The Works of Nick Hayden

The wall screens blazed with blinding speed as Pat “The Jack” O’Brien and Merlcon the Merciless vied for first place in the Trans-Galactic Scramble. The patrons of Heddie’s Sports Bar shouted over one another as the Jack edged ahead.

Annie Worlitzer sat alone in a corner, watching the commotion and sipping an expensive wine.

“Merlcon’s got it in the bag!” roared one of the many inebriated men.

“The Jack’ll make him eat it. Earthers always win!”

“Except last year,” snorted another. “And the year before that.”

On screen, Merlcon’s red needle of a ship released a mechanical arm from one of its bays. Its claw gripped the Jack’s sleek racer and used the Jack’s momentum to save fuel for the last stretch.

“Illegal?” scoffed another. “And what your boy Jack did on day three wasn’t?”

Another man, happily drunk, leaned close to Annie. “So, who’s your money on, hun?”

“Dr. Ivan Zaxskonovich.”

The man stared stupidly at her, then at the wall screens. “Dr. Z hasn’t been seen in two days. Probably dead after that incident on Omicron 8.”

The announcers’ frantic voices rose to apoplectic heights. Merlcon’s ship tumbled across the desert landscape in a controlled crash. After a moment, his engines fired and he raced to close the gap.

“EMP bomb,” Annie explained. “Everyone knows that to survive this race, you must be clever. Every world holds new obstacles, and the Board lets anything go as long as it’s good for ratings, even if it breaks a few planetary treaties. The Scramble’s a test of fortitude, but more than that, it’s a test of brains.”

“Quiet!” the man hissed. The screens showed the multitudes at the finish line. Numbers flashed across the lower third of the screen—distance left, estimated seconds until each racer crossed the finish line, distance between the racers. The ships were surrounded by smoke and ray beams and mechanical contraptions as they fought each other off. Their engines flared—they spun and weaved around the final barriers, large reptiles that pounced on anything that moved.

Ten seconds. The patrons leaded forward, their cheers shaking the tables and walls, overwhelming even the cries of the announcers as they shouted at the top of their lungs.

Five seconds. Merlcon pulled ahead.

Three seconds. The Jack slid beneath his opponent, skimming the ground.

One second…

Wreckage and a storm of dust enveloped the finish line. The bar became deathly silent. The lead announcer struggled to regain his voice. “And…I can’t believe…we’ll look at the view from the infrared. It’s on the screen. You can see them come in, neck-and-neck…. Did I just—did I just see that?”

The dust was clearing. A third vehicle appeared among the wreckage. The infrared replay repeated the last seconds over and over.

“Dr. Z—his ship shot out of the ground—apparently it had been burrowing all this time…”

“Can he do that?” asked the second announcer, finally chiming in.

Annie stood. “I’m going to collect my winnings,” she said. “Believe me, when my grandfather says he’ll do a thing, he’ll do it.” She handed the forlorn man near her a small bill. “Buy something to drown out the feeling of defeat.” She walked primly away.

When the dust cleared and he regained his sense of direction, Tycho found he was looking at the sky. The clouds lay thick, low, almost motionless. Next to him, Eli was opening the vehicle’s hatch. With a whoosh, cold air rushed into the cockpit. Tycho inhaled a deep draught of the bitter air and coughed.

“Ever been to another world?” Eli asked, jumping out. “You’ll get used to the air in a bit. Come on.”

Eli held up a small device. “Pocket-sized portal generator. Hard to get a vehicle through, but you can do it.”

Tycho shook his head in disbelief. Yesterday, he wouldn’t have believed such a thing existed. “Where are we? What world?” Thick, gray dust covered the landscape and the wreckage of buildings. The wind swept it into small tornadoes and moaned as it slithered between steel beams and empty window panes. The ground rose and fell tortuously, pocked with craters.

“What do you know of the Web of Worlds?” Eli asked.

“What everyone knows, that the Creators—” Tycho trailed off. Eli claimed the Creators weren’t gods at all, merely humans. “They claim to have summoned worlds out of the void for us to live in.”

“In a way, that’s true,” Eli said, directing Tycho into the shelter of a building. The first room had been furnished and sealed off from the outside. “Scientists brought the many worlds of mankind into existence, if you want to talk about it that way. There are infinite worlds, new ones created at every decision. That’s the theory, though no one’s ever discovered a closely related world. Portals connect us to those that veered off substantially somewhere in the past—where mankind never lived, where the rules of physics work differently, where gold is like dust or forests cover the entire globe. Your world, you couldn’t even live on the surface, so you lived in your floating cities. Go on, take a seat.”

Tycho took a seat on a camp chair. It was hard to take everything in. “So, where are we? What happened here? Is this your world?”

“My world? No—I grew up on Nexus.” Eli saw Tycho’s expression. “There’s a reason I know so much about the Creators. As for here, there was a war a few hundred years ago. I think I’m the only one living here now. But trust me, I think you’ll grow to like this world. It used to be called Earth. It’s where mankind began. Are you hungry? I’ll warm something up.”