Bill turned and glanced at him as if he were a darn fool.

"I don't know."

"With a pumpkin patch," John replied, his face straight.

Bill stopped, looked at him for a moment; then a small smile crept across his lips. "I'll have to remember that one."

The barn was behind the house, smaller than John remembered and in need of paint. There was a hole in the roof that should have been patched. In fact, the farm seemed just a bit more decrepit than he remembered. Had hard times fallen on his parents here?

"Janet, another one for lunch," Bill called as he opened the back door. "Leave your shoes."

John took his shoes off, left them where he always did. He hung his bag on a hook. It was a different hook, bra.s.s and molded, where he remembered a row of dowels that he and his father had glued into the sideboard.

John could tell Janet wasn't keen on a stranger for lunch, but she didn't say anything, and she wouldn't until she and Bill were alone. John smiled at her, thanked her for letting him have lunch.

She wore the same ap.r.o.n he remembered. No, he realized. She'd worn this one, with a red check pattern and deep pockets in front, when he was younger.

She served John a turkey sandwich, with a slice of cheese on it. He thanked her again as she did, and ate the sandwich slowly. Janet had not recognized him either.

Bill said to Janet, "Got some good apples for cider, I think, a few bushels."

John raised his eyebrows at that. He and his father could get a couple bushels per tree. Maybe the orchard was smaller here. Or maybe it had been hit with blight. John glanced at Bill and saw the shake in his hand. He'd never realized how old his father was, or maybe he had aged more quickly in this universe for reasons unknown. Maybe a few bushels was all he could gather.

"I should work on the drainage in the far field tomorrow. I've got a lake there now and it's going to rot my seed next season." The far field had always been a problem, the middle lower than the edges, a pond in the making.

"You need to pick those pumpkins too, before they go bad," John said suddenly.

Bill looked at him.

"What do you know of farming?"

John swallowed his bite of sandwich, angry at himself for drawing the man's resentment. John knew better than to pretend farm another farmer's fields.

"Uh, I grew up on a farm like this. We grew pumpkins, sold them before Halloween, and got a good price for them. You'll have to throw half your crop away if you wait until Sunday, and then who'll buy that late?"

Janet said to Bill, "You've been meaning to pick those pumpkins."

"Practically too late now," Bill said. "The young man's right. Half the crop's bad."

"I could help you pick them this afternoon." John said it because he wanted to spend more time there. It was the first chance he'd had in a long time to relax. They weren't his parents; he knew that. But they were good people.

Bill eyed him again appraisingly.

"You worked a farm like this, you say. What else you know how to do?"

"I can pick apples. I can lay wood shingles for that hole in your barn."

"You been meaning to do that too, Bill," Janet said. She was warming to John.

"It's hard getting that high up, and I have a few other priorities," Bill said. He looked back at John. "We'll try you out for the day, for lunch and dinner and three dollars an hour. If it isn't working out, you hit the road at sundown, no complaining."

John said, "Deal."

"Janet, call McHenry and ask him if he needs another load of pumpkins and if he wants me to drop 'em off tonight."

CHAPTER 13

John waited outside the county clerk's window, his rage mounting. How d.a.m.n long did it take to hand over a marriage certificate? Casey was waiting for him outside the judge's chamber, nine months pregnant. If the man behind the gla.s.s wall took any longer, the kid was going to be born a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And Casey's and John's parents had been adamant about that. No b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He'd said he'd take care of the kid and he meant it, but they wanted it official.

Finally the clerk handed over the license and the two notarized blood tests and John s.n.a.t.c.hed them from his hand.

"Thanks," John said, turning and heading for the court building.

After the wedding he and Casey were driving up to Toledo to honeymoon on the last of his cash. In a week he was scheduled to start his GE job. He was going to work one of the a.s.sembly lines, but that was just until the book he was writing-The Shining-took off.

The trip to Toledo served the purpose of the honeymoon, as well as the fact that he had meetings regarding the screwed-up Rubik's Cube. It still irked him. The patent search had turned up nothing and they had built a design, one that finally worked, and they'd sunk ninety-five thousand dollars into a production run. Then they'd gotten a call from the lawyer in Belgium. Apparently there was a patent filed in Hungary by that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Rubik. The company Rubik had hired in New York to market the things had gone under and he'd never bothered to try again. Someone had gotten wind of John's product, and now they wanted a piece of the deal.

