Millennium Crash

by James Litherland

  “Come on, Nye.” Anya kept a firm grip on the woman’s wrist. With all these people moving every which way, she wouldn’t risk losing the one person she’d managed to find so far.

  They headed straight for the elevators, and Nye started to dive into the first open car, but Anya held her back. “Look at the numbers, Nye.” Above each pair of doors were signs indicating which floors they went to. “Turner must be at least above the twentieth floor. But we don’t know which. We’ll take one that goes to every floor, and I’ll try to track him as we ascend.” She didn’t want to try explaining how to her helper.

  They had to wait a long time, but since most of the people went for the other cars, when they finally stepped into one they had some privacy, all its passengers having rapidly exited into the lobby. It was probably time to inform Nye about Professor John, before someone got on at another floor.

  Anya pushed the button for the top floor. She glanced over at Nye, who watched the doors close in front of them with a broad smile, and tried to think how to broach the subject of the professor’s death.

  Nye looked down at her watch and then turned to Anya. “Why is my watch not showing anything—besides the blip for you in the center of the screen?”

  Anya sighed. “It’s programmed to help you find your leader, and you’ve found me. Now it’s become useless. Mine is for finding my helpers, which I’m still trying to do.” But once I’ve found Turner, will it help me find the others?

  Anya held her device up so she could keep one eye on the screen and one on the changing numbers displayed above the doors. She might not have the time to break the news gently, so she’d better get it over with. “The professor’s dead.”

  “What?” Anya could feel Nye’s stare on the side of her face as the woman asked again, “What do you mean?”

  “He was killed just as we came through. An accident.” Anya couldn’t close her eyes to the tears, so she just clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead. “Everything has been one big accident.”

  “Then what do we do now? We can’t cancel the research project.” The pitch of Nye’s voice was ascending. “We can’t just regroup and go home.”

  Anya shook her head. “We couldn’t if we wanted to. The professor’s device was destroyed.”

  She’d noticed earlier a video camera up in the corner of the elevator, and now she pointed it out to Nye. Anya held a finger to her lips to put an end to the conversation. She’d no idea if the thing picked up sound, but this prevented Nye from asking further questions.

  The woman knew the worst of it now. More discussion could wait, and maybe later Anya would be better able to talk about it.

  The silence was hard, too, but it wasn’t long before the blip appeared on the locator screen. Anya quickly noted the current floor. Twelve. Since there was no thirteenth floor, that would put Turner on the thirty-third, or thereabouts. She hit the appropriate button.

  They continued without a single word between them. Nye’s expression was blank, and Anya had no idea if the girl was mad, sad, or simply following the stricture for silence. She did start fidgeting after a while. The elevator stopped occasionally and a few people got on to share the ride, but finally it landed them on the thirty-third floor.

  The elevator doors opened to reveal a plush carpeted lobby with a wide arc of marble-topped desk and a receptionist behind it. Anya stepped out with trepidation, her mute helper beside her.

  “Excuse us. We’re looking for a friend of ours who may be lost. A young man—a handsome young man.”

  The bored receptionist perked up at the last bit. “How good looking? Like a star?”

  A star? “I don’t think anyone could be that brilliant, but Nye here is pretty bright.”

  The woman gave Anya a funny look and started laughing. Since people didn’t generally find Anya to be amusing, she suspected she’d made some kind of mistake. It augured well that it had been taken for a joke. She imagined they’d all be erring all over the place and hoped they’d continue to be found just as amusing by the natives.

  She glanced over at Nye. “I don’t think he could have been on this floor. Turner’s not a man women can fail to notice.”

  The receptionist’s eyes darted to both Anya and Nye’s ring fingers, which was heartening. It seemed that even in this time period, women knew to check whether another might have a prior claim. So far no one had a claim on Turner.

  The woman smiled at them. “I did hear of some kind of commotion on thirty-four. But I’m not allowed to leave my desk without a replacement.” She looked hopefully at Anya and Nye. “I could take one of you there—if the other stayed here.”

  Anya shook her head. “I’m sorry.” It would be an unnecessary delay, and just so this woman could engage in a hunt Anya knew to be useless.

  She led Nye back to the elevators. They waited in silence with their backs to the lobby, both aware of the glare they were getting. It felt like forever.

  Finally a car came that was going up, and it took them to the floor above. There they emerged into a far more utilitarian lobby, and one whose attendant was absent. Anya nodded to herself. No rules about not leaving one’s post would apply to a woman who had actually met Turner.

  With Nye following behind, Anya stepped past the desk and pushed through two large glass doors into a busy office suite. She paused and checked the picture she’d taken with her watch. The whole floor was occupied by American Widgets, Inc.—though the directory didn’t specify the nature of their business. When she looked up again, Nye was gone.

  Anya wished she had a nose for coffee, sure that would lead her straight to her errant helper, but she had another wayward assistant to find. She closed her eyes and used her ears—and after a few minutes of filtering out the different background noises, she identified the proper one. Then she headed in the direction of the giggling.

