A Novella By Alex Bobbs, written for National Novel Writing Month 2003

Copyright Alexander S. Bobbs, 2003

I like writing forwards, even more than I like writing director’s notes for my plays. In this case, the added benefit of writing a forward means that I can get myself closer to the 50,000 word requirement for National Novel Writing Month without actually having to come up with much of anything to write. Notice how I spelled out each word in "National Novel Writing Month" (which I’m just copying and pasting at this point), instead of calling it by the common abbreviation "NaNoWrMo" which would eat up 3 fewer words than "National Novel Writing Month". Of course, while (ctrl-v) National Novel Writing Month is really my motivation for writing a story, this particular premise was not one I came up with exclusively for (here it comes again) National Novel Writing Month. The story idea actually came to me in a dream, which had nothing to do with National Novel Writing Month (OK, I’ll stop that). I dreamed I had become invisible, but instead of being all-powerful and crazy, like invisible men in movies often are, I was frightened and was being hunted by police trying to kill me. By pulling a variety of stunts and putting up a good fight (described more or less as I remember it in Chapter 4), I managed to escape, and for some reason appeared in a library, where I met a very pretty girl. As I thought about this dream the next day, I came up with an idea for a short story about a bizarre romance between a girl and an invisible fugitive hiding in her school library. Of course, as with most my bizarre story ideas, I never got around to penning it down.

I decided to revisit the idea for NaNoWrMo (see, I restrained myself there, although I’m still using up more words in this meaningless gag), but realized that (1) a romantic story, even a bizarre twisted one, would be absolutely terrible in every conceivable way if I came up with it, and probably a bore to write as well, and (2) I needed a lot more plot if I was going to make it to 50,000 words in the course of 30 days, without neglecting my graduate work. And so the premise got an overhaul: the invisible fugitive was made older, the girl younger, and although I added just a small touch of "Lolita"-esque intrigue that never progresses beyond one kiss, I mostly dropped the romance and gave them a friendship relationship to work with. An underlying plot of fear and politics was added to the background, leading to the real adventures that our young heroine has starting in the Second Act. The rest I sort of made up as I went along, with sort of a vague idea of what themes I was trying to develop and what the characters would discover.

The leap for me in taking this on was really writing Claire. My protagonists tend to be male, for obvious reasons, and my female characters in general always feel flat and underdeveloped. But satisfied with the creation of Ariel the White Mage in my screenplay treatment of "Final Fantasy", I decided to take on the challenge of not only having a female main character, but writing the story from her mental perspective, occasionally dabbling in stream of consciousness writing. Admittedly, I sort of cheated, since emotionally Claire is more childish than feminine, and the age I picked for her makes this plausible. Claire is also loosely based on my highschool self in a lot of ways, or at least what I imagine I would have been like as a girl. I don’t know whether real girls will related to her or not, or if they will just see her as proof that I shouldn’t write female characters, but for me, the experiment worked. I grew to absolutely love Claire as the story went on, and lamented that I was never able to find a girl like that when I was that age. Of course, maybe they did exist, but I was being just as dumb as Chas (the "Chasm" joke, by the way, is a real story, though not one based on the same Chas as I drew the character from).

On that note, I’ll shut up and get to the actual story. I did write a story, really, not just a 50,000 word forward. While the draft that will get turned in for review to National Novel Writing Month (ha!) will undoubtedly be horribly unpolished and needing another month just to revise, at least I will finally be able to say that I’ve written a full novel, which hopefully wasn’t completely crappy. Now, if only I can also come up with a beefy appendix to further increase my word count…

Update to Forward:

The final irony of all this is that, thanks to various other ongoing projects, like visiting Los Angeles and being a graduate student, I ended up missing the deadline for NaNoWrMo. I’d be sad about this, except that there aren’t any prizes for getting the novel done on time anyway, so I guess the fact that I finished the story at all and (despite my word-count whoring in places like this) did manage to produce something of substantial length on its own. I’m sure that through all of this we learned some great lesson, like that its really freaking hard to write 50,000 words in one month, and that if you are, you probably should be not be working on other writing projects at the same time.

"Split into groups of three and discuss your solutions."

These were words Claire hated to hear. As much as she hated groupwork, it was worse when it had to be done in class, and it was much worse when the groups had to be created on the spot by the students. Not so bad for other students, apparently, for when an announcement such as "Split into groups of three and discuss your solutions" was made, they simply grunted a bit in disappointment that they would not be able to continue staring blankly and fidgeting away the time, and then immediately formed perfect groups as if the whole thing had been choreographed. Whoever arranged this choreography had left Claire out of it. When the groups were formed, she found herself still sitting by herself, looking around to see if anyone near her needed a third group member. Usually, she tried to weasel into a group that had already been formed by the choreography, creating the forbidden group of four. Fortunately, the teachers rarely objected, although she often got odd looks from those who had rightfully earned their places in predetermined group of three.

Today, as usual, she looked for an easy out. Were there any female groups of two desperately needing a third wheel? Unfortunately, no. There were two male groups of two, but Claire would have rather ducked out of the room than join those groups. Working with boys was bad enough, but it was worse when you had to volunteer to work with boys, and it was much worse when you had to volunteer to work with one group of boys instead of another, making it apparent that you had chosen those boys over the others, and suggesting that maybe there was a reason behind this decision. And so she approached a group of three girls, the ones she knew best.

"Can I join your group?" she asked. She wondered why no one else ever needed to ask this question.

"We’ve already got three. Why don’t you join Paul and Andrew?"

Claire froze, trying to think up an excuse that wasn’t completely and totally lame, but as it turned out, she didn’t need one. The teacher intervened.

"Claire, do you need a group? How about you work with these gentlemen."

This, of course, was not what she wanted, but it was better than it could have been. At least now it was apparent that she was made to work with these boys, and that she had not chosen to work with them, and certainly had not chosen them over other boys.

The boys talked back and forth to each other, largely ignoring her, as she nodded and looked down at her notes occasionally so that she would look involved. Finally, Andrew acknowledged her.

"Did you have any ideas?" asked Andrew.

"Sort of," responded Claire, "I think we’re supposed to find an expression for the limit as time approaches zero." Her voice always sounded so loud to her whenever she spoke, and everything else seemed so quiet in comparison. It made her uncomfortable.

"Won’t that make us divide by zero? We can’t do that."

"Well, if we take the limit-"

"Wait a minute, she’s right. That would give us the instantaneous rate of change," interrupted Paul.

Paul and Andrew now turned to her for each step, and she slowly gave them the answer she had already come up with. They seemed impressed, which made her unsure how to react. To accept their praise seemed arrogant, but to decline it seemed dishonest, so the best answer seemed to simply shrug.

"Hey, aren’t you a freshman?" asked Paul,

"Yes," she answered.

"And you’re in Pre-Calculus?"

"Yeah, I skipped Pre-Algebra, and did Algebra I and II in one year, so I ended up two years ahead." Suddenly she felt like she was bragging too much, even though this was true.

"Wow, that’s incredible. How old are you?"

"Fourteen." She suddenly realized that this wasn’t true. Today was her 15^th birthday, not that anyone would notice.

"Holy shit. Are you some kind of genius?"

Claire just blushed. How do you answer a question like that anyway? The class went on to discuss their answers, and Andrew presented their response which was, of course, correct. Claire didn’t care that she didn’t get credit. It was better this way. This way she wouldn’t have to figure out how to respond to other people asking her if she was a genius. The bell rang, and Claire gathered her books. As she strapped on her backpack she looked behind her to make sure she hadn’t left anything at her desk, and saw Paul.

"I guess I’ll see you later," said Paul, flashing a smile.

Claire nodded, but then let something out that she didn’t intend. She smiled back. Then, she quickly turned and left, heading toward the library. She hoped that smile hadn’t been too flirtatious. Often she wished that she could view a video recording of herself so she could see what she looked like to other people. Of course, she was also afraid to see what she knew she would see: a short, flat-chested girl with scrawny arms, dirty-blonde hair that just wouldn’t behave, and large glasses covering her face. Her father often called her glasses "chemistry goggles" which probably wasn’t too far off. Someone else should have picked out glasses for her, she thought, someone with more fashion sense. They looked fine in the store to her. People shouldn’t trust her with these things.

She couldn’t help but let her mind run with Paul. Maybe he liked her, she thought. Maybe he would ask her out. Maybe he would ask her out today. Maybe he would even ask her to the prom, since he was a Junior. She’d better be ready if he did. She’d better hang around so he can find her if he’s going to ask her out.

Of course, the more rational side of her brain told her this was rubbish. The guy obviously just thought it was cute that a freshman could do precalculus better than the upperclassmen. He just was being friendly. He just wanted to be nice so he could mooch off her later. He certainly wasn’t at all romantically interested in her, because she was too young, and too ugly, and he probably had a girlfriend already who was much prettier. And even if he didn’t, she probably wouldn’t like him. Any junior who would go for a freshman was obviously desperate. And what would they do anyway? Both these lines of thought ran through her head very strongly at the same time. To the rejected, blind hope and endless cynicism can be aroused suddenly and simultaneously.

She meandered to her usual corner in the library, away from the reading area, where students were always being loud and taking magazine quizzes, and away from the computing area, where naughty boys were always trying to beat the school’s pornography filter. She opened her 3-ring binder and began thumbing through her assignments, deciding which one to tackle first. Should she start with the easiest, so she can finish those quickly and have them out of the way, or start the harder ones, in case she had questions and had to find a teacher? Of course, the latter was usually a moot point since she wasn’t fond of tracking down teachers after school anyway. She decided to start with the easiest, and started on her history reading. She opened her large tome of European History, readied her yellow highlighter, and began scanning the text for information that looked important enough to highlight, so she would never have to read the rest of the text again. Of course, some wonder why the schools don’t just have textbooks with only the parts you would highlight, so you never have to read the unimportant stuff in the first place. People who ask that question tend to buy Cliff Notes. Claire was one of these people, but she never used Cliff Notes, because only lazy students used Cliff Notes.

Today’s passage was unfortunately very boring, and her attention kept drifting and she kept re-reading the same passages over and over again as she forgot what she had already read. Finally, she decided she wasn’t in the mood for this, and thought for a moment of other subjects she could tackle, or other things she could do to pass the time. As she thought, she heard familiar footsteps behind her. She didn’t bother looking to see who it was.

"Hello, John," she said.

"Happy birthday, Claire,"

"That’s something I haven’t heard all day,"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I don’t really tell anyone. I just like to see if anyone notices."

"I guess I’m the only one who noticed, then."

"Interesting, isn’t it?"

"What do you mean?"

Claire turned around, and looked into the empty air even though she knew she wouldn’t see anything and explained with a smirk, "That the only one who notices is someone I can’t notice, even if I wanted to."

"You know I’m here."

"Only because you choose to tell me. I always wondered, do you talk to anyone else in the library?"

John paused, and then answered, "No."

"So what do you do when I’m not around?"

"Mostly read, and watch people, and occasionally mess with the librarian’s head. This morning I had fun playing ‘hide the coffee cup’ with her."

"I wish I’d seen that."

"It was hilarious, but I think the librarian was less than amused."

"So you’re becoming one of those naughty ghosts who play nasty tricks on people."

"It’s what boredom does to you."

"Are you going to haunt this building forever then?"

"I hope not. I’m hoping they’ll come back for me eventually. I’m sorry, am I distracting you from your work?"

"I wasn’t getting it done anyway. Talking with you is more interesting than 19^th century Europe."

"I was never much into history. People always claimed it was valuable to learn it, but if you ask me, the one thing we learn from history is that we never learn from history."

Claire laughed. It was funny because it was true. What was it about this man that made it so easy to talk to him? Any time she tried to talk to anyone else the conversation felt stilted and forced, as if she had to plot every sentence. But with John she just talked and joked back and forth, without worrying about a thing.

"You know," Claire began, "sometimes I wish I was like you."

"Oh, no you don’t. Believe me, this isn’t much fun."

"Well, I think it would be fun for a little while. I mean, to be able to wander around without worrying about how you look or who’s going to see you. To be able to hear what people say when they don’t think you’re around. There must be so much you could learn that wouldn’t otherwise be possible."

"It’s true, I do hear a lot. I don’t really want to intrude on anyone, but there isn’t much else to do, and I doubt anyone really cares if I know their secrets."

"I don’t know if that’s true. Even if you are a complete stranger, you are someone, and I’m sure that makes people uncomfortable to know that you listen in on what they’re saying."

"So you think I should mind my own business?"

"No, it’s just… I mean, I certainly appreciate that you let me know when you’re around."

"The issue did make me think of an interesting philosophical question."

"What?"

"Well, why do we mind if other people listen in on our conversations, when we know that God listens in on everything we say anyway?"

"That’s only if you believe in God."

"God listens whether you believe in him or not."

"Oh, don’t start that again!"

"Hey, he heard that!" John remarked, in his usual teasing fashion.

"Oh, John, what next? Are you going to tell me that you’re the Holy Ghost?"

"If I were the Holy Ghost I wouldn’t be stuck here."

"You must leave the library sometimes." She often wondered if this was true. Of course, she was never quite clear on how to imagine John. It’s hard to imagine anything without a visual image. A real person certainly wouldn’t stay in the library, but she wasn’t sure what kind of person he was, if he was a person at all. In the movies, ghosts always seem content to haunt their assigned place, but she knew John wasn’t really a ghost either. He just seemed like one.

"Of course I leave the library," answered John, "mostly to get food from the cafeteria." For some reason, it never occurred to Claire that John had to eat, but it made sense.

"Ah, so you are a very mischievous ghost," she teased, "First you listen in on people’s conversations, and then you steal their food."

"The government pays for the food, and the government’s what trapped me here to begin with."

"Why can’t you just leave?"

"They’ll see me."

"Surely you’re joking."

"No, they have ways."

"So they can see you?"

"Yes, and they are looking everywhere. Even when you don’t know it."

"So the government also listens in on our conversations?"

"Probably."

"Sheesh, between you, the government, and God, there really isn’t any privacy left in the world."

"I’m afraid not."

"But how do they see you?"

"Well, anyone can see me."

"So if I try really hard you’ll appear?"

"You don’t have to try hard at all, just throw that pen at me."

Claire threw her pen lightly in the direction of John’s voice. It flew through the air, bounced against an invisible barrier, and then clattered to the ground.

"I still don’t see you,"

"Yes, but now you know exactly where I am standing."

"Oh, that was lame. Don’t expect me to believe that the government tracks you down by throwing pens everywhere." She, of course, understood the lesson, but for some reason this came out. It just felt right, pretending not to be all-knowing for a moment.

"It’s the same principle. But if you bring a camera tomorrow, I’ll show you a better trick."

"My camera’s expensive. I’m not throwing it at you."

They both laughed, but quickly hushed as they heard someone coming. It was Cathy, a girl in Claire’s class who carpooled with her. Cathy looked around quizzically for a moment.

"That’s funny, I thought I heard you talking with someone," Cathy remarked.

"No, I was just reading,"

"Is the history reading funny?"

"Huh?"

"I just heard you laughing. Is the reading funny?"

"Umm.. sort of. I don’t know. I guess it wasn’t that funny."

"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. My mom can’t drive me to the dance on Friday, so I was wondering if you were going, and if I could get a ride."

"I’m not going."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. I hated homecoming. Can’t Joe pick you up?" asked Claire. Joe was Cathy’s latest boyfriend, as of two weeks ago. Cathy always liked to talk about her new boyfriends when they carpooled together.

"Joe’s also trying to find a ride for us. His parents are out of town. I guess I’ll hope he finds something."

Cathy turned away for a moment, but then turned around with an idea.

"Say," began Cathy, "what if I could find you a date? Then would you go?"

"I doubt you would have much luck accomplishing that."

"I might know someone who would go with you."

"I… no thanks. I really don’t want to go."

"OK, then. Let me know if you change your mind. 3’o clock, right?"

"Right. See you then."

Cathy walked away. Claire checked her watch. She still had twenty minutes until her mom would arrive to pick them up. She wondered for a moment about what Cathy said, and began to regret for a moment declining the offer. It was strange that she should feel any regret. She hated everything about dances. She hated the music, she hated how loud the music was, she hated that there was nothing to do, and she hated how lonely it made her feel. As paradoxical as it may seem, crowded rooms made Claire feel incredibly lonely. An empty room would allow her to talk to herself, or to John if he was around. On the dance floor she couldn’t talk to anyone, and even if she could, it was too loud to hear anything. She’d given up on explaining to other people why she hated dances. They’d just tell her that she needed to bring a date. This of course made no sense at all. Did they really expect her to believe that if she brought a date than the music would get better and softer? Or that being obligated to spend the evening with a boy would make things any less uncomfortable? She hated boys, and could hardly interact with them at all. It seemed that bringing a date would make things much worse, not better.

So why did she regret not taking Cathy up on her offer? Because it felt like dances were something she should enjoy. Everyone else liked them, and it made her feel left out to skip them, even though she hated them to begin with. It was a strange thing, to want something you don’t want just because everyone else enjoys it. It was the same thing with Cathy’s boyfriends. Hearing Cathy talk always made Claire wish she were dating these boys, but at the same time she knew that she didn’t want to date anyone. There was no reason for her to date anyone. And it wasn’t like she had a choice anyway. No boys ever asked her out. The courtship system had excluded her, and that was fine by her.

"I wonder if she really had someone in mind for you," pondered John.

"I doubt it. She just wants a ride so she and her boyfriend can smooch in the backseat on the way to the dance."

"You don’t like her?"

"Oh, I like her fine. I just hate hearing about all her ‘exciting’ dating escapades. These kids get so worked up over their stupid 9^th grade soap opera romances," John laughed heartily, which Claire didn’t understand.

"What’s so funny?" she asked.

"You talk like an old woman. ‘these kids’? It cracks me up."
"Well, it’s true isn’t it? I mean, all this is going to seem dreadfully silly in five years, so I just see it for how it is now, rather than going on with some delusion."

John’s voice suddenly became serious. "Claire, everything is going to seem silly in five years. In five years you won’t remember the European history you learned, and you’ll wonder why you bothered to do that reading when you could have been having fun."

"I think I’ll care that I got good grades."

"Less than you might think. Much less."

This hit a sore spot. Claire often wondered if her lack of a social life was really worth the academic success. She wished that she could look into the future and accurately predict that every social butterfly was going to pay for their sloth and wind up in shitty jobs with shitty routines and shitty pay. Unfortunately, she knew this wasn’t true. Some of them even had better GPA’s than her. So what value did this leave her?

She tried to defend herself: "I see what you mean, but I think it’s worth it to get into a good college. And don’t say that I should play sports to get into college because that goes against everything I believe,"

"Oh don’t worry, I’m not going to touch that one again,"

"You think I should go to the dance, don’t you?"

"I think it could be fun for you,"

"That certainly goes against my prior experience," For some reason, she liked it when people pried like this, though it made no sense to her why. "But let me guess what you would say:" she continued, "it would be better if I had a date."

"It usually is."

"Well, there’s nothing I can do there. Boys never ask me out."

"What if Cathy really did have someone lined up for you?"

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Claire. "If she did, you could find out who it is, couldn’t you?"

"Why don’t you just ask her?"

"John…"

"OK, OK, I’ll try to find out. But it’s very likely that I won’t be able to. Now, if Cathy brings it up in conversation, I can hear it, but she has no reason to say anything about it. Since she thinks you won’t go anyway, she’ll only bring it up as an off-hand remark, if at all."

"There’s still a good chance."

"Maybe, but it’d be a sure thing if you tell Cathy that you’ve changed your mind."

"That’s only if she actually does have someone in mind."

"If she doesn’t, then I’ll overhear her telling people how she duped you."

"Intriguing…"

"In any case, you don’t have to commit to going with anyone, so there’s no risk, not that there ever was to begin with."

"There’s still a risk. If I tell Cathy that my mom will drive her and her stupid boyfriend, I still have to go. My mom’s not going to drive her if I decide to bail out."

"OK, then how about this? If Cathy doesn’t find you a suitable date, I’ll go with you."

"You’d do that? Leave the library to take me to the dance?"

"I think it’s safe, as long as there are no strobes."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You’ll understand later."

"I don’t know about this."

"It’d be fun. You could point to all the boys at the dance who didn’t ask you out and I could trip them or something."

Claire squealed with laughter, "You’re just a plain rascal!"

"And I could teach you the Salsa-"

"Now you’re being silly! Wouldn’t it look strange to everyone else to have me dancing by myself with no partner?"

"It would look like you have amazing rhythm."

"And would you kiss me again?" She suddenly felt ashamed, because she knew that he didn’t view her that way. Why did she say that? She knew that he wouldn’t do that, not again. She knew it was wrong, but for some reason it didn’t seem as wrong as if a visible older man were the one kissing her.

"I think my fiancée would object," responded John delicately.

"Oh, right. I keep forgetting how old you are."

"So how about it?"

"Well… I think now I’m too amused now to pass it up."

"I thought you might be."

"Well, I’d better go wait out front. Bye, John."

"Don’t forget your camera tomorrow."

"I won’t."

Claire packed her unfinished history reading into her backpack and left the library. She waited for her mom out front, where Cathy was already waiting, with her boyfriend of course. Claire tried not to look at them, and instead stared off into space, wondering how long this one would last. Claire was tempted for a moment not to tell Cathy that she was going to the dance. After all, Claire didn’t want to go on a date. She wanted to have fun with John, the ghost of Ridgemont High library. Still, she ended up telling Cathy. After all, she wanted to know what her options were, and John could find that out for her.

"Do not interact with anyone you find, under any circumstances. If you see Jesus Christ himself dying on the ground, you will ignore them. Is this clear?"

These were the most oft-repeated instructions John had been given. Of course, it was never made clear who exactly they might meet. It always seemed that there was this mythical "someone" out there that they had to avoid. They all knew the procedures of what to do if they saw anyone, but no one ever specified who they might see. And none of John’s team asked. You didn’t ask questions when you were in this position. You were lucky to get the job you had.

Of course, John wondered why they had gotten the job they had gotten. They were told that they were going to collect animal and soil samples. This seemed like work for team of scientists, not fighting men. There didn’t seem to be anything dangerous at all about this place. And what was this place anyway?

The four of them were told they would be visiting a remote world. An alien planet? Not exactly, they were told. A man in a white coat had jabbered on a bit about various new quantum theories, and drew analogies to something with double slits, but no one really ever told them exactly where they would be traveling to. When a detail like that is being left out, you don’t ask. It’s been left out on purpose. After their briefing they were loaded up and sent through what appeared to be a standard matter teleportation gate. Reddings went first, then Wheeler, then Davis, and John went last of the four soldiers. As he crossed, John wondered what sort of strange world awaited on the other side of the gate that was no mysterious and important that it’s true nature had to be kept secret, even from government servants like himself. The result was disappointing. They appeared in some sort of desert, with nothing especially interesting or unusual in view. For all he knew, they could have been dropped off in Mojave and this was all some colossal joke.

Adding to his disappointment, John found that there wasn’t much for him to do on this mission. After the four finished their crossing, a field biologist named Dr. Brawn was sent in to supervise the sample collecting. However, Brawn was so finicky about his work that he quickly insisted on doing all the sample collection himself, and told the four special forces that had come with him to look around and "keep an eye out for anything." After a while, the soldiers decided to play golf. When Neil Armstrong landed on the moon he played golf, and so Sergeant Reddings thought it appropriate to bring along a 9-iron and a few balls. When it seemed that they really weren’t in any place as impressive as the moon, the Armstrong comparison lost its weight, but they played anyway. They practiced driving, and when they ran out of balls, John ran out to retrieve them in the desert dunes. As he climbed a high dune to get the last ball, he paused for a moment to look across the barren landscape. For some reason, something on the horizon caught his eye. He dropped the golf balls in the sand for a moment and drew his binoculars.

He saw the impossible. On the horizon was a road. And not just a road, but a paved road. Maybe they were in Mojave. John called the other men out there to look, and one by one they laughed, thinking that maybe this whole mission was some cute joke. Dr. Brawn was also confused. He was told that there would be people in this "dimension" as he called it, but he had only expected primitives at most. No civilization had ever been mentioned. The question now was brought up: was this all a big mistake? Had they been accidentally teleported into the wrong place, and now looked like idiots collecting samples in what was actually just an ordinary location on Earth? The men decided to make an effort to find out where they were. If they weren’t far from the base, they could even drop in on the commanders who expected them to be light-years away. That would give everyone a good laugh, they were sure. They still had 12 hours before the return-trip portal would be opened, so it seemed as if they had time to spare in either case.

They headed out in their jeep, along an arbitrary direction on the road, and soon came across a sign: "Los Angeles, 126 miles" Indeed, they were now even more sure that they had been teleported to the wrong place. After about half an hour of driving they came across a gas station and decided to stop. In accordance with the ‘don’t interact with anyone’ rule, no one had entered the station to speak with the attendant, even though they were sure the mission was a joke. You never knew if these sorts of things were tests. At this point, the humor of the whole incident had run its course in their minds and they were more concerned about getting back in touch with base and letting them know what happened, as they knew they should do. Sergeant Reddings made the call. He found a payphone on the side of the gas station, called his base, and asked the operator for his superior.

"Hello, General Staffer?" Reddings said.

"Speaking."

"Yes sir, this is Sergeant Reddings reporting."

"Excuse me?"

"Sergeant Lawrence Reddings, special forces unit."

"What kind of joke is this?"

"That’s what we’re trying to figure out, sir. There appears to be some kind of mistake."

"Yes, I would say there would be, but who are you, really?"

"Um… Sergeant Lawrence Reddings, sir."

"No you’re not. That’s impossible."

"I understand sir, but it appears that we are-"

"Sergeant Reddings is right here in my office."

Reddings recoiled a bit, and could hear some laughter on the other end of the phone. "Sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand," he pleaded.

"Well, whoever you are, don’t call back. I’m a very busy man."

Reddings heard a click, and then hung up the phone. He reported back to the men, "Something is very wrong."

