Luminous (10 page)

He might have blushed when he shrugged again, looking down, tapping his buttons and shoes.

“No problem,” he muttered. She stood and stretched. Nothing popped.

“I've got to find V,” she said, and thought,
I've got to get home.

“Yeah, well, just remember,” Wish said. “This is the Flow. Nothing's impossible.”

“No,” Consuela agreed. “Just highly, highly improbable.”

Wish snorted and threw another small stone, watching it bounce. “Got that right.”

And although they watched the school steps for a long, long while, no one ever came out.

 

WHEN
Consuela appeared at Sissy's door, she had a plan. There was only one master of probability in the Flow.

“Come in,” Sissy called in answer to her knocking. Consuela tried to ignore the nervous thumping of a heart that wasn't there, yet her voice was tense without vocal cords.

“Can you take me to Abacus?” she asked.

Sissy hadn't turned, intent on her monitor. “Not right now,” she said slowly. “I'm a little . . . busy?” She said the last word like a question, like she wasn't sure. Sissy spared a glance over her shoulder. “Nikki didn't show up.”

“Was he supposed to be here?” Consuela asked.

“Not here,” Sissy said. “He didn't show up for his assignment.”

“Oh.” Consuela walked over to the desk and squinted at the screen. It was full of open windows like a vertical pile of scattered papers. “What happened?”

“Same thing that happens every time one of us fails,” Sissy said quietly. “His assignment died.” She blew out a long breath and tilted her head to Consuela. “Although,” Sissy eyed Consuela meaningfully, “I do know of one exception.”

She leaned forward and grabbed her cell phone. “I can let you borrow my phone. Abacus has a beeper. The signal will lead you to him, like you did coming here.” Sissy tossed it to Consuela, who cupped both hands to catch it.

“Star seven,” Sissy advised. “And be sure to bring it back.” She resumed typing.

Consuela turned the phone on. “Thanks.”

The scrabble of keyboard keys stilled. Sissy turned.

“Can you forgive me?” the Watcher asked.

Sighing, Consuela shifted from foot to foot, long bones settling like toothpicks against the carpet.
For telling me that I'm doomed? For not telling me everything? For not saying that none of this was real from the start? For killing all hope? For not being okay with that?

“Ask me later.”

“No,” Sissy said. “Let me tell you something my father told me coming from a long line of early stroke victims: You never know how long you have—there might not
be
a later—so don't let things go unsaid or unforgiven.” She looked a little embarrassed, scared. She readied herself. “So forgive me now, or don't.”

It was true, but no one said those things aloud. The mortal truths. You always assumed there would be time, but there wasn't. Consuela knew it. They all knew it. The Flow knew it, too.

She nodded.

“I forgive you now,” Consuela said.

The blond girl smiled a tiny bit. “Good. Great. Now let me get back to work.”

 

 

CONSUELA
appeared on the edge of a hill. The ground was patchy with grass and rocks, above was a picture-perfect puff-cloud sky, and between them stood a structure that made her head hurt.

Fractal images and impossible planes shot up in jagged, defiant directions, reminding Consuela of crystal formations grown under time-lapse film. Hints of reverse-rainbow colors and ultraviolet bands sliced along the sharp edges of . . . whatever it was. If this jumble of jeweled obelisks somehow formed a building, she had no idea how to find the door.

Consulting her cell-phone receiver did nothing—the yellow marker wove itself into a helix.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath.

“Hello?” a voice called from out of sight.

“Hello?” Consuela called back.

“In a minute.”

Consuela glanced around, trying to guess where the sound came from, but gave up.

“. . . Roughly seventy seconds, or its nearest equivalent . . .” A smiling face appeared through an Escher-angled wall. Abacus adjusted his rimless glasses as he stepped forward. “ . . . depending on your relative space-time,” he said. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Consuela said. “I'm guessing you're Abacus.”

“And you must be Bones.” He offered a handshake, which she accepted. William Chang shook her collection of tarsals without a trace of embarrassment or hesitation. He wore his smile comfortably, like an old shirt; his actual shirt was maroon and tugged at a noticeable paunch.

“Consuela Chavez, aka Bones,” he said again. “I've been looking forward to meeting you.” He looked her over appreciatively. “Wow! You're really something, if you don't mind me saying so.” His eyes twinkled. “Come on inside. Let me show you around.”

He waved toward his mass of towers. Consuela squinted up.

“I'm trying to get home,” she said as she tried to follow the lines of the building. The light bent and wobbled, trailing prism colors. Consuela's phantom eyes traced the aurora effect as it climbed.

“Well,” he said, “you've come to the right place.”

“This is quite the place,” she said with a smile in her voice. “If you don't mind me saying so.”

Abacus laughed. “Isn't it? I call it ‘Quantum' and I can honestly say I made it all by myself. I think it's the only permanent artificial construction created within the Flow.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully and gave a mad-scientist laugh. “And it's mine, all mine!”

Consuela burst out laughing. “Well, can we go inside?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.

Standing at the base of the structure, she touched the smooth, quicksilver walls. “How?” she asked.

“I could show off and try to explain the math, but it's simpler to say that I took surreality and bent it to my will. Fun, huh? This way.” He stepped one foot dramatically through the wall and held it there. “You might want to swallow before entering, the transition can throw off your inner ear, and you still have those—smallest bones in the body.” He winked. “Ready?”

“As ever,” Consuela said, swallowed, and stepped through the wall. She tilted suddenly upward and to the right, flipping something inside her skull that resettled into almost the same position. She clapped a hand to her forehead with a clack.

“Ow,” she muttered.

“I warned you.” Abacus chuckled.

“You did.”

