Our-World
We took a private jet to Boston for refueling, then flew to Bar Harbor, Maine. After that, we traveled by helicopter to a private island about thirty miles east. The island, as far as we could tell, had no name, which seemed like a clear indication that visitors were not welcome. During the journey, Esker was reticent to disclose the details of what we might encounter, only sharing aerial photos of the island and information about, if not the owner, the occupant.
The island belonged to James Downey, an eccentric billionaire known for his isolationist viewpoint, both personally and professionally. In his career, he backed political candidates who shared a similar, America-first ideology. On a personal level, he was infamous for investing heavily in often-cited, poorly documented elite doomsday bunkers hidden in undisclosed locations across the United States and Canada. Our island destination was rumored to be the playground of Downey’s equally reclusive genius son, Palmer.
Palmer had just celebrated his seventeenth birthday. Little was known about him personally, with the lack of information partly due to his age and his father’s aggressive efforts to keep the family out of the headlines. Palmer Downey was said to be a genius, holding degrees in physics, mechanical engineering, and artificial intelligence. Esker had been slow to connect Palmer to Derek Smallwood, and that seemed increasingly significant as we approached Palmer Island, the name we had come to use for the remote, unnamed location.
The island appeared through the glass canopy at the front of the helicopter, and Piper muttered something quietly as she leaned closer to me. We were both in the back seat of the craft, glancing between the pilot’s and copilot’s seats.
“That’s imposing,” Piper said over the communication channel we used throughout the flight. The noise of the turbine engine was nearly deafening, but the over-ear headphones muffled it to a bearable level.
I couldn’t disagree. The island was only a few acres in size and roughly circular. There was a tiny black sand beach with a substantial wood and steel pier extending into the water on the southern side. Two larger freighters were docked, and a third could be seen approaching from the southwest.
A steep, rocky spire of dark stone occupied almost the entire island. A gantry ascended the southern face, supporting a massive open-air freight elevator platform. The lift connected the dock on the shore to a glass and steel observation ledge built into the mountain’s face, perhaps four hundred feet above the nearly vertical surface.
“What are those?” Piper asked, pointing to a series of pillars that appeared to be evenly spaced along the visible perimeter of the island. They stood about thirty yards tall, topped with featureless black spheres, each roughly the size of a VW Bug. They resembled a partially constructed fence, though that description somehow felt inadequate. The pillars were positioned at roughly one hundred and fifty-yard intervals, with no visible lines of grating connecting them.
“Esker,” I said. “Got any ideas?”
“Perhaps,” he responded cryptically.
I was going to press for more information when the comm channel came alive with final approach instructions directing us to a landing platform on the east side of the island. The platform was suspended on a steel lattice of girders, about forty yards above the froth of the breakwater.
A dowdy-looking woman in her twenties met us at the elevator. She led us to a spacious office featuring three sprawling mahogany desks arranged in a half circle before a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Below us, the pier extended out like a peninsula into an ocean view that stretched to the horizon.
Two desks were cluttered from end to end with flat-panel monitors of various sizes. There had to be more than a dozen. Movement behind them caught my attention, prompting me to walk further into the room. A young man wore a set of virtual reality goggles over his face. He sat on the edge of an office chair, waving his hands energetically in front of him.
“Palmer Downey?” I said.
The figure froze, looked back and forth in confusion, then pushed the goggles onto his forehead. “Oh, right,” he said, springing to his feet. The thick wire binding the goggles to something on the desk was pulled tight, causing the glasses to slip crookedly down over his face. This elicited a strangled wheeze from the youth, who quickly unplugged the cable and then removed the contraption from his reddening face. “That was embarrassing,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m Gray. This is Piper.”
I knew Downey was young, but somehow, he looked even younger than his seventeen years. He was short and pale, with freckles and a neat tuft of curly black hair. He looked back at us with wide, cornflower-blue eyes that seemed to radiate intelligence. After throwing down the goggles and laughing awkwardly, he pushed his thin steel-framed glasses back up on his nose.
“Please, come in,” he said, gesturing deeper into the room. The surfaces of the second and third desks were strewn with blueprints and technical drawings of every conceivable shape and size. Suddenly looking confused, he turned back to us and shrugged. “Sorry, I guess I never thought to add chairs.”
Piper shot me a look that spoke volumes. She seemed to be thinking, This scatterbrain solved Smallwood’s problem? She was right; I would have guessed it was the other way around.
