SHOCKS Headquarters, Victoria, British Columbia - May 31, 2043, 12:12 AM
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Paul Ramirez’s hands were sweaty.
He had the director’s computer—his computer—open, and as the seconds ticked by, he dug deeper into the few files of archived information on inter-merge expeditions. There weren’t many because most merges aggressively resisted crossings from R0 to the merged reality. Outside of the bubble, both realities went on, or when they pinched off, they left behind bits of themselves in R0.
He had two expeditions so far.
In the first, a Recovery and Stabilization Team had fallen through the barrier between R0 and R994. The reality on the other side had been hospitable but not friendly, and they’d burned through their ammunition on the hundreds of Anquan-Danger anomalies they’d encountered while trying to re-breach the merge wall. They hadn’t gotten back out, though their footage had—heavily corrupted, with static running for whole minutes. But SHOCKS had learned something about the nature of merges from it.
The second had been more disastrous for SHOCKS by far.
A single Agent had found herself on the far side of a merge between R0 and R1032. Sound had been broadcast live, indicating that R1032 had similar physics to R0. She’d reported back for weeks as she crossed a massive valley between impossibly sharp mountains, raiding settlements for supplies and fighting or running from things she tried and failed to describe as anything logical. After three weeks, she was pronounced dead, though contact continued for another month before she panicked, demanded an evacuation, and cut ties when the evacuation was denied.
When she’d walked back into SHOCKS Headquarters Everglades two months later, security had detained her. She’d sat for an interview for six hours, at the end of which the SHOCKS EVG Control Zone Director declared her an anomaly and had her escorted to a cell. She’d escaped, raided the armory, and broken free from the facility. Worse, she’d lied seamlessly in the interview, and SHOCKS couldn’t trust any of her testimony.
There were others, but they were minor events, little more than a minute or two in another reality, with few or no survivors. These two expeditions held the information SHOCKS needed.
First, Agent DeWalt had mentioned finding a key or a portal inside R1032. When she’d tried to activate it, she couldn’t, but she’d said she thought it would shut the whole merge down and give her a way out. She refused to elaborate further, but SHOCKS thought she’d been honest about that part with sixty-two percent certainty. She’d gotten out, after all. If true, it’d allow the organization to stop merges, not just counter them on the R0 side.
Second, the squad in R994 had reported leakage from the R0 side. Ramirez saw that for what it was; other realities merged with R0, but R0 also merged with other realities.
Combining that data with Sergeant Strauss’s trip into R93’s maze and Clarice Pendleton’s ability to navigate it—not to mention her sole possession of the JAMES system in the Victoria/Vancouver Island Control Zone—led Acting Director Ramirez to a conclusion he desperately didn’t want to arrive at. He tried to ignore it. If he didn’t say it out loud for fifteen minutes, that’d be fifteen minutes longer that SHOCKS wasn’t at a monster’s mercy.
Besides, there was one last piece of evidence.
He clicked his mouse, pulling up a map of Victoria with the Universal Reality Anchors marked across it. There were a half-dozen green ones in the James Bay area surrounding SHOCKS VVI Headquarters, a scattering of green and yellow around the map, and a blob of red and purple in Victoria’s northeast half and near Sooke. As he watched, one flickered from red to yellow, then hovered at the border of yellow and green.
He clicked on it, and it zoomed in on Landsdowne Middle School. Something had relieved the pressure on its URA.
“Shit,” he muttered. Fifteen minutes would be too long. He cleared his throat and looked at the RST trooper with whom he shared an office. “Olivia? I need advice.”
“Yeah? Spill.” Lieutenant Rodriguez sighed.
She looked too tired for games, and Doctor Ramirez was too scared for them. His sweaty hands shook as he turned his monitor toward her. “I think I can save SHOCKS VVI. Maybe even the city. And possibly…the world.”
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Landsdowne Middle School, Victoria, British Columbia - May 31, 2043, 12:12 AM
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I’ve sat in this chair before.
