The Unquantifiable Variable
By BeckyS
April, 2005


The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS" are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

Chapter 1, Part 3

Charlie had worked his way over to the PVC department, slipping past a tall, well-built man with the tan and bleached blond hair of a surfer, but rough hands that made construction a more likely profession. The physical contrast between the two of them was almost trite – the power of the body versus the power of the mind – but the man nodded to him in passing, kindred souls in search of just the right pipe. Charlie nodded back, feeling the unexpected warmth of belonging to a world he had never really acknowledged, even if he'd known it had to exist.

He didn't need to replace any piping at this point – at least he hoped he didn't – but even so, the myriad pieces pulled at him with some strange fascination. Elbow fittings in perfect 45 and 90 degree angles; three-way connectors, four-way, five-way and cross connectors; pipe snaps, pipe caps and slip T fittings. The half inch pipes that filled the bin in front of him had an outside diameter of 0.840 inches, he read off the label, yet the next sign over said the diameter of the one inch size was 1.315. Why was the one inch pipe .0125 inches thinner than the half inch? He picked up one of each and examined them. They looked the same to him, but then he didn't have a measuring tool with him. Of course he could find one here in the store, but instead he cast around and picked up a one-and-a-half inch pipe that said its outside diameter was 1.900 inches. Well, at least that made sense – the thickness of the bigger pipe was .05 inches more than the half-inch. More fluid going through, more pressure, thicker pipe walls?

He knew he could find out, but maybe Larry knew. His friend had said often enough that restoring his beloved nineteenth-century Victorian home was a welcome break from the intensity of thought needed for his ground-breaking physics projects. Something about the soothing repetitive movements of sanding floors or the mindless labor of painting scrollwork.

He picked up one of the elbow joints and slid the right sized pipe into it. It fit perfectly. Everything here would fit together perfectly to make – what? At this point, he didn't know and didn't really care; it was the simple fact of unending possibilities that fascinated him. There were bins of the shiny white piping stacked in perfect pyramids, rows of joints lined up side by side with their open ends looking like a series of zeros that tried to measure infinity, shelves of trays marked on the outside with mysterious drawings and "1/4 inch" and "5/8 inch" and even "2 mm." What could you build with all of this? What couldn't you build?

"Piping, Charlie?" came a voice from behind him. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

He turned to see Solana Mendez, Benito's daughter, grinning at him.

"Nope. I know when I'm out of my league. I just couldn't resist wandering around."

She tilted her head to one side. "Want a cup of coffee while you look? I just put on a fresh pot."

That personal touch was what he really loved about this place, even more than all the marvelous secrets on the shelves. The Mendezes knew everything about every piece of merchandise in their store, but more than that, they shared their knowledge, their love of building things, and they shared themselves with every person who walked through the doors. It also didn't hurt that they were an easy bicycle ride from his house.

His house. No longer his father's, that he lived in. He hadn't been able to bear it when his father had started talking about selling it. He knew they all needed to move on after his mother's death, but even if his father and brother were ready, he'd discovered he wasn't. Just the thought of losing the house had shaken his whole world.

So he'd bought it. After getting over the surprise, his father had laughed in delight at Charlie's logic. He would continue to live there, rent-free as Charlie had for his whole life. They both knew, though, that there was more to it than a financial exchange. Accepting the deal had been a tacit acceptance by Alan Eppes that his youngest son was still grieving, but he'd used the occasion to encourage him to move on by telling him he was looking forward to having children underfoot again. Charlie had simply grinned and kept his thoughts to himself.

So now he was contemplating having to replace the plumbing someday. He decided that when that day came he'd make sure he was able to do it, but for now, coffee with Solana sounded good. He glanced at his watch – he had almost an hour before his first class, his only undergraduates. It was a subject he knew intimately and one he was good at teaching, so he knew he could skate in at the last minute if need be.

He suddenly realized she was still waiting for an answer. "I'd love a cup. That's really why I come in here, you know."

She laughed and led the way to the front of the store where a restaurant-grade machine sat in front of one of the two registers. Styrofoam cups were tucked between boxes of school supplies and a hanging display of micro-flashlights. He eyed them as he poured himself a cup of coffee. They were on keychains, and could be adjusted from a wide circle of light to a fine beam.

"I could use one of these . . . ." he murmured. "Then when I'm in the back of the classroom working with a student, I could talk about specific points in my equations up on the blackboard."

"Just don't shine it in someone's eyes, especially on tight beam. They're bright enough to do some damage."

Charlie twisted the end, and the beam grew wide. "Huh. If I'm riding my bike home after dark and drop something, I'd have it right there to help me find it."

"That's what we're all about," said Solana. "Solutions to problems you didn't know you had."

"I like that." Then he raised an eyebrow and quirked a grin. "Now if you could just show me the aisle that has the solution to P versus NP . . . ."

She slapped him lightly on the arm. "Hardware solutions, Charlie. Hardware." She looked up to see an older black woman with steel-grey hair dragging a little girl by the hand to the register, the other arm carrying a plastic shopping basket. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

He watched the little girl for a few moments, noting her fascination with the cash register. He smiled, sensing a kindred spirit. Maybe his own children would be as cute? He laughed at himself – he really preferred to get married before having any children, and he was a long way from being able to make that happen. Once Amita finished her doctorate, maybe he could start exploring that intriguing relationship . . . .

His eyes dropped to the flashlight in his hand, and he started experimenting with the tiny pointer light. He tested it by shining it on the floor and the ceiling, with the narrow beam and the wide, then checked all the different colors of cases. He had just decided on green when a woman's scream ripped through the store.