Chapter Fifteen
I spotted Dana the second I walked into the coffee shop, perched at the edge of her chair, spine straight, a Stephen King paperback open in her left hand as she sipped from a takeaway cup in her right, elbow raised to shoulder height. I don’t think I’d ever been more aware of posture in another human in my life.
“Dana, hi,” I said, sliding into the seat across from her. “I’m—”
“Laurel. Hello.” She slipped a bookmark into her book and bent to slide it into her bag.
“Love the book choice. I didn’t take you for a Stephen King reader.”
“There’s more to life than a unifying theory of quantum physical reality, Laurel. Anyway, you don’t know me. Or…well, I don’t know you.” She frowned, blinked twice. “Clearly you recognize me, though I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to find a photo online.”
“True. But I promise, this isn’t a joke. We met. Yesterday, actually—I caught you in the physics building and we walked over to your lab together. Though…maybe you weren’t there in this world?”
“I was. Though that only proves that I’m a workaholic in all possible universes where I exist.” She flashed that wry half-smile I’d spotted briefly the day before, then steepled her fingers, gazing levelly at me over the top. “So? Are you planning to tell me what’s happening?”
I gave her the same brief summary I had the day before, adding in our own meeting.
“…and you told me to mention The Rock to you. I think you called him ‘universally beloved,’ but apparently you don’t tell many people he was your first crush.”
“I don’t. And he is, of course. That’s…interesting,” she said, tapping her joined fingertips against her lower lip. “So in both worlds Pixel is developing this technology?”
“Apparently. In this one I don’t work there anymore, but my—Iguess my boyfriend?—does. It feels weird to call him that, but apparently we live together here.” I shrugged, unsure whether the tickle in my throat was a threatened laugh or sob. This was so ludicrous, either would have been appropriate. “Anyway, he’s heading up the Lightning team that’s creating AltR. In both worlds. Which is apparently glitching in both worlds.”
“Glitching how, precisely?”
Fear of revealing too much twisted my stomach briefly until I realized that here there was no NDA to breach.
“It’s maxed out its processing power, but from what Drew can tell, it’s not actually running anything. At least not actively.”
“And you said there were problems completing your user profile, yes? In the other world?”
“That’s right. But the next morning I woke up in the wrong bed. Or…you know, the wrong universe. I was here .”
She stared at me, unblinking, joined fingers tapping rhythmically against her lower lip. After several long seconds, she nodded sharply.
“Right. So if I had to guess—and this is wildly speculative—Ithink the computer in this world has become entangled with its counterpart in your…original world, let’s call it.”
“What does that mean?”
“I could go into the relevant theory for you,” she said, raising an eyebrow. I grimaced and she let out a single short laugh. “The Cliff’s Notes version, then. Basically, quantum computing might be able to… amplify itself across universes.”
“But I thought you said they’re not supposed to be able to contact each other.”
“They’re not. But a large enough quantum computer could run more calculations—”
“—per second than there are atoms in the entire universe. Got that part.”
Her eyebrow shot higher and a tiny smile flickered across her lips.
“Okay, well one outcome some of us posit—and again, this is very much in the realm of the theoretical, so please don’t quote me on it—”
“Don’t worry, I’m definitely not publishing in the field,” I said dryly.
“I gathered. Anyway, some of us think that if quantum computers were powerful enough and running in multiple universes, they’d functionally…imagine each other, if that makes sense. And in doing so, they could amplify each other.”
“You’re losing me.”
“Think of it like…a radio signal. If you’re broadcasting from a single point, here, you might reach a range about this wide.” She started tracing a circle on the tabletop with one finger, slowly, over and over. “But if you were broadcasting the same signal from here, with a similar range, you’d not only reach further, there’d be an area of overlap.” She drew both circles at once, a Venn sliver appearing in the center, which she cupped between open palms. “If you’re caught here, in the space where both signals are joining, maybe they’re…unable to fully separate you from the background noise, so to speak.”
“That doesn’t sound very scientific.”
“It’s not. But gravitational waves would have seemed ridiculous before Einstein, and they weren’t ever witnessed until less than a decade ago. The borderline between science and fantasy really just comes down to how advanced the research has gotten in some instances.”
