An Opening in the Air (Applied Topology Book 2)

by Margaret Ball

  It was the work of somewhat longer to get the gel out of our hair. Ben was able to rub his head briskly with a towel and come up looking almost normal. I wasn’t sure anything short of a full shampoo would do the same for me, but at least a vigorous rubbing took off a lot of the silver color and disrupted the spikes.

  “That was fun!” breathed Ben.

  “I’d rather be teleporting,” I said. Maybe I could get somebody to make me a coffee cup with that on it.

  “Nothing stopping you.”

  “Right.” The in-between buffeted me for a second, but then I was standing by Lensky again – and not intersecting any of the people closest to us.

  I looked over the crowd. “What happened to Myers?”

  “He left,” Lensky said. “Ah – very suddenly.”

  Ben pushed his way towards us. “I thought that might happen,” he said. He sounded smug and satisfied.

  “Huh. I guess he doesn’t like being embarrassed in public. But it wasn’t that bad.” To tell the truth, I’d expected worse of Ben. He’d gone to an awful lot of trouble just for that brief interchange. Where’d you get the squawker?”

  “Toy Joy, of course. And the costumes. And – it’s not just what we did. It reminded people.”

  “Of what?”

  “Didn’t Jimmy tell you?”

  I had forgotten that conversation. “Just that there was an old scandal. He said you knew all about it.”

  “Well,” Ben said in the tones of somebody about to retail some really hot gossip, “remember in the nineties when alien abductions were a Thing?”

  “I was in kindergarten. So were you.”

  “Yes, but I can do research.” He looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, anyway, I can use what Jimmy dug up. He would never have thought of this.”

  “The nineties,” I prompted him.

  “It seems that our Dr. Myers – plain Scott Myers then, a teaching assistant - was one of the nuts who claimed to have been abducted by aliens. He had lots of details – the usual thing: sexual experiments involving strange instruments, mind-rape, and so on.”

  “So? He was either an idiot, or suggestible. Anyway, that was twenty years ago. He must have lived it down by now.”

  “The scandalous part,” said Ben happily, “was – you see, this was his explanation for why he dropped out of sight for three days – it eventually came out that he’d been having a long weekend with one of his female students, who claimed he’d forced her into it by threatening her grades. His wife divorced him six months later and the whole alien abduction thing got back into the papers, with quotes from him that sounded like he actually believed it had happened. The second round was too much for the University of North Carolina, which threw him out of the mathematics Ph.D. program. The best he could do was a Math Education degree from a teacher’s college. Mind you,” Ben added, “I think he would have been dropped from the Ph.D. program anyway. The man’s too stupid to be a mathematician – Hey, you know the proof that all odd numbers are prime?”

  “Too well,” I said. “That joke is so old it could legally drink.”

  “I don’t know it,” said Colton, who had joined us while Ben retailed the old scandal.

  “I’ve thought of an addition,” Ben said happily, “but I’ll take it from the top just for you, Colton.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You know how a mathematician proves that all odd numbers are prime?”

  “But they aren’t,” Colton objected.

  “Shut up and listen. The mathematician says, ‘1 is prime. 1 plus 2 is 3, and 3 is prime. 3 + 2 is 5, and 5 is prime. By induction, if N is prime, then N + 2 is prime.’

  “Now the physicist,” he went on, “says, ‘1 is prime, 3 is prime, 5 is prime, 7 is prime – experimental error – 11 is prime, 13 is prime.’

  “And the engineer says, ‘1 is prime, 3 is prime, 5 is prime, 7 is prime, 9 is prime…’

  “And here’s the new part, Lia. Do you know what the Math Education professor says?”

  I shook my head.

  “He says,” Ben said gleefully, “ ‘What’s a prime number?’ ”

  I sputtered; I couldn’t help it. Colton started laughing, and it was contagious. Ben started laughing at his own joke, I joined him, and the two of us whooped and hollered until there were tears in our eyes. (Okay, it’s not that funny. But we despised Myers that much.)

