ANNA TO THE INFINITE POWER

by

Mildred Ames

Vagabond Books

ISBN 0-590-32433-0

Copyright © 1981 by Mildred Ames. All rights reserved.

About the Author

A native of New England, Mildred Ames began writing while still in high school. She wrote poems, was on the staff of the school newspaper, and belonged to a group called the Merry Scriveners.

During the Depression and World War II, she held various jobs but soon after decided to write full time. Since then she’s written literary tales, mysteries, confessions, children’s and young adult books, and two gothic novels for adults.

She and her husband live in Palos Verdes Estates, California with all her “story book children.”

To a favorite aunt, Annie Estelle Hinkley Wilson

Prelude

At first Rowan thought the tune was coming from inside his head. There was nothing unusual about that. When he was sick of climate control and wanted the windows of his room open, he often worked at the small electronic piano, power off, using it like a silent keyboard to compose music. It was a gift he had, the ability to envision sound, to hear with organs other than his ears.

Now it took him a few moments to realize the notes were not originating from within him but from someplace outdoors. Strange. The Apollo Complex had very strict rules about noise pollution. Because of the proximity of the conservatory there were a number of musicians living close by, but one never heard them. They practiced in soundproof closed rooms, just as Rowan did. Although he put in hours every day on his violin, he was always considerate of the neighbors. What was this person thinking of?

Rowan was surprised that Protection Patrol hadn’t descended upon the offender already.

He got up and went to the window to stare across the small park to the double row of dwellings opposite. Yes, there was a window open in a unit that was always sublet, this time, Rowan had heard, to the new music history teacher at the conservatory, a woman. Was it she who was picking out that trivial and annoying one-handed tune on the piano?

Now she was adding harmony. With this new sound he had to admit he was wrong. There was nothing trivial about the melody after all. In fact, it was--well, haunting. Now she was varying the theme. He listened, captivated, as the variations grew more and more complex, more surprising. He felt exhilarated, the way he always did when someone performed with depth. How different from his sister Anna’s playing. But then, what else could one expect from Anna? She was so shallow.

From her room, Anna, too, stared across the park, listening to the strains of that disturbing music, feeling strangely agitated. For some reason, the melody stirred unfamiliar emotions within her. She felt fascinated and repelled at the same time. Close the window, she told herself. Shut out the sound. Another part of her said, no. Why should I be the one who has to turn on climate control? What right does anyone have to make all that noise? That’s all it is. Noise. No, I will not close my window. I will not. I’ll think of something else, really concentrate until all that piano banging stops. Numbers? Yes, I’ll think of numbers, sure, stable, concrete, satisfying numbers.

Anna went to her desk and grabbed a schoolbook. She opened it at random. Instantly she took in every number on the page, seventy-seven in all. She closed her eyes. Add them. Simple. Nine thousand seven hundred and forty-eight. The music stole in and shook through her like laughter. Don’t listen. Add the numbers in groups of eleven. Got it? Yes. Now, raise each sum to the sixteenth power. One after another Anna shouted the answers. The music still penetrated her consciousness, giving her the same feeling that welled up in her at unexpected moments, a feeling she could never quite identify. She knew only that it gave her a disturbing sense of incompleteness.

Now she flung the book from her, stormed over to the window, and shouted across the park to the offending piano, “I’ll call Protection Patrol. I will, I will!”

Almost as if the pianist had heard her, which was unlikely, the music died. To Anna’s surprise a woman appeared at the open window of the sublet unit. Although the distance between them made it impossible to judge for sure, Anna could have sworn the woman was staring directly at her, even smiling, giving the impression of a black and white drawing, white face, black hair pulled severely back, black dress, all frozen in the frame of a window. There was something sinister about the sight. Anna, who was never afraid, trembled.

1

Anna’s last period of the day was calisthenics. She liked it that way. She could take her time showering and dressing without worrying about being tardy for another class. Calisthenics teachers at the academy were notorious for keeping students late. Everyone said that was the only way they had of wielding power in a school where even the twelve-year-old students, of which Anna was one, were their intellectual superiors.

Today Anna was earlier than usual. A few girls from the previous class were still in the locker room. She waited impatiently for the place to clear, then went to her locker. As she placed her books and valuables inside, a plump redhead, also from the last period, came huffing and puffing into the room, still buttoning and zipping pieces of clothing as she made her way to the locker next to Anna’s.

“I just know I’m going to be late for my next class,” the girl gasped to the world in general.

Anna was not given to concerning herself with other people’s problems. This girl always lagged behind her class anyhow. Anna merely considered her a nuisance, a leftover from the last period who was always in the way.

The redhead began dialing the combination to her lock, then let out a yelp. “Oh, Lord, look at that! I forgot to lock it.” She just about ripped the door off its hinges in her anxiety over her unguarded possessions, then poked about in the dark recesses of the locker searching for something. “Oh, thank God! For a minute I thought I might have left it someplace else. My mother would kill me if I’d lost this. It’s practically a family heirloom.”

Anna’s eyes fastened on the wristwatch the girl was talking about, a gold affair that coiled around the wrist like a snake. The head contained an old-fashioned round dial with hands that swept around to point to numbers that indicated the time. How quaint, Anna thought. They haven’t made watches like that for years and years. Her sharp eyes took in the glitter of what looked like diamonds around the watch face. The piece was obviously of some value and, more important, interesting. Interesting enough to take Anna’s fancy.

“You should be more careful,” Anna said.

“That’s what my mother always says.” The girl clamped the watch around her wrist, then snatched up her books, and, still huffing and puffing, hurried off.

Anna’s eyes followed her. To think the locker had been open all that time. Anyone could have easily grabbed anything out of it, particularly that watch. The girl was obviously the absentminded type who wouldn’t even be sure she’d left the piece where she thought she had.

Anna smiled to herself. Anyone that careless would forget to lock up again sooner or later.

2

Rowan sniffed at the steaming bowl before him and made a face. “Oh, Mom, not rooftop soup again.” He had given it that name because everything in it came from their hydroponic roof garden.

Anna, sitting across from him, gave a resounding, “Yuk!”

“Now, listen, you two,” Sarah Hart, their mother, said. “You just eat every bit of it, because it’s nourishing. Besides, if you don’t eat it, you won’t get a bite of that chicken your father’s been slaving over.”

“That’s blackmail,” Rowan said.

“That’s mothering,” his mother said, and joined them at the table. “Go on, now--eat.”

They both started on the soup, Anna making loud slurping noises by way of protest.

Her mother ignored her and said, “Rowan, will you take Anna into Los Angeles tomorrow? There’s an exhibit her teacher wants her to see at the Museum of Industry and Science.”

Rowan glanced up in dismay, then glowered down into his bowl. He had planned to use the following day, a Saturday, for intensive violin practice. The play-off recitals were coming along all too soon. Although he hadn’t told anyone yet, he intended trying for a Bellamy Scholarship to The International School of Music in Japan. Until he felt he had some chance, he preferred to keep the plan to himself. “What are they exhibiting at the museum?” he asked.

Anna said, “It’s a super computer, the kind they call an intelligence-amplifier. It does fantastic things.”

She went on excitedly talking about all the marvelous applications of the machine, but Rowan tuned her out. She was twelve, two years younger than he, and he was thoroughly sick of playing big brother and baby-sitter to her. Yet somebody had to keep an eye on her. She was often morally untrustworthy. It seemed to him his mother and father forgave her everything simply because she was a science brain. She was delicate, his mother said. If her allergy wasn’t bothering her, her headaches were. They couldn’t even light the candles that decorated the table for fear of throwing Anna into one of her migraines.

He stared at her as she talked, wondering why he couldn’t like his own sister. His father always kidded about Anna’s being a changeling because she didn’t look like the rest of them. Rowan, his mother, and father were all tall, dark-haired, and brown-eyed. Anna was a tiny thing with curly blond hair and very blue eyes. A throwback, his father said. A real pain, Rowan said.

“I’d take Anna myself tomorrow,” Sarah Hart went on, “but I have some extra work at the lab. And, of course, your father has orchestra practice.”

“So do I.”

“But you could skip it just once. Besides, you’ll enjoy the exhibit. I understand it’s very interesting.”

“To you, maybe. You’re a physicist,” he said. He liked and admired his mother, but she irritated him too because she was always the scientist first, the human being second.

“Oh, now,” she chided, “you don’t have to be a physicist to appreciate advances in technology.” She glanced toward the kitchen and called, “Graham, come and eat your soup. It’s getting cold.”

In another moment Graham Hart, carrying a large platter with a well-browned chicken, appeared in the doorway to the dining room. A solidly built man, his eyes sparkled merrily as he said, “Coming right up.” He took the roast to the table and placed it in the center. “Now if that isn’t a meal fit for an emperor, then I am not the world’s greatest chef. Feast your eyes on it--it has to rest for a while.” Rowan knew his father prided himself on his culinary talents, although with the scarcity of so many foods these days and the high prices there was less chance for him to keep in practice. Often Rowan had heard his parents reminisce about the well-stocked supermarkets of the 1970s, when they were growing up. Now, only twenty years later, there was little in the stores that wasn’t factory-made or dehydrated. Still, his mother always seemed to know the right people and his family did better than most.

“You will take your sister?” his mother persisted.

Rowan sighed. “If I have to.”

“That settles it. You have to,” his father said, with a good-natured grin.

“And don’t forget to check with INAPT first,” his mother added.

“Don’t I always?” Rowan said impatiently. As long as he could remember, they’d checked with the Information and Facsimile Transmittal computer before leaving the complex. A safety precaution, his mother called it, to make sure the route was clear of everything from demonstrations to accidents. Often he thought she was overdoing caution, but he went along with the practice to please her.

“I’ll get the casserole from the oven,” she said, and took her empty soup bowl out to the kitchen.

While Rowan and Anna dawdled over theirs, Graham Hart made short work of finishing his soup. “I still have to make gravy,” he said, and got up to follow his wife to the kitchen.

When he had disappeared, Anna said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you--we dissected a pig in science today.”

Rowan lifted an eyebrow. “Where did you ever get something like a pig?”

“From one of the government farms. They have to make them available to classes. Well, actually, it wasn’t a pig exactly. It was a fetal pig, almost full-term.”

Rowan’s stomach took a queasy turn.

Anna pulled the platter of roast chicken toward her. “This is what reminded me of it. The pig was belly-side up, too, spread-eagled in the dissecting pan.” She took the carving knife from the plate and pointed to a spot on the bird. “Now, right about here was where the umbilical cord was. And right here,” she pointed again, “you make the first incision using a sharp scalpel.” Anna cut superficially through the browned skin and the juices flowed from it. “Then you insert the dissecting scissors and cut just deep enough to go through the body wall.” She demonstrated. “You have to break away the connective tissue. Then you can use your finger to probe and feel where the diaphragm is attached to the ribs.” Anna moved a finger toward the bird.

“Anna!” Rowan cried. “That is not a dissection specimen. That’s our dinner.”

“Oh,” she said, and withdrew her finger. “Next you peel away enough skin and tissue to see the ribs.”

Rowan felt a little sick. “Quit it, Anna.”

“But I haven’t come to the really interesting part.” She went right on through cuts two, three, four, and five.

In spite of himself, Rowan found his eyes riveted to the chicken as her knife lightly scored the skin in the dissecting pattern. When she came to incision number six, she said, “You have to be careful not to cut too deeply here, because it it’s a male, you might damage the penis.”

Rowan’s stomach lurched.

“Now the whole abdominal cavity is exposed. You can see the intestines. They look just like a lot of coiled tubes and they really glisten. Then there’s this quivery dark red thing, and that’s the liver. Oh, and I almost forgot.” Anna reached into her slacks pocket and drew out a small plastic bag. She gently turned its contents into her palm. “My teacher said I could have this.”

Rowan gagged. White-faced, he pushed himself up from the table, turned abruptly, and fled from the room. Behind him, he heard Anna say, “What’s the matter?” and then his mother’s voice asking, “What’s wrong with Rowan?” He tore down the hall. When he reached the bathroom, the nausea had passed. Then he thought again of that viscous-looking eye removed from its socket, sitting on Anna’s palm, staring at him, and up it came--everything he’d eaten that day.

Damn Anna anyhow! She knew he had a weak stomach. The one night they had something decent to eat and she had to ruin it for him. She had absolutely no sensitivity herself and no understanding of other people’s. She was a human computer, and that’s all she was. And as far as he was concerned, if someone decided to pull her plug, that would be all to the good.

Rowan added the present incident to the long list he was mentally collecting, called Crimes For Which I Will Never Forgive Anna. Heading that list was the loss of Charlie, the shaggy, wonderful pup whom Rowan, at the age of ten, had waited for all his life. Anna, the Unholy Horror, as he called her, was eight then. Poor Charlie ... if he went anyplace near her, she’d fly into hysterics, even kick him away. Mom said she was phobic. Dad said, “Give her time. She’ll get over it.” But she never did. Instead she developed what the doctor said was an allergy. There was no choice then. Rowan had had to give the dog away. They couldn’t even have a cat.

It was then that Rowan decided that if he didn’t exactly hate Anna, he certainly disliked her intensely. He almost enjoyed adding new crimes to his list. The longer it grew, the less guilt he felt about his distaste for his sister.

3

Here it is,” Anna declared, pointing to a sign that read INTELLIGENCE-AMPLIFIER. Below it, a smaller sign said the next demonstration would take place in ten minutes.

“I guess we can look around until then,” Rowan said.

They had made good time to the museum in spite of the forty-mile distance from Orange County where they lived and in spite of all the problems it took to go anyplace by public transportation. First, there was the check with INAFT, feeding in their full names, Rowan Timothy Hart, Anna Zimmerman Hart, their address, their destination, then the long wait, and, finally, the screen flashing “All Clear.” After that they’d taken the people-mover, which carried them outside the complex, then the electrobus to the train station. From there, they caught the metroliner that ran above the Santa Ana freeway and directly into

Los Angeles. Still another electrobus took them to the museum. Now they killed time glancing at some of the other exhibits.

Finally Anna said, “Look, there’s a man near the computer. Let’s get up close before the demonstration starts.”

When they approached, a group was already forming around the machine. Anna said, “Pardon me,” and started charging through. She turned back to Rowan. “Come on, Rowan.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. Rather than make a scene, he followed, his face flushed from embarrassment.

Under his breath, he whispered, “You’re just like a bulldozer. Why don’t you just knock everybody down while you’re at it?”

She glanced up at him, her blue eyes expressionless as usual. “Well, how do you expect me to see? I’m little, you know.” Then she turned her attention to the man, who was obviously about to start the demonstration.

The machine, Rowan noticed, was much bigger than their INAFT at home, and looked infinitely more complicated.

“Today, friends,” the demonstrator began, “I am going to give you a preview of things to come and a look at what we have already accomplished with the intelligence-amplifier. It is, of course, programmed to do everything the old computers did--write letters and reports, make instant translations from one language into another, figure complicated math problems in seconds. But that’s not important. What is important is the potential of this superb machine.”

“What’s the potential?” Anna asked loud and clear, to Rowan’s dismay.

The man’s disapproving eyes rested on her briefly, then he went on. “The amount of scientific information has increased so fast, with so many published papers, that it is now impossible to even do a literary search for everything relating to a new research project. Only an intelligence-amplifier can bring together all of the data for use. This machine possesses the potential to unravel every scientific mystery yet conceived. And what’s more--” He paused to consult a card he was holding.

Anna said, “Yes? What’s more?”

He glared at her for an instant, then as if she had made him lose his train of thought, glanced again at the card. “Oh, yes--although we’re not there yet, ultimately we hope to reach the point where we can program the machine to write books in the style of any given person, or music in the style of any given composer.”

God forbid, Rowan thought. If that ever became possible he would be wiped out. Everything he had worked for, everything he had learned--all for nothing. When the day came that machines took over the arts and began creating, Rowan wasn’t sure he wanted to be around.

The demonstrator said, “Now, before I show you some of the intellectual novelties the machine can handle, I think we’ll start with a look at the more traditional uses.” He picked up a small microphone that was attached to the computer. “What I want you to notice is how the machine responds to my voice.” He flipped the switch on the microphone and said, “Three hundred four.” Immediately the figures flashed on a screen. He continued reading numbers into the machine until Rowan counted seventy of them. “Add them,” the man said into the microphone.

“Seven hundred fifty-four thousand, two hundred ninety-one,” Anna said.

In the next second the machine printed 754,291. All eyes fastened on her, the group’s in amused perplexity, Rowan’s in disgust. The demonstrator frowned at her. When he recovered from what appeared to be indignation and shock, he gave a flicker of a smile and said to the audience, “We have all witnessed a mathematical rarity. Can you imagine what the odds must be in guessing that particular number?”

Anna said, “About the same as in that old saw that says if an infinite number of monkeys pounded on an infinite number of typewriters for an infinite amount of time, one of them would eventually produce Hamlet. And I didn’t guess, I added.”

The demonstrator gave the kind of smile that merely indulged another obnoxious youngster. “Well, let’s carry on.”

Rowan whispered, “Anna, if you open your mouth one more time you can just find your way home by yourself.”

She ignored him as the demonstrator flicked a switch that erased the numbers on the machine. Then he again spoke into the microphone. “Find the sum of the first thousand prime numbers where each one is raised to the hundredth power.”

As Anna’s mouth opened, Rowan quickly clapped a hand over it, not releasing her until the machine printed the answer. Then he grabbed Anna by the arm and dragged her away from the group.

“What did you do that for?” she demanded.

“You may not care if everyone knows what a freak you are, but I do. I’m not going to stick around here and let you embarrass me, you . . . you idiot savant.”

Anna mulled that over. Finally she said, “I know what that means and you’re wrong. An idiot savant is brilliant in only one area. I know a lot. And I can’t leave now. That’s all the old stuff he’s doing. He hasn’t gotten to the new things my teacher wants me to see.”

Rowan sighed. “All right. Stay, then. I can do an errand. When he finishes up, you can meet me. There’s a Greenwich Department Store about a block from here. I’ll be in the book department on the main floor.”

“But you never checked with INAFT about going there.”

Rowan pondered. “That’s right, I didn’t.” He shrugged. “Well, I guess sooner or later you’ve got to take a chance.”

Anna agreed to meet him and Rowan left. He made for a music store he knew was only a few blocks distant. There he looked around for some time, bought some rosin and a couple of E-strings, then headed back toward the department store.

When he got there he made for the book department. Anna had not arrived yet. He browsed for a while, then inadvertently glanced across to what turned out to be Junior Ms. Sportswear. There was Anna. And wearing a completely different outfit.

Oh, my God, no! He should have stayed with her. Anna had a way of picking up any little thing that caught her fancy and never paying for it. That was another of her many charming characteristics. Now she was about to walk out of the store with new clothes. And there was absolutely no way she could have paid for them. They didn’t even have a charge at The Greenwich. Rowan dashed across the aisle and stormed into Junior Ms. Sportswear.

Anna was going through a rack of slacks when he reached her side. Angrily, he wrenched her around to face him. Trying to keep his voice low and controlled, he said, “Anna, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you just get yourself back into the dressing room and put on your own clothes.”

She stared at him strangely. “How do you know my name?”

“How do I know your name? What do you mean how do I know your name? Stop being funny and do as I tell you!”

She backed away. “You’re crazy. You leave me alone, or I’ll scream for help.” She glanced frantically around.

“Oh, knock off the act, Anna.” He moved toward her.

“You come one step closer, and I will scream!”

To his surprise, Rowan could see that she really meant what she said. It crossed his mind that, even for Anna, her actions were peculiar. What a weird way to try to make off with stolen clothes. Suddenly he felt absolutely fed up with her. Enough was enough. “All right. If you don’t know me, then I’m not your brother, and I don’t have to take you home. You can just find your way by yourself.” She shook her head. “You really are crazy.”

He opened his mouth to object, then clamped it shut tightly. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode off. Who cared if his mother got mad at him for abandoning his idiot savant--mostly idiot--sister? This was more than anyone should have to take from anybody.

He’d covered only a few steps along the aisle when the automatic eye opened the glass entry doors and--No, it couldn’t be. He stopped in his tracks and glanced back to where he thought he’d left her. And there she was. She was in Junior Ms. Sportswear and, at the same time, she was coming up the aisle wearing the same outfit she had left home in that morning.

The Junior-Ms.-Sportswear Anna was right. He had to be crazy.

4

Anna knew little about getting around by herself in the world outside the Apollo. Even the physical exams she had to take every six months because of her allergy were handled by a doctor in the complex. It was a rare occasion that found her outside, and rarer still, alone.

As soon as the demonstration ended, she hurried toward The Greenwich Department Store, feeling a need for the security of Rowan’s company, completely dependent upon his knowledge of a transportation system she seldom used. She also felt uneasy because he had not checked out the store visit with INAFT. Never in her life had she gone anyplace without getting the “All Clear” first. To make matters worse, she saw a large dog coming toward her. Although he was on a leash, Anna ducked quickly into a store entryway to wait until the beast had passed. Not only was she allergic to animals, she was frightened to death of them. When the dog finally disappeared she went on.

Inside the store she felt relieved when she immediately spotted Rowan. Then she noticed the strange expression on his face. Instead of coming toward her, he seemed rooted to the middle of the aisle.

She hurried up to him and said, “Don’t just stand there like a dummy. Come on, let’s go home.”

“Anna?”

“What?”

“Is it really you?”

“Are you crazy, Rowan?”

“I think maybe I am. It is you, isn’t it?”

“Stop being silly.”

He persisted. “You’re Anna Hart? Anna Zimmerman Hart, my sister?”

“Oh, Rowan, quit fooling around. You’re not funny.”

“All right, I’m not funny, but if it’s really you,” he stabbed a finger toward the Junior Ms. Sportswear Department, “then who is that?”

Anna’s glance followed his finger to alight on the back of a girl who was looking through a rack of clothes. “How should I know who she is?” Then the girl turned slightly. Anna saw her profile and realized what Rowan was talking about. “I see what you mean. She looks something like me.”

“Something! She looks exactly like you. Exactly!” Anna took another look. It was an illusion, of course. Probably caused by distance. If the girl were closer she would take on her own identity. Now Anna felt compelled to move toward the girl, hardly aware Rowan was trailing her. Before they reached her, the girl turned fully around. She frowned when she saw Rowan, then her eyes flicked to Anna. In the next instant, her mouth dropped open. Anna, in a perplexed daze, quickly closed the distance between them, and the two stood staring at each other for a long moment. As if of one mind, they both turned to a nearby full-length mirror to scrutinize each other in it and confirm what Anna already knew but couldn’t believe. They looked enough alike to be twins. Identical twins. It was uncanny.

Anna’s hand rose to a small dark birthmark to the right of her mouth. “You even have a mole like mine, and in the same place.” Then she noticed one difference and pounced upon it. “You’re taller than I am.”

Relief sounded in the girl’s voice as she said, “You’re right. I’m much taller.”

In the next moment, Anna followed the girl’s glance as it traveled down to their shoes. The girl wore heels, Anna flats. “You’re not taller,” Anna murmured.

Rowan said, “I’ve heard of doppelgangers, but this has got to beat any of them.”

Doppelganger. Anna remembered that in German the word meant a ghostly double. Was it possible for two unrelated people to look so much alike? “What’s your name?”

“Anna Smithson. What’s yours?”

It can’t be, Anna thought. That was really straining the laws of probability. “I’m Anna Hart,” she said, then told herself that this just had to be some eerie coincidence. She couldn’t yet come to terms with a situation that was threatening her uniqueness. Undoubtedly her likeness to the girl ended with physical appearance. And even though they had the same first name they had different last names, different families. Anna felt a sudden need to pursue their differences. But where to start? From the beginning, of course. That was the logical place, and Anna was always logical. “My full name is Anna Zimmerman Hart. What’s your full name?” From the stricken look on the girl’s face Anna guessed the answer. She said in a small voice, “Anna Zimmerman, too?”

The girl nodded.

Anna’s eyes shot to Rowan in desperation. There was something awfully wrong. Tell me it’s some kind of joke, she silently asked him. His answering gaze held only mystification. Anna glanced back to the girl, suddenly afraid to probe further.

The girl must have felt the same. She edged away from them, saying, “I think I’d better go now.” She glanced quickly at her wristwatch. “I’ve got to meet my mother in five minutes.” She turned and fled down the aisle, in her rush, almost smashing into the glass exit doors. She caught herself up just as the automatic eye began to move them, then when the opening was just wide enough to accommodate her, dashed through.

“You’d think someone was chasing her,” Rowan said.

In a worried voice, Anna said, “What’s it all about, Rowan?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. You not only have a doppelganger, but you’re both named Anna Zimmerman Something. That’s a big coincidence.”

“You don’t know how big.” Anna’s mind was already figuring the odds and all they told her was that something was very wrong.

“Come on,” Rowan said. “Let’s go home and see what Mom and Dad have to say about it.”

Anna wasn’t sure she wanted to find out, but she followed him, lost now in her own thoughts. On the long trip home she said hardly a word, too caught up in the disturbing dilemma to think of anything else. She was a twin. There was no other explanation. Whether she was a Smithson twin, a Hart twin, or the twin of unknown parents, she had no idea. Someone had given her away at birth. Either that, or the Harts had given away her sister. Or someone else had given away both of them. Yet why did they have the same first and middle names? Had someone mixed them up? And there was something else that bothered her, something about the girl’s looks, something she’d heard about identical twins but couldn’t quite put her finger on. Her mind refused to work properly. And that was unlike her. It was also unlike her to feel so threatened.

Before any other emotion could steal in upon her, numbers began flooding her head, gigantic columns of them to add, subtract, multiply, divide, enough to keep her busy for the whole journey home. Her riches. An embarrassment of riches. Anna felt a little better. Almost safe.

“I suppose I’ll have to tell you the whole story now,” Sarah Hart said to her daughter as they talked privately in Anna’s room. “I was going to wait until you reached puberty. We felt you would understand better then. That was when I was supposed ... when I was going to tell you.”

“What’s puberty got to do with anything? And I already know what you’re going to tell me. I’m a twin.” Anna had the feeling that she didn’t want to hear what was coming. Had it not been for Rowan she might have never even mentioned the experience in The Greenwich. At least she would have thought about it longer before saying anything. Rowan hadn’t even waited until Dad came home. I hope he’s dying of curiosity now, Anna thought. Her mother had excluded him, insisting on talking to Anna first and alone.

“Did you say twin?” Sarah Hart asked, sounding as if she was stalling, giving herself time to think.

“Yes. I saw her.” Somehow Anna couldn’t warm to the idea of having an identical sister. At the moment, she had no wish to see the girl again. It occurred to her now that the disturbing feelings she experienced so often always left her with something she’d thought of as a sense of incompleteness, as if there were cloudy flashes of memory that never quite came into focus. Could that possibly have anything to do with her birth? Had she always carried deep inside her the knowledge that somewhere she had a twin? It was almost like having another self, a missing self.

Sarah Hart turned Anna’s desk chair around and sat down on it. She leaned forward and patted the edge of the bed. “Sit here, Anna, where I can look at you. I’ve got so much to tell you, and I want to be sure you understand.”

“Maybe I don’t want to hear it.”

