There were twenty different universes in each universe coalition, or jigget; everyone knew that, thought Thomas Greck as he stared at the men in front of him. Twenty was the number of fundamental, universe-splitting changes you could have before having the next be something completely unrecognizable to the first. Really, it was a stretch to include the twentieth—the changes between the first and last universe tended to make the inhabitants of each very nervous around each other; the culture shock in that particular interaction was only a hair from the line between bearable and makes you run screaming from the room. Even with his long experience with dealing with the various members of his jigget, people from U-20 still made him nervous.
Nevertheless, twenty universes were the traditional size of a grouping. As you compared one member of a jigget to another, some things were the same, some were different, and other parts of them were too chaotic to inspect properly: differing molecule and chemical interactions, technical things like that. The important thing to remember was that the only real constant between them, besides basic laws of physics and whatnot, was change.
So it was exceedingly odd that all twenty Mr. Robert C. Ansleys had turned out to be accountants.
“Mr. Ansley,” he said, holding up a piece of paperwork in a manner which he hoped made him look as if he knew what he was doing. They all sat in front of his desk in a variety of mismatched chairs; he had been caught off guard when all twenty came in to speak to him, and had been forced to borrow most of the seating arrangements. It made his small, poorly-lit office, already littered with pamphlets, forms, and files, seem uncomfortably close. They had at least, he noticed with relief, sat in order of universe, from U-1 to U-20.
“Yes,” answered all twenty. Each had the meek tone that Greck associated with accountants, but even soft voices have some weight when magnified by twenty in a small room. Their sensible blue suits contrasted oddly with the hideous maroon wallpaper, creating a jarring affect that gave Greck even more of a headache. He was over-worked already, and this looked to be a bad situation with no good solution.
“So, you’re all accountants?”
They nodded in unison. “We are.” It was disconcerting, to be answered in concert.
“That’s pretty unusual, right? What with universe shift, and everything? I mean, do you realize how rare that is?”
They looked at him testily. “We’re accountants, not statisticians, sir.”
Greck sighed. There was an air of quiet determination emanating from all of them, these slightly-built men with their pale features and neatly combed brown hair. They obviously weren’t bold or confident men by any means, but they had all been upset, and they wanted something done about it. This would not be an easy situation to resolve. “Of course not. Excuse me. Now, this problem started, I believe, when Mr. Ansley-8—as counted by the UO system, of course,” he nodded at the appropriate man “moved—”
“Beg pardon, sir, Mr. Greck, but if I may, I would like here to point out that I really do prefer the UM numbering system.” The man on the end, his birdlike face subtly disturbing to Greck, spoke up.
“I’m sure you do, Mr. Ansley-20, but in these offices, the preference is for the UO system.” Greck tried to keep his temper. “It’s standard for the cross-universe official business procedures, of which I am a part. If I may. As I was saying, the problem seems to have begun with your group when you, Mr. Ansley-8, moved—”
The man in question, dressed in the same practical suit as his counterparts but with his hair parted in the opposite direction as all the others, interrupted. “Sir, I resent the implication that it is my actions which should be blamed in this situation, when the underlying problem in this occurrence, this bureaucratic cock-up, if you will, is the inefficient and frankly insulting Paradox Law which governs those of us who choose to work cross-verse.” Greck noticed the man moistening his lower lip, apparently in agitation.
Greck nodded with understanding. “Mr. Ansley-8, while I sympathize with your assertion that the law is imperfect, I still must follow its guidelines, as must we all. Back to the matter at hand.” He looked down at his paper and read off the basic details. “A year ago, you moved from your home-verse of U-8 to U-12. You obtained a job there as an accountant, and you settled in the Greenleaf area. Upon working for the original company of A&C Associates for nine months, you changed jobs to Y&T Associates, where your other-self also worked. Some time after this, you moved to the Oakbeam area, to the address 1345 Pine Lane. Your complaint is that your shared company is now paying the two of you a single salary for your work, is that correct?”
