by Wendy Mass
He nods grimly. “They’re all going, slowly. All the humans. The more recent arrivals will go first, but one by one, they will all disappear as though they never existed. Which, of course, they didn’t. I mean…” He trails off, rubbing his head. “The laws of time. Very confusing.”
“But that’s so unfair!”
He nods. “An unfortunate consequence of events, I agree.”
We stare miserably at each other. He may have a face like a garbage disposal, but at least he has the decency to be upset at the situation. My father’s in there practicing his golf swing.
“How is Annika doing?” Gluck asks.
I shrug. “She’s with Aunt Rae. Seems okay, I guess. I don’t know how much longer she’s going to believe this whole dream thing.”
“Is she exhibiting any strange behavior?”
“Define strange.”
“I’m not certain. Passing out, gasping for breath.”
I shake my head. “She falls asleep really easily, though.”
He nods. “Yes, that would make sense.”
None of it makes sense. “Speaking of Annika, how can she breathe here? How can she even walk? We have barely any gravity. Certainly not enough to keep someone as solid as her on the ground.”
He hesitates, then says, “Annika’s probably not going to be here much longer.”
“You’re sending her home?” I ask, then realize she has no home to go to. “You mean she’s going to disappear, too? Like the humans in the Afterlives?”
He shakes his head. “I just meant, she isn’t going to… you know, be here much longer.”
I cross my arms. “Sixth smartest, remember? You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”
He sighs. “Fine. I worked it out after you left. The only reason she’s still alive is because her brain believes she’s dreaming. Like most things here in The Realms—and everything on the quantum level—Annika exists right now in a state of possibility. Once that illusion is gone, her body will realize it does not have the nutrients here that it needs. She will panic. Her heart will beat faster in an attempt to use all the remaining oxygen in her system. Her sight will go next. Then she will lose consciousness. Soon after, she will die. Is that clear enough?”
I stare at him. Will he ever tell me good news? “There’s got to be something we can do to save her.”
“This is not your problem, Joss. You have enough to take on.”
Then why does it feel like my problem? “I can’t just let her die.”
“Well, there’s not much you can do other than keep the illusion going. Over time we could probably construct a temporary artificial environment from materials OnWorlders bring from planets similar to hers, but then she’ll be confined to a very small space, like a goldfish in a bowl. She’ll be fine as long as she never knows where she really is.”
“I don’t know how much longer that’s going to work.”
“Then the faster you rebuild her planet, the better chance you have of keeping her alive.”
So much for it not being my problem. “What did you mean earlier when you said I should work backward from her?”
He holds out the plate of marshmallow squares. “Sure you don’t want one?”
When I don’t reply, he lays it back on the desk. “If you knew the chemical composition of her body, you could figure out what humans are made of. You’ll need to know that in order to restart the human race.”
He says that so casually, like it’s as easy as flipping a switch. “Aren’t there records of that kind of stuff?”
He pulls up a holoscreen. Pictures flash in quick succession, then stop on a scene of a picnic, a reddish sun hanging overhead. “If you want to know what makes up a Senturon from Agamos, we can tell you that.” The Senturon looks almost humanoid, except for the fact that every inch of it is covered in black scales to absorb the heat from its low-energy star. The pictures move again before settling on another. “Or a Philanops from Glycorus 3.” I lean forward. The Philanops has no eyes. “Foggy planet,” Gluck explains. “Sonar instead of vision. We could tell you about all these and millions more. But the records on humans were down on Earth with Kal’s parents—”
“Why?”
Gluck shrugs. “They said they were working on a special project and needed the data. We do have many, many autosaved recordings showing the evolution of the planet, though. All you have to do is re-create everything, on a much smaller scale, of course. Replace the solar system with the one you make, but be sure Annika doesn’t look in the telescope this time. Easy as pie! All problems solved!”
I narrow my eyes. “Pie isn’t easy. You know what goes into those things.”
