Quantum Observation: The Catastrophic Success
Rosa stared at the quantum suspension and thought: *This is probably a terrible idea.*¹
“Are you ready?” asked Engineer Yamoto, who had the expression of someone who’d just realized they’d left the oven on. In 1996.
“No,” said Rosa. “But that’s never stopped me before.”
The suspension hung in the air like a temporal sneeze that had been held for 129 years. It shimmered with the particular quality of things that existed in all states simultaneously, which made it very difficult to dust.²
“Remember,” Yamoto said, adjusting sensors that were definitely not just there to make him feel useful, “you’re not looking at a memory. You’re looking at an entire year that’s been folded up like origami and shoved into a box marked ‘Do Not Open Until Doomsday.’”
“And today’s doomsday?”
“Eh. It’s a Tuesday. Close enough.”
Rosa approached the suspension. Through Kepler’s stolen memories (which sat in her mind like houseguests who wouldn’t leave), she could see the probability waves. Every possible 1996 existed in there. The one where humanity invented Experience Generators. The one where they invented better cheese. The one where they just gave up and became accountants.³
She reached out to touch it—
EXCUSE ME, said a voice like grinding eternity.
Rosa turned. Death stood in the corner, leaning on his scythe and looking mildly annoyed.
“Oh good,” she said. “Are you here for me?”
NOT YET. I’M HERE FOR THE CAT.
“What cat?”
SCHRÖDINGER’S. IT’S BEEN NEITHER ALIVE NOR DEAD FOR SO LONG THAT THE PAPERWORK HAS BECOME IMPOSSIBLE. I’M HOPING YOUR OBSERVATION WILL FINALLY RESOLVE THINGS.
“This isn’t actually about a cat,” Rosa explained. “It’s about collapsing quantum probability waves to create a bridge between—“
I KNOW WHAT IT’S ABOUT. Death somehow managed to look even more annoyed, which was impressive for a skull. BUT THERE’S ALWAYS A CAT. IT’S TRADITIONAL.
Rosa looked at the suspension again. Sure enough, probability suggested there was, in fact, a cat in there. Also not a cat. Also a dog named Steve.⁴
“Right. Well. Here goes nothing.” She touched the suspension.
Reality hiccupped, excused itself, then promptly vomited across seventeen dimensions.
Rosa was suddenly in a Blockbuster Video, which was like being inside a museum that didn’t know it was one yet. The smell of plastic and possibility assaulted her nostrils. Someone was arguing about late fees. The universe’s last honest argument.
But she could see deeper. This wasn’t just any Blockbuster—this was THE Blockbuster. The one that existed in every timeline as a sort of cosmic anchor point. The rental records contained the DNA of human choice. Every movie not rented was a path not taken.⁵
“BE KIND, REWIND,” she read aloud, and reality shuddered.
Because that was the moment, wasn’t it? The last time humanity had asked people to be kind as a default state. Before the algorithms. Before the optimization. Before everything became about extracting maximum value from minimum effort.
She was observing it. And by observing it, she was making it real. Here. Now. A Blockbuster in 2125, existing sideways from everything else.
“Oh balls,” she said, as probability waves started collapsing like dominos made of mathematics.
The store existed. Didn’t exist. Existed harder out of spite. Customers from 1996 wandered the aisles alongside quantum physicists from 2125. Someone from 2087 asked if they had the Director’s Cut of reality.
FOUND IT, said Death, holding up something that was definitely a cat. Probably. YOU’VE MADE QUITE A MESS.
“I’ve created a nexus point between two realities!”
YES. ALSO THE LATE FEES ARE GOING TO BE ASTRONOMICAL.
Rosa pulled back from the observation, landing in 2125 with her consciousness ringing like a bell. The containment facility was still there, but wrong. The walls kept forgetting what decade they were from. Yamoto was staring at his hands, one of which was young enough to have hope.
“Is it stable?” he asked.
“Define stable.”
“Not actively destroying reality?”
“Then yes. Probably. Maybe.” Rosa checked her internal state. She existed in two timelines simultaneously now, which was like trying to be in two arguments at once. “I can feel both times. 1996 is... louder.”
“Louder?”
“More real. Less edited. Like the difference between a live concert and autotune.”
Through the window, they could see the city adapting to its new quantum state. Some buildings existed, some didn’t, some couldn’t make up their minds. A few people walked through walls that were only solid on Tuesdays.
“We’re going to need new physics,” Yamoto muttered.
“We’re going to need a better Blockbuster,” Rosa corrected. “The late fees alone could fund a small war.”
AND I’M GOING TO NEED HAZARD PAY, added Death. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW COMPLICATED YOU’VE MADE MY JOB? PEOPLE DYING IN ONE TIMELINE BUT NOT THE OTHER. IT’S LIKE TRYING TO FILE TAXES IN TWO COUNTRIES SIMULTANEOUSLY.
Rosa smiled, and for the first time in years, it reached both timelines. She’d broken reality in exactly the right way. Created a door between the world that was and the world that could have been.
“Sorry about the cat,” she told Death.
IT’S FINE. TURNS OUT IT WAS DEAD THE WHOLE TIME. ALSO ALIVE. ALSO A HAMSTER NAMED GERALD.
Quantum mechanics. You had to laugh.⁶