Read an Excerpt From Mike Chen's A Quantum Love Story

We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from A Quantum Love Story, a near-future time travel adventure by Mike Chen, out from MIRA on January 30.

Grieving her best friend’s recent death, neuroscientist Mariana Pineda’s ready to give up everything to start anew. Even her career—after one last week consulting at a top secret particle accelerator.

Except the strangest thing happens: a man stops her… and claims they’ve met before. Carter Cho knows who she is, why she’s mourning, why she’s there. And he needs Mariana to remember everything he’s saying.

Because time is about to loop.

In a flash of energy, it’s Monday morning. Again. Together, Mariana and Carter enter an inevitable life, four days at a time, over and over, without permanence except for what they share.

But just as they figure out this new life, everything changes. Because Carter’s memories of the time loop are slowly disappearing. And their only chance at happiness is breaking out of the loop—forever.

Mariana wasn’t sure which part stunned her more, the fact that he knew her name or that he claimed the Hawke Accelerator would blow up soon. She eyed him, enough desperation lining his face for her to consider that he might be a terrorist.

And she was trapped with him.

“Do you remember our last conversation?” the man asked.

That wasn’t the follow-up question Mariana expected. Logical questions would have been something involving reasons for taking her hostage, like environmental issues with the accelerator itself or moral quandaries about ReLive—the usual protests that became the unwritten part of a scientist’s job. He didn’t ask that or even the more obvious question Why are you holding a photo?

But… what conversation did he mean?

“I…” Mariana weighed the different options in her mind, though the man’s frantic air probably meant that this wasn’t going to be a rational discussion. One look at the side exit showed that it had locked into place, a complete seal between this room and the hallway to the control room. Beckett and the others may not have even noticed that she lagged behind in the first place, let alone failed to follow. “I don’t. I’m sorry,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t remember talking. When was it?”

“The last time we were here.”

Buy the Book

A Quantum Love Story

Mike Chen

This conversation failed any logic test. “You must have me confused with someone else. I’ve never been to Hawke before this week.” What could cause Hawke to blow up? A bomb. Or sabotage. “Look,” she said, taking a chance, “I’m sure you have your reasons, but there’s no need to harm anyone.”

“You don’t remember. I’m not trying to harm anyone. I’m trying to save all of us.”

Above her, yellow warning lights started rotating, and the various displays flashed their system status, bright red letters stating Structural stability issue detected on strut QL89. The mobile AI unit hanging on her neck chimed, David’s playful voice coming through. “An emergency has been detected in your sector. Would you kindly walk to your nearest evacuation area? I’ll lead the way. First, turn to the door on your right…”

David continued, urging her to leave. She would, of course, if that was at all possible. But between David’s calls, the flashing on the monitors, and this guy here, nothing felt like a routine test run.

Under her feet, the floor rattled, a rhythmic bumping that jabbed her heels hard enough that she reached over to the panel to steady herself.

“No, no, no.” The technician shook his head, biting down on his lip as frustrated lines creased his forehead. “This conversation. Do you remember any of it?”

“This conversation. We’ve never talked before.”

“No, not before. This conversation. Right now. Do you remember it?”

How was she supposed to answer that? This man failed to operate in reality, and Mariana’s concerns suddenly went far beyond the rumbles and shakes rippling through the Hawke Accelerator.

“Like,” Mariana said and took in a breath, “what we’re discussing right now? Are you talking about a bomb?”

“No. Jeez. You’ve never asked about a bomb before.” That statement caused all sorts of other questions, but he kept going. “Carter. My name is Carter.” He held up the paper notebook in his hand, fingers pressing against the red cover. “When we talked, this was blue. Do you remember it?”

Part of her neuroscience degree involved a few electives in psychology, and Mariana tapped into what little she could of that here. Had they done any de-escalation exercises in undergrad? She couldn’t remember and instead went with a calm, neutral tone. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand the question.”

“Oh, freaking crap,” the man said. Sweat now dotted his forehead, and though he turned skyward, his shoulders slumped. “Okay. It didn’t work.”

“What didn’t work?” The flashing yellow lights now came with a steady beeping, and above them the display indicated that system temperatures were rising. David continued talking, though any personality he’d exhibited before was gone, simply repeating evacuation instructions. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain—”

“It’s okay,” Carter said, blowing out a breath. “You don’t have to talk me down. I’m not unstable.”

“I don’t think you’re unstable, I just don’t under—”

“I thought it was going to work last time, but it clearly didn’t.” He tossed the notebook aside; it landed open, pages coming to a rest. Mariana squinted at the neatly written tables on there, numbers and details captured in some sort of flow chart.

“Why not?”

Any agitation left his tone, and instead a resignation took over, one that matched his slumped shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll try again next time. I should have brought donuts for us,” he said, a sudden grin on his lips.

“Next time?”

“Yeah. We got about two minutes left.” The man sighed, then started looking around. “You drink protein shakes for breakfast,” he said, without turning to her.

Mariana turned to the photo still gripped in her hands. “What?”

“See, that’s my proof. I know these things because you told me. But we didn’t have enough time to discuss what it all means. Guess it doesn’t really help now, does it? The notebook,” he said, pointing to the floor, “it’s red this time. Last time I grabbed a blue one. That was our experiment. That was,” he said laughing, “your suggestion. You wanted to see if you’d recognize it. You’re the scientist.”

