“How soon could they arrive on Station Liminus?” Ignatia asked.
Finto tugged at the collar of his button-down shirt, trying to remember what his advisor had said. “Our Conroy operative should be ready any day now.”
At this, the table grew quiet, each delegate deep in thought.
“We must act. And to do so, we must vote,” Ignatia announced.
Key pads flickered to life on the table’s surface. Each council member entered their votes. Ignatia assessed the responses.
“It is not unanimous, but it is decided. Using regenerative therapies from our various dimensions, Earth will be put on temporary life support. If the selected Earthlings survive the trip across the Threshold, if they can make a compelling case for saving their planet, and if they prove that they can contribute in meaningful ways to the multiverse, we will consider additional aid. However, if justification for resuscitating Earth cannot be exhibited, we will pursue a targeted compactification.”
Bo’lar and Snortwraithe groused. Duna breathed a sigh of relief.
“Mr. Finto, you will return to your dimension at once and mobilize your envoys,” Ignatia instructed.
Salvido Finto stood and straightened his jacket. He desperately wanted to get out of the stuffy meeting chamber and back to Earth. “Thank you,” he said.
“Quirg, please escort the councilor to Gate Hall,” Ignatia said, rising to her feet. “Prepare to initiate a Transfer.”
The Klapprothi child hid in a forgotten corner of Station Liminus. Queen Eryna had given clear instructions: Gather information but stay out of sight. Stay out of trouble. Stay alive. She hadn’t said anything specifically about staying within the cramped capsule’s quarters. Virri was restless, bored, hungry. She would need to find her way back to Kor soon.
She climbed a bench, scaled the wall nimbly as a lizard. From there, she reached up, prodding the ceiling panels, careful not to scrape her sensitive fingertips on the sharp edges. She located the metal grate of a ventilation duct and used her three long, dexterous fingers to unscrew the bolts holding it in place. They came free easily. This made Virri smile. Escape routes were usually much more treacherous.
With almost liquid movement, she pulled herself up into the opening, her small size betraying impressive strength. She pressed her hands and sensory ports to the duct. She shivered. Not because the metal was cold to the touch, but because the vibrations from afar told her the emergency MAC meeting was not a calm one.
She needed to learn more. She crept silently through the duct system, winding deeper into the Station’s twisting innards. Without an illumabeam to guide her, the tunnels were as black as the darkspace beyond the Station’s outer walls. Virri navigated using touch alone.
She came to a ventilation chute. Somewhere far below, a mechanism clicked and rumbled. Suddenly, a valve opened, blowing scalding, acrid air into her face. She fell backward, her sensory ports stinging. She rubbed her face and hands, humming to heal the pain, until the burning sensation dulled.
She continued on, careful to avoid other release valves and gas lines. She traversed a split in the ductwork. Which way? She felt for a signal, then began to scale the vertical shaft overhead, secreting a sticky film from her palms that allowed her to climb without slipping.
Finally, she reached another juncture and pulled herself into a spacious tunnel. There, she paused, mapping the route in her mind’s eye, committing the labyrinthine ducts to memory. Left. Right. Down. Across. Up. Left again.
She stopped at the edge of a large polygonal grate, with louvers that opened and closed like gills. Below, twelve delegates debated loudly. Despite the rising volume, the Klapprothi child heard nothing. Like the others of her planet, she had lost her ability to hear after the plague.
The argument below grew louder; the sound vibrations unsettled Virri. She could not discern their exact meaning, but she knew there was nothing peaceful or harmonious about them. Instinctively, she curled herself into a tight knot, her retractable carapace hardening in a protective shell around her body.
6
EARTH
“We’re here!” Coach Diaz announced as the bus pulled up to a sprawling complex of hangars, research pods, administrative buildings, domed telescopes, radio towers, and more. The central structure was made of concrete, steel, and glass, its angled roof emblazoned with the NASA logo. For a moment, Dev glowed with pride. His dad worked here, and this place was cool.
Mrs. Minuzzi addressed the students. “Before we disembark, I would like to remind you that you are ambassadors for our school. Your words and actions are reflections of Conroy Middle School. Please conduct yourselves accordingly.”
