Unity and Destiny Pt. 09

"My computer," said Kat suddenly.

Javier stared at her, and she clarified.

"Suppose this memory problem is some after-effect of the Mexican's attack. I think someone suggested that. Well, he didn't attack your handwritten note, did he? He's dead, after all. And his mental attack won't have done anything to our E-mails, secure messages, all of that."

Javier nodded excitedly, and Kat got up, wearing only her panties. She opened up her laptop, plugging the modem into the wall. She'd worked out a way to get on the internet free here, some sneaky thing the way she usually managed.

"Wait a sec," he said. "That guy who picked up the luggage. That wasn't some lingering effect of the Mexican's attack. Either I'm dead wrong about all this, or someone is still pushing on us, the way the Mexican did. Could he have had a partner, trying to cover something up now?"

"How would anyone even have known about the luggage, though?" Grace asked. She joined them, dressed fully now.

"So either I'm crazy, or—"

"You know, honestly, that makes the most sense," said Kat suddenly, closing her laptop. "Let's forget about the luggage. You should go see if Selena's OK. You know how she gets when you don't pay her enough attention."

He stared at Kat, wondering what the hell was wrong with her now. But Nicola figured it out a second before he did, and she took his hand. Javier heard the other pair whispering, and Kat giggling. But it was an act. Kat was always a bit paranoid, and maybe this time she was right. How could they all remember to stay paranoid, though?

When they were in the hall, Nicola pulled him into a kiss. Even though he knew it was an act, like in Oregon, he returned it gratefully. Then she kissed his forehead, speaking in that piercing direct-to-skull fashion.

We've played this game before, haven't we? .

Yeah, he silently replied. If we're not crazy, those messages are vital. We can't let anyone realize how important they are, not before we protect them. Even from ourselves.

Nicola kissed him again, then opened her own room.

Selena was lying on the bed, looking uncomfortable, one leg bandaged and elevated. Javier lay down next to her, much closer than she wanted.

"Hey," he said, blinking his eyes quickly, using their signal for danger. He repeated it a few times, and she nodded slightly, face alert. He shifted away to give her more space, then began arduously tapping out Morse code on his palm. It would have been difficult for him to talk at the same time, but Selena seemed to understand, and began filling the time with random observations about Oaxaca.

Worried someone is still messing with our memories, he sent. You are the best at blocking, if you concentrate. Can you do that?

She nodded slightly, and then Javier joined her pointless conversation. After a few minutes she rubbed her head.

"You know how exhausted I get from all the noise, and this wound is making it a lot harder. I think I have to meditate for a while in the corner."

Javier nodded, heading back to his room. His stomach sank when he saw Kat on her laptop now, modem plugged in. He hoped she hadn't forgotten, or everything might be lost.

"Hey, want to check E-mail?" she asked. "I still have a lot to catch up on, but I know you wanted to see if your Mamá replied."

She smiled, and he pulled up to the screen. On it was a single message she'd sent to their own account.

Everything is backed up, she'd written. I made the backup drives read-only in a way even I can't undo. Only physically destroying them will do it, and the drives are physically scattered all over America. And Javier, you were right.

He smiled, squeezing her hand before settling in.

Ten minutes later he wiped his eye. She was there, scattered randomly across the messages. Central to everything their group did, and most especially everything Javier did. He was starting to remember, now. She was the reason he even knew most of the others.

Esther. He would repeat her name until he could never forget it again.

* * *

"This Abuela is quite a figure in your memory," the woman said, the one who wasn't Abuela. "But do you see how it makes sense? You and Abuela are probably both granddaughters of mine, many times removed. Most of the strongest children are."

Esther liked these times, when the woman told her things, in between the pain. She was hungry, but Edgar hadn't brought her any more food. She remembered. She'd begged and begged, and he'd gone out to tend the garden, as though she wasn't even there. She'd soiled her underwear at some point, and she didn't even know how much time had passed. There was something wrapped tightly around her chest, something she didn't remember.

Forty hours, eleven minutes, came the voice in her head. It is rope around your chest. The Mexican has seen things in your memory that leave her more nervous about your strength than she wants you to believe.

