by E. C. Myers
“One of the tubes blew,” he said. “I replaced it. Who knew my dad had a collection of old vacuum tubes?”
“You're a genius,” Ephraim said. He flipped the coin to Nathan. It wobbled awkwardly through the air, and Nathan caught it.
Nathan took one look at it and whistled. “Any idea what happened?”
“Yes. We did something incredibly stupid.” He sat down. “But hopefully there's no permanent damage.”
Nathan came around to the front of the radio. “Give her another try,” he said.
“Her?” Ephraim asked.
“I feel like I've bonded with ‘Arciay’ now that I've had my hands inside her.” He swung the rusted RCA logo around on one loose screw on the face of the radio.
“And you gave it a name. You're rather bizarre, Nathan Mackenzie.”
“Thanks.”
Ephraim flipped the radio back on and crossed his fingers. Two of the dials remained dark, but the one in the center glowed faintly amber. The buzzing noise was gone, replaced with the hissing background noise of an active frequency. He didn't touch the knob—this was the station that had seemed strongest during their little experiment. He turned up the audio volume and set the headphones on top of the radio so Nathan could listen with him.
“This is Ephraim Scott,” he said. “Reaching out to anyone. Zoe Kim. Nathaniel Mackenzie. Anyone read?”
The radio crackled, and he repeated his message. Then he heard an eerily familiar voice reply through the headphones:
“Are you there, Ephraim? It's me, Ephraim.”
Ephraim stared at the ham radio in shock. He'd made contact…with himself?
Nathan jostled his shoulder. “What's going on?”
“It's one of my analogs,” Ephraim said. He twisted the right earpiece of the headphones so it faced out. Nathan leaned close to listen in.
Ephraim fumbled with the microphone and squeezed the transmit bar. “Am I really talking to myself?”
“Yes, but for the first time, you're getting an intelligent response.”
Nathan laughed. “I like him.”
“He's me,” Ephraim said. But which him was it? Was he talking to the analog he'd just swapped with? If so, he doubted he would be much help. “Where are you?” Ephraim asked.
“Seattle Below.”
“Just below Seattle?”
“More like under it. My turn. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” Ephraim said.
A sigh. “Are they recruiting kids now?”
“I'll be eighteen next month,” Ephraim said.
“Ah, youthful optimism. Good attitude to have, squirt.”
“Don't call me squirt,” Ephraim said.
“Sorry, Junior.”
Ephraim clenched his jaw. “And what should I call you?” he asked evenly. “It seems weird to call you Ephraim.”
“I've been Ephraim for much longer than you have,” his analog said. “But call me Scott, if that's easier for you.”
“Scott.” Ephraim tried it out. “How old are you?”
“Forty-two,” Scott said.
“So you're twenty-five years older than me. You were Nathaniel's partner?”
“You're brighter than you sound.”
“Aren't you supposed to be dead?”
“Give it time,” Scott said. “It won't be long now.”
“You abandoned your best friend in a universe with no way home,” Ephraim said.
“That was his own damned fault. I warned that idiot not to follow me,” Scott said.
“Asshole,” Nathan said.
Ephraim released the transmit button. “Quiet. We need him.”
“Hello? Are you still there?” Scott asked.
“He sounds panicked,” Nathan said. “Maybe he needs us.”
Ephraim started transmitting again. “I'm here.”
“I got your signal just in time,” Scott said.
“My signal?”
“That transmission you just sent pinged every universe simultaneously. I would have noticed it even if I hadn't been listening. How'd you do it?”
“Oh, yeah. That,” Ephraim said. Nathan handed him the misshapen quarter. He turned it over in his hand. “It was, um, child's play. Who were you listening for?”
“Everyone. Anyone. I've been trying to get in touch with Nathan or Jena, but I guess they aren't taking my calls,” Scott said.
“Probably not. You aren't expected. In fact, they think you're dead,” Ephraim said.
