August 18, 1996

Martha passed an open door on her right and caught a glimpse of a girl laughing as she unpacked clothes into a dresser. Another on her left revealed a mother and daughter in a tearful embrace. Each room she passed, whether happy or sad, seemed to possess a common energy unfamiliar to Martha – a mixture of hope, anxiety, freedom, and possibility.

"304, 306... Getting close," Steven said from behind as if she didn't know how to count.

They passed the shared bathroom on their left. Martha locked eyes with a girl washing her hands who smiled anxiously. Finally, they reached 310, Martha's room, the door of which was open.

Martha knocked and peeked inside. "Hello?"

Cypress Hill played as a girl stood on one of the beds and pressed a No Doubt poster against the wall. Her hair was shoulder length, black, and curly. She wore a black waistcoat over jean shorts. "Oh hey," she said, looking over her shoulder. She hopped down, lowered the volume on her stereo, and walked to Martha. "You're Martha Beckett?"

"Yeah. And you're Rosalina Perez?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You were great in White Men Can't Jump, by the way," Steven quipped from the doorway.

"...most people call me Lina."

"Dad!" Martha snapped.

"It's okay," Lina said. "Sounds like some shit my dad would say. But yo, since I got here first, I figured I'd get first pick so I took the window. You cool?"

"Yeah, totally," Martha said. "I'm... down with the shade."

"'Down with the shade.'" Lina said with a smile. "That shit's funny."

But for the window, the room was symmetrical. Identical dressers separated identical beds. At the foot of each and against the wall were desks and, beyond them, free standing closets.

Steven set down the Army duffle bag of Martha's clothes on her side of the room and James a storage chest beside it. James said to Steven, "Been saving that one the whole way here?"

Steven sighed. "I thought it was funny. One of these days, I'll learn to keep quiet."

"Yo, so you're from Illinois?" Lina asked Martha.

"Yeah, but I grew up in Pasadena."

"No shit? Yo, I'm from Arcadia."

Everything about Lina, from the fashion to the music to the drawn-out vowels of her East LA accent, felt wonderfully familiar to Martha. Everything, in fact, from the moment she stepped out of the airport felt familiar. As distinct as the Bay Area was from Los Angeles, it was still California and she was its repatriate.

"Yo, is that your brother?" Lina asked, aiming a smile at James.

"Uh, boyfriend," Martha said. "That's James. He's my boyfriend."

"No shit? Good job, yo."

"Nice to meet you, Lina," James said, stepping forward to shake her hand.

Lina turned back to Martha. "Yo, so I don't know if you saw the poster by the elevator, but we gotta meeting with the R.A. in the common area in like, fifteen minutes. Ima go there now, but I'll save you a spot. Cool?"

"Yeah, thanks," Martha said.

"Aiight. Peace-out." Lina smiled politely to James and Steven as she left the room.

"Sounds like you don't have much time," James said. "Why don't the two of you take it?" He gave Martha a kiss and said, "Be back a little later." Then, he left.

Steven and Martha traded nervous smiles. In the months following Martha's discovery in their basement, they'd failed not only to resolve the matter but to speak of her mother at all. Like two addicts relapsing fresh out of rehab, they fell hard into old habits, avoiding the confrontation. Something had changed between the two of them, however – something appropriately unspoken, though obvious to both. Presently, they had to say goodbye and the moment held enough weight to keep her mother below their guard.

Steven cleared his throat. "I can't tell you how proud..."

"I know," Martha said. She hugged him.

"I want you to study hard, but also... really enjoy yourself – enjoy this time."

"I will," Martha said. They released each other.

"And James is... well, James. But I want you to meet new people... make friends..."

"I will, Dad."

"I... did I mention how proud I am?"

"Yes."

"Then..." He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what else to say."

"I love you, Dad."

"Of course..." Steven shook his head to wake himself up in an attempt at comic self-deprecation. "Yes. I love you too, Martha."

They hugged one last time, then Steven left. Martha watched him walk toward the elevators. She heard him inhale sharply through his nose and clear his throat. She took a deep breath, then headed in the opposite direction, toward the floor meeting.

