Coils

Chapter 4

Ticketderick, and outward, into the magic city of light and darkness… Rivers of cold electronic fire flowing about geometric islands, passing under bridges, halting at dams, trickling here, surging there . . . Lights blinking like pinball displays … A roar, a whine…

I made my way through to a still place where I could survey the entire prospect, dipping a finger here, touching a pylon there, to sense the echoes of the data pulsing by. Gates opened and closed, neutral transactions flashed past like freight cars… No, no, no… Time was suspended. And even if it were not, it was so pleasant to be back… I could wait. If my body died right now, I almost felt as if I would continue to exist within the great machine which surrounded us. Ticketderick…

Stop. Slow. Freeze. Enlarge. Expand.

Yes.

I had hold of it. There, the symbol-chain bearing my monthly stipend: 1111101000000, with my name on it. I shepherded it into my account. Immediately, a verification of receipt bearing the same coding sprang phoenix-like from that crackling nest, took flight along the line of power my credit had come in on…

I tagged it, hooked onto it, followed my name. Along the chain of cabled highways, I knew at another level, built upon piers, island to island, through copper and fiberoptic connectors snaking in conduits at their sides, to the Miami clearing-house, passing through another, larger city of lights, murmurs all about me, then racing on, up, down, around, through, terminal to terminal, Atlanta, New York, New Jersey, and then…

Angra Energy, home office, New Jersey.

Yes. Of course. But I had had to know for certain.

I dove. I surfaced at the Stock Exchange, wheat futures beating all about me in soothing pulses. Something was coming back…

I was seven years old. I was sitting on the floor in the sales and service center Dad and Mom ran in El Paso. As other kids did with other toys, I was talking to an old computer, a 1975 model, which was off-line for repair but active for diagnosis. “What’s wrong?” I said to it. “Why are you glitching?” There followed something like a burst of static in the center of my head and I twisted into its city of lights, only some of them were not burning. There, there, there—and there! I saw the pattern exactly as I had seen it that day. That had been the first time I had coiled into one. I—

The other world—the slower, less vivid one—intruded. I became dimly aware that someone was standing beside my car in the bank’s parking lot, looking in at me. I did not want to go back to that place yet, but I knew that I must. Shrugging off commodities, I coiled back into my head and regarded the person who stared.

She was small, dark-haired, rather pretty, partly Oriental. She had on a white pants suit. She was staring.

She was someone I knew I should know.

I rolled down the window.

“Don, are you all right? You do not look well.”

For a moment, I wondered whether she was some extrasensory leftover. But no, she had a name and substance to go with it. Ann. Ann Strong, I recalled. Nothing else, but I could use that much.

“Better than I’ve been in some time,” I said. “What are you doing here, Ann?”

She smiled again.

“I see that you remember me, at least,” she said. “I was not sure that you would.”

I smiled.

“I’m not a total wreck,” I said, and something else came to me, “How do you like the flowers?”

“So many and so lovely,” she replied. “So pure their—colors.”

Something special about her… “Colors” was not the word she had been about to use. I could just feel it. Something else. She had a special liking for something about flowers, but that was not it…

“Have you been in town long?”

“No.” She shook her head slightly. “I’m barely arrived. You like this place?”

“I’ve grown fond of it.”

“I can see how you would. But surely there must be more diverting things to do than to sit in the parking lot of a bank?”

“Unless one is waiting for Angra’s conscience-money to come in,” I said casually, partly just to try it out and partly because I had begun to suspect a connection.

She frowned. She puckered her lips.

“Tsk, tsk,” she went, shaking her head slowly. “Hand and bite. Old saying.”

“If I have to bite,” I said, “it will be more than a hand.”

“Why this rancor, Don?”

“Why are you here?”

“I had just gone to the bank to cash a check when I noticed a familiar face.”

“All right,” I said, “and perhaps well-met. May I drive you anywhere?”

“I was going to have something to eat next.”

“I know a good place. Come on.”

She got in. I drove out onto the road and turned left.