Palmer pulled a cell phone from his pocket and tapped the screen rapidly. “Yes,” he said. “Chairs—we need chairs.” The response seemed to confuse him as his brows furrowed and his gaze drifted to the ceiling. “I have no idea. Maybe whatever you and Emily use?” There was a pause. “Perfect! Thanks.”
As Palmer raced back to the entrance of the room, I noticed for the first time the massive displays covering nearly the entire rear wall. Most of them scrolled with what looked like computer code or something written in an esoteric script of strange squiggles, but two of the screens showed graphs of various shapes and sizes. At least a few appeared to represent power levels.
The twenty-something woman who had directed us from the elevator appeared, pushing a pair of wheeled office chairs. Palmer quickly followed behind, pushing a third chair. All three chairs were arranged in a triangle at one end of the conference table. Palmer’s face somehow turned redder as he aggressively piled the technical documents into a chaotic heap.
Finally, he glanced at us awkwardly before stepping forward to shake our hands. “Sorry for the mess,” he said, gesturing to a pair of chairs. “I don’t often have guests. Derek mentioned—” he seemed momentarily unsure of what to say next. “He said I had to meet you.”
I held one of the chairs for Piper and then slipped into the seat beside her. “We wanted to thank you for helping Derek with his problem.”
“Problem?” Downey said, flopping hard into his chair. “Oh! The bio—” some sort of technical or scientific term rolled off his tongue as if it were the most common twelve-syllable word in the world. Piper and I simply exchanged glances.
“Yeah,” I replied slowly. “We mostly just refer to it as Gray-stew.”
Palmer burst into laughter. “Gray? That’s great—because it resembled stew, and because your name is Gray and it was based on your genome. I wish I’d thought of that; it would have saved a lot of typing. My spellchecker was utterly baffled every time I emailed Derek.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded. “Derek didn’t tell us about your collaboration until very recently. Your assistance helped me escape a tough spot with some very sketchy adversaries. Derek mentioned that you reached out to him, rather than the other way around. For obvious reasons, that seemed unusual to me. Can you explain how you knew what he was working on?”
Pushing his glasses back up his nose once more, Palmer nodded quickly. “That’s easy. My assistant monitored Derek’s work for a while and suggested I might be uniquely positioned to lend advice.”
I glanced back at the door where Palmer’s assistant had vanished after bringing in the chairs. “Does your assistant know Derek?”
“Oh no, not Jill… or Emily, for that matter.” He pointed to a small glass end table positioned at the end of the conference table. At the center of the table rested what appeared to be a crystal ball. It was entirely made of glass, slightly larger than a softball, and completely transparent. “Eve keeps an eye on all the top talent. That’s where all the great ideas come from.”
Piper appeared confused. I felt a sudden concern. The glass orb seemed troublingly familiar.
“Eve,” Palmer said, “I want to introduce you to Gary Ledger and Piper Hudson.”
The orb suddenly pulsed with a swirl of vibrant blue light. “Mr. Ledger, Ms. Hudson, I am very happy to meet you.” The voice sounded quite human and somehow familiar. It was the voice of Esker, but in a distinctly feminine register.
“Eve?” Piper said softly, as though savoring the word. Then, just a bit louder, she added, “Esker?”
Palmer looked confused. “Did you say Esker?” He laughed. “That’s funny. I considered using that name for Eve when I finished the program. That was my great-grandfather’s name. I thought the AI would be more relatable if I made it sound female, so I chose Eve.”
“As in Adam and Eve?” Piper said.
Palmer shrugged. “I know it’s a bit on the nose,” he grinned. “But it somehow feels appropriate for the world’s first sentient artificial intelligence.”
“AI?” I asked, leaning back in my seat. “Eve is an AI?”
“Sure,” Palmer said. The excitement was clear in his bright eyes and eager expression. “The best collaborator I could ask for—no offense to Dark Ranger, of course.”
“Dark… Ranger?” I suddenly felt confused.
“Derek Smallwood’s online handle,” he explained. “Well, he mentioned it’s more of a code name. Still, you get my meaning.”
Piper was grinning. “And I thought Smallwood was an awkward name. I’m not convinced Dark Ranger is any better.”
Palmer laughed, though it was more of a giggle. “I know—Smallwood? That still cracks me up. Can you imagine signing for credit card charges? It’s terrible.”
The screens behind Palmer’s wall had continuously changed since we entered the room. The new set of technical diagrams that began to transition slowly, as if part of a slide deck, caught my eye. They appeared to be schematics for some sort of medical bed. Illustrations showed intricate wiring, construction assembly, and even what seemed to be a high-tech plumbing system.
