Velveteen vs. The Multiverse

by Seanan McGuire

  Maybe it was the “Sparks” that did it. The Princess sighed. “I’m still not sure this is the right thing to do, but I figure you two girls have things to work out no matter what I do. You want to find Sparkle Bright? You’re sure about that?”

  “Totally sure,” said Velveteen.

  “…you really are from another timeline,” said the Princess. “She hasn’t been Sparkle Bright in years.”

  “What?”

  “You’re looking for a woman who goes by the name of ‘Polychrome.’ To find her, hang up the phone, close your eyes, and count to thirty.”

  “What are you—”

  “And remember, you’re the one who asked me. I didn’t contact you.” The Princess hesitated, and then added, “Good luck getting home.”

  The line went dead.

  Velveteen looked at the phone for a moment, blinking. Then she placed it gently in the cradle, closed her eyes, and began to count. Maybe it was crazy, but she was a grown woman wearing a mask and a headband with rabbit ears on the top. Crazy was sort of her lot in life.

  She had just reached twenty-eight when the electrical prod was shoved against the side of her neck, and several hundred volts went coursing through her. Velveteen collapsed like a sack of potatoes, and the world went away.

  Waking was a long, slow process made more difficult by the fact that all Velveteen’s muscles felt like they’d been scooped out and replaced with strips of wet felt. She was lying down, which was only natural after being electrocuted into unconsciousness. She wasn’t lying on her face, which meant that someone had probably moved her.

  Swell. Less than twenty-four hours in a world where she was a professional superheroine with a long and distinguished career, and she was already getting herself knocked out and abducted from bars that she probably shouldn’t have been visiting in the first place. How much did she really know about this timeline, anyway? She was married to Action Dude here. There was no way she didn’t have enemies.

  Voices raised in argument approached the place where she lay sprawled. They were blurred together at first, impossible to untangle. Then they separated, the first, unfamiliar voice saying, “She’s not dead. And if she were, I could probably fix it. Might take a little time, probably mess her powers around a bit, but I could fix her. Nothing’s as easy to reanimate as an animus.” It was a woman, British, petulant and worried at the same time, like the opinion of her companion mattered more than anything.

  That companion sighed, and said, “I don’t want you to fix her. I don’t want you to kill her. I’m still not sure why you brought her here.” The second voice was also female…and it was familiar. Familiar enough, in fact, to startle Velveteen into opening her eyes.

  The ceiling was covered with exposed piping in a variety of sizes, from narrow pipes that looked like they would have trouble carrying anything bigger than a molecule to wide-bore pipes that wouldn’t have been out of place in a sewer. Velveteen blinked. The ceiling remained the same. She blinked again, and then asked, in as reasonable a tone as she could manage, “Sparks, why am I lying on the floor in a mad science lair? Shouldn’t I be on a slab or something?”

  There was a long pause before the unfamiliar voice said sullenly, “I told you I ought to have her up on a slab, didn’t I? And you said it would make her uncomfortable on account of she’d expect vivisection.”

  Velveteen closed her eyes. “I have no idea who you are, or why I should expect vivisection from you, so no, I’m not currently worried about that. I’m a little worried about the fact that I can’t move my legs, but I’m assuming that’s going to get better, since my toes are starting to tingle. Also, hi, Sparks. Did the Princess call you?”

  “She did,” said Sparkle Bright—Polychrome, here, and Vel had to admit that it was a good name for her; better than “Sparkle Bright” for a grown heroine. A moment later, Vel heard her kneel, and felt the familiar shape of Polychrome’s hand pressing itself flat against her cheek. “Now if you could just explain to me in simple words why I’m not flash-blinding you right now, I’d appreciate it.”

  Velveteen sighed. “Oh, good,” she said. “And here I was worried that this was going to be hard.”

