A Highly Unlikely Scenario, or a Neetsa Pizza Employee's Guide to Saving the World (15 page)

Stan the man! Felix exclaimed.

It's a personal collapsible beacon, beta version, based on Baconian optics, Sally said proudly. She took it off to show Felix, and they were in darkness again. It works only on my head!

Light, please, Leonard said, feeling jealous of the bond Sally and Felix were forming. At his expense, he assumed, though he couldn't say how.

Sally put the hat back on and they found themselves in a Business District none of them recognized. While the side street they stood on was quiet, at the intersection a quarter verst ahead they could see one building reduced to a smoking titanium frame, while another, to its left, was fully aflame. As they crept forward, Sally's hat illuminated bands of Heraclitan flamethrowers running through the intersection, chased by monarchist jousters on horseback and—could it be?—off-key singing waiters from the Dada Dinner Diner. Soda jerks from
the Strawberry Parfait were shouting insults and trying to trip the horses. The street was cluttered with abandoned torches, eatery leaflets, and broken glass; neighborhood webcams and
Hello!
lamps had been wrenched from their Everything's-Okay poles. It smelled—not just of smoldering buildings but of burning pizza, blackened bacon, charred grillsteak, and blistering jujuberries. The musicians had wisely stayed away, but amid the exploding rockets and shattering glass and clattering of horses' hooves, they could hear, faintly, as if from an old-fashioned discograph, a tinny rendition of the “Internationale.” In Chinese.

Mother! Felix whispered, and Leonard grabbed him.

No running off, Leonard said. And no shouting.

I think it would be prudent if we put the hat away, Sally whispered, and again they were in darkness. Shall we sidle to the side and make a plan?

A plan? Leonard was good at that! He would choose for himself a role that allowed him to be brave—brave but not foolhardy. He would protect Sally from danger—well, not immediate danger, but imminent danger, probable danger … But just then, alarm whistles sounded, audible even over the din, and a dozen neo-Maoists, visible in silhouette against the flames and identifiable by their dust caps, ran through the distant intersection, pursued by police. One slightly built Maoist tripped on a fallen neighborhood webcam. As her jaw hit the cobbles, her dust cap flew off. A policeman was immediately upon her, beating her backside with his justice stick. She curled to her left in the classic defensive position, and they could see … Was it? A red afro?

MOM!
Felix shouted in a voice twice as loud as the one he'd used the day before. Buildings shook and trembled as his cry
echoed across the avenues of the Business District, each reverberation growing louder and louder, rattling Leonard's spine and jarring his bones.

Sally reacted first.

Leonard! she shouted. Felix isn't moving!

It was true. Felix was frozen solid like the dry-ice walls around the Leader's domus.

Leonard patted his nephew's cheek, which was cold and unmoving, his mouth still pursed together forming the last momentous
M!

In the intersection, everyone was likewise frozen; only the horses moved about (Felix liked horses), sniffing bodies and debris, looking for dinner, perhaps. A white spotted pony trotted toward Leonard and Sally, his jouster tottering on his saddle because his legs no longer clamped the horse's sides.

Even the eatery odors had come to a standstill.

Check Felix's health meter, Sally said, putting her collapsible-beacon hat back on.

Leonard lifted Felix's shirt. The health meter, which should have been slowly pulsing toward calm, wasn't moving at all! Leonard flicked it, in case it was stuck. It wasn't.

Sally and Leonard looked at each other. They knew what this meant. Unless and until Felix's health meter returned to normal, the world would not move, Felix would not move.

Carol! Leonard said, and rushed to his sister, who still lay
curled in her defensive position. Not moving, but not frozen—unconscious. He tried to lift her from the cobbles, ruing that Pythagorean discipline had not required strength training. He gestured to Sally, who ran over to help him. Together they moved Carol twenty paces onto the side street beside Felix.

The spotted pony, who was nuzzling Felix as if to wake him, or to thank him for stopping the fighting, whinnied and shook her mane, which caused her tottering jouster to topple stiffly to the ground next to Carol, his legs now straddling air.

Now we really need a plan, said Sally, who had jumped out of the way of the jouster. But while Leonard was thinking again about how good he was at making plans, Sally said, I've got it! She tore a long slit in her orange-skin gown, then climbed onto the back of the pony, kissing and patting the pony's alabaster mane. Where there are policemen, she said, there are police caravans. Large enough to take the four of us home.

You know how to drive? Leonard asked, dumbfounded.

Of course! Sally said, and was off, headbeads bouncing, leaving Leonard in darkness once again.

The only ones licensed to drive in their town were policemen and bonded drivers of caravans, wagonettes, and liveried lorries. Police vehicles didn't even have breathreader ignitions: who would steal them? Leonard tried to imagine what the world would be like if anyone could drive—chaos, he decided. Unimaginable freedom! And Sally, already an expert! What else did he not know about this extraordinary woman?

On the ground, Carol opened her eyes.

Is that pizza I smell? And then she was out again.

They managed to get Carol curled into the front seat of a police caravan. Leonard propped Felix against the side of the vehicle's holding cell, which was connected to the driver's cell by rubber voice loops, and contained a supply of yellow sashes and sniper muskets. And they were off! Sally was a very skilled driver! She didn't know Leonard's house, but she did know the caravan routes (there really was an Archive of Severely Damaged, Unreadable, Out-of-Date Caravan Directories); Leonard promised to guide her from his neighborhood stop.

So what does your Pythagorean training involve, Sally asked, if not driving and urban-survival tactics?

Well, there's Listening, and the welling of compassion, and Pythagorean meditation, and use of preapproved Listener algorithms. And receptivity, and easing of clients-in-pain. Plane geometry, of course, and tuning theory, metempsychosis and advanced soul tracing, eternal recurrence, and the spiritual qualities of the decad.