“But isn't this totally worth it?” Abacus said proudly as Consuela blinked up at the faceted walls. Whorls of formulae swirled over its surfaces, arcing spirals of numbers and symbols in Greek. The writing changed color as it moved, reflecting its opposite, while incredibly thin lines joined and split, connecting tiny points of light like jewels in an invisible chandelier. Abacus reached up and touched one point of light and, with an encouraging push, coaxed it into a small constellation of similar stars.

“Welcome to the Flow,” he said, grinning. “My map of it, anyway.”

“Wow,” Consuela breathed.

“Tell me about it.” Abacus laughed.

Consuela looked around, hoping to find what would get her home fast. “So where's your computer?” she asked.

“Here,” he said, tapping his temple. “And here.” He scooped something off of a hook. Dark wooden beads rattled on the frame.

As she saw the ancient calculator, William Chang's nickname suddenly made sense. Consuela crossed her arms. “You're kidding.”

“Nope.” He gloated. “It's a
suanpan
. Faster than a computer. They've clocked it. Now look over here. I think this is what you wanted.” He led the way to one of the side towers leaning at a sharp angle to the ground. Consuela ducked when he did and knelt where he bent to enter a new direction. She crept forward, knowing she'd never find her way out of this place if she lost sight of him. Excitement tingled along her limbs. She felt sorry for leaving Sissy and V and Wish without so much as saying good-bye.

They wound deeper in dizzying directions. Fortunately, Abacus waited for her at every turn, a smile crinkling his eyes. When he stopped, she stood up too soon and banged her head on a corner. She might have bit her tongue if she'd had one.

“All right back there?”

She rubbed her skull. “You couldn't imagine a place with right angles?”

“Had to work within parameters,” he apologized. “Here we are.” He took her hand and guided her to stand. “Look up.”

She did. The chamber was full of sparkling lights and alphanumerics spinning in Milky Way computations. Before she could ask, Abacus was already pointing out areas of interest.

“This is one of my pet projects. I have been trying to map causality in the Flow, trying to piece together a pattern based on who we are and who our assignments have been; how it all fits together.” Abacus tapped one area and spun his hand around, circling the spiral of proofs and theorems. “Tender's been helping, which is a real plus. He has a knack for inferential outcomes, and I'll admit that I'm pretty good at graphing predictability . . .” He cocked his head and gave her a charming smile. “Well, I
was.
Before you showed up.” He knocked a knuckle against the wall. “I thought I had the rules of this place figured out, but, oh well.” He placed his hands on his hips and sighed dramatically. “I'll have to scrap the whole thing, of course.”

Consuela stepped back. “What?” she said. “Why?”

“Oh, don't worry—I love it!” Abacus laughed easily. “I mean, it's awesome meeting you: you're a real anomaly. I've checked, and nowhere has anyone left any record of this sort of thing ever happening before.” He bounced on his heels like a kid. “You're like your own comet!” he said. “And I saw you first—or, at least, the possibility of you.”

Consuela tried to follow his meaning while being distracted by his work. “But why am I so different?” she asked. “Why can't I just go home?”

“It's not a question of whether you can or can't,” Abacus said. “What I mean is that the regular rules don't apply to you, or perhaps they never applied to anyone, really. That's the difference between theories and facts. What makes you different is that you”—he indicated a point over his head with a thick finger—“were on
that
side of the Flow and now”—he dragged the spot of light over like a cursor under his forefinger and placed it in a new location on the wall, tapping it—“you're on
this
side.” The entire diagram split and roiled clockwise, trying to adapt. The design kept shifting, attempting to compensate while rippling outward. Abacus watched the chaos burn holes in his orderly pinwheel. “See? Throws the whole thing out of whack.” He looked pleased with himself.

She crossed her radii against her growing uncertainty. “But people cross over all the time . . .”

“Oh sure,” he said. “Regular folks do. But I've never heard of someone who was an
assignment
crossing over into the Flow.” Abacus shook his head, still smiling at a private joke. “It's never happened before.”

A little trickle ran over her skull, the feeling of all eyes on her.

Counsuela failed to say the words; something held her back, maybe fear.

“Never?” she whispered.

“Well, it's a long ‘ever,'” Abacus admitted. “But let's say close enough for grenades. But there's always a chance. We can figure out something.” He turned and looked at her bones, glittering under the play of light and crystal colors. His voice slid into a bedtime quiet. “You know how sometimes, late at night, you lie awake and think that maybe the whole universe revolves around you?” Abacus asked, and waved his hand; a thread of numbers followed. The cascade danced across the wall, throwing more order atop the chaos. The vortex kept fracturing, breaking down. More galaxies of twinkling light were pulled into the hole. He winked at her. “Well, in your case, you might be right.”

Walking slowly in front of his unfolding universe projection, Abacus shrugged his shoulders with casual glee.

“You see, it no longer makes sense,” he said quietly as his work bulged in places and collapsed in others. “Save this one thing . . .” He tapped a handful of points. “Assignments, on average, affect exponentially more lives than normal people do. Ergo, these are important people who we're saving, meant to do great things in the world. Ergo . . .” Abacus nodded like a salute. “You
are
important to the world. And you don't belong here.”

“That's what V said,” Consuela confirmed.

“Giovanni. Yes. I told him that when he asked me,” Abacus said. “It was the first time he'd ever shown any interest in any of this. Or me, frankly. Still, I'm glad you two talked, I know he's been anxious about meeting you.”

Consuela frowned. “What do you mean?”

His eyes widened under Quantum's collapsing stars.

“Didn't you know?” Abacus said gently, “You were V's assignment.”

—OCTAVIO PAZ