Those who know about the skunkworks fall into four factions. Isolationists believe whatever universe a skunkworks generates is correct, even as it inevitably decays. Any change introduces error rather than removes it. Architects design the configuration of gates and pipes that generate the next universe in. Builders, like Ellie and Chris, install those gates and pipes, translating the architects’ designs into reality. Verifiers, like Daniel, check whether architects have designed the right thing and whether they have designed the thing right. They understand the skunkworks better than anyone. One of them is almost always the first to show up when the skunkworks has gone wrong.
Even looking down from above, no one can mistake Daniel. His long legs are too short for his torso and his shoulders are too wide. He manages to be both lithe and stocky at the same time, as though he were the runt of a family of impossibly elegant giants. A black T-shirt is draped over his left shoulder.
The pipes beyond his gaze blur as though a giant thumb has smeared a broad swath of petroleum jelly on the air. He holds his hand out. The blurred air twists and swirls into a ball on his palm. It coalesces into an egg tart. Its bright yellow custard sits inside a pale, blond serrated crust. The perfume of eggs and sugar hangs in the thick air.
He studies the egg tart from all angles. His neck cranes and his hand twists. Crumbs fall when he picks up the tart to look at the crust’s bottom. He brings it to his nose to sniff. The custard jiggles slightly when he shakes the tart. He frowns.
Ellie bounces from mesh to mesh, swinging around pipes and ducking under reservoirs. She lands next to Daniel. This mesh, already taut from his weight, barely registers her.
“Cousin, your first time solo.” Daniel’s voice is never the thunder she expects from an elegant giant. He speaks with the rustle of leaves and the rush of water as it smoothes rock. “Congrats.”
“Chris mentioned hold-time violations, probably valves gone faulty. Should be an easy fix. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have sent me instead of coming herself.” Ellie’s arms wave in slow-motion semaphore as she steadies herself. “Your egg tart shows a mismatch between how the skunkworks that was built functions and how the skunkworks that was designed functions, right?”
“Yeah, no point calling in an architect. The design itself is fine. The problem is in the implementation. It’s all yours. Don’t need to remind you that we have to be out of here before the isolationists find us, right?”
She sets down her backpack then walks around Daniel to a knot of intertwined pipes. Reservoir valves clack and the pipes they feed ripple too soon. Data races through those pipes, corrupting the reservoir they feed in turn. All of the valves, however, are fine. Their actuators swing smoothly. Their seals fit perfectly against the pipes and reservoirs. Nothing leaks.
The skunkworks pre-date humanity and no human had ever made any changes to this section. Any actual mismatch in construction should have been found eons ago. Still, she checks, hoping that’s what the problem is. The alternatives are all far worse.
A plane of air folds into an origami Black Forest cuckoo clock. The transparent, crystalline structure floats before her eyes. Its pendulum swings back and forth and the skunkworks fills with the sting of an off-stage chorus whenever the pendulum stops at the peak of its arc. Light diffracts through leaves that line its sides. Color sprays across the pipes and Daniel. The egg tart is still in his outstretched hand and he looks far sillier than Ellie would have thought possible given his “I am deadly if you come within five paces” body.
The clock unfolds into a crinkled plane. Its creases delimit facets that refract pipes behind them into something Syncretic Cubist. She grabs the newly retrieved blueprint. Its hard edges dig into her palm. She warps it, at first, into a dome then into a sphere that seals her in.
Daniel splinters into “Man with an Egg Tart,” a Braque that Braque never painted. He’s all shards of black, gray, and brown flecked with grains of yellow. This piece of the skunkworks, however, resolves into something that no longer looks like an obscene display of Syncretic Cubism.
The multiple perspectives merge into one. Pipes straighten and meet at right angles. She spins along three axes inside the sphere. Her hands and feet work their way up, down, and around the hard, cold sphere for support. Dense knots explode, laying bare their pipes and gates. The labyrinth is now a regular matrix. Pulses of data bulge from one pipe to another as they sweep in waves from one side of the matrix to the other.
The waves propagate faster than she expects. Just in front of her, waves crash into each other. That’s bad. If the actual arrangement of pipes, gates, and reservoirs didn’t match what they meant to build, though, it wouldn’t look like a matrix through the sphere.
The skunkworks match the blueprint in construction. They don’t match the blueprint in function, though.
“Fuck me.” She slams a foot against the sphere. It shatters with a chord from the off-stage chorus. “The valves are fine. The skunkworks is fine.”
She falls face up onto the mesh and thinks horrible things about Chris. Her backpack bounces above her then lands on her stomach.
Daniel looms over her, his hands behind his back. He smells like soy and ginger. An amused expression sits on his face.
“Egg tart?” He crouches, then places the pastry on the backpack.
“I don’t need to study the equivalence report.” She pushes herself up by her elbows. “I trust your analysis.”
“I meant to eat. It’s a functional mismatch but still edible.” He nudges the backpack toward her head. “You haven’t had dinner yet, right? You’ll feel better with something in your stomach. Personally, I think that’s just a story my boyfriend tells me, but maybe eating really does clear the mind.”
She sits up. The backpack and egg tart slide to her lap. “Don’t you want your mind cleared?”
“Nyah. I don’t believe in emotions.” A grin lights his face. “I had a protein shake and a banana before I showed up.”
“I already know what’s wrong.” She takes a bite of the egg tart. It tastes sweet, sour, and … gamey. “Turkey and cranberries?”
“Hey, I said the report was a mismatch. I do what I can.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “So what’s wrong, cuz?”
“This universe.” She finishes the egg tart. It’s not bad if you know what’s coming. “It’s like someone secretly added lots of helium to the air and now we all squeak. The skunkworks wasn’t designed for pipes this slick. The properties of this universe can’t have changed much. Most of the skunkworks still works right but a few paths are now too fast.”
“Which is why we’re seeing functional failures even though what was built matches what was designed then functionally verified.” Daniel nods. “What next?”
“Check whether the skunkworks one universe out is working properly so I know where to make the fix.”
“It’s fine.” He sets a plate made of compressed, deep-fried rice from behind him onto her backpack. Pieces of pan-fried fish coated in brown glaze sit on the plate. That’s why he smelled of soy and ginger. “I popped out to check while you were assessing equivalence here.”
“So they changed the laws of their universe? Seriously?” This goes against everything Mom has taught her. “If you already knew that, why bother asking me what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t. Speculative generation.” He smiles. “You were busy and there was no reason not to check before you asked. Sooner we get out of here, the less likely we’ll have to deal with any isolationists. I saved us some time. “
Ellie breaks off a shard from the plate to test the fish. The glazed fish’s crispy skin cracks against the deep-fried rice. She sniffs at this equivalence report. Then again, the egg tart smelled normal too.