“All right,” Max said, nodding.
“Seriously? Cool!” Cam grinned. “I’m a millionaire—that’s awesome!” Then he paused. “Can I have two million?”
“No. What about you?” Max asked Thalamus.
“I’ve already got more money than I can spend. As long as we get fed, it’s not cold, and the beds are comfortable, I’m happy.”
“Hunter?”
“I can have anything I want?” Lance asked.
“Sure,” Max said.
“I want my life back.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Right,” Max said, nodding slowly. “I can always count on you to try to make me look bad, can’t I? Give it up, Hunter. If you don’t want to be paid, that’s fine with me.”
“I want ten thousand dollars cash sent to Morton Ponichtera.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“I’m sure. Send it with a note saying that it’s a donation from some rich people who brought their kids to see the carnival and they had a wonderful time.”
“I can send Ponichtera a lot more than ten thousand, if you like.”
“No, that’s enough. And if Josie’s going to stay with them, buy her a car. No, buy her a car anyway, whatever she decides to do. Set it up like she’s won it in a competition or something. And the others . . . Leave their minds alone. Don’t make them forget me. When all this is over—if it ever is over—I might want to go back there.”
“Consider it done.” Max clapped his hands together. “All right. Coffee machine’s over there, lunch is being delivered in half an hour, so . . . time to get to work.”
• • •
For the next three days, Cameron Sharkey read through every confirmed report of Slaughter’s appearances while Thalamus compiled a cross-referenced database of those appearances. Adrianne and Lance spent the time talking together or reading.
At the end of the third day, Max Dalton returned looking for answers.
“We don’t have any yet,” Lance told him.
Thalamus said, “We thought we had a pattern. I’ve calculated Slaughter’s maximum sustained speed to be four hundred and thirty-one kilometers per hour. I say ‘sustained’ because she can surpass that, but apparently only for very brief periods. So based on the frequency of her appearances at specific locations, I thought we might be able to narrow down the search to within a couple of states.”
“But it didn’t pan out?” Max asked.
“No. She’s all over the place.” Thalamus brought up a map of North America on his computer screen. It was sprinkled with red dots of different sizes. “The small dots are where she showed up only once. These bigger ones are her more frequent sightings.” He tapped a few keys and the dots cleared from the map. “OK, so this is the time line . . .” Another keystroke, and a single dot appeared, in southern New Mexico. “First confirmed sighting was right here. Nothing else for seven weeks, then we get this.” A second dot, in Virginia. Thalamus looked back at Max. “You must understand that in these first years no one knew who Slaughter was, and she wasn’t wearing her usual red and purple costume. So it’s likely that there were lots of other sightings that weren’t reported or we’ve just missed them.”
“Of course. Go on.”
Lance said, “And there’s also the problem that you’ve only given us the data for North America. Slaughter’s not restricted by borders. America is not Earth, Max. There are a lot of other countries out there.”
“Yeah, I do know that. The other data is not as easy to acquire, but it’s coming.”
As they watched, more and more dots appeared on the screen. Thalamus said, “This is running at about one day for each second of real time. Again, some of the reports aren’t too accurate about the time of day.”
“Not important right now.”
“If you say so. Anyway, then we get to . . . right about . . . here.” Thalamus hit another key, and the animation stopped. “April of this year. Three weeks in a row, on Wednesdays, she was spotted in Manhattan, at roughly the same time each day—one thirty in the afternoon. Each time she was flying southeast over Central Park, toward the borough of Queens. And that’s it. The only pattern that so far we’ve been able to determine. It hasn’t happened since.”
Lance said, “Wait . . . You never mentioned this earlier.”
“Statistically, it’s not significant,” Thalamus said. “With any kind of graph—especially a four-dimensional one like this—if you have sufficient data there’s always going to be outliers. Pieces of data that look like spikes and seem significant to the layman. If this had happened, say, ten weeks in a row, it would be notable. Three times isn’t enough.”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, because almost all of the reports we have are from eyewitnesses. People aren’t a very reliable source of information. Look . . .” He slid his chair over to the next monitor. “We have clashing reports here; Slaughter seen in two places at the same time. Port Alberni, Vancouver, and Montgomery, Alabama. Within minutes of each other. From what we know, she can’t move fast enough for both of those reports to be accurate. One or both of them has to be wrong. And we know that one of them is wrong—there are four witnesses who reported the Alabama sighting, and they’re certain it was Slaughter. But the fact is, Vortex was in Montgomery on that day, at that time. The witnesses saw a flying woman, and since most of them wouldn’t recognize Vortex, they assumed it was Slaughter. All it takes is one of them to identify her as Slaughter, and the rest will agree.” Thalamus scooted his chair back to the screen with the map. “That’s what we’re up against here.” He tapped the screen with his index finger. “Three successive Wednesdays in Manhattan, at the same time, could mean anything. She’s spotted twice, so the next week people are looking out for her.”
“That is a point,” Lance said. “People see what they expect to see. In the carnival my friend Masatoshi . . . No, that’s not important. Let’s assume for the moment that each of those appearances is accurate. You know what I think?”
