Zhi's eyes are focused on an exploding hologram of twin universes - one ungrounding itself upon the horizon, it then draws back against itself. A ripple maddening alone.
"Wrong," Zhi whispers. "If the anti-universe holds up a mirror to us, then there shouldn't be noise. Everything should align."
Ky leans against the console, sipping tea without being bothered by the chaos. "Unless the noise is the point. What if they're trying to talk to us?"
Zhi stiffens. "Talk?"
Ky shrugs. "If they're running backward, maybe their end is our beginning. Maybe we are interlocked."
No reply came from Zhi. Fingers blurred over the keyboard as ripple became louder. They translated the sound it made, a low, resonant hum, oscillating like a heartbeat. Then came the numbers. Primes. A message.
"They're counting," Zhi whispered. His voice quivered. "But backward."
The ripple grows stronger. The lab groans, the lights trembling, almost as if between two worlds. Time falters for Zhi, each second folding onto itself. There is something to the projection: a mirror image of themselves in a lab where time flows backward, lost in contemplation. The anti-them arrives; reaches out what may be the other side of darkness.
"Zhi, refrain," Ky cautions but too late. Zhi touches the surface, and the lab dissolves in splendor.
For an unending moment, Zhi sees everything: that symmetry of existence, a cosmic dance in which universes ebb and flow like rivers into and out of each other. The anti-universe does not speak in words, it has overwhelming presence.
You are the echo.
And then, darkness. The lab returns, relatively silent, ordinary, and typical. The ripple is gone; it has erased data. Zhi practically collapses into a chair, head spinning.
Ky kneels beside them. "What happened?"
LaHaNgAh Zasonga. "It does not say much," with a laugh, "they have had us in the echo."
