by Thea Archer
He went silent, and I abruptly realized I was staring at him, studying his features mesmerized, as he was speaking with a wistful expression.
I turned away when he caught my fascinated look.
"Yeah..." I murmured, embarrassed. "I think I know what you mean. I was thinking about it too — about those little things I used to ignore when I was alive. The smell of mint and melissa or... that feeling you get when you're holding a warm mug of tea while it's snowy outside. A rosé wine, plum pie, and cheeseburgers. But you know what I miss most? My cat."
"Oh, you had a cat?" Ian looked at me, curious. "I've always wanted to have one, but I couldn't."
"Why?"
"I've always been alone, so if anything had happened to me, there would have been nobody to take care of it."
I glanced at him, surprised.
"You're right," I said. "And what about friends, boyfriends?"
He pursed his lips, but his eyes seemed playful.
"No one even knew my real name, because... you know, I used to hack the things which were supposed to protect from hacking."
I couldn't stifle reproachful look.
He sighed sharply and sat up cross-legged; his face seemed troubled.
"You know what makes me really mad?" He said and, after a short pause, answered his rhetorical question. "I still don't understand what's going on. You know, I studied mathematics and natural science, and I still keep trying to understand this place. I can't deal with any of it — with this biblical crap and stuff — I need some explanations."
"So, do you have any?"
"Well, no, but I have a theory..."
I looked at him curiously, and he pulled two pieces of folded papers out of his back trouser's pocket, he smoothed them out and handed me.
I sat up too and straightened, frowning at the crumpled papers.
Monstrously long and tediously complex mathematical calculations were written in illegible handwriting, but I could recognize it was physics equations.
"Oh. Er, sorry — I have awful dyslexia, and that's just pain in the ass since I'm a software engineer, I would say it's ironical even."
"No, it's not that, I just..." I looked at Ian shyly and then admitted. "Even though I studied economics and I had mathematics courses comparable to Math Fifty-Five course, all I can do is calculate monthly installments for loans and interest rates."
Ian burst into loud laughter, throwing his head back, and smacked his palm against my knee.
"Oh, c'mon," I hissed.
"I'm sorry!" He said, smiling broadly, "It's just... You're adorable."
"So you find adorable that I'm infinitely stupid?"
He laughed again.
"I find extremely adorable your embarrassed expression, Amery."
I pursed my lips.
"And by the way," he leaned toward me closer, and I stiffed, looking in his dark brown eyes. "If you're not good at something, it doesn't mean you're stupid; most often, it means you don't really like it."
I blinked and threw my gaze down at the papers, trying to ignore his intense stare on my face.
"So... W-what about that equation? This is something about Lorentz transformations?"
Ian pulled away from me and nodded, pointing at the variables.
β — 1849
θ — 2020
"These are the latest and the earliest arrivals, right?" I guessed.
"Yes, the ones we know about. That's why the result is really averaged, and the standard deviation is quite high. By the way, that guy from the March of two thousand twenty was really insane: poor guy kept talking about some virus and lockdown... Anyway, according to my calculations, Evi has been here for eight years. But I'm not sure we should tell her about it."
I looked at the second page and felt my frown deepening.
"But... how?" I could only ask.
Ian slid closer to me as if excited.
"Look," he started, "imagine a vessel... no, an aquarium — huge, colossal big aquarium, filled with a gas called time. This is our universe. If you add to this gas a molecule of, let's say... a molecule with a non-trivial name 'Terminal,' then it will be surrounded by time atoms, right? And there is no concept of the past or the future, there are only the nearest and farthest atoms of time, which are moving in a chaotic way. And we will undoubtedly have those that can be reached from the Terminal and those that are too far away."
I blinked, dazed.
"But... If time atoms are moving chaotically, why do we have the arrivals from a hundred and seventy years ago, but the latest one just a few months away?" I asked, and a broad smile lightened Ian's face.
"Because they're not generated yet," he said as if it should be such an obvious conclusion.
"Oh."
"Well, the theory is still raw, and I'm working on it."
I was looking at Ian bewildered, sincere enjoying his excitement; he'd talked as if I was the first person who agreed to listen to him, or maybe I was the first he'd wanted to talk to about it.
"You're damn smart, do you know that?" I said.
He smiled again, clearly happy with my approval, and for the hundredth time, I noticed how ineptly handsome he was, and moreover, this time, I realized that when he was talking about something he loved and believed in, it made him desirable, ridiculously glorious. I felt vulnerable at the thought.
"Do you want to hear more?" He asked eagerly.
"Yes," I just said, unconsciously relieved that this conversation wasn't over yet, and I had a chance to prolong the moment.
10. CONNECTING FLIGHT
"Ian... what is it?"
"The paper cranes!"
This explanation was not really necessary: a bunch of paper birds piled under the reception desk wholly answered my question.
"Did you... Did you fold them from the pages of the dossiers?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
Ian blinked as if my first question was much more reasonable than this one.
"To fold a thousand and make a wish, of course," he answered; his expression was superior like I was missing something obvious.
I inhaled.
"Well... How many you got?"
"Three hundred nineteen!"
