Departure(43)

The four of us just stare at Yul, no one quite sure what to say. Grains of sand on a quantum beach? I’m so far out of my league here. I ask the question that seems most relevant: “What did the sender want?”

“To help us. They told me that a global catastrophe was imminent, an event that would cause the near extinction of the human race, an event they had barely lived through and were trying to prevent. They asked me to contact Sabrina, whom I didn’t know. I was asked to pass a series of instructions to her. They didn’t make any sense to me.”

“Nor to me, at first,” Sabrina says. “Then I realized what it was: a breakthrough in my research—a new treatment.”

“For?”

“Progeria syndrome.”

Now that surprises me. Since we reached London, I’ve nursed a theory about how humanity might have vanished from the face of the earth: a pandemic. To me, it’s the most viable theory as to how the human race could have fallen so far, so fast. My suspicion was that Sabrina, more than Yul, was connected to it. But this doesn’t add up. “Progeria syndrome . . . ,” I whisper, trying to reconcile the information with my working theory.

“It’s an extremely rare genetic condition that causes premature aging. Affected individuals die of old age in their teens.”

“I assumed you worked in infectious diseases,” I say to Sabrina, unable to hide my suspicion.

“I don’t. Never have.” Sabrina pauses, searching for the right words. “That was, however, a logical assumption, given what we’ve seen. The messages asked me to take several actions, what I believed were preventive measures against some biological event: an outbreak or mass mutation, perhaps. I believed I was distributing a vaccine that might propagate, saving the human population in 2014. It seems, however, that I was only inoculating some of the passengers on the plane.”

It takes me a few seconds to process that. Everyone’s studying the dark floor, trying to wrap their heads around it. Finally Yul breaks the silence.

“I also received instructions. Schematics. I used them to build a device they said would allow enhanced communications. Both of us”—he motions to Sabrina—“were told to come to London, where we’d receive further instructions.”

“That’s why you wanted to come to London, even after the crash?”

“Yes,” Yul says. “Those were our last instructions. They were all we had to go on.”

“The device you built—you think it crashed the plane, or played a role in bringing us here?”

“I’ve . . . entertained the idea. The plane broke apart roughly where my carry-on was. The device, however, survived the crash unharmed.”

“You’ve been working on that device since the crash?” I ask.

“No. I’ve been trying to connect to the Q-net, to make contact with them.”

“And?”

“The Q-net is different now. The protocols have changed. It’s like dial-up in the nineties: every time I connect, I get booted off instantly. My hardware is okay. It’s like I don’t have the right software. The data packets I’m sending aren’t formatted correctly, and I have no guide to how they should be formatted.”

I consider that for a moment. “Or they are formatted correctly, but someone’s trying to keep you off. Maybe connecting would reveal your location, endanger you.”

“True,” Yul says.

“How long have you known we were in the future?” I ask. It’s not strictly relevant, but it’s a hot button for me. I feel we could have saved some time, and maybe even lives, if Yul had at least told some of us, enlisted help earlier.

“The first night,” Yul says. “The stars. At first I thought the crash event could have caused a widespread blackout, eliminating all the light pollution. The first clue was that the international space station was gone. Where it should have been I saw a large, lighted ring in orbit. That’s how I knew we were in a different time completely.”

“And you told no one?”

Yul shrugged. “Who would have believed me? You?”

I can see where this is going. We need to focus. I wonder if we should move. We’ve been here too long . . . but the panels might reveal details we still need. I motion to the cracked, spray-painted panels.

“You think the Titans sent the messages?”

“I don’t know,” Yul says. “They were involved in Q-net, and seemingly in the catastrophe that occurred. In 2014 the senders identified themselves only as the Friends of Humanity. For all I know, it could have been the Titans’ enemies; they seem to be at war.”

“The question, to me,” Sabrina says, “is why it took the . . . rescue teams four days to reach the crash site.”

“Yes. Very curious. When I returned from Stonehenge, two factions were at war. What were the tents? Some kind of medical experiment?”

“Perhaps. I’m only certain of one thing: they were treating the passengers for wounds.” Sabrina glances at Harper. “And doing an excellent job.”

Through the doorway, I hear footsteps. The intro restarting?

I open my mouth to ask another question, but stop. Figures. In the doorway. Suited. The beings from the crash site. They stop ten feet from us. No one moves. I glance behind me, desperately hoping someone activated another simulation from the menu.