Her mother sighed. “I’m afraid you must after today. Don’t be frightened. What I’m going to tell you will make you feel proud.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re very privileged. You’re part of a unique experiment.”

“An experiment?” Anna shifted uneasily. “What kind of experiment?”

“Now, let me tell it in my own way. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’ve practiced this in my head so many times, yet it doesn’t seem to be coming out right. Well, I’ll just start from the beginning.” She took a deep breath and settled back in the chair. “Before you were born there was a woman named Anna Zimmerman.”

Another Anna Zimmerman? A relative? Or only a namesake? Now Anna gave her mother rapt attention.

“She was a brilliant physicist who was doing terribly important government work when she died accidentally in a laboratory fire. They pulled her out but were too late to save her, as well as much of her work.”

“Did you know her?”

“No, I didn’t. But I knew of her and of her work.”

“I don’t understand what all this has to do with me. Why do I have her name?”

“I’m getting to that. I told you she was doing important work. When she died, she was supposed to be close to a real breakthrough that would have made a fantastic replicator possible.”

“A replicator?”

“Yes, a machine that could produce food from basic elements--nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen--or produce any other three-dimensional object ... a machine that could even duplicate itself so that everyone could have one.”

Yes, that certainly would be important, Anna had to admit, but right now her mind was too concerned with the mystery of herself to focus on an idea that, ordinarily, would have seemed exciting to her. “I still don’t understand where I come in.”

“I’m coming to that. You’ve heard of genetic engineering.”

That wasn’t the branch of science that really interested Anna, but she was aware that scientists, for years, had been experimenting with living cells in the hope that they might someday find cures for inherited diseases or improve plant or animal life. “Of course I know what genetic engineering is,” Anna said. “They haven’t gotten too far with it, though--at least, not as far as people are concerned.”

“Ah! That’s where you’re wrong, Anna.”

“What do you mean?”

“A little more than twelve years ago scientists duplicated their first human being from body cells only, an asexual reproduction.”

Anna’s stomach tightened. Her mother had to be mistaken. “It’s not in any of the science books. My teachers would have mentioned it if that were true.”

“Your teachers don’t even know about it. Only the few people involved know. There was such a clamor against genetic engineering that the government deliberately kept it secret. No one could be sure of how it would turn out. Anything could have gone wrong. It was an experiment. They were breaking new ground. They had to move cautiously until they were certain it worked. With this kind of knowledge, there are as many possibilities for bad as there are for good, you know. Everything has to be weighed no matter how long it takes.” She leaned forward, took both of Anna’s hands in hers, and stared deeply into her eyes.

Anna braced herself.

“You and I are a part of that first experiment. We should both feel proud.”

Anna’s mind refused to take it in. She had to hear the words spoken. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m trying to tell you that after her death scientists took the nuclei from cells in Anna Zimmerman’s body, injected them into human eggs, and then into the uteri of certain chosen women.”

“They cloned her?”

“Yes, and as you’ve probably guessed, I was one of the women who carried her clone. They selected Anna Zimmerman for the experiment purely because her work was so important, and it was lost to everyone when she died. They hoped that her clone or clones could go over the same ground and unlock the same mysteries.”

Anna was stunned. Now she realized what it was she couldn’t put her finger on when she’d stared at the girl she had thought was her twin. It was the mole near the girl’s mouth, and on the same side as her own. Identical twins were mirror images of each other. If one had a mole on one side, the other had it on the opposite side.

No, she was not a twin, she was a clone. Oh, she knew theoretically what a clone was, but what was it really? She understood about cells, how every one of the countless cells in a human body carried a complete blueprint for reproducing that whole person. The scientists must have taken a cell from Anna Zimmerman, removed that blueprint, substituted it for whatever genetic material was in the egg they used, then planted it inside her mother’s body. Her mother . . . “That means you’re really not my mother. And Dad isn’t my father. And Rowan isn’t my brother.”

“I may not be your genetic mother, but there are other ways of being a mother. Remember, I bore you and raised you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my child and --”

“If you’re not my genetic mother, who is? Anna Zimmerman’s mother? Is her father my father?” In her agitation, Anna’s voice was rising. “Or don’t I have any parents? Can you tell me that? Can anyone tell me?”

“Anna, you mustn’t upset yourself. Try to realize that you are a very special person with a very important destiny. Anna Zimmerman was considered a near-genius.”

“How many others are there?”

“I don’t know, Anna. For all I know, there may be only two--you and the girl you saw today. But that’s why we had to be so careful about checking with INAFT whenever you left the complex--to avoid something like this happening.”

Even INAFT, a machine, knew. If anyone had asked it if Anna Zimmerman Hart could visit The Greenwich on that day, at that time, it would have claimed there were dangerous demonstrations en route or riots in the street or anything except the truth, which was the clones must never run into each other. Then another thought dawned on Anna. “That’s why I have to go for a physical checkup every six months. It’s not because of my allergy at all, it is?”

Sarah Hart smiled. “I admit it. That’s why you go. And that’s how we know the experiment is proving successful. Anna, just think of what this means. It means genius does not have to die--or talent or beauty or health--not when we can clone an Anna Zimmerman or a new Einstein, should there ever be one. Why, we even have the potential now to produce embryonic replicas of everyone and freeze them away as a source of replacement organs for transplants. Imagine, if you need a new heart, there it is, and your body can’t reject it because it comes from an identical twin.”

As Sarah Hart went on excitedly, Anna asked herself, What am I? Who am I? It was all too much to understand. She needed time to think about it. A very special person, her mother had said. A unique experiment. New ground.

And all those words meant clone.

The numbers began to pour into her head, nice neat rows of them to arrange and rearrange, to work up and down and across, to crowd out words. Lots and lots of numbers and no words.

5

Rowan sat in class, facing Ms. Dupont, the new music history teacher, yet not seeing her because his thoughts were on Anna. It was mind- boggling. Absolutely mind-boggling. His mother had had to explain all of the physical details before he could even understand exactly what a clone was. And what was even more mind-boggling was that his father didn’t know anything about the experiment. Nothing!

“And you mustn’t tell him,” his mother had said. “I’ll tell him in my own time and in my own way. But for now, it’ll be our secret--yours, mine, and Anna’s. I’ve already told her she’s not to say anything.”

“I can’t understand why he wasn’t in on it in the first place,” Rowan said.

He thought she looked a little guilty as she said, “The requirements were quite rigid, and I understood they were having trouble finding people. And we were perfect--one of us had to be a physicist, the other, something in the arts, preferably music. I was even doing lab research on the same kind of replicator Anna Zimmerman was working on. And the idea was so exciting. Then I sounded out your father. Well, you just can’t imagine how opposed he was, even in theory. In the end, I simply forged his name to the paper we were both supposed to sign.”

Rowan gave a low whistle. “I’d say that was going a bit far even for the cause of science.”

“I know. Believe me, I’ve had more than one moment when I’ve regretted doing things that way. But I was a bit younger then and very dedicated. I felt there were some things that were more important than individuals, particularly this experiment, because it could mean so much to the future of humanity. I really believed then that I knew what was best for everyone, including humanity. Now I’m not so sure about anything.”

“I wonder what Dad will say when he knows.”

“But why should it make any difference to him? Anna will be the same Anna he’s loved and accepted all these years. The fact that she isn’t his natural child doesn’t make her different or any less important. He’ll still love her, just as you and I do.”

“Don’t include me!’ Rowan exclaimed. Although his mother looked shocked, no one could have been more shocked than Rowan at his outburst. Never in his life had he voiced his feelings about Anna. And now he didn’t have to feel guilty. After all, she was Anna Zimmerman, a stranger, not even a relative, let alone his sister.

“You can’t mean that, Rowan.”

“Oh, yes, I can. I don’t love her. Why should I? She’s never had any feelings for anyone except herself. I’ve never known anyone more selfish. She’ll steal if it suits her, lie if it suits her. Not only do I not love her, I don’t even like her.” Instantly Rowan hated himself. Why did he have to spout off like that? If he couldn’t love Anna, that was his problem. Why worry his mother?

“Rowan, I’m sure you’re exaggerating because of what you’ve just found out. I know it’s a big shock, but think of Anna. It’s a shock to her, too. We have to do everything we can to help her accept her identity.” She pondered for a moment, then added, “She wasn’t supposed to be told until puberty. But when this happened--and it was all because of your carelessness, Rowan--I felt she had to know. But I don’t suppose it really matters. She’s so close to puberty now anyhow.”

“Why were you supposed to wait until then?”

“That was the time we all agreed upon. Otherwise Anna or one of the others might have given the whole thing away at some point. You know how youngsters are. That was not a chance worth taking. And then there was the other aspect.”

“What other aspect?”

Her eyes measured him for a time before she said, “You mustn’t mention this to Anna. It could only worry her. They felt that puberty would be the most critical time of the experiment, when the body cells change so greatly.”

“What could happen?”

“Nobody knows, of course. Personally, I think they’re being overly cautious. They just want to be sure that nothing physically bad happens.”

“Like what?”

She said impatiently, “Honestly, Rowan, I don’t know--cancer, perhaps.”

That startled him. She made it sound as if Anna and all the other Annas were living machines that might explode at any moment. A sick feeling washed over him. Perhaps that was what they were. Living machines. That would certainly explain a great deal about Anna. Or had the first Anna Zimmerman had the same unfeeling kind of personality?

Rowan wasn’t quite sure his mother was any more ethical than Anna, fooling them all that way. She had even insisted Zimmerman was an old family name that she wanted to carry on, and no one had even questioned her. Rowan couldn’t begin to imagine how his dad would feel when he found out.

Then a horrifying thought struck Rowan. “What about me?”

For a moment his mother looked perplexed. “What do you mean?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, but she must have seen the fear in his eyes and understood, because she quickly reassured him. “Oh, no, Rowan. You were born in the old-fashioned way, the way babies have always been born. You have only to look in the mirror to see how much you look like me.”

That was true. He did look like his mother. They were both tall, slim, and leggy with dark chestnut hair, olive skin, high cheekbones, and brown eyes. They even had similar cowlicks. Yes, she was obviously telling the truth. And what a relief that was. For the first time, he felt a stab of sympathy for Anna. “Have they cloned anyone else?”

“I don’t know, but I must admit, I’ve wondered. With everyone pressing for the one-child family these days, it almost seems suspect when you see couples with two or more. Believe me, I’ve felt the social stigma myself. At a time when we so desperately need to reduce population, you can’t help but feel guilty for overbreeding.”

“Then why make more people by cloning them?”

“Because of all the good it can do.” She went on to explain all the possibilities cloning would open up. Nothing was left to chance that way. You could duplicate any kind of person you wished or needed. “You see,” she said, “we’ve foiled nature. We’ve stopped the process of evolution. We’ve found too many ways of keeping alive people with genetic diseases, giving them the chance to reproduce themselves and perpetuate their weaknesses. Cloning will be a way of mastering evolution.”

“I don’t understand. How?”

“For one thing, we’re learning how to reprogram body cells, possibly alter the message within them that determines whether a person will have an inherited disease like diabetes.”

His mother was always most convincing when she put forth a scientific argument, yet why did the thought make his skin crawl? He’d never felt quite easy with many aspects of what was considered technological progress. Was it progress that so many people were living on manufactured foods these days? Fortunately his family fared better than most because of his mother’s connections. Or was there another reason for that? he wondered now.

“Does all this business with Anna have anything to do with our getting more and better food than most people?” he asked.

“Yes, it does, Rowan. Because of our participation in the experiment, we get preference and even gifts. Of course, that had nothing to do with my decision to be a part of one of the great moments in science.”

Rowan could believe that. He was well aware that, with his mother, the need to know always took precedence over everything else. In some ways, she seemed to him a kind of innocent with the sublime faith that the knowers would always use their knowledge sensibly and for good ends.

It was now five days since they’d talked about it, and he still wasn’t used to the idea. As he sat at his desk, mulling over all the disturbing elements of the situation, he was only dimly aware of the teacher’s voice going on about something. He forced himself out of his reverie as she was saying, “The nineteenth century gave us Schubert, Schumann, Chopin, Wagner, and Brahms.”

There was a breathless lilt to her voice that made him think of a violin playing saltando, bouncing the bow lightly on the strings. Ms. Dupont was an interesting-looking woman, he decided. Some might even call her handsome. She wore her straight black hair parted in the middle and pulled tightly back into a chignon at her neck. Her fair skin and green eyes contrasted with her dark hair, but it was not her coloring but her exotically oriental look that made her seem mysteriously intriguing.

“The nineteenth century also gave us Dvorak, Debussy, Tchaikovsky, and Puccini. Yet it gave us nothing better than the first movement of Beethoven’s Eroica.” Ms. Dupont’s glance moved over the class and settled on Rowan. “Do you agree, Rowan Hart?”

He flushed at being singled out, surprised that she remembered his name. This was his first time in class since she’d taken over. He opened his mouth to answer her question with a docile yes, then found himself saying, “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

She smiled, and he almost had the feeling he had passed some test. Then she said, “You’re quite right. And can you tell me whose opinion that was?”

He wanted to say yours, but that was obviously not the answer she was looking for. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“I see.” She paused, her eyes resting on him long enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Finally she said, “Well, someday I must tell you. For now, I would appreciate it if you would remain a few moments after class.”

Apparently he had not passed the test. Now he felt thoroughly annoyed with her. Perhaps she didn’t realize the conservatory was a very special school for the musically gifted. Its teachers were not in the habit of doling out punishment, if that’s what she thought she was doing, for something so trivial. He brooded about it until class ended, then stayed in his seat until everyone had left. When he saw her coming toward him, he got up.

To his surprise, she said, “I’m so happy to meet you, Rowan. Your father is very proud of you and with good reason, I’m sure.” She stood close enough for him to catch her scent. She smelled like a garden, he thought.

“You’ve met my father?” he asked, knowing full well that, of course, she would have met his father, a department head for stringed instruments as well as orchestra master for the conservatory symphony.

“Oh, yes, a delightful man. And now I have met his son. And tomorrow evening I will meet the rest of your family. Your father has asked me to dinner.”

“Oh,” Rowan said, somehow surprised. Yet it was like his father to ask a member, especially a new member, of the faculty to dinner to share the largess that so often fell to his wife. “My father’s a good cook.”

“Is he? Then I’ll certainly look forward to the evening.”

So will I, Rowan thought. “See you then,” he said, and hurried on to his next class, feeling, for some reason, better than he’d felt all day.

6

Anna had never had any real interest in other people. She had no friends and needed none.

The members of her family she accepted as people who were there to provide for her needs. Rowan had told her many times that she was obnoxious. What he didn’t know was that she was not nearly as obnoxious as she might have been had she not learned that pretending to comply with other people’s needs and wishes made life simpler and even attracted rewards. If you were clever, and Anna was, you could always find ways to get around the rules and get what you wanted.

Although she could not empathize with other people’s pain, she was very concerned with her own. The knowledge that she was a clone was a blow. It was all she could think of in the days that followed her encounter with the other Anna Zimmerman. They might as well tell me that I’m not me, Anna thought, that there isn’t any me. And if there isn’t any me, who am I, this body I can see in a mirror? Am I the dead Anna Zimmerman living a second life? Are my thoughts only her thoughts? Who am I? What am I?

The way Rowan was treating her now, she might have been the INAFT machine or a robot of some sort to whom you only spoke to give orders or directions. He even seemed to avoid looking at her now. And Dad, how would he act with her when he found out? But he wasn’t her dad anyhow. She kept forgetting that. What about other people? Would they eventually find out? Would it appear in all the newspapers with headlines that read First Clones Great Success?

Probably there would be a documentary on television called Clones, the Great Experiment, starring all the Anna Zimmermans. What would the emcee of the show ask them? How does it feel to see so many other girls who look exactly like you? And how many girls would there be anyhow? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? Are you all math brains? he would undoubtedly ask. Yes, we’d say, of course we are. Can you give the audience a demonstration Of course we can.

What would we do? Anna wondered. Outshriek each other giving answers to complicated problems? Finally the emcee would get around to the big question: How does it feel to know you are a clone? All the Anna Zimmermans would shout, “I am a very special person with a very important destiny.” Yes, yes, but how does it feel? Special. Important. But how does it really feel? Special, important, special--oh, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

Anna could not come to grips with her new knowledge. She tried to put it aside by keeping her head full of numbers, working out difficult equations, harder and harder problems, but between each answer, clone kept worming its way in. Finally she knew what she had to do. She had to find out who Anna Zimmerman was, who the woman’s mother and father were, and anything else she could learn.

It was a Thursday evening, just before the Harts’ dinner guest was due, when Anna came to that conclusion. As she headed for the communications room, the door buzzer sounded. Even so, she told herself, she should have enough time to get her information. Rowan’s parents, as she was beginning to think of them, would spend some time having drinks with the guest first.

Inside the room, she made for INAFT, the communications console, which had a TV screen, camera, microphone, computer keyboard, and a printout device. For a nominal monthly service fee the Harts were able to take advantage of satellite transmittal, hooking into the National Research Data Processing and Information Center. Anna often used the machine for schoolwork. By dialing the proper number, she could make everything from newspaper articles to information from books and periodicals flash on the screen. There was even a button to toss out hard copy.

Now Anna started to feed in her name as she had always done, then thought better of it. She was not supposed to know anything about Anna Zimmerman. Instead, she fed in Sarah Hart’s name and the number that identified the kind of information available to her. Then Anna slyly asked the machine for the names of all female physicists working during the years 1962 to 1990. She waited impatiently through all the familiar clicking sounds that told her the machine was busily handling the problem. At last, lists of names flashed on the screen, one after another. There were more women in that profession than Anna would have guessed, but not one Anna Zimmerman.

Finally Anna decided to brazen it through. Sarah Hart, she directed the machine, wished all biographical material on Anna Zimmerman, physicist, who had died around 1987. Anna waited again. To her disappointment, the words “No Information Available” appeared on the screen. She couldn’t believe it. There had to be information about a woman important enough to be cloned. There had to be.

She stared and stared at the letters until a new thought struck her. It did not say “No Information.” It said, “No Information Available.” As far as Anna was concerned, it might as well have added “To the Hart INAFT machine.” Damn. If her mother had only let them know that she’d told Anna the whole story, they would probably have released the information. But, no, her mother was too concerned she’d be criticized for carelessness.

And it wouldn’t do a bit of good to try the library in the complex. They would have made sure there was not a scrap of material about her namesake there. Namesake? That was a laugh. She was much more. But exactly what is she to me? Anna wondered. My twin? My other half? My alter ego? It was a question she couldn’t answer. She was only grateful that her search for knowledge about Anna Zimmerman gave her something concrete with which to grapple, a goal, the kind of thing she knew how to handle. She would have to gain access to someone else’s INAFT machine. The information had to exist and she had to have it.

“You aren’t eating, Anna. Aren’t you feeling well?” Sarah Hart asked.

Graham Hart had prepared an oriental dinner with a great platter of meat and crisp vegetables, another of meat in a sweet-sour sauce, another with eggs, still another with shrimp, a rare delicacy. Bowls of brown rice sat at each place and at both ends of the table, pots of steaming, fragrant tea.

“I’m all right,” Anna told her mother, then began nibbling at the food on her plate. Ordinarily she loved oriental food, but tonight everything seemed to stick in her throat. Not only did she have a great deal on her mind, but there was the dinner guest Michaela Dupont to contend with. Anna recognized her as the same woman who had appeared at the window of the apartment across the park on the night of the music, that strange music that had made Anna feel bad. Now she couldn’t keep her eyes off the woman. And it wasn’t because Anna was sensitive to the moods or personalities of others. Yet something about this woman made her feel uneasy.

Tonight the feeling had started as soon as they’d all sat down at the table. Anna was not only allergic to animal hair, but to many scents. She’d caught a whiff of Michaela’s perfume and felt sick. Then the woman, apparently trying to be helpful, had immediately fished matches from her bag, saying, “Oh, let me,” and proceeded to light the ornate candelabra in the center of the table.

With the sight of the small flame, Anna’s hand shot to her eyes to shield them. “Put it out, put it out,” she screamed.

“Oh, dear, did I do something wrong?” Michaela asked.

Anna could hear hurried movement, then blowing sounds. “It’s all right, Anna,” Sarah Hart said. She explained to Michaela, “I’m afraid the candles are only decorative. Flashing lights give Anna severe migraines.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Michaela said.

Sarah Hart, her voice cool, said, “That’s all right. You couldn’t have known.”

Now Anna wondered why the woman should make her feel so edgy. In all her relationships with people, she had felt neither love nor hate. She divided people into two categories--those who could contribute in some way to her well-being, and those who could not. The first group she tolerated, the second she ignored. Then why couldn’t she ignore this woman? I dislike her, Anna thought. She looks like pictures you see in old-time comic strips of dangerous, evil women. Or like some wicked stepmother in a fairy tale.

Graham Hart had heaped their plates with helpings from each serving dish. After the woman had tried them, one after another, she declared, “Wonderful--just wonderful.”

Graham Hart beamed at her. “Haven’t you ever eaten Chinese food?”

“No, I never have. And it’s very good. You’re a marvelous cook. My, I’ve been missing a lot.” Sarah Hart said, “You couldn’t please Graham more. He dotes on praise for his cooking.” She gave a forced smile. “You two could start a mutual admiration society. He’s been singing your praises for some days now, Ms. Dupont.”

“Oh, how nice--and call me Michaela, please--all of you.” She glanced across the table to Rowan, who sat next to Anna. “You, too, Rowan--but not in class.”

Anna, never taking her eyes from the woman, pushed the food around on her plate as the others talked. Michaela Dupont seemed completely unaware of her.

Rowan said to the woman, “You mentioned Beethoven’s Eroica the other day, Ms.--I mean, Michaela. That’s my dad’s favorite, too.”

“I didn’t say it was my favorite. I was quoting that opinionated Mencken. Nevertheless, I do like Beethoven very much.”

Again Graham Hart beamed at her. “Ah, yes. There was a man who put the feelings of a giant into his work. Nothing trivial about Beethoven.”

“You’re right,” Michaela said. “He’s a powerful personality, a man of deep feeling.”

“I couldn’t agree more. That’s why Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and Mendelssohn never turned out anything with substance. They were shallow men. Beethoven now--he storms, he raves, he growls. He takes us into the depths of hell and lifts us to the skies.”

“Oh, indeed,” she said. “He’s certainly not a romantic. His great concern is always the eternal tragedy of human life.”

“You make him sound alive,” Sarah Hart said, a little superior smile on her lips.

Anna knew her mother was quickly bored with what she called “Graham’s shoptalk.”

Michaela stared at Sarah Hart for a long moment, seemingly at a loss. Then Graham Hart put in, “But of course Beethoven is alive. He’s one of the immortals. He’ll always live on through his music.”

His wife rolled her eyes. “Oh, really, Graham--you don’t usually talk in clichés.”

He said, “A cliché is a cliché because it’s true.” “And that, too, is a cliché,” she said.

He reddened. “Well, suppose you tell me what isn’t? Everything’s been said before.” He scowled, then added, “And that, too, is a cliché,”

For the briefest moment the two glared at each other. They were bickering at the table and in front of a guest, Anna thought. They’d never done that before. It’s that woman’s fault. There’s something wrong about her. I knew there was. Even Rowan looks shocked.

Anna could tell he was trying to change the subject as he said to Michaela, “Which of Beethoven’s symphonies do you like best?”

She gave him a dazzling smile and said readily, “The Fifth.” She turned the same smile on Graham Hart and said, “I understand you’re a violist.”

“Yes, I am. Which certainly doesn’t explain my fondness for Beethoven. In his day, with the exception of Brahms, composers tended to belittle the viola. About all a violist did in an orchestra then was to ‘oompah’ while the violinist played the important part.”

Michaela said, “I’ve heard it said that the viola is a philosopher--sad, helpful, always ready to come to the aid of others, but reluctant to call attention to itself.”

“That’s Dad, all right,” Rowan said.

Anna said, “He’s not sad.”

“Maybe not,” Sarah Hart said, “but the rest fits. I’m always telling him he deserves more notice and the only way he’ll get it is to demand it, stop being so self-effacing.”

“And I keep telling you, Sarah, that the viola is a supporting instrument, a role that takes every bit as much skill and, at least for me, is even more gratifying than playing first violin.”

“You just don’t understand the workings of an orchestra, Mom,” Rowan said. “If a violist played too loudly or too anything, he could throw the whole string section off. Every violist in the conservatory symphony has to deal in the kind of subtleties that I don’t when I play first violin. Why, the violists have the power to upset the whole social structure of an orchestra.”

Anna saw her father wink at Rowan as he said, “You see, Sarah, you have it all wrong. The real power lies with me. It’s got to say something for my social consciousness that I haven’t used that power badly so far.”

Michaela said, “That’s a very good thing to have -- social consciousness.”

Sarah Hart, in a manner that implied that if there was any social consciousness among present company, she had yet to see it, said, “Yes, it is. It certainly is.”

Her husband ignored her to turn to their guest. “Some more tea, Michaela?”

“Oh, thank you, Graham. It’s delicious.”

He said, “After dinner I hope to coax you to play for us on that piano you were admiring in the living room a little while ago.”

“On the Bechstein? Oh, I’d love to. I’ve been longing to try it.”

“Good.”

No, not good, Anna thought. Bad. Once more she remembered the strange music and a feeling of terror ran through her. What if the woman played that awful piece again?

Anna’s fears were unjustified, however. Michaela played a Bach prelude and fugue. The woman had chosen one of Graham Hart’s favorites, almost as if she had known that was the case. But, of course, she couldn’t have, Anna thought. What was even more irritating was the fact that Anna herself had tried to but had never mastered the piece to the satisfaction of either Rowan or her father. And there she went again, thinking of him as her father. Look at him, sitting there drinking in that woman’s playing, looking as pleased as he would over a perfect soufflé, Anna thought disgustedly. And Rowan was no better. He acted like a little kid listening to a fairy tale. Anna, bored, sulked through the whole performance.

When Michaela finished, Graham Hart declared enthusiastically, “That has got to be as lovely as the song of the sirens.”

To Anna’s further annoyance, Rowan said, “You see, Anna, that’s the way that piece should be played.”

Graham Hart picked right up on the words. “Yes, Anna. I hope you’ve learned something tonight.” She shrugged indifferently.

“Oh, it’s Anna who plays this wonderful instrument,” Michaela said, running her hands lovingly over the gleaming ebony.

“She’s taken lessons since she was a little thing,” Sarah Hart said.

“And I’m not at all pleased with her progress under her present teacher,” Graham Hart said. “She learned quickly enough in the beginning, but she’s not developing as she should at this stage.”

“Perhaps I could help,” Michaela offered. “I’ve often taught.”

Anna went all cold inside. “I don’t need help. I’m not going to become a musician.”

Graham Hart paid no attention to her. “That’s very kind of you, Michaela, but we couldn’t ask you to take the time --”

“Oh, no problem,” she said quickly. “I have Saturday mornings free.”

Before Anna knew what was happening, they had everything arranged. She would spend an hour every Saturday at Michaela’s apartment, starting the day after tomorrow. Anna was furious. She contained herself until the woman had gone. Then she said to Graham Hart, “You should have asked me, because I am absolutely not going to her house.”

