by Dunn, Pintip
“You dare to contradict me, Jessa?” the chairwoman asks. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”
“As your assistant, I have access to all your security clearances,” Jessa says, her voice thick with the future—or the lack thereof. “I was curious about the amber formula, so I did a little research. Guess what I found?”
My mother doesn’t respond.
“What?” Tanner supplies helpfully, even as he keeps his electro-whip trained on the guard.
“Contrary to what people think, the formula doesn’t cure the time stream virus.” Jessa moves from her sister’s bedside, until she’s standing in the middle of the room. “It merely delays the symptoms. Those who have gotten a dose will need more injections on a regular basis, and there’s not nearly enough formula.” She scans our faces. “Think about it. The math doesn’t work. If we have to provide everyone in this world with an injection every single day—or even every few days—how much formula would we need? Even if we maxed out our production capabilities, we still wouldn’t have enough.”
Her jaw hardens. “Bottom line is, we can’t all be saved. And what’s more, I have the documents to prove it.”
My stomach drops somewhere near the level of my knees. “Is that true, Mother?”
Reluctantly, the chairwoman nods. Her posture is no longer erect; her chin is no longer lifted. For the first time in this conversation, she appears…defeated.
“We’ve known about the time stream deterioration for years,” she says wearily. “And we’ve been stockpiling formula ever since. But Jessa’s right. Our supply’s already halved. If any part of the human race is to have a fighting chance, we need to cut down our population. By a lot.” She takes a shaky breath and looks at her assistant. “What are you going to do with these documents?”
“It’s simple, really,” Jessa says. “Unless I enter a security code—one that only I know—every six hours, my files will be sent to every major media outlet in North Amerie. It won’t take long for the people to figure out what it means. Can you imagine the riots that will take place then?”
The chairwoman’s breathing comes out in jerky pants, as though she is trying—and failing—to control it. “Don’t try me, Jessa. I can have you tortured until you give up the security code.”
Jessa glances at the red digital numbers on the ceiling. “In the next four hours? I don’t think so. I lasted way longer than that, even when I was a child.”
The chairwoman bites her lip, considering. I don’t think a single one of us breathes—especially Ryder, as he stares at the girl who was his best friend. As if sensing the weight of his gaze, Jessa turns. You see? her face seems to say. Doesn’t this prove that I didn’t betray you after all? I would never betray you.
An expression crosses Ryder’s face, and try as I might, I can’t read it.
“What do you want?” my mother asks.
Jessa tears her eyes from Ryder. “What you should’ve given us to begin with. An unlimited supply of the formula. Callie discharged from this so-called ‘medic wing.’ My entire family pardoned. Apartments in the scientific residences for all of them. And Tanner, Olivia, and I will all retain our positions and clearance, without any penalty whatsoever.”
The chairwoman regards her evenly. “Fine. But in exchange, you not only keep the documents to yourself, but you also make sure Preston and Mikey cooperate with the solution.”
“There’s a solution?” Ryder blurts out.
“Oh yes.” My mother’s lips don’t quite curve, but a flame leaps into her face, the kind that continues to burn through the darkest hour. “The problem’s been kept highly classified, but the world’s leaders joined forces long ago to form an International Council dedicated to finding a solution. And we’re close now. Very close.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Tanner interjects. “If future memory was the cause of the deterioration, then why were you so fixated on me inventing it? Callie already delayed the discovery of future memory. If we’d ignored it, maybe the technology would’ve just disappeared. Maybe our time stream would’ve remained intact.”
“Because the deterioration didn’t stop.” The chairwoman shoves her hands through her hair, and the already loose chignon falls apart. “Even in the ten years when we didn’t have future memory, new victims continued to come down with symptoms. You just didn’t hear about it because I buried the cases. I personally still experienced the time displacement every day. Once future memory was invented in any part of our timeline, I think we were doomed. It happened. We couldn’t make it unhappen. I hoped that by inventing future memory, the way we were supposed to, and keeping a tight rein over the recipients’ actions, we could control the ripping and tearing.” She moves her shoulders. “Instead, the opposite happened. The moment future memory was reintroduced to society, the symptoms blew up.”
She takes a deep breath. “Our solution is twofold. First, we need to increase supply and decrease demand. But in case we’re not successful, we’re also building a machine—something we call a ‘realm machine.’ Not one that travels backward or forward on our timeline. But a machine that will be large enough and powerful enough to take a segment of our population into a parallel world.” Her eyes shine. “We’re starting over, and we’re crossing our very realm in order to do it.”
36
The warehouse is the size of an airplane hangar, tucked in the middle of the woods. But instead of airplanes, it houses a machine—an enormous, metal-plated machine comprised of two podiums connected by an arch the length of a football field. An electric fence surrounds the entire contraption, and the only entrance into the arch is through a long tunnel.
More guards than I can count patrol the perimeter of the machine, electro-whips in hand, and scientists in white lab coats bustle around—conversing at com terminals, attaching the metal plates of the tunnel, even hanging from a sling at the center of the arch. I stand at the front of the hangar, trying to take it all in—and failing miserably.
