Ten Thousand Skies Above You
Page 73

Focus, I tell myself. Freak out later. Find Paul now. Start by learning about this world.
First I take a look at what I’m wearing: denim skirt, knee socks, Mary Janes, and a scratchy gray woolen sweater (should I say jumper)? Ordinary enough, if a little plainer than what I’d usually pick on my own. I like the floral scarf around my neck, though. The bicycle looks like one I’d pick in my world too—old-fashioned with fat tires, painted a happy shade of turquoise.
My purse is a cross-body bag in black leather; I open it up to see what I find. My hand and arm hurt as I riffle through things; maybe I banged myself up worse in the crash than I thought. This Marguerite must be more practical than I am, and thank goodness, because one of the first things I pull out is a Band-Aid. I put it over the skinned place on my knee, then go back to searching. Lipstick: some brand I don’t know called Sisley, but about the same color I’d wear at home. Sunglasses, cheap drugstore version, which is what I always buy because I never go more than two months without losing a pair. An e-reader—not a model I’m familiar with, but I can figure out how it works later. My phone, rock on. When I check to see whether it’s a tPhone, however, I’m momentarily confused; in this world, I seem to own something called an iPhone. I wonder who makes this one.
And, yes, a wallet. I open it up to find a driver’s license, complete with address. Plenty of British money, the queen staring serenely at me from bills in different sizes and colors.
A red mark mars the skin of my right wrist. When I push up the sleeve of my sweater, I reveal a long, livid scar. It’s not grotesque or anything, but the sight still makes me wince in sympathetic pain. From the look of it, this happened sometime in the past several months; maybe the scar will fade over time.
But when I close my fist, I feel the ache quivering up my arm and realize how serious the injury was. More than the skin was broken. This tore through muscle and bone.
Still, it’s obviously healing, and for now I can manage. I start spelunking through the phone, which turns out to have as intuitive an OS as my own tPhone back home. The camera shows plenty of pictures of my family—Josie too, I’m relieved to see—and various friends I haven’t made in my own dimension.
But a quick search shows no pictures of Paul, and none of Theo.
Time to search contacts. Nope, neither of them is listed.
Josie is, though—and after learning what happened to her in the Home Office, I need to talk to her. So I go ahead and hit dial. After a few rings she answers, out of breath. “Marge?”
Marge? Thank God my Josie never thought of that nickname. “Hey. How are you?”
“Well, I’m fine.” She sounds so weird with an English accent. “Is something wrong at home?”
“No, no!” Hopefully that’s true. “I just—I don’t know—I wanted to talk to you.”
Her voice gentles. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. But I was wondering how things were with you.”
“I’m having the greatest time.” It’s as if I can see Josie’s grin. “The River Findhorn is seriously underrated for its whitewater rafting—it’s brilliant, Marge. Absolutely brilliant!”
Doesn’t matter how different the accent is. This is definitely the Josie I know. “Glad you’re having fun.”
“You’ll have to come up with me next time. I know you’re not sporty, but I promise, you’d adore it. And—I really do think you could manage. Despite everything.”
Once again I glance at the nasty scar on my wrist. “Next time’s a promise.” What the hell. I bet this Marguerite would enjoy rafting too. And surely whatever’s wrong with my arm will improve sooner or later.
“You’re sure everything’s all right?” Josie obviously finds it weird that I called her in the middle of her big adventure for no reason.
I try to cover. “Really, it is. But—um—last night I had this weird dream where you were gone, and I guess it made me miss you.”
After a long moment, Josie laughs. “You’d never admit that to my face.”
“Nope. So enjoy it now.”
A little more chitchat—mostly about the smoking-hot Scotsman leading the rafting party—and then Josie hangs up. Simply hearing her voice for a few minutes was enough to make me feel better; it’s like I have her back again.
For now, I think, remembering what the Home Office wants. What they might do to this dimension, or another like it.
A shiver passes through me. I stand up, righting my bike, because it makes me feel a bit stronger—but I don’t ride off yet. First I open a web browser and search for Paul Markov, physicist. The results light up immediately, and I smile. He’s here, at Cambridge.
He’s here. I’ll be with him before the day is out, maybe even as soon as I get home. I don’t understand why I don’t have any pictures of him yet—but maybe he didn’t begin grad school quite as young in this universe. Paul might be new here.
I’m going to make everything right, I think. If you ever thought I didn’t love you for yourself, Paul, you’re wrong. And you can help me figure out how to stop Triad.
Then I search for Theo Beck, physicist, because Theo should have jumped into this dimension right after I did. While I trust that Paul’s mercenary group in the Home Office meant what they said, I’ll still feel better after I’ve spoken to him. When the results come up, though, I frown.
Theo’s in Japan?
I email him, trusting that his leap into his other self will have woken him up. Sure enough, my phone rings only a few moments later.
“The hell?” Theo says, instead of Hi there. “I’m sleeping on the floor in some kind of group lodge. There aren’t even any beds—”
“That doesn’t sound like any Japanese dorm I ever heard of.” Not that I’m steeped in the legends and lore of Japanese dormitory life, but if their students all lived communally without beds, I think I’d have heard about it.
“Hang on. I don’t want to wake anyone up. Let me get out of here.” I hear some shuffling, and the sliding of screens. Finally, Theo speaks again. “Okay. I’m on a porch. Proverbial dead of night, and—hang on, there’s some kind of brochure or something out here in a few languages—holy crap.”
He sounds freaked out. My hand tightens around the handlebars of my bike, until my wrist aches and I have to relax. “What? What is it?”
“I’m on Mount Fuji.”
“How are you—” Giggles bubble up inside me. Some of the terrible tension drains away. “What are you doing climbing a mountain?”
“I do not know. But for some reason, I decided to do it today.” Theo sighs. “In related news, I’m not going to be able to reach you anytime soon. From your accent, I’m guessing you’re back in London?”
“Cambridge.”
“Got it. Is Paul there?”
The faint strain in his voice would be inaudible to most people. “Yeah. I mean, he’s not here right this second, but he’s at Cambridge too. I should be able to get to him today.”
“Good. That’s good.” There’s a long pause before Theo says, “Did you get any clarification on the collapsing-dimensions thing?”