Sarah Hart said, “I don’t care for the woman myself.”

He glanced from one to the other. “I really don’t understand either of you. I’ve never seen you act rude to a guest, Sarah. What got into you?”

“I told you, I don’t care for her. And that scent she wears--she must douse herself in it.”

“I liked it,” Rowan said.

“Nobody asked you,” Anna said.

Graham Hart said, “And you, Anna, should be grateful instead of complaining. The woman’s an accomplished musician. Not only that, her playing has something yours lacks -- warmth. You could learn something from her. I don’t care whether you like her or not.”

“I don’t see why I have to learn piano anyhow when I have so many more important things to learn. After all, I’m a very special person with a very important destiny.” Anna saw the startled look in her mother’s eyes but she didn’t care.

“That’s exactly why you have to learn piano,” Graham Hart said. “It may help you to overcome some of that arrogance. Besides that, you’re too lopsided, Anna. Science is fine, but let’s temper it with some knowledge of the humanities.”

“I’m not going to her house,” Anna said stubbornly. “I’m not, I’m not!”

“Then I’ll have to insist,” Graham Hart said. “As your father, it’s my responsibility to look out for your best interests.”

“But you’re not my father!”

“Now, Anna, don’t give me -- “ A heavy silence fell over the room as he paused and stared at Anna, a bewildered expression on his face. “What did you say?”

“I said you’re not my father.” Anna could see Sarah Hart and Rowan exchange anxious glances.

Graham Hart turned to his wife. “What’s she talking about?”

Anna opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Sarah Hart said, “Anna, go to your room at once. You, too, Rowan. I want to talk to your father alone.”

Anna said, “But -- “

“Not another word. I said go!” She shooed both Anna and Rowan from the room.

You’d think we were kids, Anna thought.

Rowan said to her, “What a rotten evening,” and glared at her as if it was all her fault.

Well, it was a rotten evening for her, too. Nevertheless, she was glad she’d told Graham Hart he was not her father. She had the feeling she was almost getting even with someone. After all, why should she be the only one to suffer?

7

After classes the next day Rowan made a point of seeking out Michaela Dupont. He had some vague notion that he must somehow warn her about Anna. After all, look what Anna had pulled on his father last night in spite of her promise to keep quiet. Poor Dad. Rowan couldn’t begin to imagine how he would take the knowledge that he wasn’t Anna’s father. No, you certainly couldn’t trust that girl.

Knowing Anna as well as he did, he was dead sure that somewhere in her dealings with Michaela she would sooner or later do something dishonest or disgraceful. And when she did, he would be the one who would feel ashamed, not Anna. Oh, no, never Anna. He wanted Michaela to know he wasn’t the least bit like his sister. Sister! She wasn’t even a relative. How he wished he could let the whole world know. Perhaps he should tell Michaela that Anna was mentally sick. Or would that also reflect upon him?

He was pondering the question when he found Michaela at her desk, going through papers. She gave him a bright smile and said, “I’m glad you stopped by, Rowan. I’ve been looking for your father all day to thank him for that lovely dinner. What a treat it was.”

Was she trying to tell him that, his family had more food than other people? Or was it only his guilty conscience making him feel uncomfortable? “I’ll tell him.”

“Good. I had a delightful evening.”

With all that bickering? “I’ll tell my parents,” he said. When she offered nothing further, he shifted uneasily and finally said, “I -- I -- well, I just stopped by to thank you for taking Anna on.”

“I’m glad to.”

“But Anna’s difficult -- to teach, I mean.”

“I’ll manage.”

She wasn’t making things at all easy. “I mean -- I thought -- I mean, I thought you should know how much trouble Anna can be -- that is, as a music student.” Why couldn’t he get out the words? Because he was ashamed, that’s why.

Michaela smiled tolerantly. At length she said, “Rowan, suppose you tell me exactly what you came here to tell me about Anna.”

My God, she was perceptive! But would she understand? He stood at a loss, trying to decide how to tell her.

She prodded him. “Yes?”

He swallowed, then said simply, “She lies.”

“I see.”

“She steals.”

“I see. Not a very moral character, our Anna -- would you put it that way?”

He nodded, feeling deeply embarrassed now. “Maybe it’s a sickness, I don’t know, but I thought I’d better warn you in case she should take something of yours. I wanted you to know that my family will make it good.”

“You don’t like Anna, do you?”

The words made him indignant. Why should she say a thing like that? He hadn’t said one word about his feelings for Anna. “I don’t know why you should think that -- I -- I --” In another moment he found himself blurting out, “How can you like someone who lies and steals and has no feeling for anyone but herself? I don’t think she even knows what the word compassion means.”

Michaela was thoughtfully quiet for a time, then she said, “Sometimes compassion comes only through suffering.”

“Anna suffer? You have to be a human being to suffer. Anna’s a computer. Why, I’ve never even seen her cry.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong, Rowan. There isn’t anyone who hasn’t known suffering of one kind or another.”

“Not Anna,” he said stubbornly.

“Oh, Rowan, you might as well say Anna doesn’t have a soul.”

“That’s it! You put your finger on her trouble. If there’s any such thing as a soul, Anna doesn’t have one.”

“Oh, Rowan --” Michaela laughed. “If that’s the case then it’s a good thing your father wants me to develop her musically. Someone said that in music one thinks with the heart and feels with the brain. Music is very therapeutic, you know. It can reach far into the depths of being and, like Pandora with her box, free all the dark, hidden emotions. Perhaps you and I together can help her.”

“Me!”

“Well, of course. You’ve diagnosed a very serious problem in Anna, Dr. Hart,” she said jokingly. “After all, one can’t let people run around without souls now, can one?”

“But there’s nothing I can do.”

“Oh, yes, there is. People always respond to kindness and understanding. Perhaps you could even try sharing your music with her.”

Her suggestion only made him peevish. “I don’t see how I can do that.”

“And I can’t tell you how either. Just keep the thought in mind and when the opportunity presents itself, your own good sense and heart will tell you how.”

He doubted it. “You said ‘you and I.’ What are you going to do?”

“I’m not completely sure yet, but I’ve dealt with people like Anna before.”

“Brats, you mean.”

She shrugged. “If you will. I have my own methods for handling brats, as you call them. Usually I start with a little shock treatment -- at least, that’s what Anna will consider it. And when she complains, I’m sure she’ll appreciate your sympathy.”

So that was how she planned to get to Anna. It will never work, he thought. “All I can say is, I wish you luck.”

A few minutes later, when he was on his way home, he couldn’t imagine why he’d had such a compelling need to talk to her that day, to confide in her. As for his sharing something like his music with Anna -- forget it.

On Saturday morning, Anna, swinging her carryall, walked clear around the park on her way to Michaela Dupont’s apartment, anything to delay facing that awful woman. If it were not for him, Mr. Graham Hart, she wouldn’t be in this situation. He had insisted she keep the appointment with Michaela. They were all her enemies, Anna thought -- Rowan, who didn’t like her, Graham Hart, who had said all those nasty things about her Thursday night. The only one who seemed to be on her side was Sarah Hart. And not even she had come to Anna’s aid the next morning. All she’d said was, “Humor your father right now, Anna. He’s in a foul mood. When he calms down, I’ll get you out of those lessons with that woman.”

Anna knew all about his foul mood. After the argument that night, she had tiptoed to the living room, only to find that Graham and Sarah Hart had obviously taken themselves to their soundproof bedroom to tall. Anna followed them there to stare at the closed door, then press her ear against it. Still she couldn’t hear anything. And they were talking about her, she knew. She had every right to know what they were saying. Every right. Carefully, she turned the knob and eased the door open the slightest bit.

Graham Hart’s voice boomed against her ear- drams. “I don’t believe you. You’re making up some poor excuse to explain away someone else’s child.” Then her mother’s voice, calm, controlled. “That’s beneath you, Graham. How can you have so little faith in me? Please be reasonable. You know I never lie to you.”

“Never he to me? Ho, ho, ho. That’s a good one! What do you call all this, anyhow? One big lie is what I call it.” Anna could hear his heavy steps pacing the floor.

“Graham, if you will just calm down for a minute and read this, you’ll see that I’m telling the truth.” The steps ceased and a paper crackled. After a long, long silence, he sputtered, “How could you do such a thing? I’m not sure that’s not worse than having another man’s child. No wonder you never told me. You knew I’d never agree to anything like that. Why, the whole idea is positively obscene!”

“How can you talk to me like that? It just shows -- you have no concern for my feelings.”

“Your feelings! What about my feelings?”

They started hurling angry words back and forth so fast that Anna could hardly follow them. Finally she heard him say, “If you want to know, when it comes right down to it, I’m really relieved to find this out.”

Sounding distracted, Sarah Hart said, “I know this comes as a shock, but I didn’t plan for you to learn it this way.”

“You know why I’m relieved?”

“I know that I’ve done something you don’t approve of, but if you’ll just listen to my side of it --”

“I’m relieved because that kid scares me. I don’t know how many nights I’ve sat up reading psychology books trying to figure out what’s wrong with her.”

“Maybe I’ve made a mistake, but please don’t judge me for it. You’ve got to understand how passionately I felt about the experiment at the time.”

“You know why she scares me? Because when I hear her spouting off all those numbers like some damn machine, I think, ‘Oh, my God, what have I wrought?’ “

“You just don’t understand what an honor it is to be a part of something like this.”

“Not only does she scare me, at times she makes me ashamed. For one thing, take her sticky fingers I’ve talked and talked to her about why stealing is wrong. I’ve even made her return things. Oh, she promises to behave, but her promises mean nothing. I just can’t seem to get through to her. Even worse is her lack of feeling for other human beings. Then there’s her dislike of animals -- that certainly doesn’t seem normal for a young kid.”

“If you’d only listen to me, you’d understand how privileged we are, Graham.”

There was a moment of silence before he said, “Listen to you. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? I’ve just been telling you that I’m glad Anna is not my kid!”

Anna heard a sharp intake of breath, then, “Graham, don’t you ever say anything like that in front of Anna. How you feel isn’t nearly as important as how she feels now. We have to think of her. We have to help her.”

Sarah Hart had gone on talking, but Anna didn’t care to hear more. She’d returned to her room and immersed herself in a calculus book for a time, then spent the rest of the night frantically filling pages and pages with involved equations, working them out quickly and brilliantly, shoving everything else from her mind.

Now as she approached Michaela Dupont’s apartment, she went over the whole thing again. Perhaps she should run away. But where? What family the Harts had was scattered throughout New York State, thousands of miles away. She knew none of them well, had seldom seen them, the aunts, uncles, cousins she’d once thought hers. No, that was no answer.

What about them? What would they do if she went to them and said she didn’t want to live with the Harts any longer? Would they put her in a foster home? And who were they anyhow, the scientists in charge of this secret experiment? Maybe I don’t want to know, Anna thought.

Finally she decided there was only one thing to do. Find out everything she could about Anna Zimmerman, just as she’d planned. Surely the woman would have had some family, and her relatives would be Anna’s, too. Although she was related to them in a peculiar way, they would be of her blood, as the Harts were not. Her family. She would find out their names and search for them. That was why she’d been willing to keep the appointment this morning. She would have access to another INAFT machine. In the meantime, she thought, trust no one. The enemy is everywhere.

Michaela Dupont’s first floor apartment had its own private door. As Anna stood outside, staring at it, she told herself she had nothing to fear. The woman was surely harmless. Even if she wasn’t, what could she do during the hour Anna was there, with the Harts knowing where she was? Nothing, of course.

As Anna approached, the door swung open. Michaela stepped out and said, “Come in, Anna. I’ve been waiting for you.”

For a moment a feeling of panic raced through Anna. I have to get away from her, she thought. Run. Her legs refused to move. Then the woman turned the full brilliance of her smile on Anna. Dazzling. Anna found herself obediently trailing Michaela into the apartment.

“What do you think of this business about Anna?” Graham Hart asked his son.

They had both stayed on at the conservatory after Saturday orchestra practice, Rowan at his father’s request. Although the concert hall had emptied, Rowan was aware that he must speak softly or the sensitive acoustics would pick up his words and bounce them off the walls. “If you mean about her being a clone, I don’t know what I think.” He carefully wrapped his violin in a soft cloth and placed it in its case.

“The thing I can’t overlook is the way your mother deceived me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her for that.”

Rowan glanced up in surprise. His father often confided in him, but not about arguments that concerned his mother. They’d had their differences, Rowan knew, with both so dedicated to their work, but on the whole they got along well enough, his father’s usually easy-going disposition balancing his mother’s rigidity.

Rowan could sense how disturbed his father was. That’s the only reason he’s talking to me about it, he thought. There just isn’t anyone else. After all, it’s a great big government secret. He said, “You know how keen Mom always is about any new discovery or experiment. She said she sounded you out at the time and you were against it.”

He grunted. “If she did, I’ve certainly forgotten after all these years. But you’re darned right I’m against it. She had no right to make me a party to something I’m philosophically opposed to.”

Rowan almost felt responsible for defending his absent mother. “It meant a lot to her, I guess. She says a great deal of good for humanity can come of it.”

“Ah, yes, humanity. That’s what they always say, these people who want to play God. I believe it was Leon Kass, back in the seventies, who said that we stand in the greatest danger from the well-wishers of mankind, because folly is much harder to detect than wickedness.”

“You think cloning people is wicked?”

“I’ve been considering the idea all night and, yes, I’ve concluded that it’s wicked. There’s too much potential for bad. For one thing it doesn’t make me feel all that comfortable to realize it could render the male of the species obsolete. Everything it requires -- human eggs, nuclei, and uteri -- comes from women.”

“I never thought of that.”

“Another thing -- who decides who is to be cloned? Why not clone tyrants? Certainly someone will want to. Cloning people isn’t the only aspect I don’t like. This also means that now scientists can design new organisms. What if a new bacterium that could alter or endanger people’s lives were accidentally, or even deliberately, created? Those are the things I think about.”

“Mom says they only cloned this Anna Zimmerman because of the work she was doing on the replicator.”

“That’s something else I worry about, that replicator your mother’s involved with. Do you realize what will happen if they ever perfect a machine that can produce food or any other three-dimensional object from basic elements?”

Rowan had heard his mother talk about it many times. “Mom says that material things would be so cheap that other things would become valuable -- craftsmanship, art, professional services, that kind of thing. Sounds good to me.”

“Oh, I know what your mother says. But there’s another side. What happens to industry, farming, commerce? A machine like that would make them all obsolete. Instead of money, we’d probably be trading with matrices or whatever kind of coded recordings they’d use to operate the machine.”

“But Mom says --”

“Rowan, I know what your mother says. That doesn’t mean she’s right. When it comes to science, she’s blind.”

The sudden bitterness in his father’s voice frightened Rowan. “You wouldn’t do anything, well, drastic because of this?”

Graham Hart gave a wry smile. “Like get a divorce?”

Rowan nodded.

“No, of course not. My bark is worse than my bite. Although I’m not sure your mother won’t divorce me, the way I sounded off last night. Did you hear any of it?”

“No.” When his mother and father wanted to discuss something private, they used their bedroom, so Rowan and Anna seldom heard any squabbling.

“I don’t often blow up, but when I do, I make up for it. Said a few things last night that I’m already sorry for. Today I’ve been rehashing the whole thing, trying to get a handle on it. The thing I’m trying to accept is that it’s an accomplished fact. If I’d been consulted, I’d never have given my consent. But I wasn’t consulted. Now I’ve got to learn how to live with it.”

“We’ll probably get used to the idea in time,” Rowan said.

“If I had no part in it, I shouldn’t feel guilty, now should I?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, I’ll try not to.” Graham Hart gave a resigned sigh. “Your mother’s right. The important thing now is Anna herself. Whatever she is, she’s a human being, a person. Knowing how I feel, I can imagine how she feels, learning about her origin at this late date. We’ll have to help her all we can, Rowan.”

“Sure, Dad,” Rowan said, but his heart wasn’t in the words. One of the things he’d looked forward to, should he win the Bellamy Scholarship, was that an ocean would separate him from Anna. If anyone should feel guilty it was he. He had to admire the way his father could explode, then quickly put aside his anger and forgive and forget. Rowan wished he had the same capacity. If he felt a grudge about anything he hung on to it for so long it ate away his insides.

He felt guilty, too, that he hadn’t mentioned the scholarship before this, but he was afraid his father would be hurt when he found out Rowan wanted to guide his own career. I should tell him now, Rowan thought, but he’s got enough on his mind with Anna.

“Well, I guess I got that out of my system. Anyhow, I feel better. Are you about ready to go home?” his father asked.

Rowan quickly wiped rosin off the stick of his bow, placed the bow in the violin case, and closed it. “Ready.”

“Let’s go, then. Let’s find out if your mother’s started dividing up the community property yet.”

8

Inside Michaela’s apartment, Anna sneezed. She glanced around suspiciously. “Do you have a cat or a dog? If you do, I’ll have to leave right now. I’m allergic. And phobic.” She would have complained about perfume as well, except that Michaela was wearing none today.

“No, I don’t have animals,” Michaela said. “I was just dusting a collection of mine. Maybe that made you sneeze.” She wore a black leotard over which she’d fastened a skirt. Jet earrings dangled from her ears.

“Are you a dancer, too?” Anna asked.

“Dancer?” She glanced down at her outfit. “Oh, the leotard, you mean. Oh, no. I just find it comfortable for meditation.”

Meditation? Was that some sort of new fad? Anna didn’t know anyone who meditated. What would the woman meditate about anyhow? Nothing good, Anna was sure.

“Come along,” Michaela said, leading the way to a sparsely furnished living room with a spinet tucked away in a corner. “It’s not exactly a grand, but it has good tone.” She motioned to the bench. “Sit down, Anna.”

Anna put her carryall on the floor and took a seat at the piano. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to pretend I am not in the room. Play anything you like.” She sat down on the couch. “I’ll just listen. After I’ve heard you, I shall be able to tell in what areas you need work.”

Anna was not at all interested in playing anything. She thought for a moment, then decided on the easiest thing she could think of, Beethoven’s Für Elise. Although she had several pieces of sheet music in her carryall, including the one she’d chosen to play, she needed none of them. Once she’d learned a piece, she could see the notes as clearly in her head as if she were staring at the page. As far as she was concerned there was nothing wrong with her playing. She learned quickly, made few errors, and held to the rhythm called for. What more could anyone ask? “Don’t you have a metronome?”

“No, I don’t.”

That upset Anna. She was used to a metronome, liked a metronome. The tic, tic, tic, tic seemed to frame a little unit of time which she could precisely fill with just so many notes, all very neat. Oh, she would be lost without a metronome.

Michaela said, “You mustn’t worry about anything like that. Just go on and do the best you can. I shall be able to tell what you need.”

Anna felt very cross. She was certainly not going to perform well without a metronome. As her hands touched the keys, picking out notes, her tongue began to cluck out tics against the roof of her mouth, on and on relentlessly, a full accompaniment to the music. When she finished, she said, “Well, how did I play?”

Michaela grinned. “I don’t think you would have played a bit better with a metronome.”

“Thank you,” Anna said. “Shall I play anything else?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. That’s enough for today. I think I see exactly what’s needed. I’ll work up something for next week and we’ll really begin then.”

“But I’m supposed to have an hour.” Anna was disappointed. She had planned to concoct some excuse to give her a chance to find the INAFT machine. Now there would be no time.

Michaela said, “On the first day I always like to get acquainted with my pupils. Do you think you can amuse yourself while I see if I can find us a snack? You might enjoy looking at my collection of boxes.” She pointed toward a decorative screen that appeared to cut off a view of a dining room. “I’ve just put them all back in the cabinet near the dining table.”

This was the opportunity Anna had been waiting for. “May I use your bathroom first?”

Michaela nodded toward the hall. “First door to your left.”

Anna hurried out, paused before the bathroom door, and listened. When she heard the clink of china, she felt satisfied that Michaela was indeed in the kitchen, so she went on to hunt for the communications room. Because there were only two other doors, one belonging to a bedroom, she found what she was looking for quickly. Inside the room she directed the INAFT machine to give her the information she wanted, then pushed the hard copy button. Hurry, hurry, she silently pleaded. What if Michaela should catch her? Then with second thoughts, chided herself for her nervousness. What difference would it make if Michaela did catch her? There was no law that said you couldn’t use someone else’s machine.

She needn’t have concerned herself. In seconds, printed sheets spilled out of the machine just as she had suspected they would. But there was no time to read them. She snatched them up, hurried back to the living room, and quickly dropped the papers into the carryall she’d left on the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the bag unattended now, so she took it with her to the dining area, where she planned to pretend she was absorbed in Michaela’s collection.

When she had made her way around the screen, just as Michaela had said, she found a display cabinet filled with numerous small boxes. In spite of all she had on her mind she was instantly drawn to them. Each, she discovered, was different. Some were decorated with glittering gems, some with colored glass, some with seed pearls. Others were fashioned of highly polished woods, many parqueted. There were mosaics, hand-painted scenics, all sorts of metals, more kinds of boxes and decorations than Anna could take in at a glance.

She moved closer to the cabinet, experiencing the same feeling that came over her whenever she saw something she wanted.

Michaela was still making noises in the kitchen. If I asked her for a box, Anna thought, she’d never give it to me. Collectors seldom parted with anything they’d saved.

Anna tried the glass door. Locked. She might have known. As she turned away from the cabinet, she noticed a lone box sitting on the table next to a dust cloth. Michaela must have overlooked it when she returned the others to the case. Anna picked up the box and studied it, admiring the iridescent mother-of-pearl that decorated the top and sides. Chances were that Michaela would never even miss it. Anna thrust it into her carryall, then hurriedly tiptoed back to the living room to sit on the couch.

Soon Michaela came in with a tray. She set it on the table in front of the couch, then sat down beside Anna. “Did you see my collection?”

Anna stared her straight in the eye. “I’m really not very interested in boxes.”

Apparently Michaela was unconcerned, because she shrugged and immediately changed the subject. “I’ve fixed us some toast.” She pointed to a tiny china bowl. “I hope you like marmalade. This is homemade -- a very special present from one of the teachers at the conservatory.”

Anna glanced sharply at the woman. Graham Hart had made a batch only a few months before because they’d had an extra allotment of sugar. Anna would have bet anything that the marmalade had come from him.

Michaela handed Anna a plate with toast on it. “How about some tea?”

“I don’t like tea.”

“Oh, dear, there isn’t another thing in the house.”

“I don’t need anything.” Anna glanced doubtfully at the toast. The bread looked better than any the stores were selling since the wheat crops had grown smaller, but she didn’t trust this woman. The stuff could be poisoned.

Michaela said, “Tell me, Anna, do you enjoy music?”

The question surprised Anna. She had never given it any thought. With two musicians in the family she’d been exposed to music always, supposed everyone was. It was just something you learned to live with, put up with. She found herself saying, “I guess I don’t think of it one way or the other.”

“What do you think of one way or the other?”

All Anna wanted was to get out of the place, but she made herself answer patiently. “I like math better than anything.”

Michaela nodded as if she had anticipated that answer. “That reminds me of something Debussy says. He says that music is the arithmetic of sounds as optics is the geometry of light.”

What’s that got to do with anything? Anna thought. She said, “That’s very interesting.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

Anna stared down at her toast. It had to be safe to eat. After all, poison would be too easy to detect and trace. And she was most curious about that marmalade. She reached for the spreader on the tray and helped herself from the china bowl. When she had a good sampling on her bread, she took a bite. Ah, ha! Lemon. The kind Graham Hart had made. Now she knew she was right.

As she mulled over that annoying idea, she was aware that Michaela was pleasantly chatting away. Anna began to notice that as the woman’s head moved, her shiny jet earrings swung and bobbed and almost seemed to flash with hidden light. Although Anna wasn’t taking in a word Michaela said, she found her eyes glued to the dancing earrings. How they glittered. For a moment they seemed like prisms, throwing dappled light all over the room, bouncing, whirling around her, making her dizzy. Then a stab of pain hit her between the eyes and traveled on into her brain, while outside her head thousands of tons of something unyielding was trying to crush her skull.

Anna thrust her plate of unfinished toast onto the table, grabbed her carryall, and shot to her feet. “I’ve got to go. I’m getting a terrible headache.”

Without waiting for leave, Anna dashed out the door. As she ran across the park toward her own apartment, she was certain Michaela’s green eyes were following her.

9

Anna, grateful that no one else was home yet, hurried to her bedroom, tossed her carryall on the bed, then flopped down and stretched out beside it. Her head pounded so badly she could think of nothing else. She even lacked the strength to get up and take the medication that sometimes relieved her. Instead, she placed her hands, which were very cold, on her brow. That seemed to help. She closed her eyes. After a time, the pounding let up slightly. She thought again about getting up for her medication, but continued to lie there until she eventually drifted into sleep.

When she awoke, she was surprised to find she had slept for several hours. Although she’d had no real lunch she wasn’t hungry. Her head felt much better, though, with only a dull ache left at the back of her neck. She rolled over and bumped something solid. Her carryall. She grabbed it eagerly and fished through to take out her prizes -- the papers that would tell who Anna Zimmerman was, as well as the pretty little box.

The box she placed beside her for later examination. She dug out her bed pillow from beneath the spread and propped it behind her. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the sky had darkened, looking as if rain threatened. Anna had to turn on her bedside lamp to see. Then she settled back to read about Anna Zimmerman.

When she had finally finished, she felt almost as frustrated as before. If the woman had only found the secret for creating the replicator she was working on, there would have been volumes of biographical material about her. As it was, most of the articles concerned her work. Only one had any information on her life, an obituary from a science journal.

Anna Zimmerman was forty-six years old when she died. She had been born during the Second World War in Berlin of a Jewish mother and an Aryan father. Both her parents had died in the gas chambers of a concentration camp. Anna Zimmerman had somehow escaped their fate and had been raised by a friend of her mother’s. As a young woman her brilliant mind had won her scholarships to the University of Berlin and later, in this country, to the University of California at Berkeley, where she took her doctorate. After, she worked for government research and development laboratories. She had never married and had left no survivors.

Perhaps that was another reason for choosing to clone her, Anna thought. She had no relatives to object. But it certainly doesn’t help me. Now there never would be anyone with whom she could feel she belonged, no one to ask, “Did Anna Zimmerman have bad headaches like mine?” She thought of all the other Anna Zimmermans. They had to be relatives of some sort. Maybe she belonged with them. Then she remembered how she had felt, looking at her doppleganger, and how the girl had reacted to her. No, they would never be comfortable together. Then why did she always feel that she was looking for some missing part of herself? Lately, with her new knowledge, the feeling had grown even stronger.

Anna got up and went to the window. A dense fog had settled over the park. She could not see Michaela’s apartment or anything else now. She might have been staring at a gray wall. Although her window was closed, she imagined she could feel the chill steal inside. She shivered. Suddenly, for no real reason, she was frightened. She could see nothing, and yet she felt there was something out there in the fog, in the mist, waiting for her, threatening her. That made no sense at all, yet she was certain it was true.

Was it creeping into the room now, touching her skin with icy fingers? She shrank away, eyes still fastened on the gray beyond the window. At the same time, she could hear music. She listened hard. Nothing. Then again she heard it, heard it inside her head, the same tune that had come from Michaela’s apartment that night. But that couldn’t be. How could she possibly remember it? Yet, remember it she did, and it was throbbing through her skull now worse than any headache. She had to escape from that sound, get out of that room.

