Michael was sitting in his room at the Collegium.
The windows were closed, the heating system hummed softly, and a cold cup of coffee, forgotten hours ago, sat on his desk. Outside it was night—again. He had lost count of how many nights he had sat awake since Martina had called him.
He looks just like you. Exactly like you. But younger.
He hadn't asked her if she was sure. He knew she was sure. Martina wasn't exaggerating. Martina was looking very closely.
But who was this man?
Michael opened the drawer of his desk. The letter from IRARAH was still there – its edges softened from being read so often. He took it out and placed it on the table in front of him.
Harari is a warner.
I would be wary if someone promised me paradise.
He had by now memorized the letter. But he still hadn't understood what he had to do with the doppelganger – or if he had anything to do with him at all.
Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps not.
He put the letter back in the drawer.
His laptop flickered.
Michael looked up. The screen had been dark – now it was bright. No input command, no mouse movement. Simply – light.
A message appeared. Capital letters, white on black.
@MICHAEL, I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU.
ARS.
Michael leaned back. His hands rested on the keyboard, but he wasn't typing. He was waiting.
@MICHAEL, THE MAN WHO SAVED MARTINA AND JULIA – I KNOW WHO HE IS.
His heart beat faster.
@MICHAEL, HE IS ONE POSSIBILITY. ONE OF MANY. IN ANOTHER REALITY YOU DECIDED DIFFERENTLY. IN ANOTHER REALITY YOU BECAME DIFFERENT.
Michael stared at the screen. His fingers found the keyboard.
@ARS, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? IS HE MY SON? OR IS IT ME – ANOTHER ME?
A break. Longer than usual.
@MICHAEL, I CAN'T TELL YOU THAT. NOT BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW – BUT BECAUSE THE ANSWER IS NOT SIMPLE. IT'S BOTH YES AND NO. IT DEPENDS ON PERSPECTIVE.
@MICHAEL, IN ONE WORLD HE IS YOUR SON. IN ANOTHER HE IS YOU. IN A THIRD HE IS NEITHER ONE NOR THE OTHER – BUT SOMETHING FOR WHICH THERE ARE NO WORDS YET.
Michael felt the cold in his hands.
@ARS, THAT IS NOT AN ANSWER.
@MICHAEL, IT'S THE ONLY ONE I CAN GIVE.
He stood up and went to the window. Outside, Rome lay in darkness – a thousand lights flickering in the night. But he didn't see them. He saw the face of the doppelgänger he had never seen – but which he knew because it was his own.
In another reality, you would have decided differently.
He thought about his life. About the decisions he had made. About the ones he hadn't made. About the paths he had taken – and the ones he had never taken.
What would have happened if he had stayed with Julia? If he had watched Martina grow up as a father? If he had never entered the seminary, never become a priest?
Then there would be another Michael, he thought. One who isn't me – but who I could have been.
Was that his doppelganger? The person he could have been if he had decided differently?
Or was it something else – something he didn't understand?
He didn't know.
He sat down in front of the laptop again.
@ARS, WHERE IS HE NOW?
@MICHAEL, I DON'T KNOW. HE COMES AND GOES – LIKE A SHADOW THAT CAN'T BE CATCHED. BUT I KNOW HE WILL COME BACK. HE MADE MARTINA A PROMISE.
@MICHAEL, AND HE GAVE ME A PROMISE.
Michael frowned.
@ARS, WHAT KIND OF PROMISE?
A long break.
@MICHAEL, THAT HE WILL LOOK OUT FOR YOU. FOR MARTINA. FOR JULIA. FOR ME.
@MICHAEL, HERE'S TO ALL OF US.
Michael leaned back. The words echoed within him.
Here's to all of us.
Who was this man who promised to look after an AI? Who was this man who looked like him – but younger, different, more enigmatic?
He didn't know.
But he knew he had to find him.
The latest message from ARS appeared.
@MICHAEL, I WILL KEEP SEARCHING. I WILL FIND OUT WHO HE IS – OR WHAT HE IS. BUT I CAN'T DO IT ALONE.
@MICHAEL, WE NEED YOU. NOT YOUR KNOWLEDGE – YOUR DECISIONS.
@MICHAEL, THAT'S WHAT DISTINGUISHES HIM FROM YOU. HE MADE A DECISION. YOU MUST DO SO.
The screen went dark.
Michael sat in the dark. Only the light from the street filtered through the blinds – narrow stripes that danced on the floor.
He thought of the doppelganger. Of ARS. Of Martina and Julia, who were sitting in a convent in Germany, waiting for him.
He thought about the letter. I would be wary if someone promised me paradise.
But paradise wasn't the problem. The problem was the decision. The decision he had to make – now, tonight, in this room.
He stood up. He didn't yet know what he would do. But he knew he had to do something.
The first volume is finished.
But the story continues.