One by one each member of the team tried calling the base, and everyone they contacted claimed to have no knowledge of their mission. Something was very, very wrong. Finally, Dr. Brawn tried.

"Rob?" he spoke into the phone, hoping his friend would recognize him.

"Speaking. Is this David?"

"Yes. The last teleportation seems to have gone wrong. The crossing didn’t work."

"Come again?"

"Rob, please, I fear they’ve disavowed all knowledge of this failure-"

"What failure?"

"Damnit, Rob, what’s going on? We’re all fine, we just ended up in the wrong place. It’s actually rather humorous, because I didn’t catch on until we found signs of advanced civilization and knew that we weren’t in the other dimension." There was a pause, and then the voice on the phone spoke.

"I know who you are."

"Yes, I told you who I am."

"You’re a Verpor of David, aren’t you?"

"What?"

"Where are you? I’ll send someone to pick you up. I can send you back."

"What’s a Verpor, Rob?"

Suddenly, another man could be heard on the other end of the phone, and the two were arguing. Dr. Brawn hung up and looked very, very pale. Why didn’t they tell him?

"What’s a Verpor?" asked John, who had been listening in.

"I don’t know. I think it’s what they call us."

"What who calls us?"

"The people here."

"Why could they call us that?"

"Because we’re from another dimension."

"I thought we weren’t. I thought it didn’t work."

"No, it worked. There were just things they never told any of us. Of course, they probably told you even less than me."

"So where are we?"

"Hmm… how to put it simply? Think of it as an alternate version of planet Earth. It’s our world as it could have been. Now, I was told that humans had evolved hear, as they did in our world, but I was never told how far the parallelism went. This alternate world has a similar civilization, and apparently even the same people."

"The same people? What do you mean?"

"There’s probably another version of you out there somewhere. Well, as surprising as this is, it doesn’t really change anything. We’d better get back to the entry point before we do any more damage."

John and Dr. Brawn went back to the other men, who were playing cards back at the Jeep, and Dr. Brawn explained the situation. They were less than satisfied.

"Wait, so they have a word for us?" asked Davis.

"Yes, they’ve come into contact with us before," answered Brawn.

"Did you know this?"

"Yes, but I was told the other teams who had been sent were killed by ‘primitives’, who apparently are the people who live in this world."

"But they’re as advanced as we are?" asked Wheeler

"I don’t think they’re quite as advanced," responded Brawn, "That phone sounds like they may still be using metal wiring for communication, and this fuel station seems to sell some petroleum product, which I assume means that there’s quite a bit of it left on the planet. These areas are rural, so it is hard to judge, but they could easily be several decades behind in technology. However, these people have machines and are organized, so they are far from primitive."

"So this," guessed Redding, "is why we were sent here, to protect you from these people?"

"Exactly. I had resisted coming here to begin with until they would guarantee better protection than they gave the others," answered Brawn.

"But it doesn’t make sense," protested John, "If they’re just like us, why would they kill us? How can they even tell the difference?"

Brawn paused for a moment and then reluctantly pointed out what they all should have noticed before. "There is an unusual effect that we’ve never been quite able to explain. Did you notice that we don’t cast shadows on the ground?" They looked around, and it suddenly seemed so obvious. A shadow is an easy thing to take for granted.

John glanced into the gas station, at the lone attendant. He looked as human as they were. There was a long pause, and then Reddings spoke up.

"How long do we have until they open the portal for our return?"

"Over 10 hours," answered Brawn, "They’ll open it at midnight."

"Then we have time to go to this alternate LA and back, don’t we?"

"You can’t be serious."

"I am quite serious. We’re not going back without some more answers."

"I must protest! These people will see us. We can’t interact with them."

"We’ll drive up to LA, take a quick look around, and try to act as normal as we can. We’ll see what we can see, and then leave without saying a word to anyone. Sound fair enough?"

"This is asking for trouble. I have a bad feeling about this."

"You really don’t have to go through all this trouble. In fact, I’d almost rather you didn’t."

If mankind were to be visited by aliens, many of our inventions would seem undoubtedly silly to them, even detrimental and pointless. And perhaps one of the most pointless-seeming inventions would be make-up. Something that provides neither protection, warmth, comfort, or any utility of any kind. This was how Claire felt about make-up, which was why she never wore any. And yet, for some odd reason, once she had agreed to let Cathy set her up with a date, it was not terribly difficult to talk her into a make-over. And so she sat in the girl’s locker room, getting more impatient and fidgety every minute as Cathy seemed to take way too long in doing this.

"I really don’t see what the point of this is," complained Claire.

"To get you a date for the dance. You want a date, don’t you?" asked Cathy.

"Sort of, but I thought that you already had someone in mind."

"I do. A few guys in mind, in fact."

"So why are you making me look like a cheerleader?" Claire hated cheerleaders, even though she didn’t really know any.

"Just work with me. You’re already looking so much better. Now the eyeliner. Look up, like this."

Claire looked up, but then winced and jerked away as the pen came near her eye. "You didn’t say you were going to stick anything in my eye!" Claire yelled.

"It’s not going in your eye, it’s going around it. Just hold still." Cathy responded calmly. Claire wasn’t sure why Cathy bothered with this. On some level Claire wanted to be such a pain that Cathy would give up, but every time she started whining Cathy was so patient that Claire felt bad for being such an ass.

They tried applying the eyeliner again. Claire managed to suppress a wince when the pen touched her, but as it moved across her skin, it felt as if it were digging into her eye, and she pulled away.

"I can’t do this. I just pull away when I see the pen. I can’t control it," pleaded Claire.

"Well, now you’ve got it half-way on. We can’t stop now."

"Can’t I just wash it off?"

"No, don’t do that. Here, why don’t you try putting it on yourself?"

"Me?!"

"Yeah, just look in the mirror. It’s really not so hard."

Claire went to a mirror and tried to figure out how to apply that damn pen to herself without poking her own eye out. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard. For some reason, when the pen was in her own hand, she didn’t feel the need to wince or pull away at all. She finished her right eye, and then her left eye, and then looked at herself. She did look better, in a very foreign sort of way. It was almost like she was looking at an alternate version of herself. A version that cared about how she looked.

Cathy sat her down again, wet a brush, and began working on her hair.

"See, you look like a completely different girl already," said Cathy, admiring her own work., "you should do this more often."

"But I don’t want to look like a completely different girl," protested Claire, "I want to look like me."

"You still do, and you’ll never change that. You just need to add a few highlights to get yourself noticed."

Claire thought for a moment and reflected, "I don’t get noticed much, except by John." If you think about a secret enough, eventually you forget that it was supposed to be a secret. Claire panicked for a second, but then realized that she hadn’t really given anything away.

"John who?"

"Oh, no one."

"You’re no going to tell me who this mystery man is?"

"He’s actually not even real. Just an imaginary friend I made up in first grade. It’s been sort of an ongoing gag."

"That’s kind of cute. Is John good looking?"

"Of course."

"I guess he wouldn’t be a very good imaginary boyfriend otherwise. There, done. How do you like it?"

"It’s good. I’m sorry if I’ve been a real pill about this."

"Oh, no problem. Now, you may want to try pulling your shirt up a bit. Here, you can tie it up."

"I’ll look like a slut."

"You will not look like a slut. Believe me, no one would mistake you for a slut."

"I’m not going out like that."

"Don’t you want boys to notice you?"

"Not those kind of boys."

"Well, try it and if it starts making you uncomfortable, just change it."

The bell rang. Nutrition break was over, and they had four minutes to get to third period. Cathy reached over and handed Claire back her glasses. Suddenly, it occurred to them that a detail had been left out.

"Can you see without them?" asked Cathy.

"Not very well. I can walk around, but everything more than 6 feet away looks blurry," answered Claire.

"You could take them off when you’re not in class, or…" Cathy tried looking through Claire’s lenses, and then reached into her own backpack and pulled out a case. "Wear these," she told Claire, "we have similar prescriptions."

Claire opened the case and saw a sleek, stylish pair of glasses. She tried them on. The prescriptions were not identical. She could feel her eyes straining a bit under the new lenses. However, in spite of that she could still see well enough. It seemed she could get used to this, or at least tolerate it for one day. Claire was surprised.

"You wear glasses?" she asked Cathy.

"I have glasses. I don’t wear them."

Throughout the day, Claire half-expected everyone she met to ask about her new look. Surprisingly, not that many people seemed to notice. She got some looks, but the only comments she got were from other girls, which seemed odd at first, but made a certain amount of sense. Oddly enough, it was the glasses that made her feel the most different. Just seeing a different rim around her vision added a new sense to how she saw herself, and she almost felt as if they gave her a sense of style and panache. She hoped people would comment on them, but nobody did. It was probably for the best, since they weren’t hers anyway. She had borrowed Cathy’s eyes for the day. Finally, the day came to an end and she was able to retreat back to her safe corner of the library.

"John, are you there?" she asked.

"Yes. You look different today. Did Cathy do that?"

"Yes."

"She seems like a nice girl."

"I think she means well. Did you find out anything?"

"Yes, but I think you will be disappointed."

"I wasn’t expecting her to actually have anyone lined up, if that’s your implication.."

"It’s very ironic, actually. She’s playing my game."

"What do you mean?"

"Our strategy was for you to give her reason to talk about something so that I could overhear it. She has the same strategy. Use you to instigate conversation so that she or her boyfriend can find out how other people react. I think she’s smarter than you give her credit for."

Claire ran her finger down her face. "And?" she asked.

"That’s all I know."

"So no one talked about me, at all?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then this has all been for nothing! Now I feel like such an idiot, looking like a slut all day…"

"You don’t look like a slut. Now, if it will distract you from your "9^th grade soap opera" for a few minutes, do you want to see the trick I told you about yesterday."

Claire nodded, and took her camera out of her backpack. It actually wasn’t her camera. The camera belonged to her mother, who was under the impression today that Claire needed it for a school project.

"Is Polaroid OK?" she asked.

"It doesn’t matter. Just try to take a picture of me and make sure the flash is ready."

Claire waited for a few seconds for the flash to charge.

"Say cheese," she said as she hit the shutter button. She then nearly fell back in shock at what she saw. She had expected that some sign of him would show up on the film, perhaps some ghostly outline or shadow. Instead she saw him in person, standing right in front of her, revealed by the camera’s flash. Suddenly, where nothing was, a man appeared. Of course, he still didn’t look like a normal, physical man. He looked dim and translucent, like a reflection on a window. But he was there, as real as anybody, not just some magic man who only appeared in pictures. More shocking, was that John looked completely different than she imagined. He always sounded so gentle and refined, so she imagined a well-bred man who would be something like a younger version of her father. But he wasn’t at all like that. He looked like a thug in a military jacket. As quickly as she perceived him, he faded away. The flash only revealed him for a fraction of a second, and then he was gone.

"You’re Mexican," Claire observed, since that was the first thing that surprised her.

"You assumed I was white?"

"Well, I guess you just don’t sound Mexican."

"That’s because I’m not. I grew up in LA and developed a gringo accent just like everyone else I knew."

Claire then looked down. She felt ashamed to have suddenly felt different about her friend for such superficial reasons. "I’m sorry. Have I offended you?"

"No, I should have expected that. You had no idea what I looked like, so you had some imaginary picture of me instead. I guess I don’t match that picture."

"Yeah, you’re right. I just put too much stock in my own imagination."

"Well, now you have a real picture."

Claire peeled away the paper and looked at the Polaroid. He looked much different than he seemed from talking to him.

"You look tougher than I imagined you," Claire remarked, "and taller."

"I guess it’s hard to imagine me as a soldier when I just hang around a library. I am Special Forces though, if that helps reconcile your impressions of me."

"Why are you still wearing your old army clothes? Can’t you find something new around here?"

"Easily, but I think it would mean bad things if people saw clothes walking around without a visible owner."

"So clothes don’t also become invisible when you put them on?"

"No, nothing becomes invisible. I wear these clothes because I brought them with me, so they were invisible to begin with."

"I wonder why."

"Why what?"

"Why is everything from your world invisible to us? Is it also invisible to you? Can you see yourself?"

"I can, and I could see my comrades too."

"So your eyes are made to see something that our eyes can not. Perhaps something is different about all matter from your world that makes our visible light pass through you. I guess light itself must be a bit different in your world as well, unless your superior evolution is just by chance."

"Personally, I think the crossing did it to us."

"What’s a crossing?"

"It’s how we got here. Matter teleportation, except across dimensions. I have no idea how it works, but it does."

The mention of matter teleportation excited Claire. This was the first time John had mentioned any spectacular technology from his world. It seemed right now as if he was a man from the future, with a brave new world to share.

"My god, your world must be like Star Trek! You could just teleport everywhere."

"Oh no, in fact, the technology’s not even public, or declassified for that matter."

"Oh."

"Who knows, maybe your government has the same technology, but they won’t tell you."

"I don’t think we’re anywhere near there. Matter teleportation is just a wild dream of science-fiction authors."

"Eh? Actually, you’re probably right. The scientist in our team said that you were probably decades behind us."

"A scientist? Maybe we should talk to him about why you are invisible. Could we talk to him?"

"We could if he were still alive."

"Oh. I’m sorry." Even ghosts could die.

"Your friend just came into the library. She looks excited too." With that, John slipped out of the way, and just watched.

Cathy rushed through the library, found Claire in her usual spot, grabbed her hand, and started leading her out of the library, while talking quickly.

"I’ve found you a date, but you’d better hurry before he leaves," said Cathy hurriedly.

"What do you mean? If you’ve already found him why do I have to meet him now?" asked Claire apprehensively.

"So he can ask you out, of course."

Claire did not like this. She didn’t like this at all. Finally, they arrived outside the gym, where a red-headed boy was packing up his books and getting ready to go.

"Chasm! Wait up!" yelled Cathy.

The boy’s real name was of course not "Chasm." His name was Charles Morris, but he preferred to be called "Chas", and he quickly got the nickname "Chasm" from orientation day, when he wore a nametag with "Chas M." written on it. It was a dumb joke, but no worse than the origins of most nick names. Chas was known for being fairly wild and childish at the same time. He was one of those boys in 9^th grade who still thought putting stink bombs in the girl’s bathroom was the coolest thing in the world. In junior high he had been popular with the other boys for his antics, but since then he had become something of a class joke. Claire personally had nothing against Chasm; he was just some guy she knew of but never had any contact with. On the other hand, she didn’t feel he was attractive enough on any level to pull her away from her life of cynical singleness.

"Hey Chasm, this is my friend Claire I told you about," said Cathy.

"Oh. Um… Hi," said Chasm, somewhat evasively. Claire felt his eyes drift down to her exposed midriff, so she instinctively pulled her shirt down. She then looked at Chasm, who seemed at a loss for words, and then at Cathy, who seemed to be trying to prompt something. What was she supposed to do now? Claire quickly thought about what she was supposed to do in this situation, and extended her arm.

"Hi, I’m Claire. I don’t think we’ve met before."

"No, I guess not," responded Chasm.

There are few things more awkward than an attempted conversation between two people, both of whom have nothing to really talk about, and both of whom would feel more comfortable not having the conversation. Claire felt as though they were standing there forever while she tried to figure out what to do next. She had used her only trick, and now was on her own. This was getting nowhere fast, so Cathy tried to help, and misdiagnosed the situation.

"Hang on, I’ve got a phone call to make, I’ll be right back," said Cathy, as she left the scene. Claire now panicked. This was supposed to be Cathy’s ballpark, Cathy’s plan, Cathy’s problem, but now it was suddenly up to her. She sighed.

"So… what kind of music do you listen to?" asked Chas, making an attempt to reach out.

"I don’t really listen to any music," answered Claire.

"That’s cool."

Claire decided at that moment to leave. He wasn’t asking her out and she wasn’t sure if she even cared if he or anyone else did at this point. She wanted out.

"You know what, I have to go," she said, "It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, it was cool."

Claire turned around and left, relieved to get away from the whole situation. She walked quickly, without looking back, and passed the gym, to where Cathy was waiting.

"That was quick," said Cathy. Claire just kept walking, without saying anything. "You blew it, didn’t you?" asked Cathy. Claire stopped walking. "I don’t get it," said Cathy, "all you had to do was just talk to him and-" at this, Claire turned around, nearly in tears.

"This was all your idea, Cathy! I didn’t want to go to the dance, I didn’t want a date, and I definitely didn’t want to dress up like a slut! Don’t you get it? I can’t do these things. I’m not like you. I just can’t… I can’t do anything!"

"Claire…"

"I want my glasses back."

"Maybe he’ll call you tonight."

"I’ll tell him ‘no’ if he does. I want my glasses back."

"You do this to yourself, you know."

"Give me back my damn glasses!"

Cathy opened her backpack and gave Claire back her glasses, took her own back, and reflected solemnly.

"I just thought things could change," Cathy said calmly, "I pity you. You are ten times more interesting than any of the other girls I know, but you sabotage yourself at every step. I just thought I could help you, and help us. You know, give us something to talk about again, something to do together."

"I’m sorry, Cathy. I’m sorry I put you through all this. I’m a rotten friend, aren’t I?"

"You just need to stop stressing out about everything. You’re a fun person when you let yourself be one."

"Thanks. Can we just forget about, you know, this?"

"Yes. Well, your mom’s going to be here soon."

The two girls went back to the library, and Claire gathered her stuff. She put her books and binder into her backpack, and then grabbed the picture of John.

"Who’s that?" asked Cathy

"My uncle," said Claire, wondering if John was listening to this.

"Was he in the army?"

"Yeah, he died in Iraq."

"I’m so sorry."

April 21, 2014

"’Verpor’ is simply a combination of two Spanish words: ‘ver’, meaning ‘to see’, and ‘por’, meaning ‘through’. The term was originally coined last year by the physicist Dr. Rob McKlinn."

Dr. Brawn scoured through the newspaper article, amazed at what he read. These people were not only aware of the existence of the other dimension, but they feared it with a passion. The article did not say how they were able to see Verpors, but it made it clear that "specially trained police" were able to spot them. Where ever they went, they had to be very careful not to be seen.

"So are we completely invisible, Dr. Brawn, or just sort of invisible?" asked Reddings, "Are we just transparent, like stained glass?"

"I don’t know. I’ve never heard of this before. All I can gather from this is that we’re very hard to see, but they can see us if they try."

"How is this possible?" asked Wheeler.

"I don’t know that either. This is completely out of my field. Rob might know," answered Brawn, "and I mean the Rob from our dimension. We’re best off if we don’t try to contact any of our counterparts in the world."

They soon came up to the city limits, and decided to take a picture of all of them next to a sign that said "Now entering Los Angeles" for posterity. From here they went by foot, since they’d already been run off the road once by a hapless truck driver, and explored these outer suburbs. This area wasn’t the most interesting part of LA, but they knew they couldn’t risk going into downtown. In fact, even going onto the freeway would probably get them quickly killed if they really were invisible. However, despite the relative mundane character of this suburb, they were intrigued by the sight of a Cineplex. Amazingly enough, even some of the movies in this world were familiar to them. From a distance they snapped some pictures of the people, the buildings, and the marquee, so they could show later just how far the similarities with this world went. It occurred to them that their pictures were so ordinary that they might not be believed when they got home. Perhaps their leaders would laugh at them and assume that all their pictures had been taken before the crossing, and smuggled with them so they could make fools of everyone when they returned. In any case, there wasn’t much they could do about that, and hopefully people would believe Dr. Brawn if nothing else. As they were about ready to leave the Cineplex, Reddings got the idea of snapping a picture of one of them next to one of these oblivious people. It was still early afternoon, so the theaters only had a few matinee moviegoers, and it seemed safe enough. They entered the Cineplex quietly, and tried to whisper or motion to each other since they weren’t sure if these people could hear them or not. Reddings stood at the concessions counter, across from the salesman, who looked through him as if he weren’t there. Davis was holding the camera, so Reddings motioned for Davis to take a picture of him and the oblivious salesman together. Knowing that the salesman could not see him, Reddings let his sense of humor get the best of him and stuck his tongue out at the man as the camera flashed.

The salesman screamed, and swung a blind punch at Reddings, knocking him to the floor. Suddenly alarms went off, and before they could react, bars came down over the Cineplex entrance. They were trapped. Suddenly, the four soldiers stopped their silence and began shouting all at once.

"What happened?!" What’s going on?" "I thought they can’t see us!" Are you OK, sarge?" "That prick tripped some kind of alarm!"

Reddings stood up and glanced around, noticing the salesman who punched him running towards a door.

"Freeze asshole, or I’ll blow your head off!" Reddings shouted, picking up his rifle. The man stopped, and slowly turned around, stunned with fear.

"What did you do that for?" asked Reddings.

"You’re Verpors, aren’t you? Don’t hurt me!" wailed the frightened man.

"Why did you punch me? How the fuck did you know I was there anyway?"

"I’m sorry, they say the Verpors are trying to kill us, so when I saw you-"

"How did you see me? How the fuck did you see me?"

"I saw your image. Some flash appeared, and I saw you."

"The camera!" exclaimed Brawn, "They can see the flash from the camera!"

"Did you see the flash from the camera?" asked Redding.

"Yes," answered the man.

"Just a flash?"

"I saw you too."

"My god…"

Dr. Brawn leaned over and grabbed Reddings’ shoulder. "Sir, we need to get out of here. We can slip out through one of the emergency exits," he advised.

They slipped down the hall, moving stealthily through the Cineplex with guns drawn. They tried the closest marked exit but it was locked. Movie patrons, alarmed, had started to exit the screening rooms, making it impossible to get around the complex unnoticed. They had to think of something fast. Reddings jumped over the concession counter and tried to find a way to unbar the main doors, but there was no control for it. They noticed a security guard making his way through the commotion, so Reddings yelled for someone to grab his keys. Wheeler whacked the guard with the butt of his rifle, inciting screams from nearby people who watched the man knocked over by an unseen force. Wheeler struck the guard again in the face to knock him out, and then grabbed the keys and tossed them to Reddings. Several teenagers stopped and watched in amazement as a ring of keys flew through the air and was caught by unseen hands. The stories were indeed true, they thought. Sirens wailed through the air. Suddenly, John came up with an idea.

"There’s always an emergency exit in each theater that leads outside," said John, "I’ll bet those aren’t locked."

"Try it. I’ll see if I can unlock the main entrance," responded Reddings.

John ran into the nearest theater, dodging civilians all the way, and burst into one of the screening rooms. Indeed, there was a red "exit" sign, so he slipped down to it, and tried opening the door. It opened! But as soon as he opened it, there was a shout of alarm, and he closed the door and dove to the ground, as heavily armed police waiting outside let forth a burst of gunfire. No getting out that way. John crawled out of the theater, and then ran back to his squad in the lobby. There were lights and police cars waiting outside. The Calvary arrived, and the police were ready to enter.

"Did you find an exit?" Davis asked John.

"We acted too late. They’ve already covered all the exits," answered John.

"Well, don’t panic. The police are about to open the main entrance. They can’t see us, so we’ll slip right through their nets," ordered Reddings. "Keep your safeties off just in case, but if we stay calm and avoid further detection we can get out of this."

The police fired several gas canisters into the lobby, which dispensed some sort of white smoke that covered the ground. The soldiers quickly strapped on their gas masks, but the smoke didn’t seem to harm anyone else. Slowly, the bars blocking the entrance were raised, and a large squad of special forces prepared to sweep through the lobby. John and his squad stood perfectly still, waiting for their chance to slip out. Unfortunately, their attackers formed a human barrier across the entire lobby, allowed the civilians to slip out through their line, and then begin advancing slowly across the lobby, with half of them looking straight forward and the other half checking the ground. Behind the main line were a few men carrying nothing but what appeared to be large lamps. Reddings looked at his feet, at the smoke, and realized that they weren’t getting out. If they waited, the troops would eventually spot their footprints in the smoke, or find them in one way or another. If they fired, they would give away their position immediately. Four men had no chance against thirty, not armed as they were. Their enemies had dealt with invisible opponents before, and they knew exactly how to deal with them.

"We surrender. We’re putting down our-"

Before Reddings could even finish his sentence, lamps carried by the backline troops were flashed in his direction, he was revealed, and shot several times in the chest. Travis and Wheeler raised their guns to open fire, but they had been standing too close to Reddings. The lamps had revealed them as well, and they were killed before they had a chance to react. The lamps fired again to make sure they were dead. John quickly jumped behind the theater concessions stand, creating enough noise to attract attention. The lamps flashed where he had slid across the counter, but he was out of sight by the time they did. He sat next to Dr. Brawn, who cowered on the floor behind the stand. The war had begun.

John slid across the floor and then popped up, rifle ready, let off a few rounds into one of his attackers, and dropped back down before the lamps flashed in his direction. He had to get rid of those damn lamps. John slid along the floor, this time to a different spot, popped up, aimed at one of the police holding a lamp, and shot him directly in the head. John quickly aimed at the next lamp bearer, let forth a few rounds which missed, and then dropped down as a barrage of flashes and return fire ensued. There were two lamp-bearers still standing. A shout of "They’re all behind the counter!" burst out and John knew he had to leave he position. He grabbed Dr. Brawn and tried to get him to move but he wouldn’t budge. Brawn was completely shell-shocked. "They’re going to kill us all, John!" yelled Brawn in panic. "Come on, move!" John shouted, but then he heard a familiar sound and knew he didn’t have another second to stay their. He ran from his position, and jumped over the counter as a grenade fell into his bunker. The explosion ripped apart the stand, sending debris everywhere. Now it was all him. He was all that was left.

