The next morning Cabe and Semele strolled to her place with coffees and pastries from a nearby café in hand. As they walked, Semele watched all the pedestrians around her, on alert for the man at the library.
She looked over at Cabe. “Do you think a person can predict the future?”
Cabe considered the question. “Well, it seems impossible when you grant that reality is just a complex web of particles colliding with each other all the time.”
Semele snorted. “It was a yes-or-no question.”
“Then no. Life is based on the uncertainty principle. If we can’t even measure a particle’s velocity and position at the same time, how can we know where anything will be in the future?”
“Let’s pretend I haven’t seen every Star Trek episode like you. What about people who have premonitions that come true? How do you explain that?”
Cabe hesitated. “Okay. There are at least ten dimensions that we know of so far. Maybe psychics—I’m talking real ones—if they exist, have the ability to see an interdimensional spectrum of space-time that we can’t access.”
“Interdimensional space-time?” That didn’t help.
“The thing that’s always bothered me about the idea of seeing the future is that it negates free will. If the future is already set, what’s all this?” He motioned to the street. “Was it set in stone that I was going to eat this blueberry scone for breakfast, or could I have gotten a chocolate croissant?” He took a bite of the scone from the bag he was carrying. “Can we change the future, or does it unfold by cosmic design?”
“Quit spitting crumbs on me,” she said. “Those are all good questions. I don’t disagree, but then how do you explain the manuscript?”
For a second he looked stumped. “Is it really a prophecy?”
“Cabe, she knew about a city that hadn’t been created yet.”
The more Semele thought about it, the more mystified she became. Semele knew the history of Gundeshapur. The city had been a pivotal force in the ancient world and flourished for hundreds of years. When Justinian all but closed Plato’s academy in Athens, the Greek philosophers moved to Gundeshapur. So did the Nestorian Assyrians, when they were seeking refuge from religious persecution in the Byzantine Empire.
After the fall of the Roman Empire, so many of antiquity’s greatest works were lost. It was only because of cities like Gundeshapur that they survived at all. The Persians and their Arab inheritors studied Euclid, Pythagoras, Aristotle, Plato, and countless others before those writings found their way back to the West centuries later, heralding the dawn of the Renaissance. Semele had studied this path of knowledge; one only had to track the great libraries of the ancient world to do so. When one library perished, another was born, and the river of knowledge rushed to the new source. Her father had taught her that.
“I’ll give you a copy of the translation when I’m done.” She hooked her arm in Cabe’s and gave it a squeeze, suddenly not feeling so alone. “I’m going to need your help on this.”
“Abso-freaking-lutely.” He squeezed back.
* * *
When they arrived at Semele’s apartment, Cabe made a big show of looking around. First he threatened the closet before whipping the door open, shouting, “I’ve got Mace!” Then he addressed the shower curtain and the space under the bed too, trying to lighten the mood.
“All clear.”
“Thank you. That was amazing,” Semele said, teasing him.
“Seriously, you get scared, call me and I’ll come right over. And if you see that guy again—police.” He gave her a pointed look. “You really should tell Bren.”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. Bren would demand she stay at his place, and that was the last thing she needed.
After Cabe left she double-checked the lock on the door and pulled down the shades. There was enough coffee on hand and food in the freezer to last her until Monday. She didn’t plan to leave her apartment for the rest of the weekend.
She took a long shower and changed into her favorite old leggings and house sweater. She had just powered up her computer when the phone rang.
She let the answering machine pick up.
“Honey, it’s me.” Her mother’s voice filled the room. “We have to talk. Really. This has gone on long enough.”
Semele bit her lip, debating whether to pick up.
“Your father wouldn’t like this.…”
Semele let out a deep breath. This was the first time her mother had played the “your father” card.
“I really do need to talk to you … and tell you I’m sorry … so sorry. Can you come home for Thanksgiving?” Her mother’s voice trailed off. She was crying.
“Shit.” Semele swore under her breath and grabbed the phone. “Mom?”
But she had already hung up.
Semele almost rang back, her fingers lingering over the keys. She would call her before she left for Beijing. She would be out of the country for Thanksgiving, but maybe she would go home for Christmas. They could talk then. Her mother was right. Her father wouldn’t be happy. But he also wasn’t here anymore.