New Scientists Book Club: Read an excerpt from the science fiction novel Every Version of You by Grace Chan

The sky is all bad this evening. A supersaturated blue, it pixelates on the horizon in streaky seawater and is pierced by the sun sinking toward its swelling reflection. The tide beats against the shore. One, two, three on the sand. One, two, three, four – leaving a sine wave of foam.

Tao-Yi sits with her legs tucked under her, spinning a nearly empty beer bottle in her hands. Long shadows escape from the sandstone formations that surround it. In this isolated cove, protected by vermilion cliffs, she does not see the others, but she hears them laughing and shouting as they collect driftwood to make a bonfire.

She let Navin drag her here, a little out of obligation, but mostly out of habit. That’s exactly what happens every New Year’s Eve: Zach throws a party. It would be bad to miss it.

The bottle remains cold against his palms, impervious to the heat of his body. She brings the edge to her lips. The last sip cuts his throat. The ocean wrinkles like a silk skirt in the wind, crumpled and opaque. She waits for the gust to come ashore, to lift strands of hair from her neck, but it never comes – Gaia’s air is as stale as a subway tunnel.

A rustling of sand grass announces Navin’s approach. He’s almost a stranger – tall and thin in his short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants, black bangs falling choppy across his forehead, a vulnerable smile. He hands over another bottle of beer.

“It tastes like shit,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s better than last year.”

She manages a smile thinking about Zach’s experimental brew.

“Come back,” he insists, touching his fingers to the roots of her hair. “Help us light the fire.”

Tao-Yi lets him get her back on her feet. She follows him out of the cove, past a group of rocks and back up along the shore. His shirt hangs loosely on his body, catching the lower corners of his shoulder blades. She wants to touch these upturned parentheses, to be sure of their reality.

Between the dunes and the sea, the others filled a shallow pit with driftwood. There are a dozen educated twenty-somethings like her and Navin, all with sharp eyes and witty repartee. Virtual Generation. This is the lucky generation – born into movement, imbued with potential, riding a wave of change.

Zach moves easily through the group, the others drawn to him like mosquitoes to shallow water. In an orange T-shirt and a knee-length sarong, he looks particularly boyish. He leans over the driftwood, a lit match stretched like a conductor’s baton between long brown fingers. The others scream as the flames spread. There is no second attempt if you follow the formula.

Tao-Yi summons his live interface. In the corner of his vision, a countdown timer flickers in neon: 9:00 p.m., December 31, 2087. Only 3 hours left! A constant scroll of status updates blankets the beach landscape. Mostly excerpts, four-second video fragments that dissolve as soon as she absorbs them into her attention: friends dancing at open-air concerts, go-karting under electronic fireworks, stimulating shots against a backdrop of percussive rhythms.

Evelyn walks towards her. Tao-Yi removes the countdown and the shears. Tonight his girlfriend looks a little different. Although she wears a pastel dress from her typical wardrobe, her dark brown hair is braided and her cheeks are decorated with gothic decals. It’s endearing, like a puppy trying to be angry.

Evelyn bumps her hip against Tao-Yi’s. “Are you flash?” “I’m fine. Why?”

“You just look calm.”

Tao-Yi wraps his hands around his elbows, feeling the symmetrical indentations behind the bony joints. “Yeah, I’m just a little spent. Busy day at work.”

“Oh yeah. Of course. You’re now a leading authenticity consultant.” Evelyn drags out the syllables and laughs.

The title still sounds odd to Tao-Yi, even though she has been in her position for six months. She’s still figuring it out, going from a marketing job, manipulating people into buying more things, to a place like Tru U, guiding lost souls back to their true selves.

“People are just obsessed with their avatars. They want to make sure they’re as unique as everyone else, you know.”

“Usoo, Tao-Yi, don’t pretend to be cynical. I know you’re really a softie underneath,” Evelyn said. “Give it a few more months and you’ll spread the wellness bug like your boss. What’s his name again? Andy? Gary?”

“Griffin. Not even close.”

“It’s true. You know what he said to me at that party you dragged me to last month? Wide eyes, poker face. You have to find your way.”

“Oh, yeah. He says that about ten times a day. My brain is filtering it now.”

“I told him I was using Google Maps. He didn’t even smile!”

Tao-Yi laughs. “But he does his job well. Are you coming for a meeting?”

“No thanks, you can all stay away from my virtual elements.”

Tao-Yi laughs again and turns towards the fire. Evelyn’s gaze turns to Zach and stays there. The glow of the bonfire warms his tanned complexion, illuminating his bright black eyes and expressive mouth.

For a moment, Tao-Yi watches as Evelyn looks at him. Then she slips away.

Every version of you by Grace Chan (Verve Books) is the November 2025 read for the New Scientist Book Club. Sign up to read with us here.