Asimov's SF, January 2008 by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-07-10T14:01:44+00:00

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Short Story: UNLIKELY

by Will McIntosh

Will McIntosh has sold stories to Interzone, Postscripts, Chizine, Strange Horizons, and other venues. He’s been a finalist for both the British Science Fiction Association and the British Fantasy Society awards for best short story of 2005. By day, Will is a psychology professor in the southeastern United States. His wry tale about what life might be like if we really did know how it worked is his first for Asimov’s.

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She scanned the diner in that way people do when they’re looking for someone based only on a vague description. In this case Samuel knew that the vague description was a tall guy in his late fifties, wearing a jeans jacket. Samuel raised a hand. She waved and headed toward his booth.

She was skinny, long reddish hair streaked with white. No breasts to speak of, but sexy nonetheless. Not that this was a date.

“Samuel, hello.” She slid into the seat across from him. They shook hands over the table.

“Hello Tuesday, nice to finally meet you.”

There was an awkward silence. What did you say in this sort of situation? Had anyone ever been in this sort of a situation?

A waitress wearing a baseball cap, her ponytail poking through the space in the back, saved the day by taking their order, giving Samuel time to think of something to say.

“Can you believe this? The whole thing is absolutely staggering nonsense.”

“You think so?” Tuesday said. She canted her head and shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you believe in the numinous?”

Samuel smiled wanly. “No. I don’t believe in the numinous.” The numinous? Who the hell used the word numinous?

“Hmm. I do. I’d like to be part of something numinous.” She twisted sideways in the booth, drew one foot onto the red faux leather, and retied the shoelace of her black Keds hightop. She tied enthusiastically; the knot she produced had about six bows. She swapped feet and started working on the other lace.

“Most people don’t realize how important well-tied shoelaces are,” she said. “Shoes ground you—if they’re too loose or too tight, or if one is tighter than the other, you’re out of balance, and you can’t walk true.”

“But you’re not walking,” Samuel pointed out.

“True. But I will be later.”

“Ah.” Samuel was starting to wonder if it had been a good idea to agree to this. She was one of those new age types. Next she’d be suggesting they visualize world peace, or try to channel a dead high priestess of Lemuria.

“The mayor seems to believe there’s something to this,” Tuesday said.

“He’s desperate. Clutching at straws.”

“So why did you agree to meet?” Tuesday asked, her Keds back on the black and white tile floor.

Samuel paused while the waitress plunked down two glasses, followed by big metal milkshake tumblers. His strawberry milkshake looked as thick as cement. Damn, did he love this place.

“Professor Berry said there was an easy way to prove him wrong: meet with you on and off for a week. If the city’s

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