“I, um, I guess. So you mean I really have been traveling in time?”
“Of course. Are you aware of how my chronometer works?”
“Your what?”
“My watch.”
“Oh, sorry. It shows you the future and the past.”
“The watch creates a dilated time transit field around its wearer.”
“Does that mean it shows you the future and the past?”
“For you, yes. And what were you trying to do here, just now?”
“I came back to see if I could find out what my friend was doing when we were down here.”
The chronologist checked her crystal. “You are having a curious interaction with the watch. How have you been feeling since you began these trips?”
Liam felt like he was at the doctor. “Kinda weird, I guess.”
“Have you experienced anything unusual?”
“You mean like in addition to time traveling? I usually feel pretty sick afterward.”
“Have you experienced any anomalies in your perceived timeline?”
“My perceived . . .” Liam thought of the weird dream, or vision, he’d had. Seeing himself back at the supernova in the skim drone, feeling terrified by it. “I’ve seen something that scared me, that felt almost real, more real than a dream anyway, kinda like a memory, except it never happened.”
“I see. And have you been able to deviate from your own timeline?”
“You mean, like, see stuff that I didn’t see at the time?”
“Possibly.”
“How did you know about that?”
The chronologist just looked at him.
“Fine. I can sorta push into other spots. Like move away from myself in the past. That’s what I was trying to do down here, to see something I didn’t see the first time. But then it got strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Like I saw another version of me, or something.”
“That likely explains it.” The chronologist began tapping her version of the watch. “Thank you. I will release you now and return you to your native space-time coordinate.”
“Wait, hold on! What’s going on? You have to tell me. One of those supernovas destroyed my solar system, and now we’re in a war with some mysterious group of people, or aliens, or something. I don’t know what to do next!”
The chronologist paused. “Supernovas?”
“Yeah, the ones you were monitoring from Mars.”
“Will be monitoring. These supernovas you speak of haven’t begun yet.”
“For you, maybe, but they have for us.”
The chronologist thought for a moment. “Fine. Tell me, then; what did you see just before I isolated us?”
“Well, it was like there were two of me. One was doing what I remember doing, but then I saw this other one that was doing something different.” Liam thought of that moment where he’d wondered about following Phoebe. That slight mistrust. “Actually, I think maybe the other me was doing something I thought about doing at the time but then didn’t. And they got all mixed up and it felt like both were happening at once.”
“You perceived two experiences at the same time.”
“Well, sort of, except I only did one.”
“You only did one in this reality.”
“What’s that mean?”
The chronologist looked around the room. “Again, it would be hard for you to understand.”
“All of this is hard to understand.”
She consulted the crystal.
“Tell me,” Liam pleaded.
“Just a moment. I am scanning your brain to find a suitable reference point. Okay, this should work. Imagine that you had a . . . are they called nutri-bars?”
“Um, yeah?”
“Good. Imagine you have a nutri-bar and you are deciding whether or not to eat it. You weigh your hunger against how you’ll feel after, or whether you want something else. In that moment, both futures—the one where you eat it, and the one where you don’t—are possible. There are even more futures, like where you choose to eat something else, or drop the bar on the ground, and when you bend over you accidentally hit your head and pass out, but for the moment let’s just focus on the two basic choices. They both exist, in a sense, superimposed on each other in space-time. When you have used the watch to go into the future, you have been in moments of choice, where multiple outcomes were possible. The watch followed the future that was most probable at that moment, and alerted you to a negative outcome, as the watch is designed to protect itself from damage.”
“I thought it was trying to keep me alive,” said Liam.
The chronologist continued: “So let’s say you choose to eat the bar. The moment you do that, only one reality becomes your reality, and the other reality, the other possible outcome, no longer exists in your universe. But even though it is lost to you, it is not gone. That other outcome—you not eating the bar and everything that happens after that—moves along in its own reality, same as with every other choice you ever make or don’t make.”
“So . . . you’re saying there’s a version of me not eating the nutri-bar in, like, an alternate universe?”
“Essentially.”
“But I’ve made billions of choices in my life. And so has every other person and animal and . . .”
“Yes, yes, it’s a lot of universes, but we’re talking about infinity, after all, so this is really just normal operating procedure. Sometimes, realities recombine later, so there’s some conservation there. Eventually, this universe will have expended all of its energy and reached a point of maximum entropy, and that will be that. No doubt it’s an overwhelming idea to a mind like yours. And there’s no way you could ever really perceive these multiple realities, though I would imagine that your scientists have seen some evidence on a quantum level. But ultimately, you can’t help but see yourself as a fixed center of your single reality. Unless, of course”—the chronologist seemed to perform her version of a smirk—“you borrowed another being’s watch and used it to do things that you otherwise couldn’t.”
Liam tried to keep up. “Okay, so . . . you’re saying that, down here, I saw the other possible outcome of the moment when I thought about following Phoebe. I saw what would happen if I did follow her. Like in a parallel universe. And I was able to see it because I’ve been using the watch?”
