Chapter Thirty-Nine
September 20X6, Stanford
When we reemerge in the Captain’s room, the red and yellow birds are facing us.
“I guess we should ask one of them.” I squint at the cages. “And since there are two birds left, there’s probably two more things we need to know.”
“Are you the key master?” Garrett asks the red bird and I can’t help but smile at the Ghostbusters reference that is probably ancient history to whoever designed this simulation.
The bird simply blinks at him.
An idea inserts itself in my mind. “It’s about using all of your senses,” I say, working it out as I talk. “The green bird was blind, the orange bird wanted to be touched…”
I climb up on the dining table and, standing next to the red bird, I clap my hands. The parrot doesn’t react beyond cocking his head, looking at me like he’s trying to figure out what the heck I’m doing. “And the red bird is deaf or needs sound,” I conclude.
At that, the green, orange, and yellow birds burst into song, all whistling the same tune.
“Can you whistle?” Garrett offers me his hand and helps me down off the table. “I think they want you to join in.”
“No… But there’s a piano over there.” I point to an upright piano on the back wall.
Garrett walks over and after listening for a couple minutes, he plunks the keys, matching the notes of their tune until he’s playing along with them.
“I didn’t know you played,” I say, swishing over to join him.
“I don’t.” He sits, so he can work the pedals. “But music is math and the notes are very clear to me right now. It must have something to do with the simulation.”
“I feel the same way—really clear.” I lower myself onto the piano bench next to him. “It’s like this is how things are supposed to be. Everything feels really…real. Heightened. I don’t know how else to put it. I’m not second-guessing myself, and you feel authentically you for a change.”
“Not this again.” Grimacing, he hits a wrong note and the birds stop singing. “I told you. I have to stay in character. I can’t risk being found out.”
“But it’s more than that,” I say, sensing something about the Simulation is set to reveal the truth. “It’s like you’re hiding something.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, but I’m not.” He shrugs and picks up the tune again. “Does it feel like I’m hiding something right now?”
“Not exactly.” I sigh, still suspecting I’m missing some piece of the puzzle. “This is the realest you’ve felt since the Warhol, actually.”
“So, there you go.” His fingers fly over the keys, banging out the playful tune, and I can’t believe he wasn’t born playing the piano. “This feeling is called flow, Ellie. It’s how you know you’re where you belong.” He punctuates the statement with a staccato crescendo that makes the birds squawk with glee.
“Are you saying we belong in a simulation?” I raise my eyebrows, my heart racing, terrified he’ll say yes and prove he’s under Dr. Schilling’s control.
“Definitely not. We’re seekers. We exist to find the way.” He hits the final note and a vase on top of the piano falls over, spilling water over the side.
My relief overflows with it.
A sparkle catches my eye. Jumping to my feet, I reach into the vase and pull out a large brass key with jewels in every color of the rainbow, ranging from red to amethyst, inlaid in the handle.
“There’s no way that key is going to fit in the trapdoor lock.” Garrett rises to his feet and examines it over my shoulder. “This must be for something else.” Taking it from me, he weighs the heavy key in his hand.
“Hopefully, the yellow bird has the answer.”
The red, green, and orange birds have now turned their backs and the yellow bird faces us, waiting expectantly.
“Smell or taste is the next question,” Garrett says as we approach the bird.
“I’m guessing smell.” I eye the votives casting flickering shadows on the cluttered dining table. When we arrive at the table, I pick up an amethyst glass cup with a gold rim that contains one of the candles and smell it. A perfume-y floral scent overwhelms me. “Rose. I don’t see any roses.”
Seeming to understand where I’m going with this, Garrett picks up a cobalt candle and smells it. “Licorice, nope.”
I choose a bronze votive jar and smell it. “Coffee. Not so much.”
“Pine,” Garrett says after smelling a forest-green one.
I smell the last candle. “Orange—citrus.” I gesture at the bowl of rotting oranges and lemons. “This must be it, but what do we do with it?”
Garrett searches the table and ultimately picks up an etched glass carafe filled with orange juice. “Put the candle under this.”
