The other delegates blinked, their faces blank.
“Did you not understand the earlier transmission?” Ignatia asked, perplexed by the man’s unwarranted bravado.
“Perhaps his translator is broken?” Bo’lar, the Minister of Jelingor, said quietly, turning to General Shro, the delegate from Hasz, seated to her left.
“No, I think his translator is in fine working order,” Shro replied.
Quirg, a doughy, four-armed delegate from Quomo of Dim5, leaned over and whispered, “Perhaps the trip across the Threshold compromised his brain functionality?”
Ignatia struck the table with a ruby gavel, silencing the chatter. “Mr. Finto, we just informed you that your planet is on the brink of destruction.”
“Hogwash!” the man replied, shaking his head vehemently.
“Pardon?” Ignatia asked.
“I run one of the top energy operations in the world. EnerCor’s profits have never been higher. Earth is in great condition.”
“On the contrary. Scientists from across the multiverse have reviewed the data and they all concur: Your planet is in dire condition. If no action is taken, your great planet and all its great life-forms will perish. Is this clear?” Ignatia asked, her horns darkening with concern.
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Finto shot back, growing agitated.
“I should think not.”
He began to lose his composure. Spittle flew from his mouth. “You can’t just spring something like this on me! On us. Out of nowhere!”
“Oh, please,” Bo’lar replied. “You must have known that this outcome was inevitable. Treat a planet as you have—filling your seas with plastic, burning noxious fuel, roasting your ice caps like marshmallows, felling your forests—what did you expect?”
“Bo’lar is right. It is hard to have sympathy for you and your fellow Earthlings, Councilor Finto.” Governor Neel, a humanoid man of modest stature with pale blue skin and antennae extending from the top of his head, spoke clearly. “While the inhabitants of Earth only recently discovered how to cross the Threshold and connect with the broader multiverse, the rest of us have followed your civilization from afar for quite some time. I recall the efforts of many activists: Thunberg, Copeny, Bastida, Hirsi, Patel, Margolin, Nazar, and others. They all raised concerns about environmental degradation, protesting and pleading for change. Sadly, their efforts were largely ignored. By politicians, lobbyists, and businesspeople such as yourself.”
“How dare you!” Finto said, clenching his diminutive hands into fists.
“In their defense, the situation in Dim14 has escalated faster than anyone initially calculated. Exponentially so,” said Duna, a young, nonbinary delegate from Mertanya of Dim10, with frilled ears and green-tinted hair. “I believe there is much worth protecting on this planet.”
“Oh, really? Enlighten us, Duna. Have you truly amassed such vast stores of knowledge in your minor years?” Xol, a beetle-like creature, glared.
Duna looked up. “Do not patronize me. Even as the youngest member of the council, my voice—and vote—carries as much weight as yours. In my dimension, the opinions of our youth are as valid and respected as those of old crones.”
Xol’s face pinched into a scowl. He said no more.
“Earth has produced wondrous flora and fauna.” Duna glanced at Finto, trying to convey solidarity. “Even its humans, flawed as they may be, deserve our attention and care. Their history should not be lost, nor should their future.”
Finto sopped sweat from his neck and nodded gratefully.
“Do you propose we aid Dimension14 in some way?” asked Ignatia.
Shro scratched his chin. “Are reparative measures even feasible at this late phase?”
Ignatia considered this. The data projections were concerning. Still, she held on to a shred of hope that something could be done. Extinction was not a topic she took lightly.
“Hope is a very human thing, isn’t it?” Xol said, reading his colleague’s thoughts, plucking them from her mind, uninvited. Ignatia hated that Vermaskians could do this. “Stop immediately, or risk expulsion from the council,” she ordered. He slunk back in his chair, clacking his jaw defensively.
“We could assist with evacuation and resettlement. Terraforming efforts on Ebvar’s fourth moon have been largely successful. I’m sure we could engineer something suitable to human life. A little water, some oxygen, gravity, temperature regulations. Simple enough,” Shro offered. Ignatia was surprised but encouraged by the typically stern general’s tone.