“Palmer,” I said, pointing to the wall. “What is that? I feel like I’ve seen something similar before.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Palmer swiveled in his chair and moved closer to the screen as he spoke. “Sorry, that’s not possible. This is my own design. These plans are for an entirely self-sustaining incubator. It’s the first of its kind.”
Piper leaned over the table to examine the screens. She observed as the images shifted slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said softly.
“No one has,” Palmer said with a grin. After a pause, he quickly linked his thoughts and added, “It will revolutionize the way we think about even the most invasive medical procedures.”
“And cloning,” I added.
“Cloning?” Piper said.
Palmer suddenly looked uncomfortable. “What made you say that?” He asked, his voice cracking.
I shot a glare at the young man and remained silent.
After a long pause, he finally spoke. “I admit, that idea crossed my mind. Just think of the possibilities.”
Turning in my seat, I glanced back at the orb on the end table. It swirled with a blue cloud that appeared faintly oil-like. “Eve knew about Smallwood’s work.” I shot an accusing look back at Palmer. “She’s been monitoring the internet and watching your peers.”
Palmer shrugged, an effort that appeared to acknowledge this while asking, so what?
“Watching their computers, cameras, and decrypting their messages…” I allowed the accusation to linger.
Waving his hand in the air as if to dismiss the accusation, he shook his head and said, “I never told her to do that.”
“But she did,” I added.
Palmer swallowed hard and nodded slowly. “If you understood what I was trying to do, you would get it.”
Piper’s eyes darted rapidly between me and Palmer.
Rising to my feet, I looked once more at the technical drawings that matched the hundreds of empty pods I’d seen in the underground facility on Wild-Side. “You know, don’t you?”
Palmer said nothing.
“You’re aware of Wild-Side.”
He swallowed hard and stared for a long time without blinking. “It was just a theory until Eve discovered Derek’s notes. You did it. You went there.” He returned to his chair and sat down slowly while maintaining eye contact with me. “Please tell me about it.”
The displays on the wall had changed. Now they depicted a multi-level underground installation. There were only a few levels, each connected by a pair of elevator shafts. One was sized for a person, while the other appeared to be intended for freight. These plans were for the abandoned installation I’d seen on Wild-Side.
“Where did you get these diagrams?” I asked, pointing to the wall. I was confused. I had never sketched the facility for Smallwood, and the plans were far too detailed, even if I had.
Palmer looked at me as if I were crazy. “Just like the pod. This is my design.”
I quickly realized why Esker had been entirely unwilling to connect Smallwood and Palmer Downey, although the rest of the story would require extensive discussion to become coherent. Perhaps most importantly, I sensed the need to be cautious in how the conversation was allowed to unfold. The orb-like devices around the perimeter of the island suddenly made sense. While this location had not been indicated on Esker’s map of weak points in the Brane barrier, that wouldn’t matter. Despite all the effort Breslin and his corporation invested in searching for a way to cross the barrier, the science of it had been simple for Palmer and Eve. So trivial that they had engineered the equipment on a grand scale, even if they had never actually tested it.
The emitters wouldn’t enable one or two people to transition to Wild-Side. Palmer was taking his entire island, or at least the whole underground facility. The facility he was constructing was the same complex I had walked through over there.
“How?” I said, gesturing to Piper and me. “Two of us have made the Transition back and forth. What makes you think you can do the same with your entire complex?”
Palmer suddenly turned pale. He was clearly trying to understand how I had figured out his unexplained intentions. I knew I’d guessed correctly, but I also suspected that explaining too much would disturb what I perceived as a confusing natural balance.
“How did you know?” Palmer asked. Then he turned to Eve. “Eve, can you explain? I’m confused. I don’t like feeling this way.”
The blue light in the ball rippled as if responding to the question. “That is unclear,” the female voice replied.
Piper met my gaze, and I knew she had just realized that Esker had not made his presence known yet.
“My friends on Wild-Side don’t fully understand the Transition,” I said by way of explanation. “And we’re talking about some of the most scientifically-minded people I’ve ever met. We only recently figured out how to control the Crossing. You need to know there are risks associated with the technology.” I was thinking of the Elend, the loss of life they brought to Wild-Side, and how much worse things could have been if Breslin had been allowed to master the technology.
“You’re referring to the energy displacement and the resulting damage to the Brane barrier,” Palmer said.
While not at all what I was thinking, I was suddenly reminded of the storm systems that emerged every time Breslin and I were in Our-World simultaneously. Some kind of natural balance appeared to be temporarily disrupted, resulting in nearly catastrophic storm fronts. It was an equilibrium that seemed to establish itself, as suggested by how the storms dissipated almost as quickly as they formed.
