“So you’ve been scanning me for this countersignature?” Eliot asks.
“Yes,” Dr. Ramírez tells her. “You have it. Partially. All of your alternates are emitting the countersignature in varying concentrations. Every universe the Fade has eroded thus far holds one of your alternates, each with a consecutively stronger countersignature. The distribution pattern suggests an echo, a bread crumb trail for the decay to follow until it reaches the source. The way a spider follows the vibrations of its web to secure its prey.”
“Spiders. Webs. Locks. Key. Antibodies. Ecosystems. For a scientist, you sure enjoy your metaphors….” Eliot sits up straight: shoulders flat, elbows locked. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you?” The scientist scratches his jaw again. “Why would I do that?”
“If the web is shuddering, why not just cut the string?” Eliot makes a snipping motion with her fingers. “Not that I’m endorsing my demise, but if I’m a walking beacon for some cosmic antibody…”
“That’s where the metaphor falls apart,” Dr. Ramírez admits. “You aren’t the source of the countersignature. Your death won’t stop the Fade—only the neutralization of the catalyst might do that.”
“Might?”
“Nothing like this has ever happened before. Everything from here on out is theoretical…. But if we can find the catalyst and neutralize her—or him—first, then it’s possible we’ll be able to halt the Fade’s progress and protect the universes between. Including ours. None of the branches’ scans have come back with a complete countersignature, which leads us to believe the subject we’re searching for—the epicenter of all this—dwells in an MB-negative universe. One where the Bureau doesn’t yet exist. As you might imagine, this presents complications. There’s a portable scanning process, but the readings take longer than those with the lab instruments. Plus, the subject has to be within a hundred meters for the scan to work.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” The table shimmers as Eliot shifts her weight. “Don’t you have schools of interdimensional travelers who can skip universes on command?”
“Universes, yes. Time is a different beast. Seeing as many of your alternates are time travelers, it’s best for us to cover our bases with an operative who can navigate both. The scan won’t work if we can’t keep up.”
“You—you want me to conduct the scans.” The realization sinks in, carving deeper marks into every corner of Eliot’s face. “But I don’t know the first thing about world-hopping.”
“It’s easier for time travelers to pick up interdimensional travel than vice versa. Similar mechanics, different contexts. Traveling through time requires historical finesse, and thus years of training, which you’ve already had. The world-hopping tech is similar to the Corps’ solo-jump equipment—only you’re traveling sideways instead of backward. We’ve no doubt that you’ll be able to adapt to the terrains of this mission. They are other versions of your life, after all,” Dr. Ramírez tells her.
“How many versions? You just told me that the number of universes is infinite. That’s more than a Hail Maria or haystack-needle odds….”
“We’ve narrowed the epicenter’s search window by projecting a path using various strengths of the countersignature in each alternate. There are 3,526 worlds most likely to host the catalyst.”
Eliot considers this number. “Better than infinite, I guess.”
“You won’t be the only you searching. We’ve divided the window into manageable sectors, a few dozen universes each. You’re to scour your assigned worlds, scan your alternates as discreetly as possible, and—in the event that you find the catalyst—neutralize them.”
“Neutralize. As in…?” Eliot blanches, making scissors of her fingers again.
Dr. Ramírez hesitates. “If there’s a string that needs to be cut, it is the catalyst.”
Murder is as cold as the room. Eliot shivers—white—into it. Her hand drops.
“And if I fail?”
“Annihilation,” the scientist says simply. “Your cousin’s gelato will have to melt, Cadet McCarthy. You have worlds to save.”
SUBJECT ZERO
MAY 15, 2371 AD
Eliot stares down the camera, no trace of smile left. She looks tougher than she did in the lab—less likely to tear, more ready to do the ripping. “My name is Eliot Gaia McCarthy. I’m recording this message for myself in the event that the Fade reaches my universe—MB+178587977FLT6—before the mission is completed.”
Her flinch is understandable. She’s talking about the destruction of everything she’s ever known.
“If you see the decay, jump through time immediately. The Fade is running along a timeline parallel to your own, but as long as your present doesn’t collide with the decay’s present, you will continue to exist. Your memories won’t be so fortunate. The Multiverse Bureau has equipped you with recording tech that preserves moments even after they’ve been erased by the Fade. It’s imperative to your mission that you record everything you see so no essential knowledge is lost. Knowing what you’ve forgotten will also help you track the Fade’s growth and—hopefully—stay ahead of it. Your interface, Vera, will remind you to file these feeds every twenty-four hours. You have three types of jump equipment: interdimensional, time, and teleportation. All three of them are linked into Vera’s systems and can be controlled via voice. Your handler for this mission is Agent August Ackerman. He’ll be monitoring your progress from universe MB+251418881HTP8 and dropping in from time to time. Beware: He’s a complete arse. His sexism is pointedly ancient, despite his disdain for time travel. Protocol is his Achilles’ heel, so if he starts giving you grief about something, just mention his superiors in HTP8. Your mission directives are stored in Vera’s systems, so I’m not going to waste time going over all of them here….”
There’s a pause.
“This mission won’t be easy. It’s long and solitary, with terrifying consequences and possibly no reward. Mom, Strom, Solara, entire universes of people are depending on you, Eliot.” She stares at herself, at all of her selves—future and alternate, despairing and dumbfounded—through the lens. It’s a warpath gaze, blazing across time, beyond dimensions. “Make it count.”