ThreeG walked down a dark corridor and said hello to a passing actress. She turned from him, her hand raised to her face. "Oh wait a minute, you’re –"

"No, I’m not," he said.

She asserted he was whom he was a couple more times, and he continued to deny it. Paul zoomed the holo in on 3G’s face, frustrated by the lack of detail. The original 2D version of A Hard Day’s Night had been shot in black-and-white, and the lighting in this scene hadn’t been that great. Even after being colorized and rendered into three dimensions, the holo just didn’t have the detail he wanted. The later holos, though shot in color, weren’t much better. How were he and Scott going to program the AHPs with lo-res images like these?

"You look just like him," the actress insisted.

"Do I?" Paul spoke the line along with 3G. At least he could work on his accent. "You’re the first one to say that, ever."

Someone knocked. Paul started; that wasn’t part of the holo. Then he realized the knock had sounded on his bedroom door. "Paul?" Cass called. "Dad says it’s high time you have dinner with us. You can’t stay in your room the entire trip."

Paul sighed, then rubbed his eyes. Dad was right; he needed a break. "Coming," he replied, turning off the holo and going into the family room.

The room was cluttered with discs, and dust had settled on the entertainment center and his parents’ guitar cases. Paul wrote "Dust Me!" on one of them as a reminder to himself that it was his turn to clean. Cass stood in front of one of their family holos, staring at their mother. She turned to look at him, blue eyes wide open. "Paul, is it true what Dad told me, about you and 3G?"

"Yeah," he said, "I’m his clone."

"Transcendent! Just like the Elvii Twins."

Paul grimaced. He’d learned from his mother’s journal that World Music, the mega-corp that monopolized non-Net music and much of the stuff on the Net, had a program to clone TwenCen rockers – and he was an unwilling part of it. They’d had DNA taken from Elvis Presley on one of the Sagan’s first trips through the wormhole; the Elvii Twins were about a year older than Paul. He’d found rumors on the Net that World Music also had young clones of Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Frank Sinatra growing up somewhere and were planning to clone Michael Jackson and Madonna. Paul had been astounded by the many petitions by Beatle fans demanding that the Lennon family give permission for 3G to be cloned too. Granddad, acting as spokesman for the family through his PR firm, had had to walk a fine line in discouraging such petitions while keeping Paul’s true identity a secret.

World Music worried Paul more than the fans did; he’d feared World Music could legally force him to be a musician instead of an actor, citing the expenses they’d put up to have him created. Luckily, other legal cases involving clones had led to the U.S. Supreme Court ruling that no one could be bound by a contract drawn up before he or she was born. The best World Music could do was "encourage" him to sign their contract, much as they had with the Elvii. Paul wondered what kind of "encouragement" the Elvii had had to become Elvis impersonators – and when World Music would apply the same pressure to him.

"Are you going to become a musician like 3G? That’d be so transcendent if World Music signed you on, just like the Elvii Twins. Maybe you’d even get to meet them –"

"And introduce you to them, you mean? Sorry, sis, you know I live for the roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd."

Cass’s expression drooped, making Paul feel guilty. Bad enough they were both missing Mom; he didn’t have to kill her dreams too. "Don’t worry about it, Cass," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "You’ll get your chance to make holos with them one of these days. Once I’m a Holowood star, I’ll bring you in to direct me. We’ll make a transcendent team: the Holo Harrisons!"

"Yeah! I’ve got all sorts of good ideas for holos." Cass opened the door to the hallway, and Paul followed her. "My favorite is one where the Elvii Twins are singers who get framed for a crime they didn’t commit, or maybe one’s good and one’s bad and no one can tell which one is which. Anyway, they have to seek refuge on a spaceship, and there’s this girl – a very cute girl, with reddish hair, blue eyes, and a long nose, and she’s the only one who can save the innocent Elvis or Elvii –"

Cass chattered all the way to the mess hall; Paul muttered occasional responses when he was prompted. They had a pizza buffet tonight, and she piled on several slices and garlic bread. Paul took only half the amount he normally did. He had to lose weight if he wanted to play 3G, and he wasn’t hungry anyway.

They took seats across from Dad, in their customary booth under a starscape. "I was wondering when you’d get here," Dad said. He put his empty salad bowl to the side. "I have to get back to the lab in a half hour, but I wanted to spend some time with you two before I write up the latest results – Paul, where did you get that cap?"

"Yeah," Cass said around a mouthful of pizza. "It’s transcendent."

"This?" Paul removed his black fisherman’s cap and set it on the bench next to him. "Sheila. One of the wardrobe managers for the travelers."

"Ooh, I’m telling Yvonne."

"Go ahead. A little jealousy would do her good. Do me some good with her too."

"There’s something familiar about that cap, or seeing you in that cap…." Dad looked at Paul sharply. "John wore one of those, didn’t he?"

"Yeah. In A Hard Day’s Night."

"I thought that’s where I saw it before. The question is, why are you wearing one?"

"Just getting into character…." Paul quickly bit into a slice of sausage pizza as he realized his mistake. Next Dad was going to ask why he was studying 3G, in case that wasn’t obvious….

"Paul, I’m sure you feel some curiosity about John, but there’s no need to carry it too far. Your mother, wherever she is, wouldn’t want you to feel compelled to be him."

How could Paul explain he was doing this for Mom? "I’m an actor, Dad. I know the difference between me and the characters I play."

"Good. Just keep it that way." Dad picked up a slice of cooling pizza, then paused. "So, when are you playing John Lennon anyway? I haven’t heard of anyone planning another holo about him. And more importantly, why?"

"Well, um….I’m kind of a shoe-in for him if they do do one, don’t you think?"

"Paul…" Dad shook his head.

He started to say something else, but just then Dad’s handheld beeped. "Your attention please." The announcement came in stereo from other handhelds around them. "Stand by for a brief announcement from Captain Navuchov."

Paul’s dad put his handheld on the table so they could all see the holo of the immaculately dressed captain. "Sensors have just picked up traces of exotic particles emitted from the Hawking Wormhole about a month ago," she said. "We presume they are the remnants of a wormhole storm. The particles are spread too thinly to pose a threat to the Sagan, and advance sensors show no change in the wormhole. Please remain calm; the mission to the alternate universe will continue as planned."

Despite the captain’s words, excited conversations broke out all around them after her announcement ended. "A wormhole storm!" Cass said. "Dad, have there ever been any wormhole storms before?"

"There were," he said, staring at Paul. "About nineteen years ago."

"When Mom traveled to the alternate Earth –"

"When she wrote letters to the alternate John and Yoko, warning them about John’s fate in this universe." Despite Dad’s quiet words, his blue eyes shone with excitement. "Perhaps one of them got through."

"Now that’s really transcendent," Cass said. "I hope he lives this time."

Paul stared at the starscape of the wormhole above them. The resources he needed to avenge his mother lay on the other side of that wormhole. If 3G was still alive there, he and Cass could take holos of him. Holos recorded with a modern holorecorder would be sharp and detailed enough to fool Great-Uncle Jack. Paul could also study 3G directly, perfecting his voice and mannerisms. Paul would have to improvise his lines as he confronted Great-Uncle Jack, so he had to be able to do 3G’s speech and gestures naturally, as if they were truly his own.

More importantly, though, Paul wanted to meet his ancestor, his originator, his reason for being. His mother had had a chance to meet him and realize she was her own person; didn’t he need that even more than she had?

The only problem was figuring out a reason for them to go down to the alternate Earth with the other travelers. They’d never been allowed down there before, for fear they’d inadvertently reveal themselves. Some of the historians, like Pluckenreck, the one who’d constantly harassed his mother, believed the alternate universe was supposed to be exactly like this one.

Paul hoped that wasn’t true. He had a feeling his fate and 3G’s were somehow linked.

