Intrepid (17 page)

Iago laughed his old laugh again, and I realized I could get used the sound of it. When we were kids, he used to be funny. He’d invent all kinds of ridiculous rules to the worlds we made up in our heads, and he always knew just what to say to make everyone explode around him. He even knew how to talk Mrs. Ortiz out of any punishment with a perfectly timed joke.
 

“Texi, can I ask you something?” he asked.
 

“Yeah.”
 

“It should have been impossible for you to Hop without the Planck Activation Bracelet activated. Was there anything that triggered it to happen? Any stress? Trauma? Other then the unfortunate dance fiasco?”

“No.” The last person I wanted to tell about Sully trying to kill me was Iago. I reached back with my other hand to holster the gun underneath the flannel shirt. “I guess what you said makes sense now, about those rumors meaning absolutely nothing.”
 

“I’m not gonna lie. I’m glad we get to avoid them.” His smile grew soft on his face. “We have to do an Interim Jump first. It’s easier to get to different Veins directly from a Strand,” he explained as he pointed to the numbers he’d just entered. I didn’t force him with anymore questions. It almost felt like by opening my mouth, my entire soul would pour out of it. How was I supposed to accept it? Me, of all people, able to travel the Multiverse? Everything he explained remained in manageable, bite-sized pieces in the form of repetition. As he explained the basics of Strands and Veins, I didn’t worry when I didn’t completely understand because I knew he’d go over it again until I did. But then he saw the confusion on my face and grinned. “It’s okay to admit you didn’t get it. I can try to explain again.”
 

I nodded. “Do it then.”
 

“So, pretend the Multiverse has a system of roads zipping through it. All these roads eventually lead back to Gaia, but they also stretch out into the unknown. Part of an Explorer’s job is to map these roads. A Strand is like an Interstate Highway, while Veins are like the country roads the branch off from the Strands. Veins get a bit more complicated than that, but that’s the gist.”
 

“Now that makes sense.” He began entering numbers into the boxes labeled
Strand
and
Vein
, but then I noticed the box labeled
Energy
was filled in with the word “Stag.” I pointed to it and asked, “What about that guy?”

“It goes back to what I’ve been trying to explain to you. The Veins fall into two categories. Last night, I told you about a Stagnation. The other category is a Producer. A Producer is a line that Explorers have not yet deemed Stagnate, and there’s still the possibility in finding the Optimal Path within that Vein. A Producer means it’s currently being explored, and when we enter coordinates, the Planck Activation Bracelet will tell us if there is a Saltador gathering intel on that Vein. If the Explorer eventually discovers that the Culture Pulse is Stagnate, they label it Stagnate to stop Explorers from waisting their time on a dying Vein. And, finally, if it’s a Vein that hasn’t been explored yet, you’ll see an X in the Energy box.”
 

“Do Saltadors have any reason to go to Stagnate universes?”

Iago nodded. “They are still useful. Watchers are placed on them to raise children. Others study them, trying to discover what is causing the Vein to die, or undertaking other types of research. Maybe a Saltador likes the atmosphere for Vacation Leave…”

“Dude. Earth to Iago. You’re losing me again. What’s the Optimal Path?”
 

Iago laughed. “Okay. Let’s say there’s a cluster of trees in some random forest—“
 

 
“And if a tree falls in that forest and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound?” I couldn’t help myself. Snarky just had a way of exploding out of me. It made me think of every eye roll I couldn’t contain around Ringo. Iago explained things so much like him, that it brought out the worst in me.
 

He laughed. “No, dorkus.”
 

“Sorry. Trees. Forest. Continue.”
 

“Well every year, they drop seed after seed, but only when the situation is optimal, does the seed grow. But even then, sometimes it doesn’t survive. It doesn’t get enough sunlight, or its roots are too close to another’s and they tangle and strangle. There are always obstacles to growth. Yet when you compare a haphazard forest to a cultivated orchard, you notice that the trees in the orchard are healthier because they have plenty of room to grow and expand. They get plenty of sun and don’t have to compete for space. Saltadors are taught that there is a balance to nature. There is a time to help mold it and a time to set it free. Saltadors attempt to cultivate the exploration of the Multiverse like a farmer cultivates an orchard because we look for the Veins with the most potential for optimal growth.”

