December 22, 2040

 

For the sixtieth time in the last hour, I asked myself what I was doing. I’d parked and sat in my car for fifteen minutes and picked my cuticles, distracting myself from racing thoughts. But I was nothing if not punctual, so I exited my car, cussed and reached across the front seat to the red cap on the passenger seat, and jammed it on my head. Locked the doors and blew out a cleansing breath.

Something brushed my leg, and I yelped and jumped; a huge alley cat darted a few feet from me then turned and looked at me with its semi-glowing eyes.

“Scared me to death,” I muttered and crossed the parking lot, glancing in the cars to see if any of them had a guy waiting, but they were empty. The streetlights cast long shadows crisscrossing the lot and the sidewalk.

The door jingled when I opened it to the smell of vanilla and caramel, and I relaxed to see the place partially filled with customers of all kinds. A hostess greeted me and told me to choose my table; I picked the booth in the back corner and told her I was waiting for someone.

After a minute, a waitress arrived and brought ice waters and two menus.

Smiling at the selections, I relaxed deeper into the vinyl. Even if Walker didn’t show up, I’d still get pie. I was debating over the slice of the day or the pie-share options when I sensed a presence. Lowering the menu, I saw that no one was there. Scrutinizing the other patrons, I tried to see if any of them were paying attention to me, but they were all occupied with their table companions.

A second later, the bell above the door jingled, and an imposing figure stepped in wearing a long black coat, black pants and boots, and sunglasses. The man had white skin, short cropped dark hair, a square jaw and thin lips, and he looked a little weather-beaten from what I could see. When he caught me staring at him, his face broke into a smile, and I caught my breath at his perfect white teeth.

I offered a tentative smile in return and stood, not wanting to have him stare down at me when he approached. But that still happened. He was tall.

Offering his hand, he spoke first. “Pie girl?” he said, his voice quiet.

“Walker?” I replied and shook his hand; mine was swallowed in his warm grip but he released it quickly and sat in the booth.

Resuming my seat, I slid the extra menu closer to him. “I hope you like pie,” I said and immediately felt stupid.

“Can’t go wrong with pastry,” he said with another broad smile and turned his attention to the menu.

Relieved that he seemed normal other than wearing sunglasses at night, I perused the choices again and bit my lip. There were no wrong choices; it was pie. But the heaviness of recent revelations made this outing seem less than inconsequential.

The waitress interrupted my thoughts, but Walker spoke first.

“We’ll have the pie flight, and if you could bring us a pot of dark roast?”

Normally I’d be offended at a man making decisions for me, but it seemed like he’d intuited my spiraling state, and a rush of gratitude overwhelmed me. The waitress nodded and took our menus, and when she was out of earshot, he spoke again.

“You look … fraught,” he said and clasped his hands together.

I grabbed the sheaf of papers I’d brought in my satchel and shoved them towards him. “Read the top couple ones first. The rest are in order except for the one with the parabola on it,” I said. “I put that one next to a colleague’s email for comparison. You can tell because the paper is different.”

Walker’s mouth turned down, but he took the papers and studied them, turning them over one by one, pausing over each and scanning them, though I couldn’t see his eyes. I was itching to ask him to remove his glasses, but maybe he had a migraine. I didn’t know how much time passed. He seemed to be taking it all in, and the sounds of the café around me dimmed to a low hum. I studied what features I could see, the line of his jaw, the tendons in his neck, faint stubble on his cheeks and chin, the tops of dark eyebrows. Small crinkles snaked out from behind his lenses suggesting smile lines and possibly a few years ahead of me in age. His military haircut and entirely black outfit suggested something far more sinister than a few smile lines, however. Had I made a fatal error? Was he from an agency meant to take out people like me? People who stumbled upon the wrong information at the wrong time? My throat dried up, and I sipped from the ice water flanking my coffee cup.

Wiping clammy hands on my jeans, I recalled the exit sign behind me where the hall led to restrooms, an employee door, and the exit. If I had to leave in a hurry …. Dammit; I was not cut out for this kind of shit. I prayed I hadn’t misjudged him, but I was the dummy who created a character reference out of a few direct messages.

He placed the page with the parabola next to Mace’s email with the same geometry and the equations on the table in front of him and patted the stack of papers he’d otherwise organized.

“So you told your coworker, and they confirmed the math from this other source?” he said and rested his big hands on both sheets.

I hadn’t told him anything at all; how did he know it was a coworker? But then I remembered all the standard SEARCH content at the beginning and ending of our internal emails.

“I haven’t told anyone anything,” I said. “I have no idea who the source is,” I said and pointed to the stack of papers. “My coworker came up with this equation after the asteroid experts downplayed the seriousness of TDL-32. When I realized his math corroborated the mysterious source, I did a little bit more research.”

“Such as?” he said. He exuded peacefulness and calm, and I soaked it up. I’d been a ball of nerves for days. Maybe he was safe. I needed him to be safe.

“All of the icosahedral viruses,” I said. “Suddenly, they’re no longer a concern. Not anywhere on Earth.”

He dipped his head but said nothing.

Did he not believe me? Did he think I was a quack? Was he debating when to kill me execution-style?

Reaching across the table, I gathered up the papers and tried to organize my thoughts. The waitress arrived with our order, and I put the stack back in my satchel. She poured coffee and left the pot.

“You appear flushed,” Walker said. “Are you okay?”

I clenched my trembling fingers under the table and closed my eyes for a second, trying to find that calm energy I’d felt a minute ago.

When I opened my eyes, Walker was choosing the slender slice of key lime with a steady hand. Nostrils flaring, I breathed deep and grabbed my fork, sliding the apple caramel crumble piece onto my plate.

“To be honest, I’m not okay,” I said. Saying the words eased some of my nerves, and I shook my head. “But God if pie isn’t the right decision right now.”

