Pi in the Sky Read online

  He nods grimly. “They’re all going, slowly. All the humans. The more recent arrivals will go first, but one by one, they will all disappear as though they never existed. Which, of course, they didn’t. I mean…” He trails off, rubbing his head. “The laws of time. Very confusing.”

  “But that’s so unfair!”

  He nods. “An unfortunate consequence of events, I agree.”

  We stare miserably at each other. He may have a face like a garbage disposal, but at least he has the decency to be upset at the situation. My father’s in there practicing his golf swing.

  “How is Annika doing?” Gluck asks.

  I shrug. “She’s with Aunt Rae. Seems okay, I guess. I don’t know how much longer she’s going to believe this whole dream thing.”

  “Is she exhibiting any strange behavior?”

  “Define strange.”

  “I’m not certain. Passing out, gasping for breath.”

  I shake my head. “She falls asleep really easily, though.”

  He nods. “Yes, that would make sense.”

  None of it makes sense. “Speaking of Annika, how can she breathe here? How can she even walk? We have barely any gravity. Certainly not enough to keep someone as solid as her on the ground.”

  He hesitates, then says, “Annika’s probably not going to be here much longer.”

  “You’re sending her home?” I ask, then realize she has no home to go to. “You mean she’s going to disappear, too? Like the humans in the Afterlives?”

  He shakes his head. “I just meant, she isn’t going to… you know, be here much longer.”

  I cross my arms. “Sixth smartest, remember? You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

  He sighs. “Fine. I worked it out after you left. The only reason she’s still alive is because her brain believes she’s dreaming. Like most things here in The Realms—and everything on the quantum level—Annika exists right now in a state of possibility. Once that illusion is gone, her body will realize it does not have the nutrients here that it needs. She will panic. Her heart will beat faster in an attempt to use all the remaining oxygen in her system. Her sight will go next. Then she will lose consciousness. Soon after, she will die. Is that clear enough?”

  I stare at him. Will he ever tell me good news? “There’s got to be something we can do to save her.”

  “This is not your problem, Joss. You have enough to take on.”

  Then why does it feel like my problem? “I can’t just let her die.”

  “Well, there’s not much you can do other than keep the illusion going. Over time we could probably construct a temporary artificial environment from materials OnWorlders bring from planets similar to hers, but then she’ll be confined to a very small space, like a goldfish in a bowl. She’ll be fine as long as she never knows where she really is.”

  “I don’t know how much longer that’s going to work.”

  “Then the faster you rebuild her planet, the better chance you have of keeping her alive.”

  So much for it not being my problem. “What did you mean earlier when you said I should work backward from her?”

  He holds out the plate of marshmallow squares. “Sure you don’t want one?”

  When I don’t reply, he lays it back on the desk. “If you knew the chemical composition of her body, you could figure out what humans are made of. You’ll need to know that in order to restart the human race.”

  He says that so casually, like it’s as easy as flipping a switch. “Aren’t there records of that kind of stuff?”

  He pulls up a holoscreen. Pictures flash in quick succession, then stop on a scene of a picnic, a reddish sun hanging overhead. “If you want to know what makes up a Senturon from Agamos, we can tell you that.” The Senturon looks almost humanoid, except for the fact that every inch of it is covered in black scales to absorb the heat from its low-energy star. The pictures move again before settling on another. “Or a Philanops from Glycorus 3.” I lean forward. The Philanops has no eyes. “Foggy planet,” Gluck explains. “Sonar instead of vision. We could tell you about all these and millions more. But the records on humans were down on Earth with Kal’s parents—”

  “Why?”

  Gluck shrugs. “They said they were working on a special project and needed the data. We do have many, many autosaved recordings showing the evolution of the planet, though. All you have to do is re-create everything, on a much smaller scale, of course. Replace the solar system with the one you make, but be sure Annika doesn’t look in the telescope this time. Easy as pie! All problems solved!”

  I narrow my eyes. “Pie isn’t easy. You know what goes into those things.”

  “It’s an expression.”

  “And you’re sure this will get Kal and his parents back?”

  “Sure is such a strong word. More like… highly confident.” He pauses. “Confidently hopeful?”

  My heart sinks. “Even if I could do this, which I can’t, I definitely can’t do it alone.”

  He frowns. “If you must ask others for help, make sure they sign a confidentiality agreement.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something that says they won’t tell anyone what you’re trying to do.”

  “And what if someone does tell?”

  He shrugs. “You get to decide their punishment.”

  “What if they won’t sign it?”

  “You’re the seventh son of the Supreme Overlord of the Universe. They’ll sign it.”

  He may be overestimating my importance.

  “Here are those records.” He reaches under his desk and places a large brown box on it. I have to stand on tiptoes to see over the rim. Thousands of holofilms on black data dots no larger than buttons fill the box. I could probably fit fifty just in the palm of my hand. The dates inscribed on them go back 4.6 billion years. I’ve seen dots like this many times. These records from OnWorlders form the basis of our educational system. Now I need to watch them outside of school? This keeps getting better and better.

  Gluck stands up and places the box in my hands. Our talk is apparently over.

  “I might as well tell you,” he says, ushering me toward the door. “We’ve lost the most recent dot, the one that showed the last few weeks of life on Earth. Looked everywhere for it. Launching an internal investigation, I assure you. Don’t know how you’ll manage to change the course of events at the end point without it, but I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

  Clutching my box in the hall, I turn around to ask the first of the hundred more questions in my head.

  “Good luck, Joss,” Gluck says, reaching over the box to pat me awkwardly on the head. “My door’s always open.”

  And with that, he shuts the door in my face.

  No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.

  —C. S. Lewis, professor and writer

  Hugging Gluck’s huge box of holofilms tight to my chest, I head back to Aunt Rae’s. Even though I can barely see over the top of it, I am guided by the thump thump of Annika’s heartbeat, the smell of freshly baked apple pie, and the desire to steer clear of my brothers. I suppose I could make myself taller for a better view, but I never think of things like that until it’s too late. That’s another point I should have made to Gluck—I am not a creative problem solver.

  Most of the houses I pass have returned to their usual dome shapes, but not Aunt Rae’s. After five attempts to squeeze through Lincoln’s nostril, I lay the box down in defeat, right next to the garden gnome. The doorway is simply too narrow to fit both me and the box at the same time. I’m about to start pushing it with my foot when I hear a single terrifying shriek, followed by silence. I leap over the box and burst into the house. Aunt Rae and I very nearly collide as she runs toward me.

  “What’s going on?” I turn in all directions, but I don’t see anything unusual. “Did Annika make that noise?”

  Aunt Rae nods. “She came out from her nap, had some pie—she loved the cherry—then said she was going