I swallowed. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”
 

“Don’t let it bog you down. There are other perks to this job.”
 

“Okay… I think…”

“We should get going. You’ll catch on sooner than later, so for now, just enjoy the ride.”
 

I laughed. “I’m ready when you are,” I said, nodding towards the screens hovering between us, though I wasn’t sure I was ready for anything anymore.
 

Chapter Twenty-Two

When we entered into the Nothing, escape flooded over my entire body. It felt different this time because I felt more connected to the Energy pushing me forward into the Something. I was like sugar being dissolved into hot tea until I became something else entirely. When we came back into reality, I recognized the park from pictures I’d seen in Mrs. Ortiz’s living room. Guell Park. The entire place reminded me of
 
gingerbread house competitions during Christmas. Mrs. Ortiz always said Gaudi was a real-life Willie Wonka of art, because he created visions that were edible to the eyes. The mosaic benches looked like they were made of hard candy, and the roof of the cottage looked like whipped frosting, and people strolled in every possible direction, taking photos and pointing at things that inspired them.
 

I tried to get my bearings as a man in a forest-green jump suit approached. I eyed him as he laid his guitar case prostrate and open to demand money from those passing by. American dollars mixed with Euros, but when I really looked at the cash, the shapes of the coins were slightly off. Iago caught my expression and explained, “Within a few minutes, the Knowing kicks in. The nuances of culture shift into place as if you’ve lived here your entire life. Your senses make you adaptable, but just give it a moment to adjust.”
 

The man began to strum to the sounds of Barcelona. I sat down on the bench we’d landed next to, and it was like I’d never heard music before. I could hear the origins of each cord as they were struck, and the vibrations rumbled along my nerves in an entirely new way.
 

“He was approaching this very spot before we appeared,” Iago said as he sat down next to me. “He had previously perceived this spot to be empty, but let his mind trick him into believing it was his own misjudgment. Jumping into crowds is actually easier than Jumping into emptier spaces. If there’s no distracting crowd, you’re actually more noticeable when you appear out of thin air.”

The discombobulated feeling Iago spoke of never happened, and I took a deep breath that introduced me to the rushing, stale, body odors seeping out of every passing person. I looked back to the guitar and concentrated on the music instead of the smell.
   

“
¿Una canción
?” the green-clad musician asked.
 

My eyes widened as my ears understood automatically. There was no brief moment of trying to translate in my head as the sounds shifted into what Iago called the Knowing. It sounded like the Spanish I knew back in Mrs. Ortiz’s kitchen, but there was something more metallic about the accent. I was equally surprised when I said, “
No, gracias
,” in an accent that perfectly and metallically matched the man’s as if I’d spoken his language my entire life.
 

Everyone in the crowd scuttled by, and it was just as calming as it was unnerving. The Energy bubbled up into the air and into my lungs, and I felt alive with it. I felt in tune with it.
 

“You feel it, huh?” Iago’s voice held soft understanding. He whispered, but I could hear him as if he was the only person on the planet. “After my Change, I had trouble paying attention. Football, hallways, classes… Although, Ringo told me to enjoy the way my senses were changing. He said, ‘This is the best you’ll ever feel for the rest of your life, and once you get used to all the heightened senses, you might just forget they had ever been so dull before.’ Except I disagree. For me, it never got old. I especially love the way noise becomes potable, and every once in a while, I still close my eyes and try to drink it all in.”

“I think I saw you do it before… on Friday. At the pep-rally and the game.”
 

“You were watching me? Never knew you cared.”
 

“In your dreams, dork-wad.” The insult felt right, and it gave me the peace to fall into a silence and readjust to my new normal. Minutes turned into twenty, and the world pretended neither of us existed.