“Perhaps if we ramp up our efforts, it will be fully inhabitable in a decade or so,” Governor Neel said.
“We have thirty days. Not a decade,” Duna reminded them all.
“Besides, only a handful of Gates exist linking Dim14 to the Station,” Quirg responded. “It would be impossible to move a population of billions across the multiverse in such a short time.” He turned in his chair. “What do you suggest, Mr. Finto?”
Finto’s mouth drooped like an angry child about to have a tantrum. When an agent from the World Intelligence Agency approached him about the highly confidential MAC gig a few weeks ago, he had been flattered. He accepted the diplomatic post thinking it would involve swanky interdimensional dinner parties, luxe soirees, and lucrative business opportunities. He hadn’t anticipated actual diplomacy or hard work of any kind.
An advisor had briefed him before he traveled to the Station, but she kept going on and on about the most boring details and he lost interest quickly. Instead of studying the binders of critical information she had prepared for him, he opted to play golf on his private course with a few of his closest billionaire buddies.
“Mr. Finto?” Secretary Leapkeene asked, her horns turning a disconcerting orange color.
Salvido Finto swallowed, but a lump remained in his throat. He was woefully unprepared. Rather than admit his shortcomings to himself or anyone else, he looked around the room for someone to blame for his own incompetence. That was how he had ascended through the ranks at Ener-Cor, after all. And, he knew, it was exactly how many great politicians operated on Earth. Surely, it would work well for him here, too.
4
EARTH
“You’ve got this,” Tessa said to herself under her breath as she boarded the bus for the field trip. She clutched Zoey’s clarinet case. It was both reassuring and frustrating that no one had figured out her true identity yet, and crazy how something as simple as a layer of clothing could sway people’s perceptions.
She wasn’t thrilled to be going on a boring tour of NASA, but on the upside, she was getting out of a dreaded algebra quiz. Even better, her brainiac twin would have to take the quiz in her place, which would definitely boost Tessa’s less-than-stellar average for the term.
“G’morning, Zoey!” a chaperone called from his seat behind the bus driver. He was stocky and bald, wearing chinos, an emerald green and yellow Conroy Cadets windbreaker, and a whistle on a lanyard around his neck. Tessa recognized him as the band coach. What was his name again? She knew it started with a B. Or was it D? Ugh. Better to just smile and nod.
“Excited for practice later today?” he asked. “We’ll be working on some really fun formations.”
“That sounds … empyrean!” Tessa imitated her sister’s typical cheeriness and annoying vocabulary. She was bringing her A-game to this swap because the stakes were high. If she got busted as an imposter, she would be forced to join the band—as a baton twirler. That would be a nightmare. Not only because her injured left wrist had a limited range of motion, but mostly because joining the band would mean wearing a uniform. As a rule, Tessa didn’t do polyester, especially metallic, ill-fitting, head-to-toe polyester with some feathery hat on top. She shuddered thinking about how ridiculous she would look. She wouldn’t lose this bet. She couldn’t.
“Hurry up, loser. You’re taking forever-ever-ever-ever …” Gage huffed a few feet behind, practically kicking Dev, who had stopped in the aisle to tie his shoe
laces. Dev quickly slid into the open seat behind Tessa, his face burning with shame. All he wanted was to make it through the day invisible and unscathed. As Gage passed, he dropped a string of cruel comments under his breath.
Tessa shot him a look of disgust. “You can’t say those things,” she snapped, in Dev’s defense. Zoey always spoke up in the face of injustice. Normally, Tessa was too shy to use her voice that way, but something about pretending to be her sister freed her from all that. She rose to her feet.
Gage squared his shoulders, lowered his voice so the teachers couldn’t hear. “What’re you going to do about it? Tell your popular, prettier sister? Or call your mommy, Mrs. Mayor? Everyone knows she has no real power. My parents own half the businesses and real estate in Conroy. With reelection coming up, your mom’s going to need all the help she can get. Chances are, she’ll come begging for my family’s endorsement.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to speak to people the way you just did,” Tessa said, disgusted.
