Chapter 19: Activation Deadlines
"Is everything ready?" asked Wicus, stepping into his office surveying the string of portals. Spotting his companion floating among them, his gaze locking onto hers momentarily before resuming their inventory. The room was now very crowded, he thought. Today’s going to be fun.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, thinking logically about what he needed to do. All of his plans were in order.
Dozens of portals with clear views of designated spots around the world cluttered the room. Plug had strategically opened them in accordance with the activation schedule. While all of the people were from Wicus' territory, souls under his care, not all of them were meeting their soul mates in the eastern section of North America.
He sighed with pleasure.
This was the normal kind of work that he craved. The day would not be fraught with the uncertainties of retrofitting. For the next few hours at least, he could abandon the inner monologue about whether his skills were good enough. This duty… he excelled at. Part of him felt a little guilty embracing the relief that this work offered, and yet he felt absurdly pleased that he would be able to allow his mind to relax.
A palpable vibrancy hung in the air. His eyes made another pass around the space. All was tidy on his desk. Nothing out of place on any of the shelves.
The next thirty-six hours were going to be full of excitement. Four hundred and sixty-four people were going to be matched with their primary soul mates.
Not retrofitted, these people were the unaltered kind born with the correct soul markers and hallmarks to be the perfect fit for their soul mate. Every person is born with a specific day, date and time, down to the second when they're scheduled to meet their soul mate. It’s known as an activation deadline.
The first time soul mates look into one another's eyes, that first kiss, that first caress, the first time each hears the sound of the other's voice, a voice they'd want to hear for the rest of their lives-- all of those moments created magic in the human world. Magic that helped advance the causes of humanity and made the human race forge ahead. It’s time to add more goodness, he thought.
The portals were necessary in case some of his carefully laid plans ran into trouble -- which usually didn't happen. If it did, he'd need to intercede. He was very organized and appreciated having a back-up plan.
Satisfied with the preparations, he paused for a moment in silent mediation.
It didn’t last that long.
Waxine zoomed around the office, her flames struggling to keep up with their invisible wicks. Plug pulled back just in time, dodging the side of an open portal as she maneuvered past it.
The corner of Wicus’ mouth lifted in the beginning of a smile. His own posture echoed her enthusiasm.
“Someone’s feeling super energized,” he observed wryly.
Her burnished eyes were dancing. The candelabra’s metallic lips pulled back in a grin. Waxine was responsible for keeping tabs on all of the activation deadlines -- for all the souls under Wicus' care.
Although he kept the same schedule in his brain. Not that he admitted that to her. More than once she’d accused him of doing that very thing. He thought it best not to provide any evidence to support her theory.
"I'm so happy," gushed Waxine, metallic countenance beaming. "I love busy days like this...we're ready."
Her eyes twinkled up at him. “Let’s hope nothing goes wrong.”
“I shouldn’t think my presence would be a threat to your organization skills,” he said with a measure of self-mockery.
Plug echoed her excitement by moving up to the space between the Luminary’s eyes and bobeches -- what would be the forehead on a human face and executed a three pronged salute. Electrical sergeant reporting for duty -- the gesture seemed to say.
Wicus chuckled at the power cord's comedic antics. His hands loose by his sides.
The low hum of a building event alarm sounded.
They gathered to the first portal.
In it, they saw a big-eyed teenager struggling to get into his band uniform. It was clearly too snug. From the incredulous look on his face it was plain that the teen believed he'd overindulged one too many times during the school break and now his jacket didn't want to button close.
Fingers pulling fiercely at the fabric, trying to get the two sides together. Really? Had he gained that much weight in two weeks? --his expression seemed to say.
His instrument was abandoned on the field in its open case. His back was turned to the other teams attending band camp. Several nearby students were playing trumpets. Their music adding to the general uproar of so many voices chatting in one place. He didn't realize that he'd stepped right into the path of a pretty blonde girl.
Not that she noticed.
Reading texts on her phone, she walked across the field to her team. Eyes glued to the screen, oblivious to all of the activity around her.
Her fair brow was creased with anxiety. Lips curled in a faint snarl in her mounting irritation. Smacking the device with the side of her hand. A clear sign of her frustration. “Why isn’t anybody answering?” she hissed in a tone barely audible above the noise of the practicing students. “Is this infernal device updating?”
Turning from the secret window, Wicus glanced at Waxine. "Good job with the uniform, I can't tell where you made the adjustments... Is her texting service about to crash?"
