Page 51 of What If It's You?

I had the tiniest inkling of an idea. Now I just had to figure out how to execute it.

I’d been to the Pixel building thousands of times before, popped in after “working hours” on more occasions than I could count, but standing in front of it now, gigantic plate glass windows revealing the bright, expansive interior, every twist of the staircase and upper-floor balcony another place for an observer to hide, I felt panic clawing up my throat. I bounced on my toes, shivering slightly in the autumn air, the golden light and wide-open spaces inside feeling like a threat. It would be so easy to get caught, and then what would I say to the security guard? ToDrew? That I’d broken into my boyfriend’s place of work at dinnertime on a Sunday to…surprise him? When he not only wasn’t there, he was probably just now touching down on the opposite side of the country?

My brain kept whirring with excuses for the moment when I got caught, each more questionable than the next. Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just in my boyfriend’s top-secret office that even his co-workers can’t get into to grab his favorite coffee mug so I can overnight it to him. He sure loves his routine!

New plan: Really,reallydon’t get caught.

Sucking in a deep breath and shaking my hands out rapidly at my sides, I strode toward the building, brandishing the ID badge I’d swiped out of Drew’s sock drawer, where I’d seen him tuck it away before bed. Clearly the rigid routine was his hack for a certain level of…obliviousness to the real world, one that this Drew shared with mine (who had lost enough ID badges over the years that the security team had become friendly with him, a rare feat). Creating a program that could literally access alternate universes: totally within his capabilities. Remembering where he’d left his car keys, or the cup of coffee he’d just poured, or his highly secure ID badge? Not so much.

I swiped the badge at the entrance, heart jumping into my throat as the lock clicked open and I walked into the building, shoulders hunched against the weight of all the space trapped beneath the cathedral ceilings. Head down, moving quickly, I hurried up the main stairs to the Lightning floor, praying that anyone who saw me would just assume we worked in different departments.

But I didn’t see anyone, and by the time I was standing outside the Lightning offices, my hands were still trembling slightly, but my heart rate was starting to slow. It’s why I’d come so impulsively in the first place, even though my deepest core self itched to draft a careful plan and perfect it over the course of days: Sunday nights were the time the office was most likely to be empty. Even the most ardent of weekend warriors usually chose to work from home on a Sunday, and if they didn’t, they almost always headed out by early evening.

No time like the present. Not least because I had no idea how much longer I’d linger inthisworld’s present, or whether I’d be able to exit it if I stayed too long.

I opened the door and exhaled shakily as I confirmed that the room was empty, save for the dramatically lit quantum computer, its undulating curves and coils seeming to twist and wriggle as I moved past it, a trick of the shifting light that gave it an eerie semblance of sentience. Hairs prickling at the nape of my neck, I made my way to Drew’s workspace, willing myself not to look over my shoulder at the inert machine.

I clicked his computer to life, biting my lower lip as I stared at the login prompt. I tried a few password options for Drew: his birthday, the names of his sisters, of the dog—Pugsley—that showed up in so many stories from his childhood. There was a possibility he had some wildly difficult password, of course, a series of random letters and numerals spangled with asterisks and ampersands, but it felt unlikely. Pixel employees could only log in from IP addresses that were already recognized, and all our laptops were equipped with remote monitoring software, easily wipeable from afar if they were ever misplaced or damaged. With the company alreadymanaging the high-level security, most employees opted for simple passwords. I knew more than a few people who had never changed away from the defaultwelcometopixelwe were all assigned when we started.

Drew, of course, couldn’t have been one of them.

I stared at the computer screen, my right leg jiggling wildly beneath the desk. How could I fix this if I couldn’t even access the program? What hadn’t I tried yet?

Me.

There was no way I’d have my own login anymore—they’d have wiped me from the system ages ago.But if this quantum computer and the one in the other world are getting all tangled up in each other…

I took a deep breath and tried my own login credentials. The screen stuck for a moment, motionless…and then it dissolved to my desktop.

“Yes!” I fist-pumped, then yelped at the sound of my own chair creaking. Clearly I wasn’t cut out for life as a superspy.

I navigated to the AltR program—I’d saved it to my desktop after the last time, thank god—and clicked to launch it, the screen flickering a few times before the familiar DOS-style box appeared.

USER: unknown

EDITOR ACCESS: unknown

TERMINAL: 512

TRAINING MODE? on

REFRESH? continuous

OUTPUT? user det

INPUT? user det

EXP? user det

I held my breath as the screen flickered again, the pinwheel circling, circling, circling…and then the Launch AltR button appeared in the center of the screen. I clicked it, then slipped the headset on, breath held as I stared at the blank black screen.

Hello, Laurel.

The voice sounded in my head, but the screen stayed blank.

I’m having trouble finding a profile for you. Would you like to complete the calibration process?

“No,” I said aloud, drawing in a deep breath. “Delete user profile.”

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