《ur》(11)

"I could die today," Robbie Henderson said in a low voice. "That thing could give me a freaking heart attack." He abruptly seized his Styrofoam cup of coffee and swallowed most of the contents, although the coffee was still steaming.

Wesley, on the other hand, felt almost like himself again. But with the fear of madness removed, a host of questions were cramming his mind. Only one seemed completely relevant. "So what do I do now?"

"For one thing," Dan said, "this has to stay a dead secret among the three of us." He turned to Robbie. "Can you keep a secret? Say no and I'll have to kill you."

"I can keep one. But how about the people who sent it to you, Wes? Can they keep a secret? Will they?"

"How do I know that when I don't know who they are?"

"What credit card did you use when you ordered Little Pink here?"

"MasterCard. It's the only one I use these days."

Robbie pointed to the English Department computer terminal Wesley and Don shared. "Go online, why don't you, and check your account. If those...those ur-books came from Amazon, I'll be very surprised."

"Where else could they have come from?" Wesley asked. "It's their gadget, they sell the books for it. Also, it came in an Amazon box. It had the smile on it."

"And do they sell their gadget in Glowstick Pink?" Robbie asked.

"Well, no."

"Dude, check your credit card account."

Wesley drummed his fingers on Don's Mighty Mouse mousepad as the office's outdated PC cogitated. Then he sat up straight and began to read.

"Well?" Don asked. "Share."

"According to this," Wesley said, "my latest MasterCard purchase was a blazer from Men's Warehouse. A week ago. No downloaded books."

"Not even the ones you ordered the normal way? The Old Man and the Sea and

Revolutionary Road?"

"Nope."

Robbie asked, "What about the Kindle itself?"

Wesley scrolled back. "Nothing...nothing...noth...wait, here it - " He leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the screen. "I'll be damned."

"What?" Don and Robbie said it together.

"According to this, my purchase was denied. It says, 'wrong credit-card number.'" He considered. "That could be. I'm always reversing two of the digits, sometimes even when I have the damn card right beside the keyboard. I'm a little dyslexic."

"But the order went through, anyway," Don said thoughtfully. "Somehow...to someone. Somewhere. What Ur does the Kindle say we're in? Refresh me on that."

Wesley went back to the relevant screen. "117,586. Only to enter that as a choice, you omit the comma."

Don said, "That might not be the Ur we're living in, but I bet it was the Ur this Kindle came from. In that Ur, the MasterCard number you gave is the right one for the Wesley Smith that exists there."

"What are the odds of something like that happening?" Robbie asked.

"I don't know," Don said, "but probably a lot steeper than 10.4 million to one."

Wesley opened his mouth to say something, and was interrupted by a fusillade of knocks on the door. They all jumped. Don Allman actually uttered a little scream.

"Who is it?" Wesley asked, grabbing the Kindle and holding it protectively to his chest.

"Janitor," the voice on the other side of the door said. "You folks ever going home? It's almost seven o'clock, and I need to lock up the building."

CHAPTER IV News Archive

They weren't done, couldn't be done. Not yet. Wesley in particular was anxious to press on. Although he hadn't slept for more than three hours at a stretch in days, he felt wide awake, energized. He and Robbie walked back to his apartment while Don went home to help his wife put the boys to bed. When that was done, he'd join them at Wesley's place for an extended skull-session. Wesley said he'd order some food.

"Good," Don said, "but be careful. Ur-Chinese just doesn't taste the same."

For a wonder, Wesley found he could actually laugh.

"So this is what an English instructor's apartment looks like," Robbie said, gazing around. "Man, I dig all the books."

"Good," Wesley said. "I loan to people who bring back. Keep it in mind."

"I will. My parents have never been, you know, great readers. Few magazines, some diet books, a self-help manual or two...that's all. I might have been the same way, if not for you. Just bangin' my head out on the football field, you know, with nothing ahead except maybe teaching PE in GilesCounty. That's in Tennessee. Yeehaw."

Wesley was touched by this. Probably because he'd been hurled through so many emotional hoops just lately. "Thanks," he said. "Just remember, there's nothing wrong with a good loud yeehaw. That's part of who you are, too. Both parts are equally valid."

He thought of Ellen, ripping Deliverance out of his hands and hurling across the room. And why? Because she hated books? No, because he hadn't been listening when she needed him to. Hadn't it been Fritz Leiber, the great fantasist and science fiction writer, who had called books "the scholar's mistress?" And when Ellen needed him, hadn't he had been in the arms of his other lover, the one who made no demands (other than on his vocabulary) and always took him in?