Paul waited outside the classroom door, far enough away so he wouldn’t have to listen to the high-pitched singing coming from the classroom. This particular era of TwenCen music didn’t do much for him. When the song was over, several travelers, some in TwenCen polyester costumes, exited. Paul gave the female travelers his most brilliant smile and received a few shy smiles in return. He wasn’t here for serious flirting, but it wouldn’t hurt to lay the groundwork for it now. He didn’t want Scott to have all the fun.

When all the travelers had left, he went into the classroom. There wasn’t much to it; just chairs pulled in a circle around a table. Professor Stuart, a tall, lean, white-haired man, sat at the table, sorting discs into their cases. "Hello, Paul. It’s nice of you to come see me instead of my students, or the female ones, anyway." He glanced up at Paul and paused, disc in hand. "I never realized it before, but you look surprisingly similar to your famous ancestor. He didn’t do much during the late 1970s – and nothing, of course, after 1980 – but I’ve seen the articles on him, especially after…well, you know. Those Lennon genes must be potent; how many generations are you removed from him again?"

"Depends on how you count them." Paul sat on the corner of the table and started stacking the discs on top of each other. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about him. And his death."

"What about it?"

Paul squared off the stack of discs. So much depended on how Professor Stuart interpreted the events around 3G’s death, but Paul had to sound casual. If he pushed his case too much, it could backfire. "Well, I’ve gone through the books and discs about it, but I’m still confused. I figure a smart TwenCen history professor like you would know for certain if the guy acted alone or on someone’s behalf."

Professor Stuart chuckled. "You give me too much credit, Paul. I study popular culture, not conspiracy theories. If you really want to know, you should wait until next year. I think one of the travelers due to return then is supposed to come back with a eyewitness account of the shooting…."

Paul pushed himself hard off the table, landing hard on his feet. He staggered between chairs towards the corner of the room, trying to evade the memories of his great-uncle’s evil whispers and his mother’s futile protests. He couldn’t separate 3G’s murder from his own mother’s anymore. "How can you just stand by and watch?" he demanded. He’d probably blow his chances of going to alt-Earth, but he didn’t care. "A man’s life is in your hands. You know what’s going to happen; you could stop it with a few words. Isn’t saving a man’s life more important than another e-article revealing a few new details about his death?"

"But there’s nothing we can do. We had to stand by and watch the Kennedys and Martin Luther King be assassinated as well. You don’t understand, Paul; you’re letting your attachment to your ancestor blind you to the truth. Like it or not, his death was a part of history, and it can’t be changed without affecting a lot of other people’s lives. "

Paul turned around to face Professor Stuart. "Maybe that’s true for our own history, but we’re not going there. We’re going to someone else’s present, and that can be changed."

"No, it can’t. We’re here to learn about our past and preserve a few of its resources, the way your parents study the genetic past – or did when your mother was still alive. Sorry to hear about that, by the way."

"Thanks," Paul muttered.

"Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that travelers aren’t supposed to interfere with the natural unfolding of events. We’re observers of history; we’re not supposed to shape it to our own desires."

"But what if that’s what someone’s planning?" Paul asked, stepping forward.

The professor started, knocking some of the disc cases onto the floor, where they fell open. "What do you mean?"

"Well, take my ancestor’s death, for instance. I know there were some things about the killer that didn’t make sense, like the way he really wasn’t a fan of 3G, or where he got the money for his trip to New York. And if he did it for fame, why’d he plead guilty and give up his chance for a highly publicized trial? Some people back then even thought the government used the guy as an assassin because they feared my ancestor’s influence over people. No one ever proved that, though. But suppose a traveler knew what had happened here, and suppose she thought what happened in our universe had to happen in the alternate one as well." Paul pointed at Professor Stuart. "What if a traveler convinces the alternate Mark David Chapman to kill alt-3G?"

Professor Stuart’s hands shook as he tried to pick up the scattered discs. "That’s…that’s a very serious accusation to make, Paul."

"I know. But still…" Paul let his words sink in for a few minutes while he helped put the discs away, cleaning some of them on his blue shirt. "Say, whatever happened to one of the former orientation guides, a Ms. Pluckenreck? Didn’t she have your job? I think she worked with my mom when she went down to alt-Earth."

"I didn’t know your mom was a former traveler. Was she the one who made those recordings of a Beatles Cavern performance that were released about eighteen years ago? Now, there’s a nice example of a traveler preserving something of value from the past."

Paul bent his head, wondering how much value Professor Stuart would put on him if he knew Paul was John Lennon’s clone.

"Now, Pluckenreck, Pluckenreck… I don’t think she ever had a University position. She never published much, but I think she specializes in the Eisenhower and Kennedy eras. Since her eras are over in alt-Earth, she probably went back to our Earth years ago."

"Maybe you should check," Paul said, handing the rest of the discs to Professor Stuart. "Because I know from my mom’s journal that Pluckenreck believes that history only has one track, and she’s the kind of person who would try to put it right. Given the way they didn’t like each other, I don’t think Pluckenreck could have returned on the Sagan without my mom noticing."

"I’ll do that, Paul." Professor Stuart put his disc collection and handheld into a small nylon carisak, zipped it shut, then headed for the door.

"Wait! What are you going to do if she’s still down on alt-Earth, doing something she has no right to do?"

The professor paused. "Well, if she is interfering with alt-Earth’s history, we’ll have to conduct an investigation."

Paul placed his foot on a chair seat, then leaned forward, bracing himself on the back of the chair. "If you do, I want to go down to alt-Earth too. I have a right to be there," he said, raising his head as the professor stared at him. "I’m John Lennon’s descendant. I need to be on alt-Earth at this pivotal time."

"Paul," Professor Stuart said gently, holding his free hand up in a "stop" gesture, "you’re not allowed on alt-Earth. That’s for travelers only."

"I could be a traveler! I’m an actor; what else do travelers do besides play TwenCen people?"

"There’s a lot more to it than that. Many of our travelers have degrees in history, or in some branch of biology. You haven’t even finished your pre-University work yet, have you?"

"I could ace the theatre courses Net University offers, if they’d only take me." Paul lowered his head. Despite his parents’ nagging, he had an uneven academic record. He’d breezed through his English, literature, and computer skills courses, and with some tutoring from his parents, he’d passed biology, American government, and history. His main problem was math and hard sciences like physics and chemistry; he just wasn’t interested enough in them to work at them. Cass was two years younger than he was, but she’d already passed that part of her pre-University work. Scott and Yvonne were already enrolled in Net University. Paul tightened his grip on the plastic back of the chair. ThreeG had had similar problems in school; the parallel frightened him. How much choice did he have in his own life, and how much of his destiny was preordained in his genes? He really ought to pass his pre-University work, just to prove he could.

"I’ve got about four and a half months before we arrive at alt-Earth," Paul said. "If I finish my pre-University work by then, will you let me go, Professor Stuart, pretty please?" He projected sweetness into his smile, the way he used to when he was trying to talk Mom into letting him do something. "I could be an intern. You don’t know what it would mean to me."

"First finish pre-University, Paul, then we’ll see," Professor Stuart said in the tone of an adult making a promise he didn’t intend to keep. He walked towards the door, then stopped, turned, and stared at Paul again. "You really do remind me of your ancestor. I should find some images of him at your age and compare, just for fun."

Paul waited until he could no longer hear Professor Stuart’s footsteps in the hall. "At least I got him thinking about Pluckenreck changing history," he said. Sometimes he talked out loud to himself, to feel what it was like to be a character speaking a soliloquy. He hated the way his voice bounced from the bare classroom walls; he’d be more comfortable if he was onstage in front of holorecorders and an audience. "That’s a start. The intern idea might be helpful too. Maybe if I can’t go, I can persuade him to bring Cass, so she can sneak off and take the holos of 3G. I could get by with that, if I had to."

It wouldn’t be ideal, though. Paul’s Liverpudlian accent was coming along, but it wasn’t quite there yet. Besides, 3G had picked up a bit of a New York accent by the end of his life; Paul had to take that into account too. More importantly, he still wanted to meet 3G and save him, if he could. Facing 3G’s killer would be a dress rehearsal for facing his mother’s.

