by Sloan, David
None of them spoke as they looked at each other with a shared sense of skepticism. Nera said, “Mr. Noh, this is very impressive. But why are you showing it to us?”
“Because I wanted to have you here, in the city, to explore a mystery with me,” Noh said, shifting into a more contemplative tone. “You see, this whole phenomenon with your brackets seems to be intricately tied to Kaah Mukul for reasons which are still unclear to me. Consider these improbabilities. First, I made contact with Dr. Casing, who wants to use my technology for some custom applications. Then, my staff drew my attention to the success of the bracket of Mr. Lynwood, formerly one of our most successful but deeply flawed Tribal War generals. Further investigation cross-checking KM accounts with registered bracket names led us to find a link with a potential client, Dr. Faulkner, who confirmed to me that he was using his bracket to subtly showcase a complex outcome prediction system, which I may still buy. Mr. Lynwood’s bracket, it turned out, was actually set by Dr. Faulkner’s system without his knowledge.”
Cole and Tucker looked at each other. Some of the events of the Final Four now made some sense.
“But the connections did not stop there,” Noh continued, “Mr Lynwood was also unwittingly involved in a city-wide simulation of a political scenario that the Chinese government wanted to test. That simulation eventually led to my involvement with negotiations between the Chinese and my own government. Those negotiations prompted us to find a way to discreetly make contact with the ambassador of Thailand, who was indisposed in the United States. Through a chance conversation with Dr. Casing, I discovered that he had a potentially useful contact already established in the city of Lincoln. And who was that contact? Why, it was Mr. Barnes, a third perfect bracket holder. By this time last week, I felt there was some strong connection between these bracket holders and Kaah Mukul that I had yet to fathom. You might imagine that I was unsurprised when I discovered that the bracket holders would all be coming to Washington on the very same weekend that I had long been planning to visit. After Saturday’s events, I knew that I had to bring you here to offer any further insights into the deeper meanings of our connection. Which brings me to you, Cole Kaman.”
Cole, who’s mind had wandered during Noh’s lengthy explanation, looked up. “Me?”
“Yes, you are the one that may be the key to this mystery. You have never been to Kaah Mukul, obviously. You seem to have no connection with any of our operations or with any of the other bracket holders. You have never crossed my path until now. I can only conclude that you have some connection that I have failed to discover, or that your connection is fated to be established in the future. What do you think? Can you enlighten me?”
“Uh…I don’t know. I have no clue. I just filled out a bracket.” Cole uttered, looking at Nera and Tucker for help.
Noh stepped away and looked out the window at the basketball court. Tucker cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Noh, this has been really, really cool and interesting, but I think the game is about to start, so we should probably be headed back now, if you’re finished with us.” Noh acted as though he didn’t hear for a minute, while the others stared awkwardly.
Then he said, “Yes, of course. I was just signaling Ms. Razzione to retrieve you. But to answer your question, Mr. Barnes, I am not finished with you. I will expect both you and Cole back in the city at some point in the near future. I have given you free premier access to any KM center in the world. And if there is anything else I can do for you, do not hesitate to contact me.”
The three said good-bye and Tucker jumped out, eager to get back. But Cole hesitated, and Nera waited for him.
“Mr. Noh?” Cole asked. “I was just wondering, if all these connections with Kaah Mukul really mean something, then what do you think that means for me not being connected?”
Noh paused. “You are not connected yet,” he corrected. “You are the truly random variable in the events leading up to today, which means that I cannot foresee your role. I hope that you and the city will be able to help each other, but, as we saw with Mr. Lynwood, a relationship with Kaah Mukul does not always end well. We will see.” Noh’s words drifted off in meditation.
Cole nodded, mumbled “Thanks,” and jumped back into reality, where Tucker and Abby were waiting for them.
“What was that about?” Tucker asked. Mr. Noh sat silently in his chair, deaf to their conversation.