It’s been four days since my mother told us the truth. Four days in which I assume Jessa and Tanner got her family settled at the scientific residences. I wouldn’t actually know. I’ve spent the last four days back in my cabin. Isolated.
After hearing my mother’s news, I couldn’t bear to be around anybody. As nice as Jessa is, as much as I yearn for Ryder’s company, being around them just reminded me how I failed. Even now, I feel weights pressing down on my shoulders. Not just sand-filled duffel bags, but a lead hammer pounding me deeper and deeper into the ground.
I thought I could make a difference. I had so much advance notice of my mother’s goals. I thought, with Jessa by my side, we could prevent the majority of the world from dying. But we can’t.
Oh sure, large portions of the population are still being injected with the amber syringes—for now. Their symptoms have stabilized—for the time being. But sooner or later, the vast majority of them will succumb to the literal ravages of time. Those who aren’t lucky enough to walk through this realm machine and travel to a parallel world will eventually disappear.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind me.
I jump. It’s Mikey. He’s wearing a white lab coat over his regular clothes, and his blond hair is pulled back with a piece of rawhide. His eyes are as intense as ever, but there’s a strain to his mouth that suggests he, too, has been mourning for the last four days.
I didn’t expect to see him. I didn’t expect to see anyone, really. I just wanted to glimpse the realm machine for myself, to convince myself once and for all that this is real and happening and not some hideous nightmare from which I can’t wake.
But now that Mikey’s here, in front of me, I can’t help but think about Ryder. How does he feel, now that he’s able to sleep in a real bed once again? Is he able to eat his favorite foods? What are his favorite foods? What does he think about this turn of events?
The questions fla
sh in my mind, fast and furious, threatening to overwhelm me. Threatening to break down the meager shields that remain. “My mom only told me a few days ago,” I blurt to Mikey, shoving away thoughts of his adopted son. “I had no idea there wasn’t enough formula. No clue this machine even existed. I wasn’t hiding the information from you. I really didn’t know.”
“I believe you.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, moving me aside to make room for two people carrying what looks like a large circuit board. “I didn’t know, either. I can’t believe they’ve accomplished so much in such a short time.”
We both contemplate the machine. It’s so large I can’t see all of it at once. I can catch only a patch of metal here, a curve of the arch there.
“How does it work?” I ask.
“Once the machine’s activated, an energy field will form underneath the arch. That’s the window. The people will walk into the window and hopefully into another world.” He points at the metal-plated tunnel. “See that entrance? Only a couple people can walk through at a time, so the tunnel regulates traffic.” He pulls a metal wristband imprinted with an intricate design out of his pocket. “Every approved walker gets one of these. A scanner at the front reads the code on these bracelets. You won’t be granted access without one.”
“It must be surreal seeing your plans come to life,” I venture.
“For sure,” he says. “You know, in my years back in civilization, the chairwoman always encouraged me to pursue my pet project, the realm machine, in addition to my official research. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of travel to parallel worlds, and I thought she was just humoring me. I had no idea she was actually paying attention. That my wildly theoretical plans would have a very real and practical purpose.”
“That’s why she was so fixated on finding you and Preston,” I say in a flash of clarity. “I thought she just couldn’t handle any of her former scientists defecting.”
“She wanted us to lead the project, since we’re the world’s foremost experts on realm-travel,” he says, without an ounce of arrogance. Probably because his statement is true. “They found Preston, you know, as well as the others. At the rendezvous point, just like you said. Jessa and Callie are relieved, at least, that their parents are safe, and we’re all living together at the scientific residences now.”
I swallow hard. I shouldn’t feel guilty. If I left them in the wilderness, Preston and the others would’ve come apart in the deteriorating time stream. Here, at least, they have a chance to survive. A shot to cross to another world. And yet my stomach churns anyway.
I ignore the feeling. “So, does this thing actually work?”
“It should. I worked for years on the blueprints, and every detail has been tested. I was missing only one thing in my plans: the anchor.”
“Anchor?” I echo.
“It’s like when you travel back in time. You know how you need an anchor to focus your journey so that you don’t get stuck in outer space?”
I nod.
“Well, it’s the same concept, except a little more complicated. For travel within the same timeline, you need an anchor who’s resided in the same physical location during the time you want to travel. So when Jessa and Tanner traveled ten years to the past, they were able to use her mom, Phoebe, as an anchor, since she lived in the same house for all those years.
“For travel to a parallel world, however, it’s not the physical place that needs to remain the same, but the person himself or herself.” He pauses to see if I’m following.
I shake my head, lift my eyebrows, crease my forehead. Overkill, maybe, but he seems to get the message.
“Let me explain,” he says. “In order to travel from one parallel world to another, you need a connection between those two worlds. Such a connection is created when those two worlds are perfectly aligned—in other words, at that precise moment in time, those worlds are exactly the same. It can be for one second; it can be for ten minutes. The connection stays open as long as this alignment holds.
“Now, clearly, it would be impossible to find a moment when everything in both worlds is the same. That’s why we use an anchor. So long as a moment is fixed, from one world to the next, in that anchor’s life, then we get our connection. Make sense?”