“Yes.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. I also saw it in the hallway before I used the watch, like when I was down here for real.”
“Again, that’s a linear way of looking at it. By traveling back in this direction along your timeline, and by then trying to follow an alternate decision, this later version of you caused the reality overlap that the earlier version of you saw.”
Liam shook his head. “Sure. So, if I had chosen to go follow Phoebe in my real timeline, I would have caused an explosion that would have killed us both.”
“You did cause that explosion, in another reality. Then there is another reality where you nearly caused that explosion, but didn’t, and so on.”
“But why was I able to see it? I thought you said that you couldn’t see the other possible outcomes of choices?”
“Yes, well, you’re not supposed to be able to. And now we have finally gotten to the real reason why I’m here. By pushing out of your own timeline and following this other probable outcome, you inadvertently created a tear in your reality at a probability node, and that other reality bled in.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you didn’t. Beings like you don’t mean to do a lot of things.” The chronologist gestured over her shoulder. “I was just working on patching it up, but I’m not sure yet if it will hold. As you would say, time will tell, which, by the way, is humorous.”
Liam looked past her down the hall. “Is a tear bad?”
“In a word: yes. But what’s curious is that this is not the first time this has happened in this location. This specific area of space-time is a bit of a
weak point in the boundaries between realities, it seems. I am still trying to determine what originally caused that weakness.”
“It wasn’t . . . me, was it? I didn’t, like, break space-time?”
“Ha, no. The energy required to create this kind of damage far exceeds anything you are capable of. But the point is, it was extra dangerous to attempt to leave your timeline in this particular spot.”
“I didn’t really know—”
“This kind of tear in space-time can cause realities to bleed together, which could lead to a paradox cascade.”
“A what?”
She checked her crystal again. “Okay, imagine a whirlpool, or a tornado. Imagine so many of them converging that they form a giant spiraling system that sucks up everything around it to the point where it even sucks up itself. Then imagine that happening in a chain reaction on a multi-universe-wide scale.”
“You mean like a giant black hole?”
The chronologist made a snorting sound, perhaps a laugh. “Black holes are adorable. Paradox cascades are catastrophic.”
Liam glanced at the watch. “So I should stop using this.”
“Well, the watch was not meant for you, and you were not meant for it, so, probably. It’s more that you should stop trying to follow realities that aren’t your primary one.”
“You said this isn’t the first time this has happened.”
“Correct,” said the chronologist. “This is one of a few locations where these weak points in the fabric of the universe have appeared. It’s an ongoing inquiry. I suspect that it is related to the data you have from my observatory, and these Drove that you mentioned, but I won’t know for a few more millennia. Which reminds me, I should release you and get back to work.”
“Oh.” Liam tried to push aside these enormous thoughts. Phoebe was still back in the cockpit, maybe a traitor, with Barro and that Comet closing fast. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Scans indicate that you are unsatisfied with our conversation.”
“It’s just that I came back here because I needed answers and I still don’t know what to do.”
“Answers are the easy part. Finding the right question is often much harder.”
“Maybe for you.”
The chronologist peered down at him. “May I ask, what exactly were you trying to discover on your alternate timeline?”
“It will probably sound silly.”
“You might as well try me.”
“I was trying to figure out if I can trust my friend or not.”
“Hmm. . . .” The chronologist checked her crystal. “A friend is a companion organism.”
“Yeah.”
“I see. You gain advantages by cooperation.”
“You make us sound like ants.”
The chronologist shrugged. “And you did not observe enough to answer your question?”
“I’m pretty sure she was doing something here that she was keeping secret, but I wasn’t able to find out why.”
“You do not have the proof you sought. Do you believe in her?”
“In Phoebe? Well . . . yeah, I guess I do. I’m just not sure.”
“Trust is a powerful adaptation of three-dimensional beings. The hope or belief in something. It’s your engine for still making a choice when you don’t have all possible information. Even a four-dimensional being such as myself never has all the answers. Seeing what happens tomorrow or three million years ago doesn’t always tell you why it happened.” She consulted her crystal. “You have these expressions, follow your heart, or go with your gut. I don’t think trust actually has anything to do with your internal organs, but either way: maybe this is a good time to employ that strategy in making your choice.”
“But what if I’m wrong?”
The chronologist’s face wrinkled into something like a smile. “I’m sure you will have an opportunity to make a new choice and correct for it, assuming this choice doesn’t immediately kill you.”
Liam’s heart raced. “I know you said no time is passing here, but I still feel like I need to get back.” He held out the crystal. “You sure you don’t want this now?”
“This is not when I acquire it.”
“But how will I get it to you?”
The chronologist paused. It seemed to Liam like her face shifted for a moment, the skin somehow withering. Then she was back. “You will have to experience that for yourself.” She tapped her crystal. “Good luck.”
