“Yes we— I’ve heard.” Slow to take Straal’s hand, he was unnerved by the awkwardness of meeting yet another person he’d known who was, to him, dead. I guess I’m dead, too, to my universe. How often, though, would this happen? It was always an overwhelming feeling: that crushing, foreboding reverse–déjà vu he’d now felt a dozen times. “I’m guessing you know me in your universe, but I’m different?” Straal asked. “Paul filled me in too.” “Yeah, a little different,” Culber said. How about turned inside out by a navigational mistake?
