False Future (19 page)

P
rocessing
…

Complete
.

The screen goes back to the main menu. Just like that. Over. Done. I let out the breath I was holding.

Other options
is highlighted now. The screen blurs from my tears, but I can’t feel sorry or bad for myself. I made the choice.

I hit Enter.

Stop organics from entering Black (requires administrator password)


Stop synthetics from entering Black


Stop organics and synthetics from entering Black (requires administrator password)


I highlight the last option, which will encompass humans and machines. I don’t want organics or synthetics entering the Black, ever.

I type the password at the prompt, the one Albin whispered in my ear:
SOVEREIGN


Are you sure? The effects cannot be reversed
.

Yes


No


It’s one thing I am sure of. I enter
Yes
.

You have two minutes to leave this room
.

The computer powers down, the soft fizz of electricity coming from inside the monitor fading away.

That’s it. It’s over. We’re free. Until we have to deal with the inevitable future I’ve given us, that is. We have one thousand years.

We won. Yet it doesn’t feel like a victory at all. I fall back in the chair like I’ve been struck, thinking about what I’ve done, and what it means.

Finally I stand up from the desk and look around the room. East’s blood covers a quarter of it. Nina lies in a tangled heap. I’ll never see her again, in any form. It’s impossible.

We’re free. We’re free.
But still, I sob against the desk, crying so hard I can’t breathe. What happens now? I just go back home and do what? I won’t even be able to see how True Earth fares in the coming days and weeks and months. I have no way of knowing if their life will go on uninterrupted, or if they’re all going to die.

You had no choice. It was us or them.

I hope one day I can believe that. I hope one day I can remove the knife in my heart.

I stand up after some time has passed. I don’t know how much. It could be one minute and fifty-seven seconds. Maybe deep down I want to get stuck here. Maybe it’s what I deserve. But I guess I’m still human after all, because I grab East under the arms, then drag him to the Black and pass through it.

T
he director is on the platform when I return, on her knees and in custody, arms and legs bound in chains. Kellogg’s men have guns on her from every angle. Her leg is still bleeding, dripping through the catwalk. She’s so pale I don’t know how she’s still conscious.

Two soldiers grab East’s body and heave him up and over the side of the catwalk.

I pull myself up, feeling returning to my legs as they escape the Black. Just as my legs break the surface completely, smoke begins to swirl underneath the director. I look closer. Each droplet of blood that hits the Black sizzles before bursting into a puff of midnight smoke. It’s poisoned, just like Albin said.

I made it back to my world just in time. I almost giggle with the rush of the near miss.

“It’s done,” I say.

Kellogg turns his radio on. It crackles, and the light on top glows green. “A good sign,” he says, then holds the radio to his lips. “What do you see?”

Silence for a moment, then a voice says, “I see the moon. I see stars,” and the men in the room start screaming at the top of their lungs. It goes on and on, and I can’t help but feel the rush. There is starlight. And power.

The director tries to hurl herself into the Black, but enough men are guarding her that she can’t. I almost want to let her go through, to let her die. She’s too dangerous in our world.

I kneel next to Albin’s body. His arm is trapped under his back, and I pull it free and lay it on his chest. “Thank you,” I whisper, though I’m not sure why. He didn’t help because he thought we were worth saving.

It seems like it takes forever, but eventually we leave the Verge and experience the sky for ourselves. It feels warmer now, even though the sun is hours from rising. Looking up at the moon brings more tears. I allow myself to feel joy for the lives saved, but with it comes pain for the lives lost.

“What have you done?” the director says next to me. Someone was smart enough to wrap a chain around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Only what you did to us.”

She smiles. “We will survive. We know what it is to live without light. Without power.”

I find myself encouraged by her words. “I hope that’s true. I really do. But we have no idea what the future looks like right now. For all you know, your home is gone.”

“I’ll find out soon.”

“Actually, I don’t think you will.”

Her lip twitches, but she doesn’t ask what I mean. She can find out later that she has no chance of getting back home, that there will never be another war between worlds. That it is truly over.

What that means for me, I have no idea. But I’m excited to find out.

I meet up with the others outside the Verge. There are honest-to-God birds chirping somewhere. It’s the middle of winter and there are birds chirping. It’s like the whole world is waking up.

Peter is looking at the stars, but then his gaze drops to me, and he smiles. Sophia wraps her arms around me. It feels great. I want her joy to infect me; I want to feel it too.

“You did it,” is all she says.

Peter kisses me full on the mouth, then holds me close. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m proud of you.” He knows me; there will be time to talk later.

Noble has a careful smile, like he’s trying to keep it in place. A little bit of blood crusts his earlobe. “Well done,” he says, before pulling me into a hug. He doesn’t let go, and I feel a tremble in his body. He pulls back, wiping at his eye. “When did I turn into a big, crying child?” he says, not really asking.

People are milling about in the park, like they don’t know what to do or where to go. They will probably never fully understand what happened here. I’m sure for now they only feel joy as they stare up at the stars, as the lights flicker on in the apartments surrounding the park. They think the future is bright and sunny. They have no idea what darkness awaits us all in the blink of an eye.

To the south I see two Axes coasting above the skyscrapers, and a familiar fear grabs my stomach, but they turn into giant fireballs two seconds later. And two seconds after that, four US military fighter jets scream overhead, spreading out to cover the city. The surviving Roses from the Verge are on their knees, hooded and bound. None of them are stupid enough to use their power now that they’ve seen the light from the moon. They know it’s all over.

