Resonance (24 page)

"Do you really believe that?"

"Graham," she paused, catching his eye. "I'm the girl with two hundred voices in her head. I believe everything."

They turned into May Street, a wide car-lined thoroughfare edged by two lines of grey Victorian terraces, five storeys high. Number fifty-six was on the corner, hiding behind years of grime and neglect which had left its facade dirty, pockmarked and flaking. A state shared by many of its neighbors. There was a line halfway along the terrace, beyond which the houses shone freshly-painted white.

Annalise trotted up the steps to the door and reached out to turn the handle. The door opened before she got there. Kevin Alexander appeared, his eyes flicking left and right. "Quick, come inside," he said, flattening himself against the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other shepherding the two of them inside.

A dank musty smell permeated the hallway. The tiled floor was dirty and covered in recent boot prints—the only evidence that anyone had been in the building for years.

"It's another of ParaDim's new offices," said Kevin. "It's still being renovated."

He turned and led them up the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the empty building—the only sound other than the ever-present hum of traffic.

"How many new offices does ParaDim have?" asked Annalise.

"Three in London, dozens worldwide. The company's awash with money at the moment."

They reached the landing halfway between the floors.

"But why all these old buildings? Why not build something new?"

"Mr. Sylvestrus dislikes modern architecture." A woman's voice—educated, precise, American—rang out from the landing above. "He prefers a more classical style."

Graham and Annalise stopped and looked up. A black woman in her late thirties leaned against the banisters, her eyes fixed on Graham.

"This is Dr. Kent," said Kevin.

"Call me Tamisha," said the woman, "and
you
must be Graham."

Graham smiled nervously, looking towards Annalise who, in turn, looked accusingly at Kevin Alexander.

"You never said there'd be other people at this meeting," she said.

"We're not other people," interrupted Tamisha. "We're the Resonance project. What's left of it."

Graham felt uneasy. Something was very wrong. The way the woman spoke—he wasn't sure if she'd been drinking or she was just being sarcastic, but there was a hopelessness about the way she phrased that last sentence.
What's left of it.
Had the Resonance project been disbanded? Was he a day away from being found unconscious on the street?

"What's happened?" asked Annalise.

"We'll tell you inside," said Kevin. "We're in the room at the front to your right."

Graham followed everyone into the room. Everyone except Tamisha Kent, who lingered on the landing. Graham didn't like the way she stared at him. Her eyes had followed him all the way up the stairs, making him feel like a freak.

It was a large room, made all the larger by the absence of any visible furniture. White sheets were draped over objects pushed back against the walls—objects that could have been tables or boxes or just about anything bulky and rectangular. Other sheets—flecked with cream paint and brick dust—protected the floor and what looked like a large fireplace.

And there was a man—he hadn't noticed him at first—a short man, thick-set with even thicker glasses. He was standing, motionless, in the recessed window, peering down at the street.

"Is it all clear outside?" Kevin asked him.

"I can't see anyone," answered the short man, his voice gravelly and heavily accented—a hint of something East European, a hint of American. "It looks clear to me."

Kevin sighed and visibly relaxed. He waved a large hand in the short man's direction and announced: "Howard Sarkissian, third and last member."

"Charmed, I'm sure," said the short man, bowing.

"Okay, so what's happened?" asked Annalise.

"Two new members joined the Resonance project today," said Kevin. "Two men we'd never heard of."

"Observers," added Howard, moving away from the window. "All they did was listen and make notes. They contributed nothing to the discussion."

"So?"

"So, they were the two men who turned up five minutes after I met you and Graham."

"They followed you?"

"They must have. They said they were in the area and wanted to see the new offices."

"You talked to them?" Annalise's eyes widened in surprise.

"I had to. They'd heard the noise in the basement and came down to investigate."

"So they said," added Tamisha. Graham hadn't noticed her enter the room. He watched her circle slowly behind him.

"Did they ask what you were doing there?" asked Annalise.