As soon as I hold the flame beneath the base, the liquid begins to bubble, foaming up and evaporating before our eyes until all that remains inside is a small gold key. The yellow bird tips her head to us and turns her back.
“Lucky guess,” I say with a wry smile.
“There’s no such thing as luck.” Garrett’s eyes flash as he turns the decanter over and the key slips into his open palm. “There’s only meant to be.” A small smile on his lips, he holds my gaze and extends the hand holding the key toward me.
My heart skips a beat as I place my hand in his, the key secured between our palms.
“Shall we?” He raises his eyebrows. His fingers close over mine and he gestures me toward the door with a bow.
“We shall.” Lifting my silvery skirt with one hand, I curtsy.
We cross the room and head back up the stairs, this time taking the orange candle to light our way.
When we reach the trapdoor, Garrett inserts the key and easily unlocks it. He pushes the wooden hatch open and we crawl up into the night. A warm breeze tickles my cheeks as I emerge on the top deck of the ship. Overhead, a canopy of stars shimmers across the midnight sky and below, water laps against the side of the boat. The soothing, undulating rhythm lulls me, releasing the tension I didn’t realize I was carrying in my shoulders.
Before us is a long dining table with lustrous black fabric running down the middle that cascades over the sides like a waterfall and pools on the plank floor. At the center of the table, gold vases packed with black and peach roses rest on beds of eucalyptus dotted with pale blue crystals and geodes that look like they fell from the sky. Tall, flickering black candles drip wax onto gold stands, providing the only light aside from the massive, silvery moon glowing high above us.
“The Snow Moon,” I whisper. Slowly pacing the length of the table, I run my fingers over the place settings that all feature a pale blue plate etched with a different zodiac symbol.
The table is set for nine, with four chairs on each side. The ninth chair sits at the far end. The host’s chair.
I walk to a nearby golden bar cart and set my candle down next to a silver tray that holds eight rocks, each one painted with a different phase of the moon and labeled with a name.
Choosing the rock that bears my name, I turn it over in my hand. It is cool and flat, painted three-quarters black, with a white crescent moon outlined in gold on the left side. Kerri, waning crescent is written in gold script. Beau’s rock is the opposite of mine. Waxing Crescent.
The other names read:
Next to the tray, eight astrological playing cards illustrated with watercolor depictions of signs ranging from Sagittarius to Aries are arranged in the shape of a diamond. In the middle of the diamond sits a round disk with a moon and stars at its center. The disk reminds me of a Caesar Cipher, but with a ring of months around the outside, followed by a smaller ring with dates, each pertaining to an illustration of the moon phase that will occur on that day, followed by astrological symbols on the innermost ring.
Garrett joins me. Standing behind me, he peers over my shoulder. “I think we have to find our seats at the table using these cards and this lunar calendar.”
His heat reverberates against my back, arousing an ache deep inside me. My skin tingling with the need for his touch, I pick up the cipher and study it to distract myself. “But we need a code to tell us what month and date corresponds to each moon phase.” Flushed, I rake my hair off my neck as I glance up at him over my shoulder. “Did you see a string of numbers anywhere?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and I almost think he didn’t hear me, but then, giving himself a little shake, he shrugs. “Easy, the latitude and longitude.”
I wilt, like my bones have turned to mush, and my feverish desires evaporate. “Do you remember the coordinates?” Facing him in full, I grit my teeth. “I told you to write them down.”
“Relax, Ellie. I told you I didn’t need to write it down.” He tucks a rosy strand of hair behind my ear with frustrating calm. “It’s latitude: 29.700001, longitude: minus 98.116669.”
Pressing my lips together, I turn my back on him. “How did you remember that?” I pick up a gold pen and notepad from the bar cart, so I can write the numbers down.
“I have a knack for these things.” Even though I refuse to look at him, I can hear the grin in his voice.
Quantum math. The answer presents itself. Ugh. “Whatever. Can you repeat them?”
I record the numbers as he rattles them off then shove the cipher at him. “Okay.” I sigh. “Let’s see if this works. 2-9. February ninth.”
He checks the cipher. “Full moon. Capricorn.”
