I know a few things now.
When I’m in over my head, for example. That one’s easy to figure out; all I have to do is look around. But I also know from trying to fix things that Alice is the only reason things are even as okay as they are. She wasn’t always who she was—not until she had to grow up and put on the Mom mask. And she held it together…somehow. She couldn’t have made it more okay.
Even though I know that—even though this reality isn’t real—I still wish Alice never had to wear the Mom mask. Something happened right after the monsters came for Mom and SHOCKS came for the rest of us. If we could change that…
It’s a dream—a desperate, stupid dream. But if Mom lied and said that everything would be okay, what about Dad?
----------------------------------------
[Skill Learned: Infohazard Resistance 13]
The world’s freezing, but my skin burns.
It’s as silent as the grave, but thunder fills my ears.
Reality falls apart around me. I keep my eyes locked on the angel.
Realities burn. This reality burns. My apartment building goes up in dark black flames as the Voiceless Singer surrounds me with its song. But this time, I hang on. I don’t lose control. The song eats at me, but I stay focused.
[Stability 9/10]
It’s horrifying and fascinating—watching my childhood fall apart. But mostly, it’s something that’s happening somewhere else. Somewhere that I’m not. The Voiceless Singer watches me, and I stare back at it. In the background, far below us, my apartment collapses—Mom and Dad and Alice are in there, but they’re also not, and I know that now. It hurts. But the pain’s bearable.
The world cracks. It falls apart as the Voiceless Singer and I push higher into the sky. A split across the Strait of Juan de Fuca, all the way down the coast to California—so big I can see it even as Earth fades to the size of a soccer ball. Director Ramirez is going to be pissed; I’ve definitely been caught.
But what I’m learning…
[Stability 8/10]
Earth breaks.
Then reality breaks. All of them.
The God in the Machine’s reality cracks like a sugar snap pea. The plagued, diseased body I fought through rots away. The burning man’s flame goes out, leaving him in darkness. But I persevere. Mom didn’t back down that night, and I won’t back down now. I’m in this to the end of the line.
[Stability 7/10]
I don’t bother connecting to James, even though my augs are online again. There’s no need for my Revolver either—not yet. There’s too much to learn. Too much to witness. Too many Truths.
We leave burning realities in our wake as we push through the void. The Voiceless Singer’s song surrounds me, burns and freezes and pushes daggers against my skin.
And suddenly—
[Stability 6/10]
The song stops.
The Singer’s void fades in a yellow-orange light. It drifts through the void, slowly spinning like a spaceship’s wreck. I stare at the blazing sunrise coming up over the dark planet below us.
[Stability 4/10]
My Stability’s crashing, but I watch the sun crest over the strange world below me. All around me, hundreds of Voiceless Singers drift through space; here, they’re not person-sized voids. They’re infinite and infinitesimal at the same time. They’re so many massive derelict vessels, abandoned and powerless.
Compared to the rising sun, they’re nothing.
[Stability 2/10]
Reality burns.
Something sparks in my mind. I tear myself away from the sun and the shipwrecked angels.
Director Ramirez has to know.
The merge generator portal opens below me. The yellow-orange light pours through it, and as I fall, the pin-drop quiet, deafening screams catch up to me.
[Stability 0/10]
----------------------------------------
My Revolver’s in my hand before I even hit the steel ramp.
My Stability’s gone, and the room’s freezing. My skin sticks to the metal under me. I pull the trigger even as a wave of cold washes over the entire Experimental Sector. Bullet Time. Three shots right in front of me. The blazing-hot gouts of fire rip holes in the frost.
James is screaming in my ear. Not talking, but screaming like he’s dying. [Processing loops down! Currently at thirty-five percent capability! I’m working on bringing more online, but—]
I ignore him. There’s nothing I can do for him right now. The whole room’s covered in ice except for a streak of melted, steaming floor and ceiling where my shots went off. I shiver through my hoodie as the cold air stings my nostrils; is my snot freezing in my nose? The SHOCKS scientists are fleeing for the airlock.
I fire my Revolver again. It hits the door, which melts instantly. Two shots left. The floor’s icing over beneath my feet, but it’s not a flash-freeze. The worst is over. Probably.