Scott sighed. “That's what I wanted them to think. I suck at good-byes.”
“I know. I heard the message you left for them,” Ephraim said. “I guess you made it to the transhumans' universe after all. Did you find what you were looking for? Are we causing the multiverse to collapse?”
“Yes and no. It started the moment the first universe was formed. It's an ongoing process that we've been interfering with. Now the multiverse is just overcompensating and speeding it along, a bit recklessly if you ask me.”
Ephraim leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“It's what we're good at. We're an unnatural element that disrupts the natural order of things. But it's more serious than forcing a few thousand species to extinction. Now we're all endangered, us along with everything in the multiverse. Go, humans. We're not supposed to communicate with other universes, let alone visit them and bring back souvenirs and tourists. Just talking to you right now is like pulling at a loose thread.”
“Are you sure?” Ephraim asked.
“As sure as I can be about anything, Junior. And you know it too, or you would still be with Jena and the others instead of in a universe twenty-five years in its past, talking to me with an amateur radio. I'm betting you ran just like I did.”
“You think you know a lot,” Ephraim said.
“Information is my business.” Static crackled on the speaker. “Which means I'm working myself to death.” Scott laughed harshly.
“I don't get it,” Nathan said.
Ephraim transmitted. “Why is that funny?”
“Information is everything, Little Eph. That's all we are. That's all the universe is. And right now the universe is suffering from a bad case of TMI.”
“Too much information?” Nathan shook his head. “I think he's nuts.”
“It does make sense though,” Ephraim said. He squeezed the microphone. “Dr. Kim, your Jena, she's trying to sort through all that information and force the multiverse to collapse into just one universe: hers.”
“So that's what she's doing,” Scott said. “That's like trying to cram ten pounds of shit into a five-pound bag. But she might be onto something.”
“Can we reverse it?” Ephraim asked.
There was a long silence. “Hello? Scott, are you still there?” Ephraim asked.
“I'm here,” Scott said.
“Can you repair the multiverse?” Ephraim asked.
“No. There's no reversing this. There's no separating universes or people that have already merged. We can't stop it, either. But we can let it run its course and mitigate the damage.” Ephraim heard dead air, then the radio clicked on again. “But it's all up to you, little buddy.”
Ephraim slumped in his seat. “That's what I was afraid of,” he muttered.
Nathan handed Ephraim the controller. “That should do it. As far as I can tell, it's in ‘receive mode.’ Like he instructed.”
“Great work,” Ephraim said.
“I didn't do much. That other you knew all the codes to get into the debugging subroutines for the controller. You could have done it without me.”
Ephraim considered the controller in his hand. He held it out to Nathan.
“I don't think so,” he said.
“You want me to come with you?” Nathan asked.
“It might be your last chance to see another universe,” Ephraim said.
Nathan grinned. “I thought you'd never ask.” He took the controller and tucked it into his pocket. He picked up his camera and checke
d through its settings. “Man, if I come back here with footage from a parallel universe on the brink of destruction, I might be able to win a Pulitzer.”
“You'd at least be able to get on Good Morning America. If you can get up that early.”
Nathan pointed the camera at Ephraim, and the red light flashed on.
“So, after we save the multiverse, who are you going to do?” Nathan asked.
“You mean ‘what.’ Then I say, ‘I'm going to Disney World.’” Ephraim sat in front of the silent radio and idly spun the dial. He watched Nathan's reflection in the glass window over the dial as he panned his camera over his dad's workroom.
“I stand by my original question,” Nathan said. “You can't celebrate heroism with a mere theme park. You deserve an entirely different kind of ride.” He swung the camera toward Ephraim. “I'm referring to sex.”
“I got that.” Ephraim grinned.
A muffled ringing sound filled the room.
“Your pants are ringing,” Ephraim said.
“That isn't my phone,” Nathan said. “Oh, that's the signal!”
Nathan slid the controller out of his pocket. It rang again.