Paul sighed. Getting revenge on his not-so-great-uncle was going to be harder than he thought. "I hope you appreciate this, Mom, wherever you are," he whispered. "If I’m going to study 3G and finish pre-University before we get to alt-Earth, I’ll have to give up girls for a while. Scott’s going to have all the fun." He suddenly grinned. "No, he won’t. I’ll make him help me study."

Shoving the chair out of his way, he went off in search of Scott.

Paul called Scott again, but he still didn’t answer. He rapped his stylus against his handheld, staring at the mathematical gibberish on the screen. It wasn’t like Scott to be late for anything, even an informal tutoring session. Even if something had come up, he would’ve left a message for Paul. Had he met up with a girl and forgotten Paul, or had something more serious happened?

Paul linked into the Sagan’s computer system and queried for Scott’s current location. He was still in the Engine Room; Paul sighed with relief. Scott had probably just had had too many chores to do and hadn’t had a chance to contact Paul. He might as well go down there and remind Scott about their session. Even if they had to skip this one, the break would do Paul good. If he kept on studying much longer, he’d start mixing 3G into his pre-University work. Paul didn’t think 3G’s obsession with the number nine would help him pass the calculus exam.

The Engine Room was on the lowest level of the Sagan; Paul ran down the two flights of stairs rather than wait for the vator. Several engineers milled around in front of the large glass windows of the Engine Room. "You can’t go in there, Paul," Sam Yu, one of the engineers, said, blocking the door. "There’s a possible coolant leak."

Paul stopped. "Scott’s not in there, is he?" he asked, looking around.

"Don’t worry, this isn’t a job for half-trained engineers. He’s over there, by the window."

Paul joined Scott in staring through the window at the engineers wearing full face and body protective masks. The filtration systems in their facemasks made them look like human-sized insects, and they waved their instruments over every surface as if they were performing some strange ritual. Scott peered at the instruments through the window. "Looks like it was a false alarm," he said, "but it’ll take them a couple more hours to be sure. That synthetic coolant can be pretty nasty even at extremely low concentrations."

"Shouldn’t you go to the medical lab, just to make sure you weren’t exposed?"

Scott laughed. "Believe me, if I’d been exposed, I’d know. I’d be clawing my eyes out right now."

"I’m surprised they still use it, then," Paul said.

"Because it’s so effective." Scott stepped away from the window. "Anyway, looks like I’m not going to be needed here for a while. What do you want to do, go flirt with the travelers? I hear there’s a really cute one going to Africa to study the early spread of AIDS; maybe she’s got a friend."

"Maybe later. You were going to help me with calculus, don’t you remember?"

"Oh yeah, that’s right; the coolant alarm made me forget all about it." Scott stared at him with wide eyes. "You sure you weren’t exposed to any neurotoxins, Paul? I’ve never heard you pass on girls before, especially to study math."

Paul walked back towards the stairs, hands in his pockets. "I don’t have time for girls anymore, unfortunately. Things have changed."

"Why? Just because you’re not Lennon’s great-great-grandson, but his –"

Paul whirled. "Not so loud. I don’t want it to get around."

Scott drew closer, matching Paul stride for stride. "On a ship this small, it’s bound to leak out sooner or later."

"Who else knows besides my family and yours? And good old Ferdie. The doctors who did it transferred somewhere else."

"Don’t worry, I’m not saying anything." Scott yanked the metal door open and let it bump into the cinderblock wall. "So what is it, Paul? Does it have something to do with your mom?"

Paul looked away from Scott and carefully placed his foot on the first metal step. "Ready? On your mark, get set –"

Scott blocked Paul’s way with his brown arm before Paul could say "go." "Hey, people are worrying about you. Your dad is at least; I hear my mothers talking about it from time to time. It’s not like you to spend so much time alone in your room." He looked intently at Paul. "And with all the shit you’ve been through recently, well, I’m your best friend. We’re like brothers, really. If there’s something wrong, I want to know. Maybe I can help."

Paul stared back, unsure of what to say. He longed for help, or even the chance to share his burden with someone else, but maybe this was too big a burden for anyone else but him.

"Never mind. Forget what I said." Scott dropped his arm. "Go."

They banged their way up the stairs, forcing a technician to flatten himself against the wall. Paul watched Scott out of the corner of his eye. He easily matched Paul in their traditional race. Maybe he wasn’t doing his friends any favors by keeping them in the dark. More importantly, he needed their help. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to convince Professor Stuart to let him go to alt-Earth, but maybe Scott, Cass, or Yvonne could get away with it. And maybe they could help him figure out how to convince Great-Uncle Jackass he was 3G’s ghost; he still hadn’t come up with a good plan. Even Hamlet had had his Horatio, after all.

Paul sprang onto the final step an instant before Scott did. He stopped to take a few deep breaths. Scott opened the fire door and was about to step through it as Paul asked, "Scott, is Yvonne busy tonight?"

Scott looked upward in disgust. "She won’t go out with you. Why do you even bother?"

"She’s too beautiful to ignore."

"You know she had her hair color gene-sculpted, Paul. We have the holos to prove it."

"It doesn’t matter. She’d still be beautiful even with her original brown hair, not that that was so bad to begin with." Paul stepped forward. "But that’s not why I asked. I think it’s time we had another meeting of the Sagan’s Secret Society."

Scott’s expression immediately perked up. "We haven’t had one of those in years."

"Yeah." Paul clasped Scott on the shoulder. "Tell her it’s the usual time and place; I’ll let Cass know. And don’t forget the food. I’ve got a lot to tell the three of you."

"Dad’s still at the lab, Paul," Cass whispered as she looked nervously around the living room. "What if he checks on us when he comes back? We’ll get in trouble."

"That’s if he even remembers." Paul knew he shouldn’t be so bitter; his mom’s unexpected death had left the genetics lab short-staffed. Dad probably felt he had to work for two Harrisons, not just one. Or maybe he needed to work so hard to make himself forget, like Paul was trying to do with his own work. He still felt like Dad was neglecting him, as if he wasn’t worthy of his time anymore.

They locked their bedroom doors, just in case, then, clutching bags of snacks and sodas, they crept through the living room and out into the dimmed hallway. Paul grinned. Maybe it was a bit silly for them to sneak down the hall in black clothing as they did when they were kids; he knew now there were monitors in the hall recording where they went. He still felt like he was getting away with something.

The door to the hydroponic gardens was closed but unlocked. Inside, the air was hot, humid, and full of exotic smells. Bright lights illuminated the commons section of the gardens. Paul and Cass passed the bubbling central pond and the tiny alcoves screened off by trellises and vines. The gardens themselves were too accessible to make a good meeting place for a secret society. Paul led the way to one of the workrooms supposedly for garden workers only. Oddly enough, no one ever bothered to lock the door, even at night. Still, when Paul and the others met here, they took care not to disturb anything, for fear of giving themselves away.

Scott was already waiting for them. He sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against one of the workbenches. His handheld displayed a holo of an open fire; it gave off enough light for Paul to see that Scott was alone. "Where’s Yvonne?" he asked as he sat down. The room seemed more cramped than it had been when they were kids. "Isn’t she coming?" She couldn’t abandon them; she probably had the best chance of getting down to alt-Earth. If Paul couldn’t persuade her to help them, his plans would probably fail.

"She said she was waiting for an e-mail," Scott answered. "She should be along any minute now." He brought out a bowl of soggy dip-filled snacks. "Guess I should have waited a little while longer to warm these up," he said as he offered some to Paul and he refused.

"I just don’t have much appetite these days," Paul said. He brought out three sodas and a bottle of mineral water for Yvonne.

Cass more than made up for him as she scooped up a double handful. "These are my favorite."

"I know," Scott said. "That’s why I brought them."

He deliberately placed the bowl next to Cass. Paul narrowed his eyes. Scott wasn’t trying to put the moves on Cass, was he? She was too young!