Hopefully.
“James,” I say through chattering teeth, “do you know what this is?”
[Yes. We’re looking at a Xuduo-Danger merge, non-corporeal, heat-based, entropic. I’m rerouting power to the…nope. That loop just failed.] He sounds faint. At least the screaming has stopped.
“What’s hurting you?”
[I’m attempting to process the events of the last one point zero one seconds in R-2301—from the moment you encountered the Voiceless Singer until I activated the merge generator to retrieve you. The amount of data is overwhelming my processing capacity, even through anti-infohazard systems.]
I fire again, creating a pathway across the room—toward the one-way stairs. Staying here’s not an option, and once, a long time ago, James told me that the computer lab at the bottom of that dark flight ran the whole Experimental Sector. He lied; his tank controls were up top.
But everything else is down there.
My boots slide on the floor. The ice is melted, but it’s still slick and wet. I push myself harder and faster. My hand closes on the frigid stairwell door, and I jerk it open as my feet slide out from under me. I tumble into the darkness, down the glowing stairs. As I hit the landing, the icy wind blows in behind me. Is it pursuing me? I can’t tell, but I don’t think so. It’s just doing what the cold does.
The door slams closed overhead, and I get my feet under me. “James, what do I do?”
[I’m working on it. Down to twenty percent of functional loops. Get to the command room.] He sounds like he’s more in control. Then, a second later, he doesn’t. Every emotion drains from his voice. [System compromised. Safely shutting down unnecessary programming. Clarice Alora Pendleton, please continue to the command room.]
James is gone. The System’s still here.
I keep moving down the stairs. The Revolver’s in my hand, but as I go deeper, the stairwell heats up until it’s almost—but not quite—room temperature. The gusts of icy air come in waves, but I open the door to the tiny control room.
It’s full of servers, computers, and databanks, all packed in so tight I can barely stand in it. I hold my hand over the scanner just like last time. “Handle the infohazard.”
[It was neutralized twenty-three seconds ago,] The Halcyon System says. [Rebooting James now.]
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“Fine.” I press down.
----------------------------------------
The Halcyon System remembers.
I materialize in a computer lab; dozens of dome-shaped, colorful computers sit around me. The chair is a little too small for my butt, but I’ll survive. My fingers are already on the keyboard when the golden yellow sun appears on the projector screen. I start typing; the computer next to me shows the temperature in the JAMES Experimental Sector crashing toward zero degrees. I don’t know what’ll happen when the room actually freezes, but it probably won’t be good.
I ignore the System. Instead, I dive into the database. Last time I was here, James couldn’t see my screen. He couldn’t see me as I pondered how to save his life. Hopefully, the Halcyon System won’t be able to see, either. But just in case, I squeeze my auged-up eye closed.
The most important thing isn’t saving the Experimental Sector. The portal generator? That matters, but Director Ramirez will be able to fix it. The scientists and researchers working like ants around it? They’ll be fine for a few minutes, even if everything completely freezes over.
But I’ve got one window to do this, and I have to take advantage of it.
Without James’s guidance, it takes me a long time to find what I’m after, and when I do, it’s locked down tighter than my elementary school during a drill, but it’s there. It exists. I don’t need to get inside of it. I just need to bring it to James’s attention at the right time. It’s a single containment document.
[Anomaly] Entity - 0-P-4/LO-1-Prime
[Status] Contained
[Type] Post-Life, Limited-Omniscient, Digital
[Danger] Atero
It’s James’s containment information. I can’t see anything beyond the Danger category, but I can see the edit information. It’s being edited almost in real-time; the last one’s less than a minute before James’s processing loops started failing. And it’s being changed anonymously.
I file that away. The next time I sleep, I’ll deal with it in my Mindscape. But right now, the Halcyon System speaks up. [Clarice Alora Pendleton, follow directions to reroute heating to the Experimental Sector. Failure to do so will result in—]
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” I follow its directions perfectly. The heating kicks on overhead—not an HVAC system, but blazing-hot metal rods extending from the ceiling. I get to watch as they descend to eight feet above the ground. The computer screen flickers to heat vision, and a moment later, the rods burn pure white. Everything else is blue or black—but only for a second. Then, the entire screen goes yellow-orange.
