This is the second of four installments of a short story written under one of my pen names.
"Numbers Game," by Duncan Cary Palmer, is my original work,
and was first published in a Science Fiction anthology of the Houston Writer's Guild, "Tides of Possibility," available from Amazon.
You can find the first installment of this story here:
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 1
I sincerely hope you'll enjoy the story!
Take A Number; It's a Statistical World...(source)
For the moment, the world seems to have returned to normal.
I arrive at 307 Marshall where she lives, and as I pull into Susie's apartment lot, someone waves to me from a departing car. It's Susie's mom, pulling away, her dad driving. As they've always been a close-knit family, I don't think too much of it until I park and walk around the corner toward her apartment. I just about run into Jamie, Susie's best girlfriend, heading the other way.
“Hey Jamie. You won't believe what's been going on this morning.”
Looking at me queerly, Jamie says “Did you arrange this? Susie's going to be really unhappy with you.” and, passing me by, walks away without another word. Mystified, I turn and watch her go, only to see two others walking out Susie's door. Her sister Joy and another friend, Chloe.
I'm struggling to suppress growing consternation. “Did Suze throw a party and not invite me?”
“No, Jon,” Joy responds with an easy smile. “Haven't seen Susie for a few days. I just felt like dropping by this morning.”
“I came to return a book I borrowed” adds Chloe.
They both continue to their cars as I reach the door and ring the bell.
Moments later, the door begins to open.
Before I even see her, Susie says “Grand Central Station, this is the conductor speaking.”
Grabbing her in a quick hug, I plant a kiss on Susie's cheek. “What's going on, Babe?”
“Well, for starters, my phone's been ringing off the hook. Mom and dad were here for half an hour this morning. You must have seen Chloe and Joy leaving, right? Brad, the brother I never see, was here fifteen minutes ago to tell me he's missed me. The newspaper boy came by to collect. Five sets of Girl Scouts were here selling cookies. A cop from the precinct charity drive stopped to ask for a donation. The super came and fixed the leaky faucet I've been complaining about for three months, Pastor Dave dropped in to see how I've been doing, and three neighbors popped in, one to borrow a cup of sugar, one to return a movie, and the other to pass along the latest gossip. I don't think I've had this many visitors since I moved into this place last year.”
“Well, I'm here to take you away from all of this,” I smile, trying to put a good face on it, “so, what do you say to brunch and a movie?”
“Sounds good, my absentee friend.” Oh oh. How much trouble am I in? “I've missed you this week.” Whew, a ray of hope. “Hang on, let me grab a jacket.” Yes! She forgives me!
As Suze locks the door, I look at the sidewalk where – I kid you not – a firefighter, two Boy Scouts, and someone who might be a census taker, an insurance salesman, or an IRS agent, are moving our way, followed by two young men in white shirts with briefcases. Grabbing her hand, I pull Susie in the opposite direction, towards where I'm parked. “Not a minute too soon” I say as we round the corner to the parking lot.
I'm reminded of an old engineering joke: “Time is God's way of keeping everything from happening at once.” What in blue blazes is going on today?
We get into my car and turn down Marshall. “Anything sound good for brunch?”
“Something quiet, out of the way, and uncrowded.” she replies. After musing for a couple of seconds, she asks:
“What in Heaven's name is happening today?”
“Exactly what I was wondering. I wish I knew.” I proceed to describe my unaccountable morning so far. “It's almost as if all the mathematical laws of averages and statistics are out the window.”
Hearing this, Susie gets a far away look in her eye. I know better than to say anything, and so I drive on, waiting her out. You see, my sweet Suze is a very special girl, and I'm not just saying that – even though I clearly am prejudiced. Susie is one of the extremely few who garnered perfect scores on the math SATs. She was an honor student all through High School, and graduated Magna Cum Laude from Carnegie Mellon University Mathematics Department on a full scholarship. It's no exaggeration to say that my Susie is a mathematical genius. An analyst for a multinational insurance giant, she also makes a lot more than I do as an engineer. The big mystery is that she even bothers with me.
Maybe it's that we both enjoy Sci-Fi? We did have a blast last year, dressing up as Firefly's Mal and Anara for ComiCon...
It takes a few minutes, but Sweet Sue finally responds: “Jon, you may be closer to the truth than you know.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, you're probably not entirely wrong, although in this case 'probably' is a bit of a pun.” I catch her trying to suppress a smirk. “But, before I set you straight, we really need to decide where to eat; I'm starved.”
“OK, why not Marie's?”
“Fine with me” she says, and I move into the left lane, preparing to turn on I-10 North. Marie Callender's is a few miles up from here. “So, go on. Tell me more.”
“Well, as you know” she goes on – giving me the definitely undeserved benefit of the doubt – “statistics and probabilities are just that – probable, but not at all certain. There is really nothing in the nature of reality to keep events distributed in anything like 'normal' bell curves.”
“Explain, please.”
“If I have a random sequence of ones and zeros, a string of, say, one hundred zeros, or for that matter, any number of ones or zeros is completely possible and cannot be said to be 'non-random'. Probability does not prima-facie exclude any possible sequence of events, no matter how unlikely it may seem.”
As I digest this disconcerting bit of information, I have a fantastic vision of random heat vibrations of the molecules in my eyeglasses suddenly synchronizing, and my glasses flying off the bridge of my nose. I emerge from that daydream when I notice a traffic jam forming at the intersection up ahead. Lines of cars from both sides are trying to turn onto the 10 the same way we're going. I hear the sound of horns, not all drivers as ultimately patient as I happen to be. Looking up, I see a local news 'copter passing over, so I turn on the radio.
“This is Commuter Eye. Good morning, San Antonio, it's a beautiful Saturday morning up here in the sky, and we want you to be aware of a few traffic alerts. There's unusual and very severe congestion at the junction of I-10 and I-410. North and southbound traffic from the 10 seems to all be turning west onto the Connally Loop, and all traffic on the loop is converging on the Callaghan Road exit.”
"Commuter Eye" Over San Antonio (source)
My eyes widen and I turn, looking directly into Susie's. “You know what's at the Callaghan exit, right?”
“Marie's.”
“Yep.”
I shut up and go back to listening to the traffic report:
“... strangest traffic patterns I've ever seen in my twenty five years of broadcasting. The other bottleneck seems to be at Walzem and the 35 / 410 North and South. What the Sam Houston is going on here, Chip?”
“I have no idea, Ned. Our phone lines are jammed, and lots of callers are complaining that they've had more trouble getting through than ever before.”
You can probably guess what's near the Walzem exit.
Hearing the traffic report, Susie suggests that we get off the freeway at West Woodlawn, turn around, and head the other way in the nearly empty southbound lanes.
To Be Continued....
Links to all installments of the story:
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 1
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 2
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 3
"Numbers Game" by Duncan Cary Palmer - Part 4
*FIN*
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