Yvonne chose that moment to arrive, and Paul definitely preferred looking at her to thinking about Scott and Cass. Her black top did more than just contrast nicely with her cross and blonde French braid; it embraced her curves the way Paul wanted to. When she glared at him, Paul pretended he was just admiring a hibiscus flower next to her.

"All right, Paul, what’s going on?" she asked. "Why bother reviving the Triple S?" She set down a plate of cut-up vegetables.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Celery sticks, sis?"

"They’re healthier than what you brought. Ship-grown from the vegetable garden out in front."

"Sound good." Paul ate one, then took another. "They’d be better with dip, but that’s OK. Anyway, the reason I asked you to meet me here tonight is –"

"That’s not how we start off Triple S meetings, Paul," Cass said.

Yvonne sighed. "Do we have to do that? We’re not kids anymore."

"It wouldn’t hurt to do it, for old time’s sake," Paul said. He had to swear them to secrecy anyway.

They all held their hands in the holo of the fire as they chanted,

We are the Sagan’s Secret Society.

Some of us act with propriety,

And some of us seek notoriety,

But we’re four for one, and one for four!

We’re the kids who call the Sagan home;

Between two universes we will roam.

We’ll stick together ‘til we’re quantum foam!

And we’ll keep our secrets – forevermore!

"Do you swear by the flame to keep what happens here tonight a secret from all grown-ups?" Paul asked.

"We swear," the other three answered.

"Then, as the eldest of the Triple S, I now declare this meeting open." Paul sipped his citrus-flavored soda, then took a deep breath. "My friends, my sister, you are all grappled unto my soul with hoops of steel –"

Scott yawned. "Spare us the Shakespeare, Paul, or we won’t get out of here until dawn."

"You want brief? I’ll make it brief. I know who killed my mother – and why. I have a plan to avenge her, but I need your help to make it work. Was that brief enough?"

The other three stared at him, the whites of their eyes prominent in the darkened room. "I think you can give us a bit more detail than that, Paul," Yvonne finally said.

"Wait." Paul looked over at his sister. "Cass, you sure you want to hear this?"

Cass’s mouth trembled, but she raised her head proudly. She may not have inherited the Lennon height, but she more than made up for it with her determination. "I’m sure. You’re not the only one who misses Mom."

"All right, then." Paul told them about the conversation he’d overheard between his mom and his great-uncle, then stared at the flickering fire holo as he related by heart his earwitness account of his mother’s death. Cass choked back a few sobs; Yvonne patted her hand as she stared at Paul. "And that’s how I found out I was 3G’s clone," he finished.

The other three were silent for a few moments. Finally, Scott said, "Man, Paul, that’s hard. But you said you were going to avenge Aunt Joanna? How?"

"Simple. Jackass wants 3G back; I’ll give him 3G back – as his ghost. And I hope I scare Jackass into his own grave!"

"Do you really think that will work, Paul?" Yvonne asked.

"Jackass idolizes 3G. If I can’t get through to him as 3G, nothing will."

"I still don’t think it’s a good idea –"

"Do it, Paul." Cass’s voice had an unexpected hardness in it. "Do it for all of us, especially Mom. But I want to help too. Don’t tell me I’m too young; I know I can help."

"Of course you can, Cass." Paul shifted position to ease the numb sensations in his legs; he nearly got entangled in the descending branches of a hanging plant. They really needed a new meeting place for the Triple S. "For one thing, I still haven’t figured out how to make Jackass think I’m really a ghost, not just Paul wearing a set of AHPs. And I need the best images possible of 3G for the AHPs."

"Ghosts…ghosts…I saw a holo with a ghost in it last month." Cass chewed on a lock of her hair. "It was invisible at first, then transparent…no, that’ll never work, that’ll look too much like a holo. He’d never believe that….ooh, I know! People walked through the ghost in the beginning, and afterward they always said something about how cold they were. You should make yourself cold to the touch, like a ghost."

"I like it!" He should’ve thought of that himself, but he hadn’t had time for holos lately. Besides, this way Cass felt like she had done something useful. "Now all I have to do is figure out how to do that."

"I think that’s something I should work on, Paul," Scott said.

"Then it’s as good as done. But that still leaves the images for the AHPs. I loaded a holo of 3G into the face mesh, just for fun. It kinda worked, but you could still tell it was a holo."

"Let me see what I can do," Cass said. "I’m better at manipulating holos."

"But the original images are still low-res TwenCen ones. All the manipulation you do won’t change that, even if you blend his face with my holo." Paul caught the gaze of each of the others for a few seconds before continuing. "There’s really only one way to make this work. We need to go down to alt-1980 Earth and take our own holos of 3G."

"Totally transcendent!"

"They’ll never let us!"

"Paul, you’re crazy." Yvonne’s eyes were wide with fear. "Even if they let you go down there, you’d give yourself away as being a traveler if you use a holorecorder."

"So?"

"So, who knows what you’d change?"

"I already know one thing I plan to change. I’m going to save 3G’s life. That way, maybe they won’t need a clone of him in that universe."

Except for background noises of the engines beneath them and the automatic sprinklers watering the seedlings on the table, the room was silent. Scott finally made a strangled noise. "Paul, if you do that, that’ll change history so much the universes will no longer follow the same paths. The wormhole itself might collapse!"

"I know," Paul said quietly. "The wormhole reacted a long time ago when my mom left behind letters for my great-great-grandparents. We think they read them, and that’s why the recent storm occurred. Maybe this means I’m supposed to save 3G."

Paul suddenly realized that if the wormhole closed, this would be their last trip on the Sagan. He wondered what would happen to the four of them. Would they split up and never see each other again? What would the travelers do when the wormhole closed? Would he get in trouble for ending the Sagan’s mission?

It didn’t matter if he did; he had to do this. Saving 3G was a better reason for his existence than being a slave to World Music.

More silence. Scott suddenly grinned. "Well, it’s worth a try. I’ve always wanted a chance to see alt-Earth, since they never let us go down there."

"And I’ll come too," Cass said. "I can take the holos of 3G."

"Well, Yvonne, that leaves you." Paul tried to look past Yvonne’s blue eyes into her heart. "If Professor Stuart does investigate what I said about Pluckenreck tampering with 3G’s fate, they’ll need a psychiatrist to study 3G’s murderer. And with Dr. Stern being so feeble, chances are they’ll send you, even if you’re just a student." He took Yvonne’s hand and was surprised to find it damp with sweat. "The question is, will you help us, or are you going to turn us in?"

"Paul! You know I wouldn’t do that!"

"I don’t. Sometimes I’m not sure if I know you anymore. Do your Fundie grandparents brainwash you when you visit them?"

"It’s not brainwashing to look at things from a different perspective," she said primly.

"It is if it’s the wrong one," Cass said.

Paul gave his sister a warning look. "Now’s not the time, Cass." Yvonne was sure to get upset if they reminded her their grandmother had been killed by a crazy Fundie who had attacked the TransAIDS clinic where she had lived.

He tightened his grip on Yvonne, staring at her so intently Scott, Cass, the fire holo, and the rows of seedlings overhead blurred into the background. "It doesn’t matter what your grandparents think, Yvonne, you’re here and they’re not. We’ve been together forever, and I need you. Won’t you please, please help me?" Despite the intense moment, Paul chuckled as he realized what he’d just said. "I’d sing it, but I’m not as good as 3G."

She looked away from him. "You seem sincere, Paul, but…."

"I’m not acting, Yvonne! This is me!"

Her bottom lip trembled. "But you’re breaking every rule!"

"And what if the rules are wrong?" Paul asked. "Doesn’t it make sense to break them, then? Try looking at things from that perspective!"

She didn’t answer. "A hit, a palpable hit," Scott murmured.

"And you’d help save a man’s life into the bargain," Paul said, pressing his advantage. "Wouldn’t that make up for breaking some silly rules?"

She sighed. "All right, Paul, you win – again. What exactly do you want from me?"

Paul wanted to whoop with glee, but he restrained himself. "Whatever you can do. Help convince the travelers to let the rest of us visit alt-Earth, for one. But most importantly, when we get to alt-Earth, help me figure out the real situation with 3G’s murderer and how to stop him."