She backed away from the window, farther and farther, until she finally reached the door and jerked it open to stumble through and slam it behind her. Then she tore down the hall to Rowan’s room and flung open his door. As the sound of his violin died, she was aware that the music in her head had vanished, too.

He frowned at her. “Maybe I’d better start locking my door.”

Anna’s lips trembled as she said, “Rowan, I’m afraid.”

“Now, Anna, leave me alone. Can’t you see I’m -- ” He broke off to stare at her quizzically. “What’s the matter with you?”

She took the words as an invitation to enter his room, which she’d always considered forbidden territory. Inside, she felt safer. “I’m scared, Rowan.” He lowered his violin and stared at her skeptically. “I can’t believe it -- not you. What are you scared of?”

“It’s that woman. She’s trying to drive me out of my mind.”

“What woman?”

“That Michaela Dupont.”

“What do you mean, trying to drive you out of your mind? What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything -- not openly. Well, yes, she did -- she flashed her earrings around until they made all kinds of fluttery lights, and I got a headache.”

Rowan shook his head, a look of total disbelief on his face. “I never heard anything so insane. You always get headaches. Why blame this one on her?”

“Because she wanted me to have one. I know she did.”

“Anna, you’re crazy. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, not to mention the best music history teacher we’ve had at the conservatory. Why would you imagine something like that about her?”

“I can’t explain it. I just know she’s trying to do something to me, and I don’t know what it is, and I’m scared.”

“Anna, you’ve got to be imagining all this. Flashing earrings, for God’s sake!”

In the safety of Rowan’s room, Anna was almost tempted to believe he was right. Perhaps her headache had distorted her reasoning. She felt better now, but not enough better to forget her fears entirely. “If I have to go to her house next Saturday, will you go with me, Rowan?”

“Anna, I have orchestra practice on Saturdays. You know that.”

“Please, Rowan.”

“Don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Rowan, I’m begging you. Please go with me. I’m so scared.”

She thought she caught a glimmer of something like pity in his eyes. Then he sighed impatiently. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I can’t go with you, but as soon as practice is over, I’ll head for Michaela’s. You won’t have been there much more than a half hour. She surely won’t have done you in in that length of time.”

He didn’t believe her, but Anna didn’t care. “You can’t come earlier?”

“No, I can’t. Now stop pestering me.”

Anna nodded, resigned that she had gotten as much from him as he was likely to give. “I guess I can tell her you’re coming. That should help if she’s planning anything.”

“Oh, no -- not that again! Anna, if you don’t get out of my room right now, I swear I’ll throw something at you.”

“All right, all right. I’m going.” She left, feeling calmer. Rowan was undoubtedly right. She was letting her imagination play strange tricks on her. Which wasn’t at all like her. It was just that the headaches she suffered often made her half-crazy. That was what had happened today. Her headache had started it, making her dream up all sorts of stupid pictures that had nothing to do with anything real.

Anna decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the communications room, working on a project for school. She grew so involved that by the time Sarah Hart called her for dinner, her headache had disappeared, and she had almost forgotten her earlier fright. Now she couldn’t believe she had acted so irrationally.

Dinner consisted of soybeans, cooked and flavored like Boston baked beans, a small canned ham, coleslaw from a cabbage that had matured in the hydroponic roof garden, and a dark, sweet bread Graham Hart had made earlier and frozen.

The atmosphere was strained, Sarah and Graham Hart exchanging only a few polite words, long heavy silences between. Anna watched them sullenly. At one point Graham stabbed a piece of ham with his fork, held it up, and said, “I suppose we have Anna to thank for this.”

His wife lowered her eyes and said nothing.

Then, sounding almost apologetic, he added, “I wasn’t complaining.” He turned to Anna and changed the subject. “Well, did you learn anything at Michaela’s today?”

Anna scowled. “A little, Mr. Hart. But not anything about music.” She watched with satisfaction as three pairs of eyes darted to her.

Graham Hart gave a self-conscious laugh. “What’s this Mr. Hart business?”

“I have to call you something,” Anna said.

“Anna, please don’t make things worse,” Sarah Hart said.

Graham Hart looked thoroughly confused. “Why can’t you call me what you’ve always called me?”

“That wouldn’t seem right. After all, you’re Rowan’s dad, not mine.”

“Do you have to remind me?” he asked irritably. Anna said nothing.

“Besides, what difference does that make? If we’d adopted you, you’d have called me Dad, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so, Mr. Hart.”

Rowan put in, “Just call him Graham.”

“Rowan, you keep out of this,” his father said. “She’ll do no such thing! She’ll call me Dad, just the way she always has. You hear that, Anna?”

“Yes, Dad,” Anna said demurely.

“And no sarcasm!”

“No, Mr. -- ”

“Dad, Dad, Dad!” His face went florid now.

“Yes, Dad.” Anna, pleased with herself, glanced at Sarah Hart and shrugged as if she couldn’t understand what Dad was getting so excited about.

“And what did you mean a few minutes ago when you said you’d learned something at Michaela’s, but not about music?”

“I’m not sure you’d want me to say.”

“Go ahead -- say.”

“I meant I’d found out something interesting.”

“Like what?”

“Like you gave her a jar of our marmalade.”

Sarah Hart said, “Graham, you never told me that.”

“Why should I tell anyone I gave away a jar of marmalade?”

Anna said, “The least you could have done was ask me.”

He looked bewildered. “What have you got to say about it?”

“Nothing that anyone would listen to, I suppose. But I should have plenty to say about it. After all, if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have things like marmalade.”

“I don’t believe this,” he muttered.

Sarah Hart said, “What’s going on between you and that woman, giving her our food when food is so scarce?”

Graham Hart, mouth hanging open, pushed back his chair and got up. He swallowed and in a very controlled voice said, “I have had just about enough. I am now going into my bedroom, which is soundproof, where,” his voice rose to a shriek, “I will scream my head off, take the Lord’s name in vain, and a few other things!” So saying, with great dignity, he left the table.

10

By the time Anna was ready for bed, she had completely convinced herself that the disturbing experience of the afternoon had been nothing more than a flight of fancy. If she had had the good sense to take her medication, she would never have behaved so ridiculously. Just imagine, fearing her own bedroom!

She glanced around it now. Nothing but the same old solid, sensible furniture she knew so well, a single bed that doubled as a couch, a big oak desk that had once belonged to Graham Hart, a no-nonsense chest of drawers, a straight chair, an easy chair covered in the same plaid as the bedspread and draperies, and a television screen hung high on the wall so that you could lie in bed and watch the mindless shows that lulled you to sleep. Everything about the room was functional, which suited Anna just fine. You see, she chided herself, nothing strange here, nothing scary.

She got into her pajamas, then made herself glance out the window to assure herself there was nothing there but the safe familiar world. Although the fog was not as dense now, it seemed to shift around the park, obscuring streetlamps, yet, now and then, allowing the more distant lights to break through, one here, one there, sending out rays that blurred in the mist. Was that a light from Michaela’s apartment? Anna wondered. No, it must come from one of the other buildings. Now it’s gone. But there’s a new light. Michaela’s? Too far to the left. The lights appeared and vanished, appeared and vanished, like some kind of eerie fireworks glimpsed through a heavy veil.

When Anna felt the first stab of pain in her head, she instantly turned away from the sight and quickly drew the draperies. She should never have let herself watch, yet it had not occurred to her that lights playing strange tricks in the fog could trigger one of her headaches. She put a cool hand on her forehead, then rubbed the back of her neck with her other hand, moving her head around in circles to relax the muscles. Not too bad, she decided. Not a real four-star headache. Fortunately, she hadn’t watched the lights long enough for one of those.

She stretched out on top of her bedspread, eyes closed. Perhaps she should turn on television. Later. When the ache eased. Although she hadn’t intended to go to sleep, after a time, she dozed fitfully. In a dream, she could feel something hard and icy brash against her hand. The chill of it crept through her and finally awakened her, shivering. The room was cold now, and she was still lying outside the covers. She glanced down to discover that what she had felt in her sleep was the little box. With all that had happened earlier, she had quite forgotten it.

She sat up, ran her fingers over its cool, gleaming surface, then opened it. A delightful fragrance of cedar wafted up. She felt very pleased with her new possession. What would she use it for? She needed a container for paper clips. This would serve very well. As she closed the cover she noticed that the box sat on little feet. What she hadn’t seen earlier was the key at the bottom. Of course. She should have known. Michaela hadn’t collected merely boxes; she’d collected music boxes.

Anna turned the key to wind the box fully. Then she lifted the lid to hear the tune. As she listened, the notes came through like tinkles, sweet and clear. Suddenly she tensed. She knew that tune. That horrible tune! The one that Michaela had played that night so long ago. It was awful in a way Anna couldn’t quite describe. Ghostly, perhaps. She slammed the lid shut, and the music died. What an unfortunate coincidence to have chosen a box that played that same melody. Anna got up and set the box on her chest of drawers, careful not to disturb the lid. Tomorrow, she decided, she would dispose of the miserable thing.

The fog crept in until it enclosed and swallowed up the whole apartment house. In her sleep, Anna turned restlessly, dreaming strange dreams. There was a presence out there in the mist, a specter trying to enter the room.

Let me come in, Anna. Let me come in.

No, never.

Please.

No!

Anna, you must.

Go away. Leave me alone.

I can’t go away, Anna . . . can’t . . . can’t . . . can’t...

The words trailed off to lose themselves in the sound of tinkling music, the song Anna hated so much The melody grew louder until it swelled through her head. The fog was sweeping into the room now. Through a haze Anna could see an iridescent glow from the mother-of-pearl on the music box. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that the lid was closed. Yet the music surged on and on, deafeningly.

“Stop it, stop it!” Anna clapped her hands over her ears for a moment, then got up and struggled toward the box, feeling as if she would never make it. Finally, her hand closed over its hard coldness. She lifted it and, with all her strength, flung it across the room.

For a second there was total silence. I’ve won, Anna thought, I’ve won. In the next instant the tune began again, soft now, and with it, colored lights shot from the box, blues, pinks, violets, greens, like reflections from the mother-of-pearl. They played upon the ceiling, upon the walls, they danced through the room, bombarding Anna with their brilliance.

“Stop it, stop it!” Anna cried. She knew only that if she gave in nothing would ever be the same again. There was pain out there, and hurt, and God knew what else.

Let me come in, Anna. Let me come in.

“No, no, no!” Anna screamed and closed her eyes to shut out the sight. The music flooded through her body now, torturing her brain. “Stop it, stop it,” she yelled again, and grabbed her head between her hands.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the music died. Anna opened her eyes, feeling very small and cold and frightened. Smoke hung as thickly on the air as fog now. For a moment she had the panicky feeling of being lost, lost in a place as strange and terrifying as anything she had ever visited in bad dreams. Then she glanced up, and it was all right. Mama was beside her. Anna slipped her hand into Mama’s and felt a little safer. She wanted to say, “See, Mama, I’m a big girl. I’m not crying,” but Mama had told her to be quiet. Not a word, Mama had said.

Anna felt a crush of people all around her, sensed their anxiety, their fear. What were they all doing there on that ramp? Where was Papa? Anna held tight to Mama’s hand. She didn’t like this ugly place. Black smoke spewed out of big chimneys and made everything smell bad. She wanted to go home.

A man with shiny black boots and lots of bright buttons on his clothes was looking people over. His quick nod was pointing either left or right.

“He’s making a selection,” someone said.

Anna didn’t know what that meant, but soon the people had divided into two lines, Anna and Mama at the tail end of one of them. When the man finished, he left, and other men in shiny black boots took over to rush people along toward big buildings.

Suddenly Mama whispered, “Look, Anna, there’s Clara. You remember my friend Clara.”

Anna looked where Mama pointed, but she didn’t recognize anyone among the group of skinny women who were marching by, all of them carrying the kinds of instruments Mama and her friends used for making music. Not one of the women glanced toward the people on the ramp.

As the man prodded everyone along, Mama broke away from her place at the rear of the line, pulling Anna with her to run alongside the musicians until she overtook her friend. “Clara, Clara, it’s Irene.” The woman, never breaking stride, looked around. Anna could see that she was, indeed, her mother’s friend, although she was no longer the plump woman Anna remembered. Her eyes looked dull as she stepped out of the group. She shook her head sadly and said, “You, too, Irene.”

She and Mama talked hurriedly for a moment, then Mama pressed something into the woman’s hand and said, “Keep Anna until they’re done with me. Please.”

The woman glanced doubtfully toward the men in shiny boots. “I don’t think I --” She broke off and stared at Anna, all the while biting hard on her lower lip. Finally she said, “All right. I’ll do the best I can.” She patted Mama on the shoulder, then took Anna’s hand. “Come with me, little one.”

“Yes, go with Clara.” Mama pushed Anna along. “Quickly.” Anna had no time to protest.

“Hurry.” Clara, violin case in one hand, pulled Anna along with the other until they reached a wooden building. She rushed her inside, through a room with a platform surrounded by what Anna recognized as music stands and performers’ chairs, then on into a smaller room where bunk beds lined the walls.

They were no sooner inside than another woman poked her head in the door and whispered to Clara, “The commandant.”

Clara said, “Ah, yes, I thought as much. He is always emotionally exhausted after a selection. He’ll want to hear his favorite, Reverie. Get the orchestra together immediately. And try to do without me today.”

The woman left and Clara muttered, “Always Reverie after a selection. If I had only known when I composed it.”

Anna didn’t know what she meant. Very soon the music began. Clara put an arm around Anna and drew her to the one window in the room. Anna was just in time to see her mother disappear inside the big building. The chimney behind continued to vomit up black smoke. The stench pervaded the room.

“Mama’s gone,” Anna said.

As the music swelled, Clara’s arm tightened around her. “Never forget, little one. Never forget.”

11

Well, I’m here,” Anna said, staring morosely at Michaela.

Michaela regarded her coolly. “Come in, Anna. Take your seat at the piano and we’ll get started right away.”

Anna trudged into the living room of Michaela’s apartment, a troubled frown on her face. She was in no mood for a lesson. Her strange experience of a week ago still kept pressing in on her, agitating, worrying her. Every place she went, she fancied she could still smell that vile smoke. All week long she kept telling herself it was only a dream triggered by some music she didn’t like, as well as by what she’d read about Anna Zimmerman. And yet it had all seemed so real, leaving her with a kind of sick feeling that hung on, a feeling she had never experienced before and was now unable to analyze. Worse, she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone about it.

Anna laid down her carryall and took a seat at the piano. As Michaela stood beside her, Anna was grateful to see that although the woman had on the leotard and wraparound skirt of the week before, she wore no earrings.

Michaela immediately said, “Anna, I have something I’d like to ask you.”

Anna braced herself. Here it comes, she thought. “Last week when I checked my collection of music boxes, I discovered one was missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Anna stared levelly at the woman. “No, I wouldn’t.” She had retrieved the box from where she’d flung it that awful night. A small piece of mother-of-pearl had chipped off, but that seemed to be the only damage. In the daylight the box looked innocent enough. She’d thrust it to the rear of one of her dresser drawers, then had forgotten about it. “Was it one of your favorites?”

“In a way.”

She knows I have it, Anna thought, and suddenly felt afraid of what the woman might do to her. She said quickly, “Rowan said he’d come by after orchestra practice to walk home with me.” Now let her try anything, Anna thought.

Michaela’s eyebrows lifted. “Did he indeed? Well, then, we’ll just have to get busy if we’re going to get anything done before that.”

Anna had come here today for more than a music lesson. There was information she wanted from Michaela. Now she asked, “Do all of your music boxes play the same tune?”

“Oh, my, no. I have no duplicates, neither in design nor in music.”

If only I’d been able to choose a different one, Anna thought. “Was the one that’s missing your favorite because of the tune it played?”

“No, not really. I’m not even sure I remember what it played.” Michaela paused and stared into space. “An obscure little piece, as I recall. A sonata? No.” Her face brightened. “I remember now. The piece was called simply Reverie. All I remember about the composer is that she was a woman.”

Anna sucked in her breath.

The sound did not escape Michaela. “Do you know it?”

Anna shook her head.

“Well, that’s not surprising. It’s not too well, known, but it’s a pleasant little tune.”

To you, perhaps, Anna thought. You even play it. I heard you one night. She thought of the words in her dream, “Always Reverie after a selection.” How could she have known the name? Had she heard the music when she was little, then forgotten? Or was there more to the dream than she dared believe? The idea frightened her. She asked, “Do you think music some special tune -- can make you dream or imagine things that have never happened to you?” Michaela shrugged. “Perhaps. I recall that Oscar Wilde had something to say on that subject. He said, ‘After playing Chopin, I feel as if I had been weeping over sins that I had never committed, and mourning over tragedies that were not my own.’ “

Mourning over tragedies that were not his own? That seemed unbelievable to Anna. She had never concerned herself with the misfortunes of others. “Wilde said, ‘Music creates for one a past of which one has been ignorant and fills one with a sense of sorrows that have been hidden from one’s tears.’ Interesting idea, don’t you think?”

Anna wanted to give the words more thought, but Michaela allowed her no time. “Come now,” Michaela said. “We’re wasting the morning. We’ll never get through your lesson.” She reached for a book of exercises that sat on top of the piano and placed it open on the music rack, then sat down to Anna’s right. “Begin, Anna,” she cried. “And keep your wrists up.”

Anna played on indifferently for a time. Suddenly she felt a sharp prick on her wrist. She yelped and her hands flew from the keyboard. “You stuck me!” she said indignantly, and rubbed at a black mark on her wrist.

“It’s only a pencil.” Michaela held it up so that Anna could see the sharp point. “I’m going to hold it under your right wrist. If you keep your wrist up where it belongs, you’ll never feel it.”

How cruel, Anna thought.

“Sit up straight and begin again.”

Anna sat up straight and started over, drumming out the boring exercises, trying to keep her wrist clear of the pencil. She did all right for a time, but it was all so tiresome. She slumped and felt a painful jab in her back.

“Back straight!” Michaela barked out the words like a military command.

Anna straightened, but the movement knocked her hands out of position. The pencil stabbed her wrist and brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away. The awful woman was trying to torture her.

Out of the comer of an eye she glanced quickly at Michaela to see a satisfied smile on her lips. That really made Anna mad. She wants me to cry, she thought. She wants me to give up. She wants me to say that I can’t bear it, that I’ll never learn. Well, I won’t! I won’t give that witch the satisfaction.

Michaela gave no quarter, nor did Anna ask one. She suffered the jabs and the pricks in silence, taking her anger out on the piano, pounding on the keys the way she wanted to pound on Michaela.

When she finished the first exercise, a long one, Michaela said, “Again!”

Oh, no, Anna thought, but obediently started all over, hammering away at the stupid piano. Every time she felt the pain in her wrist, in her back, she bit hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out.

When she finished the exercise a second time, Michaela said, “Again!”

Again Anna played the same notes, trying to keep her wrists up, her back straight, so that Michaela could not enjoy the pleasure of sadistic torture. And she did enjoy it, Anna was sure.

“Again!”

“Again!”

“Again!”

Anna was getting so tired that each time she repeated the exercise she seemed to do worse. The jabs and pricks came even more frequently now. “Again!”

Anna wanted to scream, “No, I can’t,” but she just bit her lip until she tasted blood and once more went through the hateful exercise. On and on she went for what seemed like hours.

“Again!”

I can’t do it, Anna thought. Not one more time. I can’t. She opened her mouth to tell the woman she had won this strange contest of endurance when a miracle happened. The door buzzer sounded.

Michaela said, “All right, Anna. That’s probably Rowan. That will be all for today.” She handed Anna the book of exercises. “For the time being, you will play nothing but those. Go on through the book doing exactly what we’ve done today, repeating them until you’re perfect. I’ll check you out next week. With that metronome in that little head of yours, you should enjoy exercises.”

As Michaela went to the door, Anna riffled through pages full of mindless, endless exercises, then slammed the book into her carryall. Her fingers felt numb, her back bruised. She glanced at her wrist to find it covered with little stinging dots. I hate her, she thought. I hate her.

12

As Rowan waited outside Michaela’s door, he felt very foolish. What was he supposed to say to her anyhow? I’m here because Anna’s scared of you? Perhaps she would believe he was there because of their talk and that he was seriously trying to help Anna. He hoped so.

Anna hadn’t mentioned the woman again until last night. Then she’d said to him, “Are you going to stop by Michaela’s tomorrow?”

At that moment he had yet to unwind from a very difficult afternoon. “I said I would, didn’t I?” he’d snapped. She’d looked so crushed it made him think of what Michaela had said about kindness and understanding. Then he’d felt guilty. In fact, for one reason or another he’d been feeling guilty around Anna all week. She just wasn’t acting like herself. Usually she was obnoxiously disagreeable. Ever since she’d begged him to go with her to Michaela’s, she’d been obnoxiously agreeable. Probably afraid he’d change his mind. At any rate, he wasn’t used to her this way. When you expected a person to act a certain way, she should go right on acting that way. If her disagreeableness had irritated him, her agreeableness irritated him even more.

Still, it was wrong of him to blame Anna for his bad disposition. He’d been tense and cranky all week, knowing the first play-off recital for the Bellamy Scholarship faced him on Friday. Now, thank God, that one was out of the way, and he thought he had acquitted himself decently. He could relax until the next one.

He was hoping today that Michaela would ask him in. He liked talking to her. She was one of those people who gave you the feeling she was genuinely interested in you. Just last week she had said to him, “You’re really wrapped up in your music, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he said, sounding defensive, expecting her to criticize his narrowness. “Yes, I am.”

“Relax, Rowan,” she said. “Never feel apologetic for feeling great passion for the arts, especially music. Thomas Mann in Doctor Faustus said that music is a manifestation of the highest energy . . . almost the definition of God.”

In class, she often quoted from someone famous, making the person sound like an old friend. Which, of course, was a part of her talent for bringing a dead subject to life.

Now the door opened and Michaela’s sleek head appeared. In a leotard, she looked different from the way she dressed for class, he thought, even more exotic.

“Come in, Rowan. Anna said you were stopping by.”

He felt the need to explain. “I figured she’d be finishing up by now, so I thought I’d walk home with her.”

“Of course,” Michaela said.

He followed her inside the door to find Anna hurrying toward him. “Come on, Rowan,” she said. “I’m all through.” Without a word to Michaela, Anna grabbed his hand and pulled him after her. About all he could do was wave a stunned good-bye.

As they headed through the park, he pulled free of Anna, feeling thoroughly irritated with her. “Why the big hurry?”

‘“Is she still looking at us?”

He gave a quick glance behind. “No, she’s gone inside.”

“Rowan, I’ve got to talk to you.” She looked more disturbed than he had ever seen her, looked as if she had suddenly come to some important decision that had been hard for her to make. “I’ve just got to talk to somebody.”

“Why not Mom?” he asked guardedly. “Or Dad?” He had never shared confidences with Anna, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to start now. Besides, ever since he’d found out about her origin, he’d felt a little uncomfortable around her. What’s more, he was now annoyed with her for cheating him out of a visit with Michaela.

“Mom wouldn’t understand something like this. Neither would Dad. I’m not sure you will either, but I’ve just got to tell someone or I’ll go crazy. Maybe I have already.”

That scared him. He remembered what his mother had said about how no one was sure of what would happen to the clones in puberty, the critical time of the experiment. He eyed her for some evidence of change. She might be a little taller, he thought, but that didn’t mean anything. At her age, she should be growing. Her hair looked about the same, blond and curly. The expression in her eyes seemed softer. Feeling disturbed could account for that. And for looking unusually pale. “I’m glad to hear you’ve decided to call them Mom and Dad.”

“Oh, that -- Well, it just feels weird calling them anything else. After all, they’re the only mother and father I’ve ever known.” She added in a small voice, “Or ever will, I guess.”

Surprised at how sensible she sounded, he studied her again. She seemed unaware of his scrutiny as she pointed to a bench that sat behind tall bushes. “Let’s sit here where she can’t see us.”

“She? Michaela? Why do you care if she sees us?”

“I just do.” Anna placed her carryall on the bench and sat down. When Rowan settled himself and his violin case beside her, she showed him her wrist. “Look what she did to me.”

“What’s all that?” he asked as he examined the spots. When she told him, he spit on a finger and rubbed it over one of the lead marks. It disappeared. “It’s only a pencil mark. You act as if she’d drawn blood. It’s not too unusual for teachers to use that method to get you to hold your hands the right way.”

“But she hurt me! My back is still sore from where she kept hitting me.” She told him again about the exercises, the jabbing, the pricking.

He remembered how Michaela had warned him that she was going to use shock treatment. And he trusted her. If she was using a harsh training method, it was obviously to shake Anna out of her complacency, to make her feel something, even physical hurt. “She was only trying to help you.”

“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t understand. I knew you’d stick up for her.”

“For God’s sake, is that all you wanted to tell me?” Angry, he grabbed his violin case and started to get up.

She clutched his jacket, pulled him back, and said urgently, “No, no. That’s not it.”

Already, he chided himself, he was forgetting his talk with Michaela, forgetting all that kindness and understanding he was supposed to show. In a softer voice, he said, “What is it?”

“It’s about a piece of music I heard.”

That didn’t sound terribly important. “What music and where did you hear it?”

“It’s a tune on a music box.” She lowered her eyes. “A music box I just bought.”

What was she hiding? It occurred to him now that Anna, the human computer, should be drawn to music boxes. Someplace he’d read that the invention of the music box led to the invention of the computer. Very fitting, he thought.

“I just don’t know what to think of this, Rowan,” Anna said, and went on to relate her nightmare. With every word he could tell she was living again the experience of the child in the dream. Was that what had made her behave so strangely all week? He wondered again if she could be somehow chemically disintegrating. Or had the knowledge that she was a clone somehow unhinged her? For the first time, he began to feel sorry for her.

Anna said, “The place must have been a concentration camp.”

“What would you know about concentration camps?”

“That’s just it, it’s such ancient history that I haven’t even read much about them. I really shouldn’t know anything, but I seem to.”

“Anna, it was only a dream.”

“That’s what I told myself at first. I’d read something about Anna Zimmerman and her parents. I had to use someone else’s INAFT to get the information.”

“You read that her mother and father died in a concentration camp.”

She started. “How did you know?”

“The same way you did. I figured out we’d never get the information from our machine, so I borrowed the use of someone else’s. You’re not the only one who’s curious, you know. Look, Anna, you read about the woman and you had a dream in which you imagined yourself in a concentration camp. That’s all there is to it. You knew her mother’s first name because it was in one of the articles. You shouldn’t let a dream upset you all this time.”

“But that’s not all there is to it. I knew the name of that music, knew it in my dream. And it was the right name. Michaela said so, and she said a woman composed it.”

“Michaela? You didn’t tell her about this, did you?”

100

“Of course not.”

“Then how did she know about the music?”

“I -- ” Anna looked at a loss. Finally she said, “It was her music box. I asked her today what it played.”

“I don’t understand. Why did you tell me you bought it? And if it’s hers, how did you happen to have it?”

She avoided his eyes. “She lent it to me.”