"I told them the same thing. The offices were close by and I wanted to try my new desk for size."

"Wait," said Annalise. "These two men. Did they follow you here?"

"We're not stupid," snapped Tamisha. "Each of us came by different routes, we changed taxis, changed subway trains . . ."

"I even went into a department store and ran out the fire exit," said Howard, clearly pleased with his ingenuity.

"We're wasting time," said Tamisha, her eyes fixed on Graham. "How do you move between worlds?"

"Wait," said Annalise, holding up her hand. "I still don't get why you're all so freaked by a couple of observers turning up at your meeting? Even if they did follow you, so what?"

"Because fifteen minutes later they were taking my office apart," said Tamisha. "I came back early from lunch and saw them. Luckily before they saw me."

"We're the last of the Resonance project," added Howard. "None of the others are answering their phones. If Tamisha hadn't warned us in time, I don't know where we'd be."

A reflective silence fell on the room, broken only by Tamisha's pacing.

"Now tell us how you move between worlds," she said.

Graham looked towards Annalise.

"He doesn't know," she said.

"Why don't you let Mr. Smith answer for himself?" snapped Tamisha, glaring at Annalise.

"He doesn't like to talk."

"Well, tell him he'd better learn to like it."

"Tamisha!" Kevin intervened, holding out his right palm like a stop sign.

"I know, I know," she said, throwing her hands in the air and walking away. "I'm sorry." She hovered by the window like a tightly wound ball of elastic ready to unravel at any second.

"Graham," Kevin said softly, "how exactly do you move between worlds?"

Graham looked towards Annalise again. He felt uncomfortable. He was the center of attention, everyone was looking at him, strangers asking him questions he didn't feel qualified to answer.

Annalise stepped in.

"He doesn't know. He just flips, okay? One second he's on this world, the next he's somewhere else. He's seen his father die three times. He's had two different mothers. And anything you're going through," she looked directly at Tamisha, her voice trembling, "is nothing compared to what he's had to put up with."

The two women glared at each other. Kevin ignored them, stepping closer towards Graham, his huge hands hovering over Graham's shoulders.

"What do you mean exactly by 'flip'? Do you travel through a portal?"

Graham shook his head.

"He doesn't even notice it's happened," said Annalise, calming down. "It's like his consciousness beams out of one place and into another. Then suddenly he notices that something's different. He's had a haircut or his clothes are different or he's moved house or . . . or his father's dead."

Annalise bit her lip and Graham wished she wouldn't keep mentioning his father.

"Your consciousness can cross dimensions?" asked a startled Sarkissian.

Graham nodded.

"How many times has this happened?" he continued.

"Many times," answered Annalise, "but it's getting more frequent, isn't it, Graham?"

Graham nodded.

"How frequent?" Kevin asked.

Graham and Annalise looked at each other. "Go on, Graham, you can tell them."

He took a deep breath. "It used to be every month or so, sometimes as long as a year. Now," he paused, "now it's more frequent. Yesterday I flipped twice."

"Twice? In one day?" asked Kevin, astonished.

"And those are just the ones he knows about," interrupted Annalise. "When something around him changes. I bet there've been other times when the changes were less noticeable."

"But you have no inkling about what triggers these flips?" asked Sarkissian. "You have no warning at all?"

Graham shook his head.

"Except the last time," said Annalise. "Remember? You told me about the little girl and the headaches?"

"What headaches?" asked Kevin.

"I had to deliver a disk to the trade talks but I saw this little girl. We were caught up in the riots. They had New Tech weapons . . ."

"Who had New Tech weapons?" Tamisha shouted, moving speedily away from the window. "How do you know about New Tech weapons?"

"Because he's been there, Tamisha," said Annalise. "Haven't you been listening?"

"Where have you been, Graham? " asked Kevin. "What trade talks?"

"The London trade talks," replied Graham. "They were at St. James's Palace. They were trying to break up ParaDim but . . ." He could still see it. The riots, the smoke, the bodies. He shook his head—as though somehow that would clear the images from his brain. "They were everywhere—the rioters—they had these weapon platforms like tiny UFOs that hovered in the air and guns that whined and blew things up."

