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  “Sorry,” she grumbled, slouching lower in her chair. “It just slipped out.”

  The girl next her giggled. Indigo glared at the freckled co-ed until she turned away. Professor Sakamoto stood up from his computer, walking down the aisle toward the two of them.

  “Anything I can help with?” he offered.

  Indigo nodded to the flashing box on the monitor.

  “The stupid scene won’t export.”

  The professor’s eyebrows rose above his thick glasses, blurry eyes confused.

  “It crashed again?”

  “Didn’t even get halfway through this time,” she answered. “Just hit ‘start queue’ and got an error.”

  Professor Sakamoto shooed her away from her computer, taking her chair and clicking through a variety of screens. Indigo waited in silence, hoping desperately that he’d have the magic touch as he so often did. This project worried her. Each student had to create a documentary on his or her life. The problem was, Indigo didn’t have any pictures of her childhood, and given the makeup of the class, she really didn’t feel like explaining why. Struggling with that revelation, she’d tackled the final scene – her life as a university student – first, using every image and video she had on her cell phone.

  With that single scene fighting her too, the urge to quit was overwhelming.

  “Hmm…” the prof muttered, closing the last of the pop-up boxes. “I’m not sure what it is.” He stood, walking briskly to his desk. “Give me a moment and I’ll get someone down here to look at it.”

  Indigo glanced at the clock. Break was in fifteen minutes. Unless this tech guy was faster than the last one had been, she was going to miss her coffee break.

  “Just fucking great,” she muttered. This time she made sure her words were low enough that only she heard them.

  : : : : : : : : :

  The call to the Tech Center came in just before one. Jude was at one station while Marq sat with his feet tossed up on the main call desk. Onscreen, images of soldiers staggered past. Marq’s face flickered blue and orange under the light of virtual explosions as the troops surrounded him.

  “Kinda busy here,” Marq grunted, “can you…” he paused, keys tapping in rapid staccato as he took out another two enemy fighters, “…get that call, man?”

  Jude grabbed the handset and lifted it to his ear.

  “Tech Department, Jude Alden speaking.”

  “Yes, hello,” came the reply. “This is Professor Sakamoto in the New Media Department.”

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Well, one of my students is having some trouble with a video export.”

  “Did the error have a number?” Jude asked dryly. He always found it funny how much of his job could be Googled for an answer.

  “No,” Sakamoto answered, “no error number. Just a failed export.” The voice faded for a moment and Jude heard the muffled sound of him calling out to someone in the room. “I have the student right here,” Professor Sakamoto continued. “If you could just talk her through the issue, I’ll give her the phone.”

  “Professor, just wait a—” Jude began, but he was too late. He grimaced, his eyes going to the poster on the wall: Bad planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.

  Students were the worst to deal with. Everything was drama with them, and they never followed his directions. He sighed as the phone changed hands, the sound of the classroom rising and then falling like rushing water.

  “Hey,” a woman’s terse voice announced. “So can you fix it?”

  “Maybe,” he said blandly. “Have you tried ‘saving as?’”

  “Already did.”

  “Have you tried saving the project to a new location?”

  “Yup.” Her reply came too fast.

  “No,” Jude said sharply. “I don’t mean just save the project somewhere else, I mean—”

  “Yes, I did!” she snapped.

  Jude frowned, then started up again.

  “No, listen. What I actually mean is, did you delete the render folder and then—”

  “Moved all the individual files to the new folder, copied all the original videos there, relinked all the files and videos to the project again,” she rattled off. “Yes, I told you I already did that!”

  Jude smothered a laugh. It appeared this wasn’t one of the helpless ones.

  “Um, okay. So how about the cache files?”

  “The what?” Her voice seethed with annoyance.

  “The cache files,” he repeated. “If you still have them in there, they might be causing the export fail.”

  “I um…” The voice was less sure. “I’m not sure how to find those.”

  “Just click on Edit, and then Preferences.”

  “Hold on,” the woman answered, “I’m looking.” There was a pause. “Okay, got to Preferences. Now what?”

  “Now clear the cache,” Jude repeated.

  “How?”

  “Click Cache and clear it.”

  There was a pause.

  “There is no cache!” she growled.

  Jude eyebrows pulled together as he struggled to remember which video editing program the university used in that particular lab.

  “You’re sure you’re in your Preferences?”

  “Yes! But I’ve looked and there’s no goddamned cache, okay?”

  “Huh,” he muttered. “It’s gotta be there somewhere.”

  “Well, maybe it’s supposed to be,” she answered tartly. “But it’s not.”

  Jude chuckled; she was right. Sometimes things weren’t where they were supposed to be. He glanced at the clock. Break was starting in five minutes.

  “Hold on,” Jude said. “I’ll be right down.”

  : : : : : : : :

  The Tech Department was only two floors away from the computer labs, but students were already filing out for break when Jude arrived. He hadn’t rushed downstairs, there wasn’t any reason to. It wasn’t like it was the Dean’s office or a campus security breach. Jude waved at Professor Sakamoto as he strolled into the room, his mind already on his break.