Ansley-8 and Ansley-12 nodded.
“Now, you are fully aware of the Paradox Law, being as it was passed by the vast majority of our Inter-verse Congress over 80 years ago? You have learned its guidelines?”
Ansley-8 moistened his lower lip again and nodded, though with visible reluctance. “Yes. I studied it in school, like anyone else. But—”
“And you are aware that you are obligated, by law, to contact your other-self when you move cross-verse?” Greck felt a little guilty at slipping into this badgering style of questioning, but the man frustrated him. Everyone knew the Paradox Law, and it wasn’t like the guidelines were particularly totalitarian, or difficult to follow. It had come into existence for practical purposes.
“Well, yes, but Mr. Greck, I rather resent being forced to ‘register’ myself with my other-self. It smacks of fascism.” He glanced over at Ansley-12.
Greck raised an eyebrow. “Of what? I’m not familiar with that term.”
Ansley-12, also moistening his lower lip, explained. “It was a type of government found in U-4 from U-8, at different points in history. It was characterized for its harshness in government and for its stringent regulation of even the most basic activities.”
“Ah, well, I’m from U-1, so . . .” Greck noticed the gesture imitation in the Ansley-8 and -12, and saw that some of the higher-digit Ansleys had begun copying each others’ movements as well. Obviously, the small space was proving to be a little overwhelming for their individual personalities. He wondered if it bothered them, or if they even noticed.
Apparently an avid reader, Ansley-12 said “You’d call it Nazism, Mr. Greck.”
Greck nodded, in final comprehension. His mother had been brought up under Nazism; it was the reason he was a bureaucrat today. “I see. Well, Mr. Ansley-8, I think you’re overreacting. After all, it’s simply meant to be a polite courtesy, to say hello and to nip these identity problems in the bud before they happen.”
Ansley-8 narrowed his eyes. “It’s just more governmental bullying. You people set up all these rules, and you build a huge structure of ridiculous bureaucracy to support them, all because you governmental types want to keep yourselves in a job and in power.” He gripped the arms of his chair tightly.
“Robert, it’s okay,” whispered Ansley-12.
Ansley-8 took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright, Robert.” He forced a smile out and released his chair. “As you can see, Mr. Greck, this is becoming a sore subject for me. For us, really.”
“I understand, Mr. Ansley-8,” Greck said in a calm tone, trying to keep himself from becoming angry in turn. “But this is beside the point, at this stage. Moving on.” He shuffled his papers for a minute. “And you are aware that it clearly states that if you settle within one mile of your other-self, the original inhabitant of the universe, you are, for all intents and purposes, according to the law, considered to be one person, based on Murton’s Paradox, which of course states that two cross-self people, when housed in close proximity for too long, will become the same person?”
“I am aware of this, yes,” said Ansley-8. His face took on a stony expression.
“Yet, despite knowing all this, you moved in next door!” Greck couldn’t keep the note of exasperation of his voice. “Mr. Ansley-8, it’s not as if there wasn’t room for you in other neighborhoods. You were well out of range in your original house, in the Greenleaf area. After all, U-12, just like all of the verses from 9-13, has a great deal of unoccupied space now, due to the recent Tlingit plague released by the Free Azteca guerillas. The subsequent population decrease has left plenty of real estate, if nothing else.”
All twenty Ansleys stared at Greck in shock.
“My mother died in that plague only a year and a half ago,” Ansley-19 said, his face slowly turning a furious green. “I’ll thank you not to speak so lightly of that devastating tragedy.”
The other Ansleys nodded in agreement.
Greck ran his fingers through his thinning ginger hair, having stunned himself at the phrases that had just come out of his usually diplomatic mouth. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry, Mr. Ansley-19. It’s been a long day. Not that it’s any excuse, of course, but . . . forgive me.” He avoided the man’s gaze. “My point, however awkwardly expressed, remains. If you knew where your other-self was, and knew the rules set up by the Paradox Law, why would you move to the Oakbeam area and switch jobs?”
