Tether (7 page)

“Just because something seems inexplicable doesn’t mean there’s no explanation for it,” Dr. March said. “And since you brought it up, what
about
family? I know your grandfather, Sasha, and I can only imagine how much he cares for you. You’d really leave him behind, after all he’s done for you?”

I swallowed hard. Granddad had been a wreck the day I came home, and he barely let me out of the house for weeks, afraid of what might happen to me if I stepped past the threshold of our doorway. It would kill him if I left. But it would kill me to stay put and lose myself to the tether, especially if there was even the smallest chance of being free of it.

“I can come back,” I whispered. “Someday.”

“What makes you so sure? Aurora is dangerous, and who knows what sort of a world your second analog comes from, or what kind of person she is. Once you pass through the tandem, you might not have the option of returning. Are you willing to risk your whole life—your good, safe life here on Earth—for death at the hands of some so-called destiny?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. Only a few minutes ago, I’d been certain, but Dr. March was right about Granddad. And there were
so
many risks.

“Well, that’s a better answer than ‘yes.’ ” Dr. March wiped his mouth and tossed his crumpled napkin across his plate. “Your mother knew what she wanted, and she did what she liked. I have a feeling you may have picked up that habit. I might not have agreed with some of her choices, but I certainly believed in her right to make them.” He stood and took out his wallet, tossing several bills on the table. Then he
handed me a business card. “Sleep on it, and if you still want to go back to Aurora, come to my office.”

“Thank you,” I said. I scribbled something on the back of his card. “Do you know what that symbol means?”

“Yes,” he said. I glanced at the image of two overlapping circles and felt that all-too-familiar sensation of exhilaration mixed with apprehension. “It’s a dyad. An ancient Greek symbol for, well, many things: the number two, ‘otherness,’ the metaphysical force by which unseen things become seen.”

“Metaphysical force? You mean fate?”

“By all means, Sasha, believe in fate,” Dr. March said. “Believe in elves that come out at night to cobble shoes if you like. But before you let some idealistic notion that the universes give a damn what happens to any of us guide your choices, consider this: just because you have a destiny doesn’t mean it’s something good. Look at the characters in every single Greek tragedy. Each one of them suffered at the hands of fate the sort of things you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.”

in the darkness, waiting. The overhead fluorescents flashed on, and guards filed into the room. She could see in their faces how badly they wanted to harm her and how little they were expected—or encouraged—to control that desire.

But it was all part of the plan. Three days earlier, she’d walked right into the Labyrinth, their precious Academy, with its bright lights and metal walls and refrigerated air¸ and announced her intention to see the General. She wasn’t the first of her kind to pass through the veil into this world, and those who had gone before her had brought back information. She didn’t know how long her people had been aware of Aurora, but she was certain they hadn’t discovered how to pass through the veil until after the cataclysm that ruined their planet a century ago.

She closed her eyes and pictured Taiga before Typhos, the pitiless asteroid that had killed so many. She didn’t have to imagine it; she had the memories of those who had come before her. There were plenty from when Taiga was lush and verdant, when the air was fresh and clean. When Home was a compound instead of a fortress, the last bastion of life in the landscape of death and destruction that was Typhos’s horrible legacy.

“Hey!” a guard shouted in her ear. She opened her eyes and gave him a bold, unflustered look. “What are you doing?”

“Listening,” she said. It was an ancient art practiced only by the most disciplined minds, a sort of meditation in which all the troubles and worries of the physical world melted away. She did her divining in this between space, bringing forth from the strange and cryptic calculus of Kairos a truth so pure it could transform the world.

Through years of training, she had learned that interpreting prophecy was not all that listening was good for. It had many uses, one of which was conquering pain and fear.

“Well, you better start talking.” The guard raised his hand, and Selene braced herself for another strike.

“Stop.” Another man entered the room. He was of average height and much older than the first; his dark hair was shot through with gray, and he was dressed in an expensive-looking suit, every inch pressed to perfection. Behind him, a young man about Selene’s age stepped through the door. The older man didn’t introduce him, but she knew exactly who he was. “I’ll take it from here.”

The man dismissed the guards, and they shuffled out of the room. They respected him, even feared him. So this was the mysterious General. But for the moment, Selene was far more interested in his son.

Thomas had reacted so strangely when he first set eyes on Selene, his detached expression melting into one of both shock and relief. Then he realized she wasn’t who he thought she was, and a mask of indifference descended, but his brief loss of control was enough to tell her what she needed to know. He might have looked like all the other soldiers she’d encountered, but underneath the façade was the real boy she’d met only in someone else’s memories and dreams. Selene was glad to know he had not disappeared. They might have need of him someday.

She turned her attention back to the General.

He gazed down at her as if she were a curious specimen of fauna, newly discovered in some previously unexplored territory. She sat in the center of the room, her wrists and ankles bound by metal chains to
a hook in the floor. They’d refused to give her food or drink or let her sleep for any reasonable period of time. She was tired and hungry, but her fascination with this powerful man renewed her energy.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What is your name?”