The voice was so clear she nearly cried, and the woman looked at her sharply. But she hadn't heard it. It was Esther's own voice, the fragment of her still in otherspace. Her soul, watching over her like an angel. Something didn't make sense in that, but she smiled blearily.

The woman sighed, looking at Esther as though she were a particularly troublesome child.

"You're making this harder on yourself," she said. "And I have to say this struggle is losing its novelty. You know why they called me the Mexican?"

The Mexican. That was who she was. Esther smiled and shook her head.

"I was a novelty," she said. "I was the outsider, abandoned down in that valley below, with no memory, speaking only Nahuatl. In a child, it was amusing. As I grew in such a strangely slow fashion, it became an insult. By the time I was a young shaman, it had circled about into a sort of respect. And then Cortés came, and I was nearly killed by his local allies, for being the Mexican. To them I represented Aztec colonial power, even as that empire was eclipsed by a second. And why did Cortés beat all of us?"

"Disease?" Esther mumbled. She'd read an article for class arguing that hypothesis.

The Mexican began laughing, an awful sound as always.

"Oh, I will enjoy having intelligent conversation again," she said. "Knowledge, I was going to say. The knowledge of better weapons, ships, political manipulation, and more. But of course I saw the disease firsthand, and perhaps you have the better answer. At the time, I recognized the knowledge the Spanish brought with them, and I identified it with power. I was not wrong in that, Esther. And you have such precious knowledge already: the paths of the world, what everything is made of. The knowledge that true power rests upon. I am patient, but I will have it in the end."

Without warning, she slapped Esther's mind, so hard that a part of her cracked, the part that was trying to hide otherspace from her. And now she stared in horror, as the Mexican's face lit up, sensing the great realm that Esther had begun to straddle.

"Now we are making progress," the Mexican said, and suddenly she was inside otherspace with Esther, looking around in awe, her ancient mind attempting to make sense of the disorienting landscape of shape and connection.

Esther shook in terror, but a part of her exulted, because the Mexican had no reference at all in here. Esther couldn't afford to give her any clues, but even within the confines of this fortified room, there was an immensity of conceptual space. Room to think, to consult with the tiny portion of her still fortified in a more distant part of otherspace. Part of her was still fighting, and that part was forming a plan.

* * *

"Mamá?" Javier said, heart rising. He should have called her already.

"Mijo," her voice came, shakily. "Is it all over? Are you back?"

"I'm safe," he said. "It's over, and we were successful, Mamá! Everyone's safe, but we're still down here. A few things to finish up."

"That's wonderful, but don't tell me you're safe, mijo," Mamá said. "Not until you walk through the front door and let me kiss you. What things? Or is it the usual?"

Meaning, stuff he couldn't talk about over the phone. He sighed. "The usual. Mamá, remember that girl I was crazy about first year in college?"

There was a pause.

"Kat? Is she there too? I hope she and Grace are still—"

"Yeah, they're fine," he said. "I guess you saw them last when you were staying after Black Christmas. Seems like ages ago. You remember how upset Raj was?"

"How could I forget," Mamá said unhappily. "Javier, are you trying to get at something?"

He cursed silently. Mamá was always much too perceptive.

"Not really," he said. "My memory's a little weird right now. A side effect of something that happened during the fight. Random things keep popping into my head, but it's getting better."

"You should come home, mijo," she said. "You need some time to rest, after everything you've done. And I know you love all your friends, but they mostly have other people. You're the type who needs someone to love, to give your heart to."

"Is this your way of saying you've got someone in mind?" he asked.

Mamá laughed happily. "No, silly. Just that you seemed lonely when I visited."

They talked a while longer, and then Javier hung up. Some time later he casually went over to check his E-mail, on the laptop Kat left open for everyone now. He read the new messages the others had written, and he tried to make them fit a pattern. Then, before he forgot anything, he began typing.

Mamá forgot about Esther, too. Javier imagined the words burning themselves into bits on a hard drive thousands of miles away. Unchangeable, like a CD-ROM. It was strange to think of this as more permanent than paper. They'd all written things on paper, and somehow they'd all disappeared. Thrown away in a moment's inattention, probably.