“Attending field trips like this is a privilege, not a right!” Coach Diaz added, giving his whistle a toot.
“Yes. We expect your best behavior. Understood?” Mrs. Minuzzi asked.
A chorus of uh-huhs, yups, and sure, whatevers rumbled down the aisle.
Maeve stood and responded in an irritatingly chipper voice, “Yes, ma’am! Thank you, Mrs. Minuzzi, for your leadership and service! And thank you, Coach Diaz and Miss Panos, for chaperoning as well. We will make you proud.”
“What a suck-up,” Jamila muttered.
“Seriously,” Tessa responded, forgetting to act like Zoey.
Jamila quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone’s still harboring feelings about the drum major title …”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tessa replied, trying to regain her composure. Truthfully, she didn’t understand the dynamic between Zoey and Maeve. Ever since starting middle school, the twins had grown apart, sharing less and less, arguing more and more. Maybe swapping places for a few hours would give Tessa a chance to reconnect with Zoey in some way.
Dev picked up his saxophone case. “Why couldn’t I have chosen to play a smaller, lighter instrument, like, say, the piccolo?”
“You think that’s bad? I have to haul this around!” a ginger-haired boy named Nolan said, heaving a tuba off the bus.
One by one, the students made their way toward the main entrance. As Isaiah was about to exit the bus with his trumpet in hand, he stopped to thank the driver. The driver stared back at Isaiah. His right eye twitched, his expression shifted. In a gravelly voice he said, “May your journey be a bold one. May you find the answers you seek.”
“Uh, thanks?” Isaiah shrugged and stepped off the bus, trying to play it cool. Inside, he was jittery.
“What was that all about?” Dev asked.
“The bus driver told me to have a bold journey. Bizarro!” Isaiah laughed nervously. He’d record this Strange Occurrence in his journal as soon as they got inside.
“Huh. He told me to confront my darkest fears,” Dev said. “Which is extra weird because my mom said something very similar this morning.”
“That’s pretty heavy for a field trip.”
“Given my current circumstances, it actually makes sense. My dad works here.” He pointed to the building they were about to enter. “And I’m afraid he’s going to embarrass the pants off me.”
“That’s assuming you even have pants to embarrass off after Gage delivers that supersonic-atomic-bubonic wedgie he promised,” Lewis said.
“Not funny!” Dev jabbed Lewis with his elbow.
“Are you guys talking about Benni?” Maeve butted in. “He’s been driving Conroy buses since our parents were kids, back when they still ran on gas instead of solar energy. Can you imagine?”
“Yuck. No wonder the city had a smog problem.”
“Seriously. Gramps even claims Benni drove the bus back when his grandfather went to school, which can’t be possible. The guy would be like a hundred and fifty years old. Still, Benni’s been around a long time. Probably knows a few things. Maybe you should think long and hard about whatever he told you.”
“Well, what did he say to you?” Lewis asked.
Maeve tossed her shoulders back. “He said, ‘Choose truth over theater. Unless theater is your tr
uth.’ Which is, like, the most perfect thing for a performer like me.” She fanned her hands out dramatically. “He could clearly see I was born for the stage, the limelight.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but marching band isn’t exactly Hollywood.”
She huffed. “Obviously. But it’s a stepping-stone to greater things. A foundation of music and choreography. I mean, drama practically oozes from my pores.” She struck a pose.
“Are you sure whatever’s oozing isn’t actually leftover slime from that spack-attack?”
She narrowed her eyes at Isaiah. He closed his mouth quickly.
Lewis frowned. “All Benni said to me was, ‘Don’t touch anything, dimple-boy.’ ”
“See? Told you the guy was wise.” Maeve gave a satisfied nod. She turned on her heels and marched toward the entrance.
“Is it just me, or is that girl more annoying than usual today?” Lewis asked.
Dev shrugged. Maeve didn’t bother him that much. He actually sort of admired her gumption. Like Zoey, she wasn’t afraid to speak up. Maybe that explained why she and Zoey often butted heads. It was also probably one of the reasons Maeve was a regular victim of locker spack-attacks.
