MirrorWorld

Standing behind the guard, I send a pulse of fear into him. He twitches, looks around the small room, and writes it off. I give him a second, more powerful dose. He gets to his feet. Reaches for his gun—standard-issue. No oscillium. These guys have no idea what they’re up against yet.

I slip between worlds just long enough to brush my fingers against the back of his neck. He shouts out, spins around, and aims his gun. Nearly fires the thing at the empty wall. I send a wave of fear into him so strong that he nearly pisses himself.

That gets him moving. As soon as he’s out the door and no doubt headed to the bathroom, I materialize inside the security room and access the computer. Memory intact, I have no trouble finding my way through the protocols until I find what I’m looking for. There are a number of different alarms that can go off in this building. Fire. Intruder. Chemical accident. I choose the alarm that should get everyone moving. Biohazard. All levels.

The blaring siren sends people running for the doors. In two minutes flat, the building disgorges its living contents into the parking lot. I head out through the roof and take the express route down, sliding over the smooth surface. This is the last time I’ll make that descent.

While the military guards round everyone up, I overhear some of the suits confirming that the building is empty and the arrival of a biohazard team imminent. But they’re not going to have time to discover the false alarm. I stare at the parking lot full of people and send out a wave of fear. They step back as one, no doubt thinking about the possibility of biocontamination. I give them a second dose until they’re thirty feet back and so afraid that I’m positive no one is going to suddenly get the urge to run back inside.

Then I put my hands on the outside of the building and give them the show of their lives.

The building is big. Massive. But it’s partly constructed of oscillium, and I throw myself into the task without fear of failing. I can feel the oscillium, eager to obey, and then I feel the physical matter of this frequency, less willing but unable to resist. I’ve grown stronger over the past month and have been experimenting with my abilities. I am fully human. Fully Dread. And I can do more than either race can separately. I shift between frequencies, and the building, along with everything in it, follows me into the mirror world. One moment it’s in the real world; the next, it’s gone, disappeared, and all of Lyons’s legacy with it. I turn around, still viewing both worlds, and smile at the astonished faces staring openmouthed at the large, empty foundation.

“Boo,” I whisper, and give them a push that sends them running.

Sending a building between worlds and then making a crowd of government employees collectively shit themselves is bound to draw attention. But without Lyons’s knowledge, they’re going to be grasping at straws until this becomes just another unexplained mystery. It’s a little much, I know, but I’m still a little bit Crazy with a capital C. Always have been.

While the crowd retreats from empty space, I turn back to the now-empty Neuro building. It’s a pock on this world and will probably be an unwelcome remembrance of the time humanity almost destroyed them. Lyons’s legacy shouldn’t be remembered in either dimension.

I place my hand on the oscillium surface and focus my mind beyond reality, beyond the Dread, to a place among places that even the Dread do not know. I’m not sure if Lyons ever thought beyond the mirror world and truly considered the big picture of string theory. The mirror isn’t a flat surface. It’s a prism, duplicating and bending frequencies of reality like a reflection in a fun house.

I slip between variations of frequencies, enjoying the show of flickering realities and the strange beings and civilizations that populate our world. I find one that’s devoid of life, barren and cold. I remove my hand from the oscillium surface as something like snow begins to collect on its surface. I wait and watch as the surface is quickly concealed, just another white peak among a thousand others, hidden forever from humanity—and whatever other intelligences might lurk just beyond the perceptions of man.

Allenby’s analogy to musical notes was accurate, but limited. A, B, and B flat are just the beginning, or perhaps the middle, of a range of frequencies as vast as the cosmos, all peacefully coexisting on our small shared planet. When I listen, really listen, to all the frequencies, it’s like music. There’s melody in the quantum strings. I imagine the barely avoided war between human and Dread frequencies as a sour note, one that could have sent shock waves through other frequencies. So now I’m on guard, listening and watching to frequencies only I can experience. And if someone—or something—disrupts the harmony again, I’ll have no fear of being Crazy.





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