The Variables

Both of them turned to the sound of shattering glass. Grant saw that Huck had ripped down the framed piece of creased, stained paper and tossed it to the ground. The glass in the frame broke into dozens of tiny shards, and Huck stared at the mess, pointing a long finger at the paper inside.

“It will crumble,” Huck said. He had gone trancelike, taciturn, vaguely inhuman. “And it will be your fault.” He turned to Gordy, his lips trembling.

“I’ll get someone to pick that up for you, Dad,” Gordy said smoothly. “You want me just to kill everyone? Just you and me living in your tower made of glass. We have fail-safes imbedded into each building, so you just say the word and I’ll knock us all down. Done. No more humans. Don’t forget that was Kymberlin’s plan. Not your muddled version...your perverted, warped sense of how this was supposed to work.”

“He’s a variable—” Huck hissed.

“So am I, Dad,” Gordy said in a near whisper. “I’m just not the type you prepared for. Give it up, Father. Just give it up.” He turned to Grant, sighed, and rubbed his eyes.

“Grant,” he continued, “I think it’s time to go home. Not a word. Am I clear?”

“Oh,” was all Grant could say. He looked at the broken glass and Huck’s twisted grimace. “Go home?”

“Yes.” Gordy pointed to the door. “Leave before I let him murder you. That usually involves hurrying.”

Nodding, Grant walked to the door, casting a long look at the grand piano for the last time, and then slipped out into the hall. He stood with his hand still on the knob long after he had heard the thick click, Gordy and Huck’s voices still carried on through the wood.

“Can I help you?” Huck’s secretary said. She was still chipper, but wary.

“I was told...to go home,” Grant told her with a frown.

“Housing questions can be directed to the concierge on the top floor of Kymberlin’s sky bridges. Two floors up. Can’t miss it.” She stared at him and he started to walk toward the elevator. With his back to her, she added, “Have a fantastic evening.”

Grant approached the sky bridge level concierge just like the woman had told him, but he could tell that something was wrong. As he walked toward her table, the woman froze, her face scrunched, and she seemed to undergo a moment of panic. It was very fleeting, almost imperceptible, and yet Grant could see it on her face as he got closer: she was surprised to see him. When he reached the table, she stammered out a kind hello and took a noticeable glance at the security camera above her head.

“Good evening,” the concierge said in a singsong voice. “I’m so terribly sorry...but I don’t know you. And I’m afraid that means there’s been a horrific oversight.”

“I’m Grant Trotter,” Grant said, helpfully. He pointed to himself and smiled brightly, flashing his single dimple and raising his eyebrows in hopes that she would help him. “You don’t have to know me—”

“Oh no.” She flapped her hands, wildly gesticulating, her face frozen somewhere between saccharine friendliness and total panic. “I do have to know you. That’s my job. I know all the Kymberlin residents. By name and by sight. Along with two or three interests, who their relatives are…”

“That’s...” Grant paused and tilted his head, “crazy.”

“No,” she smiled right back, “what’s crazy is that I don’t know you.” She laughed a high-pitched, obnoxious, embarrassed laugh and then seemed self-aware that it had sounded incongruous with the situation and she let it slowly die. “I’m sorry. Grant Trotter you said? What a horrible misunderstanding. And you’re sure you’re on the right Island.” A statement, not a question.

“I was originally a resident of Copia.” He refrained from telling the woman that Copia didn’t exist.

“Oh dear. Well, then to Copia you must go. No, no, no. There is a Copia concierge. She trained with me and her name is Susan...she would know you. That’s her job. She’s on Copia, of course. So, that doesn’t help us now. But, goodness, how did you end up here? I’m so confused. Was it an accident? That’s so strange...”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Grant said. He was tiring of the conversation, and he could feel a headache brewing behind his left eye. Still, he smiled. “Blair brought me here. I just came from a meeting with Gordy and Huck...they told me to go home.”

“But your home is Copia.”

“Copia—” Grant stopped. “I need a place to stay here. On Kymberlin. I can stay with the Kings if you tell me where they are living—”

“That’s private information. For Kymberlin residents only. I’m afraid I’ll need to call someone about this.”

“But I am a Kymberlin resident now.”

“Just a second, please,” she said as she held up a finger and hit a button on a small headset in her ear. “Yes, thank you. I have a young man here who says he’s from Copia.” A pause, a nervous laugh. “Well, I thought so, too. But thank you, I’ll wait for confirmation.” She hit the button again. “It will be just a second.”

Soft orchestral music played in the background. The woman swayed gently to the sound.

Grant tried to smile as he waited. He could smell a thick stink of sweat and adrenaline pouring off of his own body and he knew he needed a shower. Was it only this morning he had woken up in the System? Only this morning that Dylan had invited him to breakfast? The hours seemed longer, and the events seemed a world away. When the concierge answered a phone call, Grant didn’t even budge or look. He was lost in thought, watching the elevators ascend and descend.

“Grant?”

He didn’t hear her.

“Mr. Trotter? Excuse me, Grant Trotter?”

He turned.

“I apologize for both the delay and the complications. So, we don’t have a room for you...a horrific oversight. But I’m assured you are a Kymberlin resident now. Such a relief. There is an interior room on floor 10. Room 105. Follow Sky Bridge C to reach your stairs. It won’t have any of your luggage—”

He thought of his lost Romero poster. “I don’t have any luggage.”

She raised her eyebrows for just a second and then flashed a bright grin. “Then I can make it up to you for being so callous earlier and not knowing who you were—”

“But I wasn’t supposed to be here,” he offered in a gentle voice. “It’s okay. No need to make up anything.”

“Fresh toiletries and some pajamas.”

“I don’t need pajamas, ma’am,” Grant said and he took a step away from her and turned toward Sky Bridge C. He turned back, “Can you tell me what room Lucy King is in?”

“Oh, no. It’s so late. I’m so sorry. I’d have to call and confirm and I prefer not to call so late,” she said and she frowned and grimaced. “I’ll pass along a note to the family to let them know where you are staying. I’m assuming you would like me to tell them if they ask?”

He nodded. He nodded and nodded, and turned away.

She called after him about sending down a toothbrush, some floss, but he ignored her and kept walking. Lucy was somewhere in this ocean city; the last image she had of him was of him being taken away by Huck’s guards. She would already have killed him in her cute paranoid brain. It wasn’t fair to let her spend the night worried, but unless he knocked on every door, he wouldn’t see her tonight.

He felt like he might, maybe, almost, cry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Blair entered her apartment on Kymberlin and took in a deep breath. She had never stepped foot into this place, only seen the pictures and helped her father craft it to her own specifications. It smelled like new carpet and oranges. Allison the na