It’s a burnt orange plastic, the kind of dull color that doesn’t say it’s happy to see you and won’t be sad when you leave. Mrs. Nazaire wants a debriefing. That’s what Sergeant Strauss or Director Smith would call it. But she just asked me to see her in her office. That’s way more ominous. Did she do the teacher voice thing by reflex, or intentionally?
The burnt orange chair squeaks as I stand and walk back to the water fountain outside the office for the fourth time. The water’s cool, clear, and exactly what I need. You don’t realize how much you’ve missed cool water until you’ve been in a completely dry world for a whole morning. I let it dribble down my chin and across my parched lips—I’ve probably drank a gallon in the last ten minutes, and I’ll need the bathroom soon. The red color on my hands is starting to fade. Was it a sunburn or just dehydration?
The clock on the wall won’t stop ticking. And James isn’t helping. [Okay, it’s looking like Mindscape is a skill that’ll require some set-up. That won’t happen until you sleep and we find the rest of the components for it.]
“I’m not ready for a nap,” I say, sounding like a whiny baby.
[You don’t have time anyway. Mrs. Nazaire’s going to want to know everything.]
“She doesn’t have to know everything.” I’m not planning on lying to her—the XYZ equation doesn’t look good on that one—but she doesn’t need to know what the God in the Machine was or about the battle in James’s mindscape. I’m not sure how much detail I want to give her about the rest, either. SHOCKS isn’t powerful right now, but the last thing she’ll need is to deal with the boogeymen when things calm down.
Outside the office windows, I can see the big thinning I tried to enter yesterday. It looks angrier. Like it wants to pop. So, maybe things won’t calm down. I fidget and return to the orange chair, but my butt hasn’t even hit the plastic when Mrs. Nazaire comes back.
She’s got a haunted-looking expression on her face, and she looks at my bruises and cuts, then shrugs off a first-aid kit. “Those look mostly healed, but let me take a look at them,” she says, sighing.
I shake my head. None of the devoureds’ blows hurt as much as they should, and she’s right; my injuries don’t look fresh. They feel a couple of days old, the bruises turning brown and yellow like bananas instead of the plum color of freshly smashed skin. Nothing she can do will help them at this point. “I need to move on. Sora’s out there.”
She looks like I’ve slapped her. Then she composes herself and nods slowly. “Of course. And your family, right? Well, come in, and let’s talk about what happened.”
And I’m called into Mrs. Nazaire’s office for the second time in two days.
It’s hard to shake the feeling that I’m in trouble, especially because I have been so many times. I could leave—it’d be easy, just walk through the door, Slither or Smoke Form if I have to, and head for the exit. But Mrs. Nazaire deserves to know the truth, or as much of it as I can share.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
As soon as my butt hits the slightly more comfortable, green-cushioned chair, the floodgates open for Mrs. Nazaire. She learns more about that other reality than I expected to tell her; every part of my story brings questions. They’re cutting. They slice away my lies of omission and purposeful lies until the Z value of every lie outweighs the Y. I answer truthfully. Sometimes, the answer is, “I don’t want to talk about that,” but it’s always the truth.
She’s earned that for now.
When I finish talking about the tunnel escape and coming back to the meat-and-daffodil stench, Mrs. Nazaire clears her throat. There’s an expression on her face that’s somewhere between relief, disbelief, and nervousness. It lasts a second, but I see it. “Okay. The band room thinning is dealt with. Now we have to figure out how to deal with the big one.”
I gulp. James is already going off in my head about how I can’t stay for that. I wish I could mute him sometimes; there’s no way I’m going back into that reality. No. Way. Not without a gas mask, a yellow hazmat suit, and a flamethrower.
The rotten rose smell surges in my mind.
Maybe two flamethrowers.
“We’re stuck here. If it pops while we’re outside, there’s no way we’ll survive it long-term. I saw those monsters—“
“Devoured,” I interrupt.
“Devoured, then.” Mrs. Nazaire looks like she wants to pull the principal card and be an authority, but I’m pretty sure I’m stronger than her. I’m pretty sure I’m stronger than most people now. I narrow my eyes a little and stare at her until she composes herself and continues. “I saw them take bullets and keep coming. And whatever’s in that big thinning is worse.”
