“Go ahead,” Lewis said, nodding at Paul.
“It’s called the Temporal Paradox,” Paul explained, turning to Amanda. “No, it would not have been there the day before. It was only there for one year previous after we sent it back—after we changed history.”
“But then this is what I don’t get,” Amanda said. “We have a year that we all experienced with no canister under the bridge. Had we gone there, there would have been no canister. And now you tell me there was a year in which it was there. Which year is real? The year with the canister or the year with no canister?”
“Both,” Paul continued. “There was a reality in which there was no canister and one where there was a canister. This gets into the theory of infinite realities that David talked about.”
“Infinite realities? What the hell does that mean?” Amanda demanded.
“What it means is that in an infinite universe there may be an infinite number of realities,” Paul explained. “In an infinite universe there are realities for everything having happened. Right now we can safely say that for one whole year one chrome canister was under that bridge. That is a reality. Now let’s suppose that tonight we send another canister back. We would then create a reality, a universe if you will, where there were two canisters under that bridge for a whole year. Then we could send a third. Given enough time Lewis and I could create an infinite number of realities where everything has happened. David theorized that time travel might simply be lateral movement to any one of an infinite number of parallel planes discovered by the travelers.”
Paul paused to allow this to sink in.
“So,” Amanda said slowly, “what you are saying is that there is a world, a universe, where Lee won at Gettysburg and where Hitler got nuclear weapons?”
Paul nodded. “That is one theory.”
“Which means,” Lewis continued, “that time travel may just be lineal movement between what are essentially parallel realities. All of this effort may just end us up in a world in which Lee loses at Gettysburg but there may also be worlds in which he wins and The South wins.”
“Sounds discouraging,” Amanda concluded.
“But that’s just a theory,” Paul added hurriedly. “It may be nothing more than that. David speculation. I know what has happened in our world and the question for us now is do we want to try and change it?”
Amanda shrugged. “Like you said, recent history hasn’t been too good.”
Chapter 10
Natasha sat in her Dorchester apartment with her laptop open. The feed from CA was a bit disjointed. She tried to review the film from Monday. She zoomed in on the piece of paper but couldn’t read the address. It was too late now to put a trace on Amanda or Paul’s car. She had no interest in staking out a bowling alley, but she needed something to send back to Yeltsengrad.
The phone rang. Without looking Natasha picked it up. “Hello Igor.”
“Comrade Nikitin. How is life in the wonderful free world?”
“Wonderful. I haven’t been shot or mugged in this neighborhood yet. My collection of malt liquor and chemical wine bottles is improving.”
“The natives are getting restless,” Rostov said. “We appreciate hearing all about the dashing British junior professors you date, of course, but if you could throw a little more meat in the stew that would be greatly appreciated.”
“Igor, I’m sending reports. I’m not holding anything back, honest. I need to cultivate Nigel as a source.”
“He obviously likes you. He agreed to hire you. Not that he would have had much choice. But, we didn’t put you in Boston to send back wallpaper.”
“I’m trying. Just a little more time,” she said.
Rostov sighed. “Would it be enough of an inducement to dangle the Charles River apartment in front of you in exchange for useful information?”
“Oh no, you’re serious about upgrading to the Charles River apartment?”
“It’s on the first floor of Ginter’s building. You two’d be neighbors.”
“Beats this dump. But what is the, ah… cost?”
“Now, Comrade Nikitin, you sound ungrateful for the arrangements. There you are, living in what they claim is the most charming city in North America, and you’re witching about what part of town you live in.”
“Igor, the windows in the car were broken again last week.”
“So don’t keep anything sensitive in the car overnight. I’d think that much’d be obvious.”
“Igor.”
“All right, all right, I’ll… see what I can do about the apartment. Does this mean you and I can be roomies when I come to Boston?”
“In your dreams.”
“You’re making this an easy decision, Comrade. You must like Dorchester more than you’re letting on.”
“I’ll leave the good vodka within reach,” she said. “Sorry, but that’s as hospitable as I’ll get.”
“Here’s an idea. Why don’t you date deVere instead of Nigel Stufflebottom, or whatever his name is?”
She shook her head, instinctively revulsed, and was glad Rostov couldn’t see her. “He’s as straight as they come,” she said. “He doesn’t even flirt with me. Still calls me Miss Nikitin.”
“Damn. We need to find out what they’re up to, Comrade.”
“I know, Igor, I know.” She paused and considered. “It may have to do with time travel, after all. At least I think so.”
“Time travel?”
“I think they want to go back in time and… undo Soviet America.”
“Can they do that?”
“I think that they’re going to try. If anyone in the world can do it they can.”
“When? How? Where?” Rostov demanded.
“When I know, you will know.”
“Dorchester’s a paradise compared to where I can send you next, you know.”
“Of course.”
“All right,” Rostov said, his tone softening. “But we do need to find out the details, I have this gut feeling something’ll happen soon. You can’t put any bugs at work, I guess?”
“No audio stuff. Too many sensors around.”
“Think you could get to Ginter?”
Natasha paused. “I’m sure I could get him to come up and look at my etchings, if that’s what you’re suggesting, but I know it wouldn’t do any good. He’s ex-special-ops, he’s a bright boy.”
“How about this Nigel character?” Igor asked. “What’s he worth again?”
“He’s a junior professor in the department. I’ve seen him and deVere talking. I need to learn if deVere’s confiding in him. Look, Igor, I’ll find something. I promise.”
On Monday morning Amanda touched Paul lightly on the elbow as they stood in line at the faculty cafeteria. “Join me outside for lunch?”
“Uh, sure,” he said. “Is this—?”
She pressed her finger to his lips and smiled. “Outside.”
He paid for his turkey sandwich and potato chips and followed Amanda out to the south lawn, a favorite spot for faculty lunches that didn’t need to be overheard. “Oh shoot,” he said, sitting down beside her on the bench. “Forgot to get a drink.”
“That’s okay,” Amanda said. “We can share.”
We can share… Paul stared in space until Amanda brought him back by flicking her fingers in front of his eyes.
“I say something wrong?” she asked.
“No, no, it’s… that was how Valerie used to say it.”
“Who?”
“My wife. When we were dating.”
“Sorry,” Amanda said. “Didn’t mean to bring up a sore point.”
Paul looked at her. “It’s not a sore point,” he said hotly. “Valerie’s a good wife and good mother.”
“Not from what I hear. Sorry it’s such a… well, never mind. Now I get to ask you something.”