Martha and James pushed open a set of double doors and stepped out of her dorm and into the warm, dry evening. She squeezed his hand and tried, unsuccessfully, not to smile. Her chest felt weightless – buoyant even – as if, to her, the rules of gravity no longer applied. The only comparison she could make was, ironically, the first day of summer vacation between elementary grades – the irrational exhilaration of infinite freedom. Three months of sleeping in and watching TV and riding bikes and unknown adventures might as well have been three centuries.

And now she had James for... forever. Nothing stood to separate them. He'd stay in a graduate program while she finished her undergrad. Then maybe they'd stay in Berkeley and continue their intellectual pursuits – supercharged pursuits considering James' unnatural bank of knowledge and foresight – or maybe they would travel or build schools or find a cabin in the mountains and just be together. Life was their oyster.

"I got you a present," James said.

"Is it a pearl?"

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," Martha said. They crossed the street and entered a parking garage. "What is it?"

James reached into his pocket and handed her a cell phone.

"Cool." She flipped it open and put it to her ear. "Mulder, I'm at the morgue. There's something you have to see."

"Cute. But now you can't get away from me."

"Well, darn," she said with a smile. They reached his car and he opened her door. "Thanks though. Must've been expensive."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I know a guy. Got it for 800."

"800 dollars? Not bad." She flipped the phone shut, extended the antenna, then flipped it back open. She dialed James' number by heart and watched as the numbers appeared on the digital readout. His phone began to ring. "Oh, that is badass!"

James took the phone from his pocket, flipped it open and said, "Ugh, her again." Then he flipped it shut and put it back.

"Hey!" she said and punched him in the shoulder.

"Take it easy! Jk, jk."

"What the heck is 'jk?'"

"Just kidding."

"Why not just say 'just kidding?'"

"You'll see."

"Whatever."

Before dinner, James wanted to introduce Martha to his lab partner. Technically, the man was a professor with a PHD in Quantum Physics and James' superior. In truth, James dwarfed his experience and education considerably. The inversion was common in the life of James Quinn, but this case was different. He'd thought it necessary to let the man in on the secret that had, up until then, been Martha's alone to keep.

He'd also arranged for Martha to serve as a second undergrad research assistant. He gave her the usual disclaimers – only if she wanted to... she could stop at any point... But it meant more time with him, so for Martha, there was no debate.

James pulled out of the garage and headed east on Channing Way. The sidewalks were crowded with students heading into the campus night in all directions, many for the first time. Martha studied her new phone, closing and opening it repeatedly to see the digital readout alight.

"So, do these things ever catch on?" Martha asked.

James chuckled. "You could say that."

By now, Martha knew an understatement from James when she heard one. "Okay, so they really catch on?"

"Yes, they're the most influential, practical piece of technology in the next hundred years."

"Really?" she said. "We already have international calling. Do they call space?"

"You can do better than that," he chided. "I'll give you a hint: they become the confluence of two emerging technologies." James slowed to allow a group of jaywalkers to cross.

"Okay, um... Computers?" Martha guessed.

James nodded.

"Well yeah, of course!" she said. "The microchips that run them are getting smaller and cheaper, so they'll put those in the phones which will be able to do anything a computer can do or, I guess, anything a computer will be able to do. But they'll be even better because... you'll get to carry that power wherever you go." They came to a roundabout forcing James to yield until a space in the procession opened. Once around the bend, he continued east, past a series of fraternity and sorority houses. Martha saw a group of girls marching down the walkway of one and a sense of envy surprised her. She returned to the topic at hand. "And... the second emerging technology?"

"Think communication..."

"Communication... Uh... Oh! Emails. I mean... the internet. You'll have that in your pocket too. The uh... the 'web,' right? That's what you call it? And all of the information on the web like... research or news or music maybe, will be right there for you wherever, whenever. And you'll be able to buy stuff... Oh, the money! Now I get it. Yeah, the money – that's why it's such a big deal."

They came to a T and James took the left. The road alternated north then east and narrowed. Its foot traffic all but disappeared.