Soon the military is everywhere in the city. There are tanks up and down every street. Humvees bounce through the park, their gunners swiveling on top, scanning for any threats. In the distance I can hear people screaming, but not from terror or panic. They’re victory screams. A horn blows, and then another. Then the city is full of honking horns. My team sits through it all next to the Verge, soaking it in. Relishing the noises that say we are still here. A van full of men in black combat gear pulls up to us eventually. They get out and ask us some questions. They want us to go with them. That’s fine with us. We’re done fighting.

The president wants to address the world as soon as possible, a speech that will loop again and again as power is restored across the globe. People in the city are only just starting to realize that the blackout was on a global scale.

We talk about what to do next in a hotel the government has secured for us—one of the few safe buildings in New York. Important civilians are staying here as well, with plans to tour the city in the coming days. They want to get a message out to the nations of the world as quickly as possible. One that says
The US government is most definitely still here, and operational. Don’t try anything stupid.

It’s only been a day, but people are already flocking to the city to see the Verge, the first real proof that we are not alone in the multiverse. The government has set up a hundred-yard perimeter around it.

“I don’t know,” Peter says to me in the hotel lobby. “People won’t trust us no matter what. I think we should just disappear.”

I’m feeling really good. I’ve been taking pain pills for my injuries, but I found that if I take one more, I feel extra good. So good it’s hard to remember what I did, and hard to feel anything when I do. The director’s words keep running through my head—
We will survive. We know what it is to live without light.
I cling to them for comfort.

“The world wants the truth,” Noble says, “and we can give it to them. No cover stories. It’s over, and there is zero chance of this happening again. The truth will unite us.”

“Like when the whole world bands together against an alien threat,” Sophia says. We all look at her. “I’ve been watching movies.”

It’s funny, but it’s true. Our world was on the wrong track, divided. But now? Who knows. The coming months and years will define the rest of our existence. One day, we might even thank True Earth.

“You kids need to make your choice,” Noble says. “But keep in mind the world knows our faces already. Or at least yours. You can run and hide for the rest of your lives, or you can address the world as heroes. They’ll probably give you medals.”

“Like in
Star Wars
,” Sophia says.

So we agree to do it. We ride in a convoy down to Washington, D.C. The military has cleared a path through the highways, but there are still abandoned cars everywhere, and the roads aren’t fully open to the public yet. There are dead bodies here and there, in a car, in a ditch, in the road. The world’s near fall into destruction is apparent everywhere we look, and it will probably be that way for a long time. Maybe forever. How can anything truly go back to normal when people have experienced a taste of the end of the world? We ride to D.C., and Peter holds my hand the entire trip.

But he doesn’t look at me.

We do the address inside the White House, since it’s not safe outside. Or so a Secret Service agent tells me. Order has not been completely restored. Many cops haven’t come back to work yet. The president meets with us in an underground room surrounded by about five hundred agents, where we spend an hour briefing him. He shakes our hands. He reaches me last, leans in, and says, “Thank you,” with such sincerity I almost start to cry. I don’t want to be thanked. I don’t want to be reminded ever again. But I will be. It’s my burden to bear.

The president gives us a rundown of what he’s going to say and how he’s going to introduce us, and then we walk into the press room. Peter’s still avoiding my gaze, and I can’t figure out why.

The reporters are back to work, that’s for sure. We all walk up onto the platform and the flashes start going off and I can’t see anything. I actually squint and turn my head.

The president holds his hands up. “No pictures for a moment, please.”

Questions are shouted.
Who are they? Where did they come from? Are they from a different universe?

The president explains True Earth as more flashes go off and we stand there awkwardly in a row next to him. “You are now looking at a team of exiles who fought against the world they came from.” Not exactly true, but close enough. “Without them, we would still be in the dark.”

He introduces each of us and says some things we’ve done. He tells the world I stopped the eyeless invasion a few months ago, even though it wasn’t just me. He thankfully doesn’t mention how I had to kill myself to do it.

The screen behind us shows a tall picture of Rhys. Sophia and I made them do it. People need to see his face, to know what he sacrificed. The picture is one Sophia took in the apartment on Columbus Circle. Rhys is sitting at a table, smiling, a big red Christmas mug in front of him. Steam is rising from the mug. Seeing his smile is a knife to my heart.

We don’t have any photos of Noah and Olive, but the president talks about them briefly, presenting them as soldiers who died valiantly in our fight against evil. “They are gone,” he says, “but we will not forget them.”

The president goes on to explain the most recent attack, at least as well as he can, then comes back to me and says, “This young lady led a daring siege on the enemy’s stronghold. She ended the war, the occupation, and restored daylight and power.” There are a million questions, because none of it makes sense from an outside perspective. I mean, the sun was blocked. Cars didn’t work, and now they do. But the president doesn’t make us answer them. He says that will come later. “Now is a time of thanks,” he says. “As we rebuild, I want the world to know their saviors. It is a debt we can never repay.”

The reporters aren’t happy about the half story, but I don’t think I could care even if I tried. I just want Peter to look at me. He finally does, at the end, right before we’re marched off the platform. He turns his face to me and smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. The flashes are so bright they draw my attention to something missing on his face. I’m looking at his purple-blue eyes, and then his chin.

His chin does not have a little white scar.