“Cole’s existence makes it impossible for Mr. Noh to foresee the future,” Nera answered dryly.
“Whatever,” Tucker said as he looked out the window. Then he swore. “The game’s already started.” He was down the stairs in a flash, Nera right behind him. Cole and Abby followed at a more leisurely pace.
“What did you think?” Abby asked as they descended.
“Cool. Uncomfortable. Confusing,” Cole listed.
“That sounds like him. Have you ever been in one of those virtual set-ups before? Be careful with those masks. Bryan told me that they can cause epilepsy in some people after a lot of use.”
They entered the skybox again. Cole found Nera waving him over to a seat. Tucker was pulling his dad away from a lively conversation with Rick about sustainable wheat farming. Everyone else was watching the game. Cole sat beside Nera with a heavy sigh. Nera waited a moment, then leaned over to whisper in his ear.
“So when are you going to tell me why you had to leave so many times in the first half?” she asked calmly.
Cole hesitated. He would rather have forgotten about all of that, but he knew that Nera deserved to know what had happened. He leaned over and began to quietly tell her everything about Marshall Bell and the sighting of Ichabod.
They were interrupted by a yell from Rick. “Hey, focus on winning this thing, Cole! I’ve got triple or nothing on your team with Abby. Don’t let me down!”
Cole waved sarcastically at Rick, and turned back to Nera, but when he saw the look on her face, he realized it would be better to wait until she talked to him.
[Championship Game: Second Half]
Tucker didn’t know what to think.
The full brunt of the ChangZhang reality enhancement system was turned on two minutes into the second half. The screen displays went from captivating to overwhelming: every player’s movements were highlighted by fiery auras of transitory color; the ball itself seemed wreathed in many colors of flame. The sound system amplified every ball bounce, every rim hit, every grunt, every whistle. The depth and dazzle of the system quickly overwhelmed the four visitors, who weren’t used to such an invasion of their visceral sensibilities.
So this is what an acid trip is like, Tucker thought. He kind of liked it.
Henry nudged Tucker irritably. “Can we go back to our seats now?”
Tucker held him off. “In a minute. I think Noh is watching, and Dr. Casing doesn’t want to offend him. A little longer.”
“In one more minute all the veins in my head are going to pop,” said Henry, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking away.
Tucker noticed that Cole was also uncomfortable. He had walked up to the window on the far end of the room where he could see the game unimpeded and was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
“Hey Cole, are you OK?” Rick called. “It does take some time to get used to.”
“Yeah, I’m good, but I think I like the normal view bet—”
A splattering of something red rocketed up from the seats immediately below the skybox and collided with the glass directly in front of Cole’s face. It splashed a sticky mess and oozed down in streams. For a moment, the conversation in the room ceased as everyone turned to see what was going on. The next second, their view was plastered with colors of every kind as food and soda were thrown in an instant attack. The enhancement system amplified some screams and what sounded like a chant.
Tucker ran to where Cole was standing and looked out through the filth coating the window. They could see a small group of people yelling angrily down below, fists pumping toward their sk
ybox. Then BAM! Something heavy slammed into the glass. They were throwing shoes.
The enhancement system was shut down and the room became relatively silent. The sounds of the commotion outside filtered through only faintly, and there was so much on the windows that it was hard to tell what was going on. Inside, the body guards for the South Korean diplomats grabbed their protectees and began to escort them to the door. But before it was opened even a crack, they slammed it shut and began looking for ways to brace it. There was yelling in the hallway, closer than the crowd in the arena. Something banged on the door, then they heard the grating sound of punches hitting bone, the screams of pain from the effects of pepper spray and tazers, calls for help, and calls for justice.
The occupants of the skybox ran to the back corner away from the windows and doors while bodyguards yelled into their phones. The word came that arena security was already on its way.
Tucker pushed his way back over to the window and tried to see individual people, just in case there was anyone that he knew.
“Is there something we can do?” asked Henry, who looked like he was actually itching for a fight.
