Read Online Parallelities by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page A

the guard put down his receiver and looked out at the distraught visitor. “He says to go on up.”
    Max barely restrained the Aurora long enough for the electric gate to swing aside and admit him to the privatecompound. He forced himself to take it slow climbing the winding road through the preserve of expensive homes lest some idle matron call Security down on a visiting reckless driver.
    His anxious tone and words to the guard had produced the intended effect. Front door standing open behind him, Boles was waiting for him as the Aurora squealed to a halt in the circular driveway.
    “Good to see you again, Max.” The inventor wore a golden California senior’s smile as he approached the car. His tan was the stuff of Chicago dreams. “What’s so important that it brought you back so soon? The gate guard said you looked downright nervous.”
    “Nervous?” Max shut the door and hurried around the front of the car. “Yeah, you could say I’m a little nervous. I was robbed last night.”
    Boles’s expression turned instantly sympathetic as they entered the house. “No kidding? That’s a damned shame.”
    “Damned might be the right description.” Max looked around and without being asked, fell onto a massive leather couch. Until that moment he had not really stopped running, physically or mentally. Now he was exhausted, but adrenaline flow kept him alert and talking as Boles took a seat opposite.
    “So tell me what happened.” The inventor offered M&Ms from a silver container. Max waved them off.
    “I get home last night and find a guy trying to take my TV for a walk. As I’m confronting him another guy shows up. He looks exactly like the first. I mean, exactly. While they’re arguingabout who’s who, a third kibitzer comes through the door and guess what—he looks just like the other two. Same build, same look, same voice, same clothes—they even argued alike. If you take their words and their actions at face value, they’d never met before that moment.”
    He eyed the candy uncomfortably. What he needed was a good, stiff Scotch, not chocolate. But as long as he had Boles’s attention, he did not want to send him off to search the household bar. Health freak that the older man was, it was entirely possible that the only alcohol in the house resided in the medicine cabinet anyway. He put the craving out of his mind.
    “Eventually they calm down. Then they tie me up and work things out among themselves, the downside being that they leave not just with my TV but also my stereo and my computer.”
    Boles was nodding sympathetically as he listened. Not once during Max’s deposition had he laughed, or even smiled. “Fascinating. Maybe even remarkable. But what has it got to do with me?”
    Max rolled his eyes. “Wait, there’s more. Today I go down to the beach and after ten minutes of lying in the sun this absolutely stunning lady materializes and tells me she’s thirsty. So I sit up right away and give her a cold soda. We start talking, everything’s going exceptionally well, and then guess what? It seems she has three sisters. Three sisters who all look almost exactly like. Not as alike as the three burglars, butclose. And you know what they tell me as I’m sitting there with my blood starting to congeal? They tell me that they’d never met before, didn’t even know of one another’s existence, until they met in a hotel restaurant the previous night.” He gazed fixedly at the inventor. “I don’t suppose any of this means anything to you?”
    “Of course it does!” Boles was on his feet now, gesticulating excitedly as he paced rapidly back and forth. “They’re paras! First the thieves, then the girls.” He halted and stood staring at a high shelf of books, shaking his head slowly. “It works. The damn thing works.”
    “There’s that word again.” Max sat up straight, his eyes never leaving his host. “Paras. Want to tell me what it means?”
    Boles looked over at him. “As I told