I smiled, looking at his face: his bright expression was both inspiring and irritating at the same time.
"Ok, could you find a more appropriate place for them? I mean—"
"Ian!"
We both turned sharply to see Annika waving her hand toward the South Gate.
"You have new protégé."
Ian's expression changed abruptly, he threw a grim glance at me, and we almost simultaneously looked up at the display board.
ARTHUR STIEGLITZ MMIIVII00132296 SOUTH GATE. MENTOR: IAN HASSLER.
He put his half-finished paper crane on the desk and nearly headed toward the gate, but I caught his hand and squeezed it softly. Surprise flitted across his face.
"If there's a problem, I'll take over, okay?"
The corners of his mouth twitched, apparently fighting a smile.
"It's going to be fine. Best behavior, I promise."
He walked towards the South Gate, and I followed him; my anxiety on this point was fleeting, heavily overtaken by curiosity.
"What the fuck? Are you kidding me?"
I stiffened for an instant, hearing a loud, rough voice coming from the jet bridge; no one else paid attention to exclamations: it was common here, but it could result in a big issue for Ian and me.
The door opened, and Judith came out — a bit bewildered — with a big muscled man behind her, our formal 'uniform' emphasized his broad shoulders, although the guy looked like he would rather wear a tracksuit.
"Hello," I smiled affably at him, but he frowned; he seemed annoyed.
Well, his face was as attractive as his body: perfectly shaped with a short beard and blue eyes; his hair short, dark blond.
"Who are you?" He obviously did not share my willingness to become friends. He looked around the Terminal,
he glanced over each transfer nearby, but then his gaze abruptly stopped at Ian.
"What?" I heard Ian's weak voice; I was surprised to feel he stiffen at my side.
"You... User?" The newcomer stared at him in amazement. "What are you doing here? What's going on?"
I gazed at Ian, and my whole body froze into place. His features were immobile as stone.
"Arthur..." he said, his voice uneven and strained; the realization stabbed me sharply and deeply.
***
I dumped a bunch of dossiers at the reception's polished counter behind which Annika and Judith were sitting.
"The nerve of that guy!" I said, irritated.
"Who? Ian?" Annika looked up at me, absentminded.
"Arthur! Did you know that..." I stalled.
"That he is Ian's ex?" Judith said, her voice sounded bored.
"Such an unsavory character."
I looked back to make sure that no one behind us was walking close enough to eavesdrop accidentally.
"Seriously... what did he see in Arthur?" I hissed. "He is an obnoxious boor."
"Well... He's hot." Judith said, shrugging. "I mean, look at him, he looks like Chris Hemsworth."
And I knew she was right, but...
I took a deep breath to calm myself. I understood that opinion about a person based on only one conversation could not be objective, but that hostility was born almost instantly and quickly grew stronger as soon as I saw how he treated Ian.
Our first and only talk took place recently in the Archive when Ian had volunteered to help me with new dossiers and 'take a break from mentoring,' although Arthur hadn't given him even a half an hour — in terms of my personal sense of time — and had entered the Archive with a huge smug grin.
"Sven... your name is Sven, right? Or Amery?" He walked along the row of shelves, glaring lazily at the spines of the files.
"Sven," I said as politely as possible.
Ian's gaze was locked on the folder in front of him, but his expression was distracted as if he was pretending Arthur wasn't here.
"So, Sven... You're the one my User is chasing around?"
Yours?
"No, it's not that, we're—"
"Chill out, he didn't tell me anything. I just assumed it. The pretty face, the tight butt, strong hands... Totally his type."
"Arthur," Ian said, flashing him a warning look.
"Relax," Arthur laughed and wrapped his arm around Ian's shoulder, roughly pulling him closer.
"Don't bother me," Ian snapped. "And find something useful to do."
"I'm quite busy right now," Arthur snorted. "Making up for all lost time."
I coughed to remind them I was still there.
"Hmmm?" Arthur raised one eyebrow. "You can join us if you want. User is fine with a threesome. Right?"
My jaw tightened, and I spoke through my teeth. "No, I'm good, thank you."
"Arthur shut the fuck up. You can't do it here anyway. You are dead; your current body can't have sex here. Not to mention the fact that I would rather be resurrected to die again than sleep with you."
I felt satisfied to hear such an answer.
Arthur laughed boisterously.
"Your tongue is sharp as usual," he said and stroked Ian's hair; Ian twitched at the touch. "But don't worry. I remember that you usually relieve stress in another way."
I risked a glance up at Ian's face, but could not recognize the expression on his still face.
There was so much wrong with this situation; annoyance rekindled more forcefully than before, as I looked at Arthur's insolent face.
"Well, I will leave you two alone," I said and walked out of the Archive, subconsciously hoping to hear Ian calling out my name to stop me. But that hadn't happened, of course.
"I agree with Sven," Annika's voice returned me to reality. "You can't pick appearance over personality if you're looking for something serious."
"I doubt that Ian was looking for something serious," I said. "By the way, did you ask him about calling Ian 'user'?"
"Ian told me," Judith answered. "That's his login in some social networking thing in the darknet. It's something like 'User-One-Eight-Seven-Something'..."
"I see..."
