Wonder by Robert J Sawyer

Author:Robert J Sawyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-05-02T04:00:00+00:00

twenty-two

Hume entered the lobby of Octahedral Software. The receptionist’s counter was made of polished white marble, and behind her there was a large poster of the company’s logo: an eight-sided yellow die. Seeing it made Hume smile as he remembered his own university days as a D&D Dungeon Master. The logo, and the company’s name, were relics of a different era—when games were played with boards, cards, dice, and lead miniatures; all of Octahedral’s current games were first-person shooters, mostly for Wii and Xbox systems.

“I’m looking for Simonne Coogan,” Hume said.

“You just missed her,” said the receptionist, who had hair as red as Hume’s own although he doubted hers was natural given her olive complexion.

There was a large digital clock on the wall next to the logo. “Does she normally leave this early?”

“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist. “You are?”

Hume fished out his Pentagon ID.

“Oh!” said the receptionist. “Um, I could get Pedro to come down here; he’s the creative director for Hillbilly Hunt—he’s Simonne’s boss.”

“No, that’s okay. But do you know where she went?”

“No. Some guy came by not half an hour ago, and asked to see her—just like you did.”

“Anyone you’d ever seen before?”

“Never.”

“Did he sign in?”

“No. I have no idea who he was. But she left with him.”

“Willingly?”

“Um, yeah. Sure. Seemed that way, at least.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Big.”

“You mean tall or fat?”

“Tall. And buff. Tough-looking.”

“White? Black?”

She was finally getting the hang of it. “White. Maybe six-two, two hundred pounds or so. Mid-thirties, I’d say. Bald—shaved bald, not old bald.”

“Did you overhear anything he said to Miss Coogan?”

“Just one thing—as the elevator doors were closing.”

“Yeah?”

“He said, ‘It’ll all be over soon.’”

The Daily Show was taped in the afternoon, for airing at 11:00 P.M. the same day. Caitlin and her mother headed home after the taping; it was a short flight from New York to Toronto’s Lester B. Pearson International Airport.

Having heard Pearson’s name during her tour of the United Nations, Caitlin and Barb stopped to look at one of the busts of him inside the airport. Prior to serving as Canada’s prime minister, Pearson had been President of the UN General Assembly and had received the 1957 Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to resolve the preceding year’s Suez crisis.

It was dark by the time Caitlin and her mother got their car and started the boring seventy-five-minute highway drive to Waterloo. They had the car radio on—CHFI, “Toronto’s Perfect Music Mix”—which played songs that were agreeable to both of them, bopping between Shania Twain and Lady Gaga, Phil Collins and Lee Amodeo, Barenaked Ladies and Taylor Swift.

“Thanks for coming to New York, Mom,” Caitlin said.

“I wouldn’t have missed it. It’s been—God, twenty years, I guess—since I saw a Broadway play.”

“Wasn’t it wonderful?” said Caitlin.

“It was. Ellen Page was great as Annie Sullivan, and that kid they had playing Helen was brilliant.”

“But, um, Helen’s dad…before the war ended, he kept slaves,” Caitlin said.

Her mother nodded. “I know.”

“But he seemed like a good man. How could he have done that?”

“Well, not

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