“It’s an expression.”
“And you’re sure this will get Kal and his parents back?”
“Sure is such a strong word. More like… highly confident.” He pauses. “Confidently hopeful?”
My heart sinks. “Even if I could do this, which I can’t, I definitely can’t do it alone.”
He frowns. “If you must ask others for help, make sure they sign a confidentiality agreement.”
“What’s that?”
“Something that says they won’t tell anyone what you’re trying to do.”
“And what if someone does tell?”
He shrugs. “You get to decide their punishment.”
“What if they won’t sign it?”
“You’re the seventh son of the Supreme Overlord of the Universe. They’ll sign it.”
He may be overestimating my importance.
“Here are those records.” He reaches under his desk and places a large brown box on it. I have to stand on tiptoes to see over the rim. Thousands of holofilms on black data dots no larger than buttons fill the box. I could probably fit fifty just in the palm of my hand. The dates inscribed on them go back 4.6 billion years. I’ve seen dots like this many times. These records from OnWorlders form the basis of our educational system. Now I need to watch them outside of school? This keeps getting better and better.
Gluck stands up and places the box in my hands. Our talk is apparently over.
“I might as well tell you,” he says, ushering me toward the door. “We’ve lost the most recent dot, the one that showed the last few weeks of life on Earth. Looked everywhere for it. Launching an internal investigation, I assure you. Don’t know how you’ll manage to change the course of events at the end point without it, but I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Clutching my box in the hall, I turn around to ask the first of the hundred more questions in my head.
“Good luck, Joss,” Gluck says, reaching over the box to pat me awkwardly on the head. “My door’s always open.”
And with that, he shuts the door in my face.
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.
—C. S. Lewis, professor and writer
Hugging Gluck’s huge box of holofilms tight to my chest, I head back to Aunt Rae’s. Even though I can barely see over the top of it, I am guided by the thump thump of Annika’s heartbeat, the smell of freshly baked apple pie, and the desire to steer clear of my brothers. I suppose I could make myself taller for a better view, but I never think of things like that until it’s too late. That’s another point I should have made to Gluck—I am not a creative problem solver.
Most of the houses I pass have returned to their usual dome shapes, but not Aunt Rae’s. After five attempts to squeeze through Lincoln’s nostril, I lay the box down in defeat, right next to the garden gnome. The doorway is simply too narrow to fit both me and the box at the same time. I’m about to start pushing it with my foot when I hear a single terrifying shriek, followed by silence. I leap over the box and burst into the house. Aunt Rae and I very nearly collide as she runs toward me.
“What’s going on?” I turn in all directions, but I don’t see anything unusual. “Did Annika make that noise?”
Aunt Rae nods. “She came out from her nap, had some pie—she loved the cherry—then said she was going
back to sleep. Could she be having a nightmare? I’ve heard of those.”
We rush down the hall toward Annika’s still-shut door. I reach for the knob, but Aunt Rae clears her throat and points toward a handmade sign tacked on the door: THIS IS NOT THE DOOR YOU’RE LOOKING FOR. KEEP MOVING. I MEAN IT. DON’T EVEN THINK OF KNOCKING. “It came with the room,” Aunt Rae explains.
I press my ear against the door. I can hear her heart thumping faster than before. Who could blame her for having nightmares after everything she’s been through? Better let her sleep, though. I’m about to step away, when Aunt Rae gasps and grabs my arm. “We have to go in there before she… before… oh, it’s too late.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head and sags against the wall. A second shriek comes from the room. Ignoring the sign, I fling the door open.
The first thing I see is the empty bed. So much for nightmares. The desk chair is empty, too, as is the floor. Then I spot her sitting in Kal’s closet, which is now filled with shapeless flowery dresses dangling from multicolored hangers. Hugging her knees, she rocks back and forth, back and forth. Her pink skin seems to have lost its color completely.
I hurry over. “Annika? What’s wrong?”