“I don’t even know what those are, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’m one of the highest authorities on the topic—you could do worse.” She smirked, then her brows lowered, expression turning thoughtful. “Tell me this: Have you noticed anything meaningful about when you seem to…swap places?”
“The first time, it just happened. In my sleep. I remember going to bed with Ollie”—an ache of tenderness flooded my chest at the memory of the two of us drifting off, hand in hand—“but since then it seems to be like…I’m in the same place at the same time in both universes, I think?” I squinted, trying to order my thoughts. “Is that important?”
“Possibly. Probably. If I had to hazard a guess, the overlapping programs combined with an overlapping—well… you —is somehow making the worlds stickier in those moments.” She pulled her fingertips apart and pressed them together twice to demonstrate.
“So how do I stop that? In the right world?”
“Hell if I know.” She shrugged, pushing back from the table. “I think your best option is to try to execute a technical solution. The computer in this world shouldn’t be interested in you as a data point. And you say the one in that world claims you don’t even have a completed profile. But I’d bet good money the background processing they’re both maxing out on right now is you.”
“Great, so I’m going to have to rewrite code that is literally groundbreaking?” I gave a thin, desperate laugh. “I’m barely literate in HTML, there’s no way I’ll even be able to make sense of it, let alone fix it.”
“It’s possible you wouldn’t need to drill down that far,” Dana said, slowly turning her saucer on the table, eyes narrowed with focus. “After all, you didn’t change any code to get into this situation, did you?” She looked up at me, gaze incisive.
“Well, no…”
“And you told me the AI trains itself in the background, correct? And that you can interface with it directly?”
“As far as I know.” I thought back to the questions sounding inside my head as I went through the calibration sequence. “I think there’s a way for me to work with it, but I’m not sure if that would change it. I mean, what would I even do, ask the program to find my profile? Or…”
“I’m afraid that’s something I can’t help you with, at least not without significantly more computer science knowledge than I currently possess and what I’d imagine is fairly restricted-level access to Pixel’s servers.” She bent to pick up her bag. “I have an appointment, but please do keep in touch. I’d be interested to hear about anything more you learn. In either world.” I nodded vaguely as she headed for the door, then it hit me.
“Wait! Dana!” She turned back, frowning, and I hurried over, lowering my voice. “How will I get you to talk to me? In the other world, I mean. I can’t use The Rock again.”
“Oh, of course.” She blinked a few times, gaze going distant, then turned to me. “You said the split happened nearly five years ago?”
“That’s right.”
“Then…ask me for my recipe for a snow bomb.”
“A snow bomb?”
“It’s just a vanilla cupcake rolled in Pop Rocks, but my sister and I were convinced they were going to make us millions.”
“Oof.” I grimaced.
“I was seven. My tastes have changed slightly in the interim.” She gave me a sly smile. “Snow bombs. Haven’t thought about them in years, no way you could have heard about them from anyone but me. Or Kendra, but if you track down my sister in this other universe just to get in touch with me again, fair play to you, right? On that note—until next time.” She flashed me a grim smile and strode out the door, shoulders thrown back.
I had the tiniest inkling of an idea. Now I just had to figure out how to execute it.
I’d been to the Pixel building thousands of times before, popped in after “working hours” on more occasions than I could count, but standing in front of it now, gigantic plate glass windows revealing the bright, expansive interior, every twist of the staircase and upper-floor balcony another place for an observer to hide, I felt panic clawing up my throat. I bounced on my toes, shivering slightly in the autumn air, the golden light and wide-open spaces inside feeling like a threat. It would be so easy to get caught, and then what would I say to the security guard? To Drew ? That I’d broken into my boyfriend’s place of work at dinnertime on a Sunday to…surprise him? When he not only wasn’t there, he was probably just now touching down on the opposite side of the country?
My brain kept whirring with excuses for the moment when I got caught, each more questionable than the next. Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just in my boyfriend’s top-secret office that even his co-workers can’t get into to grab his favorite coffee mug so I can overnight it to him. He sure loves his routine!
New plan: Really, really don’t get caught.