[Well done,] the Halcyon System says. [Rebooting nonessential programs. Stand by.]
I don’t stand by. My fingers fly across the keyboard. I add a note to the James entry, sounding as formal and SHOCKS-like as possible.
The JAMES Unit is currently compromised by the entity known as the Halcyon System. It is unknown whether this entity is acting in R-0’s best interests or whether it is aligned with the Voiceless Singers.
I’m not logged in. There’s no record of who made this note. I sign it ‘A Watcher Concerned with the Truth.’ James will know who it’s from, but so will the next SHOCKS researcher who opens this. That doesn’t matter. What matters is the hint of a hint. I log off and stand up. The computer lab falls apart around me, and I return to the tiny server room at the bottom of the one-way stairs.
It’s a long way up. I start climbing.
----------------------------------------
An hour later, I’m sitting in Director Ramirez’s office.
Again.
There’s a sheet of paper on the table. A set of half-used crayons sits next to them. I can’t help but stare at them. The paper’s got a picture on it; it looks exactly like what I drew but with one difference.
Mom’s missing.
And that one difference means there’s nothing between Alice, me, and the crayon-drawn monsters pouring in through the wall.
“These were recovered from the Experimental Sector,” Director Ramirez says. He sounds almost casual about it, but I can see the sweat pouring down his face and the tapping fingers. He’s not alone; Lambda-Five’s lieutenant is in the room, and so is Lieutenant Rodriguez. James is present, too, but he’s not on a computer. “Do you have an explanation?”
I do.
“No,” I say. “That reality wasn’t supposed to be real. It wasn’t supposed to come over with me, but I must’ve…really wanted it? I’m not sure how that reality works.”
I can’t take my eye off the paper; my hand reaches out on its own and flips it over. The drawing on the back side’s there, too. It’s exactly the same. There’s no one in the beds, no Mom standing in the way, only monsters.
I get it, then—the truth. And the truth about why it couldn’t have been okay is that Mom tried. She wanted it to be okay, but the only way she could see—the only way I can see—was for her to sacrifice herself and buy a few seconds for Dad to yank us out of that room. She knew what she was doing, and the only hope she had was that Dad could hold it together. He was a rock. He was our best chance, but even rocks can be worn down.
What happened isn’t Mom’s fault. It’s not Dad’s fault, either. And it sure as hell isn’t my fault. It couldn’t have been okay. This was the best possible outcome.
[Truth Learned: The Past is the Past 2]
[Active Skill Learned: Absolution]
It’s a relief. But it’s also a nightmare. My stomach rolls, and I can feel my throat closing up. I shut my eyes and breathe. The office is quiet for a few seconds, and then I’m out of time.
Director Ramirez says, “The JAMES Unit has informed us that the information you recorded while in R-2301 is impossible to transmit digitally. It created a feedback loop that, according to it, damaged or destroyed over ninety percent of its processing power before forcing an automated shutdown. We have a plan to extract and record the information in analog, but we need your permission to proceed.”
[I don’t recommend this,] James says. [It’s too likely to result in a system failure, or in a leak into my systems. The last shutdown resulted in Los Angeles falling completely. We can’t take that risk.]
We don’t have a choice. It’s take the risk or keep doing what we’re doing—and this isn’t working.
I nod slowly, trying to refocus. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to disconnect your optical aug, run it directly into a VHS recording system, and attempt to put it on a cassette.”
“A what?”
Director Ramirez explains the analog recording system. It was ancient before he was even born, but according to him, it’s used to contain several anomalies that damage digital constructs and are represented as screen-bound entities. They’re mostly infohazardous or memetic, but in this case, it’s less about the anomaly and more about being able to interpret the message itself.
There’s a lot of risk, but in the end, I say, “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”
“Great,” Director Ramirez looks relieved. So do the lieutenants. “We’ll start the procedure within the next hour. Report to the medical wing for prep.”
----------------------------------------
The Mindscape
- - - - -
You wake up.
