“So great, the two of you can read magical writing and I can’t.”
“Can’t yet, Abs,” Simon corrected. “And I couldn’t read it either.”
“That’s just because the two of you have no ability to clear your minds,” Caleb said.
“Yeah, well, that’s probably because there’s a whole lot more in our minds, bro.”
Caleb shot out a fist and gave Simon a firm punch on the shoulder. Simon went to grab Caleb’s arm and pull it behind his back, like he used to do before Caleb outweighed him. Abbey shoved her hand between the two of them.
“Stop! We don’t have time for this. I met with Jake today. He’s the one that gave me the card. Ian gave it to him. Jake says several people have come looking for him to help them use the docks. Someone has cut away the rosebush, and every last adult around us is acting crazy. We need to figure this out.” And I have a list from my adult self, she added in her mind. She should tell them both about the list.
Simon and Caleb stopped their wrestling and separated.
“You need to tell me what happened that night you went over the stones,” Caleb said.
“You need to tell us what you were doing going to the stones with Mom this morning,” Abbey countered. Simon jerked his head up in surprise. He hadn’t known about that.
“You first,” Caleb said.
Abbey looked at Simon. He lifted his hands to say he didn’t know what to do.
The sound of a car in the driveway made them all jump. Farley started to bark in the living room. Simon flicked one of the slats of his closed blinds.
“It’s a police cruiser,” he said, his face oddly pale and his voice thin.
“What?” Abbey exclaimed. Maybe their parents were in a trunk.
The engine was cut and footsteps and a sharp rap at the door followed. Farley’s lunatic woofing was cut off by a reprimand from Sylvain. Abbey, Simon, and Caleb poured out of Simon’s room. Abbey’s heart throbbed with fear.
Sylvain had risen to his feet and stood in the hallway. “Is one of you expecting someone?”
“It’s the police,” Abbey said. She wanted to add, “What did you do?” but thought better of it. Sylvain elevated his eyebrows, but didn’t appear excessively perturbed—not like a total criminal would be expected to look.
He approached the door after ordering a surprisingly obedient Farley to his bed, and they all crowded around behind him, looked at each other, and then dispersed around the room as if to look casual. Sylvain opened the door.
“Coventry Hill police department,” the officer said. “We’re looking for a Simon Sinclair on charges relating to hacking into the City Hall computer system. We have a warrant for his arrest. We’re here to take him into custody.”
Abbey’s whole body stiffened. Simon. He was guilty. He had done it. Simon shrank against the living room wall, his face a ghastly shade of puce.
“I’m afraid the children’s parents are not here,” Sylvain said. “Would it be possible for you to come back later?”
“We have instructions to take him into custody. He’ll get two phone calls from the detention center, and you can contact the parents yourself. Ms. Beckham is under investigation too, as obviously she is the new mayor and may have received pertinent information as a result of the hack job. Which one of these boys is Simon?”
Simon raised his hand. “I am.” His voice quavered through the deeper tones of manhood.
“All right, son, we’re going to read you your Miranda rights. We’re not going to cuff you, unless you give us reason to do so. Can you please come here?”
Simon stepped forward, looking half his age.
“Who told you about this?” Abbey demanded.
“I’m afraid that information is part of the investigation.”
Tears streamed down Abbey’s face while the officer read Simon his rights and then marched her brother out to the car and drove away.
Simon was gone.
“You shouldn’t have let them take him. I’m calling Mom,” Abbey declared with a fierce glare at Sylvain, who still stared out the living room window, bemused. “She’ll fix this.”
“Maybe,” said Sylvain. “She’s definitely not going to be happy.”
Abbey and Caleb watched Mark eat his fourth slice of pepperoni pizza with anchovies. Sylvain occupied the head of the table, wearing a stilted smile. Their parents were in meetings with lawyers. Because of the potential conflict of interest and involvement of their mother—which Abbey was sure was not possible—the police were reluctant to release Simon into her parents’ custody on bail, but rather wanted to retain him at the youth correctional facility. Their parents were trying to force an immediate hearing so that Simon could come home, at least temporarily, and Sylvain was apparently to stay with Abbey, Caleb, and Mark until their parents returned home later that evening.
Abbey had already imagined all of the potential images of Simon in a cell with rats, murderers, prostitutes, and psychopaths. Caleb picked at a piece of straw in the woven placemats. Mark had been working furiously at his desk since arriving home from the college and barely seemed to notice that Simon was missing and everyone else was upset. Farley lay on Abbey’s feet, sulking about being cooped up for the day.
The hacking scandal had hit the news, and although the media couldn’t report on Simon’s involvement, they were having a field day with investigation of Coventry City’s new mayor and her potential use of hacked information to win the election. Calls for Marian Beckham’s resignation were trending on Twitter and Facebook. Abbey had shut off the television and slammed closed her computer just before Sylvain announced that dinner had arrived.
Caleb departed the table under the auspices of checking something on the TV down in the crypt, and Abbey found herself staring at Sylvain, who had given up on conversation and was flipping through something on his phone.