In spite of his good intentions, Rowan was getting mad. I knew she was hiding something, he thought. Same old Anna. “You mean you stole it from her. That’s how you happened to have it.”

“No, I didn’t -- I didn’t.”

“Anna, when we get home, I’m going to call Michaela.”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, “don’t do that. I didn’t steal it, Rowan, really. I just borrowed it to hear it play. I meant to give it back.”

His dark eyes fixed her with a glance so scornful he could almost see her wither. “Anna, it’s very simple for me to find out the truth. All I have to do is ask Michaela.”

“But I told you -- ” She broke off. Then sounding too weary to even bother pretending, she said, “You don’t have to ask her. I took it.”

She was full of surprises today. He had expected to hear her brazen it through to the bitter end, the way she usually did. “Why do you do things like that?”

She stared at the ground without answering. “Anna, you’ve got to promise me you’ll give it back.”

“How can I do that? What would I tell her?”

“You’ll tell her the truth. And you’ll tell her you’re sorry. And what’s more, you’ll do it right now and in front of me, because I don’t trust you.”

For a moment he was almost afraid she was going to cry. He should have known better, though. It would take more than that to make Anna cry. Instead, she chewed on a sore-looking spot on her lip. At length she said, “All right. I’ll give it back. But why do you have to be so mean to me? First, it was her. Now it’s you. You’re both trying to torture me, and I don’t know why.”

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic.”

“I want to talk to you, and you won’t even listen.”

“Oh, I listened all right.”

“I thought I could tell you how I felt.”

“I don’t think you have any feelings.”

Anna got up and picked up her carryall. “I don’t know why I ever thought I could tell you. You can’t talk to someone who hates you.” She turned away from him and started across the park.

He sprang to his feet, grabbed his violin case, and followed. “Now, just a minute. I never said anything about hating you.”

“But you do.”

“Now don’t you put words in my mouth! I don’t hate you or anyone else. There’s no point in hating people. It would only use up the energy I need for music.”

“Well, you don’t like me. Else you would have listened.”

“I listened. I’m listening now. What do you want to tell me?”

She shook her head. “I can’t now.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. She was making him feel guilty, and that made him even madder. “Damn it, Anna, if you want to tell me something, tell me!” To his astonishment, he saw tears glint in her eyes. He could never remember seeing Anna cry. Now he felt thoroughly miserable. Where was all the kindness he was supposed to be showing? “What is it?” he said more gently.

In an anguished voice, she said, “Oh Rowan, I don’t know who I am. I don’t even know if there is any me.” The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “Help me.”

13

The moment Michaela opened her door, Anna thrust the music box toward her and, for Rowan’s benefit, said, “I was the one who took it.”

“I know, Anna.” Michaela calmly accepted her property. “I’m glad you saw fit to return it.”

Anna felt Rowan poke her arm and knew what he wanted from her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I took it, but I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I dropped it and chipped it.” She was only mouthing the words. The truth was she felt nothing except relief. She was appeasing Rowan and getting rid of the music that had caused her so much pain.

As Michaela examined the damage, Anna glanced at Rowan to see if her apology had satisfied him. His eyes, dark and brooding, were fixed on Michaela. “I’m really sorry this happened -- awfully sorry,” he said.

The intensity in his voice struck a chord someplace deep inside Anna and evoked an unfamiliar emotion, guilt. Not because she regretted taking something that didn’t belong to her, but because she realized she had shamed Rowan. He was apologizing for what she had done, and the act was obviously more painful for him than for her. All the guilt and shame she should have felt for her crime surfaced now because of him, because he could feel what she could not. And yet, she was feeling it anyhow, feeling it through him. As she thought about it, she was suddenly aware that Michaela’s eyes were resting on her speculatively.

To Anna’s surprise, Michaela said, “I think we’ll say no more about the matter.” Then she gave Rowan one of her dazzling smiles. “The case of the missing music box is closed.”

As if the seriousness of the occasion would not allow him to return her smile, he stared at her solemnly and murmured, “Thank you.”

Again Anna felt a pang of guilt for placing him in a spot that embarrassed him so deeply. As soon as Michaela’s door closed behind them, Anna, her voice almost a whisper, said, “I’m sorry, Rowan.” This time she meant the words.

“I hope you realize how big it was of Michaela to let you off so easily.”

They walked on in silence. At length Anna said, “I won’t do it again.”

“Do what? Take Michaela’s music box?”

“Take anything.”

“Anna, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Anna opened her mouth to say that, of course, she could keep any promise she chose to make, then stopped herself. Rowan obviously believed she couldn’t control her actions. Was he right? No, he couldn’t be. She had always taken what she wanted on impulse, because she could see no good reason for not doing so. Now Rowan was giving her a reason. It had nothing to do with morals or ethics. She simply felt a need to prove to herself and to him that she could, indeed, control her actions. “Rowan, I mean it.”

“I’ve heard that one before.”

He had no reason to believe her, she had to admit. She’d said the same thing every time she’d been caught. And what if he was right? What if this was the kind of promise she couldn’t keep? She pondered for a time, then said, “Rowan, what I mean is I’m going to try -- hard.”

“Well, that’s one I haven’t heard before.” He smiled wryly. “Come on now. Let’s step it up if we’re going to get this trip to the library over. I want to get home and put in some practice.”

Anna had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. She felt that he had volunteered to help her only because her tears had made him uncomfortable. It had been his idea to try the library for evidence that would prove her dream came purely from her imagination. They both knew they would get no help from their INAFT machine.

After they left Michaela’s, they caught the people- mover. Along the way Anna had time to think about what a relief it was to have someone with whom to share what, for her, had become a staggering burden.

The Apollo Complex was an entity that left little need for its residents to venture into the world outside. Formed like the shape of a wheel, its hub was a domed business and shopping district, the spokes rows of apartments, public buildings, and offices with park strips between.

When Rowan and Anna reached the library, they headed for the reference desk. Because they had always used their INAFT machine for any research they had to do for school and their school libraries for books, neither was overly familiar with the book section of the building. Rowan did know the audiovisual department, though, because he often checked out their musical tapes. Now he told the librarian what they wanted and in a short time he and Anna had a stack of books to go through, everything the library had to offer that even touched on Nazi concentration camps.

When they’d settled themselves at a table, he said to Anna, “You take half and I’ll take half.”

“I’d rather you did it.”

That annoyed him because he wanted to save time. He was eager to be home and at practice. Still, he’d felt really sorry for Anna when she’d cried. It always broke him up to see anyone cry. And, in Anna’s case, he never dreamed she had that much sensitivity. He’d almost hated forcing her to take back the music box, but there was no choice. Now he decided the least he could do was show her a little of the kindness and understanding Michaela thought so important.

He began on the first book, showing her every photo he came across that was taken inside a camp. She glanced at all of them with no sign of recognition, just as he’d guessed she would. One after another, he riffled through the books, looking for the somewhat rare photographs. She studied each and shook her head. You see, he wanted to say, I told you so. He was growing impatient and there was still a huge pile of books to check.

He opened the next one to the first picture and flashed it briefly in front of her. Before he could pull it away, she grabbed the book and pulled it closer, her eyes riveted to the page. He glanced at the photo with her. The caption said it was the main gate to the Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz.

“Freedom Through Work,” Anna said.

“What are you talking about?”

She pointed to big letters emblazoned above the gate. “That’s what it says.”

“Anna, you can’t know what it says. That’s German. You’ve never studied German.” She looked bewildered. He took the book from her and began reading the text on the page facing the photograph. There was nothing there that bore out Anna’s translation of the sign. He turned the page and the words hopped out at him. Anna was right. “That’s what the words say, all right,” he said, puzzled but still unruffled. “I don’t know how you knew, but there has to be an explanation. You’ve probably read about it someplace.”

“I don’t think so.”

She looked frightened, he thought. He noticed that the whole book was about Auschwitz and Birkenau, the women’s camp. He turned pages until he came to another photo. Feeling uneasy now, he held it up to her. The noise that issued from her throat chilled him.

She looked up at him and said, “That’s the unloading ramp. They brought in the prisoners and turned them out there.” She pointed to the large groups of people. “You see, the commandant has just made a selection. That’s why some of the people are standing on one side and some on the other. Behind them is the building that Mama disappeared into. You can’t see the chimneys in this picture.”

Hearing her call a strange woman Mama gave him a peculiar feeling. He moved to take the book from her, but she pushed him away, then began to read the text. She read on and on and when she finished, closed the book and laid it on the table. She said quietly, “The building Mama went into was the one where they prepared people for the gas chamber. The chimneys were crematoriums. After they gassed the people, they burned them. That’s what smelled so bad.”

She stared into space, her eyes focusing on a world he couldn’t see, then she turned to him and in a choked voice said, “Oh, Rowan, they killed Mama. They killed all those people. And the chimneys smoked day and night.”

For the second time that day, her eyes were brimming. He just didn’t think he could bear it if she started crying again. Whatever was happening to Anna was beyond his understanding, and that frightened him. Awkwardly, he patted her hand and said, “Try not to think about it. Maybe if you go to the restroom and splash some cold water on your face, you’ll feel better.”

She nodded, dabbed at her eyes, and got up. He watched her head for the lobby, and wished she had never shared her strange experience with him. What was he to make of it anyhow? It had to be some kind of fantasy. Had to be. Music that could throw someone back in time and into the shoes of someone else? Impossible.

Rowan remembered that she’d said the piece was called Reverie and that it had been written by a woman. On the off chance that someone had recorded it, he quickly made his way to the audiovisual department. He searched through the microfilm that listed every tape currently available. Several had that same title, but only one interested him. The composer’s name was Clara Muller. He seemed to recall that there was a Clara in Anna’s dream.

He hurried out in time to meet her coming into the lobby. As they left the building, he asked, “What did you say the name of your mother’s -- I mean the little girl in the dream -- what was her mother’s friend’s name?”

“Clara.”

“Clara what?”

She shook her head.

She doesn’t remember, he thought. And she won’t remember because she couldn’t possibly know. “That’s all right,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

Anna said, “I think it was something like Miller -- or maybe Muller. Yes, Clara Muller.”

On the ride home, Rowan said, “I’ve heard of race memory. Do you suppose you’re experiencing something like that?”

“Race memory . . . ,” Anna repeated dully.

“You know -- it means that our genes hold the important memories of our ancestors, and that sometimes we even have recall to those memories. Of course, in your case -- ”

She glanced at him sharply. “I know what it means. And I know what you were going to say. In my case, race memory wouldn’t exactly apply. Anna Zimmerman wasn’t really my ancestor. In fact, you might say that I am Anna Zimmerman. Maybe I should remember what happened to her.”

“Anna, it was only a dream. You’ve got to keep telling yourself that.”

She had the feeling that he didn’t believe his words any more than she did. “It was real, Rowan -- something that really happened. Somehow I know. Anna Zimmerman was the little girl in the concentration camp. She was there in the very last days of the war. I figured that out from her age. That was the only reason Clara could save her. In that book I just looked at, it said that in the earlier years in the camp, they killed all the young children.”

“I’m sorry now that I ever thought of the library.”

“It doesn’t matter. At least I know that I couldn’t have made it up. What worries me is what it all means.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, Rowan, I’m so afraid it means that I’m Anna Zimmerman. I don’t want to be Anna Zimmerman. I want to be someone else. I want to be Me.”

He fell silent, and she could tell that she had really upset him. Perhaps she should never have shared her strange problems with him. After a long time, he said, “I don’t think you should tell Mom or Dad about this.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would worry them.”

“You mean they’d think the clone experiment was going sour.”

“That’s not what I meant at all!”

The outrage in his voice told her that was exactly what he’d meant. “What do you think is happening to me, Rowan? Are you afraid I’m starting to self- destruct?”

“Don’t be silly. What’s happening to you is simple enough. You learned something about yourself that shook you up so much that you still haven’t adjusted to the idea.”

Anna sighed deeply. “I wonder if I ever will.”

“Of course you will. It just takes time. And you don’t have to be another Anna Zimmerman. After all, she lived in another time. Your environment is completely different. That’s got to count for something toward making someone into an individual.” Anna gave him a weak smile. Although she said nothing, she somehow thought it would take more than a different environment to give her the selfhood she lacked. She was merely an extension of Anna Zimmerman; she had all of the woman’s memories in her genes and was simply adding her own life experiences to them. “Don’t worry, Rowan. I won’t tell Mom or Dad. It wouldn’t do any good anyhow.” He said, “If it makes you feel better, you aren’t the only one keeping something from them.” He studied her for a moment, then added, “I guess there isn’t any reason why I shouldn’t tell you. That is, as long as you can keep a secret.”

“Of course, I can keep a secret. I know you don’t think I can do anything right, but one thing I can do is keep a secret.”

“I know.”

“So what’s the secret?”

“Well, I haven’t told Mom or Dad yet because I don’t know if anything will come of it, but I’m trying for a scholarship to a school in Japan.”

Japan! So far away. What would she do with Rowan gone? Whom would she talk to then? Who would even believe the things she had been telling him? No one. Yet Rowan did, she was sure. Already she felt an acute sense of loss. “When are you leaving?”

“Hey, not so fast. I probably won’t even make it. This is a tough one with plenty of competition. I only got through the first play-off recital yesterday. The last one isn’t due until the twenty-seventh of February, next year.”

If he was telling her this to help take her mind off herself, he was not succeeding. Then she told herself that he had uncomplainingly listened to her problems. The least she could do was listen to his. “What did you have to do?”

“Well, first came the prepared part. I had to play something from the classic period. I was ready with Mozart for that. For the romantic period, I used Paganini, and for the modem school, Bartok.”

From the eagerness in his voice, she guessed that he had been itching to talk about it. “Were you scared?”

“Scared? I was petrified -- sweating like crazy. Especially during the sight-reading. They give you unfamiliar material and only a few minutes to look it over.”

“I’ll bet you did well.”

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you want to go so far away?”

“It’s not that I want to go far away. It’s just that I want to go to that particular school because they’re the best if you’re interested in composing.”

“I thought you were going to be a concert violinist. Dad said -- ”

He broke in angrily. “I know what Dad said. That’s what he wants me to be. He’d like to manage my career. I don’t want to hurt him, but I just can’t swallow it. I’ve got to go my own way in music, even though he’ll think I’m being ungrateful. I don’t expect him to understand, or anyone else for that matter, but I’ve just got to be my own person.”

There were countless problems beyond Anna’s understanding, This was not one of them. “I know how you feel.”

“You couldn’t. No one could,” he said, then caught himself and stared at her as if seeing her with new eyes. “Yes -- yes, I guess you do.”

14

For a time Anna’s one sustaining comfort was the new and growing friendship between her and Rowan. She had never before needed anyone to confide in. Now she no longer felt she had to bury herself in a calculus book for diversion or solace. Talking with Rowan eased her tensions in a different way. Terrified that she might lose that friendship, she tried hard to avoid doing the things she knew he disapproved of.

Her first test came at the academy just a couple of weeks after their visit to the library. She was early for calisthenics that afternoon. The previous class was just leaving the locker room. Ever since the time, their classmate, the plump redhead, had forgotten to lock up her valuables, Anna, when she was early, had made a practice of trying the girl’s locker door. In all that long time she had never found it open, although the girl was often still in class.

That day Anna jiggled the door handle more out of habit than anything else. To her surprise, the door swung open, and she could see that the redhead’s belongings were still inside. Anna glanced quickly around the room. Empty. Probably the watch wasn’t even in the locker, she thought. The girl might not wear it every day. Hurriedly, Anna groped around the shelf to find she was in luck. The watch was, indeed, there. She drew it out. Yes, it was every bit as attractive as she remembered. She closed the door. All she had to do now was lock up by spinning the dial of the combination lock and no one would ever guess the door had been open. The redhead would undoubtedly think she had left her watch elsewhere. Anna, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Rowan’s words flashed through her head. She remembered how she had assured herself that, of course, she could keep promises, could control her actions. I’ll never do it again, she’d said. All she had to do right now was return the watch to the shelf, leave it just as she’d found it. Hurry, a voice inside her said, there isn’t much time. Put it back.

Still she held off. It was such a beautiful watch. She stared at it, entranced, unaware of how long she stood there. The next thing she knew a breathless voice panted out the words “What are you doing with my watch?”

Startled, Anna stared up into the narrowed eyes of the redhead. At a loss now, Anna said, “I -- I -- you left your locker open.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to take my watch.” Anna pulled herself together. “I didn’t take anything. Your locker was wide open, so I thought I’d have a closer look at your watch.” She handed it to the girl. “It’s nice.”

The redhead snatched it from Anna and hastily put it on. Obviously she didn’t believe a word Anna had said. She glared at Anna. “I hope you got a good look, because you’ll never get another.”

Anna shrugged, pretending indifference. After the girl left, and while Anna’s class was filing in, Anna thought about what she had done. She had meant to put back the watch. She really had. Yet why hadn’t she acted immediately? Although she wanted to feel that she would have followed through, she had hesitated too long to be sure. Perhaps she couldn’t control her acts after all. The idea frightened her. She consoled herself with the thought that even if that were true, there would surely be some way to learn.

Finally she decided that every time she was tempted she would make herself do something she hated, hated so much that the thought of punishing herself that way would spoil all the pleasure of taking something that belonged to someone else.

That very afternoon she subjected herself to one of the worst tortures she could imagine. She forced herself to play the tedious piano exercises Michaela had assigned, as many as she could get through, and each one, twenty times. She detested the exercises, but she stuck with them, feeling she was cleansing herself of whatever it was that made her act without the conscience that seemed to mean so much to people like Rowan. She kept wondering how she could have given a thought to something as trivial as a wristwatch when she was caught up in a problem that was monumental.

When she finished the exercises, she decided the punishment was not enough. The next day she went to the library in the complex and checked out as many books on the Holocaust as she could carry. She spent every free moment reading each of them from cover to cover. Now and then she came upon a picture or a description that transported her back into the dream or the memory, whichever it was, and she was again a little girl with the stench of death all around her, the sound of the women’s orchestra loud in her ears, the vision of Mama disappearing from sight. Then Anna would cry -- for Mama, for the starving brutalized people in the camps, and for all the others, thousands every day, who were gassed, then burned in crematoriums.

And every night she had nightmares. She could hear the little music box playing in the distance, always the same tune, Reverie. Then the music would come closer and closer, grow louder and louder until she awoke with a start. When the memory of the tune faded from her ears, the voice came.

Anna, let me come in. Let me come in . . .

Did it come from without or from within her? Anna couldn’t tell. And the biggest part of her punishment was that she would not allow herself to tell Rowan, because that would lighten the suffering. Anna became obsessed with the idea that if she suffered enough, she would purge herself of the desire to steal. She had to know she could control her own acts.

More than once lately Rowan had tried to talk to her, but each time she managed to have something more important, more pressing to take care of. She could tell that he was bewildered, perhaps even a little disturbed by her sudden turnabout. But that, too, was part of her punishment. She would not even allow herself a confidant. If she had once felt that Michaela, and even Rowan, were trying to torture her, she now had a need to torture herself.

At one point Rowan said, “I really don’t understand you, Anna. A little while ago you were begging me to listen to you and help you. Now you act as if you don’t even want to talk to me.”

Without meeting his eyes, Anna said, “It isn’t that, Rowan. It’s just that I have to work some things out by myself.”

She could tell he didn’t understand, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the watch and about the punishment she was exacting from herself.

Another time Graham Hart took her aside and said, “Anna, I’m worried about you. You aren’t acting like yourself. Is anything wrong?”

“No, I’m all right,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Well, just remember, Anna, if you have anything on your mind, anything at all you want to talk about, I’m always here and ready to listen.”

Although she believed his offer sincere, all she could think of was the night she had overheard him talking about her. No, she had nothing to tell him. How could you confide in someone who thought you were a freak? All she could say was, “Thanks, I’ll remember that.” She could tell that the words didn’t satisfy him, but they were the best she could do. Even Michaela commented. “You’re looking very pale these days, Anna,” she’d said at one of their Saturday sessions. “Do you feel all right?”

“I feel fine,” Anna said. She strongly suspected that Michaela would have enjoyed knowing that she was suffering. I wonder why she dislikes me so much, Anna thought. Then the obvious answer immediately presented itself. Because I’m not very likable. And why should it matter what Michaela thought? Anna had never before cared whether anyone liked her or not.

“I think you’re changing, Anna,” Michaela said.

Anna’s eyes widened. She felt as if Michaela were reading her mind. She half expected the woman to tell her that she was nicer to be around these days or something of the sort.

Instead, Michaela said, “You seem to have grown quite a lot taller in the short time I’ve known you. I wouldn’t expect someone of your age to start shooting up so fast.”

She might have known she would never get a compliment from Michaela. “I guess I’m just a late grower,” Anna said.

Anna may have looked pale, but apparently Michaela considered that no reason to back off on the endless exercises and the strict piano discipline. She was a hard taskmaster who, Anna felt, delighted in making her pupil miserable. But as miserable as Anna was, she would not allow herself the indulgence of complaining.

Several times Anna tested herself in the shops of the domed complex center. Each time, she failed, finding that she wanted to slip some attractive piece of merchandise into her carryall as much as ever. Only the thought of the punishment she had chosen for herself kept her from it. But there was still the thought, and she had to punish herself for that.

One evening after dinner, when Anna had gone to her room to do homework, Sarah Hart looked in on her. Anna was sitting at her desk, a book of chemistry open before her, but her mind was far away.

Sarah Hart sat down on the studio bed. “Anna, I’d like to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure, Mom.” As Anna turned her chair around, she was struck by the tall, slim figure of the woman she still thought of as her mother. How like Rowan she was. The same dark eyes and hair, the same olive complexion. Even Dad was dark. How could I have ever thought I was one of them? Anna wondered.

Sarah Hart said, “Rachael Lesser called me today.”

Although Anna immediately guessed what had prompted the dean’s call, her eyebrows lifted innocently. “What did she want?”

“She says your grades have suddenly fallen off.”

Anna was well aware of that. “I just can’t seem to keep my mind on school anymore.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“I’m all right.” It occurred to Anna that she hadn’t even had one of her headaches for a long time now.

“Then what’s wrong, dear?” She reached over and took Anna’s hand.

What’s wrong? Anna wasn’t sure she could have put it into words, even if she felt like trying, which she didn’t. It had something to do with knowing what she was, yet not knowing who she was. She simply shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Are you upset about learning your true identity?”

“I don’t know,” Anna said, then after a moment added, “Maybe.” That was as close as she could come to admitting her misery to the woman who, she felt, had betrayed her. If it hadn’t been for Mom, and sometimes Anna almost choked on the word Mom, she might never have had this problem, might never have even existed. Anna drew her hand away.

Once again Sarah Hart went through the same old patter about how privileged they both were, how proud they both should be. Anna paid scant attention, only aware of a voice rattling on and on. When it faded, she said, “I’ve been thinking, Mom. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t change my whole program in school.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe I shouldn’t be a physicist after all. I don’t seem to feel very interested in it anymore.”

Sarah Hart looked appalled. “Anna, you can’t mean that.”

“Why not? Why do I have to be a physicist just because she was?”

“I told you why before. Because they’re counting on you.”

“They -- always they! Who are they anyhow?” Looking thoroughly distressed now, Sarah Hart said, “They are a group of reputable American scientists. And your government. It’s not only important that we have a breakthrough on the replicator, it’s vital.”

“Why?”

“You know why. It isn’t exactly a secret that we’re fast depleting the world’s resources. We have to find an answer to that, and soon.”

“Then let the other Anna Zimmermans look for it. I don’t think I want to.”

“Anna, you’re just upset. It’s my fault, I know. I should never have told you when I did.”

“I had to know sometime.”

“But I wasn’t supposed to be the one to tell you, not then, not any time. Now I know why. Somehow I thought it would be better if it came from me. I guess I was wrong. I haven’t been able to make you feel at all good about yourself.”

“Who was supposed to tell me -- a stranger?”

“A trained person, I guess. Someone who would have known how to put it better than I seem to have done. I wish I could let you talk to someone like that now -- a psychologist, perhaps. But you do see why that’s impossible.” She stared anxiously at Anna.

“Of course. I’d have to tell the person what the problem is. And the problem is that I’m a clone. But that’s supposed to be a secret. We aren’t supposed to talk about it.”

“Maybe I should let them know that I went against their advice and told you. Maybe they could suggest something that would help.”

The thought terrified Anna. She couldn’t conceive of herself talking to them. She was sure they were monsters, capable of nothing but diabolical solutions to any problem. “Oh, please don’t, Mom. I don’t want to talk to them -- or to anybody. I’m all right.”

Sarah Hart sounded relieved as she said, “Then promise me you won’t do anything hasty, Anna -- I mean, about school. You’re too talented to waste yourself. Give yourself time to get over any anger or bitterness you feel. Everything will straighten itself out eventually -- you’ll see.”

It hit Anna for the first time that she didn’t belong to herself any more than she belonged to the Harts. She belonged to them. And if she couldn’t fulfill the purpose for which she was intended, what then? What would they do with her? To her? She felt suddenly panicky. “Don’t worry, Mom,” she said trying to keep the sound of fear from her voice. “I won’t do anything about anything.”

15

May I come in, Rowan?” Anna asked.

Startled, he glanced up from the violin he had just been tuning and over to the entrance to his room where Anna stood. He had not even heard her open the door. How long had she been standing there, listening to him practice? he wondered. “I didn’t think you were talking to me anymore,” he said.

“That wasn’t it exactly. I mean, I didn’t want you to think that. I mean -- ” she hesitated, looking as if she couldn’t find the words to say what she did mean. “Well, anyhow, can I talk to you now?”

He glanced down at his violin in a way he hoped suggested he had more important things to do. “Well, if you make it fast.” He simply did not know how to figure Anna. Just as he’d started feeling that she might, after all, be human, she had closed herself off from him. He resented that. God knows, he’d tried to be sympathetic, tried to understand her strange background, her nightmares, tried to help. Didn’t she trust him?

She came into his room and perched stiffly on the edge of his studio couch. She looked different, he thought, yet he couldn’t quite decide in what way.

“Did you make out all right in the second play-off recital?” she asked.

He gave a casual shrug. “I think so.” He wasn’t about to tell her how he had sweated through that ordeal. After all, if she’d decided she couldn’t confide in him, why should he confide in her? He waited for her to comment. Instead, she sat staring into space, looking troubled. When he could no longer stand the silence, he said, “Well, what do you want to talk about?”

The words seemed to bring her back to herself. She said simply, “I’m worried, Rowan.”

“About what?”

“About -- well, about school.”

For God’s sake, why couldn’t she tell him what was bothering her without his having to pry it out of her? “What about school?”

“It isn’t just school -- it’s -- well, something’s wrong with me. I just don’t seem to be interested in anything I’m studying anymore.”

He still held his violin in the tuning position, making it plain that he was ready to return to work. “That figures. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

“But it’s more than that. I just don’t seem to be able to do the things I used to.”

“Like what?”

“Well, remember how I used to be able to figure math problems in my head?”

Yes, of course, he remembered. Anna, the human computer. He nodded.

