Evolution

by Teri Terry

  “Yes, but why Beatriz?”

  “I assume Cepta enlisted her help. Beatriz has remarkable clarity and concentration.”

  “I know that, but she is also a child. Shouldn’t she be at school or playing games or something?” I shake my head.

  I knock on the window, and she opens her eyes. I open the door and, as I do, realize it was locked from the outside.

  “Hello, having fun?”

  She makes a face. “It’s creepy being in here. Cepta said I had to think my way out before I could leave.”

  I hold out my hand. “Come on; I’m breaking you out.”

  Cepta appears in the hall, irritation through her aura. “You’ve interrupted my experiment.”

  Tough. “Xander, didn’t you say each member of Community decides for themselves what they want to study?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Beatriz a member of Community in her own right?”

  He’s surprised. Considers. “Yes, of course she is,” he says, and Cepta is not happy. Xander is amused.

  “Well, Beatriz, what would you like to study?”

  She doesn’t even have to think. “Joining more and more—farther—at greater distances. Around the whole world, and then the stars! Like what we talked about last night. And then Elena and me talked about it some more. Could we do that?”

  “Wow. Nothing like a little ambition. High five?”

  Beatriz jumps to high-five me, then races off to find Elena. Cepta flounces down the hall.

  “Xander, seriously, no matter what her brain can do, Beatriz is still a child. She needs boundaries. She needs looking after.”

  “Beatriz is fascinating…the youngest survivor we’ve found. She seems to instinctively do things we have to painstakingly learn. But I do actually agree with you.

  “How about this: there is an outlying Community, remote and small, mostly just farming and agriculture. The Speaker there is grandmotherly, but she won’t stand for any trouble. We could send Beatriz and Elena there. Beatriz could try her long-distance communication at increasing distances on the way.”

  “She won’t want to leave us.”

  You mean you don’t want to let her go. But see—and he shows me the place he is thinking of sending them. It’s like a family farm with all the animals, and she’ll love it.

  “Now come. I’ll show you more of what is being studied here,” he says.

  Community members are investigating everything from alternative sources of fuel to genetic manipulation. Xander’s face is animated as he tells me about their work and that there are other branches of Community around the world. Members everywhere are concentrating on finding the answers to many more questions—and he is the leader of them all.

  I study him as much as listen to his words. His eyes have a hunger—the hunger to know all that can be known. And this intense curiosity, the desire to know everything about the world around us, is one I share. I’ve always been this way, but am I more so now, since I became a survivor? I think so, though exactly why is less obvious. Maybe because I can understand and see connections between things in a way I couldn’t before.

  But there are limits to what I would do to learn; I’m not sure Xander has any. This is the core of who and what he is.

  Finally Xander takes me into a conference room and closes the door.

  He gestures at a chair.

  “Now it is for you to decide. What work would you like to do here?”

  “What are the options?”

  “As wide as the multiverse itself.”

  “What does that even mean? What is the multiverse?”

  “That’s my particular obsession,” Xander answers. “That this universe we live in is just one of many—are they connected? How? Can you reach one from another? Do they influence each other—does an action taken here have a reaction in another universe?”

  I tilt my head to one side, thinking. “If our actions create reactions in another universe, it stands to reason that actions undertaken there would have reactions here too.”

  He grins. “Yes, exactly. And if our every decision has a result not just here and now but also for every version of ourselves in multiple universes, each one playing out a slightly different destiny? Fascinating.”

  “Trying to think that through makes my brain hurt. Besides, how could you ever know?”

  “It’s a thought experiment: working from a premise to the logical conclusions to see the results, then finding a way to test it.”

  “I can’t see how you could.”

  “Me neither…so far. But I will.” He says it with a crazy kind of confidence; he really thinks he can work out anything. “So, that is mine. What is your particular obsession?”

  I have it without even needing to consider. “Why are we survivors? Why do some live when most die? Why are some immune? What is different about them and us? I want to understand this epidemic, how it acts. And then work out how to stop it.”

  “You talked about the relationship between us and the origins of the universe before: do you think it all fits some grand evolutionary scheme?”

  “Do you mean about the big bang, and trying to work out why matter was favored over antimatter? Then yes.” And now I’m remembering Spike, and all of us talking this through, and I’m sad again. When I look back up at Xander, there is sympathy in his aura—he seems to know what I am thinking even though I’m sure I was shielded.

  “That can be your focus. See where it takes you. It may help if you study the different stages of evolution, and consider them going backward in time.”

  “Back to the big bang, is that what you mean?”

  “Yes. From cosmic evolution—the development of space, time, matter, and energy from nothing—to stellar: complex stars formed from chaotic first elements. Then chemical elements developed, then planets. Organic life followed, then developed into different kinds of life. The final stages of evolution—variations within a species—are usually where most focus lies in evolutionary studies, but it all goes back to what came at the beginning.”

