Math was always my favorite subject.

  It didn’t lie. It didn’t play favorites. If you understood how to divide, you could divide anything—except zero. If you knew the quadratic formula, you could graph parabolas. If you—

  You get the idea.

  Normally, I can solve problems really fast, and I can usually get them right. Mrs. Helquist thought I was a prodigy. She wanted to move me into some higher-level math classes, but I either needed the prerequisites or some private tutoring, and Dad couldn’t have afforded that even if he’d wanted to.

  But I hated timed tests.

  The only time I’ve ever hated math had nothing to do with the numbers on the page and everything to do with the numbers on the clock. Slap a page with “Math Minute” written across the top in front of me, and I freeze right up.

  Good thing reality’s not a timed test.

  Location Unknown, Provisional Reality ARC, Time Unknown

  - - - - -

  So, the equation.

  If X is the amount of time the RSTs’ personal reality anchors can run, and Y is the amount of time they can maintain normal reality levels without them, then Z is the amount of time they have before they need to be back in R-0. Simple enough. Thirty-one minutes out of cover or fifty-two minutes in it, plus about five minutes for the ultra-high reality levels here to collapse them.

  Against that, a fifty-eight-minute timer before SHOCKS can open the merge portal at whatever location we hole up in.

  We’re a minute short, no matter how we run the numbers.

  That’s the math. It doesn’t lie, and it doesn’t play favorites.

  Rodriguez knows it, and so does L5-1. Both of them also know that there’s a variable we can change. If there are six RST troopers and six anchors, everyone’s screwed.

  If there are only five troopers, but still six anchors, though?

  Yeah. If there are only five, they can rotate the last anchor. It won’t be pleasant, but they’ll all live.

  Not the one they take the anchor from, though. Sometimes, math’s cruel, even though it doesn’t lie and doesn’t play favorites. Sometimes, there’s not another way to solve for X.

  We’re all walking while the RST troopers talk on their communicators. I’ve asked James to patch me out of their conversation unless they need me, but they know the same math I do. James will bring me back in when they figure out who the sacrifice is.

  “What about if you toggled your devices on and off?” I ask out loud. I haven’t given up on this yet. We can all get out of here. I just need to figure out how.

  Strauss looks at me. His eyes are haunted and empty. “Won’t work. It takes more power to start a URA than it does to keep it running. We’d only be speeding up the inevitable.”

  “James, ideas?”

  [I’m running through what we know about this reality. In the meantime, staying with the RSTs isn’t going to help them,] James says. His voice shifts to the computerlike tone he uses when he’s talking publicly. [Lambda-Four and Lambda-Five, L4-3 is going to look for a solution. My calculations suggest that you can wait up to forty-eight minutes before you pass the point at which one additional anchor won’t be enough. Take cover nearby. L4-3 will be back in thirty minutes.]

  Rodriguez nods. She looks sick, and everyone’s got their guns ready. She points at a nearby building; it’s not as tall as the others, but it doesn’t have windows on the first floor. “We’ll be there. It’s defensible. Command, we’re looking for solutions to our timing problem.”

  “Copy that. We are, too. That reality has windows where we can set up a merge portal and windows where we can’t. Otherwise, we’d evac you now. If we think of something on our end, we’ll let you know.”

  I turn and leave.

  This reminds me of that space mission. The one named for the Greek god Apollo. They had malfunctions on their spacecraft and had to get coached through the repairs via radio—and to use scrapped-together solutions just to survive. Except technically, we’re not in a spaceship, and we have fewer tools than they did. And less time.

  Reality’s a timed math test sometimes, and the math’s not favorable.

  I duck into a side street—as much to break line of sight with the teams as anything else. The black void vines cover everything natural and most of the buildings’ surfaces, and the same potpourri and sewage smell leaks up from below. [Claire, the RSTs don’t have a better solution. I’ve got every spare processing loop focused on them. They’re out of options. So are we.]

  “What does that mean?”

  [It means we should spend the next forty-six minutes and sixteen seconds working on our primary objective: tracking down a Voiceless Singer or figuring out what happened to this reality. The RSTs are grown adults who signed up for stuff like this. They knew the risks and knew that some of them might not be coming home from a trip to another reality. You can’t save them. I know—I’ve done all the math you’re working through already.]