  Jimmy had come up to us in time to hear the joke, and he sputtered too. “And what does the computer scientist say?”

  “I haven’t thought of that one yet,” Ben said when we stopped laughing, “but I promise you it’ll be good. Oh, I know. The computer scientist says, ‘1 is prime, 3 is prime, 5 is prime, 7 is prime, computer error, 11 is prime…’”

  It was just a copy of the physicist line, but Jimmy loved it. Maybe what he loved was being included with the topologists.

  Lensky, I noticed, was not laughing. When we’d all calmed down, he said, “The good Christian should beware of mathematicians and all those who make empty prophecies. The danger already exists that mathematicians have made a covenant with the devil to darken the spirit and confine man in the bonds of Hell.”

  “St. Augustine?” Jimmy asked. Lensky nodded.

  “How do you two know this stuff?”

  “Parochial school,” they said in unison.

  Sounded like Catholic schools were a cut above public schools. I couldn’t even have said who St. Augustine was. Well, a saint, obviously, but when? And what did he get sainted for? I hoped it wasn’t for insulting mathematicians.

  “I better go,” Jimmy said abruptly after glancing at the dance floor. “You too, Colton.”

  I watched them pushing their way through the crowd.

  Oh. Ingrid and Annelise were dancing. With the same man. And not in a friendly way. It was more of a competition. First Ingrid leaned forward while she swiveled her hips, giving her part-time partner a good view of her bosom. Then Annelise flicked his butt with the bottom flounce of her skirt, and yes, it was raised that high, and when he turned around he ogled her legs.

  I clutched Lensky’s arm. “Look who they’re dancing with!”

  It was Blondie.

  “I’ll make some calls,” Lensky said, and went into a corner with his cell phone.

  What was it with the Moore Foundation, anyway? The last head had been running, or at least helping out with, a sex trafficking/child porn ring. Now this one was entertaining a terrorist bomber.

  Maybe he didn’t know it. There hadn’t been anyone checking invitations and ID at the door.

  But then, what was Blondie doing here?

  I gave up. At least Lensky hadn’t gone after him with his gun drawn – if he actually was carrying at a party. Maybe his weapon was locked in the gun safe in his car. I decided to quit worrying about Lensky in favor of worrying that Blondie would recognize us. He’d only had that one brief glimpse…

  I sidled behind some taller people – not difficult for me – and when Lensky came back, I pulled him behind an extremely tall trustee. “What if he recognizes us?” I whispered.

  Like a whisper could even be audible in that crowd.

  “It’s all fixed,” Lensky told me in a more or less normal voice. “If he stays just twenty more minutes, he’ll be picked up when he leaves.”

  At least Jimmy and Colton had separated the girls before the contest came to violence, or more likely, indecent exposure. They were dancing at opposite ends of the room, and none of our people were anywhere near Blondie.

  I glanced at my phone. It was a bit later than I’d realized. What were the chances that Blondie would stay to be collected by Lensky’s colleagues or whoever he’d called?

  At that moment Jimmy shouted, “Midnight!” and stopped dancing in order to pull Ingrid into his arms. He kissed her. And kissed her. And bent her backwards for even more kissing.

  And she wasn’t fighting it. She didn’t even reach for her sword.

  Well! Well, well, well.

  “Is
n’t that supposed to be a New Year’s thing?” said Lensky.

  “Maybe he’s planning to keep going until then.”

  Whatever his plans, he’d started a near-orgy among the dancers. Everywhere I looked, people were kissing.

  Everywhere I looked… Blondie wasn’t.

  Lensky’s backup was going to be late.

  Lensky had observed the same thing. I knew because the vein at his left temple was jumping and he was saying things in Polish, and I probably didn’t want a translation.

  By the time we got away, Blondie was long gone.

  “Two things,” Lensky said while we were driving home.

  “You have an idea about Blondie?”