Martha continued, "And everything will be... what do you call it? Digitized? Songs, books, movies... And it'll be with you wherever you go. It will be yours – a collection of 'you,' a part of 'you.' And the tech will keep moving – faster, smaller, cheaper, stronger – until... Wait... Implants?"

James nodded.

"That's so cool! And, like... terrifying. But do they ever, you know, revolt? Pull a SkyNet?"

"Not that I've ever seen."

"Really? But the AI..."

"Advances right along with the rest of the tech," James said. "And it's amazing. But it turns out that enslaving us or wiping us out is never in the artificial collective's best interests. It needs us here and happy and knows enough about our nature to equate our happiness with free will."

Martha opened her mouth to speak, but James beat her to it. "Or the illusion of free will, Madame Sarte."

They came to a three-way stop overlooking the football field on their left, its empty seats shining golden under the stadium lights. James turned right and continued up a hillside, away from campus. Martha looked out her window as the car climbed and wound through a forest of dense valley oak. "Oh – did my dad tell you about the newspaper article?"

She heard him inhale sharply which, for James, might as well have been a shriek. "He did not tell me. It's the article written by one of his co-workers, right?"

"The co-worker's wife, actually," she corrected.

"His wife. That's right. My mistake."

From what Martha understood, Steven had gushed to the co-worker about James' intellect and the research of which he was part. The co-worker then relayed the praise to his wife, a journalist, who was inspired to write the profile. She planned to interview the high school principal, teachers, the basketball coach, James' mother – good luck with that – and Steven, as well. "Star Local Athlete Choses Science over Basketball" would be the gist. The paper would release the article shortly before the start of the high school basketball season. It seemed benign to Martha, but she could tell it had struck a nerve. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Probably not. She's written the article a handful of times and occasionally – but not always – someone will read it and get the idea 'Hey, I'll take a vacation to California and go hang out with Jimmy Quinn!' Not a big deal. It's just that, now that you're here, I'd prefer to leave Illinois behind us."

"Oh. Should my dad tell her not to write it?"

"No, it's okay. Not worth the trouble." He veered right and came to a stop at a security gate. He rolled his window down and swiped a badge across a sensor pad. The striped gate blocking their way swung open and the security guard nodded from his seat in the guard house as James drove onto the grounds of the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory.

The path meandered through the sparse, expansive property. Martha stared at the buildings they passed and tried to imagine the discoveries made therein. The path curved left and the massive domed roof of the Advanced Light Source came into view. Light escaping the top of its dome and the ring of windows at its base gave Martha flashbacks of waiting in line with James for the Gravitron. The path arced clockwise around the majestic structure and a gap in the trees on their left revealed the twinkling vista of the campus below. They continued past the Advanced Light Source and through a collection of more anonymous structures until finally pulling into a parking strip. They got out of the car and walked to the entrance of a gray, unremarkable building. Martha knew its significance, however. It was, for one, the lab at which James had spent his evenings for the past year. It was also home to the 88-Inch Cyclotron.

The 88-Inch Cyclotron was a particle accelerator used primarily to test electronic computer chips bound for space. The machine would bombard the chips with ions creating radiation comparable to that outside the Earth's protective magnetic field. Without such tests, the chips would fail, satellites would fall, and space exploration would be tethered.

At the entrance, James swiped his badge across another sensor pad and the double doors clicked unlocked. They took an elevator down two flights, then stepped out and took an immediate left down a hallway. On their left, they passed open air meeting rooms and computer labs. On their right was a wall of continuous white concrete. James held Martha's hand with his left and knocked on the concrete with his right. "Ten feet thick."

"To keep the velociraptors from escaping?"

"No, it's-"

"I know, I know," Martha said. "It's the cyclotron. And the concrete is actually for..."

"For keeping the ludicrous amount of radiation from killing us."

"Right. Good to know."

James opened a door on their left to a stairwell. They walked down one flight, then out to another hallway. They passed two doorways then entered the third.

The room was thirty by thirty feet and in its center was a machine the size of a small car. Clearly not the 88-Inch Cyclotron, it was impressive nevertheless. A silver tube ran through a series of orange and blue blocks. Various smaller tubes and wires ran across the length of the apparatus like tributaries. Adjacent to the machine sat a man at a desk with a pair of computers.