  My head is spinning with the vast changes from ancient to now. “Looking at it that way, moving through all the different stages—everything was always constantly changing, and still should be.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know that these are questions we can answer. I’m not sure it is the same one I’ve chosen: to find out why some people survive, and some don’t. Unless—” I stop, focusing at last on the place I’m sure he was leading me all along.

  “Yes?”

  “Unless we are evolving, right now. Is that what is happening?”

  “Isn’t this fascinating? And beyond that, is there another stage of evolution, one we are soon to experience?”

  “What stage would that be?”

  “The one where we choose. We decide the human race will evolve in a certain way. We do it actively, not passively.”

  “Even if we could do that, should we?”

  “Well, if you work out how we are different, and if it follows that people can change so they will survive the epidemic, surely you want this?”

  My head is spinning—again. “I guess. But isn’t it like playing God? Changing people, deciding who lives and who dies?”

  “Isn’t that what modern medicine has been doing, or trying to do, for many years? Recent advances in genetics have made it possible to make changes in genes, to fix faults that cause illness. To save lives.”

  “I need to think about this some more.”

  “Yes! Think, and study, and think some more, and who knows where it may take you. May you have more success than I’ve had unraveling the mysteries of the multiverse.”

  And then I’m remembering Xander’s house on Shetland; Kai and I broke in, stayed there. The whole house was designed around a telescope, one that tracked beautiful A
lbireo, a binary star pair.

  “Can you see other universes in the sky?” I ask. “Is that why you’re so interested in looking at the stars?”

  His eyebrow goes up, a crinkle of amusement, and I realize my slip: we’ve never talked about his telescope or us having been there. “It’s all right; I know you and Kai stayed in my house,” he says.

  “How?”

  “From the laptop. Kai attempted to erase history in a rudimentary way, but it was set to record and track use. I saw everything done on it while you were there.”

  I’m shocked and think back, trying to remember everything we did on his laptop.

  “I was impressed you deduced the door code,” he says. “And the computer password too.”

  “Your favorite star system: the one tracked by the telescope.”

  “Yes. And it’s not just a beautiful star system; it is also the event horizon of a black hole: the point beyond which the gravitational pull is so strong that not even light can escape. Could that be the way to reach other universes?”

  “Doesn’t everything that goes past the event horizon of a black hole disappear forever?”

  “Exactly. But where to?”

  “Build a spaceship and find out?”

  “Perhaps one day. Did you use the telescope?”

  “Yes. Sorry, I didn’t know it was your house I was trespassing in then. You were just this shadowy evil figure, Dr. 1: creator of the epidemic that killed so many.”

  “And now that you know who Dr. 1 is, what is your assessment? Still shadowy and evil?” He grins; he likes sparring with words.

  “Shadowy, yes. There is too much I don’t know or understand about you. Evil? Refer to my previous statement: I don’t know.”

  He laughs, shakes his head. “I’ve explained to you what we were doing on Shetland.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “Very well.” He leans forward. “I can be more complete now that you know I’ve been a survivor for some time. I found I could cure myself of any ailment. I wanted to know if this could be used to cure diseases like cancer. We—”

  “We?”

  “Multiverse was partnered with the Special Alternatives Regiment of the army. SAR was set up to develop new weapons to be used in the war against terrorism—the sorts of weapons that might not be sanctioned if made public. They were independent and set up with a double-blind: no one knew what SAR did, so no one could get in trouble for it if it came to light. All SAR was interested in was a possible antimatter weapon. I don’t think they understood it well enough. They probably thought we’d make some sort of ray gun or something—zap! to our enemies. But all we cared about was targeting antimatter to cure cancer.”

  “And Jenna and Callie—how were they involved?”

  “Jenna was a cancer patient. I told you before—she was psychotic from secondary brain cancer. Such a shame, as we finally did it: we cured her of her cancer! She was our success.”

  “She was a survivor.”

  “Yes. Sadly, she died in the fires that followed the accident that destroyed the research institute. Why she told you we did that deliberately…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Some delusion she had?”

  “And what about Callie?”

  “Callie wasn’t involved.”

  “But she must have known Jenna, for Jenna to pretend to be her. Where is Callie? Is she alive and well?”

  He hesitates. “She’s alive,” he says.

  “But not well?”

  “She is physically well.”

  “Where is she? Tell me, please.”

  He’s conflicted. I can see it in his aura, read his face. And I’m desperate to know, and I realize now it isn’t just for Kai anymore, but for myself too. Kai and Callie share a mother, but Callie and I share a father: she’s my half sister.

  “I’ve lost so much, and she’s my sister too. I need to know. Please.”

  There is resolution in his aura; he’s reached a decision. He nods. “I’ll try to—” and he stops, looks to the door.

  It opens, and Cepta peeks in, smiles. “Sorry to interrupt. It’s time.”

  We get up from our chairs and follow her, and I try not to be obviously upset at her interruption. Xander was about to tell me something about Callie; I’m sure of it. Will he still want to once he’s had a chance to think about it? I can only hope.

