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envelope.
    "This file contains information about Lisa
and Linda Rogers. They are, in a way, your sisters."
    "Sisters? I was an only child. Dad always
joked that I was so much trouble they didn't want another kid."
    "Lisa and Linda were born in 1970 and 1972.
Your parents were more emotionally and financially secure than they
were when you were born."
    Richard emptied the envelope, and looked
through the photos of two bright-looking, happy women. They seemed
very familiar, like relatives he should recognize, but couldn't
quite recall.
    "Sisters, huh?"
    "There's more," said Dr. Knowbokov, handing
him another envelope. "Your former wife, Veronica, married before
she finished college. She has two children now, a boy, age seven,
and a girl, age eight."
    "I don't believe you," said Richard.
"Veronica hated children. She viewed them as little dirt magnets.
She would never have found a diaper bag that meshed with her
wardrobe."
    "The girl was unplanned, but is loved," said
Dr. Knowbokov. "Look at the photographs."
    Richard fumbled with the clasp. His hands
were trembling. He left the envelope closed, and said, "I don't
care."
    "What don't you care about?"
    "Any of this. Any of these people."
    "They are real people," said Dr. Knowbokov,
his voice very calm and gentle. "As real as you once were. More
real than you are now. If I were to tinker with time again, even if
I had the talent and wisdom to make things exactly as they once
were, I would be condemning these people to non-existence."
    "I don't care!" Richard rose, flinging the
envelope across the room. It came open, sending a flurry of photos
and papers drifting through the air. "You're going to put me
back!"
    "No," Dr. Knowbokov said calmly.
    With a feral growl, Richard lunged forward,
his hands aimed at the doctor's throat.
    Still seated, Dr. Knowbokov raised his leg
high above his head and delivered a kick to Richard's chin. Richard
crashed to the coffee table, stars before his eyes. He rolled to
the floor, tasting blood in his mouth.
    "Any attempt at physical assault is most
unwise," said Dr. Knowbokov. "I have black belts in seven styles of
martial arts."
    "Of course," Richard said, his hands
clutching his throbbing jaw. "Goddamn."
    "I understand your emotional distress," said
Dr. Knowbokov.
    "Sure," said Richard, swallowing blood. "Why
wouldn't you understand? This is your fault. You destroy my life.
You tell me that my parents really did decide against kids because
I was so horrible, and my wife would have welcomed the opportunity
to breed, just not with me."
    He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Sorry, DNA.
Guess I let you down."
    Dr. Knowbokov laughed. "You possess a sharp
wit, Richard. This is evidence of your intelligence. I have faith
in your ability to adapt to your condition."
    Richard ignored him. "And to top it all off,
I'll have to eat through straws for the rest of my life. Man, it
feels like my teeth are about to come out."
    "Unlikely," said Dr. Knowbokov. "I didn't
kick you that hard."
    Richard shook his head. He didn't know what
to say. This was just too much to think about, especially with his
head throbbing. So he said, "I have a headache."
    "Perhaps it would be best if you rested. I
have sleeping quarters in the rear of the plane. There’s medication
in the bathroom. Some anti-inflammatories will help ease your
pain."
    Richard chuckled joylessly. "Any pills in
there that will make me real again?"
    "Richard, you are real. It's vitally
important you remember that, and believe it. I have told you these
things because I believe that the truth will help you come to terms
with your new circumstances, and actually reinforce your
identity."
    "Yeah," said Richard. "Self-esteem, believe
in yourself, blah, blah, blah. You sure you're not a shrink?"
    "Come," said Dr. Knowbokov, offering his
hand. "Let's get you to bed. After you rest, we can further discuss
my offer of employment."
    "Spy, huh?" said Richard. "Won't be as cool
as in the movies. I'm unlikely to get the