“You’re probably happy about this, aren’t you? If Simon has a criminal record, how can he write computer programs that are going to compete with yours in the future?” she said. “Then you won’t even have to extort Caleb to sabotage Simon’s program as payment for moving Caleb’s people…” Abbey paused. “But does that mean you aren’t going to help Caleb? Or have you already helped him? Or has that been undone because Simon no longer develops the program?”
Sylvain locked his phone and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “You do pose a lot of questions, young lady, and then proceed to answer your own questions with more questions. The short answer is that the timelines seem to have a certain solidity. If Simon is going to develop a computer program that will compete with mine, a juvenile record that will likely be expunged after he becomes an adult is not going to stand in the way, especially if he only committed a misdemeanor, not a felony. Moreover, you should not assume that my request to Caleb was personally motivated.”
Abbey darted a look at Mark, but he seemed totally absorbed in his pizza and the green file folder of maps he had sitting on the table next to him.
“If the timelines are solid, how did they separate? What was future Caleb talking about? A bomb that was not a bomb?”
Sylvain removed his black-framed glasses and rubbed the spot at the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. It’s quite clear that something happened. Everyone’s heard of the theory of parallel universes, of course, to explain quantum mechanics. Multiple copies of the earth and all of us on it. For each possible action, the universe splits to accommodate each potential outcome.”
“I prefer the Copenhagen Interpretation of quantum mechanics. Particles exist in all possible states at once in superposition, until observed. Then they choose.” Abbey put a little more emphasis on the word choose than she probably should have.
Sylvain’s mouth curved into a small smile. “I’m sure you do.”
Abbey frowned. Was he patronizing her? “And I don’t see what the Many Worlds theory, even if it is true, has to do with these futures. These futures were all missing things.�
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Sylvain’s eyebrow flicked up fractionally. “What if reality is a combination of Copenhagen and Many Worlds, and superposition is possible beyond the quantum level, and somehow a portion of this universe’s or timeline’s mass, people, elements—everything—got caught in superposition, so to speak, and when you observe the future through the stones, everything that is in superposition is forced to choose one state, which is the state you observe?”
“Impossible.”
Abbey saw the flash of Sylvain’s gold tooth. “Hmph. Probably. Still, we have a bit of a problem to explain, don’t we?”
A breeze from the crypt stairs made goose bumps rise on Abbey’s arm. She knew that draft. It was the wind that blew up the stairs when the basement door was left open. Caleb.
She rose from her seat, and Farley leapt to his and started dashing around the table. “Caleb’s gone to the stones,” she said.
Sylvain rose too. “What? How do you know?”
“I know him,” she said. “He’s trying to find a way to help. And he left the basement door open.”
Abbey ran for the crypt stairs with Farley bounding delightedly ahead of her, thinking his walk was now in the offing. She descended the stairs in leaps, calling for Caleb as she went.
The TV room sat ominously dark and empty, and the door to the outside hung a few centimeters ajar, allowing in a slice of winter sky. Abbey raced through each of the remaining rooms: spare bedroom, bathroom, laundry room, storage room. No Caleb.
She returned to the main room as Sylvain flipped on the stair lights.
“We have to go after him,” she said.
“It would appear so,” he said.
5. A Flood of Dots
There was little doubt that the stones were alive this time. Their energy ripped through Abbey like an electric charge. She, Sylvain, and Mark stood in a semicircle around the faded grey slabs. The air felt heavy and expectant as if the water and oxygen molecules all around them were ions sparked with excess protons.
Farley had been left behind, barking in stunned and dismayed despair, and as much as Abbey wished for his exuberance and general steadfastness, she knew he’d be nothing but trouble. She tried not to let out a little sob for Caleb and Simon.
Mark had initially refused to leave the contents of the green file and had only come, reluctantly, after Abbey made the argument that he could potentially do more ground-truthing of his maps on a Coventry Hill of the future. He stood now with his leather satchel containing the map file—which he refused to leave behind—sketch paper, and at least a dozen pencils of varying sizes and hardness.
“Caleb definitely used the stones?”
Sylvain gave a tired nod. “Can’t you feel it?” He looked at Abbey and then gave his head a small shake. “Sorry. I forget. Let’s just say, once you’ve used them a few times—or a lot of times, say, then every time someone uses them, it will be like they’re ringing the loudest doorbell you’ve ever heard. So, someone just used the stones, that’s for sure.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Since your mother decided to retrieve the riff raff from Nowhere, that doorbell has been going nonstop. My head has been ringing day in and day out. So I’ve stopped taking notice, and I had no reason to think it was Caleb, until you noted that he was missing.”
“Fine then. Who’s going first?” Abbey said.
“It doesn’t much matter,” Sylvain replied. “Caleb—if it was Caleb—has already set the future.”
“And which future is that? His first future, or the future you moved him and his people to?”
Sylvain shrugged, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his navy overcoat. “Probably his new future. While there are some exceptions, the futures seem to move along at the same rate as the present; and once a person has been to a future, the two time periods seem to become linked for that person, such that whenever you go back to the future, the same amount of time will have elapsed in the future as has in the present, like two rivers flowing side by side. There are some theories of quantum entanglement in this regard, but we don’t know for sure. But, like I said, there are occasions when this is not the case.”
