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Wesley drummed his fingers on Don’s Mighty Mouse mousepad as the office’s outdated PC cogitated.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 some
one. 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.”
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,
“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 some
one. 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.”
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,
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