Dev looked up at her, incredulous. She defied all his rules for surviving middle school. Although this scared him a little, he also respected her for it.
“But it does,” Gage spat. “I can pretty much do whatever I want.” He turned and stalked toward the back of the bus, kids parting like the sea around him.
Lewis climbed on board and flopped down next to Dev. “Hey, man. Why the sad face?”
“Gage,” Dev replied. One word said enough. He peered over the seat back sheepishly. “Thanks for sticking up for me, Zoey. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Sure I did.” Tessa’s heart was still hammering from the heated exchange. “Someone needs to put that punk in his place.” She couldn’t believe she had ever had a crush on Gage. Ugh. The thought made her want to puke.
“Seriously. Wanna prank him?” Lewis got a wicked glint in his eyes.
Blake stopped in her tracks, clearly mistaking the look for flirtation. “Oh, hi, Lew.” She batted her eyelashes.
Hailey sidled up next to her. “When’s your next race?” she asked, tossing her long chestnut hair over her shoulder. “We can’t wait to cheer you on.”
Lewis glanced sideways uncomfortably. “Um, I’m actually going to skip the next race. It conflicts with band practice.”
The girls’ faces scrunched up, like they smelled something rotten. “Really? What does your dad think about that?”
“Dad’s cool with it. Mom too.” This was a complete lie; Lewis hadn’t told his parents that he’d rather focus on music than sports. Besides, they were preoccupied with yoga classes, golf outings, and his brothers’ athletic achievements. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice if he quit the track team entirely?
Hailey and Blake moved on, whispering and giggling behind their hands.
Maeve boarded the bus last. She scanned the rows, trying and failing to make eye contact with someone, anyone, who might share their seat. Her cheeks grew hot, but she kept grinning. A star performer always stayed in character.
The bus lurched forward. “Finally! Thank you!” she said as a boy named Caleb moved reluctantly to make room for her. Maeve sat down—to the unmistakable tbllltttt of a whoopee cushion. The bus exploded with laughter.
Gage and his bully friends, Thaddeus and Lee, howled. “Play that on your flute!”
It’s not a flute, it’s an oboe, Maeve thought furiously. Aloud, she mused, “That would be a hard note to hit.” Her perky smile remained fixed in place. She spotted Lewis and Dev diagonally across the aisle. She reached out and tapped Lewis’s shoulder. “Was this your handiwork?”
He gave her an innocent Who, me? look.
She rolled her eyes. “Flatulence is a very natural occurrence, you know. Basic bodily functions are the lowest forms of humor.”
Lewis guffawed. “You insult me again, Maeve Greene. Whoopee cushions are a totally novice move. Like I told you earlier, I am an artiste.” He gave a chef’s kiss.
Someone made an armpit fart. The bus erupted with laughter again.
“All right! Settle down!” the bus driver hollered, turning onto the highway.
“We’ll arrive at our destination in half an hour,” added Mrs. Minuzzi, one of the trip chaperones. “I encourage you to engage in quiet and respectful conversation with your peers during this time. You may also choose to brainstorm thought-provoking questions to ask our tour guides later.”
A few seats behind Maeve, Isaiah slunk down low. He had plenty of unanswered questions. He pulled the Journal of Strange Occurrences out of his backpack and pretended not to overhear everything that was going on around him. Dev might’ve wished he could be invisible, but Isaiah was actually good at it. Ever since his uncle’s funeral, most people tiptoed around him, kids and teachers alike. He guessed it was better than being picked on, but some days he wished someone—anyone—would check in. Usually that was Zoey, except she’d ignored him all morning. Had he done something to upset her?
He spotted her reflection in the bus window. She was seated several rows ahead of him, next to a girl named Jamila who played trombone in the band. The silver cuff bracelet on Zoey’s left wrist glinted in the sunlight that was beginning to break through the rain clouds. Isaiah squinted. Wait a minute. Aside from a purple smartwatch, Zoey never wore jewelry. This was certainly a Strange Occurrence. He scribbled a note in his journal. He squinted. And was that mascara on her eyelashes? As he studied his friend more carefully, he realized Zoey wasn’t Zoey. She was Tessa, dressed as Zoey. He inhaled sharply.