“I agree.”
We fall silent. Mrs. Nazaire looks like she’s trying to work through some argument that’d make me stay and help them, and I’m working through reasons why I should and shouldn’t listen to her. Because I really want to help. It’s the right thing to do.
But I can’t. Not right now.
I’ve already wasted too much time here and at Aberdeen Hospital. Sora’s out there; if it’s bad in Duncan, she’ll need my help. Alice and Dad could use it, too, if they’ll listen to me. Besides, the Landsdowne staff has a shelter and a Universal Reality Anchor that seems like it’s working. If there’s anywhere in Victoria where they’ll be safe…
It’s SHOCKS Headquarters.
That realization strikes me like a fist. I push it out of my head, because that’s not happening. SHOCKS has no interest in helping a couple of random people. They’re dealing with bigger stuff, like trying to cover all of this up. The shelter is the best place Mrs. Nazaire and her people can be.
I clear my throat to tell her that, but she interrupts before I can get going. “No, I see it. You’re going to say no.” Her face is pale, and she won’t meet my eyes. Is she about to lie to me? “That’s fine. We’ll be okay here. You did enough for us.”
One of those is the lie. Maybe two. But there’s a truth in there, too, and I can’t separate them. “Listen, if you want to try getting somewhere—“
“No. I think that whatever’s happening, our best option is to stay here. We’re not trained or organized enough to try moving, not if something like the devoured find us. We’ll be okay.”
That’s a lie, too.
I let it slide.
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It’s almost three by the time I finally leave Landsdowne’s Middle School’s stacked square windows and make it past the row of trees. My backpack weighs a ton now, the prunes and banana chips replaced with single-serving pre-packaged cafeteria food. I don’t think I’ll need it on the four or five-mile walk to Ten Mile Point. But it all beats prunes, and that’s the truth.
Behind me, a figure shadows me on the other side of the windows. It waves at me, and I wave back. I’m not stupid enough to turn around or say anything because if I did that, I’d end up trying to help them, and I can’t do anything about the big thinning.
All I can do is sneak past it and figure out how to help my friends and family survive when it merges.
Cadboro Bay Road cuts north past an abandoned golf course; the huge thinning’s shimmering, colored wall hangs over the overgrown grass just a couple of feet from the cracked sidewalk. I cross the street to get four lanes of asphalt between me and the thinning, just in case. And I hold the Revolver’s grip tight.
But nothing happens at the Uplands Golf Club. James is quiet. I’m not sure what he’s up to; he’s probably trying to break into some locked-down section of the SHOCKS database, or compiling data on Provisional Reality AAA. I already know what I need to know about it. The God in the Machine’s done, and that reality’s no longer a threat to ours. It ended itself, and there’s no one left to merge it with R0.
I shiver. What if they’d merged a few weeks earlier? Would the God in the Machine have been able to come across or send his people to Victoria? And would they have brought the devoured plague with them? The newspaper article I read made it sound really fast; if it was going to be a problem here, now, I’d know already.
[Claire?] James sounds almost tentative…hesitant. I tense. He’s had subjects he didn’t want to broach before, but I’ve been the one asking the questions all those times.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
[In updating my database entry for you, I’m encountering several dead ends relating to your family. There’s plenty of information on Alice and Robert Pendleton, and I remember small chunks of it, but it wasn’t in Strauss’s helmet drives. Could you answer a few questions?]
“No.” My mind flips back to the West End High bathroom and to James asking me about my birthday and the day Mom died. Those details aren’t something I can share with the Truth Club—I’ve tried. And if I can’t trust Sora with the absolute Truth, the Truth that’s shaped every truth I’ve shared with her and Keith, then how can I trust James with it? Sure, he’s seen the official reports, but they don’t cover everything, and they’re just facts. None of the fear, the helplessness. Just the blackest and whitest, most sanitized facts about my case.
So, as the silence stretches, I clear my throat. “No. Look, I get it that you want to run a sim or something, but I can’t.”
