by E. C. Myers
“No point,” he said.
Nathan walked backward, recording the giant gyroscope turning slowly over the platform. Ephraim realized the bubble was slowly descending, like the crystal ball in Times Square at New Year's. Rainbow patterns swirled over the surface of the globe, and sometimes he caught flickers of cities and faces.
“If we're underground, what's topside? Zombies? Dinosaurs?”
“Toxic levels of radiation and an atmosphere you wouldn't want to breathe for more than ten minutes. And billions of rotting corpses. For humanity's last trick: mass suicide.”
Nathan blanched.
“So people went underground to survive,” Ephraim said. “Where are they now?”
“They escaped to other universes,” Nathan said. “Right?”
“Some people did,” Scott said. “They went to younger universes like ours. Or they migrated to worlds where they could start all over again on unspoiled land. But plenty of people refused to give up their technology. They'd made it this far, and they wanted to keep moving forward, not go backward.
“As the universe ages, there are fewer choices for how things can go,” Scott continued. “The multiverse is like a balloon—it expands, and then it contracts. New universes replace old ones.” He spread his hands wide. “And all roads lead here.”
“You're saying there are no other universes in this timeline?” Nathan said.
“Quick study,” Scott said. “You're close. All the universes in this timeline are just like this one. So the minds of this universe decided to share their technology with younger worlds, in the hopes that this would lead to a better future for humanity. That's what they told me, anyway.”
“I'm guessing they had an ulterior motive,” Ephraim said.
They walked in silence for a short while, Ephraim impatient for Scott to continue with his story, Nathan busy recording their surroundings. The cavernous room they'd been in had narrowed to a corridor barely wide enough to accommodate the three of them walking side by side. Lights came on just ahead of them as they walked and switched off behind them, giving the impression that they were moving through an endless dark void.
“So if they didn't leave, where is everybody?” Nathan asked. His voice echoed ahead, then seemed to creep up on them from behind, reverberating against the walls.
Scott stopped abruptly. Ephraim and Nathan walked past him a few steps, then turned to look at him.
“All around you,” Scott said, wild-eyed.
Nathan coughed, covering his mouth with one arm. “We're breathing them?”
Scott laughed, the echo effect adding a maniacal quality to it. “The walls are a multiplexing storage matrix for a quantum computer the size of this entire arcology.”
“We're inside a computer?” Ephraim said.
“We're surrounded by it. They're inside the computer. They uploaded themselves as bits and bytes. Boots and bots.” Scott giggled. “Bats and butts.”
Ephraim looked at his other self, wondering if he needed to smack him. “Okay.” It sounded like Scott had been alone here for too long.
“So everyone transferred themselves into what, a simulation?” Nathan asked.
“You got me. They were gone when I arrived and there's no way to communicate with them once they've crossed over. I've tried. They thought they were saving themselves, but personally, I think they're dead.”
Scott walked on, brushing past Ephraim and Nathan.
“What about the rest of the world?” Ephraim asked.
“Maybe they have their own computers,” Scott said. “Some of them went to space stations before things got really bad.”
“What's the point of living without their bodies?” Nathan asked.
“So their minds would still be around when humanity reaches the next, and final, level of evolution: pure mental energy. Incorporeal consciousness. They won't need bodies then.”
Ephraim stuffed his hands in pockets. “He's kidding us,” he said.
Scott laughed. “Am I? It took me a while to piece it all together. Maybe I've gotten it wrong, but I don't think so. I've thought of almost nothing else for the past ten years. It was their master plan.”
Scott's face was drenched in sweat, and he was panting. The last thing they needed was for the guy to keel over from a heart attack before they found out what they were supposed to do here.
Scott grunted and moved ahead of them, walking more quickly now.
They finally emerged into a smaller space than the one they'd just left, which consisted of a video screen embedded into the wall and a large flat console.
“This is like the Batcave. You even had a giant penny back there, sort of,” Nathan said.
“More like the Fortress of Solitude,” Ephraim and Scott said at the same time. They stared at each other.
For a moment, Ephraim saw himself in that older man, but then the moment was lost and he was looking at a man with unsightly wet patches under the arms of his baggy gray jumpsuit. He had to stop himself from becoming…that. Scott had given up on everything.
No—he hadn't given up. He was still fighting to protect the people he loved. That realization allowed Ephraim to sympathize with his older self.
“What?” Scott asked.
Ephraim blinked. “When did you start going bald?” he asked.
Scott ran a hand through his thinning hair.
“Junior, we have bigger problems right now.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Scott tapped the onyx console with three fingers, and it lit up. It was a touchscreen with multicolored icons and a virtual keyboard. Scott pressed one of the panels, and two egg-shaped chairs rose out of the floor on either side of his cushy recliner.
“Have a seat,” Scott said.
“The future is just like I imagined it.” Nathan put a hand on the back of his chair reverently.
“Me too,” Scott said. “Everyone's dead or dying.”
Ephraim sat in his chair. It was as uncomfortable as it looked, and when he leaned back, he could only see Scott leaning against the console in front of him.