“Making assumptions is a mistake,” Thalamus said. “We can only work with solid facts.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Ten bucks says that in April Slaughter had a job. I mean, a real, actual nine-to-five job. Even a psycho like her has to lie low every now and then, and get a job so she can earn money to buy her crazy pills. One thirty is lunchtime. She had a regular lunchtime appointment in Queens on Wednesdays. Could be anything . . . There aren’t any reports of her flying back, are there, Cam?”
The teenager shook his head. “No. Nothing that would match up.”
“All right. That tells us something. It probably happened more than three times; that’s just the number of times she was spotted.” He turned to Max. “We need satellite photos of Manhattan and Queens at those times on each of those days. As detailed as you can get. Thalamus, how frequently do satellites take photos of Manhattan?”
“Once a minute, usually, but about once every five seconds in times of heightened security. More if—”
“OK . . . Max, get us everything you can. Every high-resolution satellite photo of Manhattan and Queens between one and two in the afternoon. And the same thing for each Wednesday for the month before and the month after these dates. We don’t know that she was going to Queens—she could have just been passing over—but the satellite photos will hopefully tell us that. It’s logical to assume that Slaughter’s going to fly in a straight line whenever possible, so we extrapolate backward. What cities or major towns are along that path, Thalamus?”
“Well, what’s the range? Because if she—”
Lance shrugged. “I don’t know. . . . OK, let’s make another assumption. Suppose she does have a job and she gets off work at one o’clock. What’s her maximum speed again?”
Cam said, “Four hundred and thirty-one kilometers per hour. I don’t know what that is in miles, tho
ugh.”
“Two hundred and sixty-seven point eight,” Thalamus said. “Look, can we just stick with either imperial or metric from now on? Switching back and forth is dumb.”
Lance ignored him. “Half of two hundred and sixty-seven is about a hundred and thirty four . . . So that’s the range. Actually, no. It’s less than that. If she’s leaving work at one, and she’s working somewhere with other people, she won’t want them to see her change into Slaughter. So we knock, say, five minutes off that. So at her maximum speed, how far can she get in twenty-five minutes? To the nearest mile.”
“One hundred and twelve miles,” Thalamus said. “Or one hundred and eighty kilometers. Kilometers are simpler to work with because—”
“Let it go, Thalamus. So, what’s along her path that’s about a hundred miles away?”
“Not much,” Thalamus said.
“OK, say she’s only got twenty minutes’ flying time, or that she’s not traveling at her maximum speed. Say the range is about ninety miles. Anything?”
Thalamus looked at the map again. “Callicoon, New York.”
“That’s where she works. Or did back then, anyway. The other questions are harder. Where was she going, and why? And why didn’t she come back that way?”
For the first time since Max returned, Adrianne spoke. “Because she only worked in the mornings, maybe. Not everyone has a nine-to-five job. Some people job-share.”
“Yeah,” Lance said. “I like that. It makes sense. And if she’s job-sharing, it’s likely she works in an office.”
Thalamus said, “No, it doesn’t make sense at all! You’re just stringing a bunch of assumptions together and treating them as though they’re facts. We don’t actually know any more now than we did when we started!”
“Ah, you’re no fun,” Lance said.
Adrianne clapped one hand to her mouth. “Oh!”
“What is it?”
She was staring at Lance, her eyes wide. “Some elementary schools . . . Not all, but some of them close early on Wednesdays. My daughter’s school used to close at one fifteen every Wednesday, but I know that some of them get out a little later.”
Lance turned to Max. “Slaughter has a kid.”
AS THE THINK TANK sat together in the Strategarium after their evening meal, Thalamus again voiced his objections to Lance’s conclusion. “You cannot possibly make that leap! You’re looking at three points of data out of hundreds, and there’s no guarantee that any of those three is reliable.”
“Are we wrong?” Lance asked.
“There’s no way of knowing that.”
“So, we’re not wrong. Therefore, we’re right.”
“No! That’s not how it works. Exclusion of one theory does not automatically validate another. If I tell you my car is not red, you’d be an idiot to assume that it’s blue.”
Cam said, “Dude, he’s just doing this to wind you up.”
“Let’s take a step back,” Lance said. “If you don’t like assumptions, Thalamus, then what facts about Slaughter do we know that can’t be disputed?”
“She’s a woman,” Cam said. “No doubt about that.”
Lance said, “Really? I have a friend you should meet. But, yeah, let’s take that as a fact and not an assumption. What else?”
Adrianne said, “She looks to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Maybe a little older. But definitely old enough to have a child in elementary school. And about half of the reported sightings have photos. Photos can be faked, though, so I don’t know if that counts.”
“See?” Lance said, looking at Thalamus. “Hard to make any kind of call without some assumptions along the way, isn’t it?”
“I’m not disputing that,” the thin man said. “We can’t know whether any of the data we’ve been provided is genuine. All of the reports could be fake.”
“They’re not all fake,” Adrianne said, glaring at him. “Mine isn’t. Hunter’s isn’t.”