  When asked to imagine alternate worlds, alternate versions of themselves, most people default to one of two extremes: idyllic wish-fulfillment, realities where every good thing they could imagine happened, and absolutely none of the bad; or absolute vilification, worlds where every terrible impulse and twisted urge was fulfilled to its extreme. This “mirror universe” theory would place Earth A at the median of all realities, a place where good and bad are balanced in equal measure, meaning that all other timelines and worlds must be, in some ways, either superior or inferior, but never of exact and equal worth.

  As is essentially always the case, the reality of things is somewhat more complicated than theory would propose.

  Alternate realities are divided into three primary types: divergent timelines, worlds whose continuity branched off from Earth A at some point ranging from the distant past to fifteen minutes before the timeline was discovered; alternate dimensions, places which present warped and twisted versions of the world we know; and full-bore alternate universes, where up may be down, gravity may be toxic, and life as we know it may be considered the equivalent of a social disease. Alternate universes range in nature from the exceedingly friendly, like the fairy tale wonderland inhabited by the Princess, to the technically neutral, such as the seasonal worlds, to the actively hostile.

  One of the largely unconsidered dangers of transit between realities is downward slippage. It is commonly accepted that a superhuman who has once traveled from one reality to another is likely to do so again. What is less well-known is that each layer encompasses the layers below. A superhuman who has only visited alternate timelines may never see another world or universe. A superhuman who has visited alternate universes, on the other hand, is at risk from every opportunistic timeline or world which comes along.

  Scientists who study alternate reality science have discovered, much to their dismay, that the mirror universe theory collapses upon exposure to almost any reality. While there are timelines which are markedly better or worse than Earth A, the majority are, in fact, of equal and balanced value. They are simply the result of different choices. Alternate worlds and universes have more divergent values, but are less likely to contain cognates of known individuals, or of the superhumans themselves. The mirror universe theory is most frequently applied to alternate timelines, and it does not hold up to scrutiny.

  This, then, is where the true danger for the traveler between timelines makes itself known: in any world where a superhuman exists, they will have a past. They will have friends, and they will have enemies, and because our present is made up of all the choices we have made in our lives, they will not have the information they need to tell friend from enemy. It is not a surprise that many of the superhumans who find their way into other timelines fail to return to their original reality. It is more of a surprise that any make it back at all.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded Polychrome. “Why are you looking for me? Who sent you?” She kept her hand pressed against Velveteen’s cheek, adding a warning to her words. Give me answers I like, said that hand, or suffer the consequences.

  “I’m here because your friend hit me with some sort of stun gun while I was standing next to the payphone in Technophilia,” said Velveteen carefully. “I’m looking for you because I needed to talk to you. I’m trying to figure out where the point of divergence is, and you and I seem to be the big anomalies. I sent me.”

  She was gambling that this version of Yelena would be enough like hers to have suffered through the same endless lectures on recognizing an alternate timeline, the ones they spent pretending to be their own out-of-timeline cognates. They goggled at each other and pretended they didn’t know what ceilings were, or that no one in their worlds spoke English. Those games could go on for days, and they were always looking for the point of
divergence—big words they didn’t fully understand until they got older and learned that alternate reality science was no game.

  Polychrome hesitated. Then, more slowly, she asked, “What sort of anomaly are you looking for?”

  “The sort that results in a timeline where I’m with The Super Patriots, and you’re not,” said Velveteen. “In the timeline I went to bed in last night, you’re the co-leader, and I’ve been officially a supervillain in Marketing’s eyes since my eighteenth birthday.”

  There was a long pause before Polychrome’s hand was withdrawn from Velveteen’s cheek. “Get up,” she ordered brusquely. “Before I change my mind and decide you’re just messing with me.”

  “If you let me zap her again, she won’t be able to get up, and then it won’t matter,” offered the British woman.

  “You’re hanging out with a violent crowd these days, huh?” Velveteen found that, by really focusing, she could get her arms to respond to her instructions. She levered herself slowly into an unsteady sitting position, and turned her face toward Polychrome, opening her eyes at the same time. “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m Velveteen.”

  The local version of Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Hello,” she responded.

  “I like the new look,” said Velveteen.

