One (One Universe)

by LeighAnn Kopans

  Then I spot the crinkled edge of a photograph — an old-fashioned print. It’s of me as a little kid, sitting on the grass in a cotton summer dress, fine hair still faintly curly, my fingers bearing a hint of baby pudge.

  In the photo, preschooler-me tosses an apple in the air. On the back of the picture, Mom’s handwriting says, “Apple picking, Merrin, 4 years old.”

  Mom has every picture ever taken of the three of us printed, catalogued, and filed in albums that line the bookshelf in our living room. It’s something my grandfather, who was in the internment camps, made her promise to do, she told me once. The government seized all the Supers’ computers when they shoved them into the camps, and most of them never recovered the files.

  When we were little, we loved to leaf through the albums. I could narrate my infancy and toddlerhood just from having seen the snapshots. But I have never seen this picture. I look like I’m two instead of four, so miniature next to Dad’s shoe planted on the ground beside me.

  The grass pokes up around my bare legs, and the path behind me stretches on and on, out of frame, lined by thin-trunked trees. It’s the apple orchard, I realize, the one we’ve gone to every year, except this one, when I made excuse after excuse why I couldn’t go. Why I had to hang out with Elias instead.

  Mom must have taken this photo. She’s the photographer in the family, or at least, she was until we all pushed our indignant palms into the lens — me first, and then, more quickly, the boys. The oval leaves of the apple trees, browned at the edges, flutter down diagonally in the background. Even that young, I must have been so happy to feel that wind on my face.

  In the photo, I’m tossing an apple in the air. Mom’s gotten such a clear shot that it looks like the apple’s not even moving. I lean in to take one last look and realize — there’s no movement to that apple. None. No blur at all. Which would mean that Mom had a really fast shutter speed. Except for how blurred the wind has made the leaves in the background.

  My thumb senses a little bump in the back corner of the picture where I’m holding it. I lift it and see a tiny rectangular sticker: “Hub submission 497870c.”

  What would the Hub have wanted with this? And why would Mom have given it to them? I shove it in my bag.

  I pick up the box, which lays overturned and empty on the floor, and start tossing the stuff back in. My nails hit the inside base in my rush to stuff everything back in there, and the solid surface shifts down, ever so slightly.

  There’s a false bottom to this box.

  I wedge my nails into the sliver of an opening, breaking one of them. It still doesn’t pull up. I swear and suck at my fingertip, then try again to wedge it into the gap and pry up the false bottom. The space underneath is so shallow that it would be impossible for the casual looker to realize that any of the box’s space was missing. Inside is a single file folder, about an eighth of an inch thick. The top tab is labeled, “Grey, M — 497870.”

  It’s a damn paper file.

  My hands shake so hard now. I will them to steady so the papers inside won’t fall out onto the floor. Every paper reads in stark black-and-white.

  Mom must have made a copy of this folder and smuggled it out.

  The cover page reads: “Testing Group (in order of age): Merrin Grey, Britton Murdock, Matthew Grimm, Helen Summers, Addison Parker, Daniel Suresh, Erik Prince, Sarah Danvers, Rebecca Banner, Elias VanDyne.”

  My name was highlighted — I can tell from the light gray sweep over it — but all I can see is the names that surround it: Sarah Danvers, a One who I heard, when she was young, could stretch her body but not control it or bring it back into shape once she did; Britton Murdock, whose amplified hearing went so out of control, drove her so crazy, they say she drowned herself when she was eight. Daniel. Leni. Elias.

  I flip to the next page, and my heart races. I can’t tear my eyes away from the chart headed, “Subject: Merrin Grey — 5 years old — Spontaneous lightness of body.” The words “transfer of powers” are underlined three times. There is a subparagraph that says, “Testing will attempt to enable transfer of powers to independently animate subjects.”

  Humans. They wanted me to try to make people go light as well as apples.

  The top of the sheet right below mine reads, “Subject: Elias VanDyne.” There’s a picture of a tall, scrawny little boy, tufts of hair poking up every which way, thick-rimmed glasses, mouth half-curved up in a grin. Dimples. My Elias, eleven years ago. Happy.

