different worlds came to be. You had to have a special type of mind for that. If anyone truly understood it, that is. He knew the theory, that different branches broke off with each decision you made and created new realities, repeated millions of times over by every person on the planet, every creature, every insect. Was that really possible?
He was counting on it.
The only alternative was a simple past, future and present. Go back in time, risk killing your grandmother and end up never existing. Paradoxes. Loops. Impossibilities. The thought of that being the truth was depressing, but he was certain it wasn’t, because this world was different. He’d looked up his family tree, easy enough on the Internet, and it wasn’t the same family tree that he knew, not completely. His great grandparents had still existed, but they hadn’t had children. They’d tried, but three miscarriages were listed in the records. It had made him shudder. Was there really going to be no Leo on this world? The only explanation was that alternative realities, alternative worlds, where small differences existed, was the correct explanation for how things worked.
He knew full well that the Mara who’d just come to visit, who’d run from his flat, was not the only Mara he knew. She had branched off so many times along the line since they’d last seen each other and so had he. Millions of Maras and millions of Leos all living slightly different lives. Some meeting again. Some not.
He’d come to think of these millions of possibilities as containing the essence of someone rather than an actual person. An essence of Mara had come to a world where an essence of him existed, and their essences had been drawn to each other via a chance meeting.
Well, not exactly drawn, or chance. He’d been looking out for a rifter. He’d made sure that if someone arrived on this world, in this reality, that he would know about it.
He threw the stained towel into the laundry basket, slathered his face in burn cream and returned to the scene of devastation in the kitchen.
He wished he was in a version of the world where he hadn’t been able to buy the Parmesan from the little deli down the street on his way home, and that she’d stayed a little longer at the flat. It was unlikely she’d come near him again. He would have to track her down.
He couldn’t call Atwood and ask for back-up. The Department couldn’t know who’d come through. It was too dangerous for them to know. Essences were fragile and could be snuffed out in a second, he knew that. He was going to have to be sneaky, to tell half-truths and full-on lies. But he’d known that all along. He’d been doing that all along.
The kitchen stank and what it looked like defied reasonable description. It was a good job Mayra wasn’t due that evening. She’d go ape if she saw it. Not that it was any of her business. It was his flat.
He went into the lounge and took a moment to look out over the river before starting the clean up. He knew Mara was out there somewhere, almost within touching distance. She was scared and confused, just like he’d been when he’d first arrived. A few hours was nowhere near enough to assimilate the differences, or even to accept
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