SHOCKS Headquarters, Victoria, British Columbia - June 2, 2043, 10:24 PM
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Doctor Ramirez hadn’t slept—not since he’d been ‘promoted’ to Director. The new job didn’t come with a pay raise or better benefits. The only thing it came with was the overwhelming pressure of knowing he—and he alone—was responsible for everything. And, of course, he was only promoted temporarily, during a crisis. Either he’d steer them through the storm and return to being a Researcher, or the ship would capsize, and he’d be a cautionary tale about risk-taking. Or, worse, he’d win and then be put on trial for crimes against…well, everyone.
His vision blurred as he stared at the computer screen, waiting to give his authorization for the rest of SHOCKS Victoria/Vancouver Island to finish moving anomalies and assembling his doomsday device.
No matter how he tried to justify it, that’s how it came out, and all his external calm—funny, ha ha, and all that—couldn’t hide his nerves. If SHOCKS Victoria/Vancouver Island wasn’t facing the end of the world already, on their own, he’d never consider this as more than an intellectual exercise. Maybe not even that.
As it was, it was their best chance at containing the damage to the island.
Object 723-V-1/RP was already in position, though it was, at present, unpowered. Plugging it in was the absolute last step, but assembling the various security systems and failsafes—not to mention failsafes for the failsafes—could begin. It’d take an hour or two for the assembly team to finish that job. Then they could start opening up merges. It was the catalyst, and the whole device they’d cobbled together was there to contain it in one spot for the second anomaly to do its job.
Object 1092-V-12/S, had been installed first. The hard part had been the transfer. SHOCKs had needed to relocate every Xuduo-Danger anomaly between its isolated containment unit and the JAMES Experimental Wing. Then, they’d needed to set up a series of relays to catch it as it moved through the facility, restricting its effect to the halls. The process had taken almost the whole day, but it was safely ensconced within what he’d started to think of as Sector Zero.
Unlike 723-RP, 1092-S was already active. Powered or unpowered, it was constantly exerting its effect on the room around it. He’d ordered a full evacuation of all nonessential personnel from Sector Zero; only a handful of security officers and three researchers—including himself—would be at risk for tomorrow morning’s test run.
That left Subject 573-V-1/IO Alpha. Claire hadn’t left the Geren-Danger wing since she’d arrived. According to the no-doubt-compromised security systems, she’d spent most of the day talking with the second-oldest Ito sibling. Paul couldn’t help but feel suspicious of that, though. In all their previous experiences, she’d been slippery at best and, at worst, had outmaneuvered their best agents. No, she had to be up to something.
But what if she wasn’t? What if she’d gone along with his plan to keep her friends and family safe, and for no other reason? And—he shuddered—what if it didn’t work?
Out of curiosity, he typed a sentence into his computer.
Nothing. He tried a half-dozen variations, seeing if he could get a response. The JAMES Unit was definitely back in the facility; shortly after Claire and her family arrived, every firewall had breached simultaneously, and all the antivirus and encryption programs had flickered offline for three seconds. Then, they’d rebooted as if nothing had happened. But something had.
So, the JAMES Unit was here. It was everywhere but their most secure, air-gapped terminals.
Paul’s palms were sweaty as he stared at the computer. He’d double and triple-checked his calculations, but if something went wrong…
Nothing. Paul stared at the computer through blurry eyes. Even when a hand touched his shoulder and Lieutenant Olivia Rodriguez ordered him to get some sleep, he kept staring for another fifteen minutes. The JAMES Unit had to know whether this would work. What he was missing. But it refused to talk to him.
He stood up, shutting down the computer, and left the office.
Whatever happened would happen, and he’d have to make the best of it. Or, more likely, die trying.
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SHOCKS Headquarters, Victoria, British Columbia - June 2, 2043, 10:43 PM
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[…Director Ramirez’s calculations look correct, and it should be doable with the anomalies they’re using,] James says. He’s been talking in my ear for the last minute or so, doing his ten thousandth check of the math. And I’ve been ignoring him. Some things are more important than tomorrow’s weird science experiment.
“Okay, next truth,” Sora says from her bed. Her desk chair’s pretty comfy, so I’m turning circles in it; SHOCKS did a lot better for us than they did for me the first time. Her voice drops. “I told you about Itsuki failing his classes, right?”
“Yeah. Sorry I couldn’t share mine.”