Waxine nodded. “I’ve halted the replies from her friends and her dad. She still has no idea that he’s coming to watch the show.”
The event alarm's volume increased until it was shrill.
All eyes returned to the portal.
The pretty blonde wasn't looking where she was going and ran right into the big-eyed teen. In the next moment both were on the field, their legs tangled up. Her phone was on the grass where it dropped as she fell. Both struggled to untangle themselves and sit upright amid a volley of small squeaks and startled shrieks.
"Oh…I'm so sorry, are you okay?" the girl apologized. Recognition registered on her face as she saw the emblem on his uniform. “You’re from our rival school across the Potomac River.”
The boy looked into her eyes, dumbfounded. “Um, yeah.” His fingers no longer yanking at his too small jacket. It was clear that his focus was on the girl in front of him.
She stared back as though nothing else mattered in the world except looking into the big-eyed teen’s hazel gaze.
Her dropped phone plainly forgotten. The device buzzing on the field a few inches away with all the magically delayed texts from her dad and friends.
In the hidden realm, the event alarm reached a beautiful crescendo and quickly died.
"Nicely done," praised Wicus. A smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Waxine beamed then confessed, "High school kids are pretty easy."
He moved to the next portal, expecting the event alarm to go off any second. It was already beginning to hum.
"Don't you want to watch what happens next?"
"As you well know, my job, ahem... our job," he corrected himself, "Is to make sure that they meet... Nothing more... That's the scope of our duties."
"What if something goes wrong?" a note of teasing was plain in her tone.
"Like what?"
"What if a tornado comes in the next ten seconds or something?"
Rolling his eyes at her hyperbole, he smiled broadly. For a candelabra, his companion had a remarkable imagination.
"You're being ridiculous Waxine. Even if one did, we can't change it ... We've done our duty...we can't take away their free will. It's up to them now...you know that."
His expression sobered.
The event alarm grew louder as they focused on the scene in the next portal.
In it, a 33-year-old divorced mother-of-two sat in a booth at the corner grill in Dayton, Ohio.
Her eyes kept flickering back to the front door. Overtly scrutinizing each person that walked in.
One hand was laying on the table, her fingers idly playing with the spoon beside her coffee cup.
A waitress walked up and smiled, “Refill, hon?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, please,” pushing her cup and saucer to the edge of the table under the spout of the waiting coffee pot.
She sighed.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked when she finished.
“Not unless you have a Xanax.”
The waitress blinked in confusion.
The woman smiled, “No, I’m kidding…Really…I’m just nervous. I-I-I finally agreed to meet this guy that I met online in-person. I hope that he’s not a creep.”
The waitress smiled in comprehension, nodding. “I understand completely…far too many of the men trolling on dating websites are weird.”
“Doesn’t stop me from trying,” the divorced mom confessed, shaking her head slightly. “I guess I’m too much of a hopeless romantic…but I want to spend my life with someone, I figure kissing a few frogs before meeting a prince is the price I’ll have to pay.”
“Ooh, having kissed my fair share…I know where you’re coming from,” the waitress agreed with a friendly grin. “If you need anything, just let me know.” She picked up the coffee pot and walked over to another table.
The diner’s door opened again.
A man with greasy hair walked in and up to the counter.
Puzzlement was clear on the divorced mom’s face as she looked at him. Tilting her head to the side, she tried to get a better view of his face. Openly staring. She blew a quick breath out of rounded lips and pulled her hands off the table. Twiddling her fingers together in her lap. The picture of nervous.
The tan, oval face at the counter looked around the restaurant. His gaze locked on the pretty woman staring at him from across the room.
He smiled.
The divorced mom smiled tentatively in return.
The man’s expression perked up with something like expectancy. Clearly he thought that this might be his lucky night. He hastily ran a grimy hand through his hair and approached her.
On the other side of the portal, the candelabra’s metallic gaze grew wide. "That's not her soul mate," cautioned Waxine.
"Yep...I'll take care of this."
Wicus carefully cloaked them both before he reduced the level of protection on the skim covering the portal, allowing his magic to pass though. Just a little adjustment should take care of this interloper, he mused.
In the diner, a busboy cleaning a table near the interloper at the counter suddenly picked up a gray plastic bin loaded with dirty dishes and stepped in his path.
The man side stepped him easily enough.
Stepping on something slick on the floor, the busboy wobbled dangerously and nearly fell. The man grabbed him and helped the busboy stand upright. Unfortunately the move wasn’t altogether graceful, the remnants of a glass of iced tea and what was left of a bowl of tomato soup got dumped on the front of the man's coveralls.