“No, Dad, let the security guys do their jobs.”
From what Tucker could tell, the situation was being brought under control. Down in the stands, the security guards, along with ordinary civilians furious that these people were interfering with the game, were fighting with the core of protestors and tackling them to the floor. The game itself had stopped. In the hallway, guards were removing the combative demonstrators one by one until all was quiet once more. When they thought it was safe, the bodyguards opened the door and began to survey the situation.
Tucker found Nera looking worried and Cole with his head down, his fingers dug deep into his hair.
“You OK, Cole?”
“This thing is spreading,” Cole mumbled without raising his head. “First it was Ichabod, then it was Perry and Neeson. And now, people in the stands are going crazy. This is like a zombie movie.”
Tucker raised his eyebrows at Nera.
“No one’s losing their minds, Cole,” Nera consoled. “Not because of the game, anyway. These were just opportunists looking for a big stage.”
Tucker tried to lighten the mood. “If people are turning into zombies, we’ll have to fight them from here. I’ll get the vegetable tray to use as a shield. You grab the cheese knife.” Cole didn’t laugh. “Look, it’s OK. Believe it or not, but this isn’t the first time that I’ve seen something like this. It happened at our city hall last year. It’s not crazy. It’s stupid, but it’s not crazy.”
The door burst open. A small legion of security guards, headed off by the big red-headed chief, walked in and surveyed the room. They were all sweating.
“Is everyone OK?” he asked the group. “My sincerest apologies to all of you. It seems that this was a flash mob organized by a few angry individuals. I know that it seemed out of control, but it’s unlikely that you were in any real danger…”
He paused as he noticed some familiar faces in Cole and Tucker. “Wait, you two are here?” he exclaimed. “Of course, of course you’re here.” The man would have said more, but the foreign minister approached angrily and began to berate him. In the commotion, Casing approached the four visitors and ushered them over to Rick and Abby.
“They’ll be clearing out this box,” Casing said, leaning close to talk over the escalating voices by the door. “The dignitaries will leave soon, but Mr. Noh will remain in his control room to ensure that the interface windows are still operating properly. Do you feel comfortable returning to your seats?”
Tucker and Henry nodded. Cole looked pale and shook his head slightly, but Nera put her arm around his waist. “Yeah, we’ll go back,” she said.
“Good. I’ll be joining some colleagues in another box, and Rick and Abby plan to…”
“We plan to try and get courtside,” Rick said cheerfully.
“OK. Let’s stay in touch. And let’s hope that nothing else eventful happens off the court.”
He turned toward the door, flanked by Rick and Abby, and Tucker called out after them, “Go Huskers!”
“Triple or nothing, Tucker!” Abby called back. “Don’t choke on me!”
Tucker and Cole exchanged a look. “You good?” Tucker asked.
Cole looked at Nera. “I’m good. But Ichabod is still out there.”
“Look man, the way I see it, these protestors did us a favor. If security was tight before, they’re going to be twice as alert now. Nobody will be able to make a move without drawing attention.”
“Maybe,” said Cole. “But I keep thinking about what Noh said, how I was the reason that he couldn’t predict what would happen to us, that I was making everything random.”
Tucker looked at him blankly. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t really know. But all this seems pretty random, doesn’t it? And we’re not even halfway through the game. Do you think…” Cole’s voice trailed off. “Never mind. I’m just being dumb. Let’s go get this over with.”
Cole moved toward the door, and the four walked down the hallway, now littered with scattered remnants of the skirmish. As they went out into the concourse, they passed by a small group of people kneeling on the floor with their hands on their heads, some red-faced and bruised, surrounded by guards and policemen. Some wore t-shirts with multicolored hand prints all over.
“Thanks for nothing, morons,” Tucker called. One of the protestors began to yell back, but shut up when Henry started toward him to deliver a piece of his mind. Tucker pulled his father back to avoid an incident.