  Elena and Beatriz wait for us at the exit. It’s dusk now. I’d lost track of time in that windowless place. We start out the door, but Cepta says there is something she must do and turns back.

  CHAPTER 11

  LARA

  IT’S STARTING TO GET DARK. I’m getting more uncomfortable perched in the tree, and I’m thinking of climbing down, going back before anyone notices I’m missing. Then the door next to the library below me opens again.

  There’s a girl I don’t recognize, much younger than me—she walks with a woman, also one I don’t know. New members of Community? I frown. I can’t see why I’d be hidden from them if they are; they’ve never done that before.

  And then out comes Xander, and with him is another girl.

  I squint in the poor light. She looks a few years or so older than me; there is something about her—I don’t know what it is. I will her to turn her head so I can see her more clearly, and when she finally does, I’m startled.

  I know her. Don’t I? I frown, shake my head. There is nothing I can think of that says why I know her, but there is a deep certainty inside: she’s my friend. I want to go to her, but not under Xander’s eyes.

  They walk together through the trees; soon they’ll be out of sight. I want to see where she goes.

  My pulse quickens as I climb carefully down the tree, one foot feeling below for the next branch, then the next. I don’t dare go too fast, but I’m afraid they’ll disappear and I won’t know where she’s gone.

  I’m near the bottom when a hand reaches out and clasps my ankle. It pulls hard, and I fall the rest of the way, bumped and scratched by twigs and branches, and land on my backside.

  I’m yanked up to my feet.

  It’s Cepta.

  She’s furious. She slaps my face, and I hold a hand to my cheek, shocked. Tears rise in my eyes.

  How did you get out of the house?

  Her mind slams into mine so hard that it hurts. She sees what I did, and who I saw just now.

  She pulls me by the hair.

  Walk, she demands, and leads me back to the house. She pushes me through the door with so much force that I fall to the floor.

  Stay here. Forget. Sleep.

  Forget…what? I pull myself up from the floor, shaking, not sure how I got there. I hurt all over; the side of my face is sore.

  I walk slowly, carefully, to the bedroom and get into bed.

  Darkness falls on my mind and thoughts before my head hits the pillow.

  CHAPTER 12

  SHAY

  IT’S TIME FOR DINNER, and then—my stomach lurches, in a good way—joining. When we get to the great hall, Beatriz smiles at me as she goes to her seat across the room. After less than two days in this place, she’s flourishing. Now that I’ve gotten her away from Cepta, she loves it here again, and there is a part of me that does too. If only all were as it seemed to be: a bunch of lovely, happy people who join with the earth and the trees and each other, and spend lots of time thinking and trying to solve problems.

  I’m struck again by how much Mum would love this, and how much I would have thought I’d have hated it if anyone had told me about it ahead of time. I shake my head and shield my thoughts. It’s not as simple as that; nothing could be, with Xander in charge of it all.

  Cepta hurried us along before, but now she’s late. It’s almost like she timed her interruption earlier to stop Xander from telling me about Callie. Though she’s often late; I know this from sharing thoughts with everyone la
st night, as we are about to do again. Cepta finally comes through the door, walking slowly across the room. Her cheeks are a little flushed—was she rushing before she came into view? She reaches our table and rings the bell to signal for dinner to be brought.

  * * *

  Joining that night is even more than it was the first time—if that is possible. I reach deep inside myself, then out to everybody else. Once again we begin by breathing in sync, filling ourselves with oxygen and the breaths of each other until our hearts beat as one. There is only a thin veneer of hesitation inside of me—a layer, a barrier—that stops this from being so complete there could be no turning back.

  And then we cast out to all living things around us—nonliving too, like the stones and the earth—and I can feel Beatriz leading us, taking us even farther than last night.

  Chamberlain is with us too, but this time I realize that I sense him in a way that the others don’t. He’s flitting through the trees in the dark on some nighttime quest.

  After the joining, everyone is smiling. There is a look exchanged or a small touch to a hand or a shoulder as one by one we separate and walk out into the night—alone now, but not alone at the same time. If I needed to reach out again, we would all be there for each other.

  I’m not as tired as I was the first time, and my mind is calm, still, focused. This is the right time, exactly the right time, to begin my chosen task in Community—the official one, that is.

  I’m a survivor. What is different about me?

  Alone in my room, I sit on the floor, cross-legged, eyes closed. I breathe slow and even, as we did earlier, but this time I only reach in, not out. As my heart rate slows and my breathing deepens, I travel further inside: not through blood like I usually do, but along the pathways of my nerves. From the periphery at first—fingertips, fingers, the palms of my hands, up my arms, my throat—along each nerve and the fine branches connecting one nerve to many others, finally leading up along my spinal cord and to my brain.

  I’d adjusted neurotransmitters between cells yesterday without really thinking about what I was doing, but now I go closer—further—deeper. Swirling beyond the cellular level to molecules, atoms, particles within atoms, and there—something is there. I’ve sensed it before, when healing myself. But what is it?