  Now the faintest trace of a smile crossed the other Yelena’s face. “Okay. Now I know you’re not my Vel.” Sparkle Bright had always worn white skirts and skimpy tops, all accented with rainbows. Polychrome, on the other hand, wore a solid black unitard, with only a rainbow belt to provide a slash of color. Her sunshine-blonde hair was cut short, practical, with a rainbow streak right up at the front, where it would provide the most immediate identification.

  The woman next to her was short, curvy, and dressed in what you might get if a Jane Austen fan convention somehow got caught in the crossfire of a fight between the Clockmaker’s Union and a group of angry riveters. Her corset looked like it could have been used to deflect machine gun fire, and there were cogs stitched to the sides of her burgundy leather boots. She was glaring daggers at Velveteen, something that was only enhanced by the large ray gun in her hands.

  “I don’t like her talking to you,” she announced.

  “I’m getting the impression that my cognate isn’t very popular around here,” said Vel, and started trying to stand. It was harder than sitting up had been, but eventually, she managed it, and extended a hand toward the buxom British girl. “Hi. I’m Velveteen. I’m not from this timeline, and I didn’t do it. Please don’t shoot me.”

  The British woman looked perplexed. “This isn’t how this is supposed to go,” she complained, flicking her long red braid out of the way as she turned to glower at Polychrome. “Isn’t she supposed to be threatening us by now?”

  “Maybe not,” said Polychrome, slowly. “You’re Velveteen from another timeline.”

  “Right,” said Vel. “When I come from, we’re on opposite sides of this conversation. I don’t know your friend at all.”

  “Vel, Victory Anna, Torrey, Velveteen,” said Polychrome, with a quick motion of her hand. Her eyes didn’t leave Velveteen. “Why did you quit The Super Patriots?”

  Velveteen knew a test when she saw one, and she knew better than to lie to any timeline’s version of Yelena. She could never lie to her Yelena, and she wasn’t going to assume that she could lie to this one. “Because you slept with my boyfriend and then beat the holy shit out of me in the locker room,” she said, mildly. “I figured I should probably get out of Dodge after that.”

  Polychrome stared at her. Finally, in a very small voice that sounded heartbreakingly like the voice of the Yelena Vel knew, she whispered, “That’s what they told you? That’s what…that’s why…” And then she burst into tears.

  The effect on Victory Anna was immediate. She swung her ray gun around to point at Velveteen, and said, in an entirely reasonable tone, “You made her cry. That means I get to shoot you until you’ve got more holes in you than Einstein’s theory of relativity.”

  Velveteen, who was unaware that the theory of relativity had any holes, blinked. And Polychrome put out a hand, pushing the muzzle of the gun down toward the floor. “No, Torrey,” she said, sniffling. “It’s not her fault. It’s really not.”

  “But sweetheart—”

  Polychrome wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, leaving glittering pink trails in their wake as she looked toward Velveteen, and said, “I never laid a hand on you in this world. I was too heartbroken after what Marketing told me.”

  “What did they—” Velveteen stopped, eyes widening. “Did I sleep with your boyfriend in this timeline? Oh, jeez, alternate me sucks.”

  Startled, Polychrome laughed. Then she shook her head. “You really never knew, did you? You always told me you didn’t, but I thought you were making fun of me.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Jeez, Vel…” Polychrome sighed. “Marketing called me into a meeting. They said they were being blackmailed by one of my teammates, and that they were willing to pay, because I was such a valuable attribute, but that they wanted me to know. They told me it was you, Vel. They told me you were threatening to go to the tabloids with what you’d figured out. I left the next day.”

  Velveteen stared at her. “Lena…” she said, barely aware that she’d used Polychrome’s given name. “You were my best friend. I would never. No matter what I thought I knew, I would never. How could you believe that?”

  “The same way you could believe I slept with your boyfriend,” Polychrome countered. She put an arm around Victory Anna’s shoulders, pulling the other woman possessively close. “Even if I’d been that kind of bitch, which I wasn’t, there was just no way.”