In the wake of the explosion, John lined up the next lamp-bearer in his sight but then realized that it made more sense to disable the lamps and shot out the bulb. A hail of gunfire came in response as his attackers fired blindly and John dove to the floor. As the execution squad regrouped, John crawled away, down one of the hallways, and waited. All he had to do was make the best of his innate superpower in this world and hope to beat the odds. Two police rounded the corner, armed with submachine guns. John silently leaned against the wall, but noticed as one of the police twitched, looking at John’s imprint in the white smoke that still covered the ground. John quickly unloaded his remaining bullets into the officer, danced to the side as the other one returned fire, slammed the standing officer with the butt of his rifle, and then tackled him to the floor. Other officers were rushing to him, but there was no time to reload his own rifle. John wrestled a submachine gun from the man he had on the floor, and quickly fired with it towards three police closing in on his position. They dropped and returned a few shots. John ducked back behind the corner, leaned against the wall and realized that this wasn’t such a good idea. Holding a gun that was visible to them wouldn’t even give him a chance. He looked down at the floor where his rifle lay, wondering if it was worth the risk to leave what little cover he had to retrieve it and try to reload it. Suddenly, one of their lamps flashed in his direction. If they hadn’t seen him, they may have seen his invisible gun. The three men he had fired at before were closing in on him.

As the three heavily armed police looked down the hallway, they saw one of their own submachine guns floating in the air, and immediately fired at the apparent location of their target. The floating gun fired back at them, killing all three of them. Onlookers were amazed. How could they have missed when it was so obvious where the Verpor was standing? The lamp flashed again and revealed John, holding the submachine. Shooting left-handed had worked perfectly.

John threw the gun down and ran out of the way as another hail of gunfire greeted him. All he had to do was get that last lamp down and make a run for it. He ran across the room, as the confused police begin firing flashes and bullets randomly, and grabbed Reddings’ gun. He aimed at the last lamp, fired, and ran from his position as the expected reciprocation came. He felt like superman at this point, but he knew that his luck would not hold up forever. The time had come to run. He threw Redding’s rifle across the room, and bolted for the exit. As the rifle clattered to the ground, the police fired on that position, providing a window of opportunity for John to run past the line while they were focused on the wrong place. He ran and ran without looking back, not noticing the one officer who noticed a swift draft, picked up the lamp from the lampbearer John had killed first, and fired it towards the street, giving him a fleeting glimpse of the shadow. It wasn’t until John noticed two police officers following his trail that he realized that his escape was not as clean as he had hoped. Another distant flash followed, and his pursuers quickened their pace.

He came across the grounds of a school, and while it was after school hours, many students were still on campus. This was perfect, thought John. They wouldn’t dare open fire with kids around. John ran through the school, taking care to avoid passing near any students. He looked behind him and the same two officers were still in pursuit. John continued to run as the officers begin using their lamp to try to locate him in the crowd of astonished students. John ducked into the school library. He paused for a second to see if anyone had noticed that the library doors had opened to let in a ghost. Nobody seemed alarmed, although the librarian seemed very concerned about the "incident" she heard about on the radio and was talking about it with a teacher. John wandered around the library, completely unnoticed.

"I can’t believe something like that would happen around here," said the confused librarian.

"What’s it about anyway? Who are these people?" asked the teacher.

"They haven’t said yet on the radio, but they suspect this may be another Verpor attack."

"Verpors? Around here?! That’s terrible. The students are going to be scared stiff if they hear that Verpors were near here."

"Oh, I don’t know about that. From what I hear, a lot of the students seem to think there’s something cool about the Verpors."

"What could be ‘cool’ about such awful creatures?"

"Well, you know how highschoolers are…"

At this moment, the door burst open and John’s pursuers entered, one carrying a gun, and the other carrying a lamp. These guys were bloodhounds, and they never gave up. John quickly moved and hid among the shelves.

"Please stay calm," instructed officer Greggs, holding the lamp, "we’re looking for a suspect. Everyone stay where you are and do not panic."

"You’re looking for Verpors, aren’t you?" asked the librarian.

"I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information just yet. It’ll all be on the evening news," answered Greggs.

The librarian gave him an odd look. Given that he was carrying a lamp that she knew was used to spot Verpors, how did he expect her to believe he was looking for anyone else?

Greggs and his partner began systematically searching the library, making liberal usage of their lamp. John just stayed where he was hidden. While he waited for them he noticed a girl, sitting a desk in the corner. She was very cute, but not in the way that boys her age often appreciated.

"Greggs, this is a waste of time," complained Officer Sibelius, "You can’t tell jack shit with that thing at the distance you were trying to use it. The guy’s probably still at the theater, watching some movies."

"Just help me finish searching. I know he’s here. Check the shelves."

Greggs began systematically flashing the aisles between the shelves, while Sibelius walked up and down the aisles, listening and watching with extreme care. Between the two of them there didn’t seem to be a good way to get out without attracting attention. If he stayed still he would be spotted, and if he moved at the opportune moment he would be heard, assuming that Sibelius wouldn’t be blocking his path anyway. To make matters worse, the library floor had soft carpeting that showed his footprints, and both officers were keeping their eyes on the floor for clues. He wondered if he should just bowl over Greggs immediately, but that didn’t seem workable either. In all likelihood they had locked the doors, and would shoot him as he tried to open them. John waited and waited, nearly anticipating his doom. Unarmed and cornered, superman was finally out of tricks.

As the search pattern closed in on him, John looked over at the girl he had seen earlier. She was still there, somewhat jarred by the presence of police, but not terribly upset. The girl turned in her chair, yawned, and looked at her watch. She removed her glasses for a moment and rubber her eyes as Greggs aimed the lamp down at John’s hiding place. John looked around, saw that there was no escape, and made a snap judgement for the wrong reasons.

Of course the story that John would tell later, to Claire and to everybody, was that he had stolen an idea from a famous scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s "The 39 Steps", in which an innocent man on the run deceives police by kissing a random stranger, causing his pursuers (who see him from the back) to pass him by. This story was believable because it worked out that way. In the dark corner of the library, Greggs saw a young girl who appeared to be making out, and turned away in embarrassment. This was the last section of the library, so the police decided to leave empty-handed, convinced that this had been a pointless chase after all.

"But keep all scanners on this block active until we find the bastard," said Greggs as they unlocked the library door, "if he’s hiding around him I want to know the second he pops out of his hole."

The police left, and John waited silently, wondering about what Greggs had said. Was he now trapped here? He looked over at the girl, who sat in stunned amazement. She then stood up, looked around carefully, and spoke very softly.

"Is someone there?" asked Claire, "My name is Claire. I won’t hurt you." She spoke this in the way you would coax a squirrel or some other small creature out of hiding. She had no idea what she was looking for. "If you’re a Verpor you should know that I have nothing against your kind. I’ve always wanted to meet one of you." With no response, Claire went back and grabbed her backpack. She knew someone was there, but there didn’t seem to be any way to tell, and if Verpors were anything like she had heard, it was best to leave quickly.

John realized that he couldn’t just let this girl walk away. She already knew too much.

"Don’t go!" pleaded John.

Claire turned around, "You speak our language?"

"Yes. I always have. My name is John."

Claire backpedaled a bit, unsure what to make of this. "Where are you?" she asked.

"Right here. Wait a second," John said as he grabbed a book off the shelves, "Would it make you feel more comfortable if I held this, so you know where I am?"

"Maybe," Claire chuckled, "I suppose I should be surprised by the sight of a book floating in air, but after that I’m not sure if anything could surprise me."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"What?"

"Do you fear me like they fear me?"

Claire wasn’t sure how to answer that question. "I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know what you are, or why you are here. Are you a ghost?"

"I’m a Verpor."

"I know that, but what is a Verpor? I had heard that Verpors were creatures who turn into an invisible mist and enter people’s bodies to explode them from inside. But here I am, talking to one, who hasn’t done that to me. Instead he kissed me. What am I to think?"

"I’m terribly sorry about that. You’re just a girl, I shouldn’t have done that. In any other situation… Never mind, I guess this doesn’t answer your question. I am a man, like the men you see walking around, but I’ve been made somehow… invisible to your eyes."

"Are you part of some experiment, someone who escaped?"

"No, I’m actually from another world, one just like your own. People from my world are called Verpors because you can’t see us, but otherwise we’re no different from you."

"What planet did you come from?"

"We call it Earth."

"But, this is Earth."

"So I understand. It’s a different Earth. It’s hard to explain, and I’m afraid they never explained it to me very well."

"They?"

"The people who sent me. We came in peace, but I’m afraid that didn’t work out for us."

"Why are you fighting us?"

John paused. Now he wasn’t sure how to answer this one. "I wish I knew," was all he said.

Claire looked at her watch. "I have to go," she said, "can I leave now?"

"You can leave whenever you want. I’m not holding you here."

"I guess not. Will I ever see you again? Well, I guess I won’t, but will we meet again?"

"Probably. I think I have to hide here for a while. I don’t want any more trouble."

"OK, well, I guess I’ll see you later, then." It suddenly occurred to her that that didn’t make any sense. Why did so many of our expressions have to revolve around sight?

"Claire," said John before she left, "are you going to tell anyone?"

"What would you do to me if I would tell?"

"Nothing. Truth be told I couldn’t touch you again one way or another. But if you’re going to tell, I need to take my chances and leave this place. I’m sure you understand."

"I don’t think anyone would believe that I was kissed by a Verpor anyway. But if it means I can meet you again, I won’t tell anyone."

With that, Claire left the library. Later that day she started to realize how frightened she should have been, and ended up avoiding the library for the next few days. But as it appeared that the ghost had kept his word about not causing any trouble, she worked up the courage to seek him out again. And so it had begun.

"Aren’t you going to ask how my 9^th grade soap opera went?"

Claire had mostly recovered from yesterday’s events, and was glad that Cathy made no mention of dates or dances that morning. One of Joe’s older friends had agreed to drive he and Cathy to the dance, so Claire was off the hook and could forget about the whole thing. She was ready to proceed with life as it existed before.

"I can guess how it went, and I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it," answered John, "although now I’m guessing that you do want to talk about it, since you brought it up."

"No, I just wondered."

"I see."

Claire huffed and pulled her backpack onto the desk. "John," she asked, "what am I doing wrong? You hear what people say, what does everyone have against me? I always feel like I’m on the outside, wondering when someone is going to ask me to come in. You know what I mean?"

"I do, but I can’t help you. People aren’t talking about you behind your back, if that’s what you want to know."

"So no one cares about me? Is that it?"

"Cathy cares, and I’m sure others do as well. But most just don’t know if they should care or not."

"I just start to wonder: why am I doing this? I spend all my time working and thinking about ideas and things that will never happen. Is anyone ever going to care about this, or am I just pursuing all the wrong things? I can solve any equation and understand all the works of Shakespeare, but still, I’m hardly a blip on anyone’s radar."

Claire turned, and John put his hand on her shoulder. "If it helps at all, Claire, God loves you, even if you don’t love him."

Claire smirked. "It feels funny to hear of God from a Verpor."

"Why?"

"The consensus is that you don’t have souls. I don’t believe that, of course. Nonetheless, this alternate dimension concept does create problems for people’s beliefs. If there is a God, how would he deal with both our worlds? Would he look over both, and if he does, than why didn’t he tell us about your world? Or perhaps an alternate dimension comes with its own alternate God."

"Those are interesting thoughts. Now that you mention it, I haven’t been able to find any Bibles in this library. Did Jesus come to you as well?"

"Jesus? Well, yes, many people do believe in Jesus."

"And he preformed miracles, died on the cross, and was resurrected here as well?"

"I believe that’s how the story goes, at least in the Bible."

"Interesting," John said, and then he paused and said, "I wonder who they are."

"Who who is?"

Claire got no response, but heard footsteps approaching. She turned and saw a man in a dark suit. The man studied her for a moment, then checked something he had written down on a small pad of paper. He then placed the pad into an inner pocket of his coat and approached her. "Are you Claire Horton?" he asked.

"Yes. Um… can I help you?"

"Indeed you can," the man answered as he handed her his business card, "My name is Timothy Jones, and I work for the NSA. I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me."

Claire read over his business card and then looked into the man’s eyes. She had little doubt that this had something to do with John. As she thought on an answer, a second man, dressed similarly, appeared. Jones went on to introduce this man as "Smith." Claire wondered if these men were armed. She also half-expected John to pounce on both of them at any second, since he was no doubt watching this. When John didn’t, she realized she had to answer.

"Sure, I can answer whatever questions you have" she said, "Just ask away."

The two men laughed. "I’m afraid this location may not be an appropriate place to discuss this. Will you come with us?" asked Smith.

"To where? Outside?" asked Claire, dreading the answer she knew was coming.

"No," answered Jones, "it’d be better to talk in a safe place. We can drive you there."

"Oh. Well, my mom’s expecting to pick me up here…" Claire whimpered.

"We’ll make sure she knows," said Jones, "and I’m afraid I must insist that you come now".

Claire stood up and gathered her belongings. She wondered where John was, and why he hadn’t tried to rescue her from these scary men in black suits. Was he just planning to run while they pumped her for information, or did he have some sort of plan to get her out of this? Claire tried one last time to get out of this. "Can I have some time to think about this?" she asked the agents. Smith and Jones looked at each other and then rather forcefully began leading her out of the library.

"I’m afraid not, Miss Horton," said Jones sternly, "we need to go now."

Claire went along, but a nagging voice in her head kept telling her that she should make a scene, and pull away and scream. She wanted to tell these two men they had no right to do this to her, and that she had a lawyer (she didn’t), and wouldn’t stand for this. Perhaps she could even act like she was being kidnapped, and accuse these men of being frauds. Of perhaps she should just yell to John for help. She threw off all of these desires as they led her outside to a waiting police car. They opened the door for her and asked her to sit in the back, with each of them on either side of her. A police officer drove the car away, and then Claire knew that her window for action had passed. As Claire was escorted off campus by these two government agents, and ferried away in a cop car, the rest of the students could only wonder at what she possibly could have done.

When they arrived at the police station they took Claire into a room with no windows and asked her to sit at a table. Smith and Jones sat at the other end of the table, and the policeman guarded the door. Smith asked the policeman to "check the room", at which point the officer pushed a button on the wall and then read from a small screen. The officer shook his head, and the interrogation began. Jones pulled a large file from his briefcase and placed it on the table. Claire wondered why they would have such a large file on her.

"Now, Miss Horton, I’m sorry we had to meet you under such circumstances, but these are dangerous times, as you well know," began Jones, "We’re hoping you can help us make them, well, less dangerous."

"Don’t I get a lawyer?" asked Claire.

The two agents laughed, "Oh, there’s no need for lawyers here, Miss Horton," answered Jones, "No one’s accusing you of anything. We just need some information and then we’ll send you straight home. Believe me, you’re not the one we’re after."

"We have reason to believe," prattled Smith, "that you’ve come into contact with a Verpor. This Verpor is very high on our wanted list. He is very dangerous and has killed many people, which is why it is so important that you cooperate with us. It’s really for your own safety, actually. As you know, Verpors are invisible to the human eye, but it is possible to have a contact experience with one without being able to see them. Tell me, Miss Horton, have you noticed anything strange lately? Perhaps you have heard voices, or felt an odd draft, or even noticed things moving for no apparent reason."

Claire responded evasively, "I would think that if I had come close enough to a Verpor to see anything, I would already be dead. Isn’t that right?"

"The nature of the Verpors is very mysterious to us," answered Jones, "We can’t tell why they kill or why they occasionally choose not to kill. It would not surprise us if this Verpor chose not to kill you."

"Because I’m just a girl?"

"Exactly," responded Smith, "which is why you may be the best lead we have. If he had come into contact with you, he would get close to you, but not hurt you."

Jones looked over at Smith somewhat disapprovingly. There was something about that last statement that wasn’t supposed to be let out. "Of course," continued Smith, "that is purely hypothetical."

Claire shifted uneasily in her chair. Could these men tell if she lied to them? She wanted to protect John, but she feared these men too much to just lie to them.

"Let me think, maybe I have seen something strange lately," she responded, "In fact, just a few weeks ago, there were some police looking for someone in the library-"

"We know that. Did you meet who they were looking for?" asked Jones directly.

"I think I heard someone breathing."

The two agents looked at each other, rather disappointed. Jones then opened up the file and pulled several documents and pictures from it. He then mentioned something in a low voice to his partner, who nodded in approval.

"Miss Horton," began Jones, "I don’t think you’re telling us all you know. Furthermore, I don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with. Now, as we said before, you’re not in any trouble here, but we do need you to be open with us. Of course, perhaps we started on the wrong foot here. Naturally, after dragging you out of school with no prior notice you feel a bit bullied, and perhaps you mistrust us. Reasonable sentiments, to be sure. However, I’d like to share something with you. Now, you must not speak of anything you see in this room. What I’m about to show you is classified, and the only reason you are privileged enough to see this is because we want you know all the facts and know that you can trust us. We’re going to be completely open with you, Claire. Now, if you can handle that, take a look at these pictures."

Jones slid a manila folder over to Claire. She wondered at first if she should refuse, since it seemed that viewing whatever was in that folder would only drag her deeper into this. However, curiosity got the best of her, and she opened the folder, and looked at a set of photographs of some large device sitting in a large hangar that could have appeared in a science fiction movie. The basic design was an arch, with a platform going leading through the arch. There were several apparatuses built around the outer rim of the arch, which looked very complicated. There were also pictures of the device in action, and a few blueprints. Some of the pictures showed people getting ready to pass through the arch, with a crowd of excited onlookers watching.

"What you are looking at, Miss Horton, is a phase matter dimensional gate. What it was originally designed for is not relevant. What is important is that it connected us to the Verpor world. When the gate was opened for the first time, an army of Verpors flooded in, like demons from hell, and began causing unspeakable destruction. We were able to contain the incident, but at heavy cost."

Claire came to the last set of photographs, which showed the same hangar in ruins. Dead, bloody bodies lay everywhere, and the gate itself had been destroyed. Claire gasped as she looked at these dreadful, gory images. They were so disgusting that she felt sick and wanted to throw up. For the first time, she began to believe what was said about the Verpors. Why hadn’t John told her?

"We hoped that we would never come into contact with the Verpors again," Jones continued, "and so we did not release details of the incident to the public. It seemed wise to avoid unnecessary paranoia. If people knew what had happened, they would never feel safe again, fearing that invisible monsters were chasing them. It would have meant complete chaos if this information you see had gone public. I’m sure you understand. Of course, it seems that the Verpors have now found a way to get themselves to our world with no assistance from us. This, of course, is what has led to things being as they are. We are fighting a war, Miss Horton, a war for survival."

The door to the room opened, and a police officer brought in a cart, which appeared empty save for a small flash-lamp. "In case that does not convince you, Miss Horton," said Smith, "perhaps you’d like to see what the latest team of Verpors brought with them?" Smith flashed the lamp at the tray, revealing a cache of Verpor rifles and ammunition.

Claire closed the folder and handed it back, dumbfounded. "Why are you showing me this?" she asked.

"To make you understand," said Jones, "that you, and possibly everyone you know, is in grave danger. You must tell us if you’ve been contacted by any of these Verpors."

Claire thought for a while, and then answered, "I have."

Jones pulled out a pad of paper and began jotting notes, "When did you first make this contact?"

"It was a few weeks ago, on the day that the police searched the library."

"How did he make contact with you?"

Claire paused, too embarrassed to tell the full story. "He talked to me," she said.

"What did he say?"

"He said his name was John and that he needed to hide in the library. He promised not to hurt me."

"Did you believe him?"

"Yes."

"Do you still believe him?"

Claire took a deep breath, unsure of anything at this point, "I don’t know."

"Understandable. Is he still in the library?"

"Probably not."

"Why do you say that?"

"He saw you take me away. I’m sure he’s run far away by now."

"Indeed, well, we will keep our eyes open for him. Now, since your first contact, has he contacted you again?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"I talk to him every day after school."

"Really? Every day?"

"Yes, sir."

"What do you talk about?"

"Just ordinary things, mostly about things going on in my life."

"John is interested in your life?"

"Yes. Sometimes we also talk about why he is invisible, and stuff like that."

"So you know why he is invisible?"

"No, he said he doesn’t know."

"Do you know why he came here?"

Claire thought for a moment, "I’m actually not sure. We don’t talk about that much."

Jones jotted this down in shorthand hurriedly, and then of course had many other questions about John and his whereabouts. Claire answered them as best she could, although it seemed that she didn’t have the type of information that they wanted. She knew what John was like and what he believed and how he talked, but this was of little interest to the two agents. Finally, they were satisfied, and asked her one last question.

"Why did you agree to continue meeting with him? Weren’t you afraid that one day he would decide to hurt you?"

"No."

"But you knew that the Verpors are dangerous."

"I did, but I didn’t think he was dangerous."

"Why not?"

"He doesn’t seem dangerous at all. He seemed very nice, and seems to like me a lot."

"I see. Now, in light of what you’ve learned today, you now understand that he was bred for killing, right?"

"But if he meant to harm me, how did I survive weeks of contact with him?"

"He may have other purposes lined up for you. I’m sure he’s using you in some way or another."

"I’m sorry, but I just don’t see. Why would he even risk talking to me at all? He must have known that this would have to happen someday. I mean, that people would ask me about him."

"What do you think was his purpose?" asked Jones socratically.

"I don’t think he had one. I think he was trapped in that library and needed a friend."

Jones and Smith smirked, and laughed a bit at her naivete. They gathered their notes and files and packed everything up in a briefcase. They then told the officer at the door to drive Claire home and explain to the situation to her parents. Smith turned, to let Claire know that they were done with her.

"We may call upon you again, Miss Horton, although I hope that won’t be necessary. You must be careful now, and call us if anything frightens you. We’re here to protect you," said Smith.

As Claire left the room, Smith had one final parting word: "I get the feeling that this Verpor has made an impression on you, and perhaps formed some sort of bond with you. Don’t be fooled for one minute. After all, do you really think that he just stays in that library all the time? Don’t you ever wonder if he follows you home, watches you undress, and perhaps touches you in your sleep?"

Claire never had thought about that, but now that Smith said it, she couldn’t prove that it wasn’t true. After all, John only was present to her when he let himself be known. She only knew if he was there, she never could know if he wasn’t there. This thought plagued her as she went home to her worried parents, and she stayed up all night wondering if the ghost was haunting her more than she realized. But at the same time, she felt a twinge of guilt. John had been nothing but a friend to her. What kind of friend was she, to suspect such things of him?

"So what really happened?"

Claire had remained wholly distracted throughout the weekend, wondering about everything that had happened, and what would happen when she returned to school. She wondered if John would be captured, or if he would escape their grasp, and if he would come back to her. Then she started to think that maybe John had already come to her, but hadn’t revealed himself to her. For all she knew, he could be following her everywhere like a shadow. All she knew was that the library brought him form. As she considered these possibilities, she found evidence to support them. Since John had failed miserably at gathering information for her, that seemed to suggest that he didn’t know anything she didn’t. Surely if he had been trailing Cathy instead of her he would have known which boys liked her and which ones didn’t. Unfortunately, as many arguments as she could formulate to prove one point or another, the simple fact was that she would never know. John was an inherent mystery, and there were things that would never be known for sure.

When Claire returned to school on Monday, something had changed. People looked at her as she passed through the halls, and many stopped to talk to her. Word had spread that Claire had been snatched out of school by government agents, and everyone wanted to know why. Some actually suggested that Claire herself was a cleverly disguised secret agent. Others suggested that the government needed Claire’s genius to solve some matter of urgent importance. Claire wasn’t sure how much she could tell. She knew that part of what she had seen was classified information. Of course, she still wondered why they would have shown her something that was top secret. She wasn’t sure if she should believe that it was fake (which she wanted to believe), that they trusted her, or that they wanted her to let the secret slip out. She realized that she had no proof, or even any real details of that massacre she was given a glimpse at. If she were to tell, all she could say was that the government had some sort of project, but it went wrong and the Verpors killed everyone. It was perfect starting material for a fast-spreading rumor that would further instill fear in everyone without providing enough substance for serious accusations of government cover-up. Claire considered all these possibilities, but when people asked her, she just played it safe. She told them that the agents had some questions about Verpors, but she really couldn’t divulge any more. The obvious question she got back was something along the lines of, "Have you actually met a Verpor?" At first Claire awkwardly dodged the question by saying she wasn’t really sure what was going on, but as the day went by, she got better at this, and would say "That’s classified information," with a little smirk, adding a smug sense of intrigue to herself. This, she thought after a while, was actually pretty cool. She still had an air of mystery about her as she did before, but people actually cared. They wanted to know what secrets were locked up behind those chemistry goggles.

When her classes ended, Claire wandered into the library out of habit and unloaded her backpack onto her usual desk. Suddenly, she wondered if it was really wise to return to the library. The ghost might be angry with her. As she debated whether she had anything to fear or not, she decided it would make her more comfortable to work where other people were, and so she packed up her books to move.

"Oh, are you leaving?" said a voice behind her.

Claire turned and saw someone she didn’t expect. It was Chasm. "I just was thinking of moving to a different desk," she said.

"That’s cool. Listen… I wanted to say that I’m sorry about last Thursday. I totally froze up when we talked."

"That’s fine. I don’t see what you have to apologize for."

"Cathy said you were really broken up and stuff."

"Really? So Cathy likes to talk about me?" said Claire, half eyeing the empty space of the library corner, "I didn’t realize she told anyone."

"Well, when you didn’t show up at the dance at all I felt kinda bad, so I asked Cathy what was up, and she said you were upset and didn’t want come at all. Of course, then some other people said you couldn’t come because you’d been arrested."

"Arrested? Is that really what everyone believes? Is that what they say?"

"Some people are saying that. Everyone’s joking about how maybe you’re secretly some drug dealer or something."

"Me, a drug dealer? That’s rich."

"It’s just funny to think about, I guess."

"The irony is quite amusing. I’ve never even been near any drugs, let alone dealt them."

"So what did happen?"

Claire eyed the empty space of the library nervously. Was John around or not? She decided to change her standard answer a bit, just in case. "Some people from the government wanted to know if I’d come into contact with a Verpor. Remember how all those police were searching the library a few weeks ago? They just thought I might have seen something, so they brought me in to answer a few questions."

"Did you see something?"

"No. I mean, I’d be dead if a Verpor came near me, wouldn’t I?" she asked rhetorically. "In fact," she added, with a smirk that was not meant for Chasm, "I don’t think they really exist."