“I like the area, sir,” said Ansley-8. He moistened his lip yet again and made a cut-off reaching gesture toward Ansley-12.
Drumming his fingers against his worn plastic desk, Greck considered this ridiculous defense. The man was obviously hiding something. “Mr. Ansley-8, I find it difficult to believe that some trees and stone houses could be perfect enough to justify violating the Paradox Law and creating so many problems for both yourself, your other-self, and those who have to deal with your dual identity.” Like himself, he thought.
“I don’t care what you believe,” said Ansley-8, breathing rapidly. “That’s how it is, and now your job is to tell me how we can achieve the salaries owed to us.”
“Robert,” said Ansley-12 quietly. “This is pointless.” He sighed and looked at Greck, his brown eyes troubled. “To tell the truth, sir, he moved deliberately to be near me.” Hastily, he added “it was my idea.”
Greck nodded. “Well, I gathered that, but why?”
Ansley-8 glared at him. “Not that I think it’s any of your damn business, sir, but if you’re going to keep harping on a reason, Robert and I are in a relationship. We wanted to be near each other.” Leaning back, he reached around Ansley-9, -10, and -11 and clutched at his partner’s hand. It was a bit of a reach, and the others moved forward a little to accommodate the pair, smiling a little.
“Ah,” said Greck. He digested this new piece of information. “Well, yes, I can understand that. Theoretically, anyways . . . I hear it’s a common phenomenon, when other-selves meet, that one or more feel an attraction to another. Not that I would know anything about that; I’ve never had that meeting.” He became aware that he was babbling, and made the difficult effort to stop talking.
“Haven’t your ever met your other-selves?” asked Ansley-12, confused. “I thought everyone did on their tenth and eighteenth birthdays. It’s traditional, as well as being just a good idea. ‘Know thyself,’ as the old saying goes.”
All of the Ansleys stared at Greck, apparently baffled.
Greck shifted, uncomfortable. He felt guilty every time people brought this up, as if his circumstances were somehow his fault. “To be honest, I’m actually a solitary.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it.
The twenty Ansleys gasped all at once. Greck smiled a little at their immediate link-up in their shock. He really had to get a bigger room for multiple-self meetings.
“I . . . I . . . I didn’t realize. I didn’t know. How do you stand it? I’d kill myself if I was all alone like that!” Ansley-8 blurted out. Greck noticed that he gripped Ansley-12’s hand even more tightly. “Are you a mishap-sol or a true-sol? Man, I’d die. Do you really not have any other-selves? Don’t you get lonely a lot? Were your parents solitaries too?”
“Shut up, Robert,” said Ansley-20, unexpectedly, his brown hair standing up. “Robert, tell your boyfriend to get a grip on himself.” He smiled, or Greck assumed that was what he was doing. The beak made it hard to tell. “Sorry, Mr. Greck. I’m not sure if you know this, but when all twenty of us are together, our personalities either fade away or are sharply amplified. Obviously, Robert can be a little immature sometimes; our presence just makes it one hundred times worse.”
Feathers, thought Greck, bemused. He’s got feathers instead of hair. That’s why it’s all fluffy.
Ansley-12 nodded in agreement. “The extra link between Robert and I makes it easier for us to stay separate from the other twenty, but it also makes it more obvious. So I apologize on Robert’s behalf.”
I wonder if he eats worms, Greck wondered idly.
“Sorry,” Ansley-8 added.
Greck gritted his teeth and wrenched his attention away from the curiosity that was Ansley-20. “Accepted. And I am a true-sol, incidentally. Born alone. Die, I suppose, alone.” He kept the sentences blunt deliberately; he hated these exchanges. People tended to be too nosy about it, as if his different status gave them the right to pry into his affairs, or else they spoke in hushed tones and whispered around the subject, as if he were dying of a terrible disease. “Anyways, if we could get back to the problem at hand . . .” He glanced at the clock, meaningfully. “My life and activities are no important. Yours, unnatural as they are, are.”
