Out in the outer reaches of Sol lie what is known as the Oort cloud. A cluster of small rocky and icy bodies located beyond Pluto’s reach was essentially the final wall one must overcome to reach intergalactic space and beyond. For centuries, scientists theorized that a Planet Nine existed out there that affected objects gravitationally and ejected comets like a pitching machine.

It wasn’t until the late 21st century that researchers discovered that there wasn’t a planet-sized object, just a black hole. This impossibly dense object was only 4 inches wide and almost impossible to see with the naked eye. Once discovered, it was off to the races for every private aerospace engineering firm on Old Earth.

But this was old news for all Quantum Mechanics before they were shipped out. Jackson Samuels was one. About two months out from graduation and getting hired, he could recite the orientation vids by heart. Europa was the first to establish a lab station that orbited the black hole a safe distance away and finally opened and ran in 2098. Jackson graduated from school in 2100; due to his thesis concerning the practical existence of a vast multiverse.

Quantum Mechanics mined space-time. For most people—those lacking imagination and, Jackson thought, brain power—it’s a nonsense job to make people feel smart. Yet another middle management job created by capitalism for capitalism’s sake. And yet, for all the time spent studying, here was Jackson, strapped into a roll cage and ready to go, excited for the future.

Jackson was seated comfortably in a molded chair with hardware strapped to his head. Mining space-time was done virtually. The bulky helmet strapped to his noggin was crucial to the enterprise; specimens could collapse out of control without it. Within the virtual simulation, Jackson manipulated sub-atomic scalpels and matter collectors. Each sample was carved off with perfect precision and got sent off back to Europa for study. Jackson knew this job facilitated proving his theory that not only was a multiverse out there but was entirely reachable, so he was happy to do it.

And he was good at it.

t vexed him that he couldn’t study the samples himself; that’s where his heart was, after all. A Quantum Mechanic was a grunt’s job. Not that just anyone could do it, of course—mining space-time was dangerous and required a deft hand. One slip up, and maybe you’ve caused the singularity to collapse, which wasn’t good. Still, with enough training, a monkey could do this. Jackson often mused that it was ridiculous it took this much schooling to perform the job.

Europa Industries bylaws strictly prohibited keeping samples for oneself. The arrogant part of his psyche felt they’d never take him to task. Jackson Samuels was in the top 1 percent of his class; hell, they recruited him! It likely wasn’t a big deal. But this other side of his mind, the practical and—not stupid—side, told him that: it never hurt to be safe rather than sorry.

So every trip into virtual to mine had Jackson send 75 percent of any given sample to the home office while he kept 25 percent for himself. Within an artificial pocket dimension, first made public for commercial use in 2090, it was an absolute lifesaver in terms of storage. The tech slowed Earth’s rapid descent into climate change hell for another century at least. So it’s been said.

Jackson’s pocket dimension lived on a quantum server accessible only via his living quarters. When he first arrived at the station, he took considerable time converting the space—only 80x80 by diameter—into a sort of faraday cage that kept his superiors and benefactors from peeking in on what he was doing.

Later that evening—time measurement was done according to Earth’s location—Jackson sat in front of his terminal and opened his server. He found some strange readings, readings he’d need to check the next day when he went out again. He may have stumbled upon a data-rich section as part of his everyday duties.

Excellent, he exclaimed thoughtfully to himself.

The following day he sat alone in the mess hall, going over the figures in his head and on his forearm-mounted computer. An old classmate, John Silver—hired the same time as he—approached him. His lunch tray was piled high with protein sludge, and he dropped it with a loud thump right in front of Jackson.

“Can I help you?” Jackson asked, obviously annoyed.

“I know what you’re doing,” John said, above a whisper but at less than full volume. Jackson stared at him for 3.5 seconds before returning his gaze to the display projected from his arm.

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Jackson spit.

“That section of the black hole, I’ve seen it too. The Company hasn’t noticed yet, but I’ve seen it. And I know you have too.” Jackson sighed silently; John was always brilliant and considered himself Jackson’s rival.

He wishes.

To Jackson, John was a smart-for-his-age adolescent—at best.

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“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jackson replied and got up; it was time for another shift in virtual. Strapped into the chair for another 15 hours, Jackson scoured the section of space-time deemed belonging to him for the evening. He found it again; the anomaly in his numbers matched perfectly.

He took a more significant slice this time, 65 percent for the Company, the rest for himself.

That night he sat in his room and studied the pocket dimension. Somehow it had been ripped in half as if someone had taken a knife and cut a wide gash through it. That shouldn’t be possible, Jackson thought.

Jackson got to work on a machine for the rest of the night.