  I flip the page again. A lump forms in my throat when I read the classification behind the name: “Subject -— Helen Summers — 6 years old — Regeneration.” I shake my head — this has to be a mistake. Indestructible is what Leni is not.

  Then, from all the way in the back of the file, out falls a contact sheet of photographs. It’s marked: “Testing Overseer: Katherine Grey.” I gasp at what I see next.

  A time-lapse photo of a limp, sleeping, kindergarten-aged Leni going from sliced on the forearm to completely healed in — I add up the seconds — a minute and a half. And that’s just for a little kid.

  Maybe this isn’t the same Helen Summers — this can’t be our Leni — although the flaming hair and pale skin splashed with freckles is too much of a coincidence. But something about this must be wrong. Leni’s not indestructable. At least, not without Daniel. On her own, she’s only combustible. Pretty rare power, actually. The only other person I know that can do that is…

  Mom. Mom’s combustible. But she never burns. Another picture drops out. Mom with Leni sitting on her lap, Leni’s fragile arms slung around her neck, her face nuzzling into Mom’s. Happy. Relaxed. Mom smiles, too, if a bit more distantly. I wonder, with an ache, if there are any pictures of Mom and me at that age doing something like this.

  My heart pains when I remember — Leni lost her mom around this age. Probably right before this, from the way she clings to Mom in the photo.

  I can’t decide whether to be most horrified that Mom was the one who tested Leni; that the Hub sedated a six-year-old girl and sliced up her arms to see how fast they could get her to heal; or — possibly the craziest part of this whole thing — Leni used to be indestructible. No mention of the combustibility. Now, she’s combustible with no sign of the indestructibility.

  What did they do to her? And how much did Mom have to do with it? Is it possible — even theoretically — that she could have swapped powers with Mom?

  My stomach turns, realizing I’m about to see Leni again. Can I ever look at her the same way again, knowing what I know? Does she remember any of it? Does she know the woman who comforted her is my mother?

  I slam the lid of the box down and haul myself off the floor. I balance myself on the seat of the folding chair again and shove the box back to the spot where I found it. With one last look at the house, which two days ago felt so full and now couldn’t be more empty, I duck out the front door, closing it softly behind me.

  I jog down the street toward the intersection I know Leni and Daniel will pass on the way to the house.

  Over the decades-old suburban rooftops, the sun finally begins to rise over Nebraska. The pink clouds sprawling out against a deep purple expanse reflect in a neighborhood’s worth of solar panels, giving the illusion that they’re just within my reach.

  Daniel’s car turns the corner. “Where are we going?” His voice slices through the air, sharp and fast, as the driver’s side window rolls down.

  “The Hub,” I say, scooting into the back seat and clicking my seatbelt into place.

  “How do you know that’s where he is?” Leni asks.

  I shake my head and swipe more tears off my cheek. I can’t form words.

  “What did he say, Merrin?” Leni’s voice wavers.

  “He… There was a letter and…” The more I try to talk about it, the more I feel myself losing control. I swallow, shake my head fast. “I just know. Okay?”

  Daniel’s hand hovers over the shift, hesitating to put it into drive. “Merrin, I don’t know if we
really should be…”

  “Okay,” Leni says. She presses her lips into a hard line, looks at Daniel, and then stares out the front windshield as we drive off.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Some cross between panic and hope tightens my throat as the minutes tick by and we finally reach the plains over the Hub. I haven’t even thought about how we’re going to get in.

  But when we get to the ramp that will take us underground to the garage, the gate swings open.

  “How did you…?”

  “It’s my parent’s car,” says Daniel. “Scans right in. Now. How is us breaking into the Hub going to help Elias? How do you even know for sure that they brought him here?”

  Just as I’m about to say, I don’t, every hair on my body stands on end. My skin prickles and pinches. I haven’t felt anything this intense since that day in art class.

  “I… I can feel him.”