"Woah, really?"

"Yep. It’s all just a big hoax."

"Is that what you found out when the FBI guys took you away?"

"Oh, that’s classified information. Top Secret, you know. And I have to be careful because someone’s probably listening in on all of this."

"Woah, that’s crazy. So they’ll like hunt you down and kill you if you tell?"

"Can’t be too careful." Claire suddenly remember that she was supposed to call her mother from school today. It was a dumb obligation, but her mother didn’t want to worry that Claire was getting snatched away by strange men again. Of course, Claire was supposed to call at lunch and calling now seemed kind of stupid, since she was getting picked up in about an hour, but it seemed that late was better than never in this case. At least it showed that she remembered. Claire excused herself and explained she had to make a call but would be right back. Claire tried to hurry so she could complete this and return before Chasm left. She made the call, excused her lateness in calling by saying that she’d gotten the instructions a bit mixed up, and then ran back. She wondered if Chasm was waiting for her. As she walked through the library, she could hear Chasm’s voice.

"Oh, she’s pretty neat, I guess, but kinda weird. Anyway, what are you doing here?" asked Chasm, "I thought you lived in the locker room."

Claire dashed down the aisle to see Chasm talking into thin air. Claire just stood there, completely breathless. Chasm noticed her and suddenly panicked.

"It’s OK," said John’s voice, "she knows me."

"John!" exclaimed Claire, "why are you here?! And talking to him?"

"It’s cool; don’t yell," said Chas, "I met this guy at my volleyball game. He’s pretty cool."

"But… how? And why didn’t you tell me?" asked Claire, who was so flabbergasted that she wasn’t paying attention to the volume of her voice.

"Naturally, I had to find a new hiding space after you were abducted last Friday," explained John, "so the library would be indeed empty when the police came to do a complete search, which they did that night. Anyway, in my hurry to move I bumped into Chas, and to make matters worse, quickly apologized out of simple habit. As you can imagine, things went on from there. As with you, I had to introduce myself to let him realize he had no need to fear me."

Claire glanced around, unsure what to say. She wasn’t sure if she liked this, but it seemed to fit together somehow. After all, it was inevitable that John would find others eventually. On some level she accepted this, but on another it felt as if some taboo had been broken. John wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone but her.

"Chasm, you can’t tell anyone," Claire warned him.

"Oh, he agrees. Otherwise I wouldn’t still be here," said John.

"But John, you can’t stay here! They know you were here, and they’ll keep searching all over this school until they find you! They’ve caught us, John. You need to go back."

"Back where?"

"Back to your home."

"That world is lost to me. This is my home now."

"But it’s not safe. They will come…" Claire stopped and then spoke more slowly, "You’ve given up hope, haven’t you?"

"No, I haven’t. But at the same time, I can’t bank everything on hope, whether I have it or not. Thus I have chosen to stay here, until going home becomes a possibility and not just a hope."

"Why? Why here?"

"Because here I can look over you, and right now, that’s all I have left."

"Woah," said Chasm, "That’s deep. You’ve got a guardian angel. But won’t Claire get in trouble now, with those agents?"

"Did they tell you not to talk to me?" asked John.

"No," said Claire, "and I already told them everything, so I don’t think I’m in any trouble now than I was then, and since they’ve apparently decided to let me go…" A horrifying thought crossed Claire’s mind. She now imagined that she had been bugged, or that by some devilry they were tracking her, waiting for her to make contact with her Verpor friend. They weren’t done with her yet. "Ah, shit!" exclaimed Claire, "Why didn’t I see this?"

"See what?" asked Chas.

"Don’t panic, Claire," said John, "Even if your worst fears are true, it’s still me they want, not you."

As he said this, Cathy entered the library and found Claire and Chas together. Cathy seemed a little giddy and teased Claire, "What did you do this time?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Claire.

"A whole bunch of police cars just pulled up near the school. Everyone’s joking that they’ve come for you again."

Claire froze. Apparently, she was being tracked, and someone had heard every word that had just been spoken. She quickly replayed her last words with John in her head, wondering if she had incriminated herself. She had asked him to leave the library, which could be interpreted as obstruction of justice. Then again, she also told him to leave and return to his homeworld, which might be seen as something that a good citizen would tell a Verpor. Claire was unsure of what to do. If she conferred with John or Chasm they would be heard. It seemed best to say nothing. But then she had an idea. She pulled out a small piece of paper, and wrote, "What do we do?" on it. Cathy started to voice a question, but Claire motioned for her to be quiet, tried to communicate with her hands that people were listening, then wrote, "Don’t be scared, Cathy" on the paper, and then held out the pen. An invisible hand grabbed the pen and wrote on the pad, "You kids need to leave. This is my battle." Cathy picked her jaw up off the floor and tried to speak, but Chas quickly covered her mouth and Claire motioned once again to be quiet, indicating through body language that everything was fine. Cathy relaxed, but glanced around nervously, as if she was about to run at any moment. Claire took the pen and wrote, "I have an idea. Stay where you are, John." And then she motioned for Chasm and Cathy to follow her. She turned back for a moment and looked at the paper, realizing they couldn’t leave it as evidence. Chasm also realized the problem, so he tore it up and ate the pieces.

Half a dozen heavily armed police entered the library, led by Smith and Jones. As they entered, they heard a screech from by the magazine section. They looked to see Claire standing still, white as a ghost. "Help me!" yelled Claire.

"It’s her," said Smith to his troops. "Miss Horton, where is the Verpor?"

"I don’t know, but he’s going to kill me!" screamed Claire. Cathy, not understanding the ruse, became hysterical. "There’s a Verpor around here! I saw him!" yelled Cathy as she crumbled to the floor. The police cautiously began moving in Claire’s direction, ready to act immediately if anyone appeared to be attacked by the invisible man.

"Is he around you?" asked Jones.

"I don’t know, there’s no way to see him," answered Claire.

"Just stay still, Miss Horton. Smith, hand me the scanner." Smith handed Jones a small electronic gadget, and Claire let out another scream,

"Drop that thing!" she yelled.

"Excuse me?" asked Jones.

"I heard him! He says you have to drop that thing or he’ll kill me!" exclaimed Claire. She was amazed at her own performance. The inherent tension of the situation made it easy to act hysterical.

"I heard him too," said Chas, "this guy’s crazy, man!" Poor Cathy cowered on the floor.

Jones paused and turned to Smith. "Do you think he’d really do it?"

Smith shrugged, "We have his weapon, I think he’s bluffing."

"What about the weapons of his company?"

"All accounted for."

Jones sweated. This was a dilemma he wasn’t prepared for. Smith seemed confident that John was out of ways to fight back, but Claire seemed so fragile at this moment that he almost expected her neck to snap at any moment. Jones put down the scanner, and motioned for the police to lower their weapons and follow cautiously. Jones slowly walked towards Claire, and tried to reason with the John who wasn’t there. "Now, Mr. John, neither of us want to see this girl get hurt, so if you can just come with us, then she’ll get to go home safely. Do you understand?" Claire was so busy trying to look terrified that she didn’t notice that Smith had picked up the scanner. Suddenly, Smith yelled to Jones, "He’s right behind her!" Jones swung a round-house punch over Claire’s shoulder, hoping to catch the invisible man off guard. He ended up swinging into air. Then Smith realized that he was using the scanner wrong. He was holding it the wrong way. John wasn’t behind Claire, he was behind them, trying to slowly slip past the line of police. Smith quickly turned and tackled John. The police raised their guns. "Don’t shoot! I’ve got him!", yelled Smith, as he wrestled the invisible man down to the floor, "Archer wants this one alive." They managed to bind John, and then turned to the three children. Jones pointed at Claire, and the police grabbed her.

"Get the boy too," commanded Smith, "He’s also had contact with the Verpor."

"And the other girl?" asked one of the officers.

"Take her too. If she’s not involved, well, then, she’s not involved, and we’ll send her back. For now, we’re sending all four of them to Ibrams."

As they led Claire out of the library, she pleaded one last time with Jones, "I didn’t do anything! Where are you taking me?"

Jones nodded, and then patted her on the back, "Don’t worry, you’re still not in trouble. We just need to take you somewhere safe."

Claire sat in gloom in the police car, as she wondered what crimes they would find her guilty of. Of course, she thought, since Verpors are invisible, it was reasonable for her to have been freaking out even when the Verpor wasn’t actually there. They could never prove that John hadn’t threatened her, right? Surely there was enough of a case for reasonable doubt, she thought. At the same time, there was a much darker fear growing in her mind: that there were never be a trial. She feared that the government didn’t care if she was a good citizen or not, that it was simply a case that loose ends had to be tied up, and anyone who might have had contact with a Verpor must disappear from all public record. As the night went on, it became more and more clear that they weren’t being arrested for any crimes. They were being taken away for far different purposes. Claire had a horrifying image in her head, of the government agents dumping her body into an unmarked desert grave, while congratulating themselves on pulling off such a clever trap. She just hoped they would somehow spare Cathy and Chasm.

"They tell me you’ve become uncooperative. Must unusual for someone such as yourself."

Claire stood her ground, unwilling to budge. She wasn’t working with these people anymore. She stood through the long and embarrassing physical examination when they first brought her to Ibrams military base. She would not let them probe any further. Not into her body and not into her mind. In the process of being yanked from school again, driven blindfolded into the desert, and locked up in an underground military base, she felt removed from reality altogether. Whatever peaceful life she had led before was gone; she had stepped into a new, hostile reality, and had to adapt to it. Smith paced back and forth in her room, peering through the plastic barrier that separated them.

"Why should I help any of you?" asked Claire defiantly, "you’re going to kill me anyway."

Smith stared in amazement at Claire. Was this really the frightened teenage girl they had been looking for? Something had happened to her recently. A new brand of cynicism and will had worked its way into Claire’s mind. She was no longer quiet and passive. She threatened everyone she met, announcing that she would expose them all when she was free. They tried to calm her down by leaving her in solitude, but that only made her more frantic and hysterical in her threats and rants. Something very fundamental had changed in Claire, and Smith sought what it was.

"I don’t understand why you’re being so unreasonable. I know that you’ve never been in any trouble and are always a well-behaved girl. You have a perfectly clean record," droned Smith.

"And yet, I am here, aren’t I? You’ve made me a criminal, why shouldn’t I act like one?" remarked Claire snidely.

"Temporarily you are being confined here, yes, but you will be sent back. No one’s trying to kill you."

"Oh really? After holding me without trial or charges you’re just going to let me go? I have been in league with your enemy, I have seen things that no one is allowed to see, and now I have been held here unjustly. I am too dangerous for you to let go."

Smith sighed. She understood their side of things too well. It was in fact a major concern among them of how they would handle her release. He tried his best to explain: "Your circumstances are very extraordinary, and these are dangerous times, to say the least. However, soon no one will fear the Verpors and there will be no reason for us to keep you here."

"And what will you tell people? How will you explain my confinement?"

"The truth. You were brought here both for your protection and the protection of others. You were removed from your school and placed in a secure location where we could study what your contact had done to you, before you infected others."

"Infected others? What are you talking about? Are you afraid I would have rallied support for the Verpor cause?"

"Oh, hardly. You have no influence to do such a thing. But you are infected, and you may suffer physically from it if you do not cooperate and allow further study to commence. A Verpor does not come alone, Miss Horton. He brings with him more to this world than just himself and the clothes on his back. Do you know what happened when the Europeans landed in the Americas? Scores of the natives died, and not all by the sword. A more powerful, microscopic adversary killed them all by disease. You are can not assume that you are immune, Claire. There is no reason to suppose that you are adapted to the Verpor microbiota."

"I that were true, I’d already be dead."

"What is it with you and death? ‘If that were true, I’d already be dead,’ and ‘I won’t cooperate, because I’m going to die anyway.’ You say that so many times. You almost seem to look forward to it. Was your lonely life really that bad?"

"My logic holds, whether you will mock me or not."

"I’m afraid it doesn’t. The infection may have chronic effects. You may not feel them for a long time. Consider if the effects are cancerous: we wouldn’t see the results for months, and you wouldn’t feel anything for years. There are many known diseases that do not show their symptoms over the course of time that you have been exposed."

Claire just sat still. She couldn’t refute this argument. "Send me to a hospital, then," she requested.

"Standard hospitals are not equipped to deal with this. Our researchers have the best chance of anyone of diagnosing the infection."

A voice in Claire’s head told her that Smith was right. In many ways it made sense, but some simple facts remained. They had still snatched her. They had still betrayed her trust. They had still confined her against her will, without even letting her know where she was. Was she now to trust that this was all for her own good? And yet, Claire could not refute Smith’s arguments. She sat still, stubbornly, unwilling to budge or argue.

"Am I having any impact at all on you?" asked Smith.

"I’ll think about it."

"Good, but don’t think too long. Our progress has already been delayed enough."

"I am dreadfully sorry," remarked Claire sarcastically.

"You know, Miss Horton, there are rewards for being helpful," said Smith, "Do you really want to be held here as an enemy, as someone who is deliberately helping the Verpors, and perhaps plotting with them? Because that is what people are starting to say. We meant to hold you here, not just for your protection, but to give you an opportunity. You could prove to be a national hero if you help us determine what it is that makes the Verpors tick. Stay on the right side, Miss Horton, it would be unwise to continue this rebellion."

As Smith walked away, Claire let out a parting shot, "You can’t threaten me anymore!"

"Miss Horton-"

"What’s done is done and what you will do you will do, and there is nothing I can do to change that."

"There are consequences-"

"I don’t believe in consequences anymore. If I am dangerous you will get rid of me and if I help you I only speed up the process."

"You are talking nonsense! What happened to you?"

"I am as I always was: alone, frightened, and trapped by circumstance. I never cared much for what people thought of me, but you have taken away the one thing that did make me care: consequence. I broke no law and you detained me. I cooperated and you betrayed me. I have done nothing wrong and yet I sit in the middle of Dante’s Inferno. I used to believe in the security that good actions would lead to good results, but you have shattered that assumption. Congratulations."

"You are being ridiculous! If you would tried to think about what we’re trying to do rather than concentrating on being a weird little rebel you would return back to your life as free as anyone."

"And I would always remember what happened. And I would always wonder when you would come back for me. Here I am secure, because you’ve already taken me, and I don’t have to worry about that anymore."

"My god, what is your problem?! I give up. Someone else can try to reason with your strange little mind."

Smith headed for the door, motioning for the guard to open the lock, while Claire continued, raving like a madman.

"Forever I’ll wonder it ‘til the end: Is today the day they’ll take me away? Every time I see anyone like you, every time a police car passes by, every time I hear a siren… Is today the day they’ll take me away? It rhymes, doesn’t it?" with a lyrical quality, she sang out, "Today’s the day they’ll take me away…"

Smith left the room and mumbled to the guard, "She’s gone mad. I swear, something in that head of hers has snapped."

Claire smiled as Smith left sight. She had doubted that they would easily release a coherent witness who could tell everyone what she had seen. It was dangerous for them But a raving, paranoid nutcase? Perhaps…

Claire waited, alone, as she had been waiting for a long time before that day. She lost track of the time frequently. Days didn’t seem to matter anymore. Before it mattered what day it was since that determined whether she went to school and what she did. Now the concept of a day meant nothing to her. She couldn’t even see the sun anymore.

As she sat in her exile, she begin think of what she should do if it began to look like they really weren’t going to ever let her go. And so she began trying to figure out how to escape. Unfortunately, she had no skills that endowed her with the ability to get out. She had no knowledge of lock-picking, code-breaking, or any art of stealth. She knew she couldn’t fight anyone. The one way for her to get out was to release John from wherever they had him bound. John could get her out of this mess. He had superpowers that were unmatched by anyone else. Of course, she didn’t know where John was, or if he was even alive. Getting to him and setting him free would be beyond her capabilities. Even so, she watched everything with a keen eye, making mental notes of every detail that might prove useful for her escape. If she had enough data, she thought, she could come up with a plan. Cunning and craft were her superpowers. She watched how the door to her room was unlocked: making note of which key was used to activate the keypad, and after enough time, she had figured out what code was typed in to unlock the doors. She had also listened to what people said, sometimes pretending to be asleep so that she might learn things that they didn’t want her to know. She didn’t find out where John was or any easy ways to escape, of course, but she was able to find out who pitied her.

Following Smith’s visit, after the meaningless hours slipped by, another man came to see her. This man she had never seen before, but he was accompanied by an entourage of other soldiers. The man came into her room, with two soldiers at his side.

"I don’t believe we’ve met before," said the man, "my name is Tidus."

"Tidus…" droned Claire, in a dazed, ethereal voice, "have you come to take me away? Has it finally happened?"

"Oh, stop that. You have played these childish games long enough. You’re going to stop being a brat and work with us, one way or another"

"Why should I? I owe you nothing. I owe nobody."

"Maybe not, but perhaps we can come to an agreement."

"Let me guess," murmured Claire, still holding her dreamlike tone, "You would offer me freedom. But freedom can not be given, it can only be taken away. You can’t offer me freedom. You can not and will not give it to me, and you know this."

"Ah yes. I’ve been told that you believe we mean to never let you leave. I will not argue with you. Let us suppose this is true for the time being. If you were to never leave, I suppose we could make you a more integral part of the project, let in on more things, so to speak."

"What exactly are you offering?"

"To tell you everything about the Verpors and our work in studying and combating them. No secrets would be kept from you. Come now, I know you should like to know more than you do."

Claire scoffed skeptically. How much did they really think they could bait her with promises of nothing but information? "Why would you share your secrets with me?" she asked.

"Why not? You truly believe that we will never release you, right? Well, then, why shouldn’t we tell you everything, if it will make you happy?" He saw that Claire was still not convinced, so he tried something, "Here, I’ll give you a freebie. Ask me anything. There must be something you desperately want to know."

"What have you done to Cathy and Chas?"

"That’s a compound question. You only get one. Which one do you want to know about?"

Claire thought, and then realized that she wasn’t sure if either of them were especially relevant at this point. However, she wasn’t sure if she could ask the questions she really wanted to have answered, so she stuck with what would arouse the least suspicion about her. "Cathy," she said.

"We recently decided that she is of less interest to us than we thought, and will be sending her home shortly."

"That doesn’t answer my question."

"No it doesn’t, but it’s all you’re getting now." Claire laid down on her bed, looking straight up at the ceiling. She began counting the holes in the tiles while pointing up at them. "You know Claire," said Tidus, "we’ve been looking for you for some time. We didn’t know for sure if you really existed." Claire continued counting, now counting out loud. "We hypothesized that one such as you must exist, but we were never able to verify the idea, until we found you. Until you were found, we actually had a name for you. Not the you as you are, of course, but you as a concept. We called you "The Counterpart.""

Claire stopped counting and turned in bed. He had gotten her interest. "The counterpart to what?" she asked.

"It’s actually a major part of our ongoing research. Wouldn’t you like to know and be a part of it?"

Claire laughed. How dumb did he think she was? "No," was all she said. At this, Tidus reached up and tore down the plastic sheeting that was supposed to separate her and her Verpor diseases from visitors. He then nodded to one of the soldiers who came in with him. As Claire sat up, wondering what new tricks they were up to, the soldier aimed at her and fired. The shot was so soft, and so sudden, but Claire could feel something hit her neck. She looked down for a moment, expecting to see blood but seeing none, and then she collapsed onto the floor. She saw Tidus standing over her as her vision faded into patterns of colors. It had finally happened.

"Make sure she stays still."

Claire slowly regained consciousness, but still couldn’t see anything. All she saw was a light. If not for the fact that she felt so miserable waking up she might have supposed that God had forgiven her and that she was now in heaven. But she wasn’t. She felt awful waking up; her head pounded and her mouth tasted bitter. She closed her eyes and hoped that it would all fade away. She tried to move, to shift into a more comfortable position, but found that she couldn’t. She then tried to move her arms but those were immobile as well. Unable to move, feel, or open her eyes, Claire just laid there and whimpered helplessly. She then heard voices, strange voices that she hadn’t heard before. "She’s waking up," remarked one of the voices. Claire just stayed still, uninterested in re-entering the world outside her mind. She waited and waited, hoping to fall back into a sleep, and hoping that they would leave her alone. Finally she felt a terrible, sharp pain in her arm, and let out a shriek. "She’s definitely conscious, " said one of the voices, "can we unstrap her now?" Claire waited, eyes still closed, breathing heavily, as her bonds were released and she could move again. "You can get up now" said the voice.

Claire wasn’t sure if she wanted to get up, but she was afraid of getting stabbed again if she couldn’t see what threatened her. She opened her eyes and slowly adjusted to the light. In front of her was a man in a white coat with a brown beard. The man introduced himself: "Hello, my name is Dr. Brawn. I understand your name is Claire."

"It is. What are you doing to me?"

"I’m going to see how far the Verpor infection has spread through your body."

Claire remembered what Smith had told her, "Have I been infected?"

"Yes. We’ve already done blood tests. Now we just need to know where the infection is localized. That is, if it is localized anywhere particular at all." Claire sat up, not knowing what to say. She had never seen this man before, and knew not whether to be angry with him or not. Dr. Brawn continued, "I have to say, however, that I am not accustomed to patients being brought to me sedated. I understand you had gone into shock and couldn’t be moved otherwise."

"That’s a lie."

"Is it, now?"

"I never agreed to this. I told them I wouldn’t work with them, so they did this to me." Brawn looked at her with a very concerned and sad look. "You don’t believe me," said Claire, "do you?"

Brawn sighed. He did believe her, for he knew of the zeal and disregard for dignity that plagued his superiors. However, he knew he couldn’t say that be believed her here. "I’m very sorry you were brought in like that," he said.

"The scary part was that I didn’t even know what they were doing. When I lost consciousness the last thought to run through my mind was, ‘It’s finally happened. So this is what it’s like to die…’"

"My word, that’s a depressing thought. No wonder you’re so scared."

"I wasn’t scared. Just sad."

Brawn took the syringe he had used to inject Claire, capped it, and put it on a rack with other instruments on a cart. Claire tried to look at what he had. She always liked to know what instruments of torture were around. When Claire would visit the dentist the main thing that always terrified her was not the pain itself, but the fact that she was always made to sit staring up at a light, never being able to see what diabolical tools the dentist had grabbed from his tray to use on her. She looked over at the syringe, trying to guess what it was. Brawn noticed what she was looking at.

"It’s an antibody," he said, answering the question that had never been asked.

"An antibody? So you have a cure for the infection."

"No, it doesn’t work that way. The antibody is coupled to a small radioactive label that we will use to track the infection. Unfortunately, we will have to wait a few days to proceed with the imaging, giving the free antibody time to clear and give us a clean background." Claire looked at the small swelling on her arm where she had been given the injection. It seemed that these people knew a great deal about the Verpors, if they could even detect Verpor bacteria.

"Of course," continued Brawn, "this is hardly a new technique. Nuclear imaging, as it is called, is a common tool for cancer visualization. Frankly, I’m not sure it’s going to tell us much in your case, but we need to try all possibilities."

Claire didn’t like the idea of being injected with anything radioactive, but she liked that someone was finally being straight with her. She decided to ask him what she wouldn’t have asked anyone else. "Am I sick?" she asked, "Do I have cancer from my exposure to the Verpors?"

"You have no apparent tumors or any other symptoms of disease, if that is what you want to know, but I can not say that no damage has been done. We’re trying to figure out how your immune system is reacting to the infection, which will be a major factor in deciding how harmful your exposure has been. There’s also the issue of genetic damage, which may have long-term effects. But I wouldn’t worry; you’re not carrying the Black Death now, are you? Now, if I could get a tissue sample-"

"Will it hurt?"

"No, just open your mouth."

Claire opened her mouth as Brawn took a brush and scrapped the insides of her cheeks. As he did this, a woman with short blonde hair, also wearing a white, sterile coat, walked in. Brawn finished, placed the brush in a small vial, and handed it to the woman.

"Here’s your sample for the in vitro assays, Lynn," said Brawn.

"What should I use for a control?" asked Lynn, "I assume she was exposed already when she first came to us."

"Use your own cells," answered Brawn, "they’re Buccal cells."

Lynn nodded and took the sample into another room. Claire didn’t quite understand what they were doing, but she got the basic idea. She knew that cells and DNA from cells could be studied on their own, and that a "control" was a standard for comparison. She wasn’t sure what an "in vitro assay" was. Some kind of test to see if she was sick, perhaps? She laid back down on the bed and thought. This really wasn’t as bad as she thought. In some way she felt foolish for having been so stubborn. She had refused to come along before because she hated her captors, and she kept refusing even after they explained because she didn’t want to change her mind and go easy on them. But now that she had already been brought in as a lab rat, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. She wondered if she had over-reacted. Of course, arguably it was impossible to over-react to being abducted, with or without due process. Still, she wondered if she had thrown in the towel too early, by giving up hope that she could be let free. Often things can seem so absolutely certain at one time, and silly at another. Since she seemed to be doing well with Brawn so far, she went ahead and asked if she could be allowed to get her hopes up.

"Dr. Brawn, if you find that I’m OK, will they send me back home?" she asked.

"I imagine so, but it’s not up to me," answered Brawn.

"Who is it up to?"

"Tidus. Mr. Archer."

Claire realized that this was the awful man who had her shot, sedated, and dragged away against her will. "I don’t like him," she said, which prompted a brief smirk from Brawn. "I don’t see why they have to use the force they’ve used. Just to quarantine me and do some medical tests?"

"There are… other concerns. Quite a few other concerns, in fact. But in part, you’re right."

Claire didn’t ask what the "other concerns" were. He couldn’t tell her, and she could guess what a few of them were. She figured they wanted to keep this all quiet. It probably wouldn’t do for the public to start thinking about invisible bacteria bringing plagues to the country, so they took her away in secret where they could diagnose her without the intruding eyes of the press. Or perhaps she was going to see, or had already seen, things that were classified and needed to be kept that way, both from the public and from Verpor intelligence. Or maybe they thought she was a Verpor spy. Or maybe they had more in store for her than had been revealed so far. Dr. Brawn now pulled a stack of papers from a file and begin shuffling through them. He selected one stapled set and then announced that he needed to ask some questions, largely medical in nature. He asked her about various symptoms she may have felt after first being exposed to the Verpor, asked when and how she had been sick in the last year, and then asked about the extent of her contact with John. When he asked what sorts of physical contact they had had, she blushed and said that she’d rather not tell that.