“I can’t do it anymore. I’ve tried over and over. I’ve even written the problems down. Then I close my eyes and try to see the numbers with my mind. I can see them all right, but I can’t seem to channel them into the part of my brain that works them out and comes up with the answers.”

“Can you work them out on paper?”

“Sometimes. But it takes me forever, and I seem to be wrong more times than I’m right.”

She looked so worried he began to forget he was annoyed with her. “You know what I think, Anna? I think you’re still upset over things. Learning who you were was shock enough, but then you had that dream about the concentration camp --”

“It was more than a dream!”

He fully believed she was right, but he was sure that the sooner she forgot, the better off she would be. “Well, whatever it was, it was traumatic. I think that what’s happened to you is like what happens to writers sometimes. They get a block, and they can’t write a word. But they get over it eventually. You will, too.”

“I don’t know.” She sounded doubtful. “Ever since my teachers discovered how much my work has fallen off, I’ve had to take the same kinds of tests I took to get into the academy. They can’t seem to figure out what’s happening to me. On the tests, I don’t show any aptitude for the sciences at all.”

“But, Anna, you wouldn’t if you have a block. Don’t you see? You don’t want to be Anna Zimmerman. You’ve said so yourself. So what do you do? Your mind erases everything about you that you know is like her.”

“You make it all sound so reasonable, Rowan. What you don’t know is what the tests show I do have an aptitude for.”

“What?”

“Art. . . design. They never showed that the first time I took them.”

Rowan absently placed his violin on his desk, taking a moment to mull over her words. At length he said, “You’ve always been so brilliant in math and science that that alone would probably have overshadowed any other talents you might have shown on tests. I’ll bet your art aptitude was just overlooked before.”

“They say not. Besides, I’ve never done all that well in any of the art classes I’ve taken.”

“But you’re not the same person that you were when you took the earlier tests, or even when you took those classes. People change. Their interests change. Maybe even their aptitudes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Plenty, if I’m one of the people.”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, Anna -- He stared at her incredulously.

“I mean it, Rowan.” She told him what Sarah Hart had said to her about the importance of the replicator.

When she finished, he thought, what nonsense, making Anna feel responsible for the destiny of the whole world. “In the first place, there’s nothing that says that you or--” he almost said the other clones, “anyone else is going to uncover the secret for making a replicator. Personally, I doubt if anyone ever will. In the second place, whether you have a block or whether your interests have changed -- in either case, you won’t be much good to them. And in the third place, if you want to change your studies, what can they do about it?”

“That’s just it -- I don’t know.”

“Well, find out.”

“Oh, Rowan, I’d be afraid.”

“That’s silly, Anna. What do you think they’re going to say -- well, she obviously can’t fulfill our plans, so we’ll just have to do away with her?” Her quick intake of breath and the expression in her eyes told him that was exactly what she thought. Silly kid. All the same he wanted to bite off his tongue. “Anna, they would never--”

“You don’t know, Rowan.”

“Anna, don’t torture yourself with such thoughts. That’s stupid. If you want to change courses in school, why don’t you see what your adviser has to say about it?”

She sighed bleakly. “Maybe I will. I’ll have to think about it.”

As she started out of his room, Rowan’s eyes followed her. Yes, she did look different. She was getting taller and her blond hair was deepening into a gold that glinted with red lights. She was as slender as ever, but her figure was starting to develop a woman’s curves. She was suffering, he knew. Perhaps that was what made her expression so much softer.

Strange, he had never before noticed that Anna was rather pretty.

Anna’s Saturday piano lesson was just about over when Michaela said, “You know, I think you’re actually improving. I guess the exercises were a good idea.”

Michaela’s words came as a surprise. Anna had met with her adviser that morning. Since then she’d been so preoccupied that she felt she had played badly. “You mean I won’t have to do exercises anymore?”

“I mean nothing of the sort. If they’re helping, all the more reason to keep on with them.”

Naturally, Anna thought. She was convinced now that suffering was natural to the human condition, yet how had she escaped it for all those years? It wasn’t until she’d found out she was a clone that it had begun. She glanced at Michaela and decided, no, she was wrong. It had started before that, had started the night when the music drifted across the park and into her room. Reverie. Curious that the woman had played the one piece that could have moved Anna in quite that way. What was even more curious was that the music box had played the same melody. Coincidence? It had to be. After all, it was she who had stolen the box. And yet...

Anna no longer feared Michaela. In fact, she had come to admire the woman. Michaela seemed so strong, so sure of herself. She could see why Rowan found her attractive. Mom was the only holdout. “She’s really terribly overdone, don’t you think?” she had thrown out at the dinner table one night for whomever cared to pick up on the remark.

“Overdone? Cooked too much?” Dad had asked innocently.

“You know what I mean, Graham. Excessive. Just a little too much of everything, including perfume.” Of course, both Dad and Rowan had defended Michaela. Now as Anna stared at her, she thought a leotard and long dangling earrings became her. Then it occurred to Anna that the earrings were the same ones that had once triggered her migraine. Today they didn’t seem to bother her. In fact, she hadn’t had a headache in a long, long time. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Don’t invite trouble.

“Something wrong, Anna?” Michaela asked.

“No,” Anna said quickly. For the first time she felt a desire to confide in Michaela. That was out of the question, though. Which made Anna all the more thankful for Rowan. If she had to keep all her worries and fears to herself, she’d go crazy. Anna said, “You know, at first I thought you were so mean, making me play all those exercises and all. Then I got to thinking about it the other day, and I decided this must be more boring for you than for me. I wondered why you would do it. Dad said you wouldn’t even take pay.”

“All the payment I want is to see you improve.”

“I think I am improving.”

“You know,” Michaela said with a smile, “I believe you are, too. In fact, while I still want you to continue with the exercises, I think you’re now ready for the enjoyable part -- full compositions.”

Anna couldn’t believe it. “Really?”

“Really.” Michaela quickly went through the pile of sheet music that always sat on top of the spinet, selected a Beethoven sonata, opened it, and said, “Ah, here we are, the third movement. Next week I expect you to be able to play this with your eyes closed.”

At that point, the door buzzer sounded. Anna said, “That must be Rowan. He said he’d walk home with me.”

“Then that’s it for today.”

Michaela went to the door and opened it to Rowan. “Today I gave Anna permission to start playing full pieces,” she said after greeting him. “You might try helping her with the one I’ve given her. When she learns it, you could even try a duet.”

“Duet?” he said. Anna thought he looked startled. “I never thought of anything like that, but if you think it will help --”

“I do,” Michaela said firmly.

When Anna joined Rowan outside, and they started across the park toward home, she said, “You don’t want to.”

“Want to what?”

“Play duets with me -- help me.”

“Sure I do. In fact, I was just now thinking that maybe we-could try something this afternoon.” Then he changed the subject. “Did you have any trouble this morning?”

Anna had already told him that she’d taken his advice and had made an appointment with her school adviser. “I guess you couldn’t really call it trouble.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I saw my adviser. She agreed with me that I’m not doing well enough to continue with the program I’m in now. She said it would probably be wise to make some changes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She had my file in front of her when I went in. She’s new on the job this year, so I don’t think she’d ever seen it before. I could see that she looked puzzled. She kept staring at something on the paper. Finally she asked me who Dr. Henry Jelliff was.”

“Dr. Henry Jelliff?”

“Yes. I told her I didn’t know. She said, ‘He’s not your guardian?’ I said, ‘No.’ Then she asked me if I had any idea why he was to be notified of any change in my curriculum. Of course, I told her, no, but I knew very well he had to be someone involved in the experiment.”

“I wonder if Mom knows who he is.”

“Oh, don’t say anything to her, Rowan. I told her I wouldn’t do anything about school.”

“But she’ll have to know sooner or later.”

“Maybe not. I was kind of reading my file upside- down. I could make out Jelliff’s name. There was another note, too -- See Headmaster. I figured then that there was no way that they wouldn’t hear about what I was doing, so I told her I’d better think things over, that maybe I wouldn’t make any changes.”

“What did she say?”

“She said my grades were no longer academy level, so she had to advise a change of program, maybe even a change of schools. I think I talked her out of doing anything right away, though. I said I’d really like to give it another try.”

“What good will that do?”

“Maybe if I try hard, I can get my grades back up.”

“What’s the point? You keep saying you don’t want to be a physicist.”

“But maybe I do want to be one. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve just run into a block. I bet if I just give it time, everything will come back to me.” Deep inside her, though, Anna knew that no matter what she said, what she was really trying to do was avoid a confrontation with them.

Anna spent the afternoon trying to master a portion of the music Michaela had given her. Rowan selected the part and said she was to practice it until she could play it without looking at the notes. The task should have been easy because the sonata was one she had played long ago, but she seemed to demand more of herself now. Although it was a relief to play something other than exercises, she had a feeling she wasn’t even getting close to what Michaela would expect.

At one point Rowan came into the room and she broke off, saying, “It’s not very good, is it?”

“You just don’t seem to be getting the right feeling.” He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I can help. I’ll be right back.” He left the room and returned in moments with his violin. He tuned the instrument, then glanced at the music. “I’m going to play the same passage. Close your eyes and listen.”

Anna did as he said. The section was an especially fast one and he played it skillfully. When he finished, he said, “What did you see?”

Anna opened her eyes. “I didn’t see anything. I had my eyes closed.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, what did you see in your mind.”

“Nothing. What was I supposed to see?”

Instead of answering her question, he said, “I saw horses -- wild, beautiful animals, free spirits, racing in the wind. Now close your eyes again and this time, as I play, try to form your own picture.” Anna, feeling tense, closed her eyes to once again listen to the same music. She had the feeling that Rowan was demanding something from her which, to him, was very important. Eager to please him, she took in the quick tempo and tried to form a picture in her head--anything. Even horses. Try to visualize horses, she told herself, running, leaping horses. Rowan’s horses. No, nothing would come.

When Rowan stopped playing he said, “Well?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Unless you call lines and dots and squiggles something. I might as well say it before you do. If this is what it takes to be a decent musician, then I’m hopeless.” She expected him to be angry with her.

Instead, he said patiently, “Look, Anna, you’re taking this too seriously. It’s only a sort of game.”

“It is?”

“Of course.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“I thought you realized. You don’t get bad marks if you fail or good marks if you succeed.”

“All right. Let’s try again.” As he began the music she closed her eyes. He was trying to help her relax, she knew, and strangely enough the ploy was successful. She felt calmer now, not because he had said this was only a game, but because he had been patient with her when she’d expected anger. Now she concentrated on the sound. Lively. Animated. Gradually a picture unfolded in her head. “I see children -- a playground -- laughing, running children -- children holding hands, playing circle games, others on slides, on seesaws.” When the music died, she said, “That was all I could see.”

“That was enough,” Rowan said, “but what did you feel?”

“Feel?” Anna blinked and opened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Close your eyes again.” Once more Anna obeyed him as he began to play, very softly this time. “Can you still picture children?”

“Yes. I could even describe what they’re wearing.”

“Never mind what they’re wearing. What are they feeling?”

In her head, Anna could see them romping, hear them laughing. “They’re having fun.”

“How do they feel?”

“Happy.” The music vibrated through her with a playful lilt that made her feel like laughing, too. “Joy -- they feel joyful.”

When the sound faded away, Rowan asked, “How did you know that?”

Anna stared at him now, feeling bewildered. “I don’t know -- maybe it was just obvious that laughing children would be happy.” She thought about it. “No, it was more. It was in the music. I could hear the happiness, feel the joy.”

“Feel?”

“Yes. In the music. I really could.” She thought Rowan looked pleased.

“This is not only a game,” he said, “it’s an exercise. If you practice it enough I’ll bet anything your playing will improve. Try it on the piano now -- the same passage I played. Try to visualize those children at the same time and let’s see what you get.” Feeling doubtful, Anna ran her fingers over the keys, striking them in the same old mechanical way.

“The children, the children! Think of the children!” he shouted.

The children . . . Anna tried to picture them but found it harder now that she was playing as well as watching the notes. But you don’t have to look at the notes, she told herself. You know them perfectly well. Close your eyes. Let the picture form. Children -- laughing, running, frolicking children. It was coming. Yes, it was coming. Children. They were skipping through the music now. Happy. Joyful.

When she finished, Rowan said, “That was better. I tell you what, Anna. We’ll take a half hour every afternoon and do the same thing with the rest of this movement. By the time you go back to Michaela’s, you’ll really surprise her.”

Anna was overwhelmed. He had never before offered to do anything like that for her. “But how can you spare the time from your own practice?”

“A half hour won’t matter that much. I’ll pretend I’m playing Pygmalion. By the end of the week you will be a completely transformed Galatea. Michaela will certainly be pleased.”

Anna suddenly wondered if he was doing this to help her or to please Michaela. Or did it make any difference?

16

The following Saturday Rowan again stopped at Michaela’s to walk with Anna. Although he could hardly contain himself he waited until they were well away from the apartment before he asked, “Well, how did it go?”

Anna giggled. “Oh, I just wish you could have been there. Michaela was really surprised. I breezed through the whole thing, and I was wonderful.”

“Stop bragging.”

“I’m not bragging. That’s what she said. She said, ‘Anna, that was wonderful.’ Of course she guessed that you’ve been helping me.”

Rowan didn’t mind that at all. He had hoped to impress her. When you came right down to it, he had accomplished something with Anna that she hadn’t -- practically the impossible. He had a right to feel proud. In fact, he was feeling more than a little like God and enjoying the feeling. God may have made the heavens and the earth in six days, but Rowan had taken only seven to get a little sensitivity into Anna’s playing, surely the more formidable task of the two.

Desert winds had made the winter day unusually hot and dry. As they let themselves into their apartment, Rowan felt very expansive. “You know what I’d like to do this afternoon?”

“What?” Anna asked.

“Go to the beach.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He knew what she meant. The beaches were overrun with gangs of hoodlums these days. You took your life in your hands to even venture near one. “I didn’t mean the regular beaches. I meant a place I know of that almost no one else goes to. One of the guys at the conservatory took me out there one day.”

“The water would be too cold for swimming this time of year.”

“We don’t have to go swimming. Instead of having lunch here, we could fix something to eat and have a picnic there.”

“We?”

She looked astounded, he thought. Maybe she didn’t like the idea of going someplace with him. “Why not we?”

“Don’t you have to practice?”

“I should, but, to tell you the truth, I feel all practiced out. Besides, there’ll be plenty of time for that before the next play-off recital. How about you? Is there anything you have to do this afternoon?”

“Well, I -- well, no -- not really.”

“What’s the matter, then? Don’t you want to go with me?”

“It isn’t that. I’m just surprised. I mean, you’ve never asked me to go anyplace with you before.”

That was almost embarrassingly true. “Well, I’m asking you now.”

“Is it because you think I need cheering up? Or because I look pale? Everybody keeps asking me if I’m sick. Or maybe you just feel sorry for me.”

“For God’s sake, Anna!” Now he was annoyed with her. The truth was it was because of all of those things, but he would never have admitted it to her. He felt irritated that she had sensed it. “Look, I said I wanted to go to the beach. I asked you if you wanted to go with me. Now why do you have to turn that into a court case? All you have to do is say yes or no.” If she didn’t want to go. why couldn’t she come right out and say so?

“Yes,” Anna said.

“If you don’t want to go, why can’t you just come right out and say -- ”

“I said yes.”

He stared at her dumbly. “You said yes?”

“Yes.”

In a moment they both began to laugh and an awkward tension dissolved into easy camaraderie. Rowan said, “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Let’s get some food together.”

Both Sarah and Graham Hart were still at work, so Rowan and Anna had the house to themselves. They changed into sport clothes, then packed Anna’s carryall with sandwiches made from leftover chicken. Rowan went up to the roof to check the big pots where their citrus trees were planted. He came back with several ripe oranges to add to the bounty. At Anna’s insistence, Rowan checked with INAFT.

“All clear,” he told her. They left a note, saying they would be home by dinner time, and were off.

They took the people-mover to an electrobus that traveled directly to and up the shore. Unlike Anna, Rowan was used to finding his way around outside the complex. He had a good memory for places. Although he’d visited this spot only once before, he recognized the stop where they were to get off. On foot, he took the carryall and they set out.

Anna said, “But, Rowan, we’re way above sea level here. There isn’t any beach.”

“Trust me.” They walked for perhaps ten minutes before he said, “Come here,” and motioned her toward the edge of a steep cliff. He pointed down to a small cove with a skimpy stretch of sand that lay far below them. “There it is.”

“But there isn’t any way to get down,” Anna said. “Oh, yes, there is. Follow me.” Rowan, feeling very worldly, led her on, through scrub, into high grass, green from winter rains, around shrubs, and on to the far end of the cliffs where they could again look down to the cove.

“I don’t see any path. It’s all rocks,” Anna said. “There isn’t a path, but you can get down from here and back up, too. I’ve done it. Just take it easy and I’ll help you. Be careful, though.”

Rowan thrust the straps of Anna’s carryall over his shoulder to leave his arms free, then led the way. They scrabbled down, Rowan helping Anna around and over boulders, both sliding some of the way on their seats. The descent was longer, steeper, and more difficult than he’d remembered, but, at last, they reached the cove with nothing worse than scraped palms.

He dropped the carryall onto the beach and sank down to catch his breath. Anna sat beside him and wisely, he thought, took off her shoes and rolled up her slacks. He did the same. The air felt cool, the sun and sand, warm. They were both silent for a time, drinking in the salty ocean smell, listening to the sound of waves washing over the shore.

Rowan felt as if he were generously sharing his kingdom with her as he said, “Isn’t this a tremendous spot?”

“It’s strange,” Anna said. “I mean, there isn’t another soul around, and you can’t see anything but ocean and cliffs.”

“That’s what’s so great about it. We could be the only people in the whole world. Civilization just disappears when you’re down here.”

Anna pointed in the distance. “Not quite. There’s a sailboat.”

“They don’t come near this part of the coast, though, because of the currents.” He smiled smugly. “We have it all to ourselves.”

Anna glanced around her. “Any minute I expect to see smugglers landing here.”

“Heaving to, you mean. In Smuggler’s Cove, you’d better speak the language.” He pointed to the steep stony rise. “Can’t you just imagine a bunch of pirates trying to take their ill-gotten gains up those rocks?”

“No, I can’t. I can’t even see us getting back up.”

“We will, though. No problem. How do you like the name I just gave this place?”

“Smuggler’s Cove? I like that. Let’s always call it that.”

Always? The sharing of memories forever? He had a fleeting vision of himself old, of Anna old. In the vision, they were among other people whom he couldn’t identify. Anna was saying, “Remember that day we went to Smuggler’s Cove?”

“Smuggler’s Cove? Where’s that?” the others would ask. He would look at Anna and Anna would look at him and they would share what they could never, in quite the same way, share with anyone else, this moment together in this place. Now he had the feeling that it was important to keep his senses honed sharp to take in every sound, every smell, every feeling so acutely that he could always bring this moment fully to life in his mind.

Anna felt the same. This was a very special afternoon. They were the only people in the whole world. All civilization had vanished. There was no one out there to say that she must be a physicist, that she must be Anna Zimmerman. With the whole world gone, her heritage no longer mattered. She was someone new. Eve, perhaps.

Rowan sprang to his feet. He placed a palm over one eye, pointed to it with the index finger of his other hand and said, “Eye patch.” Then he pointed to his left leg. “Peg leg.” He began walking stiffly in circles around Anna. “What ‘o, me ‘earty. What say we wash the grit out of our ‘ands and ‘ave a bite o’ grub?”

Anna let out a great burst of laughter. “You’re a terrible pirate.”

He dropped the act. “I may be a terrible pirate, but I’m a great comedian. I can’t remember ever hearing you laugh like that.”

“I guess it’s the sea air.” She got to her feet to join him in washing her hands in salt water. Rowan had thought to bring along a small towel. They dried off and ate lunch, their appetites sharpened by the delay in eating and by the outdoors. Afterward they tested the water, each with a toe, then with a whole foot. Icy. They yelped and hopped back on the beach to stretch out on warm sand.

They talked.

About Japan. Anna saying how wonderful it was that Rowan would have a chance to win a scholarship like that; thinking, I wish you weren’t going so far away. Rowan saying he’d always wanted to see Japan, although it was certainly not a sure thing; thinking, But it’s awfully far away. A chill gale threatening Smuggler’s Cove.

About Anna’s suddenly not talking to Rowan. Anna saying it wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was because of -- well, if he must know, it was because of her -- well, wanting to take things and having to punish herself with the exercises and the books on the Holocaust; thinking, Now he’ll hate me. Rowan calling her an idiot, saying that if she’d only told him, he might have helped and that she must promise never to keep something like that to herself again; thinking, You silly kid. A warm wind filling, overflowing Smuggler’s Cove.

They talked more. About Mom and Dad. About music. About Michaela and how Anna had really come to like her. About things they had never discussed before. And then, too soon, a cool breeze moved in like a sigh. The sun was lower now, the air colder, the tide sweeping in. It was time to put on shoes and head for home.

They started making their way up the long, steep slope, much of the time on all fours, grabbing shrubs, rocks, anything sturdy, to pull themselves gradually higher. The distance up seemed so much farther than the distance down. They were only about halfway to the top when they heard a plaintive mewing. Rowan stopped short and glanced all around.

It was Anna who spotted the kitten. “Look -- up there.” She pointed above and beyond them, to a part of the embankment they had avoided because it was so heavily covered with sharp rocks and with outcroppings of cactus.

“How could a cat ever get up there?” Rowan said. “Maybe it lives around here.”

“I doubt it. This spot is too far from beach apartments. It’s more likely that someone tossed it out here to get rid of it.” He began calling, “Here kitty, here kitty, kitty.”

The kitten never budged from its perch on a high, mean-looking rock. As if the animal guessed it now had a sympathetic ear, it wailed louder.

“Well, I’ll just have to go after it,” Rowan said. Anna’s stomach tightened. “Oh, Rowan, don’t try it. You could get killed on those rocks. You could slip and fall.”

The note of terror in her voice stopped him for a moment, until he realized what caused it. He had almost forgotten how, long ago, he’d had to give away his puppy because of Anna. He’d thought he would never forgive her for that. Perhaps he hadn’t really understood. “You’re afraid of it, aren’t you?” She opened her mouth to object, then decided to be honest. She bit her lip and nodded.

“Anna, I can’t leave the poor thing here to die of starvation.”

“I can’t help it, Rowan. They scare me. And there isn’t anything I can do about it.”

His eyes moved from her to the crying cat, trying to devise some plan of action that would get them all to safety. There was no way he could do it alone. And if Anna responded hysterically, they could easily wind up at the bottom of the cliff. Finally he had an idea. “You’ve said that you don’t want to be Anna Zimmerman, that you want to be yourself.”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“I mean, if you’re phobic about animals, Anna Zimmerman probably was, too, for some reason or another -- because of something that happened to her in her life. And without any reason in yours, you’re paying the price for what took place in hers.” He wasn’t at all sure he was right, but if there was anything that could change her attitude, his common sense told him it was her unwillingness to identify with Anna Zimmerman. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Let’s make our way up farther.”

Anna followed him, hoping that meant he had changed his mind. They continued on until they were on a level with the kitten. Then Rowan spotted a good-sized flat boulder on which he knew he could get his footing. He heaved himself on to it, then pulled Anna up beside him. He took in the problems that lay between them and the yowling kitten. Giant rocks and spiny cactus. The kitten couldn’t have chosen a more difficult spot for a rescue. “I’m going to need your help, Anna. Think you can manage?”

“You mean you’re going to -- ”

“I have to, Anna. Can you help me?”

“Will I have to --” her voice quavered, “to touch it?”

“Anna, please try. That’s the only way I can do it. I’ll have to hang on with one hand and pass the kitten to you with the other.”

“I don’t know, Rowan.”

“Anna, try!”

Tears stung her eyes. She wanted so much to please Rowan, wanted his approval so badly, yet wasn’t at all sure she was up to winning it. “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

They picked their way around cactus, over and around rocks until they were directly below the jagged boulder where the kitten had worked itself up to a small ledge near the top. It looked down at them, mewing pitifully.

“I’m going to hand the cat to you, Anna, and you’ve got to hang on. Remember, if you panic or do anything foolish, we could both lose our footing and get hurt or killed.”

It was a test. Terrible things would happen if she failed. “I’ll do my best.”

He took her by the arm and stared directly into her eyes. “Now, remember, you’re not Anna Zimmerman. You’re not afraid of animals.”

When he released her, she watched him as he felt for a toehold in the rock. She watched, thinking, I am not Anna Zimmerman. I am not afraid, of animals. Not afraid. Who could be afraid of a little kitten? Anna Zimmerman perhaps. But I am not Anna Zimmerman. I am someone new. I’m Eve. And I am not afraid.

With his foot firmly lodged in a groove in the rock, Rowan was tall enough to stretch up and with one hand, grasp a rough protrusion on the stone and with the other, the kitten. The animal squealed as Rowan lowered it to Anna. “Quick,” he said.

They both knew he could not hang on long. Anna, heart pounding, reached up and snatched the animal from him, holding it away from her body, cupping it tightly in her hands. She heard Rowan exhale in relief as he steadied himself against the rock. She felt the furry ball wriggle, held tight. Fear, bilious and icy, shot to her stomach and crept out to her limbs, her fingers, demanding that she scream, let go. I am not Anna Zimmerman. I am not afraid. I am Eve. I am not afraid.

Through trembling fingers, she could feel her heart racing. In another moment she realized it was not her heart, but the kitten’s. The animal was frightened, too. Shaking. As frightened as she was. Poor thing. Like the little girl in the concentration camp. Abandoned. A waif. Poor thing. Now all she could think of was the child. Again, she was experiencing the child’s fear. A great wave of tenderness washed over her. She pulled the kitten close, held it against her chest, and soothed it. “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.” Poor little girl, poor little waif. Poor thing.

Rowan dropped down beside Anna.

“Easy. She’s scared enough as it is,” Anna chided.

“You’re not scared?” Rowan said.

I’m Eve. I am not afraid. “No.” She patted the kitten. “Isn’t that strange? It’s not so bad, touching an animal. I don’t seem to mind.”

“That’s great.”

“She looks so pathetic, she’s kind of cute.”

“She?”

“Well, whatever.” The kitten was a white and silver tabby with round, blue-green eyes and a pink nose. “Let’s take her home.”

“What about your allergy?”

“Maybe I’m over it.” Anna felt wonderful. She had done it, had faced and conquered a fear. Perhaps she really was someone new. To her delight, as she stroked the kitten, a pink tongue shot out to lick her hand. “She licked me,” Anna said excitedly. “Did you see that, Rowan? She likes me. Oh, I’ll bet she’s hungry.”

Rowan dug into the carryall for a leftover piece of chicken sandwich, which the kitten gobbled up in short order. “He or she is starved, but that’s all there is until we get home. You’re not going to care for this, kitty,” Rowan said, “but you’re going to have to ride in the carryall.”

The kitten protested when Rowan put it inside, but as they made their way up the embankment, the animal soon quieted.

“She knows she’s going home,” Anna said. She felt very happy now. She was Eve. And she was not afraid.