  Thankfully all the male workers were busy with their own tasks and disregarded Anya’s presence. The same didn’t hold true for the crowd of women in skirt suits gathered in the break room, who definitely noticed her entrance. Anya didn’t mind—she had found both her helpers.

  Nye was in a corner being ignored as she communed with a cup of coffee. Turner was pressed up against a counter by the ladies cooing over him, and looking uncomfortable with a sheepish grin. Knowing she did not belong here, Anya didn’t wait to be challenged by the hostile crowd.

  “Turner!”

  The poor man with his thick blond mane and perfect complexion stood and looked over the women pressing around him and right into her eyes and blushed. She glared, thankful that she was immune to the effect he had—one of the reasons, she imagined, he’d been assigned to her team. She couldn’t guess why Nye was her problem, but John was no longer available to ask. The professor. It would be easier if she thought of him like that.

  She held Turner’s gaze. “Grab Nye and her coffee and get a move on.”

  She turned on her heel and marched off before the ladies got started with the complaints, confident Turner would follow instructions. She stalked back through the offices and lobby to push those elevator buttons. She’d rather not have to stick around here very long.

  A minute later Turner arrived with Nye in tow. At least the girl had gotten her coffee. Anya looked around the still empty lobby, then turned to Nye.

  “Tell Turner what’s been happening before the elevator gets here.” So I won’t have to go through it again.

  She listened to Nye’s short, confused summary and realized how little she’d told the girl, but then Anya didn’t know much more herself. They were all winging it. And they’d have to keep making it up as they went along, because the professor had made no plans for dealing with this kind of catastrophe.

  The three of them filed quickly into the elevator when it came. Nye put a finger to her lips to silence Turner, then pointed at the camera above. Anya casually checked her watch and was relieved to see an indication of what direction would lead them to find the next of their number. North. />
  She had no idea which member of what team it pointed to, or what kind of trouble he or she might be in. But she’d found both her own helpers and it felt good. Once Anya brought all the Travelers together, then they could face the difficult truth and try solving the serious problems.

  Though she’d better focus first on gathering her flock, which could be a big enough challenge.

  Chapter 2

  A Desperate Embrace

  June 30th, 2000 East Harlem

  MATT danced down the sidewalk to the strings of Mozart’s Quartet in C Major. The notes flowed from his headphones as he waved his hands in the air like a crazed conductor, fully aware of how he looked. It was a form of protective camouflage. Most pedestrians avoided him without seeming to, which suited him just fine.

  Even though his ears were absorbed in the music, the rest of his senses were finely attuned to his environment, belying the illusion of obliviousness. His arms might be flailing, but his skin stayed sensitive to the vibrations of movement around him. His eyes darted around as he scanned for signs of trouble. As always, he hoped to make it to class without incident—which was why he noticed what was coming toward him in the distance.

  The first image that flashed into his head was the redhead who walked slow and looked disoriented and carried an expensive bag. She couldn’t have made herself any more of a target if she’d tried.

  Then his eyes jumped to the three delinquents strolling behind her and trying to look casual. Their intentions were obvious. The third thing Matt saw was that he was too far away to stop what was about to happen.

  These three pictures leapt into his mind at the same time, alarm bells going off in his cerebral cortex as his frontal lobe snapped him into action. He darted forward, headphones flying off behind him. He ran even as he realized the futility in the back of his brain—the hoodlums had already crowded behind the woman as he was crying out. One grabbed her purse while the other two pushed her down. He let them run right past him. His attention was on the redhead, and she needed his help.

  She had toppled on her heels when pushed, collapsing into the iron gate that led to the basement entrance of a nearby building. He’d seen her hit her head on the metal bars, and she wasn’t getting up.

  Matt raced to her crumpled form while people walked past ignoring them both as they’d ignored her attackers. He thought it might be dangerous to move her, so he tried to be careful as he checked out her injuries, wishing he had more knowledge of first aid. Her scalp was bleeding badly, but he saw nothing more serious than that gruesome scrape.

  She moaned and tried to sit up. “My bag.”

  “Don’t move.” Matt attempted to hold her still, but she kept shifting around.

  “My purse?” Her voice sounded a bit stronger, and she turned to look up at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her. “They got your bag.”

  “But I need it.”

  Matt shook his head. “It’s long gone. Hopefully you can replace whatever was in it.”

  Her eyes focused on his, and he saw they were a brilliant, crystal blue. “There wasn’t anything in it. But it was a genuine reproduction antique.”

  Matt held his finger in front of her and moved it from side to side. That was how they did it on television. Her eyes moved back and forth following his finger with a puzzled expression. She might have a concussion, but he couldn’t tell.

  She glared at him. “Get my bag back.”

  Matt shook his head and tried to remember the other things doctors on TV did. “Do you know your name?”

  “Page.” The redhead frowned up at him. “What about my purse?”

  “Forget that.” He was growing more concerned about her mental state. “Can you tell me your last name?”

  She just gave him a long, blank look.

  Matt frowned at her. “Do you know who’s President?”

  “Maybe. It depends. Have you had the election yet? Is Florida still counting?” Page stared at him. “And could you also tell me what your name is, and how I’m going to get my bag back?”