Nearby, Tessa was quiet, listening to the others. The bus driver had spoken to her, too. His dark blue eyes had bored into hers, like he was seeing beyond her. It sent a shiver down her spine. He had said, “May you embrace your true identity and find your voice.” Which meant she was probably doing a sucky job impersonating her sister. She would really need to up her game if she was going to pull off this whole imposter gig.
“Hurry along, everyone! Time waits for no one!” Mrs. Minuzzi beckoned the class toward a set of gleaming double doors.
7
STATION LIMINUS
“We received word that Mr. Finto transferred safely back to Earth and is resting at home in Milan,” Shro informed Ignatia.
A small group of councilors had gathered in the Station’s diplomatic salon for refreshments before an afternoon packed with judiciary hearings. Each of the thirteen dimensions was more or less autonomous, governing themselves however their dominant life-forms deemed fit and fair. However, cross-dimensional crimes and legal issues that arose on the neutral Station headquarters itself were tried by the MAC, under terms set forth in the Multiverse Accord.
“Resting?” Ignatia shook her head, sending a cascade of hair over her angular shoulders. “Shouldn’t he be assembling the envoys and debriefing them? His planet is on the verge of ruin and he decides to take a nap?” She sighed forlornly. “I fear I will never understand Earthlings …”
“It seems Finto did not tolerate Transfer well,” Shro explained. “He reported many side effects … stomach pains, intense headaches, warped vision, pixelated extremities.”
Ignatia set down her steaming mug of tartea. “What was that last one?”
“Apparently Mr. Finto claims that he cannot see or use his arms at this time. He says he can feel them, but his cellular realignments seem to be glitching.”
Quirg grumbled, “If they cannot handle Transfer, they should not participate in council matters. Simple enough.”
“Well,” Duna interjected, “each species reacts differently. Mertanyans such as myself cannot Transfer without severe molecular damage after the age of nineteen. That is why delegates from my dimension are always young, like me.”
Xol leaned back, picking his pincers with a sharpened claw. “Does this mean Finto will not be accompanying the selected Earthlings to the Station?”
“It is a possibility.” Shro stirred his tartea and added an extra cube of sweet succrolein.
“The Earthlings still have much to prove. I hope they do not waste this opportunity, for our sake and theirs.” Ignatia rose from her chair, her indigo robes moving liquidly around her. “I seem to have lost my appetite. I think I will take a brief walk through the Station to stretch my legs before our next session commences.”
Whenever she could shirk her governing duties for a few precious minutes, Ignatia liked to wander the Menagerie, the Arboretum, and Gate Hall, remarking on the beauty and variety of their great multiverse. It helped clear her head. Lately, she’d been more stressed than ever. The council had grown increasingly divided, with the tenor shifting from harmony to discord. It troubled her. She longed to confide in her longtime colleague and dear friend, Queen Eryna. But the quarantine was still under effect. For the time being, Ignatia was unable to send or receive transmissions to anyone on Klapproth.
She took a deep breath and walked briskly. She paused at the Arboretum’s large glass entryway. This time of year, the greenhouse was a riot of color—each ziffel, dahlia, and rosewhip blossom more extraordinary than the next, competing for pollinators’ attention. At night, the bioluminescent lichens were dazzling, as were the carnivorous rat-catchers, massive succulents that fed on nocturnal pests. She was grateful that Duna had proposed the initiative, and she hoped to expand the impressive collection of plants in the coming months.
In the Menagerie, Ignatia enjoyed watching golden eels writhe in tanks of slick mud, and hook-beak preybirds tending nests of feathered hatchlings. She couldn’t resist a quick visit to the playful poleers, who preened their checkered coats while chittering happily from cactus tops.
She turned and strode in the direction of Gate Hall, encountering Quirg, worrying over a red brick portal. As custodian of the Gates, Quirg was responsible for monitoring the Station’s entry and exit points. It was an important job; the MAC wouldn’t tolerate strange beasts or invasive species wandering into their headquarters, unchecked.