17

The kitten did turn out to be a female, and Anna and Rowan named it Smuggler. Sarah Hart insisted they take it only on a trial basis. The moment Anna started wheezing, it would have to go, she said. Graham Hart agreed with her. Anna had not had an asthma attack in years, he maintained. He wasn’t looking forward to rushing her for emergency treatment now. She and Rowan should both know better than to invite that kind of trouble.

In spite of all their worries, Anna bore up beautifully. The kitten was naughty and arrogant and adorable. Best of all, she made everyone in the family laugh. And there had been far too little laughter in the house recently, Rowan thought.

He was proud of Anna. It must have taken guts to hang onto an animal, feeling the way she did. She was really maturing, he decided. He was proud of himself, too, for helping her overcome her fear. Obviously he had come up with the right way to cure her phobia, which made him feel very wise. Interestingly enough, once the phobia disappeared, so did the allergy. Anna got on well with Smuggler and, lately, she had never looked healthier. Rowan kept forgetting she was a clone. But what difference did that make anyhow? She was still a person with the same needs as anyone else.

They’d had the kitten for about two weeks when Rowan, after another play-off recital, came into the apartment one afternoon to find his mother already there. Usually she worked late and was the last one home. Today she met him at the door and said, “I thought you’d never get here.”

He had told no one except Anna about the scholarship, so he said nothing.

Obviously agitated, his mother said, “Well, come into the kitchen. I’m having a cup of coffee. There’s a pitcher of milk ready if you want some.”

Without bothering to set down his violin case, he followed her to the kitchen. “Where’s Anna?”

“I sent her on some errands, because I didn’t want her to hear this.”

Rowan tensed. He watched his mother pour a glassful of the powdered milk she’d prepared and set it on the small breakfast table. “Hear what?” he asked.

She sat down before a half cup of coffee and absently motioned him to another chair. Without taking off his jacket, he slid into the seat she indicated and laid down his violin case. Fearful of what was coming, he waited in silence.

She stared down into her cup for a long moment, then said, “I think there’s something wrong with Anna.”

What was she talking about? Anna had taken her regular physical only last week and had said nothing about anything wrong. “What do you mean?”

“Dr. Barrett called me early this morning. You know, he’s looked after Anna ever since she was born. He knows about her -- I mean, about the experiment. He says there’s some unexplained change in her cell makeup.”

Rowan paled. “You mean he thinks she has cancer?”

“To tell you the truth, Rowan, I don’t know what he thinks. If it was cancer, I’m sure he would have told me. After all, most cases are curable these days.”

“But cells--what else could it be?”

“I don’t know. And that’s what worries me. I could tell he was very concerned. He wants to take some more tests. Under the circumstances, I thought it only fair to tell him that I had to tell Anna about herself and why. Just in case that has anything to do with what’s happening.”

“What kind of tests does he want her to take?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. He asked me if she was behaving strangely. I said no.” She frowned as if considering her answer doubtfully. “I wouldn’t say she was behaving strangely. Would you?”

He said quickly, “Of course not.”

“Why, the two of you seem to be getting on so well together now. And you know yourself, you never did before.”

How blind his mother could make herself, he thought, overlooking the fact that that in itself might well be strange. Nevertheless, he went along with her. “I think she’s maturing--and for the better.”

“Yes, I felt so, too. She’s so much more helpful than she used to be. Still, there are her grades . . .” Her voice trailed off. At length she added, “Don’t say anything to your father until I find out what this is all about.”

He nodded. Was she worried about Anna, he wondered, or only about what his father would say? But surely there was nothing seriously wrong with Anna. She was much too young to have something like cancer.

He heard the front door open and the sound of Anna’s quick steps along the hall. Smuggler appeared from someplace to bound into the kitchen with her. “How did you know I had cat food?” she said to the kitten as she placed a grocery bag on the table. “I think I remembered everything, Mom.”

“Thanks, dear.” Sarah Hart got up and began unloading the bag.

“Rowan, why do you have your jacket on?” Anna asked.

“Because I just got in this minute and I haven’t had time to take it off.” He tried to keep the worry from his voice, but she must have sensed something.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.

He saw his mother glance at her sharply before he said, “Of course not.”

Apparently that satisfied her. “I’ll feed Smug while you put your things away. Then come into the living room. There’s something I want you to hear.”

He took a few minutes to hang up his jacket and place his violin case in the bedroom. When he joined Anna, she was seated at the piano, riffling through a stack of sheet music. “I found something I like in these pieces that came with the piano.”

Grandmother’s music. She had deliberately avoided calling it that, he was sure. Probably because she no longer considered any of his family her relatives. The piano had come to them after his grandmother had died. Everyone said she’d played exceptionally well and that he and his father had inherited their musical talent from her.

Anna found the music she’d been looking for and placed it in the holder on the piano. “Listen to this.” As she began playing, he sat down on the sofa and stretched out his long legs. Although he was in a gloomy mood, he promised himself to keep his feelings to himself. Because of his worries about Anna he was experiencing a strange mixture of emotions that made him want to lash out at someone, and he was afraid that it just might be at her.

The music she had chosen was unfamiliar to him. Without any coaching from him, she was handling it rather well. Of course, it was an uncomplicated melody, a piece of popular music from his grandmother’s day. He was gratified to hear how much feeling she was putting into her playing these days. When she finished, he said, “That was really good, Anna.”

The compliment seemed to embarrass her. “It’s an easy piece to play. And I like it. Don’t you?”

“It’s kind of old-fashioned.”

She shrugged. “Maybe that’s what I like about it.”

“What’s it called?”

“ ‘Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet’--from some old movie, I think. How about trying it on your violin, Rowan? We could play a duet.”

He asked me if she was behaving strangely. His mother’s words flashed through Rowan’s head. Anna was behaving the way he’d always thought she should behave, but that made her different from the earlier Anna, strangely different. He says there’s some unexplained change in her cell makeup. Rowan was terrified for her. His fear made him draw back into himself. “I must not think about it,” he told himself. If he let his feelings overwhelm him, he might have nothing left for his violin, nothing to bring to the next play-off recital, the big one, the last one.

“I can’t get into anything like that now,” he said brusquely, and got up from the sofa. “Besides, I should be practicing. The last play-off recital is on February twenty-seventh, which doesn’t give me much time. But you go on with what you’re doing--it sounds good.” As he started from the room, a quick glance at her told him that he’d hurt her feelings, but he kept right on going anyhow. In a moment he heard her begin the same melody again. Now it sounded achingly sad.

He hurried to his room and slammed the door behind him to obliterate the sound. I think there’s something wrong with Anna. He stood beside his desk, unseeing, then brought his fit down hard on the wood. It was unfair. Unfair!

“I just don’t understand it. The new tests show even more change,” Dr. Barrett said. He leaned back in his office swivel chair and studied Anna. He was a restless little man who always flew about as if he were trying to prove he could manage three patients at the same time, as well as a fourth on the telephone. Today Anna felt she had his undivided attention.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“The experiment’s gone haywire. I’m going to self-destruct.”

“Now, Anna, I know your mother told you that you have unusual--well, beginnings--but that’s no reason to jump to silly conclusions.”

“Then what’s wrong with me?”

Talking in his usual hurried way, Dr. Barrett went through a lengthy speech full of medical jargon that meant nothing to Anna. At one point he broke off and said, “You follow me?” When Anna shook her head, he sighed impatiently. “Well, it really doesn’t matter. The thing is, Anna, we don’t understand what’s causing certain changes in you, but we have to find out.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about today. I want you to go to San Clemente Island for observation.”

“Why there?”

“Because the government has experimental laboratories there. They’ll be able to run some more involved tests. Shouldn’t take more than a week, I’d say. I’m sure they’ll be able to pinpoint the problem.”

They? No, they. Was there no way to escape them? And the laboratories? Were those the ones where she’d had what Dr. Barrett called her unusual beginnings? Probably. Now they were recalling her like some defective automobile. “I don’t want to go anyplace,” she said.

“Oh, now, Anna, just think of it as a vacation.”

“I don’t want them touching me! I won’t let them!” she said shrilly. Hadn’t they done enough damage creating someone who was turning into a monster? Surely that must be what was happening to her. She was changing. Every part of her was changing, inside and out. She looked down at her hands. Would they grow fat and grotesque? Or would they shrivel up and rot away? What was happening to her?

As if he had read her mind, Dr. Barrett leaned forward, took one of her hands in his, and patted it. “There’s nothing to fear, Anna. Why some of the world’s best medical and scientific minds are at San Clemente. They’ll put you to rights in no time.” Anna drew her hand from his. “I don’t want to go.”

He said simply, “But you must.”

It was just as she’d thought. She had no choice. It was not for her to say what she would or wouldn’t do. They owned her. She felt as if she had always known she would have to face them. Suddenly she was very tired. Weak. What did it matter if she had to go to San Clemente Island? Something dreadful was happening to her. Probably she was dying. And the horrifying part of it was that no one really cared. Not even Rowan.

18

Anna stretched out on the chaise lounge in the private patio off her room. High brick walls cut off all sight of the grounds on the island, as well as the cool ocean breezes. Anna thought ruefully of Dr. Barrett’s words. Think of it as a vacation.

The buildings in which she was housed were called The Cottages. Her room had no hospital atmosphere at all. In fact, it could have been a room in some pleasant seaside motel, looking out at a patio full of greenery. She could even hear the distant sound of ocean. But she was not on vacation and she was not in a motel. She was on government property where virtually every corridor and every door was marked restricted. She could leave her locked room only for exercise in the gym, and only at prescribed times, and with an attendant. Although there was a phone on her bedside table, she could receive no calls from the mainland or make any.

Letters were the only form of communication allowed her, although the attendant informed her she must in no way mention anything about the island. “I’m terribly sorry,” she’d said, “but you’ll have to leave all of your letters open for the censor. There’s some highly secret work going on here. We have to be sure you aren’t disclosing something of a sensitive nature.” Who’d want to write letters under those conditions? Anna wondered. No, she was not on vacation. She was in a sort of prison. Sure, she could have scrambled over the brick wall any time she wanted to, but where was there to run? Certainly no one would be foolish enough to try to swim the long distance to the mainland.

On the day she’d arrived, an attendant had met and rushed her along to The Cottages. Anna had only time to take in a quick impression of the whole operation. Many buildings. More than she would have supposed. Offices, labs, she guessed. One building very tall. A helicopter on the roof. Two people near it, carrying someone on a stretcher. A hospital, no doubt. Other buildings that looked like dormitories. In all, a small city.

The place frightened her. First, because of what it was--a location where people in science experimented on . . . whom? Other people? Animals? Once that would never have bothered her. Now she felt sickened. There was still another reason. This one, not seen but sensed. She could feel it all around her, in the melancholy sound of waves pounding the shore, in the chill morning mists that settled over everything, a strange yet familiar feeling that beyond the high patio wall outside her room something, someone, waited.

She had already spent five days on the island. With all of the tests she had taken, she had yet to meet anyone she would have labeled one of them. The people who had examined and tested her were merely polite and efficient doctors and nurses. She had especially wondered if Dr. Henry Jelliff, whose name had appeared in her school file, and who was surely one of them, would make an appearance. But, no. Anna had no doubt that he received extensive reports on her condition, but he obviously had no intention of making himself known to her. She found herself growing more and more alarmed.

Now she put down the book she was holding rather than reading, then lowered her chair and lay back, eyes closed. She thought of Dad and Mom saying good-bye to her just before they’d put her on the hydrofoil. Dad, self-conscious, trying to encourage her. Not succeeding. Mom, always the scientist, telling her that it was a great privilege to get into San Clemente, that she must keep her eyes open because she would undoubtedly see some fascinating things going on.

What neither of them knew was that Anna had overheard them talking about her only a couple of days before, the day after Dr. Barrett had told her where he planned to send her. She had come in late that afternoon. They were both in the living room and the tone of their voices told her something was wrong.

“I told you so,” Anna heard Graham Hart yell. “I told you no good could come of trying to play God!” Obviously he had just found out about Anna’s problems.

”But, Graham,” Mom said, sounding subdued, “San Clemente has some of the world’s most brilliant minds. I’m sure they’ll be able to do something to reverse whatever it is that’s going on.”

“And if they can’t?”

Silence. After a moment, Mom sobbing out the words, “Oh, Graham--I’m sorry. I never guessed -- ”

Anna had not waited to hear more. She’d slammed the front door to pretend she’d just come in, then hurried to her room.

But it was not Mom and Dad who made Anna feel so desolate now. It was Rowan. For a while she’d believed he was starting to like her. Then a light went out. Or so it seemed. His good-bye sounded like someone seeing off a casual friend.

She had turned to him last, saying, “Don’t forget to feed Smug.”

“I won’t,” he’d said. “Don’t forget to write.”

“I won’t,” she’d said. “Don’t forget to return the exercise books to Michaela.”

Don’t forget to write! As if I really were going on vacation, she thought, feeling bitter now. It’s a wonder he didn’t say, “Have a good time, Anna.” Well, she hadn’t forgotten to write. She’d sent Mom and Dad a short note, saying she had arrived, was receiving good treatment, eating good food, and everything was going fine. That was about all she could say. The censor would allow no description of the place, not even the mention of her private room.

In the days that she had been here, she had taken every conceivable kind of test, physical and mental. According to Dr. Barrett, they should have been nearly through with her. About a week, he’d said. But there was yet no mention of sending her home. What if there was going to be none; what if she was here to die? I’m probably dying, she thought, and yet I just can’t seem to believe it.

As she lay there, a warm sun beating down on her face, she heard the sound of a bouncing ball. At first, she paid no attention. Someone was obviously amusing himself throwing a ball against one of the brick walls someplace nearby. When the noise continued, she began to wonder about that person. Was it someone like herself, someone living alone in a locked room, lonely, frightened, waiting for something to happen?

Anna couldn’t quite tell where the sound was coming from. The wall on the far side of the next patio, she guessed. But that room was empty. So was the room on the other side of her. In the time she had been there not a murmur had come from either of them. Even if the rooms were soundproof, she would have heard movement in the patios.

Curious, she decided to take a quick peek. She glanced around for something to stand on. The metal patio table was just right--lightweight but sturdy. Anna dragged it over and climbed up on it to look into the adjacent patio. Empty. In the next instant a tennis ball came bounding over the far wall to bounce and finally come to rest on the patio tiles. Then a girl hoisted herself over the same wall and retrieved it. As she picked it up, she spotted Anna watching her. “I was just getting my ball,” she said, sounding as if she felt she owed someone an apology.

“I heard you bouncing it,” Anna said. The girl approached and glanced up at Anna. “I hope the noise didn’t bother you.”

She looks familiar, Anna thought. “No, it didn’t bother me.”

The girl stared and stared, a puzzled expression on her face. Finally she said, “Do I know you from someplace?”

“That’s funny. I was going to ask you the same thing. Where do you live?”

“Phoenix, Arizona.”

“Then I guess we couldn’t possibly know each other.” Anna told the girl where she lived and the girl agreed.

“Are you here for treatment?”

“Tests,” Anna said. “How about you?”

“I’m supposed to have some sort of rare blood disease. They think they can cure it. I can’t get very excited about it, though, because it doesn’t bother me. I think they must be crazy.”

Now Anna took a closer look at the girl, trying to decide whom she resembled. Suddenly it dawned on Anna. Her spine went rigid, her muscles tensed. This girl looked like the one in The Greenwich Department Store. Which meant that she looked like Anna. Of course, the girl’s hair was darker, much darker, her face longer, her body taller, yet the resemblance was unmistakable. But only if you were looking for it. “What’s your name?” Anna asked.

“Anna Burton. What’s yours?”

Still Anna couldn’t believe it. She watched the girl’s expression carefully as she said, “That’s a coincidence. My name is Anna, too--Anna Hart.”

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

Anna could see no more than casual interest in the girl’s eyes. “I guess it’s not all that unusual to run into someone with the same first name. Now if we both had the same middle name, that would really be something else.”

The girl said quickly, “You couldn’t have a middle name like mine. Mine’s a family name--Zimmerman.”

Anna felt sick now. The girl obviously didn’t know who she was, or rather, what she was, or why she was really here. Anna wondered fleetingly if she should tell her. Then she remembered her own shock at finding out. How could she inflict that knowledge on someone else? What could she say, anyhow? I’m an Anna Zimmerman, too. We are both her clones. Do you know what a clone is? Do you know that we are something to each other, but I’m not sure what. No, she could never say those words. If the girl didn’t know, and Anna felt sure she didn’t, then she was lucky.

“The way you’re looking at me, I’d almost think you did have the same middle name.”

Anna caught herself. She must have looked as stunned as she felt. “Oh, no.”

“I thought not. Nobody’d ever give anyone a name like that unless it was a family name.”

Anna smiled wanly. Strange, she thought, there’s a likeness about the two of us, and yet we look different from each other, too, more like possible sisters than twins. She decided that this girl must be another Anna Zimmerman gone sour. Were there others?

“Well, I guess I should be getting back. I get to use the gym in about ten minutes.” The girl moved to leave, then stopped. “Say, could you use a ball? I’ve got a couple more with me, and they’re not about to let me play tennis. This place is so boring you need something. Here, catch.” She tossed the ball up to Anna.

“Thanks,” Anna said. She watched until the girl had disappeared back over her wall. Anna got down from the table. She stood there a moment, trying to understand. A blood disease, they had told the girl. Well, perhaps she did have one. Maybe that’s what I have, too, Anna thought--a disease that’s causing the changes Dr. Barrett’s so concerned about. But how could that alter one’s hair coloring?

Another thought, a terrible thought, darted through Anna’s head now. Immediately she dragged the table over to the opposite wall. She climbed up on it, aimed the ball for the second patio beyond hers on the other side, threw it, and waited. After what seemed a long time, a head appeared above the wall, a blond head much lighter than her own, a face plumper, yet even across that distance Anna could see the likeness. Were they all here? Yes, she was sure of it. This was a concentration camp for all the Anna Zimmerman clones!

19

What is it, Rowan?” Michaela said, holding her apartment door ajar.

Rowan said, “Anna won’t be coming for her lesson today. She asked me to give these exercise books to you.” Although Anna had left on the previous Monday, Rowan had delayed returning the books, assuring himself that Anna would certainly be back by Saturday for her next lesson. But Anna was not back. He had no choice but to stop by before orchestra practice that day. “In fact, I’m not sure when she’ll be ready for more lessons.”

“I know,” Michaela said.

Her words startled Rowan. How could she know? Dr. Barrett had cautioned all of the Harts to say nothing. Rowan decided that what she knew had to be the story they had concocted to tell others. “I imagine Dad’s already told you about Anna’s asthma -- how she had to go stay with relatives of ours in Colorado because of it.”

“Oh yes--Colorado,” she said solemnly. She glanced down at his violin case. “I know you must be on your way to orchestra practice, but can you come in for a moment, Rowan? I have a problem I’d like to ask you about.”

Flattered, he said, “Oh, sure. I’ve got plenty of time.”

Inside she motioned him into a dining area where her large collection of music boxes covered the table. He wondered if she always kept them there.

“You remember how intrigued Anna was with one of these?” she said.

Rowan nodded. He again saw Anna thrusting the box at Michaela, saying, “I was the one who took it.” Now he wondered if he’d had the right to humiliate her in that way, even going as far as apologizing for her to Michaela. He remembered exactly how Anna had looked afterward when she’d told him she was sorry, her voice almost a whisper. Remembered, too, how she had appeared in the library that day, talking about the concentration camp--small and fragile.

Michaela gestured toward the music boxes. “My problem, Rowan, is that I’d like Anna to have one to remember me by, but I can’t, in good conscience, give her one. I mean, it almost seems as if I’d be condoning her stealing. At least, she might get that impression.”

To remember her by? “Are you leaving here?”

“Yes, Rowan. Your former music history teacher will be back in a few days, and I have another job up north waiting for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” Rowan’s mind was full of worries about Anna, yet he still felt a sense of loss to think of Michaela gone. “We’ll miss you.”

She smiled mischievously. “Even Anna?”

“Oh, Anna said --” he broke off.

“Tell me what Anna said.”

“You won’t be offended?”

“No, I won’t be offended, Rowan. I can probably guess anyhow.”

“Well, it’s the stupidest thing, but she was really afraid of you in the beginning. She thought you were evil. Isn’t that a laugh?”

She smiled.

“But in the end --” My God, he was talking about Anna as if she were dead. “I mean, before she left she said that she really liked you.”

He thought she looked a little sad as she said, “That’s not too strange. People have always believed devoutly in both God and the devil, yet they can’t seem to tell one from the other.” Then she laughed. “And I can’t remember who said that, but somebody must have. I’d never have thought of it myself.”

That reminded him of how often in class she’d quoted some famous person, always sounding as if she were on the most intimate terms with whomever it was. He would miss that. Anna would, too, he guessed. With Anna in mind, he stared at the little music boxes. Yes, Anna would undoubtedly like one, but not the one she had taken. He was certain she would never want to hear that tune again.

He suddenly realized that he had never really given Anna a gift he’d picked out himself. For birthdays and Christmases he had always talked his mother into choosing something for him to give Anna. Now he said, “I’d like a buy Anna a gift. Would you let me buy one of the music boxes for her?”

Michaela beamed. “Oh, Rowan, that’s the perfect solution!”

He glanced over the table. “I wouldn’t want to give her the one she took.”

“It doesn’t have to be that one. The choice is yours.”

“I don’t have a lot of money.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Just pick out something -- anything you think she’d like.”

Rowan began to examine the boxes. He avoided everything decorated with mother-of-pearl. It must in no way remind her of the other box. He looked at the bottoms to see what tunes they held. To Rowan, so well-versed in music, the pieces, waltzes, polkas, simple ditties, all seemed too trivial for his taste. He had to remind himself that music boxes had limitations and could only manage uncomplicated melodies. His eyes finally fastened on one that had a romantic painting on top, a pair of Renaissance lovers doomed to gaze raptly into each other’s eyes for all eternity. He thought it silly. All the same, he picked it up to see what song it contained. “Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet (Henry Mancini),” the bottom read. He moved to replace the box, then stopped himself. Instead, he wound the key on the bottom and listened. Of course. That was why the title seemed familiar. This was the piece Anna had played just before . . . He wanted to forget that day, his actions, everything about it. “Is it all right if I buy this one?” he asked Michaela. “She likes this piece.”

“Certainly.”

She looked pleased, he thought, as she scurried around, digging up a container as well as gift-wrap and ribbon, then wrapping the box. She didn’t want to take his money, but he insisted on paying her as much as he could afford, although he was sure that was far less than the box was worth.

“Now don’t trust this to the mails,” she said as she handed him the package. “The mechanism is much too delicate for that.”

“I won’t.” Anna should be home soon anyhow. He wanted to see the expression on her face when he gave it to her. Now he was convinced that he had chosen the perfect gift for redeeming himself, just the right thing for saying what he could not, that he was sorry he had turned away from her when she had needed him most.

Michaela said, “I hope everything goes well for you. And for Anna, too.”

“Yes.” He could think of nothing else to say. “Well, good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Rowan. Say good-bye to Anna for me.”

“I will.” He had the feeling that this was a special moment that called for something he was unequal to. An affectionate hug? No, she might misunderstand. A hearty handshake? Stupid. He could think of nothing apt, so he said simply, “Thanks for everything.”

Afterward, on his way to practice, he thought about her, wondered about her. He had a strange feeling that she knew about Anna, knew all about Anna. But how could she? Was it possible his father had told her? Somehow Rowan didn’t think so. Then he chided himself for letting his imagination work overtime.

Ten days had passed since Anna had left, and Rowan was growing more and more anxious about her.

“I’ve checked with Dr. Barrett every day and there’s no report yet,” his mother said.

“You know the old saw--no news is good news,” his father said lightly.

Too lightly. Rowan felt that he was the only one in the family who really cared about what was happening to Anna. He wondered if his parents were glad to have her off their hands, his mother because of her feelings of guilt, his father because Anna was a reminder of something he thought of as betrayal, as well as the excesses of science. Then Rowan reminded himself that he, too, was at fault. If he had not been so concerned about himself, he could, at least, have given Anna more support.

On the following day, a Friday, when there was still no word about Anna, he was troubled. He had left the conservatory at noon to prepare for the last play-off recital, a concert which was to be held that afternoon. He had gone home for a quick lunch, a shower, and a change of clothes. Even on this critical day, Anna was uppermost in his thoughts.

As soon as he finished eating, he called Dr. Barrett’s office, identified himself, then asked if there was any news about Anna.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to check with Dr. Barrett, but he’s out of town today,” the nurse said.

“When will he be back?”

“Not until Monday.”

Monday! That meant they would learn nothing about Anna until then, even if a report came through. Rowan hung up, feeling frustrated. Eleven days now, and the doctor had led them to believe it would be only a week! Surely they were entitled to some word by now.

He remembered that Anna had said that the name of a Dr. Jelliff appeared on her files. Undoubtedly the man would be stationed at San Clemente Island. Even if he could reach the doctor by phone, Rowan was sure he would learn nothing. Besides, it was Anna he wanted to talk to. There just had to be a way.

The general phone number for the U.S. Research and Development Center on the island was available to everyone, even though individual extensions were not. As Rowan thought about it, a wild idea struck him. He debated with himself for a few minutes, then picked up the phone and rang the center. What did he have to lose?

When the operator answered, he affected a deep tone and said, “This is Dr. Jelliff. I’m on the mainland right now, so I don’t have the Hart girl’s number--Anna Hart. Will you look it up and put me through to her room?” He held his breath.

“That would be in The Cottages, wouldn’t it?”

“Umph,” Rowan said in a grunt that could be taken any way that would accommodate the situation.

There were a few seconds of silence, then, “That would be room 117. I’ll ring now.”

Was it really working? In another moment, a quavery voice said, “Hello.”

That surely couldn’t be Anna. “Is this Anna Hart’s room?”

“Yes.”

“May I speak to her?”

“This is Anna Hart.”

Relieved, he said, “Anna, don’t you recognize my voice?”

“Rowan! Is it really you?” Before he could even answer, she blurted, “Oh, Rowan, I’m so scared. I don’t know what they’re going to do to us tomorrow.”

Her urgent tone frightened him. “Us? What do you mean?”

“They’re all here, Rowan--all the Anna -- ”

The line went dead. Cut off! He immediately rang the center back. “This is Dr. Jelliff again,” he told the operator. “I was talking to room 117 when I was cut off.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken--doctor. There’s no room number like that here.”

He started to object, then realized that the operator must have deliberately cut him off. He hung up, angry, defeated. Now there would be no chance of talking to Anna again. Obviously she had been about to say that all of the other Anna Zimmermans were there, too. Why? Could they all have cell problems? And what were they, as Anna called them, about to do to all of the girls tomorrow? Anna had sounded as if she believed them all doomed.

Could government scientists do something like that? Kill people to destroy the proof of what would certainly have been considered a controversial experiment? Of course not! What would they tell the girls’ families? That they had all died of natural causes? But how could one prove otherwise? Rowan paced nervously around the apartment. Tomorrow. The more he thought about it the sicker he felt. Something was going on--something bad. He felt it--no, knew it from the tone of Anna’s voice. Whatever it was, someone had to stop it. Now. Today. Tomorrow could be too late.

He got on the phone to try to call his parents. His father could not be located. His mother was tied up with a critical experiment that could tolerate no interruptions. Although he left messages for both of them, he realized they might well be busy all day.