“No problem. You can share it now. But Itsuki…well, it’s not just failing English. They found some pills in his room a couple of weeks ago, ones he’s not supposed to have. It’s turned into a whole thing. Before this, they were talking about sending him away somewhere to ‘detox’ or whatever. And he’s been pissed since they found out. So there’s a ton of drama—which has been great because everyone’s leaving me alone.”
I nod slowly. “I get it. Dad’s a drinker.”
“Oh.” Sora pauses. I’ve never shared much about Dad other than that he’s a liar and doesn’t do anything. And other than Alice’s part for getting into West End, I haven’t had friends over since third grade. If I want to hang out, I go there.
Just like I’ve gone there now. Alice is holed up in her room, trying her best to make it her idea of home. And Dad’s working through another bottle of something. I told SHOCKS not to give him anything, but they didn’t listen, and I’m furious about it. If I have the power to boss them around on how we get here, I should have the power to cut Dad off.
But apparently, I don’t. Apparently, that’s not okay. And that’s part of why I’m ignoring James. I’m angry, and I don’t want to hear about SHOCKS when they’re already carving away at the agreement we made. But I’m not ready to have him destroy SHOCKS yet. Almost. But not yet.
I needed some space, so I’m here, in Sora’s cell. Her brother’s one over, the younger girls are sharing, and Mr. and Mrs. Ito get one of their own. I peeked in on them as I came over, and they’re…a little in shock. There’s a lot of confusion. But I don’t want to deal with it; SHOCKS can figure that out. If they don’t want to help with my Dad problem like they agreed to, I don’t want to help them let their new guests understand what’s happening.
It’s petty, but it’s the truth, and it makes me feel better.
“How long?” Sora asks. I tear myself away from that train of thought.
"How long what?” I ask, mostly to buy some time. Sora’s part of the Truth Club, and she should be someone I can trust with this…but James? I’m not so sure James needs to know everything I’d have to tell Sora if I decide on the whole truth.
“How long has he been drinking? Itsuki’s probably only been taking pills for a couple of months at most, and they’re supposed to be for concentration or something, but it’s still kind of weird to think about him being on drugs.”
“Uh, ten years. I’d rather…” I’d rather what? Not talk about it? That’s an option. Or maybe explain to her that it’s personal and hurts so much? Possibly better, or possibly not. She’s sharing stuff that’s personal for her family—and I know her parents would do anything to keep their reputation intact, including pulling strings to manipulate their son’s grades. So this is a big violation of their trust to put her trust in me.
And James deserves to know. I’ve thought about that, and it’s not even that he was right, and that a better profile of my family might’ve helped me realize Director Smith was there. It’s that he’s earned that trust.
“I’d rather not talk about it. It was a long time ago, but that’s when Mom died,” I find myself saying. Then I keep going. “I need to share a Truth, though.”
“Okay,” Sora says. She doesn’t say the line we made up for Truth Club, but the last few days have really stretched how much I care about the ritual. She looks a lot less disappointed, too, maybe because I shared something.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“I’ve got a friend in here with me. His name’s James, and he’s…not exactly an AI. But he’s taking over all the boogeymens’ electronics and stuff.” I yawn. It’s been a long day.
Sora’s eyes narrow, like she’s looking for the lie. Then she nods matter-of-factly. That’s the nice thing about Truth Club. Even if something’s unbelievable, if it’s said as a Truth, we believe it. “Okay. Can I meet him?”
[Right now’s a bad time,] James says. [I’ve only got a few spare processing loops; something is going down near Los Angeles, and I’m trying to run several hundred people through the same integration process I did with Alice. I’m also still trying to take over a few more isolated systems here, but I’m ahead of schedule on that.]
“Got it,” I say. Then I shake my head. “He’s got about a thousand things he’s dealing with right now. Crises all over the place, you know how it is with boys.”
The room fills with laughter for a minute. Then, a yawn again. “I’ll talk to you later, Sora.”
“Bye, Claire.”
As I disappear into my own room and start running a hot shower, the minutes slip by until tomorrow morning, when I’m going to have to be on my best behavior for SHOCKS. Director Twitchy’s explanation of what I’m supposed to be doing makes no sense; I’m a failsafe or an off switch or something. I let myself sink into the steam for a while, then crawl into bed.
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SHOCKS Headquarters, Victoria, British Columbia - June 3, 2043, 6:52 AM
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“Okay, Claire, running this one more time. You’re going to be an experiment, and while you’re in there, you won’t be able to talk with me,” Sora says. She’s grumpy because I woke her up—and because I got through her locked door to do it. “So you want to install your AI friend in my augs?”