His mind raced. Why hadn’t Zoey mentioned this plan to him? She’d been looking forward to the NASA field trip. Why would she willingly opt out? He supposed she could still go with the Monday group, but that would mean switching places with her sister again. Something was up, and Isaiah was determined to figure it out. But he wasn’t about to ruin the ruse. If the Hawthorne-Scott twins were up to something, he’d play along.
5
STATION LIMINUS
The meeting at Station Liminus was not going well. In fact, it was bordering on chaos. Ignatia rapped her ruby gavel, trying to regain some semblance of order and decorum.
“Earth does not deserve our assistance!” Xol cried.
Bo’lar sneered. “Agreed. Your people have brought this upon themselves. Let us not cause discord amongst the council. The Earthlings’ dilemma is not ours to fret over. Let their planet self-destruct.”
Cirzin’s three pale eyes flickered in his ancient oval face. “My fear is that the problems facing the inhabitants of Dim14 could affect the integrity of the multiverse, including our dimensions. These things can catch, you know.”
Shro’s body grew rigid, the muscles in his angular jaw taut.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Xol said with a huff. “Stupidity, greed, and complacency are not contagious.”
Admiral Snortwraithe shot a look at Finto. “That is debatable. However, cataclysmic environmental collapse is never a fully isolated phenomenon. Let us not forget that a long time ago, a similar event produced ripples, tears, and anomalies in the space-time continuum. Some of us, like myself, lived through it.”
Cirzin nodded slowly. “The fabric of our great multiverse has become increasingly volatile and interconnected in recent years.”
The room fell quiet. Finto scratched his head dully.
“What course of action do you propose, Cirzin?” Ignatia asked, hoping to move toward resolution.
He exhaled slowly. “A targeted compactification would minimize dimensional membrane damage.”
“What? You want to blow up Earth?” Duna said, slapping a hand onto the onyx table.
Cirzin shook his head. “Not blow up. Implode.”
“How is that different?” Duna asked.
“Compactification is a controlled procedure. To be clear, I do not wish to pursue this option, but it is an option.”
“No, no, no!” Finto shook his fists angrily. Being a delegate was no fun. At all.
Duna sat up taller. “I suggest we enact emergency re
storation measures, like a bandage, to keep the ailing planet functioning for at least one year. During that time, we invite a small group of Earthlings to visit Station Liminus. We train them in sustainable strategies, educate them about the multiverse, give them tools to succeed, then return them to their dimension to heal their planet.”
Quirg arched a spiked eyebrow.
Bo’lar grumbled. “You give them far too much credit. The Earthlings only recently managed to cross the Threshold. Most of them cannot even comprehend the possibility, let alone the sheer complexity, of the multiverse.” She set her six eyes on Finto. “Clearly, their intelligence levels are inferior. They will provide us with nothing but an interdimensional headache.”
“What if they offered us something in return? Something that would make the hassle worthwhile,” Shro suggested.
“As in?” Ignatia asked.
Shro regarded Mr. Finto. “I understand Earthlings possess certain technologies and skills that may prove valuable to the rest of our dimensions. Mr. Finto, you are an executive at a successful mining corporation, correct?”
He nodded proudly.
Shro turned to the council. “Perhaps the elusive regenerex ores on each of your planets could be extracted with his assistance?”
Secretary Leapkeene glanced at the empty chair to her left, reserved for Eryna, the powerful queen of Klapproth. She remained in quarantine on Dim2 since the silvox plague struck, rendering the entire population incommunicado. No one knew if, or when, Eryna would return to her post within the council.
“Good plan,” Finto said, as though he had been the one to suggest it. “Now that you mention it, I believe my advisor has already tapped a group of investors, er, candidates, for this sort of thing. Highly skilled technicians and brilliant thinkers. The best. The brightest. Hand-picked from across the globe.”
Mission Multiverse Page 4