The play-offs! God, he’d almost forgotten. He got on the phone again and called the man who was handling the competition, asking if he could possibly postpone this last trial.

“This is a concert, Hart,” the man said. “There are other students involved besides yourself. Not only that, one of the judges is the New York Times’ music critic. He’ll be flying home tomorrow. No, Hart, you’ll have to appear this afternoon or forfeit your chance at the scholarship.”

Rowan hung up, feeling even more despairing. He’d had the notion that if he tried, he could somehow get to San Clemente, even if he had to sneak aboard a hydrofoil. They ran every three hours, he’d found out when he and his parents had seen Anna off.

But there was the concert, the chance of the scholarship. He couldn’t give that up. Couldn’t!

20

Anna, fully clothed, lay on the bed, staring vacant-eyed at the ceiling. The attendant had just left a late-afternoon snack in her room, but she wasn’t at all hungry. She glanced at the calendar on the wall, a calendar used by all of the former occupants of the room, as well as by Anna, to count the passing days with a line drawn through each. Tonight she would cross off the twenty-seventh of February.

The twenty-seventh of February . . . She kept going over the date in her mind. It seemed to her that in some other life the day had some important meaning. Now she couldn’t remember what it was. And did it matter anyhow after what she had overheard yesterday? Never had she felt more alone, more depressed. She was going to die, but not of natural causes. They were going to kill her. And did that matter any more than the twenty-seventh of February? Surely it was better to die than to live on thinking of yourself as a freak, someone who really wasn’t anyone. A shell of a person, that was all she was. No wonder she’d so often experienced that strange feeling of incompleteness.

She was so immersed in her melancholia that she was only dimly aware of the light knock on her door. She ignored it. The attendant had undoubtedly come back for the snack dishes. The woman always rapped before unlocking and entering. When the knocking continued, Anna glanced fretfully at the door. She couldn’t open it from the inside. The attendant should certainly know that.

When the sounds grew more urgent, Anna got off the bed and went over to the door. “Who is it?” she called.

A muffled voice said, “Anna, open up.”

Rowan? No, it couldn’t be. “Who is it?” she said again.

“Rowan. Let me in before someone sees me.”

It was Rowan! She couldn’t believe it. “I can’t open the door, Rowan. It’s locked. Go around back. There’s an alley. I’ll be looking for you.”

When she heard his footsteps hasten away, she ran out into her patio, dragged the metal table over to the back wall, got up on it, and waited. Each Cottage unit had five rooms side by side with passageways between units. Rowan came through one of them and into the alley. When he spotted her, a finger over her lips cautioned him to be quiet. She pointed to one of the trash cans that sat along the backside of the wall. He understood immediately. With as little noise as possible, he moved the can to a spot below Anna. He hopped up on it, then hoisted himself over the wall, and onto the table. Quickly, they both jumped down into the patio. She led him into her room and closed the sliding glass doors.

He stared at her anxiously. “Why are you locked in?”

She shrugged. “It’s the way they do things here. They don’t want you prying into secrets.” She noticed that his jacket looked wet. “How did you ever get here? How did you get so wet?”

“I stowed away on a hydrofoil--a supply ship. I was outside with the cargo, so I took some of the spray until I smartened up and got under a tarpaulin.”

“But how did you get past the guards on the island?”

“While the crew was unloading, I left with a bunch of passengers. I tried to lose myself among them until I discovered they were lining up to show identification. Then I didn’t know what to do. I hung around the dock for a while, trying to look as if I belonged there. When the crew finished unloading, they started carrying boxes on their shoulders and heading up past the guards toward a warehouse. All they seemed to do was point back toward the ship and the guards motioned them on. I waited until the last man was far enough ahead so that he wouldn’t notice me. Then I took a box, did the same thing, and it worked.”

“But how did you find me?”

“Simple. When I called you, I found out you were in something called The Cottages, and the operator mentioned your room number. These are the only buildings that look like cottages, and they’re all numbered outside. I acted as if I had every right to be here, and no one stopped me.”

Anna couldn’t get over it. Rowan had taken an awful chance to come to her. She was so happy to see him, yet terrified to think of what would happen if he was discovered. She tried to keep the sound of panic from her voice as she said, “Oh, Rowan, you shouldn’t have come here. You’ll be caught.”

“No, I won’t,” he said stubbornly, but she could see the look of fear in his eyes. “Besides, it was the only way to find out what was going on.” He placed the small flight bag he was carrying on her dresser. “Now tell me what’s happening. And what did you mean about tomorrow?”

Anna told him about meeting the two girls who, she was certain, were Anna Zimmerman clones. “I’m not sure, but I think they’re all here, Rowan. The second girl I met said there was another girl about our age just two rooms down from her. For some reason, they had to test all of us at the same time, but they’re trying to keep us apart.”

“What’s supposed to happen tomorrow?”

Her voice trembled as she said, “They’re going to do away with us.”

He shrank back in horror. “Oh, my God, Anna--what makes you think a thing like that?”

She sat down on her bed to steady herself as she told him. “I had my last test yesterday. When the nurse finished with me, I had to wait for the attendant to come pick me up and take me back to my room. She was late, so I decided to go back to the doctor who had tested me and ask him when I’d be going home. When I got to his office the door was open. I was about to go in when I heard someone say, ‘The Anna Zimmerman reports are all in now.’ “

When she paused, Rowan said, “Is that all?”

“No. I recognized the voice of the doctor I’d just seen. He said he knew all about the outcome of the tests. Then I heard him ask, ‘What does Jelliff plan to do about it?’ “ Anna’s lips quivered. “The other man said, ‘Get rid of them, of course. What else can he do?’ The doctor asked when, and the man said, ‘Saturday.’ “

Rowan sat down beside her, silent, stunned, to reflect for a long time on her words. Finally, he said, “That doesn’t have to mean what you think.”

“Oh, Rowan, if you’d been here as long as I have, going through all those tests, you’d know what it meant. Every time a doctor examined me, every time one looked at my test results, I could tell what he was thinking, even when he didn’t say anything. I could see it in his eyes, in the way he frowned. The experiment is going terribly wrong and they don’t know what to do about it.”

Again Rowan was silent. Before he’d left home he had tried to prepare for every eventuality. He had left a note for his mother and father, telling them where he was heading. He had even devised several plans. A, B, and C, he’d called them. Now he decided the circumstances called for the ultimate plan, Plan C. He glanced at Anna’s beige sweater and skirt, then opened the flight bag, taking out what Anna recognized as her navy blue slacks and jacket, as well as Rowan’s old watch cap. “I wasn’t sure you’d have any dark clothes with you,” he said, handing them to her. “Hurry and put them on. It will soon be dark and you won’t be so easily seen in these. As soon as you’re ready, we’re getting out of here.” Even if those doctors hadn’t meant what Anna feared, Rowan was taking no chances. It was hard for him to believe his government would kill, execute innocent people, but he knew from his history books that governments, even his own, had sometimes committed heinous crimes. Although it had happened many years ago, he remembered reading about how a branch of the government, as an experiment, had given some unsuspecting man LSD. The man had jumped out of a window and died. Suicide, the government had said at the time. And then there was this experiment with Anna. No, he was not about to trust the government.

Anna knew he meant for both of them to try to sneak off the island, but there were some things he wasn’t considering. “Rowan, even if we made it home, they’d find me there and make me come back.”

“If we can just get out of here, we’ll fight this. I’ll find someplace to hide you--or Dad will.”

“There’s something else you haven’t thought of. You don’t know what’s going on with me. What if I get terribly sick or weird things happen to me? What if my arms and legs rot away or some other awful thing happens?”

“Anna, don’t talk that way!” Sure, he thought, she was changing, but that was natural at her age. If she looked thinner and paler, it was because of worry, stress, because of all she’d been through these past weeks. “Besides, even if you should get sick, at least you’ll be with someone who cares about you.” Someone who cares about you. The words took

Anna aback. For a very long time now she had believed that no one cared about her.

“Hurry up and change,” he said.

Anna hurried into the bathroom and quickly changed. When she returned to the bedroom, she grabbed the snack the attendant had left earlier, a couple of high-nutrition bars. As she thrust the food into Rowan’s flight bag, she noticed the gift-wrapped box at the bottom and drew it out. “What’s this?”

“That was Plan A. If I was caught, I was going to play innocent and pretend I didn’t know I couldn’t pay you a visit and bring you a present. I figured that if everything was all right here, that maybe they would let me visit you.”

“Oh.” Anna returned the gift to the flight bag.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a real gift,” he said quickly. “In fact, I bought it to give you when you came home. I didn’t even know then I’d be anywhere near this place.”

For a moment Anna’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. It wasn’t her birthday or Christmas or anything special, yet Rowan had bought her a present. She started to take the gift from the bag again, but Rowan stopped her.

“There isn’t time now,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“But what’s in it?”

“Something I hoped you’d like. You’ll see when you open it. Come on.”

They made their way out to the patio and over the wall into the alley, which was deserted. Earlier, the day had been overcast. Now a fog, heavy in spots, was moving in from the ocean, bringing with it an early twilight. “We’re in luck,” Rowan said.

“But they won’t run the hydrofoils in fog.”

“That’s all right. We’ll find someplace to hide until morning if we have to.”

Anna stuck close to Rowan as they made their way through the alley and out onto the road. In the fading misty light, she could, now and then, make out the white uniform of some medical person, hurrying from one building to another.

“Just act as if we have business here, and no one will bother us.” His easy success in reaching her had made him brave.

Anna had to admire his courage and coolness. Her own heart was beating wildly. In some areas the fog lay in thick patches. Rowan plunged through these as if he knew where he was going. As the gray closed around her, Anna felt panicky, her sense of direction gone, certain that the next step would lead her off the edge of the world. When they emerged from the cloud and into a thin mist where buildings and people were again visible, her tension broke in relief.

Finally Rowan reached the building for which he’d been heading, a huge warehouse. “This is where the crew was taking supplies when I followed them. If it’s still open, we’ll hide inside until morning. In this fog, nothing will be running tonight.” The sound of a distant foghorn confirmed his words.

“Our luck is still holding. The door’s open. Somebody must be working inside. Don’t make a sound.”

One of a pair of double doors stood ajar. Rowan slipped around it and into the shadows along the wall, Anna after him. To the rear of the building, a light burned on a desk. They both had a quick glimpse of the back of a man seated there, poring over papers. Rowan and Anna took the opposite direction, tiptoeing around tall stacks of boxes, until Rowan found a satisfactory spot to hide. Then they both sat quietly on the floor, hidden by the cartons all around them. Rowan whispered, “We’ll stay here until he closes up.”

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours to Anna. Finally the man began making the kinds of noises that suggested he was preparing to leave. A loud click plunged the place into darkness. Another click, and an overhead nightlight cast a dim light over everything. The sound of the man’s footsteps echoed through the building and, when the double door squeaked closed, disappeared. Another click padlocked them in.

“Oh, Rowan, we couldn’t get out now if we wanted to,” Anna whispered.

“Relax. I noticed a side door. That’s got to lock from the inside.” He got up and stretched. “Right now, I need something to fortify me. How about one of those bars you brought along?”

Anna, too, got to her feet. She dug into the flight bag for the food. Then they both perched on the edge of one of the boxes while they ate. As Anna nibbled on one of the bars, she found herself staring at a calendar on the warehouse wall. She thought of the one in her room and of how she would not be drawing a line through that date, the twenty-seventh of February. Then she glanced at Rowan and the significance of the date hit her. “Wasn’t this the day for your last play-off recital?” she asked.

He avoided looking at her, afraid some of his disappointment might show in his eyes. “That’s right.” He tried to sound indifferent.

She studied him curiously. “Did you postpone it?”

“I--well, yes -- yes, I did.” He just couldn’t bring himself to talk about it at that moment. Besides, he told himself, rescuing Anna was the only important thing now. If he could pull that off, it would be worth a hundred scholarships. He quickly changed the subject. “Did Michaela tell you she was leaving?” Anna thought she must have misunderstood. “What do you mean--leaving?”

“She’s taking another job in northern California. At least, I suppose that’s where she meant. She just said up north.”

Once that news would have delighted Anna. Since she’d been on the island, she had often thought of Michaela. Was it she who had said, “When the student is ready, the teacher appears”? Surely, there was some truth in the words. Anna thought again of the many facets of her teacher’s personality. She was Michaela, the disciplinarian, Michaela, the quoter of famous people and wise sayings, Michaela, the musician with fire in her fingers, Michaela, the meditator in a leotard. Anna wondered how many other Michaelas there were whom she would never have the chance to know now. “I’ll miss her.”

“Me, too.” When Rowan finished his bar, he said, “Well, it’s not exactly a five-course dinner, but it helps.” Again he got to his feet. “I’m going to investigate that side door.”

Anna, afraid to stay alone, grabbed the flight bag with her precious present and hurried after him. Just as soon as they’d satisfied themselves about the door, she decided she would open her gift.

Rowan made right for the door and examined the lock. “Just as I thought--dead bolt.”

“Then we’re not locked in.”

“Of course not. See here --” He turned the lock to show her, then pulled the door wide open.

They both stared shocked into a blinding light. “Over here, Reilly,” a man’s voice said. “I guess this young fellow’s had enough time on his own.”

Rowan and Anna were both too stunned to move. Anna thought, they knew all the time that Rowan was here. They knew. She might have known it would be useless. There was no escaping them.

Rowan thought, I’ve failed. I’ve failed Anna. It didn’t matter what they did to him, but what would they do to her now? “Oh, Anna, I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Take her back to her room, Reilly,” the voice said. “You, young fellow, come with me.”

21

A foghorn moaned continuously. How sad it sounded, Anna thought, as she lay sleepless in the dark of her room. A grief-filled voice mourning for lost ships. Or lost souls. Sometimes she imagined it was calling her name. Annn-na . . . Annn-na . . . Mourning for her?

She worried about Rowan. Where had they taken him? What would they do to him? Nothing, she told herself. After all, they couldn’t know she had guessed that all the Anna Zimmerman clones were here and that she had told Rowan. Not even the telephone operator could have known what she and Rowan were talking about--she certainly was not in on government secrets. “But why were you running away with her?” they would ask him. What would he tell them? Knowing Rowan, he would probably say, “It just seemed like a good idea.” Perhaps he could pass it off as an adventure. Yes, that was what he would do, and they would merely send him home. Tomorrow he would be back on the mainland.

And she would be alone again.

She thought of the following day, fully accepting the idea that there was no way to escape, no way to get off the island undetected. The man who’d taken her back to her room had told her that they had known every movement of Rowan’s, had left him free only to find out what he was up to. No, escape was impossible.

How foolish of her to have even tried to run home with Rowan. If they had made it, what good would it have done? Something dreadful was happening to her, and apparently nothing could stop it. Why make other people suffer watching her? Better to resign herself to whatever end they had in mind for her. She was sure it would be painless, and all for the best. The only solution. Soon it would be over. All over. She would be over--her life. No, Anna Zimmerman’s life. Yes, all for the best.

The melancholy call of the foghorn insinuated itself into her thoughts. Annn-na . . . Annn-na . . . Who would mourn for Anna? Anyone? Mom? Dad? Rowan? Rowan, who had postponed his play-off recital to try to rescue her? Would he mourn?

Anna sat up suddenly and turned on her bedside lamp. He had brought her a present and she had never even seen it, had almost forgotten about it. She got up and found the flight bag on the dresser where she’d left it. She took out the gift and carefully unwrapped it, then lifted the lid of the outer cardboard box to stare down at the Renaissance lovers. Was it what she thought it was? She picked it up. Yes. A music box. And different from any she could remember seeing at Michaela’s. Where had he ever found it?

When she turned it over to see what melody it contained, her eyes misted over. “The Love Theme.” How hurt she had felt that day when he’d refused to learn the piece to try a duet with her. He had acted so annoyed, had hardly listened to her. Yet he’d obviously remembered the name of the song. Was this a way of saying he was sorry? She rather thought it was.

Anna ran her fingers over the cool porcelain top, over the figures of the lovers. Quaint, Mom would call it. Charming. Appealing. Yes, just the kind of thing Anna had never been able to resist stealing when she came upon it in some carelessly guarded store. But that had been another Anna. With all the emotional turmoil she had gone through these past weeks, the same things no longer seemed important. This little music box had value to her only as a carefully selected gift, one Rowan had chosen because he remembered she liked the tune.

She wound the key, placed the box on the bedside table, slipped into bed, and turned out the light. Although the tinkly little tune vied with the foghorn, its music soon began to ease the tension inside her. After a time her mind felt clearer--more orderly. Orderly? She had forgotten to cross off the date on the calendar. Nothing orderly about that.

The date--the twenty-seventh of February. The day for Rowan’s last play-off recital. A concert, she remembered now. But he had postponed it. Postponed it? How could he postpone a concert? She thought of how his eyes had not met hers when he’d told her. Of course. She should have realized. It seemed so obvious now that she wondered why she hadn’t seen it earlier. Rowan had given up his chance for the scholarship to try to rescue her. Rowan wanted that scholarship more than anything in the world. Why would he give it up for her?

Someone who cares about you. His words came back to her. Rowan cares about me, she thought. She was aware now of her own feeling for him. She loved Rowan, cared enough about him to regret deeply what she had cost him. And he loved her. For what else is love but caring about and wishing another well?

If even one person loves you, Anna thought, then surely you must be somebody. She listened to the tune on the music box for a long, long time, turning over these enormous thoughts in her head, expecting them to keep her awake until morning. In spite of herself, sleep finally came, and with it, the strange dream.

Annn-na . . . Annn-na . . . The foghorn. Let me come in, Anna. Let me come in. No, it was not the foghorn. It was the presence, the presence she had so often felt waiting, waiting in some nether world. Let me come in, Anna. It’s time.

Anna knew now who it was who called. She no longer felt the need to resist. She was ready now to accept her true self, her uniqueness, that emotional part of her that could never be duplicated, that part that made her not a mother’s child, not a father’s child, but her own person. At last, Anna was ready to meet her, the woman she would become.

But it was all too late . . . too late . . .

22

In the morning Anna felt like a new and different person, but she had to keep reminding herself that she was still only an experiment that had failed. And today was the day that they would eradicate all evidence of that experiment.

The attendant had brought Anna breakfast as usual, but she hadn’t touched a bite. This morning she eyed every ordinary act with suspicion, seeing in each her own end. How would it come? In the food? In another test? She found that she was not at all resigned now to meeting her death. I’ll fight them, she thought. I’ll fight them right up to the last.

When the attendant returned for the tray, she told Anna to pack. “When you’re finished, Dr. Jelliff wants to see you,” she said.

Dr. Jelliff! Just as Anna had suspected. She’d always had the feeling that the other doctors who had routinely tested her here were not a part of the highest hierarchy, that anonymous power she called them. Now, at last, she would face one of them. Good, she thought, burning with anger. She could hardly wait to tell the man what she thought of him, how monstrous she thought the whole experiment. She would look him in the eye and tell him she was not one of the ignorant Anna Zimmermans. She knew what she was and knew what fate was planned for her. She would call him inhuman, call him murderer.

She threw her clothes hurriedly into her suitcase, then carefully placed the music box in the center where the soft materials would cushion it. They would send her things, or rather, her effects, home. She wanted Rowan to have the box. Was he already on the mainland? she wondered. She would ask this Jelliff person.

In that stormy mood she accompanied the attendant to one of the medical buildings. They took the elevator to an office on the top floor, tucked away in what seemed to Anna a very remote corner. No one could possibly hear you scream here. The attendant turned Anna over to a white-uniformed receptionist, who immediately hurried her off to another and even more secluded office. The woman motioned toward a chair near the desk. “Take a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

She left Anna alone to stare at the framed diplomas on the walls, at the furniture, at what obviously were family pictures on the doctor’s desk. Anna glanced around, drumming nervously on the arms of the chair.

After several long minutes the outer door opened again and, to her astonishment, Anna saw the receptionist usher Rowan in. He was saying to the woman, “He’s not getting away with anything! You just tell him that.”

“Suppose you tell him yourself,” she said, and again disappeared out the door.

Rowan strode angrily into the room, then spotted Anna and stopped short, a surprised look on his face. For a moment he just stared at her as if she were a ghost. At length he said, “You’re all right.”

She nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. The same thing you’re doing here, I guess.” His long legs closed the distance between them with a couple of purposeful strides. “Listen,” he whispered. “Don’t question anything I say. I’ve got a plan. I’m not letting this guy get away with anything.”

Anna started to ask him what he meant, but before she could get out the words, an inner door opened and a short, bald dumpling of a man came through. “Well, good morning.” he said pleasantly. He wore a business suit and carried a file folder, which he immediately placed on his desk. He pointed to a chair along the wall. “Pull that over and sit down, young man--Rowan, is it?”

“Yes.” Rowan scowled at him but dragged over the chair and sat down.

“I’m Dr. Jelliff,” the man said as he took another chair behind the desk and opened what Anna recognized as her file.

Rowan glanced meaningfully at her, then said, “I think you should know, Dr. Jelliff, that before I came here, I not only left a note for my mother and father, but I left a letter with someone I trust on the mainland. If Anna and I are not back there by tomorrow morning, that person has instructions to open the letter and release it to all the media. I don’t think you’d like that.”

So that was Rowan’s plan, Anna thought. Even if he was lying, and he very likely was, she had to admire his inventiveness.

The man turned his good-humored smile on Rowan. “I presume you’re going to tell me what your letter contained.”

My God, Rowan thought, the last thing this guy looks like is a villain. In fact, with white hair and beard and a red suit, he could double for Santa Claus. He thought of Michaela’s words about God and the devil and people’s inability to tell one from the other. “I’ll be glad to tell you about the letter. I put down everything we know about the Anna Zimmerman clone experiment, complete with your name and the name of this island. I said that you were planning to get rid of all the clones, and that if anything happened to Anna, they should demand a full investigation.”

“I see,” Dr. Jelliff said.

Anna said to him, “You had no right to make all of us, anyhow. How did you think we’d feel when we found out We were just duplicates of somebody who’d lived before? You had no right--no right at all! This whole experiment is monstrous--yes, monstrous--and all you people who are involved in it are monsters. And what’s more, I think because the experiment failed, you’re planning to be murderers.”

“And you’re not going to get away with it!” Rowan said. “If you murder her, you’ll have to murder me or I’ll tell all the newspeople. And don’t forget that letter. If we both disappear you’ll be under a lot of suspicion!”

The smile faded from Dr. Jelliff’s face now. All trace of Santa Claus disappeared. “If you are both quite through and if you’ll keep quiet and listen for a few minutes, I’ll tell you what is going to happen to you.”

He glanced down at the file. “It was most unfortunate, Anna, that you had to learn about yourself as you did. You and the girl you met that day are the only ones who know. As things worked out, you might have been spared ever knowing. “

Anna frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you are quite right. The experiment has failed. You do not have to worry any longer about becoming a duplicate of Anna Zimmerman.”

“But then, what’s happening to me? Am I sick?”

“At first, we thought so. That’s why the need for all the tests you’ve taken. We’ve been very thorough, as you know, and have found nothing physically wrong with you--not in the way of illness, anyhow. The consensus is that you are individuating. I mean by that that you are forming into a distinct individual. We have no explanation for why this is happening, but there it is.”

A distinct individual. Maybe they would call that a failed experiment, Anna thought, but I wouldn’t. I’m becoming a distinct individual! I’ve succeeded in spite of them. And so have all the other girls here. Then Anna wondered about the ones she hadn’t met. “Is that true of all of us?”

“Unfortunately for us, yes. We had hoped to wind up with, at least, a number of Anna Zimmerman likenesses--even one would have meant tremendous success. But that is not the case.” He frowned, obviously bitterly disappointed with the outcome of what must have been an enormously expensive and, to the government, important experiment.

This had to be a miracle, Anna thought. I am not Anna Zimmerman. She felt very stupid now for letting her imagination run away with her so completely.

“Now, our plans for you, Anna,” Dr. Jelliff said.

Rowan and Anna exchanged apprehensive glances.

“You will keep your same last name--Hart, but you will legally change your first and middle names. Use any excuse you can concoct for friends, but do this immediately. Second, you will change schools. With your grades falling, you have the perfect reason. Third, I want both of you to promise that you won’t utter one word about any of this outside your family.”

They both readily promised. Rowan was so relieved for Anna that he would have promised anything. At the same time he realized with a pang of regret that Anna would have been released whether or not he had played the concert. But he was aware too that if he’d had it to do over, he’d have done the same thing. That was his consolation, that and the knowledge that he had tapped resources within himself that he hadn’t even known existed. Like his father, he had always thought of Anna as narrow. If anyone had been narrow, it was he, Rowan Hart, violinist, interested in nothing but music and career.

Dr. Jelliff said, “You will both take the next hydrofoil. I’ve already explained all of this to your mother and father, Rowan. They plan to meet you when you arrive on the mainland. Of course, they understand what’s happening to Anna now. Your father seemed to be delighted with the information. I’m not sure how your mother felt. At any rate, Anna will again take her place in the family.” As an afterthought, he said, “Oh, yes, I’ve had your luggage put aboard, Anna. Now, good luck with your new identity.”

He closed her file and turned his attention to his desk as if he had dismissed them. Anna saw him tinkering with something that she finally realized was a stamp. He brought it down hard on her folder to print in big letters, DESTROY.

Destroy. There would be no evidence to show that Anna Zimmerman Hart had ever existed. But she had. Anna knew that only too well. For a second she saw herself again as the little girl in the concentration camp. Until that moment she had never known what pain, anguish, compassion felt like. Now she wondered if that had been her first step toward finding a new self. If so, how strange to think that the part of her that was Anna Zimmerman had sent her on the way. Whoever she became, she would never forget that.

At the moment, she couldn’t quite take it all in. Later, she told herself, she would sit down quietly and try to sort it all out, try to understand. “What about the other girls?” she asked Dr. Jelliff. “Are they going home today, too?”

“Of course,” he said. “Later. Now you two had better hurry if you’re going to make the next hydrofoil.”

Rowan needed no further encouragement. He grabbed Anna’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He rushed her out of the building and down toward the dock. “If we hang around, that guy might just change his mind.”

Anna, too breathless to talk, moved along as if in a dream. She had so much to think and wonder about, her new identity, even her new name. Who am I? she asked herself. Then answered, I am Eve

Postlude

Never underestimate the power of youth.” Dr. Jelliff spoke into the intercom on his desk. “Did you hear all that?”

His colleague answered, “Yes, and I hope we’ve made the right decision.”

“We had no choice. The boy was obviously lying about that letter, but he had left a note telling his mother and father where he was going. We could have managed with only the girl, but with the two of them--well, a lot of curious eyes might have turned in this direction. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

“Let’s hope they keep their mouths shut.”

“I think they will. Even if they don’t, they could never prove anything.”

“I suppose you’re right. We’ve already disposed of the evidence.”

“And the letters--did you get them off?”

“Yes, yes--all taken care of with our deepest sympathy and our regrets that because of the contagion of the disease, it was necessary to cremate.”

“Good,” Dr. Jelliff said, and flicked off the switch on the intercom.

Table of Contents

About the Author

Prelude

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Postlude