Free Eternity's Wheel by Neil Gaiman Page A

what’s up with the Bermuda Star, and . . .”
    â€œThere’s actually nothing up with the Bermuda Star,” I said. “It’s called the Bermuda Triangle on my world, and it’s mostly a myth perpetuated by television and other media.”
    â€œBut all those planes and ships went missing,” she said, looking disappointed.
    â€œNot really. There haven’t actually been any more disappearances or wrecks in that area than any other,” I said. She continued to look disappointed. “I mean, at least on my Earth. Maybe it’s different on yours.”
    â€œMaybe,” she said, perking up. “But what about the other stuff, like Atlantis or the missing crew of the Maria Christine ?”
    â€œI haven’t heard of that last one—might’ve had a different name on my world, if it happened—but the fact that you and I both come from a world with Atlantis myths might mean there’s something to them.”
    â€œHuh.” She looked thoughtful. “I guess so. Would that be another way of finding out, do you think? Walking to different worlds and seeing if they have the same myths, or finding one where Atlantis never sank?”
    â€œYeah, probably. And that,” I said, removing my sleeve from my face long enough for her to see me grin, “is what we call perks of the job. We do get to go off Base sometimes.”
    â€œThat’s awesome,” she said. “I can’t wait to explore.”
    â€œWhen we’re done saving all the worlds,” I reminded her.
    â€œI know,” she said a little testily. I suppose I didn’t have to keep reminding her how serious this was; there wasn’t anything wrong with looking forward to dessert while knowing you still had to eat your vegetables.
    â€œI used to have a whole book about stuff like that,” I said after a moment, trying to make conversation as we slogged our way through the thick, dank air. I knew I should save my breath, but we hadn’t had much chance to talk about anything other than tactics and technical ship stuff. I knew next to nothing about her, except what I assumed we had in common.
    â€œStuff like what? Modern mysteries?”
    â€œYeah. My aunt gave it to me.”
    â€œI had the same one,” she said. “Aunt Theresa?”
    â€œYeah.” I smiled. “Blue cover?”
    â€œNo, green. Yellow title.”
    â€œMine was black, I think. Don’t remember; I got it when Iwas really little. Mom and her sister didn’t talk much, really.”
    â€œI guess that’s how it was for us at first, but they got closer after the accident,” she said.
    â€œWhat accident?”
    â€œThe car accident.” Josephine glanced sidelong at me. “When Mom lost her arm.”
    I paused, once again struck by the realization at how different we all were, even though we were all essentially the same. When I’d first come to Josephine’s world, when I still didn’t know what was happening or why, I’d gone into her house and seen the woman who was my mom but wasn’t, who looked like her and sounded like her but had different hair and a prosthetic arm.
    â€œThat didn’t happen for you,” she said.
    â€œNo,” I admitted. “I remember one car accident we were in, but it wasn’t bad.”
    She was silent for a moment, considering that. She didn’t seem upset, just thoughtful. Josephine was like that, I was learning; she tended to mostly roll with the punches. I guess she’d had to.
    â€œWell, it was bad for us. I have a scar right here from when I hit my head.” She pulled her sleeve away from her mouth long enough to push her hair back. I couldn’t make out the scar with how my eyes were watering from the dust in the air, but I nodded anyway. “And I only sort of remember what happened. I woke up in the hospital with Dad sittingnext to me, and he told me we’d be staying there