He took apart his terminal and bedside machine and ripped various components from the wall to pursue what he needed. Using the samples he had hoarded for himself, Jackson created a device to sustain a personalized slice of space-time directly in his room. Before his eyes, a small portion of the galaxy was within an energized holographic projector. Colorful molecular clouds swept through the image and filled his eyes with all the possibilities this meant.

Jackson tapped silently on his forearm. The entire device connected and ran through his wearable computer system and entered the variable data he had been keeping track of. The mini galaxy seized and then split in half. Between the two halves was a bright red gelatinous membrane, and Jackson knew he had discovered the secret of the universe. Jackson brought his findings to his superiors. They ultimately rebuffed him. They took the time to reprimand him.

“But I’ve found it!” He shouted. “Proof of the multiverse!”

“How is this proof?” They asked.

“This is a membrane,” he responded. “Don’t you see? This is the substance that keeps our universes apart!”

They fired him for “unauthorized use of company assets” and sent him back to Earth. They claimed his demonstrated hubris made him an ill fit for their Company Culture. In secret, they continued his research. Jackson remained undeterred, even if he was disgraced. His quantum server was his own; no amount of pressure could force him to give them access to it.

Back on Earth, in a partially underwater lab off the former coast of the eastern United States, Jackson ran his experiments. Here he was outside the reach of corporate and governmental police as the entire region had become a lawless no man’s land. He had rebuilt his machine and re-run his tests based on the samples he still held.

Once again, the sliver of space-time split and taunted him. Probe after probe Jackson sent through; none had come back. A setback, to be sure, but it confirmed something to him. This membrane, this Bleed—as he called it—could be penetrated. It was here it became clear there was only one avenue left for him to pursue, and the only way to see it through was personally.

For the next six weeks, Jackson designed and built a suit to protect him from the forces he’d face should he enter this membrane himself. Jackson spent time redesigning and retrofitting his current contraption to allow him to traverse the space-time tear he artificially kept running in his lab. Both endeavors generated an almost impossible amount of energy, and with each passing week, it became harder and harder to conceal. At week four, Jackson reached out to his still-employed colleague: John Silver.

“What’s in it for me?” he asked. “Why shouldn’t I just give you away to the Company?”

“Because I’m close, and you know it. Once I cross through, any data you see is yours to present and claim.”

“You’d do that?”

“This is a one-way trip,” Jackson replied. “That much is clear.”

Silver arrived a week later after having resigned from his commission. The opportunity excited him—to be the name on such a discovery—he would be set for life if this panned out.

It was week six, and Jackson felt ready. He had expanded his machine enough to fill an entire room; just outside the perimeter was an observation pod staffed alone by Silver. The suit Jackson had created was nanofillament mesh laced with super thick aluminum that was easily flexible and breathed nice. Jackson looked back at the pod and smiled solemnly before snapping the opaque helmet onto his head; Silver offered a minor thumbs up.

Four quantum projectors lined the back half of the room. They hummed and suddenly fired. A projection of a slice of the universe, pure space-time, filled that side of the room briefly before being torn apart and revealing a thick, dense, red membrane. Jackson could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

The membrane moved and writhed like it had a mind of its own. Jackson paused in front of it, feeling silly. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it; the foundation of his life’s work. Wasn’t this what his life had built toward? He sucked in his breath through his nose and shut his eyes.

The answer was yes.

Jackson raised a hand; his thick gloved fingertips pierced the barrier of the projection, and his atoms felt on fire. He pushed more. Thick tendrils climbed up his arm from the membrane and clung tightly.

It was pulling him in.

He let it.

He closed his eyes; it was dark. An attosecond later, the darkness persisted. Jackson felt his stomach float as if he were drifting endlessly through nothing. It made him think of his time as a child on the roller coasters built among the partially submerged islands of Japan. For once in his life, he felt utterly free. His eyes supposedly popped open, but still, there was nothing but black.

He felt his momentum stop. An invisible hand gripped his chest and applied pressure. He was sure his eyes were still open, yet all he saw was blackness. His analytical mind raced; it landed at the only possible conclusion his research had laid out for him.

Jackson theorized for ages about the nature of the multiverse and surmised it all ended, or began instead, at a singular launch point. The big bang begat the Bleed, which spawned endless parallel universes. The Bleed was akin to cracks in a sidewalk, and he was falling through one. Falling through space-time endlessly until coming to an abrupt stop; what could cause that? He asked himself that repeatedly and got scared at the implication.

He could be at the dawn of time when light didn’t exist.

Deep in the darkness, an eye opened. A beady white eye that blinked once every other second. Another eye followed that, then another and another. Each eye stared at him, blinked at odd intervals, and made his skin crawl.

He felt his mouth fill.

The darkness. It was filling him up.

More eyes appeared; they were taunting. Jackson’s skin felt cold, as if he were no longer wearing the suit.

He thought he opened his mouth to scream.

But an eye stared out of it instead.