I put the full moon, which bears the name “Whitney,” on top of the Capricorn card. “Looks like your parents are coming to dinner.”
“I wish.” His shoulders slump, his eyes faraway. “I haven’t seen them forever and I don’t know when I’ll see them again.”
His longing is a pang in my chest. It catches me off guard and I soften, knowing all too well what it’s like to be alone and adrift. Though, at least he knows his parents love him, whereas mine couldn’t have cared less about me. A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow and lighten the mood before my thoughts can spiral.
“It would be a fun party—you, me, Sophia, Faye.” I study the stones. Bix is code for Sophia and Garrett was Faye’s partner for her Initiation Heist—which was to rescue me—how did Dr. Nasif get these names? The only name I don’t recognize is Theodore, but I don’t get a chance to ask Garrett if he had a hand in designing the simulation because a gong chimes, making me jump.
A soothing voice announces, “Forty-five minutes have elapsed.”
I grab Garrett’s arm. “I forgot this was timed. What happens if we don’t complete the Simulation?”
He clears his throat and manages a crooked smile. “We’ll never know what Dr. Nasif is trying to tell us.”
“Do you think she’s trying to tell us something?” I widen my eyes. “She’s not just studying our brains?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past her.” He shrugs. “So, we should hurry.”
“Okay.” I nod, returning my focus to the notepad. “What about 7-0-0-0-0-1? Is there a July zero-zero?”
“Nope.” He frowns, shifting the cipher to look at it from a different angle.
“Try 7-1? Skip the zeroes?”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Maybe it’s 7-4 since there are four zeroes? July fourth is on here. Libra. First Quarter.”
“Got it. That’s Jeff.” I place the First Quarter moon stone with Garrett’s dad’s name scrawled on it on the Libra card. “How about 1-9?”
“Yep. Waxing Crescent, Virgo.”
“That’s you. Welcome to dinner.” I add Garrett’s stone to the astrological diamond. “How about 8-1?”
“Not here.” He bites his lip. “But 8-2 is. Third Quarter. Scorpio. Maybe we’re supposed to count the ones like we did the zeroes. There are two ones.”
“Works for me.” I put the Third Quarter moon stone with “Faye” written on it on the Scorpio card.
He squints at the cipher. “The three sixes are probably three and March nine is on here. Waning Gibbous, Pisces.”
“Nicki,” I announce, finding the Pisces card. “And now what? We’re out of numbers.”
He doesn’t answer me. His hand over his mouth, he keeps his gaze on the cipher, his eyes flitting back and forth like he’s speed reading. “Technically the latitude is minus 98.11669,” he finally says. “Maybe minus means negative. Reverse? Try the numbers backward. 9666118910000792.”
“Okay. How about 9-6?”
“Nope.”
“9-3? Since there are three sixes, we should count them?”
“Not here, either. Maybe minus doesn’t mean reversed.” He narrows his eyes. “Maybe it’s a math problem. 29.700001minus 98.116669 is negative 68.416668.”
I write the new numbers down. “Try 6-8.”
“June eighth is here. Waning Crescent, Aries.”
“That’s me.” I shimmy my shoulders, doing a little dance as I place my stone on the Aries card. “Next up, April first.”
“Not here.”
“April sixteenth.”
He nods. “Yep. New moon, Leo.”
“That’s Bix. Now, June sixth.”
“Nope.”
My shoulders sag. “The last numbers are 6-6-8. We must need to use all of them and there’s no June sixty-eighth,” I say in a huff.
“I’ve got it. 12-8,” he says, holding up his hand and gesturing for me to slow down like that could diffuse my frustration. “Add the sixes. It’s here. Waxing Gibbous. Aquarius.”
“Welcome to the party, Theodore.” I place his stone on its card, completing the diamond. “Whoever you are.”
Garrett picks up his stone. “I guess we should finish setting the table.”
We place the name stones on the plates that match the correct astrological symbols. Garrett and I are seated across from each other in the first seats next to the host.
“We still don’t have a host,” I say, when I place the last stone on the table.
As soon as I say “host,” Garrett and my chairs jerk back from the table.