“No. James is already in your augs, and he’s not really an AI,” I say again. That’s not a lie. Sometime around three in the morning, James woke me up to announce that he had every electronic device in SHOCKS Headquarters under at least partial control. It wasn’t as subtle as he’d hoped, and there were a few individual systems he couldn’t access without, and I quote, ‘triggering the facility’s containment failsafe systems,’ but SHOCKS hasn’t been able to do anything without him knowing since.
“So why are you asking me, then?” Sora’s eyes narrow. “It’s already done.”
“I asked him to voluntarily keep the connections to my friends and family closed until he’s got permission. I trust him. He’ll respect that.”
“What about Alice?”
“She’s different, and you know why,” I shoot back. There are a million reasons Alice’s situation’s different. Sora only knows one or two of them.
“Okay.” Sora takes a deep breath and looks down at the book she was reading last night. It’s about an architect with an authority problem or something. I asked her about it, and she doesn’t think it’s that great. There’s supposed to be a message about creativity and being better than mindless drones in it, but halfway through, she can’t see it yet. Her brother had it when they left Duncan, though, and SHOCKS seems to be struggling with providing reading material.
“Okay,” she says again. “But if he’s obnoxious, I’m shutting him down again. He’ll listen, right?”
[Correct, Miss Ito,] James says. [I’ll also announce my presence, and my main purpose is to allow a relayed communication between Claire and you when she’s in a thinning or merge.]
Sora’s eyes widen. I know she’s played around with AI at school, but James is…different. He’s so much more human, even when he’s talking like…whatever he’s talking like. Someone with a stick up their butt, or something. I don’t know. It feels stiff and formal—like a cartoon of James. Maybe that’s what Sora needs, though?
“So, yeah, that’s that. James is a friend, and he’s got a connection with Alice too, so…uh, yeah.” I pause. “But you’re my best support if something gets weird, so be ready for James to talk to you for the next couple of hours.” I stand up, pushing off her bed. “Okay. I’ve gotta go.”
That’s true too. As I shut Sora’s door behind her and slip into the hall, a familiar face falls into lockstep next to me—and slightly behind. I ignore Strauss for now, though.
I already know where I’m going. The Joint Anomaly Management Enhancement System: Experimental Sector.
That’s the best place in the whole facility to run a wildly dangerous experiment where the boogeymen smash together anomalies. It’s got the space, the security protocols, and it’s empty right now. Easy deduction.
Plus, James told me this morning.
Sora’s got my back. She’ll act as my outside man during whatever this thing is. What’s annoying me now is that the Halcyon System still doesn’t think my people—Sora and my family—are safe. That Inquiry’s still not answered. I tried talking to James about it, but he doesn’t know anything, either.
As we hurry through the cleared Xuduo-Danger wing, something tickles the back of my throat, and my ears start ringing. Damn tinnitus. Strauss keeps lockstep with me, not saying anything, but it’s not a comfortable silence. He’s got something to say. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he lies. That one’s not worth arguing about, so I let the silence hang.
We arrive at the door, Strauss scans his thumbprint and I scan mine, and the door to the airlock pops open. The second it closes, he starts talking. “What Director Ramirez has rigged up here is highly illegal and, more importantly, against SHOCKS regulations. I’m supposed to get your word that neither of you will leak the specifics of what this device does. Once that happens, I’ll let you in.”
I nod.
“Verbal confirmation, and a digital confirmation from the JAMES Unit,” he says.
“Fine,” I say.
A second later, something dings in Strauss’s headset, loud enough for me to hear. He winces, then nods. “Okay.”
The door opens.
And, right in the intersection of the burned, half-destroyed T, just below the auto turret on the ceiling, is a portal. Or at least, something that could be a portal. Right now, it’s just dull steel bent and welded into a hexadecagon, twenty feet high and just as wide, with a steel ramp leading up into it. Even from this far away, I can see how rough the joints are. Researchers in labocats swarm over it as Director Twitchy orders them around. As soon as I see it, it’s obvious what it is.
The merge generator.
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Director Twitchy looks up from the laptop he’s been tinkering with when he’s not giving orders. It’s connected by a long cable to a military-style helmet that’s painted black with a dozen different doohickeys sticking off it. He waves Strauss and me over, tightening a screw on the helmet’s side as sparks fly out of its wiring. “Claire, thank you for joining us.”
I don’t say anything. This is the most comfortable I’ve seen Director Twitchy; his hands are still sweaty, but his eyes look different. They’re focused—maybe too focused. As I stare back at him, he shifts. “That means all our components are together, and we can begin! Your job is simple. We’ll bring you into contact with a stable merge by combining two other anomalies. Then you’ll go into the merged reality on the far side, and we’ll gather data while searching for a way to shut it down.”
