John was eager to see him. As much as he liked his friends at work, he could never relate to them on a wide scale. Parts of his life that he had shared with his college friends remained locked inside him at work, first at the Guard and then at Breakbeat, for they would neither understand nor care about it. He needed different friends for that, and the relationships that he had built up during college had been adroitly scattered to the four winds by graduation. Ray wasn’t the furthest one, but still a one hour drive away. Arianna Ferro was closer by, having taken a job in Boston, last John knew.
Ari had been growing apart from their circle of friends towards the end, but John still thought of her as a close companion, and often wondered about tracking her down. With a get-together with Ray on the board, he would have the perfect segue-way for a message to her. She was an attractive woman with Algerian and Japanese heritage, and with the best features of both. When John had first met her, he believed she was just wasting time with John, and a year later, Ray. It wasn’t until they knew each other for two years that he finally realized her friendship was sincere. That was good, because Ari was rarely sincere about anything else. She was a skilled manipulator, and managed some amazing feats with the three or four boyfriends she kept during school. Neither John nor Ray ever gained that status, at first by a put-upon lack of interest (at least for John) and then later by their own education. When they really got to know Ari, friendship was as far as they wanted to go. Ari, wary of her inability to lead her two companions around by their reproductive organs, had accepted them and dropped any ulterior motives she almost certainly had. During the last year, however, he began to wish he'd taken advantage of the opportunity when it was presented.
This thought caused a flash of adrenaline as he again considered Rachel's words. Despite the complete disconnect with reality that the fantasy involved, John imagined himself with his arm around Ari as the two of them ran into Rachel somewhere. He instantly felt stupid for having that desire; how immature that not thirty minutes after they broke up, John wanted to make Rachel feel jealous. It was pointless to indulge in such fantasies, although Ray's phone call had made them much more palpable. Every time his logical side rejected the feasibility of a physical relationship with Ari, his emotional side asked, “What if?”
John passed out while thinking of Ari's smile. He wouldn’t move from the chair for another three hours, sleeping through several of his favorite television shows. Friday was pleased.
__________
Arianna Ferro awoke, and became aware of a throbbing in her head. A filmy tankard lay on its side next to her arm, which was dangling off of her futon. She drew her hand away when it touched the cool glass. Ari wearily moved to identify the source of her surprise, succeeded, and rolled over onto her back. It had been a Bass Ale, the consumption of which was gone from her memory. She did remember the purpose of the shot glass which remained upright on the other side of the room. Ari resolved herself to a shower, which was unpleasant only in that it required her to stand.
Ari managed about three minutes under the cascading water. Then she crumpled to the bottom of the tub, her head at last spinning out of her control.
Thirty minutes later, Ari leaned forward and turned off the shower. She found a towel, dried off, and attempted to wrap it around her. It was too small to cover everything. Less concerned with her upper body, she tied it around her waist. Alone in her living room, Ari dialed work.
“Ari here. I left my lights on last night. Yeah. No, my neighbor is giving me a jump. I guess... forty-five minutes. Okay.”
Hanging up the phone, Ari wandered into the utilitarian, tile-lined kitchen. Three aspirin were chased down her throat by a swig of flat cola, a familiar aftertaste informing her of a previously pleasant addition. More of her evening became available to her. The bottle of rum had been rinsed and placed in the recycling bin. She didn’t remember that. A chill washed over her, and she padded into the bedroom to get dressed.
“I brought in the mail.”
One each of a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of socks later, Ari returned to the kitchen. A stack of mail lay neatly arranged on the table, sorted by priority. There was only one letter on the right side, which was the important pile.
“Boston Police Department?” Ari said aloud.
It could be but one thing. Her firearms permit. Ari brazenly assumed this, as it could also be a rejection letter. She held the envelope up to the light. A square object occupied slightly more than half the interior. Ari tore the empty space open. A laminated card fell into her open hand. Ari was filled with pride, as if she had actually earned the right to possess it. Her priorities changed, and she picked up the phone.
“Ari here. There wasn’t enough charge in the battery to jump it. Yeah, I’m going to. I should be in at noon. Thanks.”
2. September 26, 2003
Professor Christie Tolliver sprinted up two flights of stairs, late for her two o’clock class. She glanced down at her watch as the hallway blurred around her. She had two minutes to spare before her students could give up and leave, the rule allowing her fifteen. It was the first time this semester that she was so horridly tardy, so perhaps the new round of kids would give her some temporal latitude. At least her only burden was one textbook, pages stuffed with loose note paper. It wasn’t slowing her down as much as her half a pack a day cigarette habit. Pausing just outside the auditorium, she attempted to calm her breathing. It wasn’t going to work, and Christie had no choice but to enter the room winded.
“Sorry, folks. Time dilation applies to a really good cup of coffee, too.”