“How did you get here?” Ephraim asked. “Nathaniel had your coin.”
Scott smiled. “You should know by now that there are two sides to every story, just as there are two sides to every coin.” He held out a hand, and something flashed. He rolled a silver coin down his knuckles, then brought it back around and did it again. Light glinted off the shiny metal. Scott expertly flipped it to Ephraim.
Ephraim caught the coin and studied it. It was a blank silver disc, which should mean that it was drained of power, but it was warm and tingling. It felt alive.
“You had two coins?” Ephraim asked. “That's why there were two controllers!”
“Do you remember eighth-grade science class? When we used a magnet to turn an ordinary paper clip into a weaker magnet?”
Ephraim nodded.
“This works on a similar principle. That's a master token. If you place it in a controller along with a second disc of similar properties, you can make a functional duplicate of the original.”
“So this is kind of a template, and that state quarter was a copy of it?” Ephraim asked.
“That was my Dad's quarter. He gave it to me on the first day of high school. For luck. If you use an object from your own universe, it makes shifting easier since you both have the same quantum wavelength.”
“Naturally,” Nathan said. “Everyone knows that.”
Ephraim weighed the silver token in his hand. It was heavier than his coin, but it still felt very familiar and comfortable in his hand. Like it wanted to be there.
He shook his head. It wasn't a living thing.
“Why didn't you tell Everett that you could make more coins? Or Nathaniel?” Ephraim asked. Then the answer came to him.
He squeezed the disc, staring at his older self. “If they'd known they could make copies of the coin, for any other user, they wouldn't have needed you,” Ephraim said. “Is that right?”
Sc
ott didn't respond.
“I'll take that as a yes.”
“Does it matter?” Scott's voice was pained.
“Tell me you didn't want to burden Nathaniel with your secret,” Ephraim said.
“That's true!” Scott said. “If I'd told him, he might have told the others.”
“That's not the same thing,” Nathan said. “That sounds more like you didn't trust him.”
Ephraim glanced at his friend uncomfortably. He'd shut Nathan out in the same way—he hadn't trusted him enough after seeing what his analogs were capable of. That was another thing he had in common with Scott, and it wasn't an encouraging resemblance.
Scott shook his head. He was retreating more and more into the mental world that had been his reality for ten years. All that time, alone here, surrounded by ghosts in the machine. Buried deep underground. It was a perverse coincidence that Dr. Kim had nicknamed the portable coheron drive the Charon device—for this other Ephraim Scott, the coin had paid his passage to a very real underworld.
“I didn't trust Everett,” Scott said. “He was out of control. He ignored everything I told him about this universe. He was only interested in taking credit for the invention and collecting more data. He made me program the coin so he and Jena could find another version of himself.” Scott laughed. “But I configured it so the trip would make him sick, every time. He couldn't go on using it.”
“Jeez,” Nathan breathed. “We're depending on this guy to save the multiverse? We're doomed.”
Ephraim held up a hand and waved it. “Scott,” he said. His other self didn't look at him. “Eph,” he tried. This time he responded.
“You stranded Nathaniel in another universe,” Ephraim said. “Why?”
“I tried to ditch him to come here, but he tracked me with the controller. I realized the only way to escape was to use the token he didn't know I had. I left him the coin where he would find it, in the park fountain in another universe, and disappeared.”
Ephraim flipped the token. Scott's eyes followed it.
“Why didn't you just use the token to leave from your own universe?” Ephraim asked. “Then you wouldn't have jeopardized your best friend.”
“The LCD would have detected that I'd shifted. If I ever went back, they would want to know how I did it,” Scott said. “I checked first—my analog and his family were living in Summerside, so I knew he would be able to find another version of me to get him home.”
“The only problem was that our analog was five at the time. Then when he was finally old enough to help, he ended up using the coin selfishly instead.”
“What?” Scott asked.
“Then my analog tried to pull the same disappearing act you did, only he was accidentally killed in a hit-and-run in my universe. That's kind of where I came in.”
“How long was Nathaniel trapped there?” Scott asked.
“Ten years,” Ephraim said. “He waited for ten years.”
Scott groaned. “I never meant for that to happen.”
“Scott, why did you really leave?” Ephraim asked. “I heard the tape. You nobly wanted to find out the truth from the transhumans. You got what you came for, yet you're still here. So what happened?”
“Jena got…close to the second Everett.”
“Please tell me you didn't leave because you were jealous,” Ephraim said.
“I loved her. We'd been dating off and on since high school. I thought she was the one.” He laughed. “The one. I know how ridiculous the idea of that is, now.”
“Unbelievable,” Nathan said. “Eph, I'm sorry, but your analog is a total loser.”
“I asked her to come with me,” Scott said. “I told her my suspicions about the transhumans and Everett's intentions, but she refused to leave. She believed in Everett—both of them—too much. She was more in love with the idea of working at the Institute than she ever could be with me.”
“But she was with you,” Ephraim said. “You threw it away.”