Oh, Sally said. Well, I'm sure that's good for something.

He didn't say lyre, because he'd failed lyre, and wished now he could sing Carol a Pythagorean healing song.

Leonard made Sally park at Felix's school caravan stop. He would go ahead to check heroically for nonfrozen police.

Do you have a police scanner? Sally asked, grabbing what looked like a fountain pen out of her clutchbag. When she clicked it, it shot red rays and emitted a low hum.

Leonard shook his head.

What about an ID scrambler? she asked, waving another
miniature device, which looked like a sterling needle-pusher or portable ice grinder. No? Then you had better stay here.

Leonard nodded.

Back in a tick, she said, and ran down the street, her orange-skin gown glowing in the starlight.

Leonard very much wanted to have a plan ready for her return. A good plan. For what they would do when Carol and Felix came back to life. The police would still be outside, maybe frozen, certainly ready to arrest Carol and maybe take Felix away. Where was Isaac? Why wasn't he helping?

But Sally was back and pushing a wheelbarrow.

There were six of them, she said, positioned around Carol's house, each hiding behind a tree, wearing leafy camouflage. Almost in plain sight, she said, disgusted. She hadn't needed her police scanner at all. But she did scramble the house ID: for the next long while, anyone looking at the house would be convinced he saw an abandoned caravan stop.

She wheeled Carol in the wheelbarrow, and Leonard carried Felix like firewood to the garage apartment, where they placed them gently in Leonard's bed, under warm blankets, in case that made a difference. As it happened, Leonard didn't need a plan at all: Sally had everything figured out. Under her direction, they moved the majority of Carol's clothes and other essentials out of Carol's house and into Leonard's garage apartment—specifically, under Leonard's bed. The remainder of her things they left sloppily about and forged a note: Dear Leonard and Felix, I have left our beloved land for good and taken most of my belongings with me. You must forgive me. I know you knew absolutely nothing about my activities, and were therefore entirely innocent and blameless. In fact, my own activities were innocent and blameless. Soon the police will understand this
and I shall be able to come home. Leonard, Felix belongs in your conscientious care because no one else can care for his special needs as you can, and he is such a credit to our Leader. Be good to him, as I know you will. Long live the nonviolent, law-abiding Revolution!

Then they gathered emergency supplies: coin, ready edibles, string, warm hats. Sally took inflatable pockets from her clutchbag and showed Leonard how to attach one to his belt. We need to be ready, she said.

I agree, Leonard said, but can we have dinner first?

No, Sally said. First we have to move the policemen.

With the help of the wheelbarrow, they moved the stiff, leaf-covered men to a neighbor's yard, propping them against trees that encircled a house quite like Carol's. Then for fun, they moved one or two to a house across the road.

Now we have to scramble all the house IDs, which she accomplished up and down the block. After she positioned the stolen police caravan neatly in a parkspot at the municipal compost heap, Sally agreed that, yes, it was time for dinner, but first they had to change into on-the-run clothing. Dark colors, Sally said, blend-in styles. Quiet shoes. She chose a tan house tunic and trousers from Carol's closet, and pocketed some of Carol's undergarments. For himself, Leonard chose a slim-fitting caftan and trousers that he thought showed his long legs to advantage.

Can you run in those? Sally asked. Bend? Twist? Show me.

Leonard ran a circle through the house, then, wheezing, chose a larger caftan and exchanged his open-toed clogs for some black sailing shoes.

Finally Sally agreed it was time for dinner and, no, she didn't know how to cook. So while she checked on Carol and Felix (no change), Leonard defrosted a Fish Swimming in a Sea
of Peasants casserole in Carol's flash cooker and found a few scraps of haggis for Medusa, who followed Sally around as if attached to her heel by a piece of string. They ate on the settee in the no-longer-white room, with a view of Felix's drawings on the wall and the doors open, in case either Carol or Felix stirred in the other room. Neither spoke as they ate their dinner, both of them ravenous and none too dainty. When they finished, they set their bowls on the carpet and sighed and leaned back on the settee.

It was the first time they had been alone together.

Leonard wished he had some jokes to share. Look! he wanted to say, but he had nothing to show her. Why, she had more interesting things in her clutchbag than he had in his entire apartment—or his entire life.

He looked at her dumbly, all admiration and despair.

Which was when she kissed him.

She tasted like clams, and sea flowers. Leonard had never experienced anything so delicious, or disorienting. His heart was flummoxing, his ears let in far too much air.

Good we got that over with, Sally said, pulling away and slapping her thighs.

I'm in love with you, Leonard said, helplessly.

Yes, well, she said, we have more important things to think about.

Leonard could think of none.

Marry me, he said.

Don't be silly, she said. So what's this?

Leonard wanted to say, Your entrancing face, because that was all he could see, but Sally was pointing at the no-longer-white wall, where Felix and he had drawn pictures. Or rather, where Felix had drawn pictures—exuberant drawings of devilish monsters and eerie landscapes—while Leonard, to keep Felix company, had confined himself to a small corner behind his screen, where he drew geometric representations of the Pythagorean theorem:

He'd not had much of a chance to examine Felix's drawings, which were vivid and engaging. The ugly guy over there, now that he thought about it, had to be the demon Kafkaphony with his two wives, because the two women were fighting with drawn swords—and there, in separate sandboxes, were leprous babies and babes with two heads. And that guy, standing over by the goats that looked like people, had to be Kafsephony, surrounded by infants who jumped about the ether.

Hey, Sally said, standing and looking more intently at the demon pictures, is that what I think it is?