Walker chuckled. “It’s a fine choice.”

After a few bites and a slug of coffee, I put my fork down and looked across the table.

“It would help if I could see your eyes,” I said.

He frowned but nodded and removed his glasses, then looked at me.

His eyes were an astonishing hazel, with flecks of blue, gold, gray and green, and I stared longer than I should have before realizing I needed to look away. When I composed myself, I noticed a smile playing at his lips, but he said nothing.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not,” I said and ran my finger around the edge of my pie plate. “But I couldn’t keep all of this to myself anymore, and you seemed like the one person who might actually care.”

“Ruby’s your name?” he said, and when I shot him a questioning look, he gestured at my satchel. “The email said, “Ruby, here’s Mace’s work you requested.”,” he said.

I nodded.

“I believe you, Ruby,” he said. “And you’re right. I do care.”

Exhaling, I sat back. “What do I do now? I’m sitting on the news of the century. Going public will probably cause rioting in the streets. Civil unrest. Revolutions. Alternatively, my own government could quash the evidence and end my career with a simple smear campaign. Or worse.” I showed my palms. “However, doing nothing, while really attractive at this point, means billions and billions will die. Doing “something” still means billions will die.”

Walker handed me a napkin, and I realized I had tears running down my face. I wiped my cheeks and nose, peeking at the other patrons but no one was looking at us, thank God.

“I can’t believe I just did this in front of an internet stranger,” I said and shook my head. The urge to hide my face was strong, but it was too late. Walker and his amazing eyes had already seen the breakdown. And he hadn’t run from the shop screaming. He’d just handed me a napkin and then took a sly bite of his pie.

I gave him a half smile and picked up my fork again. “It’s good pie. I definitely have room for the chocolate silk next.”

“You asked the wrong question,” he said after we’d each eaten a few more bites and sipped coffee.

“Oh?” I said.

“The right question is, “What do we do now?” he said. “I—” He stopped himself and glanced off to the side. “That information is too substantial. It crosses international divides, multiple classes of people, touches aspects of human life from beginning to end. No single person could ever address everything. I doubt it was intended for one person.”

“I know all of those governments must have received it because of the virus cures across the globe,” I said. “But no one has said anything. The media turned TDL-32 into a nothing burger, and you know the governments wanted it that way.” The more I spoke, the more little details fell into place. “Not only that, but all those governments must know the other nations have access to the same information. Did they have secret meetings and decide together not to tell the general public? Is it possible that a bunch of nation-states actually came to a consensus? How typical that the consensus they came to was to obscure the truth from the people of Earth.” I shoved my plate away and folded my arms, slouching back in the booth and looking glumly at Walker. “It wasn’t intended for one person. It was intended for Earth governments, and it was intended that they would work together to save as much of humanity as possible. Somehow,” I said and leaned forward, resting my arms on the table—”when Earth governments didn’t do what was expected, I ended up with this information. The least qualified person on the planet. So yeah, I’d love your help, but excuse me if I don’t think two internet geeks are quite up to par.”

Walker had sat back and folded his arms, mirroring me.

“Finished?” he said.

I sighed and looked at the remaining skinny slices of pie. “Yeah.”

“Did you have any questions for me?” he said.

Dropping my twisted napkin onto my plate, I cocked my head and looked at him. I reviewed the evening’s conversation and realized I’d done most of the talking. Scanning the email, he’d already seen my name and my employer. He probably deduced what industry I worked in, and he knew my first name.

I knew nothing about him.

Chagrined at yet another example of my reckless naivete at meeting an internet stranger and then not even attempting to vet him, I grabbed my ice water and took another drink.

“Is your name actually Walker?” I said.

“No.”

When he didn’t offer his name, I frowned but went after my next question. “Where do you work?”

“In a technical laboratory,” he said.

Confused, I bit my lip and studied his beautiful eyes again. He’d invited me to ask questions but then gave me evasive answers. Maybe—maybe I wasn’t asking the right ones, like he’d said before.

I gasped. “Did you get the same information?”

He paused but then shook his head. “No.”

“Dammit, Walker, if there’s something you want to tell me, just out with it!” I said.

He winced. “I can’t. But you can ask me questions.”

I growled in frustration and shook my head. “I don’t know what to ask. What’s your actual name?”

“Jsevn,” he said.

“Huh? Jay Seven?” I said.

“No, blend the sounds together. Jsevn,” he repeated.

I tried it again, and he smiled.

“Is that, uh, Norwegian?” I asked.

“No.”

I cleared my throat. “Okay, wait. Where are you from?”

“Kyell,” he said with that broad smile.

My mind raced over what minimal geography I remembered from school, but I was drawing blanks. “Where is that?” I said.

“About four lightyears away,” he said with a wistful sigh and looked at me with those amazing eyes. Amazing, unearthly eyes.

“What language is Jsevn from?” I said, sounding calm though my heart raced.

“Shinterran,” he said.

“This can’t be real,” I said.

The waitress approached our table.

“One check, please,” Walker—Jsevn—said. We stared at each other until she brought the check. He glanced at it and pulled out a decidedly human wallet and placed human money on the tray and told the waitress to keep the change in his human accent and then put the remaining slices of pie in the little container provided for leftovers, and it was all very human and normal. For someone named Jsevn from Kyell who possibly spoke Shinterran.

“Did you—wait.” I was getting the hang of these questions. I couldn’t ask ones that could be answered with a simple yes or no. “Who sent these plans?” I said and held the satchel in my lap.

“My colleague Dem,” he said.

“So you already knew all of this,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Then why did you want to meet?” I asked in exasperation.

“Thank Christ,” he said, blowing out a great breath and leaning forward. He grasped my bicep with a quick squeeze. “You finally asked the right question.”