If anybody got the joke, they didn’t show it. Most of them should have, anyway. It was going to be on the next exam. The comment would go unexplained for today’s session, however. The subject would instead revolve around something more enjoyable to Christie, and usually, more interesting to her student constituency as well.
“When we left off on Tuesday, I told you we’d be discussing the possibility of life on other planets. Even if we’d all be dead and buried by the time any of our spacecraft encountered anybody, they may have other means of propulsion that would negate any effects of time dilation.”
Christie decided to mention time dilation again, if only to remind the class that it was important for some reason.
“Now most of us are familiar with science fiction’s best approximations of faster than light travel. We have warp drive, which supposedly folds space back upon itself, decreasing the distance between two points. We have hyperspace, which brings us into another dimension where distance is either diminished or negated. Modern astrophysics hasn’t brought us anywhere near any way to actually achieve either of these forms. Regardless, if we could travel to other solar systems, or if they could get here, one has to wonder what they’d look like.”
Christie was about to take a detour away from basic astronomy, but so far nobody had ever noticed. In fact, Christie’s free-flowing form of teaching was never criticized, at least to her face. Her easy-going manner and open mindedness to student input could at times diminish the overall course content, but the way she saw it, it never diminished from learning. Her astronomy course therefore remained popular, forever repeating a pattern. Fall semester she could barely attract enough students to fill the first two rows, by the spring, she was turning people away. Since hers was a freshman-level course, those who were turned away after the class was full rarely got a spot, since it meant another student would have to drop out. This year, a young man by the name of Byron had enrolled for another semester after his senior year, making him a “super-senior” in the local vernacular. He’d left his name on a waiting list just long enough for someone to change their mind and quit. Byron was very intelligent, sat in the third row, and more often than not Christie found herself talking directly to him.
“The fauna here on Earth has shown us that life can take many forms. I apologize in advance for anyone who doesn’t believe in evolution... it’s the easiest way to understand t
he issue. If we evolved from apes, then it’s reasonable to see how any of the large mammals might have grasped the knowledge of tools as well, were circumstances different.”
“You mean, if they had opposable thumbs,” Byron said.
“That’s the advantage that apes apparently had, in their ability to manipulate their environment. But if any of you have ever owned cats, you might notice that some of them can work pretty well with their paws. If they ever learned how to walk upright, they could certainly carry things and create tools. Anyway, the point is that alien life is probably carbon based, breathes oxygen, and looks something like one of the mammalian species here on earth. Certain science fiction shows have focused on felines, both seriously and as an avenue for comedy.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Usually by now, Christie had managed to engage several students in the discussion. Byron was a given, but why wasn’t anyone else raising their hands? Christie was young for a college professor, at twenty-nine, and occasionally she intimidated some of the guys who enrolled in her courses. If that was going on this time, she didn’t feel like encouraging anyone. She was tired from her run from the cafeteria, and seemed content to talk to Byron.
“Science fiction represents the vast majority of alien species as humanoid,” began Byron. “Rarely do we see a race that was obviously descended from something other than monkeys. But I think that’s due to production costs and the fact that most actors are human to begin with. Perhaps as computer-generated graphics become more advanced, we’ll see more things like talking cats, dogs, and super-intelligent shades of blue.”
Now they were really off the subject, and there was still sixty-five minutes to go. Christie made an attempt to steer the discussion back toward a more legitimate astronomical subject.
“There’s a formula that was created to estimate the number of solar systems that could support life in the universe, given a reasonable estimate of the number of what we can actually see out there. It’s called the Drake equation. Basically, you assign a percentage of likelihood to a number of attributes, each essential to life. What percentage of solar systems have a planet the appropriate distance from the sun? What percentage of those planets then have the correct condition for life to form? What percentage of those planets will at this time be at the point in their development, assuming a millions-of-years cycle, to have intelligent life forms there residing? The chances are, well, astronomical, but the estimate is still in the tens of thousands. Carl Sagan thought it could even be in the hundreds of thousands. And since we still don’t know the limits of the universe, if any, the number could be more. If we or another civilization develops faster than light travel, then it’s quite possible we could have an intergalactic community similar to what we’ve seen on television.”
Byron said, “I’d like to think that there are communities out there like that already, Miss Tolliver. We’re just too far away to be part of them.”
An hour later, Christie and Byron stepped out onto the street and took a left turn. The class had continued in vibrant conversation between the two of them, with an audacious number of students falling asleep in the wings of the auditorium. It was a little too loud and a little too cold for them to continue talking while they traveled, so they concentrated on making it to the Derne Street Deli first. Christie had also managed to consume a cigarette on the way, stopping outside the eatery to pinch off the burning remains and dispose of the filter in a trash bin. Once inside and with food on the way, Byron picked up the subject.
“What I’d want would be a room that you could view space from in a three hundred and sixty degree field. Through holographic imaging, one would see space all around them. You could even make it a variable gravity room. What a great way to relax.”