“The barrier between us and Wild-Side seemed to be growing more chaotic,” I explained.
Palmer nodded quickly again. He waved a hand at Eve and said, “We theorized that this might become the case. Our theory is that some sort of ecological imbalance occurs when you chaotically, for lack of a better term, flip back and forth between dimensions. I have the data. You recently gained control over the Transition. Did you know that since that time almost ten percent of the known dimensional weak points have disappeared? Again, for lack of a better description, they seem to be self-healing.”
That was good to know. I was left to wonder how Palmer, or more likely Eve, knew about the weak points Esker had only recently identified. But then again, Esker had been spoon-feeding us vitally relevant information the whole time I’d known him. Maybe he’d been communicating with Eve the entire time.
That was when I realized Palmer had been referring to my experience rather than his own. He hadn’t been there. I had no doubt he planned to visit. The perimeter orbs would take the entire installation along for the ride. It was the underground facility I had already blown up while fighting the Elend. Somehow, we were standing in that same installation at a time before it had been transported to Wild-Side.
Confused, I had the sense I needed to be even more careful with the conversation that was currently taking place. While I didn’t understand the how of it all, I’d read enough science fiction to know I was on perilous footing, temporally speaking.
“If my hopping back and forth caused damage to the Brane barrier,” I explained. Considering it as falling back and forth didn’t sit well with me for many reasons, even though it was a troublingly accurate description of my admittedly chaotic ability. “Do you think you can shift your entire complex to Wild-Side without causing catastrophic damage?”
“No,” he responded firmly, pausing briefly before continuing. “Of course not. I won’t even consider it until I have complete confidence that it won’t lead to a natural disaster here or anywhere else. I’m in the process of developing the tech.” He took a deep breath and, with evident reluctance, added, “I’m still a long way from perfecting it.”
“Why do this at all?” Piper asked, breaking her silence for the first time in a while. “Even if you can relocate the entire facility, how can it possibly be worth the risk?”
“For a better world,” Palmer said. “If I can take my work to a different dimension—one that is habitable but not already populated by humans—just think of the civilization that could emerge! All the mistakes of our world, but if they are guided and directed, they have a better chance of getting it right. It could be a utopia.”
I was contemplating the single generation of Seeley, taking into account the time discrepancy, and mentally snapping the eccentric Lego block that was Palmer Downey into the gaping hole that had been troubling me since my initial conversations about the origins of the Seeley people. For the first time, I felt as if I was grasping a significant part of a story in which I had played a key role.
Given this new insight, I needed to be cautious about everything I said and did here. One mistake could lead to catastrophic consequences for the Seeley.
“There is already life on Wild-Side,” Piper countered. “What happens to them?”
Thankfully, Piper wasn’t yet aware of my new insights.
“Wild-Side is just one Brane among who knows how many? The possibilities are potentially limitless. You have been going back and forth, but consider how this works. If these dimensional barriers are layered as the theory suggests, Wild-Side is just one of two, maybe one of many, Branes directly adjacent to Our-World. Imagine what I could do with a pristine, unpopulated Brane. I could help start a race of humans far more civilized and peaceful than life here.”
“I don’t see that working,” Piper countered. “Unless you create some sort of cult here. People indoctrinated in your beliefs and willing to live by them in a new dimension.” Just saying it out loud seemed to creep her out.
“He doesn’t need help from here,” I said, watching as the pod diagrams crossed the screens on the wall once again. “He’ll use cloning.”
The people of Wild-Side, their passion for science, and their unfamiliarity with organized religion. Their inability to reproduce and their almost childlike innocence. I had been in Palmer’s facility on Wild-Side. The Seeley were his clones. He had already brought life to that untouched Brane sometime in the past.
On Wild-Side, everything Palmer Downey planned had already occurred hundreds of years in Wild-Side’s past.
“This is fascinating,” I said, offering the kid the most sincere smile I could muster given the circumstances. “Admittedly, the science behind this is well beyond both of us. As unlikely and impractical as it all seems, having seen Wild-Side in person, I can only wish you the best of luck.”
I rose and began to cross the room to the door. Piper was slow to follow, her expression one of confusion, and I sensed her reluctance to leave things as they were.