The Mindscape has changed. You’re lying on a wrought-iron bench in a beautiful flower garden. The smells of roses, lupines, and daisies mix together, but without the undertones of another reality, the scents are almost intoxicating instead of horrifying. A pair of giant, gnarled oaks, like the kind in movies about England, loom over the tiny cottage. Their leaves are bright, brilliant green and gold, like a cathedral ceiling.
A line of pale white smoke puffs up from the cottage’s chimney, even though it’s clearly summer. It smells like juniper.
Madame Baudelaire has been busy.
Outside the Mindscape, the surgery is proceeding. James doesn’t agree with it. He’s watching through the cameras. But even he admits it’s a minor operation. You’re asleep on the table, with the surgeon pulling your aug from your eye. The whole thing should take less than half an hour. This time, there won’t be any complications with scarring or your body. Recovery will take fifteen minutes at most.
You stretch and head for the cottage’s door. The dirt crunches under your feet. If this is a simulation, it’s the most accurate simulation you’ve ever been in, including the virtual reality worlds you visited last year in school. The door creaks as you open it.
{Bonjour, mademoiselle,} Mme. Baudelaire says. Her professional, maid-like voice is comforting; even though you can’t see her, she’s still nearby and ready should you need anything. {The Mindscape has been created according to your specifications. It is, as I said, many things, but it is mostly what you truly need in this moment.}
You step inside. The cottage is one room. There’s no bathroom, no kitchen, and no closets. You feel like there should be closets—places to store all the clothes you were always jealous of Alice for wearing but would never be caught dead trying on yourself. If this Mindscape is perfectly secure and it’s all in your head, there’s no harm in trying on a dress or two—or the party clothes she had squirreled away in the closet you shared.
Clearly, Mme. Baudelaire disagrees. She hands you a book. It flies off the shelf and into your hands. You collapse into an overstuffed, maroon armchair.
It’s better than Dad’s La-Z Boy. Unlike the plastic computer lab chair, this chair feels perfectly formed for your butt. The fake leather—or is it real?—has just the right give, and the tall back is perfect for leaning against. You can’t help it. You melt into the chair.
The book opens, and Mme. Baudelaire speaks. {Mademoiselle, you know what is coming, oui? I have watched your vision. Surely, you know.}
You do know. It’s in the pages of the picture book on your lap. The Voiceless Singers hovering in front of the golden orb—an orb that looks exactly like the light wire-frame rendition of the Halcyon System. The worlds burning and realities scoured clean. But there’s more.
Mme. Baudelaire’s done good work. You flip the page, and there’s the drawing—two people in a bunk bed, one standing between them and the monsters. But this time, it’s not Mom. It’s you.
{They will demand more from you, mademoiselle. You must decide how far you are willing to go to be the one standing in front of your friends and family. The warning you left your friend was a step. How many more will you take?}
You turn to the next page, and there you are, pushing through another merge portal—this time, with a handful of dark, shadowy figures on either side of you. They carry rifles and body armor, and one pushes a cart up the ramp.
You shiver. SHOCKS has never sent an expedition into a merge expecting long-term success—except for you. Director Ramirez must know something you don’t.
{No, he does not. Not yet. He is stumbling in the dark, but when he sees what you have seen, he will know enough. And you will be enlisted. I beg you to decide how far you are willing to go and to hold yourself to that line. Do not burn brightly for others without caring for yourself, mademoiselle.}
You shake your head and turn the page. It’s blank. The book drifts back to the shelf. Part of you wants another one, but Mme. Baudelaire doesn’t bring you one. The rest of you doesn’t feel like reading. You shut your eyes and curl up in the perfectly comfy armchair as the fire crackles and pops nearby.
How much are you willing to give? How far are you willing to go? Here in the Mindscape, only Mme. Baudelaire would hear your answer. You’ve already gone so far to keep them safe. You’ve already given so much.
But Director Ramirez is going to ask you to lead his Recovery and Stabilization Team into the void—into an unknown, dark planet below a supermassive orange-yellow sun. He’s going to ask you to put yourself—and all of them—on the line to…what? Either figure out what the Voiceless Singers want or stop them from pursuing it.
No one can hear your decision except a figment of your imagination. And that’s how you know it’s the Truth.
You’re willing to go all the way.