The Speculist

"Da," she answered softly.

She thought of the life she led before the loss of her parents. It seemed so remote now. Her childhood. Simple and calm and quiet. She suspected that she remembered it happier than it really was. Her father was a good man, but he succumbed in the end to his weakness for vodka. Her mother loved her dearly, but she was so tired and lost without her husband. She was gone within a year of his passing.

With her parents gone, Ksenia was left alone with her brother. Thus began a new life, which came just as the world — or at least their part of it — truly was changing. It made no difference that they had nothing. Pavel was a dreamer; the world seemed to open up before him, offering things neither of them had ever dreamed of. His job at the Mezh was just the beginning, for both of them. She would go back to the university. He would become some kind of tycoon. Anything was possible.

And then Pasha, too, was gone. But the world they shared had ended first. Even before that night of horror when her brother was taken from her for all time, Ksenia's life had been transformed. By a stranger.

Her memories of Reuben were distinct from any other. Such a short time — only a few weeks, really. Yet it was the most exhilarating time of all. The day she met him was indeed the end of one world and the beginning of another. Although she would not have guessed that at the time. He was hardly the first man at the Fortuna to try to strike up a conversation (or initiate some other form of contact). But he was the first who seemed truly interested in talking to her. There was something endearing about his persistence and his absolute ineptitude with the Russian language. It was only her learning English that allowed them to communicate. But there was more than just his clumsy charm. He was different from any man she had ever met. When he looked at her, it was as though he saw someone else. Someone important. Someone that nobody would have even guessed was there. And Ksenia found that she had no greater longing than to be that person. Every day was exciting with the anticipation of seeing him, of talking to him. And the days she didn't see him, she thought about him. And little else.

The whole thing flew in the face of all her plans, not to mention common sense. She had seen other girls at the hotel get mixed up with foreigners. It rarely ended well. But she couldn't help herself.

She was foolishly, gloriously in love.

She lost Reuben the same day she lost Pasha, only to get him back for — what was it, a day? Two days? In all it was a matter of hours. Then he was gone.

And then came the longest time of all, and the briefest — these years with Ivor and with the Keyes. The birth of her son, and every wondrous day with him. It was a time of great joy and deepening sadness. The slow, final certainty that Reuben would never return. Her own haunted dreams. And that night when Betty's long struggle finally came to an end.

She turned and looked at Michael Keyes. Still the same as ever. Strong and proud and robust. But so much older now, and unable to shrug off a perpetual shadow of weariness from his face.

"Da," she said again. "Yes. The world that we know passes away. Always."

"That it does," said Keyes, looking around the room where he had spent so much time with his wife. He looked back up at Ksenia and cleared his throat.

"But not like this," he continued, his voice stronger. "Things are passing away that never have before. Things like order and reason. I don't mean that people are losing these things. That's no big news. Most people have little use for them anyway. I mean the world itself…

"All my life, I've believed that anything is possible. Somehow, somewhere, anything that we could imagine really could take place."

Sergei nodded.

"Yes, my friend. That is what drives you to do things other men only dream to do."

Keyes sighed and shook his head.

"That isn't what I'm getting at. I don't mean I thought it was possible to close deals and pile up money. Obviously, I did think it was possible to do those things. But it never seemed that hard to me."

He shook his head again, exasperated.

"No, that's not right, either. It was damn hard work most of the way there. I loved it, but it was hard. Still is. But I always believed that…other things were possible."

"Of course, Michael," said Sergei. He smiled at his old friend. "You have always had your fairies and your ghosts, da? And your — how do they say it in US — little green men? You have believed in more than even Soviet government could believe. You believe in more than faithful Pravda reader could believe."

Keyes plopped back down in the chair. His change in expression was subtly perceptible around the eyes and the corners of his mouth.

"Haven't I told you never to agree with me?" he asked.

Sergei shook his head.

"In all the years I have known you, you have never issued such instruction to me."

"Maybe not," said Keyes. "But consider it issued now. You are never to agree with me again. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"That's settled, then."

"No. It is not."

Ksenia laughed, but she couldn't entirely suppress her growing unease and impatience. It was no easy thing, trying to have a serious conversation with these two men.

"Please to continue, Mr. Keyes," she said. "Can you tell me what possibilities you are talking about?"

"You've heard of them, Ksenia. The anomalies."

Ksenia sighed and rolled her eyes. The papers had been full of these stories for years now. First there were reports of strange creatures being found in fishing nets and washing up on beaches. These were followed by the sighting and eventual capture of bizarre animals and birds. Then came reports of new kinds of people — some mysterious and otherworldly, others freakish and monstrous. Peppered in with these stories were tales of strange artifacts, amazing coincidences, gruesome deaths. It seemed to Ksenia that people were now capable of believing anything. Anything was plausible, no matter how outrageous, if labeled an "anomaly."