  There was only one student left at the computers: a tall young woman with sandy brown hair that hung to the middle of her back. A long swath of it hid her face where she leaned in toward the screen. She wore scuffed cowboy boots and a leather jacket, one jeans-clad knee bouncing in a furious pace. Jude frowned as he neared; he knew her from somewhere. Like a word trapped on the edge of memory, there was something familiar about her narrow limbs and nervous energy. His mind flickered through his Facebook friends and acquaintances, struggling to make the connection. Sensing him, the woman suddenly looked up, eyes widening.

  It was her.

  “Indigo, hey. Hi!” Jude stammered. “I didn’t realize…”

  He stopped, staring at her. His memory from last spring hadn’t lied.

  “Hi,” she said. Her face was pale, and she pushed back from the computer, standing up so that they faced each other. With her boots on, Jude saw in surprise, they were almost the same height.

  “It’s Jude,” he said, offering his hand.

  She glanced at his fingers, and then back up to his face, but didn’t move.

  “I remember,” she answered tightly.

  She was watching him the way a mouse might watch a cat, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. The uncomfortable moment stretched out for a heartbeat longer. Not knowing how to break the silence, Jude smiled, dropping his outstretched hand onto the back of the computer chair.

  “Let me find that cache file for you,” he said. “And I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Right,” she said, voice relieved. “That’d be great.”

  He sat down, clicking open the Preferences and scanning the choices: General, Appearance, Audio, Audio Hardware, Audio Output Mapping, Auto Save, Capture, Device Control, Label Colours, Label Default.

  “Aha!” Jude said, clicking on the final choice. “Media’s right there.”

&n
bsp; Indigo’s voice appeared by his shoulder. She was leaning in beside him, scowling at the screen.

  “You told me Cache files.”

  “I… yeah,” Jude said with a laugh, “I forgot the Media folder’s name, but the Cache file access is hidden in there.”

  She turned to look at him, her hair brushing over his shoulder. This close, he saw, her eyes weren’t just blue, they were almost navy. ‘Indigo...’ his mind whispered. She pulled back, wariness returning.

  “So how do I fix it?”

  Jude turned back to the screen.

  “Go to Media. Select the Media Cache Database, click on ‘delete cache files’ and… done.” Jude smiled, pushing back from the computer, but she caught his arm before he could leave.

  “Uh-uh. No,” she said. “You’re not going anywhere. I want to make sure this works.”

  She let go of his arm, clicking on the project and hitting export. The render screen appeared, and Jude gave a silent prayer that it would actually work. The movie began to flicker through, the yellow export band slowly filling. Thirty percent… forty percent… fifty percent… The project chugged along without issue.

  Jude glanced up to find Indigo watching him. Her expression was softer now, less guarded.

  “Thanks,” she said with a half-smile. “Feels like the computer hates me some days.”

  “Computers hate everyone some days,” he laughed.

  She grinned, and he felt himself tumbling forward, the last of his hesitation trampled under the sudden, desperate need to see her again.

  “I never did get your number that night,” he said.

  Her grin faded uneasily.

  “Yeah, sorry,” she said with a shrug. “My ride showed up. I meant to tell you but…” She shook her head, looking away from him so that her face was in profile. “Sorry,” she added, not meeting his eyes. “The truth is, I ditched.”

  Jude snorted with laughter, and she looked up in surprise.

  “What?”

  “Honesty,” he chuckled. “That… that hurts.”

  She shrugged, a knowing smile curving her lips. Her eyes narrowed, watching him through a fringe of lashes. This time she was the cat.

  “It’s better to know the truth, you know,” she warned. “Otherwise life’s gonna screw you over.”

  “Maybe,” Jude said with a shrug. “But I’ll take my chances.”

  The tinny sound of the computer’s speakers interrupted and both Indigo and Jude turned to the monitor where the video scene now played. It was a series of images of Indigo: laughing on a park bench, arm in arm with the woman from the bar that night, and sitting on a rooftop, a beer in hand. Jude fought down the urge to cheer. Most of what he did on the Tech team was troubleshooting, but when it worked out – like now – it seemed like magic. And today he wanted her to believe.

  “Thank you,” Indigo said, “for getting that working.” She flicked her hair off her face the way she had at the bar and Jude fought down the urge to groan. “Let me know if I can pay you back sometime.”

  He grinned: there was the magic, right there.

  “I still owe you a drink,” he said. “I’d like to buy it, if you’d let me.”

  Her expression flickered, cat or mouse, undecided, for half a second longer, and then she smiled.

  “Fine,” Indigo answered, grabbing her purse off the back of the chair, “but it’s only going to be coffee.”

  : : : : : : : : : :

  They sat at the counter in the Student Union coffee shop, their knees bumping together once and then again. Out of the classroom, Indigo was different, her comebacks quick, her laughter quicker. Jude knew that she was a sophomore in a four-year design program, but that she intended to finish it in two.

  “How’re you going to do that?” he asked.

  “By working my ass off,” she quipped. “Same as anyone else.”

  “Just as easy as that,” Jude teased. Indigo glared at him.

  “I’m not rich, you know,” she said, reaching out and flicking his collar. “Not like some people I know.”