He stood, squinted, and walked to them. "Is this... Is this Martha?" She guessed he was in his mid-forties. He was rail thin and wore a short sleeve button up two sizes too big.

"Yes," James answered. "Martha Beckett, this is Dr Samar Patel."

"Hello, Dr Patel," Martha said.

"Oh my," Samar said. He clapped his hands closed in front of him. "Would it be okay if I gave you a hug? Would that be okay?"

"Uh... Sure?" Martha said.

Samar hugged her excitedly then said, "It is just that I have kept this secret for nearly a year now. Tell me, did you vomit when he told you?"

"No... I-"

"Because I certainly did," Samar continued. "Not immediately, but soon thereafter."

Martha looked to James who nodded in return.

"I am sorry," Samar said. "I should not speak of vomit so early in the relationship. Alas, my grasp of particle physics far exceeds that of the social sciences."

"Then you're in the right building," she said.

"Oh," Samar laughed. "James, you were right. She is very funny.."

"Thanks," she said. Her emotions were mixed. She too had found it hard to keep the secret, many times tempted to tell her father. But she'd also prized the secret as an exclusive bond between herself and James. "I really appreciate the opportunity. And the lab credit. I'll just... try not to get in the way."

"If what Mr Quinn has told me is true, then that is not something that I am concerned about." Samar smiled and forced out a chuckle. "If what Mr Quinn has told me is true, then perhaps I should be the one staying out of your way. Yes?"

Martha smiled and nodded, but she didn't get the joke.

James shrugged. "I haven't told her everything."

"Told me what?"

"In that case, Mr Quinn," Samar said with a smile. "There is no time like the present."

James smiled and nodded as if debating what to say. "Okay. Samar and I – and starting this semester, you – are working in this lab under the pretense of reducing the particle accelerator to the size of a breadbox. And we do... By '99 we get it down to a shoebox, but that's just our cover – I could build you one of those in a month. What we're really working on is something much more significant."

He stopped and Martha could see it in his eyes. It was the same sadness, fatigue, and struggle against resignation she'd seen in his bedroom, speaking of his mother, or in his car, speaking of their daughter. He was trying to end it.

"Well, do not leave her to hang, James," Samar said. He turned to Martha. "We will link and track human consciousness through time and space." He chuckled. "I know, I know, to say it aloud makes it sound more fiction than science, but I trust this man. And I am willing to trust you."

"Me?" Martha said.

"I think you should explain the rest because you will explain it much better than I," Samar said.

"Sure thing," James said. "So the three of us have been at this for the past four lifetimes. Obviously, we've failed to achieve the primary goal of breaking my entanglement because... here I am. But we've come closer each time and, for what it's worth, Dr Patel has won the Nobel Prize three out of the four lifetimes."

"Not that I am doing this for the award," Samar interjected. "It is for the science. But yes, I would welcome a Nobel Prize."

"Of course," James said. "As I was saying, each time we come closer – largely due to recursive progression. So it's only a matter of time before-"

Samar mumbled something Martha couldn't make out.

"What was that?" she asked.

"It is 'progressive recursion.'"

James closed his eyes and lowered his brow. "Samar-"

"It is more accurate to say 'progressive recursion' than 'recursive progression.' It is the correct term."

"Fine," James said, keeping his calm though clearly annoyed. "Because of the progressive recursion, I came back for the second try with insight from a lifetime of research. Then I came back with two lifetimes. Then three... I'm confident that we will find it eventually. But here's the thing..." James paused as he always did when he wanted to build suspense. It was annoying and Martha didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking him to continue. Finally, he said, "The majority of the connections, insights, and breakthroughs that have advanced the project to its current state... came from little old Martha J. Beckett."

Martha stared at them. James smiled slightly and Samar, broadly. "You're joking," she said. Samar shook his head. She looked at a chalkboard mounted on the wall and filled with a jumble of equations. She recognized most of the symbols from her high school Calculus and Trigonometry classes but felt miles from understanding how it all fit together. "Are you sure?"

"You'll have to take your classes and study and learn like everyone else," James said. "The details will come. The knowledge will come. But you know what Einstein said about knowledge."