Judith suddenly giggled at my expression.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you are jealous,"
"What?" I almost shrieked. " Don't be ridiculous."
"Oh, really?" Annika smiled at me.
"Come on," I said irritated, and, after a short pause, I moved on to the safer topic. "Look, can I take your next arrival? I'm sick of paperwork."
That was a lie. I didn't want to return to the Archive, so as not to meet these two there. I felt utterly idiotic.
"Sure. Oh, look, there it is. Just in time."
I turned abruptly to the Archive door, but no one was there; I felt overwhelming embarrassment as I heard Judith and Annika laughed.
"So cute!" Judith said softly.
"South Gate," Annika said, smiling. "An arrival."
I knew, if I weren't dead, I would have blushed.
"Never mind..." I mumbled and trudged toward the South Gate.
"Sven, honey," Mrs. Angerer smiled warmly at me behind the check-in counter. "Could you tell Annika to come, please? We have an arrival."
"I volunteered to meet them, actually," I said. "I just... Want to take my mind off papers."
"Oh. Then here, take the dossier," Mrs. Angerer handed me the folder, and I sighed with relief as I saw a rather thick stack of paper. Another child departing to Hell could crumble the remains of my restraint.
I met the arrival — a woman of fifty — in the jet bridge and led her through the door into the terminal toward the Paradise door; her expression was rather curios then surprised, she was looking around the Terminal and transfers, frowning.
"I think I have a déjà vu," she said timidly. "It's like I've seen all of this before."
"Really? Perhaps because this place looks like an airport?"
"Maybe…"
I glared at her, amazed at how calm she was.
"And you..." she turned to me as we walked through the Hall. "Are you an angel?"
"No. I'm here to escort you."
"Are you a human?"
I smiled at this question, although it seemed relevant enough.
"Yes... But I'm dead. I'm here because my destination has not yet been decided," I said and stopped at the door with PARADISE sign on it. "We are here."
She hesitated, reaching for the door handle, but suddenly turned to look at me with a wistful expression.
"I have a son of your age," she said. "I am so sorry. My death was predictable, but you..."
For some reason, I wanted to hug her — probably because she reminded me of my own mother — although, of course, I resisted this impulse.
"Take care of yourself," I said, smiling at her for the last time.
She disappeared behind the door, and I took a deep breath.
When was the last time I saw my mom? I wondered. I'd been avoiding meeting her during my life so desperately; I'd been so condescending to her care, but now... I realized that most of all, I wanted to see her smile. I shuddered at the thought of my mom standing beside my dead body in the morgue.
"Good job."
I turned around; Evi smiled at me with tentative friendliness; there were several dossiers tucked under her arm.
"These are for me?"
She nodded, and she handed me the folders.
"Well, how did it go?" Evi asked.
"Pretty good, actually."
I walked back to the reception desk to collect all the new dossiers from the other gates, Evi followed me.
"But she reminded me of my mother. I don't know if she is able to accept my death. And I can't help myself feeling guilty, because it's like I broke my basic promise to my mother to take care of myself and stay alive," I said.
"You know, that's exactly what I've learned in here," Evi patted my shoulder lightly. "Death is just par
t of the deal called life, and while we are here, it's better to feel sorry for living people than dead ones. Because even being dead, we're much stronger than those who lost us."
I smiled at her warmly; we were quiet for a moment as we approached the reception desk.
"Hey," I said hesitantly, "May I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Why... Why do you think you're here?"
Evi looked at me sharply, her eyebrow lifted.
"I mean," I hurried to explain, "I'm here because I'm a useless piece of trash who spent his life miserably and pointlessly. Moritz thinks he's here because he ruined his marriage..."
I was about to mention Judith but caught it in time; the only reason Judith could think of as a reason to stuck here was an abortion she had when she was seventeen. I could be one of several people here who knew about it, but I wasn't sure Evi was one of them.
"Well," Evi said, her voice was thoughtful. "I was a cop; I did a lot of shit. I should alphabetize my sins to choose one best probable reason I'm here." Her tone was insolent, contemptuous; I realized that maybe Evi could beat Ian at self-hatred.
"Have you ever..."
"Have I ever killed anyone?" She finished my sentence with a faint smile. "Yes. But the worst thing happens not when you pull the trigger, but when you feel good watching the person is dying."
Abruptly, I felt empty and uneasy.
"But? There have to be a 'but' in your story too. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here." I said timidly.
Evi smiled crookedly.
"I'd dreamed of killing him like every night for eight years," her stare seemed glassy, her expression turned hard. "And I wasn't the only one — there were three other women who couldn't sleep at night, one of them had nightmares about the snails crawling across her body."
The realization stabbed me painfully; I felt the nauseous spasms in my stomach.
"But still... Do you feel guilty for killing him? I would—"
"I would," she echoed. "That sounds good, isn't it? But it's not that simple."
"I'm sorry," I said. "And I'm sorry I brought it up."
"He and I have that in common," Evi said, smiling, her slightly narrowed eyes were locked straight ahead.
I followed her gaze and turned to spot deep black disheveled hair among the transfers at the North Gate and felt my stomach plunged uncomfortably.