An Afternoon of Meetings

Our winter break came fast this year. Too much to do, so little time. If I had any sense, I should be relaxing on the other coast working with my, let’s call them potential allies and old acquaintances, in the area. Instead, I am here. Still. To have a nice chat with a newer acquaintance. Learn how much of my mind should be focusing on the present and how much I can put to other interesting endeavors. It’s a Friday. I know exactly where Sierra will be, and when she’ll be there. After all, she was the one to invite me. ‘Therese. Come to our bar at 7, I think we should talk.’ Vague, of course, but it says more than she likely wants it to. Talk is what she says, but I know better than believe that is all she wants. Other than one particular point of interest of hers, I have seen nothing but strategic moves from her. Well, that and the necessary things of being a Magister. That is what makes her interactions relating to Isaac such an odd surprise. Not unexpected, just improbable. Also, in all likelihood, that is what this meeting is about. Assessing me, somehow, relating to her secret.

She wants to meet at seven, so I head into town at three. I need to do some things about town, check the bar’s preparations, and have a bite. It’ll be a long afternoon. That’s why I made a thermos of coffee beforehand. Mostly coffee, at least. Taking a long sip, I walk into the brisk winter air, towards Pembarton Memorial. I have a meeting, albeit an unscheduled one. Eric works circulation most Fridays, assuming his night-school has finished for the year. Which I believe it has. Four o’clock has the streets buzzing. Well, as buzzing as a town as small as this one can be. On the one hand, so few people about makes a walk through town much less overwhelming. But also less fun to keep eyes out. Less impressive to know each by name and details of their personal life. Everyone knows that much, once you get this small. And none are too keen to share their secrets with anyone they don’t know. Especially the college kids. So I found some ways around. Magic would draw attention, so I go in a more old fashioned direction with it. Opening the doors to the town’s large library, I head inside.

Eric is at the desk. He also looks bored. I head up, pulling out the library books I took out the last time I was here. “Eric,” I say calmly, “How have things been?”

I put them into the drop off as he comes around the counter. “Boring today. I assume you want the new arrivals, still?” he asks me in a slightly forced tone.

I look around. A couple is looking at the used books, but close enough to overhear. Explains his demeanor. “Anything particularly interesting?” I ask as I begin walking towards the new arrivals area.

“Yep,” the young man says as he follows. Once he feels comfortably out of earshot, he adds, “Why are you here?”

I give the slightest hint of a smile, but he does not seem to notice. “Anything big happening?” I ask.

“Not really? Why do you care?” he pushes back.

I look at him into his very soul. “Not really or no?” I ask, ignoring his question.

He sighs. “Not really. Nick is planning on coming out to his parents, finally.”

I think for a second. Nick Holliston, sixteen. Relatively good kid. Keeps his ear to the ground a lot on the other side of the river. He’s going to need a place to crash for at least a month before his folks might even possibly be okay with that. Maurice took over Amanda’s old place’s lease. He owes me a couple and Mister Thomas has a soft spot for people without homes, being homeless himself as a kid. It will be arranged. “When he gets kicked out, offer him this number if he needs a place to stay,” I say, jotting down Maurice’s cell on a piece of paper. “Next?”

Eric looks at the number, then up at me again. “This isn’t your number,” he begins.

“No,” I reply, “It isn’t. Anything else, or will you just be pointing out the obvious?”

He shakes his head. “The only other thing I’ve heard is from one of those old people at your school.” He lowers his voice, as though even more paranoid about this than the rest of our conversation. “They say they’re running low on funds. Might have difficulty staying afloat long-term without a real influx.” His voice returns to his normal conspiratorial tone. “That worth anything?”

I give him another nod and grab a random book off the shelf. “That’ll do nicely.” I say as I head back to the circulation desk. I slide a ziplock baggie between the cover and the pages, where the books get stamped. Setting it carefully on the desk, I wait as Eric walks around and scans the book.

“Alright, I’ll see you next week some time,” he says as he slides the bag out into his pocket and stamps the book.

“I suppose you will,” I reply as I head out.

I repeat the process with Herman, a janitor at the mall across the river, and Ray, who works the projection booth, among other jobs, at the one theater in town. Between the three of them, they see every single one of the thousand and change permanent residents of this town. Not much else to do with your free time. They’re also all young, weak, and easily manipulatable, unlike the bartenders around town. Finally, around six, I finish off my mostly coffee and head into the Amber & Cedar.

It’s much emptier this early than when I normally come. With a downwards gesture as I approach the bar, Fred nods and puts in my salad order. I want some food in me, but nothing filling in case she intends our discussion to be over food. Fred comes over with the salad and a beer. Just as with the food, it’s important not to get drunk in case she intends the discussion over drinks. The downwards gesture means something light to start a night. After eating the salad and halfway through my beer, I set my napkin over the top of my drink. Turning to the gentleman a couple seats down, I say, “I’m still here,” and I head towards the restrooms.