Permanent Gates were reserved for dimensional constituents who traveled to and from Station Liminus on a regular basis. Other portals came and went, shifting frequently, representing vernacular building techniques from across the multiverse. There were doors made of ancient stone, sleek carbonile cables, gleaming alloys, durable plastene. Some openings were built from wood, mud, and thatched straw. From time to time, brass-rimmed glass portholes appeared, offering glimpses of sparkling turquoise water and extraordinary aquatic creatures. Quirg liked those very much, but they made a mess when opened incorrectly.
The naturally occurring Gates, known as Rips, were the most troublesome. These arose with little warning, cleaving walls apart, their blackened edges raw and flashing with quantum lightning. Sometimes they closed moments after opening; others lingered for days, or years, like seeping wounds that wouldn’t heal.
“Do we know where the Earthlings will exit?” Ignatia asked, pausing to peer through a door at the landscape beyond, with black sand deserts, ice-capped mountains, and floating islands.
“Not yet,” Quirg replied, waddling to keep pace with long-limbed Ignatia, whose strides outmatched him by two. “Once Finto’s team initiates the transfer sequence, we should receive portal coordinates,” he said. “You will be notified immediately.”
Ignatia nodded her approval. “Thank you, Quirg.” With that, she turned to leave, eyeing the vast array of doors that led into and out of various dimensions.
Sometimes, when time allowed, she would linger and open a mossy door just to breathe in humid, orchid-scented jungle air, or feel the warmth of Ornstav’s sun on her face. Of course, not all dimensions contained such beauty and wonder. Danger, darkness, and terrible monsters lurked behind some doors. These remained locked, forbidden. Not even mighty Ignatia dared to go near them. As she departed Gate Hall, she hoped opening up the Station to the inhabitants of Earth was not a mistake.
8
EARTH
“Welcome to the Gwen Research Center!” a cheery guide named Ari greeted the Conroy students. She wore a cobalt-blue NASA-issued jumpsuit, a wide smile, and a silver nose ring. “We are one of ten NASA field stations in the United States.”
“That we know about,” mumbled Isaiah under his breath.
“Must you have a conspiracy theory about everything?” Maeve whispered back.
“I am a truth-seeker, okay?” He cast a sidelong glance
at Tessa, who still hadn’t spoken to him.
Dev was looking in the same direction, praying his father was too busy unscrambling the mysteries of the cosmos to make a surprise appearance and embarrass him in front of his crush.
“We’re excited to teach you about the groundbreaking and important work we do here,” Ari said. She gestured to an X-ray machine and metal detector. “Before the tour officially begins, you’ll each need to clear security. Standard procedure, like at an airport. Just to make sure no one is smuggling in any alien life-forms.” She winked and the chaperones chuckled.
“What’s the point of looking for aliens when we’ve already got plenty of freaks in our midst?” Gage murmured, just loud enough that Maeve and a few others could hear. “Did you enjoy your little locker redecoration this morning, Greene?”
Maeve’s upper lip quivered, then went ridged as she fought off tears. No matter how hard she tried, her pale skin betrayed her in moments like this, flushing deep red.
Isaiah watched out of the corner of his eye, his vision blurring at the edges as his anger grew. He homed in on Gage; Maeve was to his right, Nolan to his left. His eyes trailed Nolan’s arm, stopping at the huge tuba case, his thick fingers struggling against the weight. A few inches below was Gage’s foot. Tuba. Foot. Tuba. Foot. And then, as though Isaiah were willing it to happen, Nolan’s grip slipped and the huge case landed with a satisfying thunk!
“OOUCHHH!” Gage cried, jumping up and down, clutching his smashed toes.
“What is the matter?” Mrs. Minuzzi demanded as the boy flailed.
Gage pointed at Nolan. “He dropped that enormous … dorkwhistle on my foot!”
The class burst into laughter. Dev relished the fact that he wasn’t the source of their glee for once.
Coach Diaz cleared his throat. “I believe the correct term is tuba, Mr. Rawley.”
“It’s not funny! I think my toe’s broken!” Gage bellowed.
Mission Multiverse Page 5