Still rocking, she points one shaky finger at a holoplayer propped up on the floor in front of her. The screen shows a little curly-haired boy, younger than I ever remember being, fast asleep in his bed. As I watch, the scene changes. He’s a toddler now, walking unsteadily toward a beaming man with outstretched hands. Now he’s a baby trying to hold on to his bottle. Then a newborn, swaddled in blue cloth. The screen darkens, and a young woman appears, as tall and lanky as Annika. She’s leaning against a tree, laughing and holding her round belly.
“Joss, I’m so sorry!” Aunt Rae whispers, pulling me aside. “I should have hidden it better.” She wrings her hands, more upset than I’ve ever seen her. Including the time Kal was turned into the cow pie. Then I realize what she’s saying. This room isn’t just similar to Annika’s room at home. It is Annika’s room, down to the last detail. “The data dot! The one Gluck said was missing! You took it so you could replicate her room?”
She nods, her eyes cast downward. “I didn’t see the harm. I thought it would help her to believe she was still at home.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, relieved that the film isn’t lost.
Annika has now begun to wail. She clutches at the nearest dress and wipes her eyes on the hem. Her wails turn to gasps. She’s clutching her throat. Gluck’s words fly back to me. She can’t breathe! I sink to my knees next to her.
Gasping for air, she says, “I’m… I’m not… dreaming… am I?”
I start to shake my head but the gasping gets worse. Her eyes grow duller as I watch, the life fading with each beat of her slowing heart. “Yes, you are!” I shout, grabbing her shoulders. “You’re totally dreaming!”
She regards me dully. “I…” Gasp. Cough. “I’m… not… stupid.” Gasp.
“Of course you’re not. You’re just a really good dreamer.”
Her eyes roll back in her head until only the whites are visible. She struggles to speak. “I’m… I’m not this good.”
“Move out of the way!” Aunt Rae yells from behind me. I turn around in time to see her run into the room, a big bucket swinging from her hand. Before Annika’s heart can make another slow thump, a plume of water arches through the air and hits her square in the face.
Annika raises her arms to protect herself, but it’s too late. She’s completely drenched. Aunt Rae bends down to grasp Annika’s wet head between her hands.
“Can you breathe, dear? Do you feel better at all?”
Annika sputters and spits, but her cheeks are getting pink again. “I think so,” she finally says. “But that’s really, really hot.”
“Sorry about that. I forgot about how sensitive your skin is. It worked only because Joss here supplied the extra gravity needed to break down the water molecules and free the oxygen.”
“Huh?” Annika mutters, looking up at me. I shrug. I have no idea what Aunt Rae is talking about. She’s getting up there in age, after all.
Aunt Rae strokes Annika’s wet hair. “There’s enough oxygen floating around you now to allow you to breathe temporarily. A little goes a long way here in The Realms.”
Now that she’s no longer on her last breath, Annika narrows her eyes at me. “That was my brother, Sam. On that video thingy.”
Aunt Rae and I exchange glances, but neither of us replies.
“And he was getting younger and younger, and then he went away.”
Unable to meet her eyes, I examine the carpet instead. Why would she choose white carpet? It shows every mark.
“Where did Sam go?” Annika asks, only it’s more like a demand. “Tell me where he is. Please. The truth.”
I glance at Aunt Rae but she’s looking off into the distance, rhythmically smoothing her apron. Now I understand how hard it was for my father to tell me what happened to Kal. No one wants to give someone news like this. But how can I keep lying to her? She obviously knows she’s not dreaming anymore. Seeing her family on that film, it’s like they’ve been frozen in a sort of ageless eternity, their whole lives compressed into their final breath of existence. “Your brother… everyone’s… Earth is…” I trail off and stand up. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll explain it to her,” Aunt Rae says softly. “Why don’t you go and rest on the couch. You’ve had a long day.”