“I thought it only looked like a phone,” Nathaniel said. “Are you telling me we could have just called for help?”
“Answer it,” Ephraim said. Scott had simply told him to be ready for the dimensional shift, but he hadn't given any useful details like how or when to expect it. Ephraim grabbed onto the camera strap around Nathan's neck and wrapped it once around his wrist, to make sure neither of them would be left behind.
Nathan opened the controller and held it up to his ear.
“Hello?” he said. “This is ridiculous. There's no speaker on this—”
A moment later the Mackenzie garage disappeared from around them and they reappeared in a vast room. Ephraim's ears popped painfully and he winced. When he opened his eyes, the lights went out, plunging them into darkness, except for blue lightning crackling above their heads.
That had been unlike any other dimensional shift he'd ever experienced. He realized he was now holding the camera from the strap.
“Nathan?”
Ephraim turned to see if Nathan was next to him, but the sudden motion in the darkness made him lose his balance. He tipped forward, caught himself, then doubled over and threw up.
He heard an echoing splash a few feet away that told him Nathan had shifted with him and was similarly incapacitated.
“Ugh,” Nathan said. “Something I ate didn't agree with me.” He coughed and spat. “Actually, I think that was everything I ate, ever. My whole life flushed before my eyes.”
Ephraim was glad he couldn't see anything. “It's the shift to another universe. You'll feel better in a second,” he said.
“You knew this would happen? That's why you gave Jena that bucket at the prom,” Nathan said. “You could have helped a bro out.”
“I've been to so many universes with your analogs, I forgot you've never shifted before. I'm more worried about the fact that I just got sick.”
He was okay, though. Ephraim straightened slowly. His balance was back to normal, and his hearing wasn't muffled like he was underwater. The space they were in was stifling, with the volcanic smell of hot machine oil. He heard clanking, the slow grind of metal against metal, a gentle humming sound that made him think of the coin, and something else. Footsteps on a metal catwalk?
“You all right?” Ephraim croaked. He spat in the darkness and hoped he didn't hit anything or anyone.
“Yeah. Aside from the bad taste in my mouth. And the blindness,” Nathan said. “Life isn't worth living if I can never see a woman again.”
“At least you'll have an excuse to touch one.”
Ephraim opened his mouth. That had been his voice, and he'd been having that very thought—but someone else said it first. The voice came from Nathan's other side.
“True. Where are you?” Nathan asked.
“I didn't say that,” Ephraim said. “The other me did. Scott.”
Lights strobed on overhead, and Ephraim could see the large room they were in. The lit area was easily the size of Greystone Park, but the edges receded into blackness, so he couldn't tell how big the space was. It was painted a gunmetal gray, and the light sources were several stories above him, like little suns floating in a dark sky.
A giant silver disc hovered directly above his head. It was illuminated by spotlights and encased in a shimmering transparent sphere, like a coin in a floating bubble. Blue electricity jumped from the metal disc and struck the sides of the globe as the disc slowly rotated horizontally inside it, reminding him of one of those novelty electric balls that he'd seen at science fairs.
The air itself vibrated with energy, and the floor trembled beneath Ephraim's feet. He looked down and saw that he and Nathan stood on a raised platform with a silver mesh floor that sparked with electricity.
“Wow,” Ephraim said.
Nathan took the camera from him. Ephraim had forgotten he was holding it.
“Get a shot of that thing,” Ephraim said, pointing up.
But Nathan was already interested in recording something behind Ephraim. “Shazam,” he muttered.
Ephraim turned…
And saw himself.
It was like looking in a mirror—if the mirror also dropped a hundred pounds, gave you long greasy hair, a bushy beard, and premature balding.
It was inarguably another, older Ephraim.
His skin was pasty with sallow patches, blemishes, and blisters. He had long, cracked, dirty fingernails. He smelled like a gym locker.