"There is a simple way," Scott said. "You could kill him."

The holo of the fire flickered, as if in horror at his words. "I have to admit I’ve thought of it," Paul said quietly, "but I’m not sure I could actually do it. I’d falter worse than Hamlet."

Yvonne jerked out of Paul’s grip. "And I don’t think I could keep this a secret if you did try to do that, Paul."

"You have to! You promised by the flame!" Cass said.

"Well, we’ll figure something out once we know what’s really happening on alt-Earth. But Cass is right." Paul exchanged looks with his friends and his sister. "We have to keep this secret, or we’ll never get the chance to do this. The Sagan’s Secret Society has to live up to its name."

They all nodded.

"So, what’s Gauss’s Law, Paul?" Scott asked as he leaned his chair against one of the guitar cases in the family room. He pulled Paul’s handheld away before Paul thought to look at it.

"Don’t lean on that, you’ll damage it. Let’s see, Gauss’s Law, Gauss’s Law…can’t I just guess?" Paul said, rubbing his eyes. His eyes were as sore as if he’d been studying for three years, not three months. After this was all over – if it ever was – he ought to go to the med lab and check if he needed laser surgery again.

"No, you can’t, not if you want to pass pre-University."

"I know, I know. Classical physics is so boring, though." Paul rested his lukewarm, half-empty glass of soda against his forehead as he tried to think. "Gauss’s Law…it’s electrical stuff…has to do with net flux through a closed surface…" he looked at Scott to see if he was on the right track. Scott nodded, so Paul continued, "It’s equal to the net charge inside the surface divided by something."

"Close enough. See, I knew you could do it. You know Hamlet, after all."

"That’s simpler," Paul said. He finished his soda, then picked up the rest of their dishes and placed them in the mess hall bin. He’d bring them back when he had breakfast tomorrow.

"For you, maybe, but not for me. Anyway, good lu – I mean, break a leg tomorrow with the tests." Scott brought out his own handheld. "And in case you need additional incentive to pass, I thought I’d show you the preliminary design for your coldsuit."

Paul’s weariness disappeared. "Transcendent! Let me see." He scooted his chair closer to Scott’s.

Scott called up a holo of a black headless suit and set it to rotate slowly. "It’s based on the protective suits we use in Engineering. What I’ll have to do is put one suit inside the other. Then we’ll let coolant flow in the small gap between them. Actually, I’ll have to insert tiny pumps in several places to ensure even routing of the coolant." He tapped the handheld, and several bright spots appeared on the suit’s shoulders, arms, and chest.

"Will Jackass be able to feel the pumps?" Paul asked.

"What are you planning to do, slow dance with him? I don’t think he will, especially if you wear clothing over the suit. All he ought to feel is a nicely creepy coldness coming from your body."

"But my hands won’t feel like skin," Paul said. "And my hands definitely have to feel cold, so we can’t skip that part. Oh well." He sighed. "Maybe we can treat the glove parts with something that’ll make them feel like skin, or at least not so much like Ultralatex."

"We have time to work on that. Hell, I still have to get the parts, though I might be able to claim this as a Net University project." Scott tapped the handheld again, freezing the holo in place. A small blue patch appeared at waist level. "And here’s the coolant storage and recycling unit. I’m putting it on the outside of the suit, so if something goes wrong, you can seal off the suit and toss the unit as far as you can throw it. I figure we can do this with half a liter of coolant if we recycle it constantly. The less coolant we use, the better, though even a few milligrams will blind you." He leaned back again, though not so far as before, and smiled at the holo. "Not a bad design, if I say so myself. If I can figure out another use for a cold suit besides getting revenge on murderous relatives, I might apply for a patent on it."

"That’d be transcendent if you got one, Scott." Paul stared at the holo. "One question: is the recycling unit going on my front or back?"

"On your back," Scott replied. "I figured your great-uncle would be less likely to detect it there."

"Right, and I don’t want it too close to the Lennon legacy, if you know what I mean. There are some things I don’t want put on ice."

Scott whooped with laughter. "Damn, I should’ve thought of that two years ago! Think of all the action I’d get if I was the solo stud on the Sagan!"

"You’re a real mate, Scott," Paul said sourly.

"Huh?"

"Liverpudlian for close friend. Something 3G would say."

"Boy, I’m sure glad you can keep your characters straight, cause I can’t! Wouldn’t it be funny if you did Hamlet as your ancestor would do him? The only thing that would make that obsolete language even more incomprehensible is to do it in an outlandish accent!"

Scott laughed again, but Paul quickly silenced him as something rattled outside. "I think I hear Dad!" he whispered.

Scott instantly sobered and shut off his handheld. Just in time; Paul’s dad entered the family room. "Hi, Paul, hi, Scott," he said. "Preparing for the tests tomorrow, Paul?"

"Yeah. Scott’s giving me some last-minute tutoring."

"That’s great." Dad smiled weakly.

Paul and Scott looked at each other silently. Scott finally gathered his things and rose. "I should get going; I have an early shift in the Engine Room tomorrow. Just remember to keep your cool tomorrow during the tests, Paul, and you’ll do fine." Scott raised his eyebrows significantly as he looked at Paul. "Good night, Uncle George. See you tomorrow after the tests, Paul."

Paul and his dad both said good night to Scott, then were silent after he left. Paul fidgeted a bit while his dad put his equipment away and took off his shoes and white lab coat. "Well, I need a good night’s sleep if I’m going to pass this time," he said, rising. "So, good night, Dad."

"Not just yet, Paul. We need to talk." Dad used that tone of voice he reserved for the times Paul had gotten into trouble. Paul sat down, automatically wondering what he had done this time.

Hands clasped behind his back, Dad paced back and forth in front of Paul, finally stopping in front of him and staring at him. "I’m worried about you," he said. "You’ve been awfully quiet lately."

"That’s because I’ve been studying for my tests."

"I know, and in other circumstances I’d think you’d grown up enough to take them seriously. But you’re not mingling with people or flirting with girls, you’ve lost weight, and you haven’t said a word about acting in ages." Dad squatted next to Paul, staring at him intently with dark blue eyes. "You’re taking Mom’s death very hard, aren’t you? That, and finding out you’re John’s clone."

"I didn’t exactly break into a happy song and dance routine at the news."

Dad grinned momentarily. "That’s more like the Paul I know. But still, it’s not healthy to keep everything compressed inside of you like this. I wish you’d talk to me about it."

"When?" Paul asked, staring back at his dad. "You’re working all the time these days."

Dad flinched, then rose. "I know. This is hard on me too, and I’m sorry if you think I’m letting you down when you need me. But communication goes two ways; if you really want to talk to me, you know where the lab is. And you know if you need me, I’ll be there for you." He crossed to the other side of the family room, next to the steel entertainment center, then turned to face Paul again. "Maybe this is something too big for me. Have you considered seeing Dr. Stern?"

"You want me to go to a psychiatrist?" Paul stood up so he could face his father eye to eye. "Do you think I’m as mad as Hamlet? Remember, he wasn’t really mad."

"Yes, yes, I suppose next you’ll say he was only mad north by northwest or something like that."

Paul grimaced at the mangled quote.

"Anyway, Paul," Dad continued, "I don’t want you ending up like Hamlet, no matter if he was mad or not. Keep in mind Dr. Stern will keep everything you say confidential, so if you’re worried about discussing the cloning issue, you needn’t be."

Paul laughed. Seeing a psychiatrist seemed like such a trivial solution to his problems, like spraying skin sealer on a bleeding heart. And it wasn’t even a real solution. He could talk to Dr. Stern all he wanted, but his mother would still be dead, his great-uncle would still be free, he’d still be 3G’s clone, and 3G would die in a couple of months.

"I don’t want to," he said. "And since I’m eighteen now, you can’t make me." The day had been more bitter than sweet; Paul had cried when Dad had brought Mom’s presents out of the family storage cubicle. But at least he had more freedom.