“That would be something. I think I’d definitely spend a lot of time staring out the windows. I’ve often thought that it must be very distracting to astronauts to have such a great view. It’s the view that I’m most jealous of.”
“Do you think we’ll have space tours before too long? We’ve got the technology.”
“Sure, but I’d give it another fifteen years. Let the companies who want to do it get a bit richer first. Then, I’m sure we can take a ultra-high altitude tour. Once there, though, I’d never want to leave.”
“You know, it’s great to meet someone who really loves their job. I mean, you’re really interested in this stuff, Miss Tolliver.”
“Evidently. And I think you can call me Christie, Byron.”
Byron smiled, slightly embarrassed by the comment.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“I don’t know what it is, so I guess not.”
“How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“Well, if you must know, I’m twenty-nine. I’ve been Suffolk’s assistant astronomy professor for three years. Before that, I worked at the Hayden Planetarium at the Museum of Science. Before that, I was a student at Suffolk myself.”
“So you’ve been in the neighborhood for what, ten years?”
“Eleven. I moved to Boston to go to college. I’m from New Hampshire originally. Way, way up north.”
Christie felt a twinge of adrenaline. She searched her mind for a reason for the feeling. She didn’t want to know Byron that well, and she realized that she didn’t want him to know her that well, either. It was still a friendly conversation, but Christie felt the need to steer it away from her personal life.
“So I’ve always had an interest in the subject. What about you? What’s your major?”
“Political Science, actually. I can’t honestly say that I’m going to be doing anything important with your course. But I can say that you’re convincing me to take up astronomy as a serious hobby.”
“There must have been some interest in residence before. You enrolled in the course, after all.”
“Honestly, I was just filling up my curriculum. I’m sure glad I chose astronomy, though. I’m having a great time.”
It was a sobering thought, but Christie began to suspect that Byron wasn’t as wonderful as she’d grown to believe.
“Ah, you’re just a kid. You can afford to explore different areas. Once you graduate, you have to stick with the money-makers.”
Byron was very obviously insulted by Christie’s comment, but he didn’t say anything. The food arrived, allowing the pair an excuse to stop talking.
When they’d finished, Byron politely took his leave. Christie began to feel guilty, because she’d allowed her personal feelings to get in the way of an otherwise perfectly appropriate student-teacher relationship. The guilt kept her in her chair long after other patrons had come and gone, eventually earning her a query from the proprietor.
Cast out of the deli, Christie headed for the subway. She felt like she needed to apologize to Byron, but she couldn’t figure out how. She resolved herself to remain friendly, and avoid any more belittling of the younger man.
Jupiter was visible even before the sun left the sky, and Christie stared it for a few minutes before heading down into the claustrophobic depths of the underground.
3. September 28, 2003
The 99 Restaurant was very busy that Sunday night. John had arrived fifteen minutes before the agreed-upon hour, and entertained himself with a glass of ale while he waited. His waiter seemed to doubt that John had another person on the way, as if the space he was taking up was too precious to be wasted on the expectation of another patron. It would be another fifteen minutes after one o’clock before Ray arrived. John was tempted to stand up to greet him, but couldn’t muster the strength.
“Ray, you look great.”
“Thanks. The police academy pretty much eliminated any chance of me gaining weight.”
Ray sat down, and perused the menu.
“Sure, but that was six months ago, right? You’re not being forced to work out anymore.”
“No, but my job keeps me busy. Anyway, what’s go
ing on? How’s the job?”
“Real fun, Ray. How about you? How’s the police business?”
“Let’s talk about you, first. How is your job going?”
“Work is really boring, Ray. I go because I have to. I’m happy putting in my eight hours and heading home. My real interest lies in my free time and my flight simulators. God, that sounded pathetic.”
“Have you considered going back into the Air Guard?”
“Not seriously, no.”
Ray corralled the waiter and ordered a margarita.
“This makes me think,” John began, “that we should get a hold of Ari. It would be good for all three of us to get together again.”
“I take it you’re not dating anyone these days?”
John shrugged. “What does that have to do with Ari?”
“You always had a thing for her, right?”
“No, I’m not crazy, Ray. You never cared for her much yourself.”
Ray smiled briefly. “That’s because my brain and my unit never had equal votes like yours.”
“I’ve known Ari for a year longer than you. Before you really knew her, she was a real sweetheart.”
“I can hardly believe that. And are you saying I corrupted her somehow...”
“No,” John interjected, “I mean that she started to change the year before we all started to hang out together. It was her relationship with her boyfriend at the time.”
“Which you never appreciated too much.”
“At the time, no. I’ve since come to realize what a disaster we would have been, so I’m glad I never got the chance.”
“And after everything that happened, you still want to try and maintain a friendship with her?”
“You can’t act like we were never friends, Ray. You and I both considered her a friend, for all her faults. We knew there was a good person beneath all the posturing and attitude.”
Reckless Faith Page 2