"That it's um... not as important as imagination?" Martha said.

"'For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution.'" James affirmed. "I mostly agree with him. But imagination without knowledge is no picnic either. I think he was just annoyed with the arrogance of our community and wanted to make a point. Knowledge is important. It keeps us safe and warm and fed, but it won't move us forward."

"Okay, I'm... flattered, I guess. And I know we're not solving it tonight, but – broad strokes – what's the plan? What's the method? How are we busting you out?"

James walked to the chalkboard and asked Samar, "This is old, right?"

"It is," Samar replied.

James wiped the board clean and grabbed a piece of chalk. "Remember Feynman?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Martha said.

James began to sketch the same diagram she'd seen in his bedroom and in Mr Prince's class. "So, a particle starts at A and heads to B in every possible path. Straight paths, arched paths, squiggly paths... And that is a fascinating concept with thousands of fascinating implications-"

"Hyperbole," Samar interjected under his breath.

James said nothing in response but cocked his head and stared coldly at Samar.

"Apologies," Samar said. "Please continue."

James turned back to the board. "So we can learn all sorts of things watching this particle from start to finish." As he spoke, he traced the chalk from point to point to illustrate. "But we can also watch the particle from finish to start. Seems pretty obvious – like hitting rewind on your VCR remote. But..." He erased the lines and arches leaving only the A and B at opposite ends. "Since time has no direction, the same phenomenon happens backwards as forwards." He recreated the mess of lines and arches this time from B to A. "From where we stand..." he pointed the chalk at the B. "At this place and at this point in time in the history of the universe, there is not one past, but infinite."

James stopped talking and stared at Martha. Samar did the same. She suddenly felt a flash of anxiety. Were they waiting for her to say something? Was Martha the Genius supposed to solve the grand riddle right then and there? She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. James walked to her.

"It's okay," he comforted. "Like you said, we're not solving this tonight. But..." He shrugged his shoulders. "Any thoughts?"

Martha stared at the board – at the diagram that had confounded her for months. "Okay," she said. "So B is the present – right now, as the universe stands. And from our perspective, it's singular. And it goes forward in infinite futures and back in infinite pasts... But... what is A? I mean, if we have infinite pasts, how can there be another singular point for them to converge upon?"

James nodded and said, "Good question."

"May I answer?" Samar said.

James raised his hand. "In a moment. Let's take a couple of breaths and see what-"

"Oh," Martha interrupted. "Duh. The Big Bang."

"Yes!" Samar said. "Although, not entirely correct. It is shortly after the Big Bang."

"Right," James said. "At that point there existed a superposition of every possible universe. And from this lab, we can analyze variations in the intensity of microwave background radiation in space and find our way back to that superposition."

"That's cool," she said, nodding her head.

"But?" James said.

"But... What does that have to do with you?"

Samar laughed. "Yes, what indeed?"

James smiled. "Samar, would like to explain?"

"I would, thank you. You see, on a hunch – supposedly 'little old Martha J. Beckett's' hunch – we calibrated our microwave analysis to a much shorter timeline. And wouldn't you know, we found a second superposition!"

As soon as she heard it, it was obvious. It was as if... as if the idea were mine. "It's when you were born, isn't it?"

"Somewhere in the second half of 1977 as best we can estimate," James said, nodding. "So I was most likely a few months old. But it's a huge clue. The existence of a second superposition doesn't make sense. It's hard to imagine a greater paradox. But this Samar and I have found it three times, and we've found it dozens more previously. We've also checked at other points – ten years ago, one hundred years, one billion, crooked numbers in between... And nothing."

"The rest of the community is ignorant to the anomaly because you would not see it unless you were looking for it deliberately," Samar added. "I cannot wait to share this breakthrough with the world. But of course I respect James' wishes." He paused and the excitement on his face tempered. "I am sure you have considered the burden of his existence. It is... Well, I am grateful to be included in your efforts. This is more than making history. We are stepping outside of history and casting off to explore a domain not only undiscovered, but unconsidered."