Whoever was behind this had terrifying power. Changing memories or altering behaviors at such a distance was on the level of the Mexican himself, but even more subtle. More like Franklin, but he'd needed his victims in close proximity to reinforce his illusions. And there were only two things that seemed to be under attack: Esther, and the true location of their raid against the Mexican. The conclusion was all too obvious. That's where Esther still was, and someone didn't want them to know that. She'd come with them on the raid, and then somehow disappeared, maybe during the seconds none of them could account for. Whoever had her might be as dangerous as the Mexican. A hidden ally of his.

He quickly wrote all those thoughts down as well, then closed the laptop. He had to remember to keep checking his messages. They all did. He scribbled a note to that effect, leaving it on the stand next to his bed. But he might throw it out.

"Javier?" Kat said. The other two women were still naked, partly covered by the sheets. He knew they had a lot of sex, but this seemed even more than normal.

She and Grace had shifted in their bed, and Grace was patting the spot between them. All of a sudden he needed something familiar, someone he could hold on to, even while his memories slipped away again overnight. He took off his shoes, then all the rest of his clothes. And when he'd turned the light off, he found his place, held firm between the two of them, breasts and hips and lips and thighs. Tomorrow he would have to remember again, but just for a while, it felt wonderful to lay down the burden.

* * *

"There is a map hidden in here," Abuela said. "It will take time to understand, but I begin to see how you developed your remarkable sensitivity so quickly. This is a more efficient way to organize information than any I have seen."

Abuela had a fearsome intellect, and Esther was eager to show her these secrets, but the older woman's mind was slow to adapt. She quietly suspected that the Abuela would never be able to understand the underlying structure of otherspace, and part of her took satisfaction in this. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and she tried to make it go away.

"That's right," Abuela said. "You're doing so well, my child. Have no worries. I have finally solved the problem that was distracting both of us. Though I should not be so hasty, I suppose. I may have to begin a different approach. If they are convinced of your death, it will be easier to reconcile their stubborn memories, along with any records that have not been expunged."

Abuela sighed. "That approach leads to other problems I hoped to avoid. Your abilities are too unusual, and there is power in the mere knowledge that something is possible. That will mean still more effort on my part, to alter that knowledge. Still, one way or the other, they will move on, as you already are. Soon I will be able to make your body comfortable again. And perhaps we can make each other more than comfortable."

She had a sudden vision of lying comfortably on Abuela's bed, while a soft tongue explored her, moving with the sure artistry of vast experience. Someone who had made love countless times, even if not recently. And the thought was utterly repulsive for some reason, despite her body's interest.

"Well, there will be time enough for that," Abuela said, kind and patient as always. "Perhaps you can help me explore this geometry once more."

* * *

"Fuck!" Kat said. "Fucking shit. Grace, was this you?"

Javier came out of the shower, towel wrapped around himself, wondering what the commotion was. Kat was holding her laptop, or what remained of it. It was as though someone had dropped it, and then stomped repeatedly on it. He couldn't imagine how it'd been damaged so badly.

Grace was staring, equally horrified.

"Of course not, Kat," she said. "Why would I ever do that?"

Kat glared at Javier, but he just shook his head. There was something he'd been intending to do this morning, but he didn't really remember. Probably it was just the usual pre-travel jitters. They had a difficult path ahead of them. All yesterday they'd been arguing how best to get out of Mexico.

There was a knock at the door, and Javier looked through the peephole: Nicola. He let her in.

"Hey," she said. "Everything OK here? I heard a commotion."

"Look at my fucking laptop," Kat said, gesturing in frustration. "Could someone have broken in last night? But my wallet's still right there."

Nicola shook her head. "No, Mark would have sensed that. Though neither of us slept well last night. Mark found me sitting confused in the bathroom at some point. I'm happy we're getting away from here."

"Kat, it's not so important," said Javier. "We have plenty of money, and we can replace it when we get back. That laptop was empty, anyway. You were too worried about it getting damaged, or someone taking it. Why don't you just rip out the drive, in case anything was left on it, and we can finish packing."