"He's seen the London riots." Howard Sarkissian shook his head in disbelief.

"He was
in
the London riots," said Annalise. "He was a courier for the Brits. This is the guy that had to walk through the middle of Hell ferrying disks between the delegations. And he didn't even know why!" Her voice began to break. "Can you believe that? He flipped into the middle of a riot, with no idea what was happening. He was shot at, chased, saw people killed all around him. And yet he keeps going. Doing a job that wasn't even his." She could hardly speak. "He's the bravest man I know."

Graham gulped and looked away. He wouldn't have described his actions as brave.

"I'm sorry," apologized a tearful Annalise, turning away from the group.

"The headaches?" said Kevin. "What about the headaches."

"I had to get this girl to safety. She'd been abandoned. The rioters were coming. People were falling. I had hold of her hand. We were running and suddenly my head felt like it was going to explode. I had to get the girl to safety but the pain was too much, she kept flickering in and out."

"You saw her image flicker?" asked Kevin.

Graham nodded. "At one stage it was like I was looking at her down a long dark tube. I tried to fight it but the pain became too great and I must have let go."

"I saw him change," said Annalise, sniffing hard. "I was in the park on the other side. He was walking along the path and suddenly started acting drunk—staggering, pitching forward, falling over, you know? He was disoriented for several minutes."

"You always materialize at the same location you flip from?" asked Kevin.

"I guess. I don't know."

"But you've never blacked out and found yourself miles away from where you thought you should be?"

Graham shook his head.

"It must be some kind of bridge," Kevin said, turning to Sarkissian.

The older man agreed. "A bridge between the dimensions activated by . . ." He paused, thinking hard. "Two Graham Smiths being in the same relative position on their respective worlds?"

The two men appeared to have forgotten everyone else in the room as they exchanged a barrage of ideas, their heads turned together conspiratorially.

"No, not that simple or else every time he climbed into bed he'd be transported to a different world. It must be something else."

"Something which is affected by the resonance wave. That would explain the recent increase in frequency."

"This is getting us nowhere," snapped Tamisha. She turned to Graham. "Can you control these flips of yours?"

Graham looked down at his feet and shook his head.

"Can you communicate with your other selves?"

"No."

She turned to Howard and Kevin. "So what use is he? What you want is a combination of him and her." She pointed at Annalise. "A telepath who exists on every world. Then you'd have someone who could make a difference. Someone who could organize a coordinated action—maybe create their own counterresonance wave."

She held up her hands. "But as it stands you've got nothing. She can only talk to two hundred worlds. That's right, isn't it, honey?" There was something patronizing about the way she emphasised the word "honey." She looked at Annalise, waiting for an answer, maybe daring her to respond in kind. But Annalise only nodded reluctantly and turned away.

"And he," Tamisha said, pointing at Graham, "doesn't even know where he's going to be tomorrow. He could flip to a world where none of us exist. All his knowledge is transient. The Graham Smith who occupies that body tomorrow might be totally ignorant of what's happened here today. You'd have to explain everything to him again from the beginning."

A resigned silence descended while Tamisha looked from face to face, challenging anyone to disagree with her assessment. A silence eventually broken by Graham.

"Can I ask a question?" he asked Kevin in a quiet voice.

"Of course."

"Did I make things worse? I had to deliver a disk to the trade talks but I tried to save the girl instead. Did the trade talks collapse? Was it my fault?"

Howard and Kevin looked at each other.

"No," said Kevin. "I don't think you could have made a difference. Sometimes the trade talks collapse, sometimes the politicians claim success. But the result is always the same. Within six months, everything breaks down. Everyone interprets the agreement differently and countries go their own way. The West moves against ParaDim, ParaDim imposes a technology ban on the West. America revokes all of ParaDim's patents and licenses, Asia retaliates against everything American."