The screw finally tightens as much as he can turn it, and he sets the helmet down on the table. I raise my eyebrow at it. “That’s for the data?”
“Correct! We’re aware that you have the JAMES Unit onboard in your augs, but, frankly, they were outdated when you had them installed, and we don’t have time for you to re-learn a brand new model that doesn’t match your reflexes and how your muscles have adapted to your basic Radia models, so we’re searching for the correct two or three possible upgrades. Once we have them, we’ll get your augs up to standard, but for now…this.”
“What does it do?”
I regret asking the moment the words are out of my mouth. Director Twitchy’s off on a tangent about all the different spectrums the helmet can see in, the fiber-optic cord that’s been treated with some particle or other to allow it to cross merges, and on and on. At the same time, James won’t stop complaining about how he could do all those things if my augs weren’t shit.
After a few seconds, I clear my throat, pointing at Strauss. “And he’s coming with me?”
“No. Not unless the merged reality we’re connected with is one where an RST would be helpful, and not until we know you can complete your main objective.”
“I’ve shut down merges before,” I say, eyes narrowing at the helmet. “I broke a thinning in the Landsdowne Middle School band room. It was a puzzle inside, though. But a RST could probably do the same thing.”
“Not with the same rate of success you have. You’ve come back from one hundred percent of the merged realities you’ve entered, while RSTs have less than a half-percent survival rate. But back to the helmet, it should allow us to talk with you across realities.”
I’m not thrilled about that. At all. But for now, I hold my tongue—I can have James kill it if it gets to be too much. Besides, we’re all supposed to be working together, on the same side, or whatever. I’m not convinced, but James hasn’t actually called out any foul play on their part. As long as they keep their word, I’ll play along. “What about my dad?”
“What about him?” Director Twitchy asks, and I glare until he looks away, brow furrowing. “The alcohol in his room? We’re committed to our agreement, but detoxification isn’t something that you can magically do—not without an anomaly that’s got some pretty nasty side effects. I’d go into it, but we’re looking at half an hour before it’s go time, so trust me when I say the process started the moment Mr. Pendleton arrived here and that doing it safely will take weeks.”
I don’t trust him. And there’s nothing in the computer systems James has access to—all of them, essentially—showing that they’re doing anything to help Dad. The math doesn’t add up, but I also can’t see them lying about this, and from what I can pick up, Doctor Twitchy’s telling the truth. That there is a process to all this, and that they’re working on it. So maybe…maybe they just haven’t bureaucratized it or whatever.
“Okay. What’s the thinning?”
Doctor Twitchy’s face clears instantly. “Oh! Yes, the merge. We’re running a test merge this time. If my math is right—“
[It is,” James interrupts. [Given the information he has access to, he’s done a good job on this project. There are likely to be some instabilities he hasn’t predicted, but I don’t have any better information, so we’ll have to take a few risks.]
“—the merge should be one of three, all with nothing more than Geren-Danger anomalies inside. We’ll brief you on the specific one we merge with once we activate the device.”
“Okay.” I go quiet. Everything looks right, according to James. “How long until we try this?”
“Thirty-seven minutes.”
“Fine.” I turn away and head toward the wreckage of James’s old weight room. There’s a bench there, and when I arrive, I sit down and watch the hexadecagon-shaped portal slowly start to glow and hum. Its iridescent colors flash faster and faster as the thinning forms over almost half an hour until the ringing in my ears is almost unbearable.
And I’m not the only person who’s struggling. Some of the scientists working in the room look almost as sweaty as Doctor Twitchy, and everyone looks pale. One of them reaches for her ear, sticks a finger inside, and wiggles it around.
“That won’t help,” I find myself saying. “You’ve got to shut down the thinning or leave. Otherwise, it won’t stop. And you’re not going to shut it down from this side, are you?”
“No,” she says. “It’s a self-sustaining thing now that we’ve powered Object 723-V-1/RP. The reality level imbalance will feed the merge even if we shut off the power. We’re fully operational, security is in place, but there’s only one way to turn it off—at least, I think there’s only one way.”
“Got it.” I walk over to the table and put the helmet on. The cable clips onto a harness, which straps over my hoodie, and pulls on my back as I walk toward the merge portal, but at least everything’s closer to my size than the last time I wore SHOCKS gear.
Then the tinnitus gets overwhelming, and I push through into another reality.
It’s damp.