  “I don’t want to abandon them,” I say. They might’ve been ready to get into a shoot-out with me less than an hour ago, and I don’t trust them, but there’s a good chance one of my…friends? I guess they’re friends. There’s a good chance one of my friends doesn’t get out of here.

  [I know, but the math’s against them.]

  He’s appealing to the math. Worse, he’s telling the truth.

  But the truth is that even though he’s not lying, I have to try. “Alright. Let’s get looking. Set a forty-minute timer in my aug. That’ll give us time to get back.”

  [Got it. You’re doing the right thing, and they know it.]

  The timer appears and starts ticking down. I mentally subtract ten minutes from it and keep track of the new number. That’s how long I have to figure something out. I pull up my Skills and Inquiries.

  [System Access: 100%]

  [Recalculating Skills, Knowledges, Bonds, and Inquiries. Adjusting Stability]

  [Claire Pendleton]

  ?Stability 1/10

  ?Skills - Endurance 7, Urban Combat 4, Anomalous Computing Systems 4, Physical Anomaly Resistance 12, Open Mind 1, Revolver Mastery 19, Compulsion Resistance 2, SHOCKS Database 1, Mental Fortitude 2, Gravity Shells, Reality Anchoring 3, First Aid 2, Toxin Resistance 6, Reality Skipper Shells, Bullet Time, Slither, Smoke Form, Analyze, Mergewalk, Mindscape, Soundbreak, Determination, Absolution, Truthseeker

  ?Truths - Anomalous Bond, West End High, SHOCKS Research Facility, JAMES, Stag Lord, Halcyon Bond, Li Mei and Infovampires, Dr. Dwyer, Provisional Reality AAA, Mergekilling, Part of the Ship,

  ?Inquiries (4/5)

  ?What’s going on at Albert Head and West End High?

  ?What do the voiceless singers want?

  ?Why don’t people come back from other realities?

  ?Where are the voiceless singers hiding?

  ?

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  One slot left. I don’t want to lose any of these, but I’ve got a pair of possible Inquiries. On the one hand, I need to know what happened to this world. It’s important in the long term to understand what happened to the Voiceless Singers, where they’ve gone, and what they want. And, of course, how they relate to the System I’m using.

  On the other hand, there’s the impending problem of the RSTs. They need an answer. This world’s got to have something. I’m not sure what yet, but…if I don’t find a solution soon, one of them is dead. Maybe more than one; I could see that tinderbox lighting up and several people taking bullets. So, that’s a pressing problem.

  And then there’s a third option. I could do neither, and instead try to figure out what’s on the data banks in my pocket. Director Ramirez wants them intact as much as he wants his teams back. They have to be important.

  I can work on all three, but I can’t progress them all within the System unless I abandon a current Inquiry.

  In the end, though, there’s only one choice.

  ?Inquiries (5/5)

  ?Why can’t humans handle different reality levels?

  I’m not looking for a solution. Not yet. I just need an answer to the basic question, and I need it in the next ten minutes.

  Something tickles my mind, and I forget what I’m doing. Command Two reminds me, and before I can lose focus again, the Mindbender is dead. I’m looking for a clue.

  I don’t have a plan for how to find one, so I’m just wandering and letting James observe. His Analysis is a better tool than anything I’ve got. We leave the city center—the towers out here are narrower, more like the ones we have on Earth. There are no ‘normal’ houses.

  [I’m almost done with the lexicon for this world, and I think I have a possible target five minutes out. It’s a research facility, but I’m not sure what they were researching yet. It’s our best bet for a quick in-and-out operation, though.] James sounds suspicious, but if he’s caught on that our goals don’t line up, he’s not saying anything.]

  “Show me.”

  A map appears in my aug with a thin blue line leading toward the lab. I break into a run; something inside is the solution. It has to be, because the math only works that way.

  L5-1 wouldn’t stop safing and unsafing his SMG’s clip, and it was starting to drive Olivia Rodriguez insane. It was the only sound in the basement they’d taken shelter in. Even Strauss had nothing to say.