  “No. But… I hope nobody noticed the residual streaks of silver gel in your hair. Ben,” he said, gritting his teeth again, “must be very persuasive to have gotten you to participate in that little charade. You’d better hope Myers doesn’t put two and two together – or to be more specific, five foot two and five foot two.”

  “Three,” I said automatically.

  “In your dreams.”

  This didn’t seem to be a profitable line of conversation. “You said two things. What’s the other one?”

  There was a short silence before he spoke again.

  “What’s a prime number?”

  Come alone and tell no one

  Chapter 22

  The next day, of course, was Sunday, and I didn’t have a chance to warn the others about the reappearance of the Master of Ravens. I considered – briefly – texting everybody, and discarded that idea almost immediately. This was information that was best conveyed personally, not via wireless devices. In the event, it didn’t matter. I was one of the two people who suspected Jay Corbin’s identity, and of those two, I was the one who failed to take appropriate precautions.

  Having been gone most of the week, Lensky went off on Sunday to visit his niece, and I enjoyed a nice late sleep. It was after noon when Ben called me, sounding excited. “Lia! News!”

  “What?” It was probably too much to hope that Myers had already resigned, and I couldn’t think of any other news that was worth waking me up for.

  “I got a text… Need to tell you in person. Is Lensky listening?”

  “No, he’s gone off to see Linda.”

  “Good. But just to be safe, you’d better come here.”

  Safe from Lensky? Now I was curious. The combination of mystery and excitement in Ben’s voice completely wiped the Master of Ravens out of my mind.

  I pictured Ben’s tiny, cramped apartment. Then I held that image in my mind as one glowing plane in the darkness of the in-between, while a second glowing plane showed Lensky’s living room. I imagined curving the top plane until it touched the bottom one at exactly one point, and then said, “Brouwer.”

  With that much time to visualize, I probably hadn’t needed to say the keyword, but better safe than sorry.

  There wasn’t a whole lot of empty floor space in the apartment. I came through standing so close to Ben that a half step backwards put me on the couch. There was, technically, room for both of us to stand in the living room at the same time, but you had to be careful where you put your feet.

  “You got a text?”

  “Look!” Ben handed me his phone.

  Somebody wanted us to meet at an address I wasn’t familiar with, this evening. Good thing it wasn’t Halloween yet. The instructions were very specific: Ben and I should dress in dark clothes to avoid notice, teleport to the back yard at precisely ten o’clock, and tell no one. If we followed instructions, the sender promised information on Myers that would not just embarrass him; it would put him in jail.

  Fortunately, I wear black a lot. Today I was wearing black jeans and a Cream T-shirt so old that much of the lettering had rubbed off, and anyway I could always turn it inside out. Ben came up with very dark denim jeans and a navy blue shirt, which ought to be good enough.

  When I read a suspense novel, I always groan when the stupid heroine follows instructions to meet someone in a lonely place, after dark, and, of course, to tell no one. Now I had to rethink my opinions. I’d never really appreciated the seductive appeal of such a message. Put Myers in jail? It was a beautiful thought.

  Not the least of its beauty was that if we moved fast enough, he might be out of our hair before we had to finish those three-inch stacks of paperwork. I know, I know, that was a trivial matter compared with the threat to the Center. Sometimes I’m a trivial person. Still…

  “Tell no one?” I repeated.

  In all the novels I’ve read, that turns out to be a really bad decision. So is this stuff about coming alone.

  “If we raise shields as soon as we get there,” Ben said, “then even if it’s a trap, we should be safe enough. And consider the alternative. If we bring half a dozen cops along, our informant will certainly disappear.”

  “Assuming we could even persuade half a dozen cops to do it.”

  “Lensky has… resources, doesn’t he? Could we ask him to help?”

  “Only,” I said, “if you want to see me locked in the condo tonight, and probably handcuffed to a large piece of furniture to keep me from teleporting. He has strong feelings about letting me do anything that could possibly be the least bit dangerous.” As I spoke, I started feeling indignant. Lensky’s protective ways were often endearing, but just as often plain annoying.