“I think so,” I say doubtfully.
Mikey barrels on. “Now, the tricky part is finding an anchor whose worlds are aligned for longer than a few seconds. Long enough to get a good number of people through that window. The chairwoman thinks she’s found someone, and he’s staying in that shed over there.” He points to a square structure in the corner of the warehouse, no bigger than ten feet by ten feet.
“He’s eating his meals at the exact same time, going to the bathroom at regular intervals, meditating for long swatches the rest of the day. Apparently, he’s been doing this for years. Trying to live in the exact same way, so that when the moment comes, he’s able to keep the window open for as long as possible.” He lowers his voice. “So that as many people as possible can travel to a different world—and be saved.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything. An inkling of an idea forms at the back of my head. There’s only one person I know who lives his life so regularly. One person whom my mom visited a dozen times over the years. One person who is suddenly missing from his normal life.
Potts. All of a sudden, I’m positive he’s the anchor. There’s too much coincidence, otherwise. But how did my mom find him? And when?
My mind whirls with questions, but before I can even attempt to propose an answer, a heavy piece of sheeting is dropped at the other end of the warehouse, followed by excited shouts.
I shake my head, pulling myself back to the present. “How will they determine who gets to walk through the window?”
“Based on who they consider to be, uh, superlative, I guess.”
“What?” My mouth drops, but as his words sink in, the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place. When I was six years old, I had a vision where the chairwoman used future memory to determine who was mediocre and who was superlative. This is the reason why. This is her rationale for executing ninety-nine percent of the population. They wouldn’t be walking through the window, anyhow, and this way, the small portion of the human race left behind will have a fighting chance. Her words, not mine.
“Why are the Superlatives any more deserving of being saved?” I croak out. “Why not a lottery where we all have an equal chance?”
“I don’t know,” Mikey says. I can tell by the quiet anguish in his voice that these questions have haunted his days and nights. “That’s what the International Council decided. They said we won’t know what state we’ll find the parallel world in. To have the best chance of survival, they said, we need to send our best and brightest.”
“And how do they define such a thing?”
He opens his mouth, stops, and then makes a choking sound in his throat. Shaking his head rapidly, he snaps his mouth closed. “I’m sorry. I…” But he can’t even finish the sentence. Instead, he spins on his heel and runs out of the warehouse.
I gape. Mikey Russell doesn’t run from questions, and he certainly doesn’t run from me.
Which means my pathways for this decision tree just narrowed down to one: I take off after him.
37
Mikey sprints into the woods. Normally, he’s athletic and graceful, but today, his stride is sloppy. He slides on the pine-needle-covered ground, and given the way he’s flailing about, he’s more accurately lurching than running.
I catch up with him within a minute. “Mikey, what’s going on? Why did you leave like that?”
Giving up, he falls to the ground. It’s not the best place to stop. The weeds are overgrown here and taller than Mikey’s kneeling form. Plant stalks poke me in my neck, waist, arms, ankles, basically anywhere I’m showing skin. But I don’t think Mikey cares—or even notices.
“Are you okay?” I say, my concern growing. “Should I call a medic?”
His sho
ulders start shaking. Oh Limbo, he’s having a seizure! But, no—upon closer examination, I realize he’s not spasming at all. Instead, he’s crying but without any tears. Double Limbo.
I sink to my knees, ignoring the weeds even as they’re taunting me. “Mikey, is this about the criteria for the best and brightest?”
“The International Council put together a committee to determine who qualifies,” he mumbles, his chin tucked into his chest, his words so muffled I can barely understand him. “They’ve released an initial list of the people who will march through the window first. Leaders in the scientific and medical fields, from all over the world. Academics recognized in math, literature, philosophy. Musicians. Artists. Gold-star athletes. In the next week, they’ll all travel here, so that they can walk through the realm machine. There’s only one, you know. All of the countries in the world have pooled their resources to get this one built.” He lifts his head, and I suck in a breath. He looks…destroyed. As though his soul was plucked out of his body and fed through the shredder. Twice. “Preston and I are both on the list, as is your mother. We can each choose one person to bring with us. Only one, Olivia. Only one.”
Oh. Oh. Preston and Mikey each have a wife and two children. I’m beginning to understand the problem.
“Who will…you choose?” I ask.
His eyes brim with tears, but they don’t spill out, not a single drop. Somehow, this makes the moment even worse. “Your mother, at least, has only one child. For the rest of us, it’s a heart-wrenching decision. But Preston has it easier. Tanner also qualifies, as he’s the Father of Future Memory, and he’s assured Preston that he’ll bring Jessa.”
He begins to rip out the weeds, one by one, but it will take hours of work before he makes a dent in this field. “The gold-star national swim meet is next week. Logan is eligible to compete, based on his old qualification. Every waking moment now, he’s in the swimming pool, trying to make up for the training he lost while we were on the run. We all pray…” He raises his eyes to a blue sky that is mockingly cloudless. He blinks, as though he can’t understand how that wide expanse can look so serene—when it covers a world that’s coming apart at the seams.