“I’m a scientist. Yes.”

“We’ve had this talk a few times. Last time, it didn’t take this much convincing, though. I stopped for one extra bear claw today and it threw our whole rhythm off. Guess you can’t account for all the variables. Before that, you once spilled coffee on me.” Carter looked at the rolling clock above the screens. “Three, two, one,” he said, and he snapped his fingers.

Somewhere by them, a massive boom rattled the room.

“That’s still on time.”

Beyond the walls, the sound of bending metal tore through the space.

Sparks sprayed from one of the screens, a brilliant sprinkling of yellow-white as the panel disappeared. Somewhere, voices cried out, and Mariana tried to steady herself.

“Fifty-two seconds,” he said. “What can we do different this time? Hey, maybe the key is you having something better than a shake for breakfast. Have you ever had a pastry from Bellisario’s?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we need to get out of here.”

Carter’s face tilted, a grin beneath his hanging locks. “You didn’t suggest that last time.”

“What does that even mean?” Mariana yelled before shaking her head and moving to the door. But Carter stepped in front of it, arms and legs extended to form an X. Seconds ago, he’d been the bigger issue, but now the situation had changed, an emerging rumbling and sudden bangs from all around.

“Listen,” Carter yelled back, and the facility’s shaking reminded her of the occasional California earthquake, though this came with rattling booms like fireworks and a cacophony of shouting voices outside of the room. “It won’t matter. We’ve got like, thirty seconds. Try…” His eyes darted around the room. “Dang it, why didn’t I think this through? What’s new, what’s new?”

Mariana may have had her tennis ambitions cut short by a knee injury, but she remained in good-enough shape that she could easily knock this lanky guy off balance and take the door. She primed her body, hands still holding the photo frame, and told herself to sprint and go for the exit. Her back leg coiled up, ready to release when Carter spoke with urgency in his voice.

“Just wait. Um, listen to what’s going on.”

Carter glanced up at the clock, panic returning to his face. He mumbled something to himself as he looked her over, his eyes tracking the path between him and her, though the chaos around them blocked out anything he might have said.

Shay used to give Mariana so much grief about how she overanalyzed stuff, the way she abided. And here, her stepsister was right. Mariana needed to stop thinking and move now, and this guy stood in her way. Her back foot pushed off, and while running through someone wasn’t exactly part of tennis training, she didn’t have much of a choice here. Carter met her eyes, but he didn’t turn or even brace to try to stop her. One step passed, then a second, and a third, though just when she’d made it halfway across the room, his mouth opened.

“You’re doing this for Shay,” he yelled, his voice louder than any other moment in the room.

Just hearing that stopped her momentum, an invisible wall in five short words. Suddenly the cacophony of the Hawke facility didn’t matter more than what he said.

“You’re doing this for her. In the photo,” he said, this time quieter. He looked at her, then at the floor before glancing up to the corner. “Tell me about her,” he said, a sudden slow drawl to his words. “You said you’re here for her. That’s what you told me before, but what does that mean?”

Words suddenly failed Mariana. The floor rattled beneath her, the door remained locked, and displays flashed all sorts of warnings, but here she stood petrified by a question. Carter glanced back at the top corner, worry lines returning to his brow, and he shook his head. “Time. Never mind. Look, just one question. Tell me something that happened to you Monday morning.”

“What?”

“Anything. Anything that happened. You mentioned a dog in your building lobby before,” he said, his arms moving with emphasis. “Something unexpected.”

“B.E.? His biscuit dropped.”

“Okay, okay. B.E.’s biscuit dropped. That’s it. That’s all you have to remember.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You need something to hook onto.” Carter’s fingers went up one by one with each sentence. “B.E.’s biscuit dropped. If you don’t remember anything else, put that into your brain. For Monday. If you remember, that’s your proof.” He glanced again at that corner, and Mariana considered returning to her original plan of rushing him. “And if that sticks, then remember that this is a loop. It’s all looping. I’ll be waiting in the lobby first thing when you arrive on Monday. Right past the security check-in.”

She would have, in fact, if she’d had the chance. But in that moment, metal sprayed out in all directions from the ceiling. She turned, lost in the chaos, and as she did, he lunged forward, grabbed her leg and planted a foot down one tile over. In the corner above, an exposed cable dangled, green sparks firing off every which way. They showered her, singeing her shoulders and burning through her coat. Carter covered himself, though she heard him yell, “I’m sorry.”

Carter looked at her again—specifically, where she stood. His eyes tracked, from the place she stood to a spot on the wall adjacent to them, right in a corner where a burst of sparks erupted and a severed cord swung down, electricity dancing off its end. “Stay right there,” Carter yelled, his voice now barely audible over the pops and crackles. “Four. Three. Two.”

The final second played out in slow motion for Mariana. First, the exposed cable on the ceiling danced, driven by a whipping pulse of violent green. The surge of energy sent a zap outward, landing several inches from her left foot. All around her, different things snapped and shattered: display glass, metal grates, console switches, like a domino run of bursts, the final one bright enough to cause a blind spot in her iris. The lashing beam of greenish energy flailed again, recoiling upon contact with the floor, leaving a charred scar on the metal grating at her feet.

“One,” she heard Carter say. But what happened next, she wasn’t sure.

Because the beam of energy came alive again, striking her foot and spidering up her leg, her torso, her neck, a feeling of simultaneous burning and freezing across her senses before everything disappeared.