  Thinking about his probable over-reaction may have led me to minimize the risks here. Too, I was slightly distracted by thinking about the combination of Lensky, handcuffs, and a bed. Kinky, but possibly interesting… particularly if I was the one with the key.

  “I’ll have to lie to him,” I said slowly. I hated the idea of lying to Lensky. He had absolute faith in me, except for the part about my getting into dangerous situations without him. Which, come to think of it, was exactly what I planned to lie about. But it was the only way I could get out of the condo at that hour without being questioned.

  “I can say I want to hear Kreator and they’re only in town for this weekend. Which they are, actually. At Come and Take It Live. He hates thrash metal.”

  “So do you,” Ben pointed out. “And he might decide to come with you anyway. Then you’d be stuck at Come And Take It Live for the night.”

  I brooded.

  “Okay, how’s this? I have to stay at my own apartment tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Ingrid’s distraught, she needs me, she wants to talk about Jimmy kissing her last night, she was crying. Men loathe being around weepy women.”

  “Can’t picture Ingrid in that role.”

  “If Lensky balks, I’ll just tell him he doesn’t understand women.”

  “Okay… You’d better call him from here, though.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Lia. If he sees your body language, not to mention your face, he’s bound to be suspicious.”

  Maybe that was why I always lost at poker unless I cheated and looked at the other hands.

  “OK, but won’t it add credibility if I call him from my apartment?”

  “He won’t know where you’re calling from.”

  “Unless he gets one of his colleagues in DC to locate my cell phone while I’m talking to him.”

  “He won’t do that unless you lie really badly, in which case we’re sunk anyway. Keep the call short so you won’t have time to screw up. Also,” Ben added, “it might not be a good idea to actually go to your apartment tonight.”

  “Why? I do pay half the rent.”

  “Yes, but… I don’t like this ‘tell no one,’ business any better than you do. So I’ve been trying to get Ingrid on the phone. Or Jimmy. I keep getting bumped to voice mail. And I texted them – discreetly, I didn’t want to say exactly what’s up – and neither of them is answering their texts.”

  I stared at him. “You can’t think Ingrid and Jimmy…”

  “Did you see the way he kissed her last night? Did you see her taking her swor
d to him?”

  “No… She did seem to be cooperating. And it went on. And on…”

  “I don’t know how long it lasted,” Ben said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “I was distracted by Colton mauling Annelise. She didn’t fight it either.”

  I guessed that ruled out talking to Colton or Annelise about our plans.

  Lensky bought my story with no questions asked, saying only, “After the party I was afraid something like this would happen. I do wish your friend would make up her mind.”

  He didn’t even have any of his minions check my cell location. If he had, he would have known I was calling from Ben’s place. That made me feel doubly guilty at the way I was abusing his trust; but at least I could console myself that if this little excursion worked out, he would forgive me. Probably.

  “Always easier to ask forgiveness rather than permission,” Ben said easily.

  Well, that was certainly true. Particularly as I was 100% sure that permission would not happen.

  That evening, Ben and I sat around eating cheeseburgers and fries. I told myself that it wasn’t really junk food; we weren’t likely to find anything to eat after teleporting, so we needed to load up before. Sugar loading was important also, so in an excess of prudence, Ben had bought a chocolate shake for me and a chocolate root beer float for himself.

  “Chocolate ice cream and root beer? That’s gross.”

  Ben shrugged. “I like chocolate. I like root beer. What’s not to like?”

  “It’s still a disgusting combination.”

  After eating we still had time to kill; I’ve never known an evening to drag on so slowly. We practiced raising shields on the key word “manifold” until we were satisfied that we could still do it automatically without waiting to think. Then we tried teleporting from living room to bedroom and back on “Brouwer” from within the shield. That wasn’t so successful; as soon as one of us invoked “Brouwer,” the shield disappeared. “Some day,” Ben said with his usual optimism, “we’ll learn how to apply both topological constructs at once.”