I finally had a question that made me giggle.
 
“Are we aliens?”
 

His skin crinkled around his eyes when he spoke. “I’ve never thought about it that way before. By some definitions of the word, I guess we are aliens. By other definitions, definitely not. For example, there are some universes where intelligent life from other planets has already been contacted. By a certain definition, those beings are the aliens. There’s even an interracial alien/human settlement out there.”

“You’re kidding!”
 

“Nope. But in terms of biology? You are most definitely human. You just have to remember that for as genetically similar as humans are, we are all created out of different genetic codes. You are human, but you are other. Don’t think about how different you’ve become with this mutation, because you’re just a human with special gifts. Although, maybe I’m wrong in this. Sometimes, you definitely smell much more ape than human.”

“Har. Har. You’re such a comedian.” I punched him in the arm, hard enough to make a thwapping sound, but light enough not to hurt.
 

“Trust me. Questioning your humanity is a slippery slope and makes you lose perspective.”
 

“So, there are actually aliens out there?” I asked.
 

“Why not? Every universe possesses infinite possibilities, and every Splice effects more than just what happens on Earth. It replicates every star and every galaxy, so it isn’t just multiple Earths being born out of the chaos. Based on the species we have met, we believe that Multiversal Splices are propelled by foreign life forms just as much as they are propelled by human Movers. It’d be a bit narcissistic to think we are the only ones with the power of the Multiverse.”

“Can these aliens Jump like us?”

“From what we can tell, these life forms are not in the Gaian-verse. And if they exist there, they have yet to discover the technology we have. We could be wrong, but so far we suspect we are the only species able to Jump at this point.”
 

“That’s insane.”
 

“Ah. You’re looking for insane? Try this one on for size. There is a universe out there where Willie Nelson cut off his braids.”
 

“Ha. Yeah right.”
 

“No. Seriously! And there’s one where Billy Gibbons shaved off his beard for charity and then decided he liked his face better clean shaven. He never grew it back.”
 

My jaw dropped, and I remembered Ringo saying once that Billy Gibbons without a beard would be like experiencing a birthday without presents. When I was young, Ringo’d put on a ZZ Top record while we cleaned the cabin. I’d sing into the dirty-spoon-microphone I was washing, while Ringo’d rock out strumming the invisible strings of the broom. We both had a strange reverence for that man’s beard, and Ringo tried (and failed) for years to make his just as epic. “Can we agree to never go to any of those places? Any universe where Billy Gibbons is beardless must be a dark and desolate place. I refuse to believe it.”
 

Iago raised his eyebrows and grinned. “With everything you’ve seen so far, this is the thing you refuse to believe.”
 

“Yes! It’d totally defeat the purpose of their ‘Bearded Man’ song.”
 

“Well, funny thing there. In the beardless Gibbons universe, the song is called, ‘Sharp Dressed Man.’ Same tune, different lyrics.”
 

I shook my head and stood up. “That sounds like a crap song. ‘Every girl’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man?’ Yeah. Right.”
 

“Suit yourself. It’s actually a pretty catchy version of it.”
 

The guitarist next to us struck up a new song. It was like listening to an ocean wave cracked to a million pieces, and I shivered. I understood what Iago meant by calling sounds potable, and he leaned back on the bench to give me a few minutes to take in the new sounds without his voice weighing them down. I wanted to eat the song up. I wanted mash up every note and turn them into marble so I could examine every colorful crack in their foundations. I stood up and stuck my arms out to spin, letting my arms become helicopter blades and my laughter become champagne bubbles bursting in carbonated Energy. I wanted it to last so much that it, of course, ended.
 

The next song he played wasn’t as captivating, and I sat down again. We sat there a few more minutes before my curiosity finally got to me. “Who are we meeting?”
 

“We aren’t meeting anyone here. I’m just giving you a moment. We still have one more Jump to go.”
 

“Fine. But who is it?”