I lay awake on my duplicate's bed for at least a couple of hours. Rembrandt and Maggie had pulled me to where they were. Maybe I would see them on a regular basis. But then I remembered that they were on a timer as well, and they might have slid to the next world already.

I wondered what I would do for the next ninety plus hours. I also wondered what sort of trouble the native Colin was in. Because he would certainly not give his life away like this, not unless there was something really wrong. This was not as big a concern to me before, because I was leaving soon, but whatever Rembrandt and Maggie did to pull me to where they were also gave me ninety-five hours.

I woke up at around 7 A.M. the next day. My watch told me there were about eighty-six hours to go. I decided to eat breakfast. my duplicate's wife Roxanne did not say much to me.

I would have to live the life of my duplicate. I would call Quinn, and find out how familiar he is with parallel universes. After finishing my Minute Maid orange juice, I went and got dressed in an expensive-looking suit. I then kissed Roxanne goodbye.

"You haven't kissed me goodbye in such a long time," she said.

It was clear that her husband was neglecting her. If he came back, I intended to tell him that he should appreciate his wife more.

I got into the Mercedes, and drove off. I made sure to study the Thomas Guide mapbook that was in the study to gind out the directions to the Prudential Building. The directions were clear-south on La Cienega, and then east on the Santa Monica Freeway. There was, of course, heavy traffic, as this world's version of Los Angeles was a huge city with millions of people, while in the world I grew up in, Los Angeles only had a hundred thousand people.

But after over forty minutes, three of them being searched at an Army checkpoint, I finally reached the place. I parked ina garage below the Prudential Building, in a section for those with monthly passes, since there was a monthly pass hanging from the rearview mirror of the Mercedes. I set the parking gear and shut off the engine.

I walked to the elevators, noticing other people in suits walking to that same location. I pushed a button for the top floor, since that is where my duplicate's office is. After a couple of more minutes,. I reached my floor.

I stepped out, the Bally loafers pressing against the carpet. I walked to a door, which was next to a plaque reading, "Prudential Securities, Inc."

I stepped into the front office of the place. There was a desk with a young Negro lady sitting behind it. There were couches, as well as a table with copies of Time, Newsweek, and Forbes sitting on top.

"Hey, CM!" I heard someone say. I looked, and saw this bespectacled fellow wearing a black suit, a bright red tie screaming for attention. He appeared young, in his early twenties.

"Uh, hi," I said.

"I just finished that report on real estate in the San Gabriel Valley," he said. He led me to hius private office, which was about the size of the closet. It was typically furnished, with a desk and a personal computer. He handed me a folder. "Is there anything else? How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Now I'll go over with this report."

I walked around the office, noticing all the cubicles. I wondered where my office was. My duplicate's card mentioned he was president of the business investigations division.

I felt something grab my arm. "Colin," a female voice said. "You all right?"

"Yes," I said. I looked at the lady, who appeared to be in her early twenties. She had long blond hair that flowed to her waist. She looked familiar, but then after a year of sliding, a person would tend to meet different versions of a person.

Then I rembered where I last saw her.

She was lying down on a bed in a quonset hut, dying from radiation poisoning she contracted when that nuclear power plant on Terminal Island blew.I spoke with her a couple of times while I was there. I actually saw her die.

But this person was not there, this person was a duplicate of that poor girl who died of radiation poisoning. This version of her was hale and hearty.

"Hello, Jennifer," I said.

"I've got some messages for you," she said. "You usually don't call in sick. You haven't even returned my calls."

"I have some reports to look over in my office," I said. "Alone."

I went into my new office. It was huge. First of all, let me mention the view. I could see most of downtown Los Angeles, with the huge skyscrapers soaring into the sky. I could see the freeways, and the San Gabriel Mountains in the background.

The chair in my office was fine leather, right behind a beautiful mahogany desk. There was also a fine leather chair for visitors. I also saw a liquor cabinet. On the desk was a Power Macintosh G4, as well as pens and paper clips and a Swingline stapler.

I briefly browbnsed the reports, which was very technical in nature. I wondered if my suplicate was having fun in the Cayman Islands.

I opened Netscape, and quickly looked up Quinn's phone number. I then dialed the number.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Quinn!" I shouted. "It's me, Colin!"

"How are things going in L.A.?"

"Uh, fine, I think. Listen, are you a graduate student in physics?"

"Yes, I am. I expect to get my master's next year."

"Listen, how much do you know about parallel universes?"

"Well, it's kind of hard to explain. You see, the universe is partitioned off into parallel universes. We know they exist because each particle has counterparts in these parallel universes, and they ineract via wave interference. There are a couple of books which could explain this better than I could in a phone conversation."