"Unfortunately. If I could, I would. I don’t know what else I can do for you."

Paul looked at his father again, at the shadows under his eyes and the gray frosting his hair. Maybe he could make Dad’s concern work for him, not against him.

"You want to know how to help me, Dad?" he asked, walking up to him. "You want to know the method behind everything you say is madness? It’s simple; I want to meet 3G. I’ll never know who I really am if I don’t meet him." He batted his eyelashes the way he’d seen 3G do in holos. "Mom got to meet him, so why can’t I?"

Dad sighed. "The circumstances are completely different. She had a legitimate, practical reason for going to alt-Earth – to sample John’s genes to create you. And before the travelers sent her down, she had to study for six months in order to pass as a 1961 contemporary. You’ll never get that done in time, and you know how protective the travelers are of what they say is the pristine past."

"But we know better. We know what Mom did, and I think Pluckenreck’s trying to undo it. I know what happened to 3G in our past; I’ve read up on it. I could tell if Pluckenreck’s interfering with history."

"I’m sure you could," Dad said. He inserted a few discs in their slots on the entertainment center, then picked up the stylus-shaped remote and pointed it at Paul. "But I’ll bet the real reason you want to go down there is to interfere yourself and save your great-great-grandfather."

Paul stepped back. He should’ve known Dad would figure out that much at least.

"You’ve got to let me go!" he said. He’d have gone down on his knees if he hadn’t thought that gesture too melodramatic. "Everything depends on it!"

"Your mother already warned him, Paul. What else can you do?"

Paul fell silent, unwilling to tell his father anything else. All he could do was put on his most heartfelt expression.

Dad tossed the remote stylus onto his leather recliner. "I will tell you this much. You’ve got Professor Stuart so worried about Pluckenreck that he’s taking Yvonne down to alt-1980 Earth."

"She didn’t tell me that!" Paul exclaimed.

"They just decided this afternoon. Professor Stuart wanted Dr. Stern to go at first, but she declined. But then he said you, Cass, and Scott also want to go down to alt-Earth. And to be honest, with all the pranks you and your friends pulled when you were younger, I’m amazed he’s even considering it. I’m going to discuss the situation with him after Ferdie evaluates your pre-University tests."

Paul exhaled. "At least there’s still a chance. Can I go to your meeting and present my case?"

"You’ve done enough of that already."

"But you’ll tell him I need to go down there, right?"

Dad looked at him intently. "I’ll do whatever I think is best for you, Paul. That’s my responsibility as your father. I just haven’t decided what that is yet."

Dad draped his lab coat over his arm and went into his room without saying anything further. Paul stared at the shut door for a few minutes, then clutched his head in his hands. Three tests tomorrow in his most difficult subjects, a traveler too protective of the past standing between him and his destiny, his own dad thinking he was mentally ill…if he wasn’t mad beyond medication already, he soon would be.

"Mom? 3G?" he whispered. Maybe he was mad beyond medication to be talking to dead people, but if he was, what did he have to lose? "If you’ve got any influence up there wherever you are, now would be a good time to use it. I’m doing this for you, after all."

Nothing happened, but he didn’t really expect it to.

Paul retreated into his room before Cass could leave hers; he didn’t know what he could tell her about this latest talk with Dad. He crept under the covers with his handheld without bothering to undress. The way he felt right now, listening to 3G’s Plastic Ono Band would cheer him up.

"Well, did he pass?" Dad asked.

In Paul’s crowded room, Paul, Cass, Yvonne and Scott leaned closer to Scott’s handheld, the better to eavesdrop through Dad’s. It would have been simpler for everyone if he could have gone to this meeting, Paul thought. Good thing Cass had been able to borrow Dad’s handheld long enough for Scott to program it to route a covert audio signal back to them. Two adults were no match for the teamwork of the Triple S.

"He passed, just barely," Professor Stuart said. "Your son will never be a scientist, George, but we already knew that."

Paul sighed with relief; he’d been dreading the idea of taking the tests again. "Transcendent, Paul!" Cass said, hugging him. Yvonne didn’t follow Cass’s example, to Paul’s disappointment, but she did look pleased.

Scott gave Paul a congratulatory slap on the back. "Now you can finally take your acting courses through Net University," Scott said.

"And then transfer to a brick university when we return to Earth." There was only so much he could learn over the Net; he needed more experience working as part of a troupe.

"The question now is, what do we do with him?" Dad said. "We know what he wants to do, but should we let him?"

"Frankly, my first instinct was to say ‘No, it’s out of the question.’ But then I accessed Erika Pluckenreck’s file, just to be thorough." Professor Stuart cleared his throat. "Paul was right; she hasn’t returned back to our Earth. She transferred down to the base on alt-Earth about nineteen years ago – wasn’t that when your wife went to alt-Earth, George? Paul mentioned she’d been there. And while there’s nothing out of the ordinary in Pluckenreck’s file, she has been taking unusual amounts of leave in recent years – and ordering restricted psychotherapeutic drugs for travelers who have trouble adapting to alt-Earth."

"There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"There is if no returning traveler received such drugs."

The silence coming through the handheld was interrupted by Cass. "Paul, you were right! I can’t believe she would make someone else kill 3G!"

"I could," Paul said, staring at a holo of his mother that he’d put up recently. A terrible thought occurred to him. If Pluckenreck was interfering with history because of what his mother had done, did that mean his mother would be indirectly responsible for 3G’s death if Pluckenreck’s plan succeeded? That was the last thing Mom would have wanted! He had to put this right, no matter what the cost.

Paul reached for the handheld, willing to expose their eavesdropping in order to e-mail Dad about his hunch. With a fearful expression on his face, Scott yanked the handheld away. Meanwhile, Dad said, "And here you say travelers aren’t supposed to take history into their own hands."

"They’re not." Professor Stuart sounded puzzled. "The only reason I can think of that she’d do this is to put history back on track."

Dad snorted. "Quentin, that’s a ridiculous notion. No matter what you historians like to believe, there’s no single, preordained track that history must follow. The wormhole leads to another universe, and it’s only a coincidence that alt-Earth followed our world’s history so closely up to now."

"But if Paul visits alt-Earth, he could change that."

"Yes, he could," Dad said. "But I think if you really want to determine what’s going on down on alt-Earth, you might need him. He hasn’t just been studying for his pre-University tests, you know. He’s been studying his ancestor, perhaps too much. But he’s the closest we have to an expert on John’s death."

"Well, it’s only natural that he wants to know about John, isn’t it? I mean, they seem surprisingly similar in so many ways."

Paul’s stomach seemed to twist the way it had just before he had started the tests. There was an edge in Dad’s voice as he said, "Paul takes after Jo, and she was a throwback to John in more ways than she ever admitted."

"But Paul looks just like John at that age, and that’s too much to expect after five generations…" Professor Stuart suddenly sounded excited. "He’s John Lennon’s clone, isn’t he? He has to be! That’s got to be the real reason your wife went to alt-Earth in the first place."

"Aw, shit," Paul said, throwing a pillow against the wall, almost hitting his holo of his idol Sir Alec Guinness. "At this rate, soon the whole world will know."

"Maybe Dad won’t say anything," Cass said.

But he did. "You’re right, he is." Dad explained while Paul methodically pounded the firmfoam mattress in frustration.

Yvonne stopped him by placing her hand on his shoulder. "Is it that bad being a clone, Paul?"

Her unexpected sympathy made Paul feel giddy, but he didn’t dare move for fear of making her retreat. "I don’t mind playing 3G, at least for now; I have a good reason to. I just don’t want to have to be him all the time, anymore than I want to be trapped in any other character. I need to be me, Paul Harrison."

Over the handheld, Professor Stuart said, "Fascinating! I’ve never met a clone of an historical person before. I wonder if Paul could provide any fresh insights into John."