"Yes, I have heard," she said. "Strange animals. Strange people. Lights in the sky. Such stories have always been told. I do not take them seriously."

"No, of course not," Sergei agreed. "Most people do not. Forgive me, Michael, but it is so."

Keyes nodded.

"Don't you think I know that? The thing is Ksenia, maybe all along you were right not to take those kinds of stories seriously. And maybe I was wrong to take them seriously. But things have changed. Significantly."

"How have they changed? What has changed?"

"I don't blame you for being skeptical," said Keyes. "That is the rational response, after all. And a lot of what gets reported in the papers and on TV — especially here in Russia — is bogus. The few genuine anomalies have caused a kind of hysteria. Now people are seeing them everywhere. In everything. And there are hoaxes on top of it."

"Da," said Sergei. "Many hoaxes. In fact, hoaxes and hysteria are much, much more common than true anomalies."

"True anomalies," Ksenia repeated. "Sergei Petrovich, do you mean to say that you believe that such things are real?"

"There is no question that they are real."

Ksenia stared at him, hard and unblinking. Her patience for foolishness had expired.

"So it is these real anomalies that will bring about the end of the world? This is the investigation that US government is carrying out, and to which they have given Mr. Keyes access?"

Sergei nodded.

Ksenia uttered a Russian curse under her breath.

"I see that you're not having any," said Keyes.

"Indeed I am not."

"Well then let me ask you something. This encounter with Markku - do you think it was real?"

"Yes. It was real. Certainly more real than any nonsense from the newspapers."

"Well, as Serge said, it's probably more true than most of the nonsense from the newspapers. But there are real stories, Ksenia. These things are real."

Ksenia could think of nothing to say in response.

"In fact," Keyes continued, "some of the strangest of these stories go completely unreported. Some of the most disturbing events have been completely covered up."

"Per haps not quite completely," said Sergei.

"Even so," Keyes agreed.

"What kinds of events?"

"Well…let's see…" said Keyes. "Do you remember hearing about that Italian airliner that went down a few months ago?"

"Yes. Of course."

"The Italian authorities have been very closed-mouthed about what caused the accident. But I've seen photos and I've read reports. There can be very little doubt that the plane collided with another jet."

Ksenia considered this.

"So that is very sad," she said. "But I fail to see what is so disturbing about it."

"Only that the plane appears to have collided in mid-air with an identical aircraft. Same make and model, same age. Same serial numbers on recovered parts."

"How can that be?" asked Ksenia.

"It can't. Alitalia didn't lose two aircraft that day, only one. None of the other airlines reported the loss of a plane that day, nor did any governments or charter companies. It's as though an airplane materialized out of thin air just to collide with the Italian plane."

Ksenia nodded.

"That is very strange," she said.

"It gets much stranger," said Sergei.

"It does indeed," said Keyes. "It isn't just the serial numbers of the parts. As near as can be determined, the two planes were carrying the exact same people."

Ksenia looked puzzled.

"You mean the same number of passengers?"

Keyes nodded.

"Yes, the same number. But more than that. The same people. Based on DNA tests, it appears that the same crew and passengers were on both planes. Dozens of identical sets of remains were found."

"The same people. On both planes?"

"Yes. In a sense, it may be a mistake to say there were two planes. It appears that the plane collided with itself."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know it doesn't, my dear. But that doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"There are many more examples of real phenomena," said Sergei. "It has been kept as quiet as possible, but did you know that almost all lotto games have been shut down? Worldwide. One man — a Colombian — was winning all of them. All of them. Odds of such a thing happening are…incalculably remote."

"And that's not all," said Keyes. "Our world has definitely been invaded by life forms from elsewhere. It isn't just the exotic fish or the giant beaked lizard or the man with gills. Bacteria, Viruses. People are dying in record numbers from diseases that didn't even exist a few years ago. Often as not, they die without anyone having a clear idea what killed them."

Ksenia stood back up.

"Do you mean to say…" she stopped and looked at Keyes for a long moment.

"Are you telling me that Mrs. Keyes…that Betty…was killed by these anomalies?"

Keyes looked away.

"Like I said, when it happens, nobody knows what killed them. But, yes, it appears that my wife was an early victim."

"So it is all real," said Ksenia.

"Yes," said Sergei. "Perhaps as real as what happened to you."

"That's why it's important that we talk about what happened. Markku's visit may be very significant."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you said that he offered you protection. The way things are going, that may be an offer worth considering."