“Vacationing, then,” I said.

“Sort of.”

Something about her, something about her… Warning bells were ringing in the back of my head. It was as if I had already known whatever was the matter, but that something was holding the knowledge back from me. Not important, I decided. Not ultimately important, anyway. Somehow, Angra had to do with the gap in my life and with Cora’s disappearance because of her connection with me. It just seemed that it had to be so. I was going to go up to New Jersey very soon and make a lot of noises. I was going to look up people who were only dark outlines now, walking through the mists of my memory. The names would come, the faces would come. I would find them. I would make them talk. They would give Cora back to me or I would do… something. Something violent or revelatory. Or both. I no longer really had a choice.

I pulled into the parking lot of a small diner I sometimes frequented. It was an off-hour. Probably wouldn’t be crowded.

We got out. I almost took Ann’s hand, fluttering near my own, as we moved toward the door. I didn’t know why. I caught a sudden aroma of hyacinths.

We found a small table in a corner and I suddenly realized I was famished. Conch soup, salad, lots of beef, iced tea, Key Lime pie—I ordered them all. She took a salad and a tea. Watching her, I became certain that I had known her during my employment at Angra. But in what capacity? I simply could not recall.

It is good that you are happy here,” she said, after a time.

“I’ve been happier.”

“Really?” Her eyes had widened, and I thought I detected a momentary flush in her cheeks. But that was only for an instant. Her face hardened then. “But you will certainly have your joys returned. Things come back.”

I seemed to smell roses.

“One can never be certain,” I said.

She glanced down at her plate, speared a bit of lettuce.

“Some things can be relied upon,” she stated.

“Such as?”

“Cooperation with those in power produces predictable results.”

“These days one does not even know how to begin.”

“You are troubled.”

“Yes.”

“You say you like it here.”

“Yes. But I’ll be leaving soon.”

She met my eyes.

“That is not how to begin,” she said.

“You know a better way?”

“Any way that avoids rash actions is better.”

Several mouthfuls later, I said, “I wish I could show you around some later, but I have to catch a plane in awhile. New Jersey.”

I watched her face as I said it. I wanted her reaction. There was an odor of jasmine in the air.

Her expression did not change as she said, “Don’t be silly, Don. That comes under the heading of rash actions.”

“What would you have me do, then?” I asked her.

“Go home. Stay there,” she replied. “Sooner or later, someone will get in touch—”

“All right!” I said. “Let’s level! You know more than I do. Where is she?”

She shook her head.

“I do not know.”

“You know what is going on.”

“I know that you are remembering things better forgotten.”

“It’s too late to do anything about that. And I am not going to sit at home and wait for the phone to ring.”

She placed her fork upon her plate, raised her napkin and patted her lips.

“I would not like to see you harmed.”

“Me neither,” I said.

“Then do not go to New Jersey. Something bad will happen to you if you do.”

“What?”

“I do not know.”

I growled and she rose quickly and turned away.

“Excuse me,” she said.

I was on my feet and moving after her. But several steps took her to the Ladies’ Room and on into it. I hesitated.

Our waitress was passing just then with a carafe of coffee. I halted her.

“Is there another exit to the Ladies’ Room?”

“No,” she said.

“Any windows?”

She shook her head.

“Just four green walls.”

“Thanks.”

I went back to the table and finished my pie. I got a cup of coffee after the iced tea was gone.

A gray-haired woman went into the Ladies’ Room. A little later, when she emerged, I approached her.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Was there a small Oriental lady in there, in a white pants suit?”

She looked at me and shook her head.

“No. Nobody else.”

I returned to my table and left a tip. While I was paying my bill at the register, I seemed to hear Ann’s voice:

“Do not go,” it said. “You think you have troubles now. At least you are still alive. Stay home. Bait not the tiger.”

I looked all around, but she was nowhere in sight. I could almost feel her presence, though.

“Unfortunate,” I said, under my breath. “What did you do—cloud my mind?”

I seemed to hear her laughter, mingled with the odors of a flower garden.