[Are you sure? The database entry could go a long way toward sorting through your memories of the past ten days or so. I’d be happy to enable confidentiality protocols to keep what you share from falling into the wrong hands.]
“No,” I say for a third time, fists clenching in my hoodie pocket. What’s so hard to get about no? I think about asking James that, but he goes silent for long enough that I think the conversation’s over.
The road loops east around Cadboro Bay, and I can see the towering basic living buildings in the distance. They’re gigantic rectangles with shining blackish windows that reflect the afternoon sun in my eyes, but before I shield them, I look toward the one that’s my home. Is Alice looking out? Or are she and Dad busy distracting themselves with phone calls to friends and bottles?
I have too many questions. And they’re not moving me toward Ten Mile Point.
“Help me with this equation,” I say, as much to distract James from his nosing around as because I care about the answer. He doesn’t need to know more about Dad than he already does. Or about Alice. All he needs to know about her is that she’s a liar, and he refuses to see that.
[Sure, shoot.]
“The math is for that big thinning. I want to know how much of Victoria it’ll swamp if it pops.” I keep walking on the far side of the road from the golf course. “Will we be safe in Ten Mile Point?”
[Analyzing. Running simulations.] James goes quiet, and I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
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Sora knows something about architecture.
She knows that most of the apartment complexes and basic living buildings on Victoria’s fringes are brutalist—and that they’re not the cool kind of brutalist. They’re square, concrete monoliths that stick out from the earth around them like a gap-filled smile. She knows this because her brother wants to go to university to be an architect. But Itsuki Ito’s grades probably aren’t good enough to get in, and I could never figure out why Sora was reading his textbooks, anyway.
The point is that the basic living buildings stick out like a sore thumb, especially compared to downtown Victoria and Hillside Avenue. There’s a staggered wall of them on the edge of Ten Mile Point. We live in the third row, Building Three-Five, Floor Twelve, Apartment 1245. It’s a one-bedroom apartment because that’s what was available after Mom died, and Dad’s never bothered applying for a two or three-bedroom place.
Building Three-Five is still a ways away, but I can see the red-painted top floor in the distance—the only nod to art in the whole building. Everything else is mathematically precise: exactly eight hundred square feet for a single-bed apartment, nine hundred for a two-bed, and eleven hundred for a three. Hallways are four feet wide, and the common area is hollow and open from the first floor’s tile floor to the top’s drop-panel ceiling.
It’ll be familiar when I get there. But I’ve never walked into Ten Mile Point. I’ve always taken the bus.
I stand on the corner of Telegraph Bay and Arbutus, staring at the basic living buildings. They’re lined up like soldiers facing the massive thinning behind me. I glance back. The silver and multicolored glimmer covers the horizon.
It’s glowing.
My ears are ringing.
Shit.
[Simulation finished. That’ll cover the whole north side of the city, easy,] James says.
Shit.
The thinning glows brighter and more vibrant, but I’m not sticking around to find out what’s in it. My ears pop, but I’m already running toward Building Three-Five, Floor Twelve, Apartment 1245.
I get close when the thinning’s bright white light fills the air behind me. Will the maroon sun overpower the clouds? Is the buzz starting? No, I’m not doing this. I’m still running, even if it’s pointless. As long as I don’t blink, it won’t merge, I think crazily. I can control when it merges. I can stop it.
I blink.
Sure enough, in the fraction of a second I can’t see, Victoria merges. Thunder booms, lightning fills the skies, and every electric light in the city flares and sparks out at the same time before resetting. As I dash toward its metal-grilled doors, the fungus starts climbing Building Three-Five’s walls. It’s already dying, but I can’t breathe. I won’t let myself breathe.
The rose smell’s still rotten, but it’s too close to the merge that killed my mom. I can’t help it. I breathe in just as my hand closes on the door latch. There’s no time for equations, or James, or anything else. My lungs fill with fungus hunting for a warm, safe spot to grow, but I force myself to cough even as I collapse on the cheap tile atrium floor. The coughs hit like trucks, but my lungs empty the dying fungus onto the Basic Living Building’s cold floor.
I look around.
No one’s here.