  Velveteen blinked. Polychrome nodded. Victory Anna smirked. And finally, Velveteen said: “You have no idea how much sense this makes. Now how the hell are we going to get me home?”

  The underground lair shared by Polychrome and Victory Anna turned out to be surprisingly cozy, once they got out of the creepy room o’ pipes and into the living quarters, which were open, well-lit, and filled with places to sit and have a cup of tea. “Torrey’s very teaoriented,” said Yelena, as she walked Vel toward the kitchen. “She’s from an alternate Victorian England that ceased to exist in a freak accident involving a time machine and a blackcurrant trifle. After spending a few years stranded in parallels without other people, she got very focused on the important things in life.”

  “Like tea,” said Vel.

  “Tea, and shooting people who bother my girlfriend,” said Torrey, walking over with a tray. She had managed to put together a complete tea service without leaving them alone for more than five minutes. Catching Velveteen’s bewildered look, she held the tray out toward her, and said, “I have many talents. And I never miss what I aim to hit.”

  “Noted,” said Vel. She looked back to Yelena. “So you’re, um…”

  “Gay. It’s why my parents sold me. I was their perfect little rainbow angel, right up until the day I said I wanted to marry the girl who lived down the street. The Super Patriots, Inc. promised that they could ‘fix’ me.” Yelena scowled briefly. “They failed.”

  “Oh my God, Lena.” Vel stared at her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” said Yelena, eyes going hard. “I’m not broken.”

  “No!” Vel grabbed Yelena’s hands before she thought about it, ignoring the ray gun that Torrey was suddenly holding. “God, no, Lena, I would never think that you were broken! I’m sorry I was such a lousy friend in two timelines that you couldn’t tell me. That you’d believe them when they said those things. I was supposed to be your best friend. I was supposed to look out for you. I failed you.”

  Now it was Yelena’s turn to stare. Then, solemnly, she said, “We failed each other. Besides, maybe in your timeline, something different happened. Maybe your Yelena isn’t…”

  “No.” Vel shook her head, remembering the absolute betrayal in Yelena’s face that day in the locker room. “It happ
ened the same way both places. All that changed were our reactions.”

  “Then we both suck,” said Yelena, and gathered her into a hug.

  Torrey groaned. “Are we going to sit here talking about feelings until The Super Patriots show up looking for their runaway bunny? I ask out of natural curiosity, mind, and because I want to know if I need to turn on the laser traps in the steam tunnels.”

  “I think we’re done,” said Yelena, letting Vel go. “We need to get you home. This isn’t where you belong.”

  “Some things about it are nice, but…yeah. I need to get home. My toys will miss me, and I bet your Vel is not getting along with my Sparkle Bright.”

  Yelena groaned. “I’m still using that code name? God, it’s a wonder I haven’t gone supervillain for real.”

  Vel laughed. “You’d make a great villain. You could glitter people to death.”

  “Hey, I’d be subtle.” Yelena snapped her fingers, sending a spray of black sparks into the air. “All visible light is my toy.”

  Vel’s eyes widened. Then, before she could think too hard about what she’d just realized, she said, “Aaron told me I’d started hallucinating other timelines after Dr. Darwin zapped me with some kind of crazy time gun. Maybe this world’s Vel hasn’t been hallucinating. She’s been skipping worlds.”

  “So that’s our first stop,” said Torrey, sounding pleased to have someplace to go. “Let’s go talk to Dr. Darwin.”

  Vel frowned. “But…he’s a supervillain.

  “Sweetie, you forget,” said Yelena, and grinned. “In this reality, so are we.”

  Victory Anna couldn’t fly any more than Velveteen could. Instead, she drove a modified hover-cycle, once standard Super Patriots-issue, now stripped of most of its decorative flourishes and somehow rigged to run on steam. There were apparently useless gears welded all over the outside. Velveteen, who was tucked in the side car, decided it was better not to ask. If this was one of those things that flew because the driver believed it would fly, the last thing she wanted to do was make Victory Anna doubt its aerodynamic properties.