“You mean Malkier is rigging the registry, sending through the males he chooses?” Jonathan asked. “Each Ferox doesn’t actually get an equal chance to enter?”
“Yes, but he isn’t selecting males based on arbitrary preferences,” Heyer said. “Rather, the registry is designed to favor males with higher fecundity and preferred traits—”
“It is analogous to a human female visiting a sperm bank,” Mr. Clean interrupted. “The donors are screened for variables like sperm count.”
Again, Jonathan turned to give a placating nod to the A.I.
“Thank you, Mr. Clean,” Heyer said, though Jonathan was picking up on a terseness in the alien’s voice. “As I was saying, the point is to increase the chance of a successful mating, while doing their best to maintain as much variability in the gene pool as possible. Variety, as you may have learned from your studies, is the best evolutionary advantage a species can have as it faces changing environments.”
“So, Malkier is cheating them,” Jonathan said, “but only because he’s trying to solve their mating problem. He’s hoping that somewhere in the gene pool, he can hit on a combination of genetic traits that will start to reverse what your ancestors did to them.”
Heyer nodded. “When the registry makes a selection, a portal stone is provided to the male. The Ferox have incorporated this into their religious beliefs. A certain amount of ceremony is conducted before a Ferox enters the gates for the first time…”
“It is analogous to a bar mitzvah,” Mr. Clean interjected.
Jonathan watched Heyer’s eyes shut, remaining closed long enough that Jonathan could sense his growing impatience with the interruptions. When he opened his eyes again, he lifted a hand, placing his middle and index finger on the two books representing Earth and the Feroxian plane. Both illuminated brighter
“When the Ferox steps onto the gateway,” Heyer said, nodding his head to the sundial-like object rotating over the coffee table, “a passage to Earth is opened, but instead of creating the simple point of entry that the gateway was designed for, the portal stone acts as a catalyst, signaling its counterpart on Earth to bring The Never into play.”
Jonathan watched as the model between him and Heyer began a flurry of activity. A red pulse emanated from the Feroxian plane and was shortly followed by an identical pulse from Earth. The two signals started to overlap, meeting together in the middle and solidifying into a sphere between the two dimensions. The end effect was that a bubble formed in the space between the books, forcing them to bend in order to accommodate it. Jonathan watched as this affected all the books on the shelf, each bending as much as was necessary to allow the bubble to exist, until the very bookcase housing the model was forced to become more of an oval than a rectangle shape.
Heyer lifted his finger to point at the sphere. “The Never is a temporary copy of your dimension held inside the gates. You can see within this simple model that making room for its existence is an accommodation that physical law resists. The boundaries of all realities are malleable to some extent, but it is not in their nature to bend. This is the major limiting factor of The Never, and why it lacks a dimensional signature. The laws of reality are set against it from its first inception, and those laws are held at bay only temporarily before being squashed out of existence.”
Seeing this play out within the model, Jonathan was struck by disbelief. He didn’t think Heyer was lying to him—what he couldn’t believe was the idea that the alien’s ancestors would dare tamper with the boundaries of all dimensions, dare to force reality to bend. He had always believed in science, experimentation, the advancement of knowledge, but this…
“Heyer, this…” Jonathan said, unable to remove the disgust from his voice. “This is far too dangerous. You can’t… you can’t just risk this, all of reality, even to save mankind. Irresponsible fails to capture this. It’s too much.”
The alien’s hand came up to calm him. “I understand your revulsion. Keep in mind that this is a model—useful for educational purposes, but hardly to scale,” Heyer said. “Reality, as a whole, is not easily broken. One open instance of The Never is not a threat to existence. It is the presence of multiple instances, taking place in unison, which could eventually become hazardous. The only true danger, in our use of it, is to the two beings who enter into the temporary bubble.”
Within the holographic projection of the sphere, two forms took shape. One of a man, the other, a Ferox.
“You see, it is a built-in fail-safe of the technology,” Heyer said. “The gates must be closed, or those who have entered will die inside. Once The Never can no longer withstand the pressure imposed on it, or the forces working against it, the temporary reality deteriorates from within. It is why it is temporary.”
Jonathan stared at the model, his thoughts assaulting him in a blur. Silence fell on the room as the alien waited for him to process what he’d been shown. One horror rose to the surface as Jonathan remembered what Heyer had told him once inside The Never, the first time he closed the gates. If you do not destroy the stone, this reality will be fixed. All of those who died tonight will remain dead.
“Heyer,” Jonathan said. “I—I don’t know where the line is with you. There is a difference between simplifying and lying. This is not—this isn’t what you told me was happening. All those people in the temporary reality… They just end?”
The alien took a long breath, his face weighted down in sympathy for the understanding Jonathan had reached so quickly. “When the gates are closed properly, no one suffers. They simply cease to be, never knowing,” Heyer said. “The moral implications are too much for anyone to weigh. But I take some comfort knowing that what is true for them is also true for me. The shadow of myself that exists inside The Never—he is not exempt from the same fate as all those within. You have met my shadow before, Jonathan. You told me about him, months ago, on that bench in the park. He pulled you from the water and resuscitated you before he taught you how to close the gates.