“So you say. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Cam looked from Thalamus, to Adrianne, to Lance, and back to Thalamus. “Wait, whose side are you on again?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Thalamus said. “I’m saying that there are no absolute certainties. Especially not when dealing with a superhuman capable of rewriting our memories and altering our perceptions. So, yes, Hunter is right. We each have to make some assumptions. Number one, that we’re not crazy and just imagining all of this. Two, that Max isn’t interfering with our brains. Three, that he’s providing us with genuine data. Four, that none of us is corrupting that data, whether deliberately or inadvertently. Even in the context that those four assumptions are correct, that doesn’t change the fact that each report has to be judged on its own merits, separate from every other report, because even context itself begins from a position of assumption.”
“You’ve totally lost me now,” Cam said. “Hunter?”
“Don’t look at me, kid. He’s the one putting those words in that order.”
Thalamus sighed. “Toss a coin fifty times. It comes up heads every time. If the coin is normal, and there’s nothing else influencing the toss, what are the chances that the next toss will come up tails?”
Cam said, “Fifty to one. No, wait. Fifty-one to one. Is that right? Let’s see . . . If it comes up one side fifty times in a row, then is it more likely to be heads again, because that’s the pattern, or more likely to be tails because tails is overdue to come up.”
Adrianne said, “It’s fifty-fifty. The coin doesn’t know what happened the last time it was tossed. Even if it came up heads a million times in a row, that’s just coincidence. The next one still has a fifty-fifty chance of being tails.”
Thalamus nodded. “Exactly. Though a million times in a row would suggest that there is some external influence, because it’s so improbable.”
“Improbable doesn’t mean impossible,” Lance said. “And you’ve just disagreed with yourself there, Thalamus.”
“No, I haven’t. Chaos theory tells us that each coin toss is unique, and the outcome is impossible to predict. However, it is possible to predict—to within a reasonable degree of accuracy—a large number of coin tosses. The larger the number, the more accurate the prediction will be.”
“I’m lost again,” Cam said. He leaned back in his chair as he shoved one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “Let’s give it a shot. How many should I go for?”
Adrianne said, “I think we’re straying from the point here.” Then she paused. “All right, go on. Fifty. No, a hundred.”
Cam began tossing the coin. “Heads. Heads. Tails. Heads.”
“Do you want a pen and paper to keep track?”
Cam shook his head as he continued flipping the coin. “I’ll remember.”
Thalamus said, “When numbers get large enough, we have to start looking at probabilities when we want to make predictions. Is it possible that Slaughter has a child? Yes. No doubt about that. We’re all past the age of puberty, so any one of us here could be a parent.”
“One of us is,” Adrianne said.
“Whether it’s possible Slaughter has a child is not in dispute. Is it likely?”
Lance said, “Well, she’s a good-looking woman and her superhuman strength means that she’s certainly healthy. So . . .” He stopped himself. “That doesn’t tell us anything, does it? We need to know more about her to be able to determine whether it’s likely she has a kid.”
Thalamus closed his eyes, leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on the table, and began to rub his temples. “No. Again, you’re not getting the point. She’s a woman in her twenties or early thirties. Leaving aside all other factors, do most women in that age range have children? Adrianne?”
“I suppose so. I mean, I don’t know about most. You’re asking me just because I’m a woman.”
&
nbsp; “No, because you’re in that age range.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s flattering but—”
“Or you were, once,” Thalamus added.
Lance muttered, “Oh, nice going. Idiot.”
Adrianne said, “I don’t mind, Hunter. I can see that Mr. Thalamus hasn’t yet developed certain social skills. Look, here’s something to consider. Would a superhuman woman like Slaughter even be able to have a child? Physically, I mean. Childbirth isn’t easy on the baby, you know, and a Cesarean section doesn’t seem possible for her. She’s supposed to be nearly invulnerable, right? How would they cut her open to take the baby out?”
“Hey, you’ve got a point there,” Lance said.
Cam stopped tossing his quarter for a moment. “Why is childbirth hard on the baby?”
While Adrianne answered him, Thalamus said to Lance, “You were there when they fought Krodin, weren’t you? In the alternate reality?”
“Oh yeah, I was there. I’m the one who got rid of him and set everything back to normal.”
“What was he like?”
“Very smart, very strong. Practically unbeatable, because his body adapted very quickly. You could shoot him, and the bullet would penetrate his skin, but then he’d develop a defense so that next time he was shot, the bullet would do hardly any damage at all.”
“I’ve been wondering whether getting rid of him was a mistake. By all accounts, Krodin wasn’t actually a bad leader.”
“Thalamus, by the time we arrived in that reality he’d already had you killed.”
“I’m aware of that. I’m looking at the big picture. The human race is more than just us. The real problem is that his followers should never have snatched him out of the past in the first place. Krodin would likely still be alive today, and the earth would be a much different place. United under one ruler. No separate countries, no conflicting religions . . . Everyone equal, a better world.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Better for the survivors.”
“Yes, there is that. But the privilege of the dead is that their suffering is over.” Thalamus shrugged, then smiled. “I’m not saying that I believe you did make a mistake. I’m just freewheeling the idea.”
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