"I didn’t tell you about Paul so you could study him," Dad said sharply. "He just learned the truth shortly after Jo was killed, and I think the double shock has traumatized him. I’ve caught him several times deliberately using John’s mannerisms or his accent, and he’s growing sideburns and even dressing like John. He said something once about playing John in a holo, but that’s a flimsy cover. He’s obviously experiencing an identity crisis, and since I can’t force him to see Dr. Stern, there’s only one other cure I can think of." Plastic scraped on plastic; Dad must have moved his handheld. "Let him go down to alt-Earth and meet the alt-John Lennon. Maybe that will bring him to his senses. I know it worked for his mother."

Another brief silence. "George, admirable as your motives may be, I can’t let him go to alt-Earth and possibly affect its history just because he’s having a difficult adolescence."

"A difficult adolescence?" Paul shook his head, unsure whether to laugh or scream.

"We’ve been over that, Quentin! Don’t you have any children of your own? No? Well, if you did, they’d be worth more to you than a mere alternate universe. Paul may not carry my genes, but he carries my heart, both he and Cass. They’re my last links to Jo. And if this is what it takes to cure Paul, I’ll do whatever I must to send him to alt-Earth."

"If I only knew what effect he’d have on alt-Earth…" Professor Stuart said hesitatingly.

"Albert Einstein once said, ‘If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn’t be research.’ Maybe nothing will happen, or maybe the travelers will have a chance to watch an unknown history be written. But I think you’ll learn something about your discipline no matter what happens."

More silence. Finally, just before Paul shouted impatiently at the handheld, Professor Stuart said with resignation in his voice, "All right, I’ll let Paul go. But what do we do about Scott and Cass?"

"I think we should let them go too; I’m sure Olivia will give permission for Scott to go, just as I’ll do for Cass. They can’t cause any more problems than Paul would on his own. Besides, if we send them down with Paul, he’ll be less likely to figure out the real reason he’s going – to resolve his identity crisis."

"Too late, Dad," Paul said, but he couldn’t help grinning as madly as the other three. They were going down to alt-1980 Earth, all four of them! He was one step closer to saving 3G and avenging his mother. In his excitement he hugged Yvonne, and for once she didn’t shy from him.

Cass bounced up and down on Paul’s bed a couple of times before she stopped and tried to look mature. "Transcendent!"

"A chance to get off ship for a while and breath air that hasn’t been recycled countless times." Yvonne’s face became even prettier when she softened it with a smile.

Scott suddenly sobered and bent his head closer to his handheld. "Hey, guys, they’re putting restrictions on us. Professor Stuart’s babysitting us, and they’re not allowing us to bring high-tech things like handhelds or Paul’s AHPs. How can we take holos of Paul’s great-great-grandfather without a holorecorder?"

"Simple," Paul said. "We smuggle our things down. We’re the Sagan’s Secret Society, after all, and we’ll keep our secrets forevermore. As for the professor, leave him to me." He pulled out his own handheld, linked into the ship’s system, and started scanning personnel records for the holos he would need.

Paul glanced around the genetics lab to make sure Dad and Ferdie weren’t looking his way. He quickly sorted through the chemicals he was boxing up until he found the one he was looking for: phenolphthalein. A dose or two of that ought to slow Professor Stuart down at a critical moment without hurting him. Paul poured some off into a little plastic bottle and stashed that in his pocket, then he sealed the box and brought it to the storage closet.

"What’s in that one, Paul?" Ferdie asked, stooping over with difficulty to inspect the box. "No acids, no flammables, nothing harmful? It can go over there."

Paul put the box where Ferdie indicated, then helped his dad secure everything in the cold room for passage through the wormhole. The Sagan’s magnetic shields blocked the radiation and exotic particles the wormhole emitted, but they didn’t always block the turbulence. "Anything else you need help with here, Dad?" he asked when they were done.

"No, thanks, Paul. The main things we have to worry about yet are the sequencers, and Olivia likes shutting those down herself. Why don’t you help Cass take care of the apartment?"

Traffic in the hallways was busier than usual; by the time Paul returned to his family’s apartment, Cass was already almost done with the family room. She put the guitars in a storage rack and secured it. "Did you get it?" she asked.

Paul patted his pocket. "I got it. Got the holorecorder and handheld ready?"

She held out a small carisak. "Have you figured out where you’re going to hide them?"

"Not yet," Paul replied as he took it. "I’ll decide that once I sneak onto the shuttle."

In his room, he donned his AHPs, inspecting himself in his full-length mirror to make sure none of them was visible. He carefully fitted the wire meshes over his face and hair, then entered a code into the neckband. Holos settled over his face and body, transforming his image into a stocky man with dark brown hair, bland features, and an engineering uniform. He made a few faces at the mirror to check how well the holos followed his movements. Satisfied, he turned off the holos and removed the meshes. The other AHPs could stay where they were, but the face meshes would be too noticeable if someone passed him in the hall.

"If Dad gets back before I do, tell him I had to see Scott," Paul told his sister as he left the apartment.

Paul greeted some of the crewmembers in the halls, but most of them were too busy to respond. That was fine with him; the fewer people who noticed his presence, the better. He waited until he was close to the shuttle bay before finding a private place to switch into costume. He pulled the handheld out of the carisak to use as a prop. Then he strode up to one of the shuttle bay workers, a woman with bobbed red hair. "I’m supposed to inspect the interior of the Aldrin," he told her, deepening his voice and drawing out the vowels the way the person he was playing did. "Is it open?"

"You’re inspecting it right now?" She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "We’re still a couple weeks shy of alt-Earth."

"Yeah, I know. One of the engineers thought he left his tools in there. Can’t have them flying around when we pass through the wormhole."

"That’s true." Stepping to the side of the shuttle, she keyed in a sequence on a pad outside the door, which slid open as she finished. "Rumor has it we might have a bad passage this time. They say the travelers are messing with history so much that the universes might completely separate."

"Really? Well, we’ll see." Paul stepped into the shuttle and waved at the woman. "Thanks, I can take it from here."

She nodded and returned to her duties.

Paul grinned to himself at how smoothly his masquerade was working. Now all he needed was a suitable hiding place for the handheld and holorecorder. He walked between the rows of seats, peering beneath them. He found a few loose coins and other pieces of trash that he picked up; might as well follow through with his role. The floor of the shuttle was too exposed to make a good hiding place, though; he needed someplace where no one would think to look yet accessible so he could retrieve the items later.

He finally found a possible hiding place in one of the seats near the back, on the left-hand side. It had a gash in it, covered by fraying duct tape. Paul peeled the tape back and slipped the handheld and holorecorder inside, taking care to cover them with the firmfoam stuffing. He stepped back to consider his work. It should do, he decided. The instruments didn’t distort the outline of the seat, and as long as he and his friends were the ones sitting there, they ought to be able to sneak them out of the hole. If necessary, Paul could create a distraction while they did that. He just wished he knew where Scott would hide his AHPs when the time came; he hated the thought of being parted from them.

Boots pounded the metal floor outside the shuttle. "Hey, Jakorkski," the woman Paul had met earlier called, "are you done yet? I need to close this up, unless you want to ride out the passage in there."

"No, thanks." Paul exited the shuttle and grinned cheerfully at the woman. "False alarm."

She frowned at him. "You know, Stan was just down in Engineering, and he said he saw you there. If it wasn’t you, it was your twin brother."

"I’m working so hard I’m in two places at once." Paul tried to distract the woman with a wink. "So, want some company for the passage through the wormhole?"

"Don’t make me report you for harassment," she said icily.

"Just thought I’d ask; no harm in that, is there? See you later." Paul whistled as he walked away, restraining himself from running. Once he was out of the shuttle bay, he returned to the secluded spot and removed his face mesh, then wiped the sweat from his face. That had been too close at the end; would anyone suspect he’d used his AHPs to impersonate a crewmember? He hoped not. Still, he’d done what he’d had to do; Scott would have to smuggle Paul’s AHPs and a couple of other things aboard later. As the captain broadcast the countdown until they entered the wormhole, Paul raced through the corridors back to the apartment.