Abbey wanted to ask more questions. But they needed to go after Caleb.
“We’re wasting time here. I’ll go first.”
“No,” Sylvain said. “I’ll go. I’m sure there’s some rule that the babysitter should always go first.” He stepped onto the first stone and vanished.
Abbey placed her right foot gently on the stone, and, as always, the pull of light and movement took her. The stones were a physical impossibility, a giant particle accelerator for humans, and yet there was no denying their existence. Every time she used them, they pulsed more vehemently at the edges of her consciousness.
When she came to a stop, she blinked open her eyes in the brilliant evening of the causeway. Ships clung, seemingly precariously, to the floating sidewalk that hung over the city of domed buildings. A few people marched up and down the causeway, and Abbey marveled once again at the prospect of space travel that broke all the rules of physics she had ever known.
She craned her neck for Caleb, but her brother’s red hair and orange hoodie were nowhere in her line of vision. She turned to Sylvain and Mark, who stood on the causeway beside her. She hadn’t thought to let Mark go first to ensure he joined them, like Simon would have done. But Mark’s enthusiasm for his mapmaking seemed to have helped him overcome his fear of the stones. He had already removed a map from his satchel and was busy comparing it to the landscape, turning in all directions as he did.
“Now what?” she hissed at Sylvain.
“Now we look for your brother, because if we don’t find him before your parents get home, I have significant doubts that I’ll ever be asked to be your babysitter again.”
Abbey was going to make some comment about that being a terrible shame, but she decided not to. At least Sylvain was better than creepy Dr. Ford.
“Which way, then?”
Sylvain set off in the direction of the mirrored building that stood meters from the small respite area housing the stones and the docks. “I expect your brother might have decided to try to go into town. We’ll have to hope there’s a train coming soon.”
“Why don’t we just hike down?” said Abbey, pointing at the red clay hillside, where small gullies ran in parallel streaks down to the small domed city. “It doesn’t look that far.” She swung under the guardrail that ran the length of the causeway and placed a single foot into the dirt. Orange dust puffed up around her foot in a cloud.
Pincer-like hands extended and grasped her, snatching her back onto the causeway.
“I wouldn’t recommend that!” Sylvain said, his pale blue eyes right next to hers. “Why do you think space travel is possible here?”
The understanding hit Abbey with a jolt: the limiting factor in space travel for years. “Gravity,” she said. “There’s less gravity.”
“Way less. But it’s also more variable. The space station is here because this very spot is one of the lowest gravity areas in the Midwest. This causeway is simulating the level of gravity you’re used to. All of the pathways, roads, and floors on this hillside and in town have special gravitational fields.”
Abbey tried to process this. Had the Earth gotten smaller, or had it just lost mass? Was this the missing mass Caleb had referred to? Was the Earth, once filled with ferrous metals that accounted for its mass, now a piece of Swiss cheese? But why put in gravitational fields? It didn’t make any sense.
She looked back at Sylvain. “But why can’t I go off the causeway? How low could it be?”
“It’s 2.7,” Sylvain said. “I know, I know. You’re thinking that you wouldn’t float away. But there were a whole bunch of other problems caused by low gravitational pull, like injuries when you land after being able to jump so much higher. The government decided that this was just a more practical solution. Going off the causeway onto th
e dirt is illegal.”
“But—”
Sylvain’s smile seemed a bit thin and one of his eyes twitched. “I would be happy to discuss the specifics of gravity with you later, but right now aren’t we in a hurry to find your brother? You should probably retrieve your charge.”
Abbey looked around for Mark. She spotted his broad frame moving down the causeway, holding one of the map sheets out in front of him, pausing every few seconds to look over the guardrail at the clustered dwellings dug into the dirt.
She jogged after him. “Mark, where are you going? We’re going to the mirrored building, not this direction.”
Mark stopped and extended his finger in the direction of the Stairway Mountain range where the Granton Dam blocked the flow of the Moon River in their world. These Stairway Mountains—if they were the Stairway Mountains—looked weathered and scoured, more rounded and red than they had been before. Mark and Abbey weren’t quite at a vantage point where they could see the dam, but they could see the Moon River, if it was the Moon River, snaking through the city in loops and curls. This was quite unlike the Moon River of Abbey’s present, which ran through the city in a straight line, fed by channelized tributaries that coursed under the streets and green spaces of Coventry, only seeing the sky in special parks where trails had been constructed around the rushing water.
“Is that… is that the Moon River, do you think?” Abbey said. She spoke cautiously. She was never quite sure how to address Mark.
Mark nodded.
“What would make it loop like that?”
Mark didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Abbey started to wonder if he had understood her question. But then he abruptly turned away from the rail so his back was to her. “A flood,” he said. “Followed by a significant decline in river flow, and areas of greater soil subsidence and erosion.”
“What would cause that?”
Mark shook his head, but she couldn’t be sure if it was because he didn’t know, or he just didn’t want to say.
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