Sucking in a deep breath and shaking my hands out rapidly at my sides, I strode toward the building, brandishing the ID badge I’d swiped out of Drew’s sock drawer, where I’d seen him tuck it away before bed. Clearly the rigid routine was his hack for a certain level of…obliviousness to the real world, one that this Drew shared with mine (who had lost enough ID badges over the years that the security team had become friendly with him, a rare feat). Creating a program that could literally access alternate universes: totally within his capabilities. Remembering where he’d left his car keys, or the cup of coffee he’d just poured, or his highly secure ID badge? Not so much.
I swiped the badge at the entrance, heart jumping into my throat as the lock clicked open and I walked into the building, shoulders hunched against the weight of all the space trapped beneath the cathedral ceilings. Head down, moving quickly, I hurried up the main stairs to the Lightning floor, praying that anyone who saw me would just assume we worked in different departments.
But I didn’t see anyone, and by the time I was standing outside the Lightning offices, my hands were still trembling slightly, but my heart rate was starting to slow. It’s why I’d come so impulsively in the first place, even though my deepest core self itched to draft a careful plan and perfect it over the course of days: Sunday nights were the time the office was most likely to be empty. Even the most ardent of weekend warriors usually chose to work from home on a Sunday, and if they didn’t, they almost always headed out by early evening.
No time like the present. Not least because I had no idea how much longer I’d linger in this world’s present, or whether I’d be able to exit it if I stayed too long.
I opened the door and exhaled shakily as I confirmed that the room was empty, save for the dramatically lit quantum computer, its undulating curves and coils seeming to twist and wriggle as I moved past it, a trick of the shifting light that gave it an eerie semblance of sentience. Hairs prickling at the nape of my neck, I made my way to Drew’s workspace, willing myself not to look over my shoulder at the inert machine.
I clicked his computer to life, biting my lower lip as I stared at the login prompt. I tried a few password options for Drew: his birthday, the names of his sisters, of the dog—Pugsley—that showed up in so many stories from his childhood. There was a possibility he had some wildly difficult password, of course, a series of random letters and numerals spangled with asterisks and ampersands, but it felt unlikely. Pixel employees could only log in from IP addresses that were already recognized, and all our laptops were equipped with remote monitoring software, easily wipeable from afar if they were ever misplaced or damaged. With the company already managing the high-level security, most employees opted for simple passwords. I knew more than a few people who had never changed away from the default welcometopixel we were all assigned when we started.
Drew, of course, couldn’t have been one of them.
I stared at the computer screen, my right leg jiggling wildly beneath the desk. How could I fix this if I couldn’t even access the program? What hadn’t I tried yet?
Me .
There was no way I’d have my own login anymore—they’d have wiped me from the system ages ago. But if this quantum computer and the one in the other world are getting all tangled up in each other…
I took a deep breath and tried my own login credentials. The screen stuck for a moment, motionless…and then it dissolved to my desktop.
“ Yes! ” I fist-pumped, then yelped at the sound of my own chair creaking. Clearly I wasn’t cut out for life as a superspy.
I navigated to the AltR program—I’d saved it to my desktop after the last time, thank god—and clicked to launch it, the screen flickering a few times before the familiar DOS-style box appeared.
USER: unknown
EDITOR ACCESS: unknown
TERMINAL: 512
TRAINING MODE? on
REFRESH? continuous
OUTPUT? user det
INPUT? user det
EXP? user det
I held my breath as the screen flickered again, the pinwheel circling, circling, circling…and then the Launch AltR button appeared in the center of the screen. I clicked it, then slipped the headset on, breath held as I stared at the blank black screen.
Hello, Laurel.
The voice sounded in my head, but the screen stayed blank.
I’m having trouble finding a profile for you. Would you like to complete the calibration process?
“No,” I said aloud, drawing in a deep breath. “Delete user profile.”
Are you sure you want to delete your…
User not found.
The soft feminine cadences of the speaking voice suddenly stripped away, leaving a robotic garble. After a few seconds, the screen in front of my eyes dissolved into the setup image again.
Hello…Hel—Hello Laur—User not found.
Dammit, what was even happening right now?
Nice to see you again, Laurel. Would you like to continue your calib—
Access denied.
“Delete user profile,” I said aloud, desperation starting to tendril through me.
Which user profile would you like to delete?
“Laurel Everett.”
Profile—Profile not—
“Delete user Laurel Everett,” I said again, more forcefully this time.
Access denied.