"I'm so sorry man," the busboy apologized. Pointing a finger over the edge of the heavy bin that both of his hands held tightly, he said, "The men's room is back there. Go clean yourself up....I'll make sure your meal is on the house."
Grunting, the man pushed past the busboy toward the men's room, carefully stepping over the debris on the floor. It was at the opposite end of the restaurant from the divorced mom.
From the booth, she spied on him as he walked away. A look of wariness now on her face. Frowning, she shook her head slowly as if responding to some inner thought. Clearly she doubted that he was her date. She pulled a compact out of her handbag and checked her makeup. Fishing a tissue out of her pocket, she wiped a flake of mascara off her cheek.
The woman was occupied with touching up her appearance and didn’t see the man walk up to the table until he was right beside her.
"Uh, excuse me, you're Jane right? You look totally like your picture... I'm Mark," the man introduced himself rather hurriedly and finished by giving her a huge smile. He made to offer his hand but hesitated. Fingers pulling back into the safety of his weathered palm.
Jane's eyes shifted from her reflection up to the man's face, "Hi, yes, I'm Jane." Several emotions shifting across her countenance. Confusion. Surprise. Awareness. Serenity. She stared at him abstractedly before remembering her manners and offered him a seat.
Accepting it, finally Mark offered his hand. Rather than shake hers when she extended it, he calmly held it and stared into her eyes.
By the time the man in the coveralls came out of the restroom, Mark and Jane were deeply engrossed in conversation. Sitting on the same side of the booth, their heads leaning together, each gazing into the other's eyes.
The man grimaced as if realizing that he’d be dining alone after all.
Back in Wicus’ office, he wore a satisfied smile.
“I think Jane’s days of kissing frogs are over,” commented Waxine. "Nice move with the busboy."
Plug turned away from the portal and nodded its appreciation too.
"Minor glitch....shall we continue?"
Plug turned toward the next match up, pulling Waxine to another portal which showed the Eiffel Tower in the background.
The event alarm began to hum.
A young man, about 25 years old, sat reading a book at an outdoor bistro table in Paris.
A young woman walked up and dropped her backpack on top of a nearby table. She pulled a guidebook and a map out, placing them both on the table before reaching inside again -- pulling at the edge of a scarf.
A gust of wind blew the map off the table.
She turned to pick it up.
The man leaned over grabbing it first, holding it out to her.
Their eyes met and held, obviously mesmerized in a lingering gaze. Her fingers grazed his hand as she reached for the map.
"Merci beaucoup," she said.
In Wicus’ residence the event alarm reached its peak.
And so the day went.
He spent the next several hours racing from one portal to the next, tinkering with the circumstances of each meeting as needed, closing portals whose matches were completed, opening new ones as new activation deadlines drew closer.
"You should eat something..." Waxine told Wicus, after yet another event alarm reached its zenith.
Distracted, he nodded, moving to another portal. Gazing intently, his stomach rumbled.
The Luminary quietly pulled away from the pairings.
Wicus’ mouth quirked wryly. He could handle things by himself, had done it for centuries without her. But there were times when he got so caught up in what he was doing that he forgot to eat. The fact the Waxine never lost sight of that meant he viewed her as indispensable.
In the blink of a metallic eyelash, she created a tray of scrumptious food and drink for him.
Plug carefully placed it on the table.
"Eat," she commanded, zooming forward to trade places.
Now that hundreds of soul matings had occurred there were fewer open portals in the room.
Plug enlarged the current one.
It showed the emergency room of a Pittsburgh hospital.
A man followed a nurse, clad in deep maroon-colored scrubs, into an exam room. His forearm was wrapped up in a bloody towel.
"I was grilling some steaks for the guys... I thought I had the lid propped up all the way... it fell over... sliced up my arm pretty bad," he explained.
"Can you get up on the bed okay?" the nurse asked, taking the railing off the side while stepping on a device on the floor which lowered its height.
He sat down gingerly, his weathered face wincing with the effort of moving his arm.
The nurse rolled a table over and placed his arm on the covered surface, carefully removing the towel in order to clean his wound. The cut was deep, penetrating several layers of flesh and still seeping. Before she was done cleaning it, a doctor walked in, her head
inclined, reading his chart.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Nichols…” she paused, looking at the cut. “That's a nasty laceration." Her eyes flashed up to the patient's face, clearly assessing him. “Your color’s good, you’re not going to faint, she said. Reaching over to pat him on the shoulder, reassuringly.