“Your shadow?” Jonathan said. “Are you trying to tell me that it was someone else who lied to me?”
Heyer, again, held up a hand to calm him. “I can never know what the shadow of me inside The Never felt you needed to hear. I do know that this shadow was well aware of what would happen to him and everyone else within when you destroyed the stone. I can only imagine the fear my alternate self feels each time he faces oblivion, but one thing is certain.”
Heyer paused, and Jonathan could see that he had done so to add gravity to the words that would follow.
“The Never has never been allowed to play out. Every time, my shadow made sure the gates were closed, made sure that those within did not endure its deterioration. Over the years, thousands of instances, I have never failed to make the same decision.”
A silence fell between them as Jonathan absorbed the alien’s statement.
“Why did—” Jonathan cut off, closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. “What good came from creating this technology in the first place?”
Heyer sighed, but nodded. “The Borealis were much like man in their desire to learn. Humanity is well aware that the bottleneck of discovery is ethics. I named the temporary dimension The Never. It is a title I chose, in part, because of its English meaning, but also in acknowledgment of the ancestor most responsible for its existence. She was a Borealis scientist named Nevric.
“Nevric’s team had noble intentions. She saw The Never as the perfect laboratory, where the repercussions of any experiment could be safely contained without consequences in a true reality. In short, Nevric was looking to take away the necessity of ethics, by creating a simulation of reality that could perfectly account for every variable in true reality. Such a place promised safety, where one could test the greatest of ideas with complete reversibility if the unforeseen side effects of an experiment ended in catastrophe.
“Of course, I say Nevric meant well, but as with any creation, those who make a discovery and those who control it are sel
dom the same person for long. Political leaders and military strategists of my race immediately saw other applications. Nevric’s mistake was the same as every inventor who sees their discovery turned into a monstrosity. She believed that our species had become secure enough in their invincibility to lose their obsession with gaining more power.”
Slowly, Jonathan nodded, slumping into his chair, unsure what else to say.
“Jonathan, you have a great capacity for compassion,” Heyer said. “But perhaps an even greater capacity for guilt. I have to ask you not to dwell on this. It’s the burden of the Borealis alone. My burden. You were never part of the decision to employ this technology. You are powerless to keep it from continuing. So, I ask that you let this lay on my conscience alone.”
Jonathan grimaced, looking as though he’d just been force-fed something awful.
“If it is any comfort,” Heyer said, “we know these people experience the least amount of suffering possible. The shadows within The Never have no knowledge of their fleeting existence. The sacrifice they make is unknown to them, but promises their true selves a life without the horrors of a Feroxian invasion. Creating their reflection and erasing them… it is admittedly unfair, but it is the lesser of many evils. Allowing their existence within The Never to run its natural course—that would be true cruelty.”
Jonathan glanced up to the alien, hesitance written on his face. “Do I want to know?” he asked. “What happens to everyone inside The Never if the gates aren’t closed?”
“A slow degradation of existence,” Heyer said. “You are familiar with thermodynamics. For a system to maintain order, energy must be expended. Without anything putting energy into the system, disorder increases. Within The Never, the external pressures of the natural realities bordering it accelerate the process. The structure of all things inside deteriorate from within, making it easier for the temporary bubble to be reabsorbed as the natural shape of all realities returns to equilibrium.”
“But the people, the shadows created inside,” Jonathan said, “what does that experience feel like to them?”
“Well, for obvious reasons, it is impossible for me to give a firsthand account. What I know comes from Mr. Clean’s files, all of the research materials left behind by Nevric’s team. We know the process takes its toll on the mental state first. The initial effects of the psychological deterioration are unique to the individual, but it always presents itself as an unhinging of the mind, a movement toward the individual’s more intrinsic self-interests. As it continues, a depravity becomes inevitable. The physical state of matter follows shortly after. The sanity of all within is lost long before the physical world deteriorates.”
Jonathan might have taken more time, pondered what he had learned, but Heyer’s words jarred loose the last thing Rylee had told him in his garage. “Heyer,” he said. “What happens to a person if they leave? If one of these shadows from The Never steps into the gates as it’s closing?”
Heyer’s eyes studied Jonathan knowingly. “Jonathan, tell me what you know. Since the moment events surrounding Rylee’s arrival began to play out, every interaction you’ve had with her, every word she said. I need to hear everything.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LEAH WAS ANXIOUS as she waited for Paige to come back. She was already having reservations about allowing her friend to confront the mystery girl in Jonathan’s bedroom, but Paige was so eager to involve herself.
She wasn’t sure if creating tension would end well. She would have preferred to give Jonathan a chance to explain himself. Admittedly, she had a pretty good idea of how that strategy would play itself out if she confronted him directly: Jonathan, looking at the floor, saying nothing because he couldn’t possibly explain, while Leah, unable to sever their relationship, attempted to reassure him that she wouldn’t pressure him, that she would understand if he was keeping secrets from her.
How long could she realistically play that game with another girl in the equation? There was patience and then there was sainthood—at some point, being too good to be true would make her presence in his life suspicious.