I don’t argue. I hurry from the room, not even looking back at Annika. I can’t tell her everyone she loves is gone. I hurl myself onto the couch, burying my face in it. I just want to lie here for the next few hundred years when all this will have blown over. The images of Annika’s brother won’t leave my mind. He looked so peaceful, sleeping in his cozy bed, his arms wrapped around a stuffed purple dinosaur. I try to think of other things. Like the fact that my report for school on my job is due tomorrow. If I’m totally honest with myself (which I rarely am) I’m pretty sure the PTB assigned me to deliver pies because that’s all I’m capable of. After all, the hardest part of the job is having the willpower not to eat the pies before I deliver them.
I try to shake the feeling that something about that holofilm doesn’t make sense, but I can’t figure out what it is. I’m glad I’m not in the room while Aunt Rae explains everything to Annika. I know how I felt losing Kal and his parents, but she lost everyone. She’s going to be totally devastated. I push my face deeper into the couch. I feel more tired and drained than I ever remember. Thinking about other people’s feelings is exhausting. And I slept last month so I know it’s not a normal kind of tired.
Thump, bang, thump, rat-a-tat-tat, tzing! I don’t know how long the drumbeat has been thumping in the background (again, bad at telling the passage of time), but it must have been a while because my head is starting to hurt in that way it does when Kal plays his “masterpiece” for too long in my presence. Thump, bang, thump, rat-a-tat-tat, tzing! It’s the same few beats I heard earlier but ignored.
I lift my head from the couch and look around. Maybe Kal left a recording device somewhere and it started playing? The music doesn’t seem to be coming from one direction, though. Each time I turn my head it follows me. Am I going crazy? That wouldn’t surprise me.
Thump, bang, thump, rat-a-tat-tat, tzing! I don’t know why I ever thought hearing his drumming again would bring me comfort. It only makes me feel worse. It’s league night at Thunder Lanes. Kal and I are supposed to be making some kids at school wish they’d never picked up a bowling ball. Instead, I’m hearing phantom drumming in my head. How is that fair?
I put my hands over my ears and shout into the air. “Make it stop! I’ll take back any mean thing I ever said about Kal’s drum skills. Just make it stop!”
It stops. I slowly pull my hands away from my ears. Silence. Blissful silence in my head. Until…
“Took you long enough!” a voice shouts in my ear.<
br />
I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
A universe could form inside this room and we would never know.
—Sean M. Carroll, physicist
I jump up so fast I have no memory of leaving the couch. “Kal? Kal?” I run around the room, frantic. “Are you here? Are you hiding somewhere?”
“I’m right here!” he shouts.
But he’s not. I don’t see him anywhere. His voice sounds like it’s coming through a long tunnel, all tinny and wobbly. I stop dashing around and just turn in circles. “Kal? Are you invisible?”
“No, I’m in a different place.”
“What’s going on? Is this really you? Is someone playing a trick on me?” I’d guess one of my brothers, but none of them even knows Kal’s missing.
“As if anyone else could play the drums that well!” Kal scoffs, his voice sounding a little clearer now, a bit closer. “It’s me, I promise. I’ll prove it. Remember that love letter you wrote the girl down the block when we were eight? Dear Taryn, I know I don’t know you that well, but your eyes shine like the third moon of Signus Prime.”
I stop spinning. “Kal! It’s really you!”
“Yes! Finally! Now listen, I don’t have long. You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to communicate with you and—”
“But why can’t I see you? My father said there was no trace of your parents and then you winked out and Gluck said you were gone for good, too.” I glance at Kal/Annika’s bedroom door, but it’s still firmly closed. As tired as I was before, I’m now more awake than I’ve ever been. “Kal, are you still… alive?” Even with my poor judgment of time, it seems like forever until he answers. And when he does, I can barely hear him.
“I’m in… oth… not… Joss?”
“Kal? I can’t hear you! Where are you?”
“I’m in… wouldn’t believe… rock-and-roll universe… Joss, you have… listen to me.”