Paul’s cel buzzed as he turned down the final corridor. "Paul, where the hell are you?" Dad asked. "I know you hate passing through the wormhole, but it’s safer in your bed than wandering around the Sagan. Get in here right now."

Paul didn’t bother to reply; he was panting too hard for that anyway. He simply threw the apartment door open, held out his hand for a tranquilizer, then sprinted into his room and shut the door before Dad could notice he was wearing his AHPs. He forced the coated pill down without water while he carefully packed his equipment into its case and locked that in a drawer. He’d put away the rest of his things before he went down to the lab, so there was nothing else left to do but get into bed and strap himself in. Not an instant too soon; the ever-present noise of the engines ascended in pitch as the magnetic shields were turned on. The furniture trembled, and Paul felt the ship shake him about, but nothing happened. Not yet, anyway; Paul always feared something would. At least Cass and Yvonne hated the wormhole passage too; Scott bragged he’d outgrown his childhood fears of it.

Paul stared at the bare ceiling, wishing – as he did every trip – that he’d thought to put a holo there. He needed something to distract himself until the tranquilizer took effect. When he was little, so little he rode out the wormhole passage with Mom and Dad, they’d comforted him with songs and stories. He missed that, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t even talk to his family or friends; the magnetic shields distorted all but the most heavily protected electronics.

Paul turned his head so he could look at the flickering holo of his mother, one Cass had made during one of their family concerts. What song had Mom been singing? Paul couldn’t remember anymore; he strained to, thinking maybe there was some message for him in the lyrics…maybe they were gentle, happy lyrics….

Paul slipped into a dream, but not a gentle, happy one.

He was running with Mom and 3G, running from the darkness behind them, or something in the darkness – he wasn’t sure what. All he knew was that it hated something they had and wanted to destroy it, even if it meant destroying them.

Shots blasted behind them, and 3G fell. "Keep going!" he called out. Paul faltered, and Mom briefly glanced back. Then she grabbed Paul’s wrist and tugged him forward, speeding up the pace.

On and on they ran in the timeless, featureless space, never tiring, but never eluding their pursuers either. Suddenly Mom said, "Whatever happens, Paul, keep going," and released him. A red-eyed Great-Uncle Jackass grabbed her from behind and cut her throat. Paul screamed. Even as Mom’s eyes glazed over, her arm jerked twice, emphatically pointing him onward. Paul wanted to stop, but his feet betrayed him by carrying him forward.

He was alone now, and though he kept running, he had no idea what he was running to or from. He looked around, but he didn’t see anything that could guide him.

"Find your own path, Paul," Mom and 3G’s voices whispered in unison. "We can’t tread it."

And now Paul saw specks of gold underfoot. They were few and scattered at first, but as he followed them, they became denser, forming a trail that ended with a figure in the distance. As Paul approached him, he recognized the figure costumed in black and white, wearing a mask that half-smiled and half-frowned.

"Domino!" Paul said as he finally stopped. "I knew you were real, not just a childhood dream!"

"Paul Richard Lennon Harrison," Domino said. His voice seemed to come from the smiling part of his mask. "God has given you one face, and you can make yourself another with AHPs and gene sculpting. But no matter how many masks you don, you need to wear your own face beneath them, or the parts you play will be hollow, and you yourself will be lost."

"It’s not my face," Paul said bitterly. "It’s 3G’s."

"But it’s your face now. And though you inherit the curses of fame with it, you also inherit its blessings."

Paul laughed. "Do you really think it’s a blessing to be the clone of a legend?"

"It can be, if you make it so. If you follow your ideals, you can beat the darkness that claimed your mother and ancestor."

Paul raised his head proudly. "I’ll do it!"

"Then take this, Paul; may it serve you well." Domino tossed a gold face mesh and neckband to Paul, who caught them and put them on.

"Stand tall when you face the darkness, Paul. It’s more afraid of you than you know," Domino said from the frowning part of his mask.

Domino disappeared. The nothingness they were in was overtaken by the darkness that had followed Paul. "He’s lying, Paul Richard Lennon Harrison," it whispered malevolently. "I killed John, and I killed your mother, and I’ll kill you too."

Paul pressed the controls on the neckband, searching for the code that would make him into a protagonist strong enough to conquer the darkness…

And woke.

Paul thrashed about for several seconds before he remembered where he was. He still felt a little fogheaded from the tranquilizer. He should really talk to the med lab about getting a different prescription; this one wasn’t doing him much good.

He closed his eyes while he reviewed the images from his dream, trying to fix them into his memory before they faded. Mom, 3G, Domino, the darkness… they were all mixed up somehow in what he had to do. He was glad he’d dreamed of his muse, anyway; that felt like a good sign.

He drifted in and out of sleep until the tranquilizer completely wore off and the captain announced they were through the wormhole. "We expect to arrive at the alternate Earth on November 7, 1980, by its calendar," she finished.

Paul froze in the middle of unsnapping his restraints. November 7^th was the do-or-die date for the plan he’d come up with to save 3G; if they didn’t even arrive at alt-Earth until then, both he and 3G were in trouble. Paul tapped the speaker of his cel a couple of times, checking for distortion, before he called Scott. "Did you hear what the captain said?" he asked, not even bothering with a greeting. "I thought we were going to arrive at alt-Earth November 4^th or 5^th; what happened?"

"Hold on while I ask Engineering," Scott replied.

Paul inspected his AHPs and his other belongings while he waited for Scott’s answer. Everything in his drawers had been shaken up or turned upside down, but nothing was damaged. His stuff had come through in better shape than he had, Paul thought as he sat down on his bed. For once, the tingling he always experienced after entering the alternate universe didn’t energize him. He still felt a little queasy from the tranquilizer, and his fingers trembled as he tried to access a file on his handheld.

"Paul?" Scott’s voice almost made him lose his grip on his handheld. "They had a harder time squeezing through the wormhole on this trip; they had to overload the engines slightly before we popped into the alt-universe. They have to take a few days to overhaul them before we continue to alt-Earth. Looks like I’ll be pulling a heavier schedule in Engineering than I thought I would; I hope Professor Stuart will still let me go down with you to alt-Earth."

"Can’t they do it any faster?"

"What do you think this is, some holo where the engineers can create miracles on demand? I’ve worked with these people before, and while they run rings around me, there’s only so much they can do. If they say it will take two or three days, it’s going to take two or three days."

Paul let himself slide from his bed to sit cross-legged on the floor. "I’m fucked, then. I’m completely fucked."

"What do you mean?"

"You know I said I wanted to save 3G? I thought that after we took the holos of him, I’d confront his murderer as 3G and talk him out of shooting 3G in December. The guy went to New York in early November to do it then, only he didn’t bring the bullets with him. So he flew down to Atlanta on November 7 to get them from a friend. I thought I had a window where it would be safe to play 3G for this guy – at least I would have had one, if alt-history still follows ours. But by the time I get the holos of 40-year-old 3G, the guy will have the bullets. There won’t be anything stopping him from killing me in 3G’s place."

"Don’t do it, then," Scott said instantly. "Let your ancestor die instead. It’s not worth it."

"Thanks, Scott, but I don’t think I have a choice."

Paul closed the connection so he wouldn’t have to try to explain his dream to Scott; he didn’t think even his best friend would understand. In his silent room, the high-pitched sound of the overloaded engines sounded suspiciously like the voice of the darkness in his dream.

Go read Act Three!

Sandra Ulbrich started her writing career in high school, when she made up her own lyrics to songs. She soon graduated to writing sonnets, villanelles, and free verse. After obtaining her bachelor's degree in molecular biology/English and a Master of Technical and Scientific Communication degree, she worked as a teaching assistant, a science writing intern at the National Cancer Institute, a technical writer, and a proofreader. She is currently a lab technician at an enyzme-producing company. In addition to writing poetry, Sandra has also written a fantasy novel called Day of All Seasons, which has been submitted for publication. She is currently writing a sequel, called Fifth Season. When not writing, Sandra enjoys listening to classic rock (especially the Beatles), reading, gaming, attending cons, and chatting with her friends.