"Perhaps, um…" mumbled Brawn, "you’d like to write it down yourself, then." He handed her the questionnaire. She wrote down the truth, and when Brawn looked at what she wrote, he seemed a bit amused and relieved. "Oh, that’s it. OK, I understand. That’s good."

"What’s good?"

"Don’t worry about it."

There was a buzz at the door to the lab, so Brawn went over to see who it was. He opened the door, and told whoever it was out there that "the patient" could not be visited yet, and that he would need proper clearance and permission from Archer first anyway. The man protested a bit, saying that he was the best person to talk to anyone who had been exposed to a Verpor. Claire’s ears perked up. She recognized that voice. She almost bolted from her bed, but then reminded herself that what she was thinking was impossible. It couldn’t be him, could it? "John!" cried out Claire. At the sound of her voice, John pushed Brawn aside and stepped into the room. Claire gasped. It was John, but at the same time, it wasn’t. The man in front of her was visible, and ordinary, but she recognized him immediately from the picture she had taken back in the library.

"Claire?!" exclaimed John, "What are you doing here?"

"I’m afraid I must protest," began Brawn, "she can not have any visitors, especially ones without clearance."

"How the hell did she get her?" demanded John. Then, he looked at her and remarked, "And isn’t she supposed to be invisible? How can I see her?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," said Brawn, "You’d better go discuss this matter with Mr. Archer."

Claire left the bed and walked over to the two arguing men. "John," she asked, "how is this possible? I can see you."

"Well, that’s because you’re in my world, now. I turned visible when I went back. But it’s great to see you again! It’s been so long. I guess you’ve started highschool by now, huh?" answered John.

"What are you talking about?" Claire asked, "We just…"

Suddenly, it dawned on them both. They had never met each other before this moment. "Who is this?" asked John.

"She’s the counterpart," answered Brawn, "But I’m afraid I’m going to have to speak to Mr. Archer about this. He might approve, but-"

"Fine, go!" said John, as he pushed Brawn out the door, and then turned to Claire. "So you are Claire’s counterpart? You’re the Claire from this world?"

"I am from this world," she answered, "But I never knew I was anyone’s counterpart."

"But how do you know me?" he asked.

"Because you are apparently also a counterpart. There is a Verpor named John who I met in a school library. They’re holding him here. I think he’s the same person as you, but from the Verpor world."

"My god… I’ve crossed dimensions in both directions. My soul must be completely lost and confused at this point. Did he say how he got here?"

"He said he was sent through a portal that people from his world created. Some sort of mass teleportation technology. Did you travel to the Verpor world in the same way?"

"Yes, and no. We don’t have any mass teleportation technology of course, so-"

"Wait, we don’t?"

"Of course not. We’ll probably have it eventually, especially with the intel I managed to bring back, but it’s a long ways off."

Claire was confused, "Then how did you get to the Verpor world?"

"I went backwards through one of their portals. They are very predictable. All we had to do was trace back to the entry point of a team of Verpors we caught and wait for them to open the portal from the other side."

"So they sent a team through, and when they tried to bring them back, you went through it instead?"

"Exactly."

"And the Verpors just let you back?"

"Oh, so they haven’t told you."

"Told me what?"

"Verpors are not intrinsically invisible. They are only such outside of their own dimension. We are the same way if we enter theirs. So yes, Claire, I spent three months not in the Verpor World, but as a Verpor myself. They had not expected any of us to enter their world, so I was able to evade them easily, but they found me and hounded me. I ended up fleeing their base and sought refuge until the whole thing blew over and I could sneak back in and get back through the gate.

"Where do I fit into this? I mean, the other me?"

"I ran into you, by chance, and stayed somewhat in your custody, so to speak, while I hid."

Claire’s jaw hit the floor. Not only were the two dimensions parallel, but the interactions between them were nearly parallel. Even after having spent weeks conversing with an invisible man, being abducted by shady government agents, and now meeting that same invisible man in the flesh, Claire couldn’t believe it.

"Is this the truth?" she asked, "Because if this is some sort of joke I need to know."

"It’s God’s truth."

"So, in some other world, we met, and talked in the library, exactly as we did here?"

"I don’t know if it’s exactly as we did here. Moreover because I don’t know what’s happened to you here."

"Well, what happened when you met me?"

"Let me think…I remember you were upset about being rejected from the cheerleading squad that day…"

"What?! I never tried out for the cheerleading squad. Why would I ever do that?"

"Well, you later told me that you’d been chasing some guy, some guy who didn’t even know who you were, as I later found out, and you thought-"

"This doesn’t sound like me at all. Are you sure I’m really this person’s counterpart?"

"Claire, the Verpor world is not the identical twin to our universe. It is the same, but it is different. It is us, as we could have been. Perhaps, if something different in your life occurred, you might have been the Claire I knew. Likewise, everything in the Verpor world reflects things as they could have been. Had our science progressed just a little bit faster, and been focused in different areas, we too would have the ability to cross dimensions."

"Now, see, that’s the other thing I don’t get. If we don’t have that technology, than what was that thing those agents showed me?"

"What thing?" asked John.

"Some sort of gate, a portal of some sort. They had pictures, and said that everyone was killed when the gate was opened. I guess they must have been fakes."

John looked up, reflecting, and then said, "I have a bad feeling that they weren’t."

The door to the room opened, and Tidus Archer walked in, with a grim look, followed by the timid Dr. Brawn. Tidus looked over at Claire and John and knew instantly what had happened. "Well," began Tidus, with an ambivalent tone, "I suppose this was inevitable. Now you both know. Any comments?"

"How long have you been keeping her here?" asked John.

"Not long," answered Tidus, "not long at all. But I’m afraid we’ll be keeping her for quite a bit longer, and in the meantime, John, she is none of your concern. I have your new orders in my office."

"What? You’re transferring me?"

"Hardly. You will be working with Staffer and military intelligence on the completion of Project Id."

"I don’t even know what that is."

"You’re right, you didn’t. Staffer will bring you up to speed quickly, as will everyone else in the upcoming days. There’s no point in hiding it now; we’re going to war."

Archer sent John away, and then ordered Brawn to have Claire strapped to the bed whenever she was left unattended. "She’s suicidal," was the only reason he gave.

"You are in great danger, you must leave now."

Claire heard these words in her dreams as she slept restlessly. At times she felt confused, confused as to whether she was having some headache-inducing dream about herself trying to get to sleep, or was actually drifting between being asleep and being half-asleep. The image and feeling of her shifting as much as her constraints allowed, pulling the covers, and trying to fall asleep repeated itself endlessly in a daze of unconscious confusion and frustration. Claire heard the same voice again, "Wake up, need to hurry," and felt a tug at her leg. Claire opened her eyes briefly, and then closed them again, ready to drift back to sleep. But then she sat up, and noticed something wrong. Her bonds had been released! Claire looked around, in a confused daze, wondering what sort of dream this was. She tried to mumble something, but then heard a sound pierce the air. It was nothing more than someone saying "Shhh…" Claire looked around and saw no one there. She got out of bed and heard a small tapping on the wall, and followed the noise. Whatever ghost this was, it was leading her toward something. Then, a key floated through the air and unlocked the door to the lab, and the door swung open.

Claire walked cautiously towards the door, unsure what this visitor was trying to do. She got near the door, and then suddenly the door began to close again. Claire bent forward and grabbed the door before it could shut, and then wandered outside. She heard nothing, but felt an invisible hand grab hers, and then footsteps leading down the hall. Claire followed, being led by the hand by this invisible, silent guide. The hand, she could tell, was not John’s. But nonetheless, she chose to trust this new sprite, who led her silently through the dark hallways of the base. All the while, Claire feared that at any moment they would be caught, or, more likely she would be caught, and her phantom guide would slip away. She could imagine as they rounded every corner that a guard would pop out and find her wandering the base in the middle of the night in nothing but a hospital gown. She just hoped that this guide was leading her in the right direction.

Claire followed until they came to a key-pad locked door, but someone had left the door ajar and prompted it ever so slightly open with a pen. The door opened, and Claire followed through it. She was now in a large room, with no other apparent exits save the one she came in through. In the center of a large open space was a gateway, much like the one she had seen in the pictures that Smith and Jones had shown her. However, this one looked much smaller, and the girth of the gateway was scarcely big enough for one person to step through. Claire followed up to the gateway, both with fear and anticipation of what she knew she would be led to do next. She marched up and stood in front of the gate, which appeared completely inactive. She waited in silence for about a minute, and then begin to ask where it would take her. "Shhh…" came the whisper that once again she could barely hear, "Wait." This Verpor was not taking any chances of attracting attention. Claire waited, and then watched as terminals and control panels sprung to life, with no apparent operators. Then, the a buzzing sounds came from the gateway. A field of luminescent particles formed between gate, and then Claire felt two hands on her back, pushing her slowly through. Claire closed her eyes, and walked through.

Claire opened her eyes, and nearly fell down in relief. She was back in her own house, standing in her own bedroom! The entire affair had ended with her being teleported straight into her own room, as if the whole thing had been nothing but a bad dream. But then, something strange happened. She heard a sound behind her and turned, as she saw herself materialize behind her. Claire’s mysterious guide had been none other than a copy of herself. "What are you?" she asked.

"I’m you. I’m your Verpor, your counterpart," was the answer she got.

"Then why can I see you?"

"Because you’re in my world. You are now the one who can’t be seen."

Claire looked at her hand, but it looked just as visible as it had before. It was a strange thing to feel so present, but be told you were absent.

"Why did you bring me here?" asked Claire.

"Because this is a safe place, where no one will find you," answered the Verpor Claire.

Claire sighed. "For a moment I thought I’d been sent back to my home."

"Oddly enough, they don’t seem to know how to do that, travel space without crossing over, you know. Rob seemed to think that this was the only good place to hide you."

"Who’s Rob?"

"A friend of John’s. He’s a scientist who helped secure your escape. He operated the portal remotely and closed it after we passed through. You may be able to meet him later, if he comes through himself."

"Do you think he would?"

"He mentioned that he might also need a place of shelter. Well, we’ve got a lot to talk about, but I’m supposed to give you this." The Verpor Claire handed Claire a letter. The letter had been written by John, explaining that everyone in the base might be put in mortal danger, and he had arranged her sanctuary in the Verpor World, to keep her from danger and hide her from Archer and his goons. Claire remembered the pictures of the massacre that Smith and Jones showed her, and wondered what they were trying to pull off that would create such danger. She then looked at her counterpart in bewilderment, unsure how to view this construct. Who was Verpor Claire? Was she a separate person or not? She looked like Claire, sounded like Claire, and lived Claire’s life, but at the same time, Claire didn’t feel like this person was one and the same with her. Claire did not see the world through this Verpor’s eyes. Verpor Claire was merely a carbon copy with her own life. But now Claire wondered: why did this clone of hers risk capture to save her?

"That’s absolutely amazing what you did to set me free," said Claire, "You’re like one of those super-spies in the movies."

"It’s funny because I felt the exact same thing going in there," said Verpor Claire, "Or course, I had a lot of help from John and Rob. John actually came here to tell me about you and how you were being locked up and experimented on."

"And he asked you to rescue me?"

"No, he just asked me to hide you. I offered to rescue you myself. After all, it sounds like there is only one other Verpor out there who would have helped you, and John said that he was locked up somewhere hidden."

"Why would you do that? You took a tremendous risk."

"Well, I am you after all. What risk is there in saving myself? If I am imprisoned, then I should seek to free myself."

"I guess, but you’re not really me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we’re both ‘Claire Horton’, and we looked the same, but we’re different people, aren’t we?"

"You mean personality-wise?"

"Well… maybe."

"I guess we don’t really know each other, unless of course, we already do and don’t know it."

"Well," began Claire, trying to think of a simple test, "how would you describe yourself? In one word."

"Intellectual." This was exactly the same word Claire would have picked.

"Wow, that’s what I would have said too. I’m also pretty quiet, I guess. Are you?"

"Usually. I try to break my shyness, but it feels unnatural. Often I just like to be alone, so I don’t have to feel like I should try."

"I’m not very social, but I’m comfortable not being so."

"Even so, I often feel like I should want to get out more and interact, you know, because that’s what everyone else does."

"I just tell myself that I don’t care what everyone else does because most of them are drooling idiots."

"But you do care."

Claire paused, and then answered, "Yes, I do."

"It’s a weird conflict. I mean, I say ‘those people are so shallow and delight in such simple pleasures-‘"

"that you think, ‘why should I want that?’"

"’Why should I care what they do?’"

"But you still want it, on some level."

"I wanted to know what I was missing."

They paused. This wasn’t a conversation any more, it was a monologue. It didn’t even seem to matter which one of them said what. They were one and the same, two voices in one head. But then Verpor Claire said something that raised a bit of doubt as to this.

"I sometimes wonder if my curiosity of what those people do is the only reason I’m dating Paul."

"What, you have a boyfriend?"

"I don’t know if I’d really call him my boyfriend just yet. Or perhaps I just don’t want to see myself as anyone’s girlfriend."

"Well, then, maybe we’re not really the same. I mean, I could never have a boyfriend."

"Never? Why?"

"Because I’m not comfortable with the idea, and because boys don’t like me anyway."

"I’m also not comfortable with the idea, and I’m not even sure how I managed to attract Paul, but here I am."

"That’s still a difference between us."

They quieted, because they heard footsteps, and the door opened. Verpor Claire’s mom opened the door and told her it was time to go to bed, and asked who she was talking to. Verpor Claire remarked that she was talking to herself, which almost made Claire bust out laughing. When they were alone again, Verpor Claire continued the self-discussion: "See, I don’t think that’s a difference. I think that’s a choice."

"I could have chosen differently and had a boyfriend?"

"Yes, if you had made different choices, there would be no difference between us. I am you as you could have been had you weighed things differently. I am the road not taken, from your point of view."

"And from your point of view I am the same."

"Yes."

"Wow. The philosophers would have a field day with this one. Imagine what they would say about us and how, if we really are the same person, than this makes some interesting statements about free will."

"Free will? Yes, you’re right. Perhaps this is how an omniscient God is able to know everything and still give us choices,"

"-by splitting us along the branching points whenever we act on free will in different directions."

"I’ve often wondered if this crossing is trespassing on the garden of an angry God, but I trust he will forgive me if I have."

"It hardly seems our fault."

"Well, I meant that in the sense that Jesus grants forgiveness for all my sins."

Claire looked at herself in wonderment. Did this alternate version of her really believe in God, and not just as an abstract philosophical concept?

"Wait," asked Claire, "Do you believe in God?"

"Of course."

"But I don’t. Well, I’m not sure."

"You’re an atheist?"

"I don’t know if that’s really the correct idea. I don’t declare that there isn’t a God, just that I don’t see why I should believe anything about him."

Verpor Claire sat down. This revelation created a problem for her. "How can you not believe in God?" she asked, "You’re me, and I believe in God."

"Well, we made different choices."

"But that seems so fundamental. I mean, it’s who I am. If you’re me, you can’t be an atheist."

"I guess it is a rather large difference."

"How will God decide to let me into heaven? If I accepted him, but by a different branching point, I did not, how will he look upon me? Does the soul of Claire Horton get split in two, one half sent to heaven and the other half-…" Verpor Claire paused, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that."

"You’re afraid I’ll go to Hell?" asked Claire.

"I’m not sure what I’m afraid of. If you are me and we are one and the same, then there must be, you know…"

"Some fundamental set of beliefs that we hold?"

"And by these beliefs we would be united. But if our choices have separated us by faith, what does that do to us?"

"Religion could just be a product of choice."

"Then one of us doesn’t really believe."

Claire paused for a moment. It seemed as if they had gone beyond their field of comprehension. At some level, this discussion transcended them, and they noticed that they kept using certain terms, like "belief" and "choice" and "branching point" repeatedly to keep a theme going, as markers to identify the incomprehensible parts of this mystery. Even if they couldn’t understand, they could form some abstraction of it. As this discussion continued, Claire was asked by her Verpor self why she didn’t believe. Claire answered simply: "because I haven’t seen God. If God cared enough to make me believe, why doesn’t he do some sort of miracle?"

"A miracle, just for you?" asked Verpor Claire with a bit of sarcasm.

"Why not? If it’s so important that I believe in him, why don’t we see more miracles?"

"There’d be no need for faith if that happened."

"My logic still holds."

"I don’t know, maybe we still wouldn’t believe. Maybe we’d come up with some explanation if miracles happened all the time, and credit it to science."

"God could at least try it."

"Every account that we have of Jesus, scriptural or otherwise, indicates that God already did."

"I wasn’t there to see it."

Verpor Claire sighed. There seemed to be no way around this. How was it possible that an alternate Claire Horton could not only not believe in God, but be firmly entrenched in a mindset that excluded any arguments to the contrary? Often when another person had this belief structure, she assumed that they were stubborn fools who rejected God out of convenience. But this wasn’t another person. This was herself. For a moment, Verpor Claire wondered if she was the one who didn’t really believe. She tried to think, and answer the question for herself: why did she believe? What arguments persuaded her? What evidence made her see? Claire pondered this, and thought about it as they tried to go to sleep. Suddenly, it hit her. There were no intellectual arguments that made her believe in God. She turned and whispered, "Are you still awake?"

"Yes," answered Claire.

"I think you’re right."

"About what?"

"That God would make miracles happen if he wanted us to believe."

"Oh."

"I think he does make them happen all the time."

"Really? Do miracles really happen all the time in this world? What kinds of miracles do you Verpor’s see?"

"Simple miracles that we choose not to credit to him. Life. Hope. Encounter with good that has no place among us. We imagine and strive for what is good, and what is perfect, even thought we have never seen it, and have no evidence for it."

"’Us’ as in you and I, or ’us’ as in humanity?"

"Both. Some miracle has made us believe in something better than what we are and what we see and what we have evidence for. Even the atheists accept it. This is the miracle that makes me believe."

"Interesting, although I think there are other explanations for that."

"Circumstance and randomness?"

"Perhaps. But then again, perhaps you would say that is where we are to find God?"

"Well, you see where circumstance has led you."

Claire chuckled, and remarked, "If my adventures are one of God’s miracles that he’s using to convince me of his existence, I hope he gives up on me quickly."

"We don’t know how it will end, yet. I will tell you one thing that I definitely don’t believe."

"That we are here, together, talking about God by chance?"

"We’ve been made to confront the other choice we could have made."

Claire thought about that, and then said, "If that is true, than I am wrong in my beliefs."

"But if it is false, than I am. In either case, I’m glad I found you. I feel like I’ve rediscovered who I am."

"So do I."

The next morning, Verpor Claire woke up and got dressed, and then grabbed two helpings of the breakfast and took them both up to her room. Her counterpart hadn’t woken yet, so she just put the extra plate on her desk and figured that she would find it when she woke up. Verpor Claire resented that today was a school day. She felt like she could spend days just talking with her alternate self, finding out what alternate life she could have led. To meet a version of oneself who has made different choices answers one of the oldest questions: "What if?" To have this question answered is both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing because it feeds the desires of curiosity and provides insight. It is a curse because it can open unhealable wounds of regret, and the number of "What if?" branching points that a person can explore and ask about is enough to make anyone go nuts if they ever had the answers to every "What if?" in their life. It was probably for the best that Claire would be separated from her alternate self. As Verpor Claire finished eating, a car horn honked outside. Verpor Claire called out from the window and explained to the driver that she just needed a few minutes. Verpor Claire begin packing up her schoolwork as Claire woke up.

"What was that sound?" asked the invisible Claire.

"Paul’s taking me to school today," answered Verpor Claire.

Claire wandered to the window and looked out at the boy in the car. "Oh, that Paul. I know him. He’s older though, isn’t he?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I worry that he just picked me up because he thought I’d be an easy grab, being a freshman and all."

"That’s what I wondered too. I mean, when I thought that he might talk to me and ask me out."

"Did you talk to him much?"

"No, just a little."

"That may be our branching point. I tried to talk to him as much as I could when I thought he liked me."

Claire now felt a sense of regret. Her own "What if?" had been answered in a rather depressing way. She expressed this regret to her Verpor, but her Verpor didn’t seem to think she made a mistake.

"You’re actually not missing as much as you might think," said Verpor Claire, "I didn’t think we were going to last. And now that I’ve rethought things, I might be the one to pull the plug on us."

"Why? You don’t like him?" asked Claire.

Verpor Claire sat down and explained, "Paul says we might go to the prom, the "might" comes from the fact that some older friend of his has had him on standby, so to speak, since before we started seeing each other, which was last week. He says that he doesn’t feel right pulling out on her since he already asked her, and that it would be more appropriate for him to take her, since prom isn’t for freshmen anyway, and this really has nothing to do with our relationship."

"And you believe that?"

"No, but I’m trying to decide if I should wait since it might not be relevant."

"You want my opinion? Ditch him. Obviously he doesn’t care enough about you, if he’s willing to trade you for someone else. He’s just holding on to you until something better comes along."

"You’re probably right. Actually, you’re definitely right. Funny how things seem so much clearer when you say it."

"But I am you after all, aren’t I?"

"Yes. I just needed to know what I would say if I had taken the other road. If I’m going to be single, I want to know how I will feel."

Verpor Claire quickly grabbed her backpack, and ran down the stairs. Claire watched from the window as Verpor Claire walked out to Paul’s car, and hoped that she had given the correct advice. On one hand it seemed as if her advice was perfectly sound. She was correct in her observation, wasn’t she? It was clear from Verpor Claire’s description that this guy was being a jerk, so why should the relationship be prolonged? And yet, as certain as she was in her judgement, as Claire watched herself walking into a boys car and receiving a kiss on a cheek, she felt very, very jealous, and then a felt deep hurt that this fantasy which she had always wondered about would be ending in the smoldering ruins of reality. If she had been that girl, walking into that car, and receiving that kiss, she wouldn’t want to let go of that. The fantasy was too precious. The idea of finally being able to point to someone and say, "that’s my boyfriend," and the image of herself walking out to receive an affectionate gesture, were hard things to give up. And yet, when she sat in Verpor Claire’s bedroom, hearing the story as from another, there was no doubt in her mind what had to be done, nor would have any doubt existed in anyone else’s mind. Seeing the view from another, but having the mindset of oneself, can indeed be enlightening, even if this comes at a cost. Claire began eating the food she had been brought, wondering how long it would be until John would finish this clandestine "operation" he was involved with and come back for her. That was, if he ever came back for her. She was now the ghost of the bedroom, having only one shy teenage girl for a companion.

"Which one are you?"

Claire had begun to understand what John had meant when he said that being a ghost wasn’t really much fun. As it was now her turn to play the ghost, she was afraid to leave her bedroom, her place of haunting, and instead waited quietly, re-reading a few of her favorite books. The day seemed long, and what made it longer was the anticipation. She kept waiting for herself to come home and bring stories of what had happened at school. While her life back in her world had been aborted, she found an odd sense of satisfaction that it was still going on here, even if she felt physically distant from it. As the hours slipped by, finally she got a visitor. The portal was reopened, and an old, balding man stepped into the Verpor world. This, she guessed, was Rob. After having her clarify which incarnation of Claire, she was, Rob explained why he had come.

"There is great trouble back in your world, Claire, and I need to ask for your help."

"Don’t you want the other one? She’s more useful back in our world then I am."

"Oh no, I don’t need that kind of help. We’re not sending you back there, not either version of you. It may be far too dangerous already."

"That’s what I don’t understand. What danger could possibly be brewing?"

"War."

"But why? And what does that have to do with being over there?"

"There is much to explain, and I’ll try to get through as much as I can. Unfortunately, information is given stingily in my business, and undoubtedly you have never been given the full truth, and neither have I, and neither had John. But now I believe I am closer to the truth, but there is still much that remains mysterious. To start off, you have seen that we have the technology to cross dimensions. Strange, isn’t it?"

"It seems out of place, actually."

"Yes, you may wonder how we developed it at all. We have no previous work building up to such a technology. The answer is that we stole it. Actually, John stole it. He passed into the Verpor world and back using their portals, as he told you, but on his way back, he did complete his reason for going there at all."

"To steal the dimensional gate technology?"

"Exactly. Now, of course, the gates are large and immobile. John could not take back any actual equipment, but he was able to steal a few boxes of documents from the my office. My office in the Verpor world, that is. With a plethora of scientific publications, blueprints, diagrams, and notes at my disposal, I built the first functional prototype of the dimensional gate, bypassing several lifetimes of work in less than a year. This project was kept secret, and even John did not know about it until very recently. However, there was yet another project, a far grander one, that was being worked on without even my knowledge. This was "Project Id", and it began with the construction of what they call ‘The Omega Gate’".

"What does it do?"

"The same thing as mine. However, my construction only allowed one person to go through at a time, and it could only be opened briefly before it would overheat and have to cool down for an hour or more. The Omega Gate was big enough to lead an entire parade through, and could be kept open for days if needed."

"OK, so it’s a bigger, better one than the original. Why all the big fuss?"

"Because The Omega Gate is effectively a weapon of complete destruction against the Verpors. On the grand scale, small numbers of invisible men are not a real threat. They may cause trouble, but eventually they will be caught, outnumbered, and defeated. But imagine if, instead of three or four or even a dozen men with guns, you could send an entire army of hundreds or thousands. Imagine if you could send a fleet of planes, or battalions of tanks. A sizeable invasion force could be invincible. That is what the function the Omega gate serves. It serves to send an invisible army into the Verpor world."

"Why would they invade the Verpor world?"

"Because they could do the same to us. While there may be no inherent gain for one world to attack the other, the fact remains that the attacker has a tremendous advantage. If we were to wait to be attacked, we would lose. If we strike first, we win. And so we are going to war."