The lawyer had wanted to drop John like a hot potato, but he'd convinced him that there was still cash to be made from it. Some cash at least. He'd have to pay a licensing fee probably. Kiss some a.s.s. But there was money to be made. The lawyer would stick it out with John, though the retainer was just about gone.

Casey waved as he rounded the corner on the third floor in front of the judge's office. Casey sat on a bench, her belly seeming to rest on her knees. Her face was puffy and pink, as if someone had pumped her with saline.

"Hi, Johnny," she said. "Did you get the paper?"

He hated being called Johnny and he'd told her that, but she still did it. Everybody used to call Johnny Farm Boy Johnny, so John was stuck with it. Some things just couldn't be changed.

He put on a smile and waved the certificate. "Yeah," he said. "Everything's ready." He kissed Casey on the cheek. "Darling, you look radiant." He'd be glad once the baby was out of her body; then she could start dressing the way he liked again. He hoped her cheerleading uniform still fit.

The ceremony was quick, though Casey had to dab her eyes. John wasn't surprised that none of Casey's friends were there. Getting pregnant had put a lot of stress on her relationships. Field hockey had been right out.

The judge signed the certificate and it was done. John was glad Casey's and his parents hadn't come. They'd wanted to, but John had axed that request. They had settled for a reception after the baby was born.

John knew his parents were disappointed in what had happened, and he hadn't wanted to face them during the ceremony. They'd wanted him to go to college, to better himself. But those were the dreams they had for Johnny Farm Boy. John was a completely different thing.

They'd understand once the money started rolling in. They'd not be disappointed in their son anymore.

John slowly lowered Casey into the bucket seat of the Trans Am, a splurge with the last of his cash. He had to have decent wheels. The Trans Am pulled away and he headed for Route 16. "Glad that's over with," he said.

"Really?" Casey asked.

"Well, I'm glad it's over with and we're married now," he said quickly.

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

John nodded. He had to be careful what he said with Casey, what he shared. About the time she'd started showing and they'd had to tell their parents, John had wished he had the device, wished he could jump to the next universe and start over. John felt then he should have killed Johnny Farm Boy, hidden the body, and kept the device. Now the Cube had to work right. With John's money almost gone, he might not have another chance, no matter how good an idea the AbCruncher was. He'd wanted to come clean and tell Casey all about his past, but how could he? How could she believe him?

He was stuck here and he had to make it work. There were no other choices now. This was the life he'd chosen. He patted Casey's leg and smiled at her. He'd make some money, enough to set her and the kid up, and then he'd have his freedom to do what he wanted with his money. It would take a little longer now; there were some b.u.mps in the road, but he'd succeed. He was Johnny Prime.

CHAPTER 14

Spring had arrived, but without the sun on his shoulders, John was chilly. He'd started working on the car in the morning and the sun had been on him, and now, after lunch, it was downright cold. He considered getting the tractor out and hauling the beat-up Trans Am into the sun. He finally decided it was too much trouble. It was late and there was no way he'd get the carburetor back together before dinner.

He'd bought the car for fifty dollars, but the car had yet to start. He'd need it soon. He started a second-shift job at the GE plant in May. And then in the fall he was taking cla.s.ses at the University of Toledo.

He'd applied to the University of Toledo's continuing-education program. He couldn't enroll as a traditional freshman, which was all right with him, because of the fact that he'd taken the GED instead of graduating from high school. He wouldn't get into the stuff he wanted to learn until his senior year: quantum field theory, cosmology, general relativity. That was all right. He was okay where he was for the time being. If he didn't think about home, he could keep going.

With the plant job, washing-machine a.s.sembly line work from four until midnight, he'd have enough for tuition for the year. Plus Bill and Janet were still paying him three an hour for ch.o.r.es he was helping out with. He noted ironically to himself that in his own universe he wouldn't have been paid a dime. In September he'd get another job for pocket money and rent near the university.

He set the carburetor on the front seat and rolled the car back into the barn. This was a good universe, John had decided, but he wasn't staying. No, he was happy with Bill and Janet taking him in. They were kind and generous, just like his own parents in nearly every respect, but he couldn't stay here. Not for the long term.

The universe was a mansion with a million rooms. People didn't know they were in just one room. They didn't know there was a way through the walls to other rooms.

But John did. He knew there were walls. And he knew something else too. He knew walls came down. There were holes between worlds.