"Have you ever built a machine that can allow you to travel to parallel universes?"

"What?"

"Have you ever built, or used, a machine that generates a wormhole thart can allow anyone to travel to these other universes?"

"No, I haven't, Colin. And there's a good reason. Opening a wormhole takes a lot of energy, more energy than you can conceive of. To tear the fabric of spacetime like this is something that can not be done by putting together some spare parts from Radio Shack and plugging it in to an electric outlet."

"But that's what you did. Listen, I'm from a parallel universe. You said particles had counterparts in other universes. I am your brother's counterpart."

"You know, Colin, this is a pretty funny joke."

"It's no joke."

"Well, I have to go study at the library for my thesis."

"Okay." I hung up the phone.

Clearly, if he did not believe it was practical to build a wormhole generator, then he could not reunite me with my friends. I decided to browse the Internet.

I looked up Professor Maximilian Arturo, a nam whose incarnations I have run into on occasion in the past year of sliding. According to the web pages I read, the professor does know about the theory of parallel universes, and even wrote books about it. He had written an article in Science about how computers can be designed so they conduct parallel processing with their counterparts in other universes.

I also read that he is a professor in Oxford University which is in England. I doubted that he knew the native Colin.

I guess I would have to wait until the next world to find help.

There was a meeting just before lunch. I had spent most of the morning surfing the Internet, learning about the world I would be in for the next eighty-three hours. We were all seated around a conference table. Jennifer, who appeared to be my duplicate's secretary, say in a corner taking the minutes.

"The Mandalay Bay Resort Group has just purchased some land in the Anaheim Hills," said Michael, the fellow who had greeted me earlier. "Our field agents have confirmed that they have plans to build a new casino. The company had not issued a press release yet. But the stock price will rise once it does."

"So we buy the stock before the price rises," I said.

"Yeah," said another fellow. "And we should sell our Raytheon stock. There are rumors of pending litigation against it. We can make a profit of a million dollars."

"What if the litigation does not come?" I asked, hoping to understand the native Colin's job in detail.

"The press will report it, probably this afternoon. I hope the release will cause the stock price to fall. We sell the stock, and then buy it back."

The meeting droned on for a few more minutes. I heard something about a report from the California Department of Agriculture concerning crop yield estimates for the next quarter, so we would invest in something called futures. I also heard that an oil company had managed to find a new source of oil, and so the price of oil is epxected to drop a bit, while that particular company's stock price was expected to rise. After that, the meeting was over.

"CM," said Michael. "Do you want me to forward these tips to Mr. van Dahl?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Go right ahead." I figured Native Colin did business with this Mr. van Dahl.

Anyhow, I had lunch in a restaurant in the lobby of the Prudential Building. I sat at the bar and ordered some stuffed portabella mushrooms, the stuffing being pieces of smoked salmon, Asiago cheese, and pieces of tomatoes.

I saw Jennifer sit down at the table with me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I always eat lunch with you," she replied.

"Oh."

So we talked. Jennifer told me about the minutia of her life. She seemed pretty close to me, or rather, Native Colin.

When we were done, she said,"So, will we meet in your office after work?"

"Okay," I said.

I had not known what she meant at the time.

I spent the rest of the afternoon signing papers dealing with acquisitions and mergers and other stuff. I received reports from people about what various companies planned to do. I dealt with puts and calls and futures contracts. I aslo recerived an invitation to some party whiuch was tonight at the Chandler Hotel on Wilshire Boulevard.

I learned a lot about the investments business. I already knew that stocks were shares of the companyu, as there existed a version of the Pacific Stock Exchange on my world. Puts and calls were conbtract to buy or sell stocks at a particular price on some future date. Futures contracts were contracts to purchase or sell commodities at a particular price at a particular date. The commodities my counterpart traded in included wheat, rice, oil, and oranges.

It was getting late, and most of the people in the office said goodbye to me before going home. I decided to sit in my office, looking through the Internet.

Jennifer stepped inside and shut the door.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"You know what I want," she said.

Then she kissed me very poassionately. She untied my necktie.

I pushed her away. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"You don't feel like it?" she asked.

My duplicate was having an extramarital affair with this woman. I wondered what kind of woman Jennifer was, if she would willingly have sex with someone who is married to someone else.

"NO, I do not feel like it," I said.

"Okay," she replied. Then she left, shutting the door behind her.

I browsed throuhg the contents of my duplicate's hard drive. I then found some GIF files.

There were pictures of Jennifer, buck naked, without a stitch on her. And she was posing in some very suggestive positions.

What's more, these pictures seem to have been taken inside this very office!

I understood part of what trouble Native Colin was in.

I hoped that there was not any more trouble for me.