What was the protocol for meeting yourself? Should they hug or shake hands? The older Ephraim just seemed content to glare at his younger self and Nathan.
“You brought a plus one,” said Scott. He stomped across the floor toward them, his face red with anger. “No wonder we blew a fuse. I wasn't expecting to transport two people.”
“Chill, old dude,” Nathan said. “We made it safely.”
“I've never done that procedure before. You're lucky the two of you weren't fused together. Or that Nathan wasn't dead on arrival,” Scott said. “I used my DNA to lock onto yours, Ephraim, and followed the signal from the controller to pull you here. Just you and whatever was immediately in contact with your skin. When you both came through, it took me an extra moment to reassemble his molecules.”
Ephraim and Nathan had been connected only by the thin nylon strap of the camera, but it had been enough to bring his friend along when Scott triggered the shift. The strap must have passed through Nathan's body while he was still materializing, leaving Ephraim holding the camera.
“If I'd told you he was coming, would you have let him?” Ephraim asked.
“Definitely not,” Scott said.
“There you go,” Ephraim said. “I figured.”
“The shift put too much load on the Coherence Engine. If it had blown a circuit or been drained too much, it would all be over. Everything. As it is, I'm not even sure I can send you away again.” He turned and squinted up at the slowly rotating disc. “It's going to take a while to recharge, if we even have enough power to complete a cycle.”
“I wouldn't have brought him if I didn't think he would be helpful,” Ephraim said.
“I remember having better judgment at your age,” Scott said. “No offense, Nathan.”
“Plenty taken,” Nathan said. “What's your problem, man? We're on your side.”
“What are you recording with that camera?” Scott demanded.
“Right now? A loud dumbass.”
Scott's eyes bulged and he sputtered. Then he laughed.
“Don't mind him. You forget the camera's there after a while,” Ephraim said. “He's filming everything, like for a documentary.”
“Are you, now?” The older analog scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Everything?”
Nathan lowered the camera uncertainly.
“No, no. Keep doing what you're doing. Been at
it for a while?”
“Since the prom,” Nathan said.
“And you still have all that footage? With you?”
“You bet.” Nathan patted his camera bag. “I haven't had a chance to edit any of it yet.”
“Edit…” Scott faced Ephraim. “You might be right about him, Junior. You have good instincts after all.”
“Not sure if that's a compliment, coming from you.”
“We're our own harshest critics. I'm doing you a favor. If I can't be honest with you, no one will be.”
“I will,” Nathan chimed in.
Ephraim saluted him. “I can always count on you giving me your own skewed perspective on things. Whether I want to hear it or not.”
“Well, come on,” Scott said.
Ephraim hopped down from the platform. “Uh, sorry about the mess,” he said. “I don't know why I got so sick this time. Hasn't happened in a year.”
“For some strange reason, the human body doesn't take it well when its molecules are ripped apart, tunneled into another universe, and slammed back together again on the other side. It's even more stressful when you get pulled across space as well as across dimensions. You're in the Pacific Northwest now, about a thousand feet below the surface. That's a bit outside the range of the controller.”
“Are there any side effects?” Nathan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Any other side effects?”
“I wouldn't eat anything for a couple of hours, which is good because the food here's terrible, unless you like Meals, Ready-to-Eat. Oh, and you're probably sterile now,” Scott said.
“What?” Ephraim asked.
“You don't even want to have kids,” Scott said.
“I've changed my mind recently,” Ephraim said.
He'd never wanted to be responsible for disappointing a kid the way his parents had so often disappointed him. But meeting Doug had given him a different perspective.
Scott shook his head and walked away.
“No, seriously. Are we sterile?” Ephraim asked. He jogged to catch up with his older self.
“Hey. Is anyone going to clean this up?” Nathan almost slipped on the wet platform as he climbed down from it. He was pale and still a little shaky.
Scott glanced over his shoulder and considered the vomit dripping through the grating. He shrugged.