“I wanted her to come after me,” Scott said. “The controller worked for her. Every time I tried to get away, I thought she would find me. But it was always Nathaniel.”
“You drove her and Everett together. You left, then Nathaniel left and couldn't get back. Dr. Kim tried to hold up the Institute with Everett, but he didn't know what he was doing and he couldn't build his own coheron drive.”
“I wish it could have turned out differently. But as it happens, it's a good thing I left.”
They were silent for a moment that stretched on too long. The only sound was a steady, distant beep from one of the consoles.
“How do you figure that any good came of this at all?” Ephraim asked. “The three of you have been miserable and alone for more than a decade.”
“I'd been wondering for a while if the transhumans were as benevolent as they seemed. I wanted Jena to come with me so I could show her this place. She could have helped me work out what was going on. Instead, I ended up here on my own, learned how to use all this abandoned technology myself. I've been taking care of the machine. And I discovered my hunch was right. They gave us the portable coheron drives to sacrifice the multiverse for their own gain.”
“Isn't that what Dr. Kim is doing?” Ephraim said.
“They have something worse in mind.” Scott waved his hand over the console. A screen behind him displayed a white circle.
“This is the universe,” Scott said.
Nathan yawned. “It looks like a donut,” he said.
Ephraim struggled out of his chair and stood next to Scott.
“Go on,” Ephraim said. “I'm listening.”
Scott input a sequence into the console. More circles started appearing in different colors, beside the original circle.
“Each of those circles represents another adjacent reality,” Scott said. “The multiverse.”
More circles began appearing around it, many of them close enough to touch the circle in the center and each other. Some of the first circles began disappearing the farther the circles spread out.
“Most parallel universes are meant to be fleeting. They come into existence when individual actions diverge at a quantum decision point, but they often disappear or merge back into each other, according to the decisions with the greater probability. Have you ever misremembered something that happened to you?” Scott asked.
Ephraim nodded.
“Sometimes our memories are faulty, but other times it's the universes merging, without us consciously noticing. Déjà vu is another one of those side effects, when you merge with a universe a split-second ahead of yours,” Scott said.
“Consider it, Ephraim,” he went on. “Every single person in the world, billions and billions of people, each causing a new universe to appear with each decision…choosing pancakes over French toast, turning left instead of right. Every electron in the universe causes a new universe to appear to account for its erratic motion. The multiverse can't sustain that for long. Think of it as a kind of buffer, a backup system. As the queue fills, it purges itself of old data, at more or less the same rate. It remains in balance.”
“How long does a universe stay in the buffer?” Ephraim asked.
“Until a certain probability establishes itself as more likely than the others,” Scott said.
Those were those phantom universes Nathaniel had told Ephraim about, the ones that exist in their own quantum state, half-real, half-imagined.
“When the controller stores a coordinate for one of these universes, the act of observing and recording its existence strengthens its reality. It becomes a permanent fixture in the multiverse. Instead of disappearing when it's supposed to, it becomes a new anchor point that in turn spawns other universes. Now look at what happens.”
The screen showed circles appearing much more quickly, and now they were overlapping with each other like Venn diagrams. They were also appearing stacked over each other, barely separated in space but clearly overlapping precisely when Ephraim tilted his head one way
to see them in three dimensions in the holographic display.
“Getting pretty crowded, isn't it?” Scott asked. “Multiverses are being created at an exponential state, and they're sticking around.”
The universes were represented as multicolored cylinders now, piling over each other. Ephraim closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“Stop,” he said. “I get it.”
“You can't stop it, Ephraim. That's the point,” Scott said.
Nathan joined them at the console, camera aimed at the screen.
“But it turns out, it has to stop. The transhumans discovered that the multiverse is finite. It's the ultimate data storage mechanism, but it's running out of space. The system's overloading and now it's writing over parts of itself just to keep going. It's merging universes at an accelerated rate, randomly and arbitrarily, forcing disparate realities together in ways they don't belong—probability be damned. When everything happens in the multiverse all at once, there's no way to decide which event is more likely than any other.”
Scott took the coin from Ephraim and laid it on the console. “We did this,” he said.
“Did the transhumans know what they were doing?” Ephraim asked.
“Oh, they knew,” Scott said. “They set us up. And we went for it.”
“I thought they wanted to save humanity.”
“Yes, but what does that mean? To them, humanity's manifest destiny is to become pure consciousness. Some scientists call this the Omega Point, and there are two ways to reach it. One way is to advance your technology so far that you transcend into a new kind of noncorporeal life. Sometimes that's referred to as the Singularity.”
Scott spread his hands to take in the room.
“The transhumans came close, but they didn't quite make it in time. Heat death of the universe, and all that. They've preserved themselves as quantum minds in the computer. Noncorporeal life, but not all that satisfying,” Scott said. “They want to be energy, right?”
“So what's the second way?” Ephraim asked.
“The universe fills up with too much information. At that point, everything becomes information—same result, but it's the brute force method.”