  “I’m not rich either,” Jude argued, “but I’m working on it.”

  She let out an unladylike cackle and Jude’s knee bumped hers again. This time she didn’t pull away. Even when she was razzing him, he wanted to touch her. He knew that his break was long over but he didn’t care. Not with her sitting next to him.

  “Well, you’re certainly dressing the part,” Indigo drawled, lifting the coffee and taking another sip.

  “Tech Department has a dress code. My boss would—” His phone rang, and Jude sighed. “Just a sec.” He pulled the phone from his pocket, typing in the password and putting it to his ear. “Jude Alden here.”

  “Jude, where the hell ARE you?” Marq snapped. “Lissa’s looking all over for you!”

  Jude groaned. For just one day he wanted all the computer systems in the university to work. One day!

  Today wasn’t that day.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I took my break late and lost track of time.”

  “Well you’d better get your ass down to the Registrar’s office,” Marq growled. “They’ve got an issue with the registration software again. A whole bunch of students from last semester just got bumped out of this semester’s classes for not having the correct pre-req’s.”

  Jude frowned, rubbing his temple. The registration program was outdated and finicky. This would take the rest of the afternoon.

  “I’ll head down right away,” he said wearily. “And if Lissa asks, just tell her I was working on Sakamoto’s computers.”

  “Already did, now get going!”

  Jude flicked off the phone, turning back toward Indigo. She was smiling mischievously.

  “Sorry,” Jude said. “I’ve got to answer this.”

  She nodded, sliding on her jacket. Jude took two steps away from her, then turned back again.

  “I just… I’d love to stay, Indigo, but I’m working and…”

  The phone in his pocked began to ring again, but he didn’t answer it.

  “Go,” she laughed, setting her coffee down. “Someone needs you to save the world.”

  “Can I see you again sometime?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she said with a smirk.

  “Maybe?”

  She pulled her purse over her shoulder, heading the other direction, back toward the New Media wing.

  “Don’t get cocky, frat boy,” she taunted, putting one earbud in, and then the other. “You’re not that cute.”

  She grinned as she said it and his chest tightened in reaction. When she looked at him that way, it felt like everything was different. He watched her leave the coffee shop, the swing of her hips drawing him in. She wasn’t delicate in the least; rougher and stronger than most the women Jude knew, but he found himself intrigued by her contradictions. An almost bare face, paired with a pinup’s body.

  “I’m not a frat boy!” he shouted.

  She turned in the hallway, pulling out one of the earbuds.

  “What’s that?”

  Jude grinned. She’d turned around!

  “I never pledged,” he yelled. “I’m not a frat boy; I just work here.”

  Indigo eyed him up and down, the corner of her mouth twitching with repressed laughter.

  “The answer’s still maybe.”

  Chapter 3: Secrets Hidden in Plain Sight

  Jude fought the antiquated registration software for two hours before finding the issue. He scowled at the obdurate line of code, imagining the patch he was going to have to build to work around it. There were times he hated this job. At its worst, it made him feel like a cog in a giant machine. He didn’t want to work on someone else’s schedule. He had more important things to think about.

  Mind drifting, he began to recode, his fingers moving in a blur as he tricked the finicky computer program into working around the archaic script that had caused the error. He paused, scrolling back through the lines of text, double checking for colons and brackets, t
he way a prospector searched silt for gold. One character off, and this wouldn’t work, but Jude was confident in his work. He’d been coding since high school and had always had an eye for details.

  Focus, and patience, was all it usually took.

  In twenty minutes the patch was installed, and the computer registration system reinstalled. Jude opened the registration files for two of the students who’d been bumped from their classes. All the pre-requisites were linked in again, the registration no longer causing an error. He closed the files, ready to call out for the supervisor, but paused instead, his hands hanging above the keyboard. He took a furtive look around the Registrar’s office. Irene was standing up at the front desk, going through a working transcript with a student; the second office secretary, nowhere to be seen. Dropping his eyes back to the screen, Jude clicked on general registration, typing in a single name.

  Indigo.

  There was no match.

  Frowning, Jude flicked through the various iterations that Indigo might be formed from: Ida, Irene, Imogene, Iona, Inez. None of them worked either. He drummed his finger on the desk before backspacing until one character remained, cursor pulsing.

  I.

  On instinct, he hit enter. The system chugged, and a file appeared. A single student, ‘I. Sykes’, was registered at the university. His or her detailed information was “screened for privacy at request of student.” A thrill of anticipation ran up Jude’s spine.

  In seconds he was in her file: Indigo’s ID photo removed any question that he’d found who he was looking for. He peered at the screen, heart pounding. I. Sykes: twenty-six years of age. The information surprised him; he’d been certain she was only twenty-one or twenty-two like most of the other sophomores. He leaned closer, reading in chunks. Indigo had been accepted into the university on a Design scholarship. Jude clicked open the next screen. She had a GPA of 3.5 and had been given special permission to take seven courses, and a full load of summer courses, rather than the standard five during a single semester. Her permanent address was a post office box, though there was a notation about off-campus housing. He moved the mouse, about to click to the next screen.