  Their battle lines were clear. Lambda-Four was holed up about fifteen yards from Lambda-Five in the hotel-looking building’s hall. Lambda-Five had taken the concierge desk. If it came down to a firefight, Olivia knew how it’d end; Lambda-Five’s heavy machine gun wasn’t set up, and by the time they could get it running, Lambda-Four would be all over them.

  The problem, to her, was pretty simple. Right now, SHOCKS Victoria/Vancouver Island’s Recovery and Stabilization Teams were screwed. The best-case scenario was that they got out of it with one ad-hoc team together. Either way, the new Lambda wouldn’t operate as smoothly as either Four or Five did, and they’d be under shaky leadership. Director Ramirez was already losing his mind over the casualties both teams had taken in their missions, and he wouldn’t be any more stable after this.

  The issue was that no one wanted to be the sacrifice. Obviously. Everyone was holding out for L4-3—the only one of them not on a timer.

  Strauss had talked for a while. He’d been confident that if anyone could find a solution, it was L4-3. Olivia wanted to believe him; that girl had pulled some shit off in the past, bailing them out of the ghost ship and getting Strauss to safety in the maze world.

  But time was running out. The point of no return was coming up, and Olivia had to make a decision. No one else would.

  She started unbuckling her personal reality anchor, ignoring Command’s sudden, frantic protests. It hit the ground with a thump in the no man’s land between Lambda-Four and Lambda-Five.

  I’m five floors down the stairs when I realize I recognize this place.

  It’s a SHOCKS facility.

  Not exactly, I guess. The dimensions are still wrong; I can barely stand up straight, and the weird computers and not-square cubicles are everywhere. But it’s a high-tech, underground prison/research facility made out of chunky, squared concrete. And it’s overgrown with black void vines. They’ve broken through the walls, the doors—everywhere. It’s a maze in here.

  I manually adjust my timer down another two minutes to account for how impossible it’ll be to get out of here, then start sliding through the choking vines. They remind me of the ghost ship—in fact, they’re almost identical to the pipes, except there’s no oil running through them, and they’re not angular and cold.

  They’re a little warm—not enough to make me sweat, but enough to be noticeable.

  [Lexicon finished. Overlaying language,] James says. The words spring to life on my aug, overlaid on scribbles I can’t even start to read, and I smile. I was right.

  ‘Containment and Preservation, Incorporated.’

  That’s the name of this place. A business variation on SHOCKS, not a shadowy government agency. Not the Bogeymen.

  The wings aren’t labeled in a way I can understand—I have no idea what ‘Heretical’ or ‘Apocalyptic’ means in this context, though I can guess—but they’re something. I scan the maze of halls and vines, letting James populate my map with information. Then I push down the hall toward the ‘Research Mezzanine.’

  If there’s an answer here, it’ll be there. Probably.

  The Research Mezzanine is a vast, open space with a single floor around it and another far below. It’s also the first time since we entered Provisional Reality ARC that I haven’t felt claustrophobic. There’s only one vine in the center of the room, and it’s both massive and surrounded by a broken glass tank. Water stains cover the floor around it.

  [That’s what we want,] James says.

  “You’re sure?”

  [I’ve been the centerpiece of an experiment long enough to recognize the subject of intense research. We need to get down there.]

  I’m already drawing the Revolver. One micromerge jump later, I’m downstairs, next to the gigantic plant.

  [Stability 7/10]

  The first thing I notice is that the room’s oppressively dark. The corners seem to disappear, and even in the center, where a dozen lights burn brightly, it feels like midnight with a full moon. It’s almost like the vine’s sucking the bright from the rest of the space. I shiver.

  The second is that the vine itself is moving.

  It’s not much, and it’s definitely not conscious or mobile. But it is swaying back and forth. It’s almost like…

  “James, what are the reality levels right here?”

  [Right here, right now?] James asks. I nod, and he pauses. The silence stretches on for far longer than it should. [Extremely low. Almost to the point of reality not existing.]

  I check the timer. Eighteen minutes. Thirty-four on the teams’ life timers. Two or three minutes longer until we can pull out of here.

  That’s enough time. I can save them.