  “Matt. Matt Walker. And it would be easier to buy a new purse.”

  She looked straight into his eyes, and he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. And whatever she was thinking about, it wasn’t him. She definitely needed help, but he couldn’t take the chance of calling for an ambulance—it would take them far too long to show up in this neighborhood, and when they did, they’d probably take her in for a psychiatric evaluation, and he didn’t want that. Thankfully, he had another option.

  Page started to sit up again, and despite the risk he helped her. If he was going to get her to the clinic, she’d need to be able to walk on her own or with a little assistance from him.

  “Can you stand up? Is anything broken?” Matt worried he might be making things worse. “Do you think you can walk? If not, stay here, and I’ll go get help.” Though he didn’t care much for that idea in this area.

  Page reached out to grab his arm. “Don’t leave. Not until the others find me.”

  “Others?” Matt looked around, but no one was paying them any attention. “Look, I’ve got a friend who can get you checked out.” He was glad his good friend was a doctor. “He’s a resident, but he’s close enough to being a real doctor—and he volunteers at a clinic near here. They can fix you up. Alright?”

  Page nodded vaguely, and he wrapped his arm around her back and slowly helped her to her feet.

  She glanced sideways at him. “I think I bruised something. Matt.”

  No doubt. “You think you can manage a couple blocks? You can lean on me.”

  Page nodded, more definite than before. “But I can’t waste too much time. My helpers will be looking for me.”

  Matt grinned. He wondered if those helpers of hers wore white coats. “For now, I’ll be your helper. You can worry about contacting somebody to come and get you after you’ve been helped yourself.”

  He looked down and saw her heels were unbroken and hoped that held true for Page herself. He made sure to bear most of her weight as she hobbled along with him down the sidewalk and around the next corner.

  To Matt it seemed to take them forever to travel the two and a half blocks to the Empire City Clinic. It would be best if his friend were on duty, but regardless, the staff there knew him, and he believed Page would get good care whatever her situation.

  As he half carried her, he tried to figure out as much about this redhead as he could. She wasn’t a New Yorker. She definitely acted like a tourist—a visitor who wore heels she couldn’t properly walk in and carried an expensive but empty bag and wore a man’s wristwatch. Matt wondered if she even had any identification on her.

  What she was, was a puzzle.

  A nurse rushed out of the lobby when they finally reached the sliding glass doors of the clinic, and she helped him carry Page inside.

  Matt grinned. “Morning, Marcia.”

  Her lips were pressed tight as she took Page’s other side and looked at him. “You’re such a klutz, Walker. At least this time you brought your victim in yourself. This time you’ll pay the bill, too.”

  Matt chuckled. If he hadn’t known Marcia, he wouldn’t have realized this was her idea of humor.

  “She says her name is Page. But she’s not processing very well—maybe a concussion?”

  Marcia gently settled Page into an empty wheelchair sitting in the lobby. “You let us decide what she might be suffering from—other than you.”

  Matt followed her in as she wheeled Page back to the urgent care section.

  Marcia glanced over her shoulder at him. “You don’t need to come along. We’ll take proper care of your Page.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sticking with this one until I find out her story.”

  “You don’t know how she was injured?”

  “I saw that. Purse snatchers. I mean I want to know who she is. I don’t even know if she has any identification, or anything to say who to contact.”

  “We’ll worry abou
t that.” Marcia smirked. “Did you trying asking her?”

  She leaned down to look Page in the face. “You want us to get a hold of somebody for you, sweetie? Tell them you’re here?”

  Page looked back at the nurse. “I need Tate and Bailey. They know how to find me.”

  Marcia frowned and looked back at Matt. “I see what you mean.”

  She wheeled Page over to a station with various medical equipment and sat down on a metal stool. She clamped things on Page’s fingers to monitor her heart rate and oxygenation, and started wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Page’s upper arm.

  Matt hovered. “Well? How is she?”

  “Be quiet.” Marcia pumped away and focused on taking Page’s blood pressure and noting everything down on a chart. “You need a sense of humor like Doctor Wallace.”

  “If my parents had given me a name like Harding, I’d have had no choice but to develop a sense of humor. He’s not around?”

  “It’s still morning, isn’t it? What do you think?” Marcia almost smiled. Then she shone a pen light in Page’s pupils. “If she’s got a concussion it must be pretty mild. I’ll patch her up and see if she’s got any ID. Now you—get out of here.”

  Marcia pushed him away and drew the curtain closed around them. She wouldn’t need Matt’s help to take care of Page, but he wouldn’t go far until he knew what, if anything, the nurse had managed to discover about this mystery girl.

  He sauntered out to one of the waiting rooms and got himself a cup of terrifyingly bad coffee from the vending machine. He eased himself into one of the hard plastic chairs, stretching out his legs.

  This business would make him late for the seminar on black hole mechanics, but the mysteries of the universe were familiar to him. The riddle of the redhead was new.

  Matt had closed his eyes and let his mind wander when Marcia came up and slapped him on the shoulder. She must have thought he’d fallen asleep with the coffee in his hand. “I’ve got your girlfriend settled now, if you want to come and see her.”