  Daniel snorts a little, but Leni speaks up. “The buzz, Daniel. You know what that feels like.” She turns to me. “We still get it. When we’re, um…close.” She blushes.

  I look down at their hands. Leni grasps Daniel’s so tightly her knuckles almost glow white against the rest of her skin in the dim parking garage light.

  “So what are they doing with him?” Leni’s eyes pool with tears.

  My heart surges with love for her. Because of how much she loves Elias and because of what I know she’s been through. Because I know how she got that scar on her back. What no one was ever supposed to know. How will I tell her?

  I do know when I will tell her. Not now.

  “I…I don’t know. I just know it’s bad. He left a message on my cuff and one at the house. He was scared.”

  They both stare at me, waiting.

  “I don’t know, you guys, okay? But that’s why we’re here — to figure out why. There’s something they want him for, and I’m not going to let them have him.”

  “I don’t get it.” Leni looks genuinely confused. “You’re obsessed with the Hub. All you want is to get in here.”

  “Did you see Lia and Nora at the Symposium?”

  “Yeah.” Daniel snorts. “Smiling like good VanDynes.”

  I whip my head around to look at him. “Did you even see them? Did you talk to Elias afterward? Because they were not okay. He knew it, and he knows them better than anyone.”

  Daniel and Leni both kind of look down at their hands. I don’t know if they’re convinced or doubtful, so I keep going.

  “My brothers are here now too, doing God knows what. The Hub took them almost without any notice.”

  “Okay, so? They want the phenoms. Big deal.”

  “Yeah, but Elias is not a phenom. They think he is. But he’s just a One.”

  “Why would they think he’s a Super now?”

  “Well…it’s…it’s my fault, actually. I can’t go into it now because I’m afraid we don’t have time.” My voice cracks. “All I know is that, whatever they’re doing to him, his body can’t take it. They think we — Ones — can do stuff we can’t. Or that he can. Maybe. I don’t know. But I don’t want to risk waiting to find out.”

  Leni’s gaze darts between Daniel and me, and I can tell she’s going to be the deciding factor here. There are a couple seconds of silence, and then she turns to Daniel.

  “You know how to get in, don’t you?”

  “I have an idea. But I have no clue where to go from there. No one really knows the layout except high clearance.”

  “I do.” I sit up straighter, encouraged. “I know the layout. I’ve seen it — Elias has clearance. He showed me around at the Symposium.”

  Daniel’s eyes go wide. “Elias has — what? Well, okay,” he says, shaking his head, “but you don’t have clearance.”

  “No. But she does have you,” Leni says, staring at him. “Hack her cuff.”

  “You can hack my ID file that fast?” I gasp. “But most people — ”

  “Yeah. Would take days. But he’s a genius.”

  “Do you have any idea how much trouble I — ” Daniel stammers.

  “Daniel. Seriously? She’d do it for you.” Leni motions for my cuff, and I whip it off and hand it to her. Daniel takes it when she shoves it in his face and pulls a tiny screwdriver out of his pocket, going to work on the cuff and muttering about how he’s only doing this because he loves Leni. I can’t help but smile.

  In just a few minutes, he’s got the cuff put back together, and I strap it back onto my wrist, praying that his clearance hack is good enough to get me where I need to go.

  A soft “thank you” is all I can get out, and then Leni reaches to pop open her door. We stride silently, shoulder to shoulder, toward the elevator that will take us into the Hub.

  The elevator opens into a long hallway, the white shining surface barely reflecting back the dull grayish light. It’s on low lights status and doesn’t automatically change when we walk through, to my surprise and relief.

  “We’re before the checkpoint, so the building doesn’t care what we do. Not yet,” Daniel explains. “But right at the end of this hallway…” he gestures to a box on the wall right before the doorway to the entrance. I remember it from the Symposium.

  “Facial recognition and serum,” Daniel whispers. “You have to let it scan you, then give it a drop of your blood.”

  My thumb rubs against my middle finger, which is the one I used to get the blood sample for Mr. Hoffman.

