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Authors: Derryl Murphy
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that hold some sort of coincidence, artefacts connected
with that coincidence can be of great aid to numerates. Mojo.”
She nodded,
staring straight ahead.
“So Apollo 13
was loaded with mojo. The rocket blasted off on the 13th of the month, and it
did so at 1313 hours. Coincidences like that create a rush of numbers that push
their way in, forcing out the bland, everyday numbers that make up the fabric
of life. When they do that, there’s a dynamic that’s created, one that
numerates can use to their benefit.”
“But I thought
the number thirteen was supposed to be unlucky.”
Dom shrugged.
“I’m sure for some people it is. But how unlucky was it for Lovell, Swigert and
Haise?”
“Who?”
“The astronauts
on that ill-fated flight to the Moon,” answered Billy.
“Oh.”
“The three of
them survived the disaster,” continued Dom. “There was no way they should have
made it back, but they did, and the sheer genius that they used to figure their
way out of such a mess just added to the mojo. Numbers would have been flying
in all directions during the time they were trying to fix things and map their
corrections, burrowing into the wires and panels and diodes and everything else
on board that capsule. So it stands to reason that artefacts from on board
should be even stronger than normal, what with the synchronicity of the numbers
on liftoff and the addition of all those numbers that saved their lives.” They
were finally leaving the city and heading north. Dom accelerated to a shade
past the speed limit and then turned on the cruise control. “But all of the
numbers were put to use to save the day, not to attack, not to take anything
away from someone else, and not for personal gain, unless you count living to
see another day as personal gain. And so the numbers in these wires,” he waved
his hand again, “are burrowing into us in order to protect us from trouble
coming from the outside. They survived the onslaught of an explosion in the
vacuum of space, they’re going to help us survive the onslaught of this woman
and her shadow who think they can get to us.”
Jenna rubbed at
her wrist. A quick glance over told Dom that the blood was gone and that the
hole he had pricked in her skin couldn’t be seen. She leaned back and closed
her eyes, and Dom turned his attention to the road ahead.
8
The ride was
long but peaceful, and after a few hours Dom began to relax again. They stopped
twice for gas, once more for another toilet break, and any food they ate was
takeout, greasy burgers or day-old sandwiches in the car, Dom washing them down
with Coke, looking for the caffeine to help keep him sharp. He kept Coltrane
playing in the background, and after an attempt to talk more about numbers was
rebuffed by Jenna—“Right now I don’t want to think about that stuff”—they made
small talk, mostly about where they’d grown up, what school had been like, her
job, and their favourite sports teams, hers being the Denver Broncos and Dom’s
the Boston Red Sox, while Billy professed to not liking sports very much at
all.
It was summer,
and the days were still long, so after about eight hours, when they finally
pulled up to the border, the sun was still fairly high. Jenna had been driving
since the last stop, and after she parked the car at the end of the fairly
lengthy line of vehicles waiting to cross over, they got out and stretched for
a few minutes, standing on the pavement and trying to enjoy the fresh air
riding somewhere underneath the fumes from all the running engines. When the
line moved again they traded places, Dom back in the driver’s seat, and this
time they stayed in the car, inching forward every couple of minutes, the only
scenery a few weathered buildings that mostly belonged to small-time customs
brokers, and beyond those miles and miles of empty farmland on both sides of
the border.
After a little
more than forty-five minutes, they were at the border station showing their
with that coincidence can be of great aid to numerates. Mojo.”
She nodded,
staring straight ahead.
“So Apollo 13
was loaded with mojo. The rocket blasted off on the 13th of the month, and it
did so at 1313 hours. Coincidences like that create a rush of numbers that push
their way in, forcing out the bland, everyday numbers that make up the fabric
of life. When they do that, there’s a dynamic that’s created, one that
numerates can use to their benefit.”
“But I thought
the number thirteen was supposed to be unlucky.”
Dom shrugged.
“I’m sure for some people it is. But how unlucky was it for Lovell, Swigert and
Haise?”
“Who?”
“The astronauts
on that ill-fated flight to the Moon,” answered Billy.
“Oh.”
“The three of
them survived the disaster,” continued Dom. “There was no way they should have
made it back, but they did, and the sheer genius that they used to figure their
way out of such a mess just added to the mojo. Numbers would have been flying
in all directions during the time they were trying to fix things and map their
corrections, burrowing into the wires and panels and diodes and everything else
on board that capsule. So it stands to reason that artefacts from on board
should be even stronger than normal, what with the synchronicity of the numbers
on liftoff and the addition of all those numbers that saved their lives.” They
were finally leaving the city and heading north. Dom accelerated to a shade
past the speed limit and then turned on the cruise control. “But all of the
numbers were put to use to save the day, not to attack, not to take anything
away from someone else, and not for personal gain, unless you count living to
see another day as personal gain. And so the numbers in these wires,” he waved
his hand again, “are burrowing into us in order to protect us from trouble
coming from the outside. They survived the onslaught of an explosion in the
vacuum of space, they’re going to help us survive the onslaught of this woman
and her shadow who think they can get to us.”
Jenna rubbed at
her wrist. A quick glance over told Dom that the blood was gone and that the
hole he had pricked in her skin couldn’t be seen. She leaned back and closed
her eyes, and Dom turned his attention to the road ahead.
8
The ride was
long but peaceful, and after a few hours Dom began to relax again. They stopped
twice for gas, once more for another toilet break, and any food they ate was
takeout, greasy burgers or day-old sandwiches in the car, Dom washing them down
with Coke, looking for the caffeine to help keep him sharp. He kept Coltrane
playing in the background, and after an attempt to talk more about numbers was
rebuffed by Jenna—“Right now I don’t want to think about that stuff”—they made
small talk, mostly about where they’d grown up, what school had been like, her
job, and their favourite sports teams, hers being the Denver Broncos and Dom’s
the Boston Red Sox, while Billy professed to not liking sports very much at
all.
It was summer,
and the days were still long, so after about eight hours, when they finally
pulled up to the border, the sun was still fairly high. Jenna had been driving
since the last stop, and after she parked the car at the end of the fairly
lengthy line of vehicles waiting to cross over, they got out and stretched for
a few minutes, standing on the pavement and trying to enjoy the fresh air
riding somewhere underneath the fumes from all the running engines. When the
line moved again they traded places, Dom back in the driver’s seat, and this
time they stayed in the car, inching forward every couple of minutes, the only
scenery a few weathered buildings that mostly belonged to small-time customs
brokers, and beyond those miles and miles of empty farmland on both sides of
the border.
After a little
more than forty-five minutes, they were at the border station showing their
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