“I’m not going to tell you that,” she said. “Not until you give me what I came here for.”

He let out a short bark of laughter. “Yes, they informed me of your demands. It shouldn’t surprise you to hear I won’t be indulging them.”

“Then I’ll tell you nothing.” She fixed him with a cold smile. “I’m not the sort of person to give in to intimidation.”

He made a show of contemplating her words. “Intimidation? Perhaps not. But torture …” In spite of all her defenses, her natural confidence and calm, the expression on his face chilled her. He could hurt her if he wanted to, and he would enjoy it. “Torture might serve me much better.”

She forced herself not to look away as the back of his hand connected with her jaw. Sparks exploded before her eyes; her skull felt as though it might split open. A tear leaked from the corner of one eye, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She tried to hide her contempt. It would only make him angrier and more determined to harm her. She refused to be afraid, but she couldn’t allow herself to die at his hands or be injured so far beyond repair that she couldn’t fulfill her destiny. There were limits, lines she couldn’t cross.

“Bring me what I’ve asked for,” she said slowly, patiently, “and I’ll tell you who I am and where I come from. Then I’ll go back there. I give you my word.” Her mere presence in his world bothered him. He wanted her gone, and she would go—once she had what she wanted.

“And what value do you suppose your word has to me?”

“If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t ask that question.”

He stared at her. “Who are you?” There was awe in his voice. She smiled. She could have that effect on people.

“Give me what I want,” she said, “and you’ll find out.”

The General left without another word. His son followed, but she called out his name, and he turned to face her in surprise. Their eyes met, and she saw straight to the core of him, through layers of pain and insecurity and desperation and fear. And love. No matter how hard he struggled to conceal it, he couldn’t help looking at her and wishing she were somebody else.

“You should know she’s alive,” Selene said. His eyes widened. “And she’s on her way.”

I slipped off my shoes and stepped onto the sand. Oak Street Beach was crammed with people looking to escape the heat. The last time I was there, it was empty, the water as black as ink in the distance. It seemed endless then. Endless enough to imagine it was all there was and that Thomas and I were the only people who had ever been there, the only people who even existed. I sat down and closed my eyes, digging my fingers and toes into the sand, as if I could hold on to the memories by anchoring myself to the earth.

Sometimes I forget how big everything is,
he’d said. It seemed like such a long time ago. Thomas had been lying to me then, about so many things, but in a way it was the most honest moment we’d ever spent together. He wasn’t Grant that night, or the Thomas he pretended to be in Aurora. He was the Thomas who might have been, if things were different; the Thomas he really
was
behind the badge and the bravado. Sometimes I wondered if I was the only one who’d ever seen that Thomas. But I
had
seen him, and I couldn’t forget him. I missed him, I needed him, and I believed he felt the same about me. Thomas had freed me, but I was starting to see how I might have freed him, too.

I didn’t have the guts to say goodbye to Grant. I knew he’d just try to stop me. And Gina—there was no explaining it to her, even though I wished I could. Granddad would be back from St. Louis in a couple of hours, and I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to leave if I had to look him in the eye and tell him where I was going. On my way home from seeing Dr. March, I’d purchased a copy of
The Odyssey
and left it on the kitchen table with a note scribbled inside. I could’ve written a novel trying to explain how I felt and why I was doing what I was doing, but instead I wrote
Even the longest journey ends with a homecoming.—Sasha

I didn’t know if that was true. I didn’t even know if I believed it. But I wanted to. I didn’t intend to be gone forever. If I was lucky, I’d be back before school started. I would see him again, and soon. I knew Granddad wouldn’t understand. I just hoped he would forgive me, and that one day I could apologize to him face to face.

I stopped in front of a small brick building, double-checked the address on Dr. March’s card, and pressed the buzzer. A few seconds passed; cars sped down the street behind me, making a soft whooshing sound, and a sudden breeze kicked up, shaking the limbs of the trees. I buzzed again as a terrible feeling settled in my chest—what if Dr. March wasn’t there? It had taken all my nerve to come in the first place, and if he didn’t answer the door, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next.

The door to the building unlocked with a loud click, and I stepped inside. I followed a long hallway to a door at the end, which swung open before I could knock. Dr. March did not look pleased to see me.

“So you’ve made your choice, then,” he said. “Very well. Come in.”

The place was a pigsty. A long desk stood in one corner of the room, littered with what looked like fast-food wrappers and cups of takeout coffee. The rest of the room was packed full of boxes, not unlike Granddad’s attic, except these were all crushed and falling apart, spilling papers everywhere, completely disorganized. “What happened here?”

He gestured grandly at the mess. “This is what’s left of my life’s work. Would you believe I was once at the top of my field?”

“Um …”

Dr. March sank into a battered leather desk chair and rocked back on its wheels. “After your parents died, I didn’t have the heart to continue our research. So many of our projects depended on your mother’s insights and your father’s tenacity. Without them, everything felt impossible.”