Once inside, I pull out my phone, connect to a local server, and run a check. The fancier side of the old fashioned direction for learning information. Everything seems fine, in this building at least. I switch the little node from passive to recording for the whole bar, then flush the unused toilet. Best keep the illusion, after all. I wash my hands, dry them, and head back out of the restroom to the bar to finish off my beer and wait for seven.

At six-forty-five, Sierra comes in. Seeing me at the bar, she walks over. “When I say seven, you realize I mean seven, right?” she asks, fully aware that she herself got here fifteen minutes early. Likely to do something suspicious in the ten minutes she expected to have before I would have arrived.

“I am aware, but vagaries meant I needed to cover my bases,” I inform her in response. An utterly meaningless statement to reply to an utterly meaningless question.

She shakes her head. “Come on, let’s sit at a table,” she says, gesturing towards one of several empty tables around the bar.

I look at her, directly into her eyes. She’s not scared. She’s going through some kind of mental checklist, if I had to guess. Interesting. “Sure,” I say, getting off my stool and leaving my empty glass on the bar as I head to the table she gestured towards.

She sits down first. “I feel like we should talk,” she began.

I sit across from her. “Is this a school-related talk?” I ask, knowing the answer.

She smiles pleasantly at me. “It’s not entirely unrelated, but no. This isn’t a meeting as your advisor.”

“Good. I don’t need that. What specifically is the talk about?”

“Specifically?” she raises her left eyebrow, “I want to know if I can trust you?”

She already doesn’t. I can see it in her eyes. “Always, but never,” I state the truth.

I can see she’s thinking. “You’re not lying, but you’re being evasive,” she says, not for her own benefit but to show me that she knows.

“What do you wish to trust me about?” I ask in response. That is the key after all.

She pauses, as though thinking about exactly how she wants to word it. “According to everyone I talk to, you know damned near everything there is to know. Locally that is.”

“An exaggeration, though not an extreme one,” I say.

“And you seem to keep most all of them secret,” she adds.

I shrug ever so slightly. “They wouldn’t be secrets if I didn’t.”

“Why?” she asks, then clarifies, “Not why keep them secret, why learn them at all?”

I think for a moment about how much I want to talk about. “Fantasy sports,” I answer.

This causes Sierra to confusedly chuckle a little. “What?” she says through the laughter.

“Not like whatever you’re thinking,” I say shaking my head, “You know the debate surrounding daily fantasy sports, right?”

“You mean the whole skill or luck question? Sure, I guess. I always thought of it as kind of a weaker version of the same debate for online poker.”

“Certainly, but for two things. One, poker is known and studied, so the answer has already been determined. And two, daily fantasy serves my point better.”

She smiles. “I suppose,” she says, “So, the debate about skill and luck?”

“I never understood that debate,” I say, cocking my head ever so slightly. “There’s no such thing as luck. Luck is just the result of a series of choices and factors outside the observer’s knowledge.”

“But that can’t be right,” she counters. I cock my head to the other side, just a hint, and wait expectantly. She elaborates, “Well, you know the basic ideas of quantum mechanics, right?”

I lower my head slightly, keeping my gaze affixed on her eyes. “You’re thinking I am Isaac,” I reply. “I am not.”

“That’s for sure,” she says muttering under her breath somewhere between disappointment and relief. “Anyways, one of the basic concepts of quantum mechanics is that pretty much everything, once you get that small, is probabilistic. Isn’t defined. I’m not explaining it great, that’s your old advisor’s forte, but if that’s true, there has to be some aspects beyond causality, right?”

“I would counter with the van Stassen principle of understanding. A topic we both understand better than physics.”

“What does how we understand mystical transactions have anything to do with this?”

I let a thin hint of a smile slip onto my face. “One of the things I do know about physics is, despite attempting constantly since they were discovered, with all the brightest minds and greatest tools at science’s disposal, they have yet to unify quantum mechanics with general relativity.”

She closes her eyes as she sees the big picture. “And van Stassen states if generations have been unable to determine the source of a cost, it is being taken from somewhere that isn’t being investigated.”

“Perhaps someone might find the right perspective, but until your theory is a part of our greater reality, I will stay with what has shown itself to me well thus far.”

“Hmm,” she says, leaning back from the table.

I cock my head slightly once again. I think this time she sees it, because her expression changes slightly as well. “So, do you trust me?”

“No, and yes,” she says, mirroring my earlier statement. Then, after letting that sit a moment, she adds, “How would you feel about a game?”

“That depends entirely on the game, I suppose,” I reply, looking up to Fred. I wait until he makes eye contact, and then I give him a nod. He nods back. “Why?” I ask Sierra.

“Most everyone’s gone for winter, so I’m bored. And, with everything that you seem to or might be, you’re certainly not boring.”