They reached Cole and Nera’s tunnel, and Tucker took a final look at Cole’s still-pale face. “You good to go?” Tucker asked. Cole nodded, and they all went in to witness the end of the game.
* * * *
When game play resumed, the teams on the court seemed simultaneously rejuvenated and thrown off by the odd distraction. The sense of unity among the people in the stands as the protestors were jeered and then removed vanished once everyone remembered what was at stake. The players were fast and sloppy and made some mistakes, but in a few minutes both teams were back in rhythm. UCLA scored, Nebraska answered. The score ticked up steadily: 40-43, 46-45, 48-48, 52-54… No one could break away, no matter what happened. Neither team could shake the other from its heels. Tucker was standing on every possession, yelling instructions to the players and outright curses to the refs. Across the court, Cole was bent over with his arms folded, repeating “Come on, come on, come on,” under his breath. Every so often, Cole looked around to see if Ichabod was hovering in some corner. He never was.
Seven minutes into the second half, Cole looked up to the top of the staircase where Ichabod must have stood earlier. Something had clicked in his mind.
“Do you think Noh is still up there in his booth?” Cole asked Nera.
“Probably. That’s what Mr. Casing said. Why?” Cole didn’t answer immediately. He drummed his fingers rapidly on his knees and looked back up to the top of the stairs.
“You know that thing that Noh showed us, how he has cameras on us that he uses to make the crowds in that virtual reality stadium? What if the cameras picked up the image of Ichabod when he dropped that ball down? If he could pull up a picture, we could tell security exactly what he’s wearing and what he looks like. And we’ll know, too, in case he comes around.”
Nera looked back at the game and sighed heavily. She clearly did not want to go.
“You don’t have to come,” Cole said. “I just have to go check this out.”
Nera looked painfully torn. “No, you shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself. Couldn’t someone else go up? What about Rick and Abby?”
Cole pointed down to the floor where Rick and Abby had taken positions as sweat-moppers beneath the hoop. They weren’t in a position to help.
“No,” said Cole decisively, “I know what to look for. I’ll be faster than anybody else. Besides, I can’t even concent
rate on the game knowing that he’s out there. If I have a chance to help catch him, I should do it.”
Nera considered the proposal. “Fine, I’ll come with you. But let’s run.”
* * * *
The tumult from the protest now gone, a single security guard had resumed the post at the entrance to the luxury boxes, a bandage over a red patch on his cheek bone where he had sustained a hit by the flash mob. The other guards were overseeing the hand-off of protestors to the police, and the rest were patrolling the interior of the arena. The lone guard, suffering from a post-adrenaline crash, was hesitant to let Cole and Nera through until they reminded him who they were. “Just lock the door after you, OK? I’m the only one here for now.”
Inside, the skybox was dark and surreally quiet. Light coming in from the window cast bizarre shadows as it filtered through the thick coats of sticky-colored liquid and chunky food residue. Cole and Nera made their way up the stairs and found Mr. Noh exactly as they had left him. They tapped his shoulder, startling him. In a minute he was out.
Cole explained his plan. and Noh grinned. “Interesting,” he said, turning to a standard computer display to search for the 2D rendering they needed. He found Cole and Nera’s seats and began to search forward through time.
“Okay, this should be about it,” Cole noted. Noh slowed down the footage and Cole leaned in close, a finger hovering over the screen. The ball bounced down, and the fan below them came up. They backed up a few seconds.
“There, can you make that bigger?”
Noh clicked and zoomed with practiced speed. “Is that your monster? He looks smaller than what I’ve heard.”
But Cole wasn’t listening. The man discreetly dropping the ball down the stairs and walking away wasn’t Ichabod. It was, indisputably, the man he knew as Marshall Bell.
“What the…” Cole began. “Is there a way to save this image?”
“I could upload it to your phone,” Noh suggested. “Will this help you track down your stalker?”
Cole didn’t know. Nothing made any sense anymore.