  “Shit,” I say. “Dammit.” No way can we pass this scanner. The way the two of them look at each other, I can tell they’re thinking the same thing.

  “Okay, Merrin. That’s enough.” Daniel’s eyebrows squeeze together, and he puts a hand on my upper arm, trying to turn me back toward the way we came. I shrug away from him, my face screwing up with the tears and anger I’m trying to keep from flooding out of it. “We’ll figure this out back home,” he says, his voice dropping even more. He turns toward the door, back from where we came.

  I plant my feet firmly on the floor. “I know he’s here, you guys. I know it. He told me he needed me.” I dig the white slip of paper out of my pocket and wave it in front of me. “Daniel, he texted you. Trusted you. What else could M will need you mean besides ‘Help Merrin get into the Hub?’”

  “A lot of things,” Daniel says, clenching his jaw, although he stops, facing the wall, not ready to go back or to continue.

  Leni’s eyes turn sad again, and she grabs Daniel’s upper arm.

  “Helen,” his voice is soft. “My parents…”

  “Merrin is serious. Elias needs us. Elias, who we’ve known since we were little. Okay? If he’s really in trouble…your parents won’t care.”

  I want to ask them what the hell they even think they can do, but I’m so grateful for Leni, that she’s even making Daniel hesitate at all, that I bite my lip.

  He looks up, his eyes burning a hole in me. “Do you know where to go?”

  I close my eyes for a moment, and I can imagine where the hallway curves around, can visualize where it leads into the main lobby and the demonstration rooms. Can remember the hallways I sped past with Elias and the one he pulled me into that night at the Symposium.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Okay,” Leni says. “After we do this, you just…go. We can take care of ourselves.”

  “What are you going to do?” I hiss in a whisper. I’m almost as worried about them as I am about Elias. Almost.

  Daniel closes his eyes and shakes his head. Leni snakes her arm around his waist and puts her forehead up to his while she extends her palm out toward the retina scanner. “This is Elias. He would do it for us.” I can’t tell whether she’s speaking to me or Daniel or both of us. “He would do it without thinking.”

  I nod, watching her, knowing what she’s going to do and half-wanting to stop her because I know that nothing that comes from it will be good. Not for them, anyway. Not for any of us, but at this point, I don’t really care what happens to me.

  A low whoosh emit
s from Leni’s hand, followed half a second later by the most intense column of blue-fading-to-white fire I’ve ever seen, three times denser and brighter than a blow torch. She targets the column behind the retina screen where all the computers are.

  The metal glows hot and red, and Leni winces. Something bubbles out from the joints of the box and melts down the sides. She’s completely destroyed the insides, and the plastic has melted and is oozing out of the scanner.

  It’s surreal how quiet the whole thing is except for the low, steady whisper of the flame. Like I’m moving in slow motion, I step past the scanner, and nothing happens. It works. No alarm.

  “It should take the mainframe a few seconds to catch on. Go!” Leni whispers, her eyes wide.

  I reach back, squeeze Leni’s hand, and start down the hallway toward the main section of the Hub.

  And then, the alarms sound. Huge whoops that start down the hallway and creep toward us, running through the building section by section. A robotic voice echoes through the speakers: “Facial recognition checkpoint compromised. Please check and reset.”

  Yeah. Resetting that thing’s never going to happen.

  The sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway. When I imagined the hallways, I forgot to visualize the security checkpoint with real, live guards just around the corner.

  Leni and Daniel press up against each other and fold themselves into a small, tight closet a few feet behind me. But there’s no going back now. I squeeze my eyes shut. If there’s any time for going light to work perfectly on demand, now is it.

  Leni hisses, “Go! I know you can!” She gives me an apologetic look, then swings the door shut, pulling it the rest of the way closed with a soft snick.

  I tell my body to float, and when I fly upward, I can almost feel it sigh with relief. When did it start to feel more normal for me to be up in the air than down on the ground?

  The air must be blowing through the ventilation system at a pretty good pace — even though in this high-tech building it makes almost no noise — because I drift, little by little, around to the corner.