They went to a sleazy gaming center known to be the hangout of borderline-criminal types. Now Provos’ future-memory became invaluable. Colene, knowing that the type of information she wanted was too complicated to research in the local library, had decided to make a deal with Slick. Slick was a chance acquaintance she thought could help. Chance acquaintance was a good description: it was chancy to deal with him. He was called Slick because he cut throats for a living, slick as a razor. A dangerous man—but she believed he would treat her fairly. Maybe her intuition was foolish, but there had been something about him, the way he had treated her, that suggested that there was decency in him as well as murder.
They walked through the center. This was morning, and there were few gamers there. But there were some. Colene made ready to approach the first one she saw.
Provos held her back. For once the woman’s composure was frayed; something truly bad would come of that introduction.
Colene bypassed that one and approached the next. Again Provos held her back. But the third one was acceptable.
This was a burly man who looked as if he would like to chop up young girls for breakfast. But his expression changed when he heard the name. “Slick? Yeah, I know him.”
“Will you tell him Colene wants to deal?” she asked.
The man glanced at Provos. “You and who else?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The man nodded. This type of answer was acceptable, in this type of company. “Wait.” He went to a pay phone and dialed a number.
He returned, impressed. “He’s on his way. He says to take good care of you. Come on.”
Colene glanced at Provos. Provos was already nodding. So they went with the man. Apparently Slick’s word counted.
The man bought them milkshakes. This was one more novel experience for Provos, though she seemed to like hers well enough. “It’s maybe not my business,” the man said gruffly. “But there’s a story about a little girl, real cute, went with five men about a month back, and when they came out, not one would say what happened, but she’d never been touched and they said she showed ‘em something they’d never seen before.”
“I’m the one,” Colene agreed. Real cute? She liked that.
“Listen, I said it’s not my business, but—” He shrugged, evidently quite curious. “Those guys must’ve seen everything about any woman who ever opened her—uh, whatever. So how…?”
“I challenged one to a duel,” Colene said, enjoying this. “One on one, with knives. I won.”
He nodded. “I guess you did. But you know—well, those guys were good with knives. So—”
“It was a bleeding contest. I cut my arm with Slick’s razor and let it bleed into a bucket. All the other guy had to do was cut himself and outbleed me. But he forfeited. I guess he had a generous nature.”
The man stared at her. Then he shook his head, not saying more.
In due course Slick arrived. He was a dark man of average height, undistinguished, but the others in the center knew him and turned away. He didn’t say a word; he handed a bill to the other man, who departed. Such was the oblique communication between criminals: never a paper trail, hardly even a verbal trail. Just tacit understandings.
Provos stood and walked to Slick. She hugged him. The man’s mouth fell open. So did Colene’s. What did Provos remember?
Then the woman released the man and returned to her seat. Slick shook off his confusion and took the vacated chair. Perhaps he assumed that Provos was trying to make it look like a family meeting instead of business.
He looked at Colene. “You sure, girl?” he asked. Again, no actual statement; they knew they weren’t here for tiddlywinks.
“I have to have help,” Colene said evenly. “It’s nothing illegal, it’s just that I don’t have much time and it’s sort of technical. Something I have to find out, that maybe a math prof would know. I hope that you know how to get legal things done too.”
Slick smiled. He seemed relieved, oddly. “Let’s go where we can talk.”
He drove them to a surprisingly nice country house. Colene reminded herself that one thing that successful criminals had was money. Slicing throats must pay very well. The funny thing was that Colene sort of liked the man, maybe because she knew something about slicing flesh and making blood flow. She had scratched her wrists rather than cutting throats, but the principle was similar. She had the feeling that Slick liked her too, maybe for the same reason.
Was she fooling herself? She didn’t think so, because she was learning to read minds, and even when she couldn’t get the words, she got the emotion. The longer she was with this man, the more her conviction grew: not only did he like her, there was something he wanted from her, and it wasn’t sex.
“Your friend,” Slick said as they sat in easy chairs. “She knows me from somewhere?”
Provos was already moving purposefully to a wall.
“She’s from another world,” Colene said. “She remembers the future. She doesn’t speak our language, but if you signal what you want to know, like maybe a test question, she can show you.”
He turned to look at Provos. She put her hands to a framed picture, and pushed it aside to reveal a wall safe behind.
“I was going to ask—” he said, staring.
“Where the safe was,” Colene finished. “You open it later in this session, right? While we’re here? She remembers. Take my word, Slick—she has nothing to do with this world, and we hope to leave it tomorrow. You can trust her because she’ll be gone.”
“You’re into heavy stuff,” he said.
Provos set the picture straight and went to a chair, where she gazed benevolently at Slick. This made him nervous, though he tried not to show it. Colene was an old hand at reading nervousness.
“Look, you don’t have to believe me,” Colene said. “I’ve been traveling in other worlds—other realities—and I’m not crazy. My man is trapped on one of those worlds. It’s fractal. I need someone who knows how to name the parts of the Mandelbrot set. That’s a mathematical construction.”
“Let me check,” Slick said. “A math prof, you said?” He fetched a cellular phone.
“I think. He’s got to know all about the Mandelbrot set, and Julia sets, fractals, that sort of stuff, and be able to explain it to me. And he’s got to be right. No guessing.”
Slick placed a call. “Give me the prof,” he said. “No, no name, sister. Just get him.” There was a pause. Then: “You know who. I got a deal. You know the Manbrot—right, Mandelbrot—you can tell all about it? You can explain it to a teenager? Yeah, she’s smart. Naming the parts? Okay, you satisfy her, and it’s paid. Tomorrow. Day after?” Slick glanced at Colene, who nodded. “Okay. Day after. No, no catch; it’s just something I want. I’ll bring her to you. Noon.” He ended the call.
“Just like that, a math prof?” Colene asked, impressed.
“He owes the syndicate. A lot of good citizens do. I’ll have them cancel the balance. It’s a good deal, for him.”
“And what’s the deal for me?” Colene asked, knowing that there would be a real price to pay, and that she would have to pay it. Slick might like her, but this was business.
“Good deal for you too. She’s in the same city as the prof. Sis works for the university there.” He turned a hard glance on her, and Colene felt a trill of fear. Slick was being nice, but he was a killer. “First, you don’t tell anybody.”
Colene ran her finger across her own throat. No talking. “Who’s ‘she’?”
“Second, you really have to try.”
“Sure I’ll try. But what? I don’t want to get into—”