“You believe in luck?” said Liam.
“Not really.”
Everything around him began to blur. The corridor faded, swirled, and all at once Liam found himself in the cockpit of the cruiser again, back in his present.
He blinked at white spots in his eyes. Clenched his stomach to keep from throwing up. Phoebe was gazing at him, still bound to the chair. JEFF was still at the controls. Outside, the enemy ship was getting closer, its engines lighting up the dark.
“Liam . . . ,” said Phoebe.
He shook his head, the encounter with the chronologist like a recent dream, already hazy in his mind. He thought of what he’d seen in that moment when he’d followed Phoebe into the room with the backup recorder. She’d used this dampener that he was holding in his hand now. JEFF was right—she’d sabotaged the recorder, or it had seemed that way. And yet she had said she was on his side, that she’d done it for them. Could that be true? Or was it a traitorous lie to cover up other traitorous lies?
Do I trust her? Liam bit his lip.
He slapped the dampener’s suction cup against the back of JEFF’s head and pressed the red button.
“Liam—” JEFF began.
There was a whump of magnetic charge. JEFF slumped over. Liam reached around him and powered down the thrusters. The cruiser settled onto the ground.
Fresh tears fell from Phoebe’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Liam couldn’t quite look at her. He wasn’t in any mood to be thanked. “Now what?”
“Cut me loose. We need to get back inside the station.”
8
DISTANCE TO CENTAURI B: 3.3 LIGHT-YEARS
Liam hurried into the main cabin and grabbed a pair of utility scissors from a drawer in the galley. He returned and sawed at the red plastic cable that JEFF had tied around Phoebe.
“Hurry,” said Phoebe.
“I’m trying!” Her link was still blinking with that white light. “What is that?”
“We have a special program that lets us communicate.”
Liam grunted, slashing at the stubborn cables. “Who’s we?”
“Them.” She motioned out the cockpit. “And me. I’ll explain later. We have to get back inside before they land.”
Liam estimated the Comet was ten kilometers out, maybe less. “So you knew them,” he said angrily. He remembered that same light now on Phoebe’s link, all the way back at Saturn, just before they’d made contact with Mina and the Scorpius. He was so stupid! But there had been so much going on that he hadn’t even given it a thought. “When that guy Barro was at our door back at Saturn. You knew who he was and you acted like you didn’t.”
Phoebe nodded. “I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
“No.” Liam stepped back. “You could have, but you chose not to.”
“I said I’m sorry. And I wanted him to keep thinking that I was doing my job, that I still had my cover—”
“So, what, you’re like a spy? For who?”
“I’m not a spy! Not exactly. But Barro had to think I was still on his side so he wouldn’t suspect that I’d betray him. Which I did, remember?”
“How do I know that wasn’t part of the plan, too?”
“Because I’m telling you it wasn’t! Also, how could shooting my own people down and leaving them behind be part of the plan? Now finish cutting. If they catch us, they’ll . . .”
Liam crossed his arms. “What?”
Phoebe sighed. “What do you think? Look what they did to this place, and to the Scorpius and Saturn Station.”
Liam pointed out the window. “So Barro did this?”
“No, we have another ship. Our main transport. It’s way more powerful. But those two won’t think twice about killing you or anyone else, no matter what I say.”
“What the heck did we ever do?” said Liam.
“It’s a long story. I swear I will tell you everything later.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“Because I was waiting for the right time.”
“And when was that going to be?”
“I have no idea!” Phoebe’s head dropped. “It’s all been crazy, and I hoped maybe I wouldn’t even have to tell you until we were safe! I was wrong, okay? I did my best but I screwed up!” she motioned out the cockpit window. “They don’t know what we know, about the Drove, and they don’t understand what I do. . . . But Barro will never listen to me. You heard me try back at Saturn. So we have to get to the Scorpius and get our parents treated. My parents will listen, I know they will.”
But Liam felt frozen in place. “Did your parents sabotage the turbines?”
“I . . . think it was an accident—”
“Phoebe. Look, I believe you, okay? But I have to know. My parents almost died.”
Phoebe’s mouth scrunched. “They didn’t tell me everything, not the details. Their plan was to try to get the final data, I know that. And then we were supposed to leave on the Scorpius and meet up with Barro and Tarra—she’s the commander—out at Saturn. My parents got hurt down there, too! They definitely didn’t mean to cause the meltdown. Well . . .” She sighed. “They did send us out to those air vents, though. Really far away from the explosion. Maybe they knew whatever they were planning might be dangerous, but I don’t know, because I swear they didn’t tell me! They barely told me anything, except . . .”
“Except what?”
Phoebe checked out the cockpit again. “Please, I’ll explain more later.”
Liam thought of his parents, their faces through the stasis pods, the radiation burns on their cheeks, of them lying injured down in that cave . . . He shook his head. “Fine. But I swear I might still leave you here.”
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