The doctor’s own pallor changed dramatically. A pink flush crept across her skin, her pupils enlarged slightly, involuntarily. Her mouth opened and closed again without her saying anything.
Watching the doctor’s reaction from his new vantage point, Wicus narrowed his gaze and popped another morsel of salmon into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully. He was testing the bounds with this match-up.
The doctor had a strict policy of not falling for patients. Yet her expression revealed that she was wrestling with the indefinable pull she clearly felt for this one. Her soul mate. Wicus hoped that she wouldn’t try to shake it.
He swallowed just as the patient began to speak.
"Hi, I'm Walter," the man offered.
She smiled at him.
"Nurse please set up a suture tray," said the doctor, apparently trying to sound as professional as possible, turning back to Walter, she said, "Let's get that stitched up for you."
Dr. Nichols blinked several times as if having a hard time focusing, especially with Walter smiling at her like that. There was such a genial expression on his face. It stayed there the entire time she stitched up his arm.
Back in the realm between reality and the tangible, Wicus finished eating.
Waxine pulled away from the portal, moving to the next one. Seeing the subject of it, she smiled. "I've been waiting for this one for quite some time," she admitted.
"Ah yes, Annie’s been a widow for many years now. But she's had a happy life, her first husband was her secondary," Wicus commented from his seat. He knew the details of this woman’s life well. The 63-year-old had originally met her primary soul mate when she was only fourteen, her family moved away soon after and they’d lost touch. She eventually married her secondary. They had two sons and eight grandchildren.
He wiped his mouth with the napkin, rose from the table and walked over to Waxine. He expanded this portal with his own magic.
The gray haired lady stood beside the bakery counter in the Stew Leonard's grocery store in Hamden, Connecticut. Numbered paper ticket in hand.
An old man standing farther down the counter was leaning over, peeking at the premade cakes on display. Faintly drooling over a German chocolate creation from the look of longing on his face.
He blinked, seeming to come out of his trance when the lady spoke-- as though his thoughts about decant desserts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the woman's voice.
"I'm here to pick up the birthday cake for my grandson, the name is Wallace," she told the teenage girl behind the counter. Putting the ticket on top of the surface for verification.
The old man abandoned the mouth-watering display, turned and studied her with open curiosity. After a few seconds he walked over.
"Excuse me, but are you Annie King?"
Mildly surprised, the lady chuckled softly.
"Nobody's called me that in decades...it’s Wallace now, my late husband Paul died almost 15 years ago..." Annie looked like she was about to say more, at that moment recognition kicked in and traveled across her now startled expression.
"Caleb? Caleb Morgan is that you?" Her voice became thick with emotion, "Oh my word..." is all she managed to choke out before she reached out to hug him.
His arms surrounded her.
Both were soon crying tears of joy.
Watching the reunion, Waxine sniffed appreciably as the noise of the event alarm died off.
So did Wicus.
The ever silent Plug shook its head side to side, clearly confounded.
Wicus inhaled mightily, running an index finger across the base of his nose. It’s unseemly for a Paragon to blubber, he chided himself. Napkin still in hand from earlier, he now used it to dab his eyes.
Waxine didn’t actually cry for all that her expression looked as if she were about to.
"We're a couple of big softies," Wicus acknowledged.
"Yes, but it's nice... they're finally back together. "
Plug looked puzzled.
“Plug hasn’t seen one of these before,” Waxine translated.
“Oh, okay,” Wicus sniffed again, comprehending the situation. Now fully in command of himself.
"If two soul mates meet and something happens... They don't fall in love...or something separates them...the activation deadline assesses the situation and in some cases resets. But it could be weeks, months or decades before they meet again. There is still magic, it’s released at the second meeting too," Wicus explained. “You saw it bubbling up-- just there.”
Plug nodded.
"The universe gives them a second chance at love," added Waxine.
For a life-form made of hollow metal, she could be remarkably sentimental, he mused.
The candelabra’s metallic gaze narrowed as her thoughts appeared to turn inward. Whatever her contemplation, it didn’t last long. She addressed Wicus with a speculative tone, “I hope that Emily Wren and her new soul mate form as easy an attachment as quickly as they did.”
Shifting his eyes from the screen to glance at her, Wicus said, “I hope they do too.”
First, he had to get the candidates finished, he mused, without making any more mistakes. Thinking that perhaps it was time to get back to work on that project.