Then the screen went blank and the ambient noise suddenly fell away. I pulled the headset off, blinking at the blue light from the screen. It was flickering again, more consistently now. I clicked the AltR icon again, but the terminal just returned:
Access denied
“God dammit .” I slammed a closed fist on the desk, hard enough to rattle Drew’s mug of pens. Did I have to fix this in the other world? But how could I even be sure I could—
The sound of voices approaching the door stopped my train of thought short. I looked over at the wall of frosted glass, which showed two silhouettes.
“Fuckfuckfuck,” I murmured, dropping to my hands and knees beneath Drew’s desk, pulling his chair in as close to me as I could. Even the most cursory search would turn me up, but maybe they’d just glance around and leave? I sat there, breath held, muscles in my shoulders starting to cramp, waiting for the click of the door, the footsteps approaching…
But there was nothing. After about thirty more seconds I risked darting my head out—the silhouettes were gone. Body sagging with relief, I crawled out from under the desk and into the chair, quickly logging myself out. I paused at the door for several seconds before leaving, heart in my throat, but when I finally got up the courage to emerge, I didn’t see anyone on my way back through the building.
Whatever was going on, I wasn’t going to be able to sort it out in this world, not without a lot more information than I could reasonably expect Drew to share (or really hope to fully understand).
So what should I do?
The idea of going back to the empty condo, waiting there for something to change, for my life to slip back onto the tracks it was supposed to be on, was enough to start panic seeping up through me, sludgy groundwater that was rising faster than I could control. This life is the wrong one . Drew was still a good person, even if he was a bit cockier here, he was still kind and caring, and still, well, hot —more than I’d realized to be honest. But as a couple we felt…was doomed too strong?
Ever since last night, the uncomfortable realization that our life might—okay, almost definitely did—resemble the life my mom had before she left had been burrowing its way through my brain, destabilizing everything from beneath the surface. Hell, it was probably part of why I’d held on to the what if feeling with Drew for so long: He reminded me of my dad. Not in obvious ways—it was more his framework, the hidden rebar holding him up: the unrelenting work ethic, the urge to care for the people he loved, the Midwestern practicality that was in no way sexy but was fundamentally soothing. Reliability might not be glamorous, but if you listened, it was a constant low-level thrum of I love you.
And being with someone so like my dad had somehow morphed me into a version of my mother, right down to the sad, empty feeling that I played phone games to avoid looking at head-on. I believed that Drew and I loved each other, or at least that we had loved each other somewhere along the nearly-five-year path that had brought us to this moment, but when I imagined a future with him…it looked suffocatingly like the present, just with better vacations and an even more glamorous home base. It felt passionless. It felt like a trap.
I’d never crystallized the thought before, but some part of me needed that passion from a partner, a counterbalance to my own Midwestern practicality. Ollie had always felt so right not just because he was an artist—though that definitely appealed, and let me hope that someday I’d catch it off him and my own creative metamorphosis would begin—he was right for me because he painted my world in his technicolor hues. For the first time since I’d seen the ring, a flicker of that certainty other people always described lit in my heart.
I let out a strangled groan. What, precisely, did this realization do for me?
Because the Ollie in this world, World D, wasn’t in my life, barely even remembered me. Even if I could find him, the best I’d be able to manage would be a one-night stand with a stranger. He wouldn’t know me, wouldn’t know what I liked…and I wouldn’t know him either, I realized with a start. The Ollie who had formed in my absence and the one who had grown with me, our stems twisting around each other, strengthening and shaping the other’s path toward the light—they were totally different people.
“Holy shit,” I murmured, blinking rapidly. That’s why Drew was so different. Me. Something about our being together had fundamentally changed him. It had given him the confidence that he lacked to an occasionally frustrating degree in the world I knew, but which, when reapplied daily in this world, had built a lacquered veneer of cockiness.
Being with Drew wasn’t just the wrong choice for me, it was the wrong choice for him.
My breath started coming short, legs jiggling with nervous energy. I have to get back . But how?
And that’s when it hit me, the answer to Dana’s question just hours before.
When I’d slipped between worlds, I was almost always in the same place I’d just left, at least physically—the train platform, the Pixel lobby, the cheese section of Whole Foods. So if I found the right place to be, at the right time…could I make it happen?