Finally, Paige returned, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “Yeah,” she said. “We do not like her.”
“Oh,” Leah said. “Maybe I should go home. I don’t want Jonathan to think I put you up to this.”
Paige looked at Leah, then groaned. “You’re too easy on him. I’ll be the snoop, but you have every right to feel lied to… I mean, even if maybe he wasn’t lying.”
Leah tilted her head curiously. “What do you mean he wasn’t lying?”
Paige shrugged. “Okay, don’t get me wrong. This is still weird. But…” She paused, frowning. “Everything Rylee said kinda matched up with what Jonathan told you. I didn’t get the impression she was lying. What is so annoying is that talking to her was a lot like talking to Jonathan. Whenever I asked her something she didn’t want to answer, she just shut the conversation down. Then found an excuse to leave.”
Paige bit her lip and flinched a bit like she was regretting something.
“What is it?” Leah asked.
“I may have been a bit bitchier than I’d planned.”
Leah sighed. “So much for being subtle?”
Leah’s phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She reached inside, hoping for a message from Jonathan, saying he was heading home and wanted to talk to her. Unfortunately, the message she’d gotten was the opposite: a random, unknown number advertising carpet cleaning services in her area. Upon reading the screen, she had to make an active effort not to let Paige see the tremor it sent through her—this was The Cell’s method of communicating to her that they had lost Jonathan’s location.
If Jonathan was the typical subject Olivia’s team investigated, this wouldn’t be cause for alarm, just an unfortunate but expected setback. The difference was that Jonathan didn’t have the training or means to circumvent their surveillance on him. If The Cell had lost him, there was a good chance he was lost for good—that today was the day he disappeared forever.
“I am going to run home for a bit,” Leah said, keeping herself together. “Want to check on Jack. I’ll be back later.”
“I don’t pretend to understand it,” Jonathan said. “Once I understood that Rylee and I had overlapped before, the pieces came together. When we enter the gates, the one who brings The Never into existence initially only retains their memory up until the point that the other arrives. That was why I’d never even known Rylee was there the first time, let alone that we had fought two Ferox. My memories inside The Never stopped at the same moment hers began.”
Heyer nodded knowingly. The alien’s lack of reaction made Jonathan suspicious that Mr. Clean had had a pretty good idea of what had been going on since the first time they had been in contact. The computer had probably purposely postponed an explanation while waiting for instructions from Heyer about how to handle the situation.
“Quite the unfortunate turn of events,” Heyer said. The alien paused uncharacteristically to press his palm against his forehead as though he were holding off an approaching migraine. “Forgive me, Jonathan. I am responsible for putting this in motion.”
Jonathan’s eyes drew down, part in sympathy for the stress Heyer seemed to be under, but more in confusion.
“What is most troubling, and at the same time irritating, is that I only know the half of it,” Heyer said. “Even though I am the only one who could have caused this.”
“I’m not following,” Jonathan said. “It’s obviously not ideal that one of us loses our memory, but it’s hardly the end of the world.”
The alien, palm still pressed to skull, shook his head. “Jonathan, this is important,” Heyer began. “I need to know if it was you or Rylee who put forth the option to break the stones while making physical contact, instead of breaking them individually, as I taught you?”
Jonathan was caught off guard—struck by how much Heyer’s question sounded more like an accusation aimed at R
ylee. “It was mine…” He trailed off, a slight chill running through him. “No, it was Rylee’s. She said it was what we had agreed. That crushing the stones simultaneously was the best we could come up with the first time.”
“Do you doubt her now?” Heyer asked.
Jonathan was already asking himself the question. He got a familiar feeling then, as though he were in the principal’s office covering for a classmate. He hadn’t felt a moment of distrust, of malicious intention. She had not wanted to break the stones at all. If anything, Jonathan had gotten the impression that Rylee had wanted to, well, do the opposite of what he’d have called harm.
“What she said seemed….” He stopped then, and shook off his doubts. Rylee simply did not feel guilty, and Jonathan’s features hardened as he decided the matter. The only reason he thought otherwise was because of the way Heyer was asking him these questions. “No. Nothing she told me felt dishonest. Destroying the stones as we did seemed pretty reasonable given what you let me believe up until about half an hour ago.”
Heyer studied him for a moment. Eventually his lips pinched together and he nodded. “It isn’t my intention to shift accountability, and I’m not looking to put Rylee under your suspicion,” he said. “But I need you to look at events, knowing things may not have been what they seemed. It is as I said, Jonathan; I suspect that I put this in motion, and right now, the challenge is piecing together precisely how I did so.”
It was the third time the alien had taken responsibility for a problem that Jonathan didn’t understand. He could see Heyer was beating himself up about something.
“Rylee and I,” Heyer said. “We have a flawed relationship, at best.”
“I would point out,” Mr. Clean interjected, “that this is an understatement.”
Somewhat annoyed, Heyer nodded in concession to the computer. “The failure is more my fault than hers. I misjudged her from the start, handled our interactions poorly. As a result, I have never trusted her enough to tell her anything more than what was absolutely necessary.”
The Never Paradox (Chronicles Of Jonathan Tibbs Book 2) Page 23