  “Command, Lambda-Four, Lambda-Five, this is L4-3,” I shout into the microphone. “I’ve got an idea.”

  I relay the information. Command goes quiet. “That might work. There’s a problem, though.”

  “What?”

  “L4-1…” Command’s voice cracks, and suddenly, it’s Doctor Twitchy, not Director Ramirez. “Olivia removed her personal reality anchor.”

  I go cold, and it’s not from the darkness or the sense of unreality that’s already pressing in on me. “How long does she have?”

  “Ten minutes at most, even if we get her strapped back in,” Strauss says.

  I shut my eyes. I was so close, but ten minutes? That’s barely going to be enough time. It took me twelve to get here and figure things out. But I wasn’t pushing myself—not like I can. Breathe in. Breathe out. Run the equation again.

  “Command, I’m moving toward the RSTs’ last-known location. Strauss, get her back in that anchor and start moving toward us. I’ll meet you halfway and take her. I’m going to be moving fast. The rest of you are on your own. Get here quickly. L4-3 out.”

  I hang up. “James, mute them all. Tell them exactly where we are, but I need to focus.”

  Being good enough won’t be enough. Not right now. I’ll have to be like Alice. I’ll have to be perfect.

  I crash through a wall with Slither and Smoke Form, and my Stability hits three. My Revolver’s smoking from the shots I’ve taken: one reality skipper to get back upstairs, a Smoke Form to slide through the elevator door using my momentum, and another micromerge jump to climb the whole elevator. Then one to travel most of the length of a street. I’ve moved four blocks in less than three minutes.

  The problem is twofold. I can’t hit zero Stability, because Lambda-Four and Lambda-Five don’t have the time to fight an unknown anomaly. But I can’t fail at getting Rodriguez back to the room with the vine. James has been checking, and none of the void plants covering the city have the concentrated unreality to counter the hyperreal world they’re living in. They’ve achieved symbiosis with Provisional Reality ARC, but the vine in the CPI headquarters drained every last bit of hyperreality from its surroundings.

  There’s an event horizon, just like around the gravity shots, where things are balanced. Beyond it is unreality, and in front of it is hyperreality. I want that line.

  That’s the best plan I’ve got. Overload the RSTs with unreality, then dunk them into hyperreality and hope I can maintain their balance.

  It could work.

  Strauss rounds the corner, right where James said he’d be. The rest of the RSTs are behind him. According to James, they were seconds away from opening fire on each other before Lieutenant Rodriguez defused things. I’d never have guessed; they’re moving as a unit, and even though I can see the fracture lines, they’re faint—more like the kind people who haven’t worked together have with each other than the kind people who were about to kill each other do.

  I don’t care. I use another reality skipper to close the gap, grab Rodriguez, and run.

  It’s funny that I’m doing this again. I’ve dragged her through a couple different tight, confined mazes now. She’s going to owe me when this works—and it’s going to work. It has to. The math says it’s possible.

  I run as fast as my Endurance will let me with her weight pressing down on me, and then I run even faster.

  [Skill Learned: Endurance 8]

  It takes longer than it needs to get back into the CPI building, and I have to take some pretty crazy risks to keep on schedule. The biggest one is the drop down the elevator shaft; since I’ve got Rodriguez, I can’t just use the Revolver—at least, not the way I want to. Instead of taking a micromerge across with a reality skipper, I fire a gravity shot and make a singularity halfway down, then drop Rodriguez.

  She falls limply. She doesn’t even scream. I’m not sure she’s even conscious, but the shell does catch her. I drop down behind her, knock her out of the miniature black hole she’s orbiting before it can rip at her too much, and then Slither and Smoke Form out.

  [Stability 2/10]

  Then I’m in the mezzanine, and the void root—it has to be a root, there’s no way a vine could be that thick—is right there.

  I scoop Rodriguez up, sprint for the edge, and repeat the same trick with a second gravity shot. We slide into the dark, oppressive unreality in the Research Mezzanine’s bottom floor. I drop her onto the floor and wait for the rest of the RSTs to catch up. But more importantly, I wait for her to live or die.

  I can’t do anything else for her.

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