Page 110 of Under Story

“You think so?”

“Are you kidding? Usually, composition happens underground, where we can’t see it. In the cave, you could watch the process happen. It’d be like taking the circuit board out of a computer.”

“Tell me more,” says Laurel. “I’m not great with computers.”

“We had to take computer classes at Sunrise. It’s basically the only thing they care about: hard skills and tech jobs. Looks good if they can say their alumni get rich as engineers or coders. Never mind the fact that computers are going the way of Bitcoin, given the energy costs; if you ask me, they’ll be obsolete in the next hundred years. But I digress,” Gloria says. “A circuit is a path for electric currents. It starts and ends in the same place, which makes it a loop. These configurations enable a computer to answer questions and perform tasks. It’s sort of like muscle memory: the shape is the solution.”

Laurel thinks of her maze experiment. She describes the setup to Gloria.

“At first, mycelium grew everywhere,” she explains. “But when I ran the experiment a second time, using a piece of the same sample, it took the shortest route to the center. I felt like there might be some form of memory involved. I had a hunch about electricity, but I couldn’t prove it.”

“I’ve never heard about this. Did you publish?”

Laurel shakes her head. In this universe, her article doesn’t exist.

“Maybe scale was the problem. The toy mazes couldn’t have been very big, and mycelium is delicate. Any electricity was probably hard to detect. But rhizomorphs are particularly conductive, aren’t they?” Gloria asks. “Because of the melanin?”

Inside Laurel, something stirs, opens an eye. “That’s true.”

The baklawa arrives: two diamond-shaped slices, draped with honey. Laurel pushes the serving dish toward Gloria.

“So, wait,” Gloria says. “Have you done any work in the cave so far?”

“A little bit. Nothing serious. I’ve been toying with a voltmeter.”

Laurel has spoken as her double. She doesn’t share her next thought, which is hesitant, possibly insane: Can she partner with Laurel Two? Scientists work together all the time. Laurel’s collaborator would simply be a universe away.

Gloria’s foot bobs with excitement. “This makes me think about human composition. Like, okay: with the help of fungi, a body composes over time. At some point, after the brain and the heart come online, it can survive on its own. But when does that happen—and how? Isn’t it crazy that we still don’t know?”

Laurel smiles. “Well, there are lots of things that science doesn’t understand.”

In her world, after all, many cancers are incurable. The brain is still mostly obscure. The role of the appendix, how and why we dream, the origins of life—these remain mysteries.

Gloria looks thoughtful. “Maybe we used to know more; before written language, when everyone communicated through, you know, AI-induced telepathy, it could have been passed down via brainwaves. But after the Fire Age, we lost all of that data, so…” Gloria shrugs. Then she notices Laurel’s expression. “Sorry. I’m digressing again.”

“No, it’s not that,” Laurel says.

She shudders to imagine circumstances so dire that societies were not just forced but willing to relinquish quantum computers and cryptocurrency. Laurel does know that it was ghastly. People took what they wanted from the earth until they had also taken what they needed: clean air, adequate food, natural medicines. Technological waste, rotting in landfills and groundwater, worsened global warming. Discarded electronics released toxic chemicals to which the old and the young were especially vulnerable. Children who couldn’t afford retirement found work as waste pickers, their tiny fingers handling the tiniest devices.

Progress was neither linear nor fair. Billionaires hoarded resources in palatial fortresses, and capitalism adapted. Instead of manufacturing devices, technology companies extracted and recycled the minerals inside them. Some people downgraded gladly, sick of the burdens of previous centuries: the privacy issues, the data leaks, the conflicts with indeterminately sentient AI. Others asked why they should cede convenience for something as poorly distributed as quality of life.

But many were inspired by the butterfly effect of change. In 2064, an Indian scientist found a way to convert plastic into organic material, which was then fed to fungi in soil. The Amazon rainforest expanded, and she won the Nobel Prize. As the century continued, a stunning array of products became unextinct: chickpeas, soybeans, cacao. A Pueblo farmer cut into a leathery black pod and discovered the first avocado. The first rhinoceros appeared, and then the first Sumatran elephant, composing in a patch of lowland forest the size of a small temple. Soon, nature’s new releases garnered the same excitement that Apple’s once did.

“It’s all just kind of mind-blowing,” Laurel adds.

“That’s what I think,” says Gloria, slotting back onto track. “So, I don’t know, maybe I’m crazy, but what I’m thinking is: What if we can watch the end of composition in the tree? The shift from dependence to independence—the passing of the torch.”

“The spark,” Laurel says.

“The spark,” says Gloria.

Both have spoken in a whisper. It’s as though they’ve said the name of God.

“The department has a funding pool for unique cases. Maybe I could hire you as a special projects assistant.” Laurel keeps her voice low; she isn’t the only department member to frequent the Levantine café. “Though we might have to wait until next semester.”

“Let me help out at the lab until then. I just want to be part of it,” Gloria says. “I don’t care if I spend all day washing glassware.”

Laurel’s mouth opens. It’s the same thing she told Gloria One.