Kat shook her head angrily, but she pulled out her multitool and started prying open the mangled case. As he finished packing, Javier kept looking for something. A note, a reminder of something. But there was nothing. Just a bunch of clothes. He didn't know why they'd stuck around this dingy hotel for days, since they hadn't even done much tourist stuff. Probably it was a kind of post-stress lethargy they'd all had. Defeating the Mexican had been such an accomplishment, and now they had to go back to their more mundane lives, with no one even knowing they were the big heroes. It was depressing to realize how little was waiting for him back in California. Probably he should go visit Mamá for a while, until he got out of this funk.

* * *

Geometry was the key, Esther remembered suddenly. Geometry, and topology, a grand new connection she'd finally understood. She wanted to tell someone, but the Mexican couldn't possibly understand. Very few probably ever could, no matter how much time they spent trying.

The Mexican. Esther held the name in her mind another minute, and the Mexican didn't seem to notice. Esther had been doing this more and more, segregating her thoughts, like facets of geometry in otherspace. Presenting only a projection of herself into the shallowest reaches, where the Mexican wallowed. Esther looked at the Mexican's presence in otherspace, from above and below, from directions without names, and the pieces came together like a beautiful puzzle.

She finally understood the geometry of the ancient places, and the reason they reflected the senses of the Changed. It was beautiful, beyond anything she'd ever seen. None of the worldly examples was perfect; each was its own flawed crystal, the impurities giving its particular properties. But here in otherspace itself, Esther could construct a perfect crystal. And so she began, touching strand to strand, shifting planes and n-spaces just so. All centered on the pitifully small region where the Mexican groped, oblivious.

Even as she worked, the shallow projection of Esther's mind groveled to the Mexican. It called her Abuela, begging her to follow farther into otherspace, teaching her elementary geometry, praising her. And the Mexican in her arrogance ate all of it up, until virtually all her senses were drawn into a tiny portion of otherspace. Esther finished most of the first crystal, and then she began the second. A nested structure, each layer helping strengthen the others, forming something Esther hadn't even realized was possible until now. From the inside the fractal crystals seemed to extend out to infinity, yet from the outside they were bounded within a tiny volume of otherspace. Finally, Esther closed the outermost gap, and every other gap snapped shut in quick succession, leaving only the perfect crystals. Exhausted, Esther withdrew completely from otherspace.

A beam of sunlight lit the Mexican's desk. Outside, pine trees waved gently in the wind. The Mexican was slumped against Esther's chair, her presence gone. The woman was utterly trapped in otherspace, and only Esther possessed the key.

Esther began to laugh, or cry. Her body felt wretched. Starved, dirty, muscles bruised and strained from her struggles. Her wrist was raw and bleeding in its shackle, and the ropes around her torso constricted her breathing. But she was alive, and she'd won, for what it was worth.

"I'm sorry," she said to the Mexican, and she meant it. It was a terrible prison Esther had built, and yet she could think of no alternative. It had to be better than death.

Surely it was. The Mexican would hear her words, filtering through the infinite layers of crystal surrounding her. She would likely hear much of what happened around her, more than most humans, even if far less than what she was used to. But only Esther would be able to hear anything she had to say in response, and that would take an effort she couldn't manage right now.

She reached out weakly for Javier, Nicola, anyone to take her out of this awful place, but she felt nothing beyond the walls. This wasn't an ancient place as Esther understood them, and yet the Mexican had done something, or perhaps adapted something from the truly ancient stones beneath them. After decades or centuries of her presence, the room was attuned only to the Mexican's senses, and Esther doubted she could do anything to alter that.

Edgar came in, staring at the Mexican.

"Edgar," Esther pleaded, voice cracking. "Edgar, please. We both need your help. The food here will run out. You need to find someone to help you take care of her."

Edgar didn't even seem to notice her. After a long time he left the room again, intending to bring the Mexican food, as he had for so many years.

She called desperately again, but it was no use. When Edgar returned, she squashed her disgust and prepared to compel him, to break through the haze in his mind. It was for the sake of all of them, and she would find a way to make it up to him.