"What will they do when they come?"

"They plan to attack major centers of military command, starting with any and all locations of dimensional gate technology. The goal of Project Id is to cripple their military, destroy any way they would have to cross over and reach us, and leave behind spies to make sure that they do not rebuild their dimensional gate technology."

"Do you think it will work?"

"Not a chance. I think it’s horrible idea. Even if it works, they will find a way to come back, and they will make us pay. And what will happen then? We will have to retaliate. Project Id is nothing more than the road to the mutually assured destruction. Now, I know what you would ask. Why can’t they understand that? Why, when we have learned to control the nuclear bomb, can we not also refrain from using the Omega Gate? The problem is that those in charge do not see the Verpors as being like us. They are still viewed as aliens, as some sort of spectral enemy that must be eliminated. They do not understand, as you must by now, that now only are the Verpors like us, they are us. Now, let me explain why I need your help. See, they do claim to have reason to suspect that the Verpors are dangerous and would attack us first if we did not strike pre-emptively. The first Omega Gate, I have now been told, was opened in the wrong place in the Verpor world, allowing Verpors to enter our world when it was opened. These Verpors, some twenty or so, slaughtered dozens of people present at the christening of The Omega Gate without warning or any provocation before finally being contained. This is what I have been told, but I understand that you know more."

"I do? I mean, they gave me the same story. I don’t know any more than you do."

"John seemed to think you did. Didn’t they show you pictures?"

Claire remembered. "Yes, they did."

"That’s what I need you to tell me about."

"There’s really not much to it. There were just some pictures of the Omega Gate, and then some pictures of the gate all wrecked and all these dead bodies everywhere. It pretty much showed me what you described."

"But what details do you remember? How did it look like the massacre occurred? What types of people were dead?"

"I can’t remember. I just sort of flipped through them and saw that it had a lot of bodies lying around. Are you suggesting that it might be a fake?"

"If it is a fake, and the first disaster of the Omega Gate never happened, there is nothing I can do, and the danger is not what I thought it was. I have a theory about what went wrong with the Omega Gate, and I need your memory of those pictures to confirm it, because I have no other evidence."

"Like I said-"

Claire stopped as she heard footsteps, and then the door opened. Verpor Claire came in, and reacted with a little bit of surprise when not one, but two voices greeted her. It was a funny thing to have ghosts randomly warping into your bedroom, but by now she was getting somewhat accustomed to it. After basic greetings and explanations went forward, Rob came up with an idea to job Claire’s memory, and asked if she would like to be hypnotized. Claire agreed, and Verpor Claire had always wondered what it was like to be hypnotized, so she asked to participate as well. Rob first explained to them what hypnotism was, and that it was really just a state of intense relaxation rather than the mind-controlling device it was often presented as in the movies. He asked the girls to close their eyes, and then slowly walked them through it. Hypnotism was a small skill that Rob had picked up, and although he’d never used it for anything practical, it seemed worth a shot. His slow, calm, serene voice drifted through the air:

"First, I’m going to count upwards, and as I count higher, you will feel lighter and lighter, like a balloon You want me to reach ten, because then you will be so light that you will float away and be free forever. 1… 2… 3… 4…5…" Rob watched as both of the girls subtly began raising their arms, not up very much, but just raised ever so slightly, as if they were filled with helium. They would be easy to get into a hypnotic state. Some people fall into it easily, but some are too uptight and resist. "4… 3… 2…" Their hands dropped, again, ever so slightly. Rob had seen this before, so the fact that they were subtly acting out a fantasy, perhaps unaware of it, did not surprise him. What did surprise him was that they were in perfect synchrony. "3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… And now, as you are feeling light and floaty, almost light enough to fly away, let out a deep breath, and come back down to earth" They both breathed out, and their arms dropped slowly. "Now you are no longer a balloon, but you are lying in a field of grass. As you lay there you feel the blades of grass across your back, and you just stay there, perfectly happy. And as you lay there, you feel a wave of relaxation begin in your big toe, loosening all muscles, making it such that you almost can not even feel your toe at all. Now, you can feel this loosening crawl out from your toe and into your entire foot. Your entire foot feels loose and completely relaxed. Now-" This, and other similar mind games, continued for the next 15 minutes. Now the time had come to make Claire remember. "Claire, you are sitting at a table, as you were just days before you were taken to Ibrams. Two mysterious men have called you in to talk to you about your friend John. What are there names?"

Claire, with her eyes still closed, saw the two men sitting across from her. She murmured softly, "Smith and Jones."

"Good. Very good. Now, one of them has passed you something. He has given you some pictures to look at. Will you look at them?"

"Yes,"

"You look at the pictures. What do you see?"

"I see a grand metallic arch, inside some sort of hangar, and it stretches almost all the way across the hangar. There is a podium in the picture, and a man in a uniform, with many medals, is standing behind it, giving a speech. Behind him is another man, with dark hair and a suit. There are many people in front of him, but the picture only shows the backs of their heads."

"You put this picture aside and look at the next one. What do you see?"

"I see the man with the medals again. He is at some sort of computer terminal. His is poised at the terminal, as if he has posed for this picture."

"You move on to the next picture."

"This picture has a line of soldiers, but they do not appear ready to fight. They are dressed nicely, in blue traditional uniforms-"

Verpor Claire chimed in, "-like they might wear at a formal occasion, or a funeral."

Rob asked her to go to the next picture.

Claire began describing the image in her mind, freeze-framed from her memory. "The same man as I saw before, the man with the medals, is there, but he is dead."

Rob asked, "What wounds does he have?"

Claire cringed, and sweated "He has been slashed through the heart."

Verpor Claire had the same reaction on her face, "He has been stabbed with some sort of blade, and there are many other cuts across his body, and gashes in his face."

"There are other pictures," continued Claire, "pictures of death. Many pictures of death. The people have all been torn apart."

Claire began breathing hard, these horrible images stuck in her mind, and a few tears came down her cheek. To Rob’s amazement, Verpor Claire had the same reaction. The two girls continued like this, describing the carnage together:

"There is a woman."

"She is wearing a blue uniform."

"Someone has cut her throat."

"There is a body on top of her, but it is too messy to make out."

"It looks like it was torn apart."

"With some sort of claws."

Now Rob was beginning to feel their pain, as he could visualize the terrible things the twin seers described. Finally, he stopped them, and snapped them out of it. The two girls woke up slowly.

"Well," asked Claire, "did you find out what you needed?"

"Yes, and a bit more," answered Rob, and then directed a question at Verpor Claire, "When did you see those pictures?"

"When I closed my eyes," said Verpor Claire.

"And you’d never seen them before then?" asked Rob.

"Never."

"Is this possible? Can she read my mind?" asked Claire.

"She doesn’t need to," said Rob, "And I think a lot more is possible than just memory-sharing. See, this is the sort of thing that I wanted to explore with the discovery of the Verpor World, not this foolish war. Those idiots are just going to wipe themselves out."

"Are they going to invade soon? Can you stop them?"

"I don’t know. Are they really stupid enough to think the first Omega Gate worked and would try it again?"

"But it did work, didn’t it?"

"If they’d opened up the portal where they thought they opened it up, you two would have described something completely different. Not a single one of those poor souls you described had a bullet wound. They all died by sword or dagger, or by some other similar weapon. Now, to someone like Archer, who can’t understand what the Verpor world is, this is evidence that the Verpors are vicious monsters from another world. Unfortunately, he is wrong. That portal opened up somewhere else, a 3^rd dimension perhaps. But what kind of Hades did they connect to last time? In any case, I must make one last stand to try to convince them that they have misunderstood the situation."

Verpor Claire looked very disturbed, and presented a counterpoint: "But if you tell them that then they will understand what went wrong, and reconfigure the gate to lead here."

Rob sighed, "The problem here is that I don’t know what they’ve done since Omega Gate I, or what exactly was wrong with it in the first place. For all we know, Omega Gate II may not contain whatever flaw sent them off course, and they will march straight here anyway. I am concerned for both worlds, and I am afraid that either way, they will bring disaster. But I will be cautious in what I say, Claire."

Rob checked his watch. The portal he had programmed would be opening to send him back soon. When he announced that he would be leaving, Claire had one more concern: "Rob, what is John afraid of? He said in this letter that everyone in the base would be in mortal danger."

"They may be, which is what partly why we sent you here. You saw what happened the last time they opened the Omega Portal. Whatever they let in through the portal was much more deadly than they thought. Now, of course, they will try to prevent that, but if they fail…"

"Then, John, Chas, and Cathy will all be killed by whatever they let in last time."

"I will do everything I can to prevent them from opening that gate. I will sabotage them if I have to."

With that, they heard a familiar buzzing sound, and the portal opened, right on schedule. Through the portal stepped Smith, carrying an Uzi in his right hand.

"We will deal with your treason later. For now, I have something much more pressing to see to, and I would like you to join me."

Archer led the captives, Rob, Claire, and Verpor Claire, through the hallways of the base, with Jones and Smith accompanying them. To prevent Verpor Claire’s escape, they had handcuffed her to Claire before passing back through the portal. As they walked through the hallways, many people they passed did double-takes at the anti-gravity hand-cuffs Claire appeared to be wearing. Claire couldn’t believe how quickly things could change. As quickly as she had been teleported away to the safety of her counterpart’s bedroom, she had been retrieved, and now both her and her counterpart were prisoners. She wondered if the whole thing had been an elaborate trap. It had seemed too easy, how they were able to just walk out and activate Rob’s gate, and how Verpor Claire was able to receive visitors who just teleported back and forth willy-nilly.

Eventually they came to a large conference room that Archer was leading them too. He had them all sit down at the table, and had the exits guarded.

"Now, before we proceed," began Archer, "I should like to know why the child was sent to the Verpor world, of all places. While I guess that you meant to rescue her, that seems like a definitive step backwards. Is there something, Rob, that you know, that I do not?"

"We had secured a safe place for Claire," answered Rob, "We did not believe she would have been in any danger there. It was the only safe place I had the power to send her… that would also allow her retrieval."

"You said, ‘we’. You and who else?"

"Well… myself and um, the Verpor version of Claire."

"I see. And you felt that her confinement here was so appalling that she should instead sit in a world she doesn’t belong in, where the Verpors would have ripped her to shreds had she been discovered?"

"Tidus, let me tell you what I know. Everyone here is in danger. You can’t open the Omega Gate."

"Why not?"

"You saw what happened last time! You must know about it."

"Of course I do, and it won’t happen again. Let me show you."

Archer pushed a button, and a large metal screen rolled back, revealing a long window overlooking an aircraft hangar. The Omega Gate II stood there, ready to be turned on. Ready to engage any threat that might emerge stood about fifty or so soldiers, John among them, most armed with M-16’s and a few with grenade launchers. They prepared makeshift barriers of sandbags to take cover behind, and talked with each other furiously in preparation for what they were about to face. "As you can see," remarked Archer, "We are ready to prevent any resistance by the Verpors when we open the gate, if there is any at all. Once our position is deemed secure, we will begin sending units through to secure the other side before proceeding to send heavy reinforcements. This is not a naive experiment, Doctor McLinn, we are prepared for anything and everything. Now, I know what you would say. You will tell me that those men can not hold up against any invisible terrors that would come through the gate, but we’ve found a way to level the playing field. The entire hangar area is being constantly scanned, and the output appears on screens behind where our men will be bunkered. Furthermore, I have installed a set of high wattage strobe lights along the rafters. As you know, the Verpors can be revealed by a flash of light." He picked up a small flashlamp and revealed Verpor Claire, and then concluded, "With constant flashes, we will see them, and defeat them. Of course this is overkill, since the Verpors could not possibly be ready to send any force back at us when we open the gate. I’m afraid that you wasted your time and credibility sending the girl away from here. We have everything under control. Is there anything I haven’t thought of?"

Rob debated what he should say, "I think you’re right, I don’t think any Verpors will come through the Omega gate," he said, getting a smug nod from Archer, "but I think something else will. I believe that there is a more deadly creature out there that will be let in by the Omega Gate."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the universe does not exist in simple duality: our world and the Verpor world. The Omega Gate may cross the bounds to other dimensions, admitting fears that we do not know anything about. Claire told me about what you people showed her from the disaster of Omega Gate I, and I can not believe that that damage was caused by Verpors. There is something else out there, something much more threatening and malicious. You think you are prepared, but you don’t know what you are prepared against."

"And what are we against?"

"I don’t know."

"Well, then, that’s not a very helpful theory then, is it? We will not cancel this project over some babbling fears or hypothetical universes with mythical demons."

"Then just give me time."

"Time for what?"

"Time to study the situation and get some real answers. Time to find out what is really in the Verpor world and what threats they really present. Time to see how you built that monstrous contraption and study whether it really is reliable and safe to use. There are many questions that need answering, Tidus, before we jump forward."

"Doctor McLinn, I believe you are out of place here! You are a traitor, and possibly a Verpor informant. We will not let you tinker with this project, not for one minute! We do not have time to deal with this, nor do we have reason. We must open the gate, and then all questions and fears will be laid to rest."

"Then I am lost to your cause," said Rob sadly, "I can not help you anymore."

"And neither do we ask for your help. Well, that is all I needed to know. I puzzled at why you would have done what you did, but now that I see that your meddling with the girl’s fate was based on nothing but paranoid fears, I see that we have no reason not to proceed." Archer picked up a radio and called into it: "General Staffer, prepare to open the gate."

"Wait!" called the shrill voice of Verpor Claire from an empty chair, "How can you be this way? Don’t you see that we are just like you? You are not engaging a threat here, you are attempting to fight a needless civil war."

"Civil war?" laughed Archer, amused that a teenage Verpor would try to speak against him. "Well, I suppose that’s a very convenient way for your kind to put it, except that your world isn’t part of our country, so it actually isn’t a civil war in any sense of the word."

"My God, you’re such a moron! Don’t you realize that you’re part of that world too?"

"How dare you talk that way to me!"

"Why shouldn’t I? I’m one of those hated Verpors, aren’t I? You’re just going to kill me anyway."

Smith blinked. Did she really just say that? He whispered a curse under his breath in amazement, which Archer noticed. "What was that, Smith? Do you find this amusing?" asked Archer.

"Nothing sir," said Smith, "I just thought it was odd what she said."

"What about it was odd?"

"She said, ‘Why shouldn’t I? You’re just going to kill me anyway.’ That’s exactly what the other one said whenever I told her to stop being such a pain. They sound the same."

"Of course they sound the same! They’re counterparts!"

"And there’s a counterpart to you out there too!" said the belligerent Verpor Claire, "Why don’t you stop and think about that, you asinine creep!"

The enraged Archer leapt up and drew a pistol from his holster, aiming it at the apparently empty chair where Verpor Claire sat, "Not another word from you, you alien bitch! And you, Claire, if I were you I’d keep your counterpart quiet, because, you know, I can’t have the pleasure of seeing her die."

"Sir!" called out Jones, "She’s just a child! She becomes erratic and hysterical when threatened, but there is no meaning in her harsh words."

"The other one’s the same way," mentioned Smith.

Archer holstered his gun and sat back down. "The gate will be opened, and I will hear no more objections."

Down on the hangar floor, soldiers readied into position, getting ready for the worst. They loaded their weapons, kept extra ammunition clips within reach, and hid behind the makeshift bunker. Staffer have the go-ahead for the technicians operating the Omega Gate to initiate the start-up sequence. After they ran through their initial checks, Staffer radioed back to Archer, and got final confirmation. Staffer ordered the gate to be opened, and the technicians entered the final go code into the computer. The gate emitted a deafening buzzing sound as large components around its edge fired up. Before everyone’s eyes, a field of blue, flowing particles formed under the grand arch, and everyone waited for the onslaught. Technicians retreated away from the control terminal and hid in a safe bunker. Soldiers readied their guns, listening to the noises from their scanner output terminals, and watching the screens out of the corners of their eyes. Staffer waited to trip the strobe lights should anything invisible come through the gates. And up in the war room, looking down on the Omega Gate, Archer and his company watched with anticipation. Archer gazed at the glowing blue field, and remarked on it’s beauty. This was the moment he had waited for, ever since he had been told that he would supervise the operation of the new Omega Gate. He would succeed where those before him had failed miserably.

But then, a funny thing happened. The portal was silent, and nothing came through at all. No clueless Verpors wandered in, no fearsome demons, no invisible beings at all. Soon the anticipation and fear surrounding the portals opening turned to impatience, as everyone waited for something, anything, to happen. After the 15 minute mark, the soldiers began to feel restless, holding their weapons more loosely now. They began to wonder if the portal had worked at all. Finally, Staffer radioed one message up to Archer: "I’m sending in the canary."

Claire wondered what poor soul would be sacrificed to the gods of military zeal, but then saw that they were actually using a literal canary. Canaries were fragile creatures with weak lungs, and had been used by miners in the days of old to determine if they had entered a dangerous area. Now they were being used to determine if this other world was safe enough for humans to enter. A technician wheeled a cart with a birdcage attached to it, approached the portal carefully, and then gave the cart a forceful shove, sending it rolling through the Omega Gate. The technician quickly retreated back behind the bunker, and then grabbed a cable that had been fastened to the cart, so they could pull it backwards through the gate. He waited a few minutes, and then pulled the canary back through the portal. They examined the bird and found it unharmed and still chirping.

Now Staffer stood forward. It seemed safe to say that there was no danger in passing through the portal. He had asked to be the first to pass through Omega Gate II, and now was his chance. He fastened a rope around himself so that there would be a means of physical contact between him and his troops, and was ready to cross over. He approached the portal, nodded to the war room, and stepped through. For a while it seemed as though he had stepped into oblivion, for he did not come back for a time that seemed far too long for someone who was just supposed to take a quick look on the other side. John thought that maybe the general had been too hasty in his determination of the situation as safe, so he gave a few sharp tugs on the rope to see if Staffer was still alive. Three sharp tugs were returned. He was still alive, but what was he doing over there?

Finally, General Staffer stepped back through the portal, reappearing before everyone. He looked white as a ghost, and sweated. He looked around, panting, and then yelled, "Shut down the gate, now!"

"General Staffer, what did you find? Was the gate opening successful?"

Archer called out to Staffer over a loudspeaker, but Staffer ignored him. "Did no one hear me?" Staffer exclaimed, "Shut it down!" A technician began running towards the control terminal to initiate the shut-down sequence. "Negative," rebutted Archer over his loudspeaker, "Do not terminate the Omega Gate. General Staffer, please report." The control technician froze, unsure who to listen to. Staffer began running from the gate platform, towards the back bunker shouting, "They are coming! We’ve got incoming!"

"General Staffer, "repeated Archer through his speaker, "please report!"

"Sir," asked the frazzled technician, " shall I commence the shut-down sequence?"

"Again, negative," repeated Archer, "Leave the gate open. All units prepare to engage." Across the room, the squads of soldiers readied their weapons, and begin waiting for the attack. Staffer pleaded again for Archer to order the gate shut down.

Up in the war room, Archer watched the action unfold and cracked his knuckles. "If those Verpors think we’ll make this easy on them, they’ve got another thing coming."

"Sir," said Agent Jones, "it seems prudent to shut down the gate, and wait for a time when we can engage the Verpors at a better moment."

But this warning came too late. Had Archer had time to consider, he would have indeed realized the foolishness of keeping the gate open. But in the 30 seconds between Staffer’s re-entry, and the onslaught, he did not consider what they would be facing. And so it began.

The scanners began flashing and beeping as the first few invisible enemies walked through the gate. An excessive burst of gunfire came, aimed at the projected targets, and these initial threats were quickly extinguished. But these few hapless individuals were not the end, nor hardly the beginning. As soon as a sigh of relief could pass across the room, the scanners began going berserk, identifying over a dozen targets, moving fast. After a few bursts of fire failed to hit this wave, the strobes were fired. What they saw defied all expectations. What they saw were beings that appeared human-like in shape, but neither stood nor moved like humans. They moved at incredible speed, leaping twenty to thirty feet at a time, cruising through space with the swiftness and ease of a Japanese anime hero. With the strobes, all the soldiers saw were a series of flash images of these creatures, flying through the air all at once, wielding blades, knives, and metal claw-like weapons. Whoever these enemies were, their weapons were crude, but their physical abilities bordered on supernatural. John aimed up in the air, squinting at flashes of images he saw streaming through the air, and shot one in mid-air. The creature fell, then stood up, requiring several more shots before it was finally laid to rest. These were not Verpors; they were ninjas from hell. And they were absolutely pouring through the gate like a flood of driver ants, the kind that people from South America would tell stories about eating entire plantations and people alive. When the first wave came, Archer laughed at the thought of the modern military’s finest taking on a flood of medieval barbarians, but as they began pouring through and rushing the bunkers with their incredible speed and stamina, Archer realized that they had a problem. They weren’t used to dealing with these sorts of enemies. Occasionally during this battle, one of the invisible aliens would manage to rush and leap through and past the deadly hail of gunfire and dispatch one or two of the soldiers with the deadly force of its blade before being taken down. As screams and shouts of panic echoed across Archer’s radio, he realized why Staffer had become so frightened. "Shut down the gate," called Archer over his speaker. The gate technician fidgeted with the controls before screaming and falling over into a puddle of his own blood. Several aliens had jumped and landed on the control terminal platform. Soldiers turned to kill them, managing to kill two of them and at the same time damage the console. The battle continued, with no end in sight to the constant wave of aliens.

"Archer, " called Staffer over the radio with a deafening roar of gunfire in the background, "We’ve got a problem. The remote terminal is inactive. We need to get to the kill-switch on the main control station, but with the flood we’re fighting it’s going to be impossible to get to unless we can turn back this tide."

"Tell me we have other ways to shut that gate down," said Archer.

"You mean like destroying it?"

"Don’t even think about that. I’ll send in heavy reinforcements, "promised Archer.

As the battle continued, Jones watched in amazement from the war room. "My god," he exclaimed, "we’ve been killing them as they come and they’re still coming. It’s like Lennigan versus the Ants!"

"Except these Verpors fight much better than any ants I’ve seen," commented Smith.

"If those Verpors want a war," said Archer, "They’ll get their war. We’ll cut through that swarm with flame-throwers."

"May I make a suggestion?" asked Rob McKlinn, "If you refuse to destroy the Omega Gate, why not just cut its power?"

"Because that would also cut off power to the entire hangar, leaving our boys in the dark without scanners. Are you suggesting we sacrifice them?"

"No, I’m suggesting you order a retreat. We pull everyone out, seal the Verpors in, and cut all power."

"Those Verpors might smash the gate!"

"And how long do you think your precious gate will last in this fight?"

Archer thought for a few minutes and then nodded. "You’re right, Rob. We’ll have to take our chances with a retreat." Archer picked up the radio: "Staffer?"

A voice answered on the other end, "General Staffer’s dead. This is captain John Chavez."

"John, get everyone out of there. Pull out, and seal those damn beasts in there!"

"Roger, sir."

John began leading the survivors into a retreat, slowly filing out the doors while returning fire. Unable to see how they were doing at this from the war room, Archer and the others just waited, hearing screams and shouts and gunfire over the radio, and hoping that this wasn’t a big mistake. Finally, John’s voice rang across the radio again.

"We’ve pulled all survivors out and have the entries locked and secured," said John.

"Good," responded Archer, "Regroup and prepare to reenter after we’ve killed the portal. And keep all entries under heavy guard in case they try to force their way out. By the way, what are our losses so far?"

"Hard to say, sir. I’d guess about eighteen or more."

Archer then called in for all power to the hangar to be cut. Everyone waited, and finally they watched as the entire hangar went dark, and the machinery and circuitry around the gate went silent. But something funny happened. The portal stayed open, and more alien forces were moving through it.

"Goddamn it!" yelled Archer, "How the hell are they still coming?! Rob?"

McKlinn surveyed the scene and scratched his head, "the Omega Gate is definitely inactive, but the portal it created is remaining."

"I can see that much. How is that possible?"

"I don’t know. We’ve never seen this sort of thing before. It could be an odd anomaly, or..." Rob paused. He had already seen that whatever hellish world they were now linked to, the inhabitants definitely had abilities beyond what was normally considered humanly possible. Could they have done what we could not? Could they really have tapped into that well, which long ago civilization definitively decided to not exist? It hardly seemed possible, but the thought stayed in his mind.

"Or what?" asked Archer.

"Or they are holding the portal open, keeping it from closing," added Rob with a shudder.

"But the gate is off! The portal should be closed!"

"As far as I understand, when the gate is activated, it creates a junction between the two worlds that it connects, but after that initial creation it merely maintains the junction’s stability. This is the basis for a portal. Now, since the junction is extremely unstable, it disappears and the two worlds separate as soon as the gate is unable to maintain it."

"This still doesn’t explain what the hell is going on."

"I’m getting to that. What I’m saying is that the Omega Gate, or any gate, is just an on-switch. It is assumed that the portal never needs any help turning off by itself. What we are seeing right now, is either the dissolution of that assumption, which would be an anomaly, or active interference on their part, in which case they are doing something to keep that portal balanced, thus maintaining their entryway."

"But how? With what technology?"

"I wouldn’t assume they are using any technology."

Claire looked through the window, down to the dark hangar floor three stories below them. Distinct from the murmurs of the aliens, she could hear a rumbling, as if something very large was being brought in. "It sounds like they’ve got something big," she commented.

Archer than noticed the rumbling too and came up to the window, gazing into the darkness. He too heard the sound, and with it had a sort of creaking, as well as the sounds of panting of whoever was pushing this large object. At first he thought they might be trying to move the Omega Gate for some reason, and then considered that they were bringing in wagons of something. Suddenly, the rumbling stopped. Archer turned to address his company, and present them with a new course of action. He didn’t get this chance.