"It can't be done without you, Samar," James said with a smile. He turned to Martha. "So, are we ready to eat? Or are there any more questions?"

"Well, yeah. I guess," Martha said. "So... some bizarre, cosmic event occurred shortly after you were born. But lots of other people were born around that time. What's so special about you?"

"Yes, that one's a little trickier," James said. "The running theory is that my consciousness is somehow being pulled, as if by a magnet, back to that point in space and time. Brain mapping reaches its pinnacle in the late 2030's and we can borrow that tech to isolate what amounts to my consciousness on an NMRI machine. And when we compare my imaging to yours or Samar's or any of the undergrad volunteers', there are significant and unique anomalies."

"Go figure," Martha said. She looked at James and imagined past his eyes. She wondered how they would try to reshape something so impalpable. "So then, to break the magnetic pull... you use the Cyclotron, don't you?"

"One of its descendents, yes," James confirmed.

"Is this true?" Samar asked. "I did not think to ask. I was so fascinated with-"

"But what about the radiation?" Martha interrupted.

"It takes a toll," James said matter-of-factly.

"What does that mean?" Martha said.

"It... means it will kill me – if not immediately, then in the weeks following."

"What?!"

James sighed. "It's killed me all three times we've tried. But afterwards, assuming I survived the procedure, my brain scan came back altered. It wasn't completely typical, but the dissonance is shortened." He took her hand. "Look, we're not doing this tomorrow. There's a lot of research and testing that needs to be done and even then, we can put it off."

"So we just hobble back to Berkeley when we're seventy and ask to borrow one of their particle accelerators?"

"No, we'll have enough money to commission our own lab and..." James paused and his eyes dropped.

"What?" Martha said.

"For the second attempt, I was sixty-three and I didn't survive the trial. I don't believe I had the requisite strength. So I've capped my age for the trial at forty-five."

Martha was speechless. She was to spend her life with him. I was promised! But in a moment, half of that life had effectively disappeared. Again, by choice! But how could she object? How could she deny his chance to escape the nightmare?

"Perhaps I should leave?" Samar said, apparently sensing the tension between them.

"No, no, we should," James apologized. "We're late for dinner. I just wanted the two of you to meet."

Martha smiled politely to Samar. None of this was his fault. He seemed as left in the dark as she. "It was nice to meet you."

"And you, Martha Beckett. It was a pleasure," Samar said with a smile.

"See you Monday," James said and they left the room. They walked in silence to the staircase, then the elevator, then the door, and finally the car.

James started the engine but left it in park. "You have a right to be angry," he said.

"Yeah, why's that?" she asked rhetorically. She looked out her window, away from him, shields raised.

"Because I'm willfully cutting out thirty years of our life together." He paused. The silence pulled at Martha. She turned to make eye contact with him and he continued. "And I know if everything goes according to plan, chances are it won't even work this time. But we will at least be closer. And believing that it's possible and that we're working towards it – believing it will end, even if it's lifetimes from now – helps impel me forward."

"I thought I impelled you," she said.

"You do," he said, failing to hide his frustration. He took a breath. "I'm sorry. I wish there was another way."

"You could wait until next time."

James sat back in his seat and faced forward. His eyes dropped to the steering wheel. "No, I can't." His voice was calm. His voice was cold. "Because this was the next time. And the next you won't feel any different."

The next me... The thought hit Martha in the chest. They sat in silence but for the engine's idle. The dry California evening left the car's windows as clear as day. A pair of men left the building and waved goodbye as they parted toward their respective cars.

"Why don't we just go eat?" James said finally.

"I'm not hungry," Martha said in truth.

"Should I take you back to your dorm?"

She nodded. He waited for a moment, then shifted into reverse and backed out of the space.

Author's note:

How do you judge James' decisions ethically?  Should he leave her alone completely?  Should he give up on his quest?  What about Martha?  If she loves him, should she be willing to sacrifice 30 years to end his pain?

Like, totally 90's detail:  Oh, the flip phone...  You could text someone 'ok' with only 5 key strokes!  A top of the line flip phone from 1996 (no touch screen, no internet, just calling and key pad texting) ran a cool grand.  So yeah, James got a deal at $800.