John had listed his major as physics, and he'd laughed when the manila envelope from the department had arrived, welcoming him and listing his faculty advisor as Dr. Frank Wilson. Professor Wilson's world was going to shatter one day, and John was going to do it for him.

John knew something that no other physicist in this world knew. A human could pa.s.s through the walls of the universe. Just knowing that it was possible, just knowing, without a bit of doubt-he needed only to pull up his pant leg and look at the scars from the cat-dog bite-that there were a million universes out there, was all it would take for John to figure the science of it out.

That was his goal. He had the device and he had his knowledge. He'd reverse engineer it, take it apart, ask the questions of the masters in the field, he would himself become one of those masters, to find out how it was done.

And then, once the secrets of the universe lay open to him, he would go back; he would kick the s.h.i.t out of John Prime and take his own life back.

He smiled as he shut the barn door.

Part Two

CHAPTER 15

John Prime awoke from a nightmare of suffocation. Casey's elbow nudged him in the ribs.

"Your turn," she muttered.

At first Prime thought she was talking in her sleep, and he rolled over, pulling the covers with him. The secondhand bed squeaked as he moved. Then he heard Abby scream.

"f.u.c.k," he said.

The alarm clock blazed 2:17. He had to get up in three hours for work at the plant. Why couldn't Casey feed the baby? He was the one bringing in the money. All she had to do was stay home with Abby all day.

Abby's screams turned to tiny shrieks. The Williamses upstairs would be complaining to the landlord if Prime didn't do something.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed his eyes, then stood. He pulled on some shorts. He should have just started wearing pajamas; it wasn't like Casey and he had done it anytime recently.

He stumbled into the kitchenette and opened the refrigerator, glaring at the light. He found the fullest bottle of formula and nuked it for thirty seconds. By the time he made it to Abby's room, she was bright red and so angry her shrieks were nearly silent.

Prime lifted her to his shoulder, his own anger gone, his own resignation lifted away. She struggled against his neck for a moment and then went still, sobbing silently. The maternity nurses had been shocked when he'd asked to be present for the birth. That was a small difference between his universe and this one. But he had insisted, and Casey had been glad for him next to her. He had viewed the blotchy purple Abby with a mixture of feelings. Pride, yet fear. Joy, yet frustration. She was another millstone, just like his marriage, just like his job.

He sat in the wooden rocking chair his mother had given them. It squeaked rea.s.suringly. Abby rooted for the plastic nipple, and fell silent save the slurping.

Would he have used the device if he still had it? Always it had been a getaway, a fail-safe. He had tried to stay before, vowing never to use the device again. He'd tried to make a life for himself. Every time he transferred out, he was terrified, guilty, depressed.

Now there was no choice. But would he have, if he could?

He pulled the nipple out of Abby's mouth, and the bottle sucked in air.

It was safe here. He had made it safe, for once. How many times had he almost died because of that d.a.m.n device? It had even made him a murderer. His mind returned to Thomas and Oscar. It had been around 7450 or so, early on in Prime's flight. He had switched out after the police had busted in his door, having time only to grab his emergency bag.

In the dawn light, he had been surprised to see a well-worn path and in the distance a palisade. It looked like a Pleistocene universe, one of the unpopulated ones, where all of North America was mastodons and saber-toothed tigers. But there was a human-made structure.

He checked the sky: no contrails. He checked the horizon for power lines and cell towers. Nothing. The little transistor radio he had in the emergency pack emitted nothing but static.

"Weird," he muttered.

He started down the path.

As the palisade came into view, Prime caught the smell of burning wood and roasting meat. A guard, dressed in cured skins and armed with a twelve-foot-long pike, leaned against the gate. He didn't show surprise at Prime's arrival down the well-worn path, nor at Prime's clothes.

"Another one? And young," the guard said, shaking his head. "Welcome to Fort America, home of the truly free. Got anything on you?"

The man reached into Prime's jacket, and Prime jumped back.

The guard seemed about to press the point, then shrugged.

"Why would you, then? They never leave us with anything useful." He pulled out a clipboard and said, "Thomas has a spot in his crew for a tenderfoot. See that bunkhouse? Ask for him there."

Prime wondered at the way the guard had expected people to show up at the gate. Was that common? He spoke unaccented English, which seemed anachronistic in this wilderness world.