“Maybe he or she is invisible. Clearly someone wants us to sit.” He raises his eyebrows. “And we probably need to do it at the same time.”
We take our places across the table from each other in front of our chairs.
He locks eyes with me. “On the count of three. One, two…”
We lower ourselves onto the seats, sitting at the same time. As soon as we do, lightning crackles across the sky and black clouds storm in, blotting out the moon. A wave crashes onto the deck, and the ship rocks so violently our chairs tip, knocking us to the deck. Plates fly and the shattering glass is drowned out by a clap of thunder. I grasp the table leg that is bolted to the wooden floor to keep from sliding into the rollicking sea as the sky opens and rain pelts us, instantly soaking me to the bone. To my left, a plank emerges from the side of the creaking ship. Tasting salt, I call underneath the table to Garrett who is gripping a leg on his side.
“Do you think that’s for us?” I gasp.
“Yep. It definitely feels like we’re not welcome here,” he yells over the pounding storm and rolling thunder, using the leg to climb to his feet before motioning for me to do the same.
I drag myself up and cling to the table for dear life.
Water streams over his face, plastering his hair flat, as he makes his way over to me. Taking my hand, he tugs me to his side and wraps an arm around my waist.
We hang onto each other and lean into the rain as we head for the plank, the floor bucking beneath our feet, like it wants to eject us. The rain comes down in sheets, making it almost impossible to see where we’re going, and my soggy dress sticks to my legs, impeding my progress, but we eventually reach the railing next to the plank.
Grateful for Garrett’s steady grasp on me, I clutch the rail and stare down into the choppy depths below. My stomach roils and I swallow, remembering the last time I was on a boat.
“Are you okay?” Garrett gives me a squeeze.
“I don’t exactly love boats.” I wince. “Especially jumping off them into large bodies of water.” I push aside a strand of hair that is glued to my forehead and check in with myself, expecting the terror of the night I “died” to rush at me, but strangely a vibration hums through me and expands across my skull, convincing me I’m invincible. I feel like I’m radiating light—like anything is possible—and I can’t wait to jump in.
I jerk my gaze up to Garrett’s. Water cascades over his cheekbones and I settle on his sparkling gray-green eyes. The eyes I know so well. The eyes I’ve missed. I’ve never felt safer in my life. “I should be freaking out, but I’m not. I’m fine.” My lips parted, I shake my head to knock some sense into myself, but it does nothing to slow my heart that is drumming with fiery adrenaline.
I grin. “Let’s walk the plank.”
He laughs. “It’s the brain sensors,” he explains as he guides me to the stairs that lead up to the plank. “They remove fear and self-doubt. This is what it feels like to trust yourself completely.”
We reach the base of the ladder and I climb first. He keeps a hand on my back, bracing my balance against the pitching ship.
“I wish I could feel like this all the time. Would it be like this in the Super Brain?” I ask over my shoulder. The moment I step onto the wood outcropping that juts out over the violent waves, the rain stops, and the sky clears. The sparkling stars return with the balmy breeze. My dress dries instantly and the water evaporates from my hair, reinstating my loose, rosy waves. It’s like I was never wet.
“Probably.” He rises onto the plank behind me. “With a side of brainwashing.” Garrett, too, has been restored to his perfectly mussed—and dry—self.
“Oh yeah. I guess self-doubt goes with being an actual human.” I shudder.
“Apprehension is probably a good thing. Otherwise, people might try to jump off buildings in the real world.” He follows close behind me as we walk the plank. The splintered wood bounces under our weight, but my spine remains straight, my stability impeccable. I give no thought to the lack of guardrails or the ocean splashing two hundred feet below.
We reach the end of the plank and his arm circles my waist.
“But in this world, nothing can hurt us,” I say, leaning my head against his shoulder.
“Exactly.” He tightens his embrace, sending a warm quiver through me. “Are you ready?” His lips graze my ear, and the hairs rise on the nape of my neck.
Tickled, I manage to nod.
“On three.” He lets go of my waist and clutches my hand. “One, two…three.”
Together, we jump into the Gulf of Mexico.