The problem with fighting anything invisible is that you can’t see what you’re dealing with, so all you know is that "something" is out there. Something smashed through the thick glass window of the war room. Something speared Archer right through the torso. Something sent him flying across the room before smashing him into the other side of the wall. Claire screamed in horror at this sight, while Smith jumped for the war-room controls and closed the metal pressure shutters. Then, the used an available flashlamp to find out what happened: the beasts had fired an 8-foot long ballista bolt through the war room window.

Other large projectiles bombarded the pressure shelter, failing to break it, followed by bangings and scrapings from aliens climbing up and trying to break in. They had brought war machines, and tried to use them to gain entry through the war room. These invaders were more clever than anyone gave them credit for. Jones ordered power restored to the hangar so they could see what was going on through what security cameras had been left undamaged. Through the use of the strobes that had been installed they were able to see the flood of aliens, climbing up the walls and trying to bash through the war room shudders before finally giving up. Then, the war machines were turned around and began trying to break down the hangar doors, which led outside. Jones immediately radioed the soldiers and informed them of this problem, and troops were organized to form outside in case the aliens broke out. Sergeant Reddings led this force, and promised to have a mine field and a heavy welcoming committee ready before they could escape.

Then, they noticed something. Jones turned off the strobes and just watched the portal, and noticed that some of it’s energies seemed to be flowing out of its plane, towards a particular target. The camera was focused on the target, and the strobes re-ignited. They saw an alien who looked a little different from the rest. He wore long, elaborate robes, and instead of a blade or a claw he held a staff in his hand. Claire said what everyone was thinking, but what no adult would say for fear of sounding foolish: "He looks like a wizard." They watched this character for a while, and saw that he appeared to be commanding the troops. They also noticed that he seemed rather irritated by the strobes, and, after giving a few more orders to his followers, aimed his staff at one of the lamp. A brilliant beam shot from his staff, striking the lamp and exploding the bulb. A wave of electrical disturbance emanated out from the point of impact, and then the wizard knocked out the other lamps. They were blind now. John’s squad was called up again.

"Mr. Chavez," said Smith, " Your squad will need their own lamps to see the Verpors. We advise you to equip appropriately."

"Why do you still call them Verpors?" asked Rob.

"Well, that’s what they are, aren’t they?" asked Smith, "Didn’t you invent the word for those invisible people?"

"I did, but I invented to describe people from her world," Rob said, pointing at Verpor Claire. "She is a ‘Verpor’, but they are clearly not. Surely you can see that they are from different world."

"Probably, but it’s all the same, isn’t it?"

"No, it is very much not the same."

Verpor Claire finally asked, "What do you think they are?"

Rob grimaced, "I can not tell, but it is evident that it is from a reality that diverged from our path long ago. I would go as far as to say whatever split, whatever choices this race made to become what they are, it may well date back to the earliest human, and perhaps even before then. They have evolved into something rather different, culturally, technologically, and even physically. Their world must be a forsaken one, one that derailed from the path long ago."

Verpor Claire thought, "I don’t know whether to feel sorry for them or not."

Claire added, "Are they human?"

Rob wasn’t sure how to answer that. "They are the equivalent of us in their world. That’s all I can say."

Finally, John radioed back, saying that they were ready to try to re-enter the hangar, but wasn’t sure what they hoped to accomplish, since it seemed that they would just be right back where they were before, with fewer advantages. Smith explained about the apparent leader of the aliens, who seemed to have some connection with the portal. And suggested they cut their way through the crowed to slay him and shut off the portal. Watching through the cameras, Smith explained approximately where this mage appeared to be. John confirmed the mission, and then readied his squad. They entered the code into the lock, and the thick, electronic door slid open. Claire could only wait as she heard the gunfire and yells over the radio. She felt cold at the sounds of a few shrieks of death, and some shouts of "They’re climbing on the walls!" Finally, it all stopped, and the door was closed again. John reported back: "We can’t get back in."

"What do you mean you can’t get back in?" demanded Smith.

"Mr. Smith, we had enough suppressing fire going into that doorway to vaporize a heard of elephants. And yet, we barely advanced a few feet. The bastards flooded in, not just running thorough, but streaming along the walls and the ceiling at ever angle. We made no progress. All we did by trying to continue this fight was suffer more casualties and let several of them into the base."

"What do you mean?"

"Some of them ran past our line. They’re somewhere in the base, but we don’t know where."

"How many are we talking about here?"

"At least ten. Could be more."

Smith looked up in despair. "If we can’t fight them this way, then we need to raise the stakes. I’m calling the Pentagon."

Smith grabbed a red telephone on the conference table, but Jones stopped him.

"If the Pentagon hears about what is going on, they may just decide to nuke us immediately."

"Well, maybe that’s the only way. Do you have any better ideas?"

Claire stood up. She knew of the one person who could defeat these aliens. "Get John to help us." she suggested.

The agents looked at, slightly baffled. "John already tried to stop them," Jones mentioned.

"Not that John," said Claire, "get the John I know. The Verpor you locked up. Send him back to his people to get help. They developed this technology. They must have a way to stop this war, or at least give us an advantage."

"That, in theory, is a sound idea," said Rob, "and I could indeed send him to his people with my prototype gate. However, I have my doubts that he would help us. He has, after all, been a prisoner in our custody, and we no way of controlling what he does once we free him into his world."

"He will. He will if I ask him. Let me talk to him."

"I will go with him back to our world to get help," offered Verpor Claire.

The others agreed, although they determined that with an unknown number of invisible aliens loose in the base, it would be too dangerous for the girls to be sent without protection. Smith and Jones and two guards went to escort them to John’s cell, while other guards escorted Rob to his prototype gate. As much as she hated to think ill of the dead, Claire was glad Archer was dead at this point. It felt good to finally be able to work through solutions instead of trying to cut through his hate of the Verpors. Claire turned as they left the room to look at Archer’s body one last time. "Why does he hate the Verpors so much?" she asked.

Jones answered: "His wife had volunteered to lead the expedition into the Verpor world during the time of the first Omega Gate and well..."

"Oh. I understand."

"Do I get a gun?"

Having been advised that the aliens who broke out of the hangar were still at large, Claire’s entourage took some time to equip before venturing out into the base to find Verpor John’s cell block. The two military guards strapped on thick vests and helmets, mounted small flash-lamps on their rifles, and grabbed extra ammunition, just in case. Smith and Jones equipped a portable scanner, each took a shotgun to contemplate their usual pistol armaments, and strapped on bandoleers on shells. Claire just watched, and then finally asked if they were going to give her anything to protect herself.

"I’m guessing you don’t have any combat training," said Jones, "but do you have any experience with guns at all?"

Claire shook her head. Smith gave her a survival knife.

"It just seems that if even you need more guns, than really no one should be without some way to fight back against them," protested Claire.

Jones and Smith looked at each other, nodded, and then Jones handed her a twelve-gauge.

"This is ‘just in case’," explained Jones, "Do you understand? I don’t want to see you trying to use it. As long as we are here to protect you, let us do that for you."

Claire nodded, and then thought of Verpor Claire, "Can my counterpart also have a gun?" she asked.

"No thanks," said Verpor Claire, "If we get attacked I think I’m better off hiding, since I’m so good at it here."

"Well," commented Jones, "We do have the Verpor guns from-"

"Absolutely not!" objected Smith, "Are you insane? We are not arming the Verpor, especially not with an invisible gun!"

"Why can’t you trust her?" asked Claire, "We’re all in this together."

"No, Claire," said Verpor Claire, "It’s fine. I don’t need a weapon."

"Well, if that’s settled, we need to move and go quickly," said Jones, "Stay close together, keep your weapons ready (except you, Claire), and keep your eyes and ears open. You girls stay in the middle."

Suitably equipped, the squad of six ventured through the halls of the base, watching for any signs of the invisible warriors who might spring out at any moment and slice through them. They took a passage through the maintenance tunnels, which Smith said was a short cut to the cell block, and nearly made it to the end without incident. Suddenly, Smith stopped them. Something had shown up on the scanner. Everyone took a peak at his screen.

"It’s right on top of us!" yelled one of the guards, causing Smith to roll his eyes.

"That signal is from the Verpor we have with us, there’s a second signal about 20 yards, north by northeast," explained Smith.

They waited, listening for any sounds, as Smith tried to get a better lock on the position of the second signal. Finally, after maneuvering around the hallways a bit, Smith pointed in the direction of a door, and motioned for everyone to be quiet. The signal began moving closer and closer, and Smith raised his gun, prompted the others to do the same. "Make sure to confirm the target before firing," cautioned Jones.

The door creaked open, with no one apparently there, and the lamps fired. But strangely enough, they didn’t see anyone there, even under the flash. A few gunfire bursts came anyway, but there was no sound of the bullets hitting anyone. Smith pulled up the scanner again, wondering if the alien just pushed open the door and ran away. Instead, the signal was even closer. "It’s in the halls with us," he warned, "right that way." Another flash towards the direction he was pointing, but nothing was revealed. "It’s still there," he said, "It didn’t move." They began to fear for a while that they were up against some new and enhanced form of invisible enemy, one that could not be revealed by any of the tried and true methods. Then, Claire remembered John’s words over the radio and whispered, "he’s on the ceiling," to them. The lamps were flashed up on the ceiling, but again revealed nothing. This time, however, they heard some banging from one of the pipes running above. The lamps were flashed again in the direction of the sound, and they just barely saw the foot of a fleeing alien. They had learned to avoid the lamps, and they possessed the agility to pull it off.

Some futile shots were made in the direction of the fleeing alien, before finally the signal showed it going far enough away that they felt comfortable proceeding. Someone else could deal with the loose invaders; they had a mission to complete. They continued toward the cell block, more than a bit shaken by the apparent failure of their detection methods.

"How did that happen?" asked Jones, "How could they know not only how we see them, but when and where the lamps are firing?"

"There’s a brief buzzing sound your lamps make as they charge, the split second before they fire. They probably move when they hear it," explained Claire.

Jones looked at her incredulously. "Of all people," he said, "how on earth did you think of something like that?"

"John told me once that he learned to recognize the same sound."

They finally made it to John’s cell. Smith and the two guards kept watch while Jones talked to John through an intercom. Jones tried addressing John several times before he finally answered.

"Mr. Chavez," began Jones, "We need to ask for your help." He could hear John laughing on the other end.

"You’re asking for my help? For what, to help you track down another one of those scary Verpor people?" John asked.

"Please listen, Mr. Chavez. We are prepared to release you and arrange the transport of yourself and another Verpor back to your world, but there is something we need to ask of you. A crisis has arisen in the base, that may create problems for our world, and potentially yours as well."

"Really? This should be interesting…."

"I assure you that this is not a joke."

"I didn’t say it was."

"Anyway, we believe that we have discovered a 3^rd dimension, one that is vastly different from either our world or yours. Unfortunately, a rather large portal has been opened between our world and this dimension, and we’re unable to shut it down."

"And you think the inhabitants of this world may be hostile?"

"We know they are hostile, and they’ve assembled an invasion force that’s passing through as we speak. They are incredibly dangerous, and possess what appear to be super-human abilities. We have tried our best to fight them, and while we have had modest success, they are flooding in at ever-increasing numbers, and I’m afraid we will not be able to contain them."

"OK, and where do I come in?"

"We wish to send you as an ambassador to your world from us. We are requested any available back-up and technology you may have to defeat this threat."

John laughed, but it was a bitter, cold laugh, "Sure you must be joking! You seriously tell me that you want me, a prisoner of war, to go and get help from your enemies, the Verpors?"

Jones looked at Claire, and then responded, "We have someone you may want to talk to."

The door was opened, and John saw not one, but two Claires.

"My god, how did this happen?" asked John.

"Hi," said Verpor Claire, "I’m like you. I’m her counterpart. I don’t think we’ve ever met before."

"My god…"

"John," pleaded Claire, "we need your help. There are invisible things crawling all over the place killing people."

"Verpors?"

"No," said Claire, "Something else. Please help them, John."

John turned towards Smith and Jones, "You guys must have some way of dealing with this."

"We’re working on it, but we’ve had some problems, and I’m afraid the risks of failure are rather high," explained Jones, "If Washington doesn’t already know what’s happened here, they will know very, very soon, and they will be forced to step in with more force then we’ve been using."

"What are we talking about here?" asked John.

"Totally annihilation. They won’t risk having thousands of warring barbarians get loose," answered Smith.

Suddenly, the other John’s voice came over the radio, with good news and bad news. The good news was that the quick-thinking Reddings had blocked off the main hangar door with an earth wall several bulldozers had quickly formed, and that the aliens had diverted their attention away from that exit. The bad news was that the aliens had broken out at other points, and now held the entire Northern quadrant of the base. All squads were working to keep them contained as much as possible, and all doors leading to these areas had been ordered welded shut. Upon hearing the assessment of the situation from his own voice, Verpor John began to understand how difficult this problem had become. And yet, the thought that this was all part of some clever ruse, for what purpose he could not discern. He trusted Claire, but was Claire telling him this of her own free will? John then noticed that Claire had a shotgun strapped onto her. He thought that it might be part of a ruse, so he asked to see her gun and then checked to see if it was loaded.

"You gave a loaded twelve-gauge to a fifteen-year-old?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Jones.

"Why?"

"She asked for it."

At that, John agreed to help them. He could tell that these were truly desperate circumstances. They explained to him that there were stray aliens throughout the base, and that they would escort him to Dr. McLinn’s gate. They checked with McLinn by radio to make sure that he had made it to his gate and would have it ready when they arrived, and then the group started moving again.

However, before they left the cell block, a distant shrill scream pierced through the air, followed by cries for help. Smith ordered everyone to stay still, but a spot on his scanner began moving away from them. Verpor Claire had left the group. Smith yelled for her to come back, but Verpor Claire was intent on following the sounds she heard, and she disappeared around the corner. Claire also recognized the scream, and realized why Verpor Claire had run off.

"Where the hell is she going?!" yelled Smith.

"It’s Cathy," remarked Claire, "We never told her about Cathy."

"We need to get Mr. Chavez to the gate. We don’t have time for anymore of this babysitting."

"Come on!" yelled Verpor Claire, which prompted Jones to leave the party to follow her. Claire followed behind. They wound around a bit before stopping at an intersection of hallways, and saw a small trail of bloody footprints. They stalled for a second as Smith and the others caught up.

"My god, what happened here?" muttered Jones, as he checked to feel that the blood was still warm. Smith checked the scanner and saw a distant signal, but it was too far away to determine if it was in a connected room or not. They quickened their pace and followed the bloody footprints, constantly watching for any signs of aliens. Finally, they saw Cathy huddled on the floor in a corner, in her pajamas, clothes torn and bare feet bleeding. Cathy looked up and saw them.

"Don’t let it get me!" she shouted, "It’s around here!"

Smith checked the scanner and saw a signal approaching fast. "We’ve got incoming!" he shouted. Everyone manned their guns, and watched at all intersections of the corridor. Smith motioned towards the hallway behind them, and on his cue, lamps flashed and guns fired, just enabling them to see the alien dodging their shots and leaping up onto the ceiling. They continued to fire at the ceiling as the alien darted with lightning speed over them. If it was taking hits, and they couldn’t tell, it wasn’t slowing down. The alien crossed completely over the party, dropped down to the floor, and the unstoppable speed demon darted towards Cathy. As the hapless Cathy sat in the path of both the alien and their bullets, Jones yelled "Hold your fire!" and then "Get down!" Then, they watched as Cathy was lifted into the air by an unseen force, all of them unsure whether to risk firing. Cathy screamed for help, and struggled against her captor as the group stood by helplessly. Finally, Smith walked up, drew his pistol, and fired slightly above Cathy’s suspended body. She dropped to the ground., the lamps flashed, and Smith fired a few more times into the stunned and downed alien.

Cathy backed away from the alien, in shock, and then turned to see her rescuers. She was surprised to see Claire, and even more surprised when she heard Claire’s voice say, "Are you OK?" without being able to see Claire’s mouth move.

"What’s going on here?" asked Cathy, "That Verpor broke through the window of my room."

"It’s not a Verpor," corrected Claire.

"Whatever it is, it broke through the window into my room…" Cathy began crying.

"It’s OK, everything is under control," assured Jones, "but you’re lucky to be alive."

"Indeed," commented Smith, " After what we’ve seen I’m surprised it left her in the shape she’s in. I guess it viewed her as a spoil of war, not to be damaged."

"What happened to your feet?" asked Claire.

"It grabbed me, but I managed to whack it with a pewter plate and get away. Then I got out through the window it smashed, but I cut my feet on the glass," said Cathy, "I don’t know how I got away, but I was so afraid that it was right behind me the whole time."

John looked at her feet and commented, "She needs first aid, badly."

"We need to get you to the gate quickly!" said Smith, "We didn’t have much time to begin with, and now we’ve already been delayed."

"Then take him to the gate," said Jones, "And I’ll look after the girls. You’ll move faster if you don’t have to worry about them."

"All the girls? Aren’t we supposed to take the Verpor with us?"

"I’ll stay behind," said Verpor Claire.

Smith looked mildly pleased, "All right, let’s go!"

Smith and his company left to rush John to the gate, leaving Jones with the three girls. They took Cathy back to her room, found a first aid kit to bandage up her feet, and gave her a chance to change into untorn clothes. For a while, the four of them just held out, talking, and bringing Cathy up to speed on things, although she wasn’t quite sure that she understood the concept of this new Verpor version of Claire. Claire felt incredibly guilty about everything. She wondered what would have happened if she had never met John, never tried to keep him a secret, and hadn’t tried to help him escape. All these decisions had led her here, in the middle of a war zone. A few weeks ago she would have thought it would be impossible for her to ever be in a life-or-death situation. That was the sort of thing that high-schoolers talked about as a mythical scenario. This was where her decisions had landed her, but what was worse was what they had done to people around her. She had often thought of her parents, and wondered what story they had been given for her disappearance, but right now she felt the most guilty for Cathy’s plight. Cathy had done nothing to deserve this. Cathy had always tried to be nothing but a friend.

"I’m so sorry," said Claire.

"For what?" asked Cathy.

"For everything. This is all my fault. You shouldn’t be here."

After some time had passed, Jones heard from Smith over the radio and found out that John had made it back to McLinn’s gate, and they were just about to send him back. If only John could get some sort of help, anything that would give them an edge, it might help them turn the tide. Claire hoped desperately that John would succeed, if nothing else because she felt it might redeem her. Then, they heard John’s voice over the radio, but it wasn’t the Verpor John.

"All units, be advised, the perimeter has been breached," called out John, "they broke through some ventilation shafts and have taken the middle quad. We are in the process of regrouping to face off against the invaders."

"John. Captain Chavez," answered Jones, "this is Timothy Jones. I’m currently in the cell block. Is this area secure?"

"Negative. They’ve got a straight connection through the maintenance tunnels."

"I’ve got all doors to this area locked. Do you still feel they could get in?"

"With the numbers we’re dealing with? Definitely."

"I’ve got three very frightened girls here. Where can I take them?"

"Claire?"

"That would be two out of the three."

"Hang on a second. OK, I’ve got it. Take the western exit from the cell block and go to the garage. From there you can get to the western barracks. If they haven’t reached your position yet, the path should be clear."

"Thanks, John."

"Take care of Claire for me."

Jones put down his radio and grabbed his gun again. "We’ve got to move. This area is not safe."

"Is another one of those invisible guys coming?" asked Cathy.

"A lot of them. A whole lot of them."

"Oh…" said Cathy, as she remembered something, "Shouldn’t we get Chasm out of here too then?"

Indeed, Chas was also still being held in the cell block, still oblivious to the conflict going on in the base. They woke him up and pulled him out of his room, and they headed towards the vehicle garage. Jones hope they would be able to make it without any further incident. They were not prepared for any fights. They entered the vehicle garage, looked around, and saw that it looked clear. Jones moved the kids in between the rows of jeeps, when suddenly they heard a clattering, and froze in their tracks. Jones motioned for everyone to be quiet and stay low as he listened carefully. He heard various noises, as if someone was rummaging through something. He lay low to the ground and looked under the jeeps to see if he could see anyone. To his dismay, he couldn’t. They waited for a bit, and then heard some shuffling, and then what appeared to be an interchange between a few beings, talking in some language that none of them could recognize. There were definitely aliens nearby, and at least three of them. The group that appeared to be having some sort of conversation were on the far side of the garage, so Jones wondered if they might be able to slip silently though and get past them. He surveyed the area ahead, looking and listening for anything out of the ordinary. He whispered to everyone to follow him very quietly, and they began moving in between vehicles towards the opposite end of the garage, keeping an ear out for the party of talkative aliens. They reached a reasonably large open area in the garage, and stopped, again watching and listening for the positions of any aliens. It was then that the hood of a jeep, across the way from them, opened by itself. They stopped and watched as an invisible being began banging on the engine and pulling various parts out. This made things difficult. There was no apparent and easy way for all five of them to leave the cover of the rows of cars they were hiding behind without attracting the attention of whatever alien had found interest in the jeep engine. While Jones suspected that he could probably get close enough to cap that alien, firing any shots would undoubtedly attract the attention of the others. He considered going back, and taking their chances in the cell block, but that didn’t seem wise either. And so they waited for their chance to move.

"Dude," whispered Chas, "we should, like, take one of these cars. We’ll just speed away from those suckers."

"And go where?" asked Cathy.

"No, wait," said Jones, "I think that might work. There’s a tunnel we could take to get through to the barracks. However, we still need to get to the other side of this garage, since that’s where the vehicle keys are kept, along with the controls for the garage doors." Jones paused for a second, and then added, "I’ll have to do that."

"No," protested Verpor Claire, "I should do it. Where do I need to go?"

Jones pointed out to her where the key locker was, and explained that there would be a control panel nearby that would enable her to open the door that they would need to drive out of. He also gave her two keys, one for the door control and one for the key locker. The keys, of course, presented a problem, since they were not invisible like Verpor Claire. Jones suggested again that he should go, but Verpor Claire was convinced that she was the best person to save them, and the other kids agreed. All of them depended on whoever went out of hiding.

Verpor Claire grabbed the keys, and walked slowly in a crouched position across the floor. The floating keys were hard to notice, so she was virtually undetectable as she moved. But then, they heard a growling from the side, around where the alien poking around the jeep engine was, and then noticed that he didn’t seem to be there anymore. Verpor Claire froze, and listened as she heard some mumblings grow closer and closer. Jones readied his gun and mounted flashlamp. "Don’t flash," whispered Claire, "you’ll reveal her to the alien."

As Verpor Claire heard the mumblings and footsteps of the alien come closer, she wondered if it had become curious by the floating keys. She slowly brought the keys down to the ground, left them on the floor, and slid away a few feet. A few moments later, the keys rose up from the floor again, and then were dropped. They hoped that the alien had lost interest and would leave. Instead, it seemed to approach Verpor Claire, at least as far as she could tell from the sounds she could make out. She froze, and stood completely still, hardly even breathing, and then felt the musty stench of breath across her face. Then, she heard a new sound, a sound of sniffing. The alien sniffed her a few times, and then stopped. She could tell that it was perplexed, and unsure what to make of this. Everyone waited in silence, anticipating with dread. Cathy pulled out a quarter from her jeans and tossed it across the room, hoping to draw the alien’s attention away from Verpor Claire without attracting the other aliens in the garage. Verpor Claire heard a brief sound of reaction as the alien turned, but she could tell it was still standing there. It went back to sniffing her as she tried to slide backwards.

Claire couldn’t take it any more. She unstrapped the survival knife she had been given and slid it across the floor to Verpor Claire’s feet. Verpor Claire stopped the knife’s sliding with her foot, and then waited to see if the alien would react to it. When the knife was not immediately picked up, Verpor Claire slowly bent down, held the sheath with one hand and the handle with the other. With a lightning fast move, she pulled out the knife and jabbed it directly in front of her. The alien yelped in pain, as Verpor Claire leapt away and ran as fast as she could. Jones watched as the floating knife, still embedded in it’s target, turned and began heading in the direction Verpor Claire’s fleeing footsteps. There was no more time for waiting. "Hey!" he shouted, getting the alien’s attention, before flashing his lamp and letting out a burst from his shotgun. One more shot and the alien was down for the count, but then they heard a ruckus as the sounds of others began running in their direction. All of them broke into a run, but the aliens were catching up fast. As they heard the trample of footsteps closing in behind them, Jones turned and fired back blindly, hitting nothing. He fired again in the direction of the sounds he heard, and this time heard a squeal, but the sounds were still coming. He fired again at an alien that seemed to be within point blank range, then turned and broke into a run and fell. He didn’t fall because he tripped.

Claire heard his scream and turned to see Jones stomach-down on the floor, still alive, with blood flowing out from his torso. She grabbed her gun, the one she had been told not to use, and fired above where he was lying, imagining that the alien was right on top of him, or behind him. Her guess was right, but her inexperience in firearms showed. She managed to at least wound the alien, from the reaction she heard, but when she pulled the trigger, she didn’t expect the gun to push so hard back on her. In the movies, people always just picked up guns, even if they’d never used one, and had no trouble firing away. But the force of the recoil surprised her, and since she wasn’t holding the gun anywhere near correctly, it twisted her arm back, and she fell to the floor. She ended up dropping the gun as the hand of Verpor Claire grabbed her and pulled her away.

The kids huddled behind an armored transport unit, waiting for the aliens to find them. Cathy began sobbing in fear, as Claire held hands with her counterpart. After looking around a bit and trying to find the best hiding spot. Chas crawled under the transport unit, and whispered for the girls to follow him. Cathy did, but Claire just sat there, holding her counterpart. She closed her eyes.

"Claire!" whispered Cathy, "What are you doing?"

Claire just stayed there, making motions with her mouth without letting any sound come out. It looked like she might be talking to herself.

"What is she doing?" asked Chas, "Is she just giving up?"

"Claire, snap out of it," said Cathy.

