“It’ll be another twenty minutes, ma’am,” said the constable.

“Thank you,” Melody replied.

Her stomach twinged. It was her fault. She could have waited. No. That wasn’t it.

She stepped back towards the shadowy corner where her protector waited. Even when he wasn’t trying to hide, he was difficult to see.

“I know you’re getting paid,” she said, “but I appreciate your protection.”

Even as she spoke to Sam, a pair of men in conspicuously professional clothing walked by. They were far too muscular to be economic analysts, as their clothing and briefcases suggested they were. And they looked at her, both of them, letting their glances linger long enough to send a message.

“I’m happy to help,” said Sam. “You know, Ms. Omri, there’s more effective ways of doing this job.”

“I think the General wants you to be a deterrent, not an assassin.”

“Still, if you want me to be more proactive, just give the word.”

She felt a chill run down her spine, but felt comforted as well. That is, until she was told that Oak had been secured.

“There were some analysts using the room,” explained the constable. “But all reservations have been cancelled.”

She nodded, then entered after standing in the doorway for a moment. The room felt cold.

A pair of interns, boys in their twenties, had come to set up a table, some chairs, and a supply of food. As they came in and out, setting up her things, she caught glimpses of the Constable directing the workers cordoning off the door.

“You gonna stay in here with me, Sam”

He nodded from his chair in the corner.

She smiled, then felt nervous when she saw him turn his head to the opposite corner. She followed his gaze, but there was nothing there.

“What is it?”

He shrugged.

Oak was a large room with abundant shadows along its edges. For being as bare as it was, it never felt empty. Melody had always attributed that to Eno’s presence, but Sam seemed to have a different suspicion. Maybe he was just being paranoid. She sighed, hoping for her fear to leave with her breath. When the interns had finished their work and left, she began, sitting at the table and opening her briefcase. She took out three daa pads and a holo emitter, booted the pads, then activated her root program and watched.

Each pad loaded an instance of the pattern at an alternating time. The effect was a three-dimensional projection that rotated in three portions.

“You never ask about my work,” she said. She looked over her shoulder.

Sam’s eyes blinked horizontally. “You never ask about mine.”

She nodded, then looked at her image. It was likely going to take a long time, so she rotated her chair so she could glance easily between her image and her protector.

“The General tells me your work makes you an outcast. That can’t be easy.”

“I hate my people.”

“Ah. Do you hate your culture? Or are just introverted?”

“Both.”

“Huh. I can relate, a little. I don’t hate everyone, but I do hate a lot of people.”

Sam leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Why do you hate them?”

Her reply was instant. “They’re idiots. They don’t think. They eat, shit, sleep, piss, screw, waste their time with superficial entertainment... Other than performing functions necessary to a society or operating Albion’s manned systems, they contribute nothing. I try to engage with people, but they have nothing to say.”

“This number, your Intelligence Quotient, is that what makes you feel detached from your general public?”

She shrugged. “I never pay attention to IQ scores. What matters is how people direct their minds. Mine is pretty high, but that just means I think quickly. So why do you hate your people?”

“Because they aren’t idiots. Every damn one of us is brilliant.”

The glow of the holo image flickered. She took a quick peak at it, but the patterns were still spinning against each other. “Your world sounds wonderful to me.”

“My people were the most competitive mess of egomaniacs this galaxy has ever known. That caused seven world wars and left a fraction of the population alive to rebuild. Now, without war as an outlet, our aggressive individuals commit heinous crimes, and our common public is too moral to condone the actions necessary to control those criminals.”

Melody raised a brow. “My people act like that too, towards lots of things.”

“But they’re idiots. They have an excuse.”

She couldn’t argue that. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“I’ve never been married.”

“Ha! Same here. But I wasn’t gonna ask that. To be honest, I figured. I was gonna ask ifd... you mentioned the agrissive members of your society. Well, would you say you’re one of those people?”

“Most assuredly. And my ‘IQ’ is one of the highest on record, so I can dominate our criminals, and I find that act very satisfying. But...” He looked towards the floor, ashamed.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“I could be the worst of all my people, and no one could ever bring me down. But I chose to be a protector. So I can only view my people with disgust.”

“I understand, and I’m sorry.”

He nodded towards her table. “Tell me about your work.”

“Well,” she said, turning to look at the rotating images, “there’s a geometry to causality. I’ve been analyzing this quantum wave obsessively, using every instance of it I find to provide context. My theory, which I’m testing now, is that it can be added to itself to form an absolute expression.”

“I may be clever, but this is not my field.”

“Double helix DNA contains all the information needed for any form of life on a given world. Triple helix the whole galaxy. I believe this pattern is a piece of something similar. If I’m right, the program I’m running will eventually lock these three images into place, and then I’ll know the true shape of the wave.”

“The geometry of causality?”

The light of the images cast a flickering glare that reflected in Melody Omri’s eyes. “We’ll see.”

“And why run this program here?”

Her stomach tightened. “If you weren’t as intelligent as you are, I would have simplified my answer to your question so much that the meaning would have been lost. But hearing you discuss the sociology of your world showed me you could understand the basic concept at least.”

“So you want to show Eno what you can understand, hoping that she’ll tell you more.”

“Yes.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, and they were silent for some time. Melody eventually moved her chair to sit beside Sam and they shared some snacks. His people digested different proteins in different ways, so sharing was out of the question, and they had to try to describe the flavors of their food to each other. When they found it difficult to stay awake, she opened the door and asked for a pair of cots to be brought in. She was cresting a ten-foot swell when Eno called her name, reaching from the clouds with hands like phosphorous milk to scoop her up out of the spray. The wave held still in triplicate form, matched so perfectly it seemed one.

“Mother?”

Of Briah. No.

“Then of what? Of Albion?”

Of tomorrow.

“What are you?”

I am hope.

“Whose hope?”

The hope of those who wish to live.

“Is that a threat? You seem dangerous.”

I am. But I do not make threats.

“Will you help us then?”

I will pursue my goal.

“Will you share that goal with us?”

I have already.

She saw the General in the clouds, Eno’s eyes duplicating across the sky and wrapping around him in a spherical blanket. The General’s eyes were closed. Eno whispered to him softly, calling him awake with a piercing scream. His eyes bled light and he grew horns, then fangs, and beaming fire from his lids came Solomon and the others behind him all breathing lances of pure light. Then the ocean hissed and was gone, left by the innards of a singularity where tesseracts learn their purpose in life. In that empty space a single eye opened in the center of a hideous brow, and a beast of surpassing size spread three wings, covering his nakedness with his other three.

Here is what I have to show you. Do you understand?

“No.”

Good.

Eight spheres wheeled around a ninth, and the beast clutched at the center orb, but Eno stopped him with her embrace. My brother, she whispered.

She woke after a very restful sleep. Sam was sitting in his chair, and she heard the sounds of people eating and conversing. She was awfully hungry, so she sat up. She saw no one but Sam and Solomon, though morsels of food hovered in the air until they were consumed by invisible mouths.

“Mr. Solomon,” she said. She had no mirror, but she tried to straighten her hair, guessing at its shape. She then stood, straightened her skirt, and put on her lab coat. She looked at her table. The images were still rotating.