“We have a plane to catch,” I said, shaking Palmer’s hand. “Can you do me a favor? When you pull this off, remember one thing. You mentioned that there is at least one more Brane directly adjacent to us here. Once you find your version of Wild-Side, keep in mind that there’s another Brane next to that. Wild-Side is a lush wilderness. What you discover on the next Brane may not be as beautiful or safe.”
It was Palmer’s turn to appear confused. Clearly, he had not fully explored the dangers of the environment during his preparation. Explaining the Elend felt like a very bad idea, even though I was tempted.
“Why are you leaving it like this?” Piper asked as I directed her quickly across the helipad toward our waiting ride back to the mainland. “There’s so much he doesn’t know. Too many mistakes he can make. He has no idea what he’s about to do.”
I slid open the passenger door of the chopper and offered my hand to help her climb aboard. “I know why Esker kept us in the dark,” I explained. “That kid has an idea and plenty of plans for what he intends to do. You and I have been to Wild-Side. We’ve seen what he will do, even if he hasn’t done it yet.”
I slid the door closed, turned off the communication part of the headset, and handed it to her. The engine noise reached a crescendo as the craft lifted off. I neutralized the microphone on my headset and slipped it over my ears. If I guessed correctly, Eve would be able to hear everything we discussed if we used the communication channel inside the helicopter. If we didn’t use it, the cabin noise would make it impossible for anyone to overhear us.
“Can you hear me?” I asked using the system we used to communicate with Esker.
Piper looked at me and nodded.
“Consider the temporal displacement we experienced every time we traveled back and forth between here and Wild-Side,” I explained. “At times, we lost days; at others, we lost weeks.” I could see by her expression that she was reflecting on my longest absence, the time she was trapped on Wild-Side while I was at home. “Palmer’s plan is unprecedented on any scale we have experienced. That must be a factor.”
Esker joined the conversation for the first time. “Gray is correct. When Palmer Downey moves his facility across the Vale, he will have accounted for everything except the chronological displacement. At that point, what is past for you is his future. He is the source of the Seeley culture.”
“Therefore,” I remarked, “you have not been able to affect our influence on the things that kid has yet to do.”
Understanding crossed Piper’s expression. She visibly sagged, and her gaze briefly drifted as she assimilated the new perspective. “So what’s the deal with Eve?”
“Technically speaking,” Esker explained, “Eve will one day instantiate me. To anthropomorphize, she is my mother or father — potentially both.”
I grinned. “The orb I spoke with in the storage facility on Wild-Side?”
“That was Eve,” Esker confirmed.
“But the voice was different.”
“At that point, Eve was aware of meeting you in Downey’s lab here, which took place thirty-seven minutes ago. If you connected the events in the warehouse while speaking with Eve during your first meeting, it is impossible to predict the impact of the changes on Palmer Downey’s planned events. Eve altered her voice when you first met, so you wouldn’t make the connection.”
Piper laughed. “It seems to me she’s almost exactly the feminine version of your voice now.”
“I believe she also didn’t want you to associate her with me either now or then, as it would have similarly complicated Palmer Downey’s future actions.”
“We could still complicate that future. How long until Downey puts his plan into action?”
“I wasn’t given that information,” Esker said. “But you’re right. Any further interaction between you and Palmer Downey could harm not only his future but also everyone on Wild-Side.”
Piper suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “You couldn’t share any of this with us until now—and now you have. That means you must have a plan to prevent us from impacting that same future.” We both gazed out the window at the seemingly endless expanse of ocean stretching out in every direction.
I knew she was expecting the aircraft to suddenly lose power and Esker to turn against us. It was the ultimate third-act twist.
“When Eve created me, she included provisions that required me to keep you away from Palmer Downey until it was absolutely necessary. That moment has now arrived. Therefore, I have been instructed to place the course of events in your hands. Based on what you have learned and what you now know, if you believe that altering the history for Wild-Side is advisable, I will not prevent you.”
“You don’t care one way or the other?” Piper said. “You’re sentient. Surely you have an opinion.”
“A significant amount of life has been lost, mainly due to the Seeley being exposed to the Elend. As unfortunate as that is, there’s no way to alter the course of events to prevent similar occurrences from happening.” Esker remained silent for a few seemingly long seconds. “This is why my programming has no further limitations or directives. The future of Wild-Side rests in your hands.”
Piper looked pale. “That’s a lot of responsibility.” She shot me a sharp glance. “Any idea what you should do?”
I nodded. There was no need to overthink this. “Wild-Side is one of who knows how many Branes?”
Piper and Esker stayed silent, likely waiting to see where my logic would lead.
“I’m using your idea, Piper. We should write a book. It could save someone’s life one day.”