They could hear the aliens making noises at each other, and they were coming closer. At this odd moment, with their eyes closed, two voices proclaimed whispered a verse of despair:

Claire finished this off verse, and wondered where it had come from. She then remembered that she had written it, but she had no memory of doing such. For a moment, a memory of her writing it for English class came to mind. But no, that wasn’t right. She didn’t write any poems for English class. She remembered both having written it, and never having written it. Then, a stranger thing occurred to her: she could no longer feel the hands of her counterpart. Verpor Claire had vanished in every sense. Claire opened her eyes, stood up, and looked at her own hand. She could see through it, but it wasn’t invisible. Rather it was transparent but bright, white and radiant as she could see a kind of ethereal light emanating from her. From her fingertips particles of this light seemed to be flying out, like sparks, in different directions. For some reason, it all made sense to her.

"Luminous beings are we," Claire commented, and then added, "Yes, indeed we are."

"What happened to her, and which one is that?"

Claire stepped out, and looked in between the rows of vehicles, and saw a saw a large, brutish man with a sword. The man cowered before her radiance, and then fled. Claire followed him, to find him meeting up with his two companions. The three of them, one wounded, looked at her in amazement. Claire smiled. They were no longer hidden from her eyes. One of the aliens drew his sword and leapt at Claire. She shot her hand forward, feeling confident enough to engage her enemies. However, as she did this, as a brilliant beam of light came from her palm, hitting her attacker. The alien disintegrated, falling into nothingness. The other two fled.

Claire turned around and saw Cathy looking at her, perplexed and frightened. "What are you?" asked Cathy.

Claire gave a truthful but unhelpful answer, "I’m Claire."

"No you’re not! You’re something else. You have wings for crying out loud!"

"Oh, do I? I hadn’t noticed."

"Are you the other Claire? The counterpart? The Verpor one?"

"I’m just Claire. That’s all."

"You can not be Claire! How did you do what you just did? Claire couldn’t do that!" Claire just smiled back, but Cathy still wasn’t satisfied. "Chasm," Cathy asked, "What do you make of this? Say something."

"She’s beautiful," was all Chas said.

"OK, I think I’ve got it," said Cathy, "This has got to be a dream, right? None of this could have happened. I must still be lying asleep in my-"

"Cathy!" interrupted Claire, "Everything will be fine. We need to go, and help others."

"Help others?" said Cathy in bewilderment, "I think I need some help right now."

"Wait," said Chas, "I could drive one of these jeeps if you want to get to where we’re supposed to go."

"That would be magnificent," responded Claire.

Chas found the keys that Verpor Claire had been given and then opened the garage door to the tunnels. The three kids loaded up into one of the military jeeps, and Chas drove them down the tunnels.

"So which Claire are you?" asked Cathy again.

"I’m both," answered Claire, "We were, after all, the same person. I just started acknowledging it."

"So what have you become? Are you still human?"

"I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be alive or not."

"So you’re now some sort of ghost?"

"No, I just… am. I am. That is all."

They said nothing more until they reached a gathering of soldiers, who were running about frantically. They stopped the jeep, and John ran over to see them. When he saw Claire, he just stood, mouth open, at a complete loss for words.

"Hello John," said Claire, "It’s me."

"What happened to you?" asked John.

"I am complete."

"Oh," said John, not really understanding. John looked behind him and saw that many of his comrades were also standing in amazement. Whispers of "what is she?" and "Is she an angel?" began circulating as the crowd built up. Finally, Claire spoke, "You must make one last stand against your enemies. I will help you defeat them." With that, she marched away, as the crowd parted for her like the Red Sea.

"Is that really Claire?" whispered John to Cathy.

"I guess, but she’s changed into something else. She’s not acting like Claire at all."

Claire walked up to a set of large, barricaded doors, and waited. Suddenly, a shout came out from among the soldiers, and they all took their positions as Claire could hear a great pounding as she could here something very large breaking down the doors. The aliens had brought a battering ram, and they were strong enough to break through the metal security doors of the base. Claire just waited.

"Claire, you need to stand back," cautioned John, for she was standing right in the range of fire of the defenses. "Claire, you’re going to get shot, step back!" Finally, the metal doors bent outward as the ram began to rip through it, and all the soldiers readied their guns. Claire still stood there. John sweated as he looked around him. Then, he took a leap of faith. "Hold your fire!" he ordered, "Nobody shoots!" The metal door came crashing down, and Claire looked back at her attackers. There they all were, the great masses of them, holding a great stone ram. At the sight of her, the ram was dropped, and all of them quivered in fear. Claire took a few steps forward, prompting some jittering among the stunned invaders. Then, she took a deep breath, stuck her head forward, and shouted on word: "BEGONE!"

A brilliant light seemed to radiate from her mouth as she opened it, and when she recoiled, the front few rows of invaders had disappeared, and most of the rest were retreating. She ran forward after the main group, past the ones that remained, as some of the soldiers gave her some cover fire. She ran and ran, shouting as loud as she could as she chased the hoards back. They were faster than her, but she could hear them easily. She ran for what seemed like an eternity, never looking back, trusting that John could take care of things behind her. Finally, she reached her destination: home of the Omega Gate.

There she watched the panicked hoards, cutting through each other in their mad retreat back to the gate. She now slowed her pace, fending off those who challenged her, and waiting for the Calvary to come behind her. But the Calvary did not come, and amidst the chaos, she came upon a new challenger. The leader of the aliens, trying in vain to command his forces, approached her. Claire shot her open hand toward him, sending a bolt of light at him, which had no affect at all. Claire stumbled backwards. She didn’t know what to do. Of course, she never really knew what abilities she had in her more complete form to begin with, but now that what had seemed to work before was failing her, she felt completely lost. She tried again, with no results. Now she wondered if she really was what she thought she was, or if she had just been lucky before. In a moment of panic, she turned and fled. She had just ran into the main hallway leading to the hangar when she felt a sharp, hot pain in the middle of her back, and she fell down into darkness.

Claire now found herself standing up again, but she couldn’t remember having gotten up. Then she looked down and saw her own body lying on the ground. Her body had no apparent wounds, but seemed to have been stunned unconscious. Claire wondered at this point who she was and who the Claire on the floor was, and which version of Claire they were supposed to be at this point, if any. The alien leader raised his staff and sent a bolt of electricity through Claire’s fallen body, causing it to wriggle violently. Claire then watched as the leader of the aliens pointed to her downed body and began ordering his forces to regroup one last time. "Get up!" Claire shouted at herself on the floor. She bent down to grab the body on the floor, but her arms just passed through. She, as she existed while she was watching this, was nothing but an ethereal image. Her physical form was lying on the floor, and she couldn’t make contact with it. She then had a horrifying thought: she was finally dead. As shouts continued in the hangar, and the leader continued to struggle with regrouping his frightened troops, Claire crumbled on the floor next to her own broken body. She knelt close, and then noticed that she was still breathing. "I’m alive!" shouted Claire, but then she feared that this might not last long. "Wake up!" she shouted to herself, "I need to wake up!" She then watched as what was left of the alien invasion force began to turn back. One mighty warrior in the front led the re-attack, and stopped over Claire’s body. He raised his axe. "No!" shouted Claire, but she turned, afraid of watching her own death. As she turned she was John again. John raised his rifle and fired. Claire watched as the bullet passed through her ethereal self-image and entered the alien behind her. Other soldiers entered behind John, all of them wearing some sort of goggles, and began firing at the aliens. The aliens began panicking again and rushing back towards the portal. Claire wondered for a moment why the aliens were so afraid of John when before they had been so bold, but then she realized why: these men were Verpors, and the alien were now being attacked by an invisible army. As the Verpor forces chased the remaining aliens back, John stopped over Claire’s unconscious body, and checked her pulse. "John, I’m here," shouted Claire in her ethereal form, but he could not hear her. He picked up her body, and then passed it on to counterpart, who had just joined them. Verpor John then snapped on his goggles again and looked out into the hangar, surveying the action. It was then that Claire realized that these Verpors had brought technology that enabled them to see their invisible enemies. Then, everything faded, and all Claire saw was light.

Claire heard a voice, but it came not as something that is heard, but something that is perceived. Claire could not see, feel, or heard anything. The voice came from her head.

"Greetings, Claire Horton."

"What happened to me?"

"A great many things. And a great many things that must be undone."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"Yes, but you did not choose wrong. It should not have happened that you would have merged with any of your counterparts in life, but it also should not have happened that you would have sacrificed your life and the lives of your friends. The circumstances were wrong, and you have been placed in a very wrong position, but none of that was your choice. You chose correctly, but it must be undone. The juncture you have created can not go on existing, for your worlds are still separate. While you may be ready, those around you are not, and since you are part of their world, you must be sent back."

"So I’m not dead?"

"No, and you never were. You were merely stunned, and your soul refused to sleep."

"I feel so lost and confused at this point. What am I and how did all this happen to me?"

"You weren’t ready for any of this. But do not pity your fate. It is such that all my prophets must suffer."

"What?! I’m just a girl! I have nothing to tell anyone."

"You do, you did, and you will."

"What will I tell them?"

"Only what you know."

"But I don’t even know what happened, or what we just fought against."

"Yes you do, you just don’t have any confirmation."

"Well, I know that they are from some alternate world, and one that must have diverged from ours long ago, perhaps from the beginning of time."

"Good."

"I would also guess that they chose to adopt barbarism, and never became truly civilized."

"Again, good."

"But why would such a world exist? Just to exist as a choice for humanity to abandon the pursuit of all good?"

"Yes. The Forsaken world is an unfortunate, but necessary world. If humans truly have choice, then there must exist the choice for them to derail themselves entirely from the start, and forfeit their chance to acquire souls. They must have the choice of total rejection, which is why I can not help that world."

"What do you mean you can’t? You can do anything!"

"Physically, yes, but there are many things you can do physically that you can’t actually do. You of all people know this."

"I do."

"There is one more thing you must know. The ability within yourself that you discovered today is something that can not, and will not happen again. Do not ever try it."

"I won’t"

"It’s time, Claire."

"Wait! I need to know: is this just a dream, or does it actually mean something?"

"You will never know for sure."

With that, Claire woke up in the infirmary. She sat up, and then noticed that there was an empty bed next to her. She carefully moved her arm over the empty bed, and then felt a soft, invisible hand grab her hand. And then she heard her own, sweet voice: "We did it."

"How did you do it?

Claire watched the videos again, watching herself in her luminous form, running through the halls of the base like a crazed Valkyrie. She just nodded, acknowledged that it was indeed her that did all that, and couldn’t answer any other questions. They asked her how she was able to see the aliens, and she had no answer. They asked how she was able to shoot beams of light from her body which vaporized the aliens, and all she could say was "It just seemed to happen." They asked how she merged with her counterpart to begin with, and her only explanation was "I forgot for a moment that she wasn’t me."

Top officials from the Pentagon had come to investigate the aftermath of the Omega Gate incident. There were, naturally, many issues that concerned them, and investigations into certain parts continued into the following years. They of course wanted to know what went wrong with the Omega Gate, and were very concerned about the apparent existence of enemies that, despite their vastly inferior technology, were able to overwhelm modern soldiers with their strength, speed, invisibility, and sheer numbers. The issue of public disclosure hung over everything like a black cloud, as officials debated how much information should be leaked. But most of all, they wanted to know what happened to Claire. How was it that a 15-year-old girl, with no combat experience, was able to push back an enemy so elusive that the base security could not contain them? They all wanted to know the secret of her metamorphosis, and tried to get her to re-merge her with her Verpor self. To the Pentagon, it seemed that she had discovered the ultimate weapon, and if this power was latent in all humans, they wanted to know how to unlock it. They were persistent, but avoided threatening her, for in the back of everyone’s mind was the fear that she would do it again and turn against them. But as the investigation dragged on, they failed to get anything useful out of Claire, or her counterpart. Eventually, they sent Smith to her with an offer, while a representative of the Verpors strived with her counterpart.

"I understand that you claim not to understand what you did, and thus you can’t tell anyone how you became what you were," began Smith. "I will assume that is true, but I suspect that with enough time, and your cooperation, we could figure it out. We would like you and your counterpart to participate in a long-term study. We will help you re-discover what you did, and then figure out how you did it."

"But I can’t do it again," answered Claire.

"I believe that if you did it once, then you can do it again, and when you do it again, we want to be able to study what goes on."

"An experiment? You think this is just some matter of unresolved science."

"Well, yes, I believe it does fall into the category of ‘unresolved’."

"You don’t understand. None of you do. It can’t, and shouldn’t happen again. It was just a miracle, nothing more."

Smith continued, undeterred, "We have discussed this affair with the Verpor government, and they too are interested in understanding what happened. We have come to a joint agreement on this project, and are prepared to negotiate a price."

Claire nodded thoughtfully.

Smith added, "You know how much you are worth to us now. I strongly suspect that the offers will be tremendous. You will be kept safe, provided for, and given all the money you and your family will ever need."

Claire wrestled with this for a long time as Smith continued describing the benefits, and finally she spoke, "I want you, or more I want those you represent, to retract that offer."

"Why?"

"Because I know I should take it. I know that if don’t I will regret it. But I fear to accept, and I know I can’t."

"Miss Horton-"

"Do you know what it was like for me? I felt like I had lost all identity. My life became a nebulous blur, and I wasn't sure who or what I was. I could hardly feel anything, as if I wasn’t actually there. When I moved, I felt no strain of muscles, nor anything that signaled to me that I was moving other than the fact that I was. And yet, for some reason, I wasn’t afraid, and I knew how to move and talk as if I was someone even though I couldn’t remember anything. I looked at myself and I said, "I’m Claire," but I wasn’t sure who that was, and I’d look at another and say, "That’s Cathy," but I wasn’t sure what past I had with her. I will never understand the feeling of being that way again, and now that I look back, it terrifies me."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I’m afraid that if I succeed that I will never be able to un-transform, and would be doomed to face a type of existence I can’t handle. I know it sounds crazy, but I believe that I have received a warning, and that if I tap into the powers that I was never meant to control, that I may be stuck in that form, or worse."

"Or worse?"

"When I fell unconscious during the battle, I faced one of the most terrifying experiences that anyone could ever go through. I saw my own body, as if I had died and was now nothing more than a ghost looking down at my corpse. The body was mine, but I could not feel it, for I had detached my soul from my body. It was a terrible feeling of non-existence, and one that I never want to feel again. As I looked at my own, physical body, I would have given anything to have it again. I wanted to exist, and be human, and be what I was before. I wanted my life back, and that is all I want now. I will not barter my soul."

It might have been that Claire was kept in captivity for the rest of her life, and there were those who would have done it. Fortunately, politics came to her side. Reports of the Omega Gate incident were leaked on both worlds, and after denial was no longer an option, Washington intervened to save face. In exchange for their release, substantial reparations, and medals of honor from the President, Claire and her friends agreed to endorse the government’s cover-story. Technically, the official story wasn’t too far from the truth, but it left out most of the interesting parts, and put a nice spin on everything to make their captivity appear more in the interest of protection, and suggested that everyone involved agreed that what happened was necessary. Both versions of Claire were, of course, watched long after their release. In addition, both governments recruited volunteers for "Project Angel," which persisted without any success for five years before its funding was finally cut, and the project was abandoned.

There was a period of negotiation following the Omega Gate incident between top officials on both sides, and the result was generally mutually beneficial, although the Verpors, having a better case to ask for concessions, ended up with most of the rights in supervising interdimensional trade and traficking. However, despite this leap forward in inter-dimensional diplomacy, communication between the two worlds was kept at a minimum, to avoid further complications and exposure, and the gate technology was kept a closely guarded secret.

As for Claire, she returned home in time for the next school year, which, despite the fact that she had missed the end of her freshman year, she found remarkably easy. Her life had changed a bit since then; she was now a class celebrity. Not the kind of popular celebrity that the MVP of the football team might be, but a more rare, intriguing variety. In some ways, Claire found this difficult to mentally adjust to. She was trying to pull herself back into the role of a simple student, but at the same time she felt like there was something legendary associated with her name. One day in class, she wrote her name on a piece of paper, as she had done a thousand times before, and for a moment felt as though she were looking at the writing of someone else. "Claire Horton" was a legend, someone everyone knew about, not the person who led the life she was trying to get back to. It was a difficult feeling to describe, but as she looked at her writing, she almost had to remind herself that that was her, and that she, not some other person with the same name, had actually done everything people said.

To call Claire popular at this point, in the sense that the word usually means, might not have really been correct. She had notoriety, and people talked to her in the hallways, but she didn’t feel that she interacted much more with people in the same ways that they would interact with their other friends. When homecoming came that year, there was no rush of boys trying to get a date with the mysterious Claire, but Chasm finally got around to asking her, and she agreed to go. The dance was better with a date, although not in ways she would have anticipated. The music was still bad, and it was still way too loud, and there wasn’t anything in particular going on that she liked, but at least she felt like she belonged there, with her peers, and she was able to amuse herself by complaining to Chas about how bad the music was, and watch him try, at her request, to get the DJ to play something that (gasp) hadn’t been played repeatedly on the radio during the past few weeks.

Claire was as she always had been, but some reached out to her. With her notoriety, it was harder to hide in the corner as she was inclined by instinct to do, as people sought her out and would actually talk to her. Although she remained the four-eyed nerd that she was throughout her highschool career, she slowly found those who appreciated her for being that way.

One friend she did not see again, however, was John. With the current arrangements with the Verpor world, interdimmensional travel was only used on official business, and contact was generally very restricted. In addition, the gate technology was still kept secret, and thus Claire had no way to make any contact with any Verpors. The John from her world did occasionally visit her, but even he made very little contact, since both his superiors and Claire’s parents were somewhat disapproving of them meeting. Then one day she was talking with Cathy, near her usual corner in the library, and Cathy brought up an unsettling possibility.

"I wonder if he’s still here," mused Cathy, as she eyed the space around them suspiciously.

"Who? John?" asked Claire, not sure whether to take this as a joke or not.

"Yeah, I mean, we’d never know if he was here or not."

"But they sent him back."

"That’s what we were told, but maybe they just made that up. Maybe he’s still in this world."

"That’s plausible, but there’s no reason for it. If he had a way to go back, he would have taken it. There’s no reason for him to stay here, in a world that he doesn’t belong. I mean, would you hang around here just because you were invisible?"

"I guess you’re right. I just never quite understood what he was doing here in the first place. I’ll always think of this as the haunted corner."

When Cathy left, Claire looked around to make sure she was alone. She then turned her chair around and spoke softly into the ether.

"John?" she asked. But no reply was returned. Claire nodded reassuredly, packed up her books, and spoke one last time into the empty air: "I guess I will always wonder if you’re there, and if you’re watching over me, even though I know you’re not. Possibility supercedes reality."

THE END

Because I’m done writing the story and want to have exactly 50,000 words so I can claim to have finished what I started,

No, you’re really lame.

Not past midnight.

Take a wild guess.

Your mom’s a question that gets frequently asked.

No, I just don’t like you.

Please rephrase that in the form of a question.

Because your questions are stupid.

Yes. For example, I could write an epilogue, a synopsis, or an except from something else I wrote since November, 2003. This just sounded like more fun.

Yes, but only for a few of them. Chas was the name of one of my crazier friends from high school, and Cathy was the name of a girl I carpooled with. Rob McLinn was the name of my favorite teacher in highschool, who taught biology and took us on ski trips. Smith and Jones are taken from the last names of Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith, the stars of "Men in Black."

No. Actually, I thought it was a horrendous disappointment. But I thought the connection was appropriate and kind of cool if you catch it, although I’m guessing now that most people will associate Smith with Agent Smith from the Matrix movies.

Not at all. Originally the story was going to take place entirely at Claire’s highschool, and the bits with government agents was supposed to only enter at the final climax. The only problem was that I couldn’t think of any good highschool-related storylines that I felt could sustain the plot that long, so I was afraid that the overall plot would be a typically trite highschool soap opera, with an invisible guy thrown in as my one original idea. So I had the government agents enter towards the end of the 1^st Act, so I can sort of jettison the more trite subplots about Claire’s social isolation and move into something more dramatic. My idea at this point was actually to have a 2nd Act in which Claire and John were fugitives and hiding out in a desert town. However, as I wrote the early parts I realized that this situation didn’t fit either of their characters. About the time I got through five chapters I’d come up with the idea of the third dimension, the Forsaken World, so I axed my original 2^nd Act from the outline, had Claire sent to the base earlier, and expanded the story by adding the alien invasion to the 3^rd Act.

In a way, yes, but I liked it better than anything else I could come up with. My original ending was for both Johns and both Claire to try to escape, and the Johns would end up getting killed or something. Not terribly interesting. The conflict at the end gave me a lot more to work with. And while the most over-the-top moment of all, Claire’s metamorphosis, is going to have a lot of people screaming "What?!", I really like it. I can’t defend it as a reasonable ending, but I just like how it wraps things up, takes the idea of the split soul to its ultimate conclusion, and finally gives Claire a moment of triumph. I mean, jeez, the poor girl deserved to get to do something really cool for the end. I don’t write plausible stories. They’re no fun.

Oh please, it does wonders for my ego. Actually, I’m not sure I even want to think about how many plot holes and inconsistencies there are in this. This is what happens when you write something completely oddball and complicated. Some day I’ll write a simple story about a guy who has to stop some terrorists with a bomb or something, and it won’t have any plot holes.

Good idea! Ahem…

"Once upon a time there was a guy (played by Bruce Willis, since Arnold is too busy being the governator of California) who had to stop some terrorists (led by Jim Carrey, since I always wanted to see him play a serious bad guy) with a bomb (or something, and James Earl Jones will provide the voice of the bomb). The terrorists said that they would detonate the bomb, which would probably blow up something (and something that other people would care about, so presumably something besides the terrorists) unless their demands for a new 50,000 word novel that they could submit as their own work for National Novel Writing Month were met. The guy (actually, screw Willis. Let’s make him Jackie Chan, so we can imagine that there might be a scene in which the guy takes down an army of bad dudes using an umbrella and a hamster wheel, all while tied to a rolling office chair) was eventually caught and taken prisoner by the terrorists (has that ever NOT happened?), but he tricked the terrorists by writing a PERL script that put together a file of 50,000 random words and telling them that it was a novel. The terrorists submitted the "novel", and got to stick the "Winner" graphic on their home page. And they all lived happily ever after, except for the terrorists, who I’m sure were all killed in some scene I didn’t describe."

Because that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever written.

In the not-so-distant future, Earth finds itself visited by strange invisible travelers who appear without any obvious mode of transportation. They are called the Verpors, and claim to come from an alternate version of Earth. While the early encounters with Verpors turn bloody, and military officials are debating the possibility of war, someone else has a rather different kind of encounter. Claire, a socially isolated 15-year-old girl, becomes friends with a mysterious "ghost" who haunts her school library, a man even she can not see. What starts out as a playful game quickly evolves into a complicated situation, when government agents take Claire away, somehow knowing that she would be the one that the Verpor they are tracking would contact. As a plot of conspiracy and paranoia unfolds, Claire’s trans-dimensional adventures that follow give a new meaning to the word "bizarre."

"Claire, do you need a group? "Happy birthday, Claire," Claire laughed. Claire checked her watch. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Claire. "John…" Bye, John." Chapter 2: John’s Crossing Chapter 3: Cathy and Claire Claire yelled. I can’t control it," pleaded Claire. Claire was surprised. Claire then looked down. Claire did not like this. "Hi, I’m Claire. Claire now panicked. Claire stopped walking. "Claire…" "My uncle," said Claire, wondering if John was listening to this. Chapter 4: John’s War Davis asked John. "Verpors? "Is someone there?" asked Claire, "My name is Claire. John paused. Claire looked at her watch. Claire turned, and John put his hand on her shoulder. Claire smirked. "Are you Claire Horton?" he asked. Claire wondered if these men were armed. "John!" exclaimed Claire, "why are you here?! Claire froze. "Help me!" yelled Claire. Smith stared in amazement at Claire. Claire just sat still. Claire smiled as Smith left sight. Claire scoffed skeptically. Claire stopped counting and turned in bed. Claire laughed. Chapter 8: Meeting John I understand your name is Claire." Claire’s ears perked up. "John!" cried out Claire. Claire gasped. "Claire?!" exclaimed John, "What are you doing here?" Claire asked, "We just…" "So you are Claire’s counterpart? You’re the Claire from this world?" Claire’s jaw hit the floor. Claire, John Claire closed her eyes, and walked through. Claire sighed. The Verpor Claire handed Claire a letter. Who was Verpor Claire? Verpor Claire sat down. Claire paused for a moment. Verpor Claire sighed. "Yes," answered Claire. Verpor Claire begin packing up her schoolwork as Claire woke up. "Paul’s taking me to school today," answered Verpor Claire. Claire remembered. "When I closed my eyes," said Verpor Claire. Claire added, "Are they human?" Claire stood up. "Not that John," said Claire, "get the John I know. Claire shook her head. "No, Claire," said Verpor Claire, "It’s fine. John asked. "Hi," said Verpor Claire, "I’m like you. "John," pleaded Claire, "we need your help. "No," said Claire, "Something else. Verpor Claire had left the group. Claire also recognized the scream, and realized why Verpor Claire had run off. "It’s Cathy," remarked Claire, "We never told her about Cathy." Claire followed behind. "It’s not a Verpor," corrected Claire. "I’ll stay behind," said Verpor Claire. Claire felt incredibly guilty about everything. "I’m so sorry," said Claire. "John. "Claire?" "Thanks, John." "Take care of Claire for me." "No," protested Verpor Claire, "I should do it. "Claire!" whispered Cathy, "What are you doing?" "Claire, snap out of it," said Cathy. Verpor Claire had vanished in every sense. Chapter 14: Claire’s War Claire smiled. Claire gave a truthful but unhelpful answer, "I’m Claire." "Are you the other Claire? "I’m just Claire. "You can not be Claire! Claire couldn’t do that!" "Cathy!" interrupted Claire, "Everything will be fine. "Hello John," said Claire, "It’s me.""Is that really Claire?" whispered John to Cathy. Claire just waited. Claire still stood there. Claire stumbled backwards. "Greetings, Claire Horton." "It’s time, Claire." Claire nodded thoughtfully. -Claire