Millennium Crash

by James Litherland

  The corners of the woman’s mouth twitched. “I do have more than one name, it’s true. Now, I need to go get the kit for taking your thumbprint before I proceed with the rest.”

  At Anya’s nod, Ms. Dervan backed out, closing the door behind her and leaving them alone again.

  Turner waited patiently. Anya less so—as she found herself checking her watch repeatedly. She saw that Tate and Nye had moved beyond the range of the locator screen, somewhere to the east. Why did no one think to program it to indicate distance as well as direction?

  While they waited, Anya made a special request to Turner. “Did you notice the way Mr. Hemmings reacted when he heard my name?”

  Her helper nodded. “It seems he’d heard it before—but in what context?”

  “Surely it must’ve been related to the Travelers’ Trust in some way. I wonder if you could find out? Not from the banker, but from Ms. Dervan.”

  Turner smiled weakly. “I can try.”

  Though it seemed like a long time, only several minutes had passed before the secretary returned. She carried a small kit which she set down on top of the conference table with care. She took the seat on the other side of Anya from Turner and opened the kit to remove an inkpad and white card. “This will only take a minute.”

  Anya followed Ms. Dervan’s instructions, pressing her thumb onto the inkpad and rolling it slowly across the space indicated on the card. She’d have to wash her thumb before she ate again. Before she could think about when and where to do that, Ms. Dervan was handing her a small towelette, premoistened to wash with. The woman was efficient and considerate.

  She glanced back and forth between Turner and Anya. “Now, I’ll see about your withdrawal and that bag. Would you also like me to make any reservations for you? A hotel?”

  Anya nodded. She hadn’t really thought about that yet, her mind too full of pizza, but they would need somewhere to stay while making plans. With no idea how long that would take. “Is there somewhere close that would be suitable for us? Nothing too extravagant.”

  “One room or two?”

  “There are four of us. Two men and two women. We’ll want two separate rooms, one for the men and one for the women, with two beds in each. If that’s possible.”

  The secretary smiled. “Certainly it’s possible.” She turned and sashayed her way out, without closing the door behind her this time.

  They waited another twenty minutes before Mr. Hemmings returned. He announced that he’d resolved all difficulties and the funds they’d requested would be withdrawn as specified, with the remainder transferred into a subsidiary account in Anya’s name. He also told them Ms. Dervan would handle all of that. The banker was needed elsewhere.

  Less than ten minutes later the secretary came in carrying a large canvas tote bag in her arms. She brought it to Turner, but spoke to Anya. “The cash and cheques are on the bottom with your receipts. I took the liberty of putting a couple of newspapers on top to discourage curiosity. Sign the cheques right away, and put those receipts in a safe place as soon as you can.”

  Anya smiled. “That’s quite considerate of you, Ms. Dervan. We appreciate it, don’t we Turner?”

  “Indeed.” Her helper smiled at Verity and took the bag from her arms.

  The secretary took a deep breath and turned to Anya. “I printed out the reservation confirmation.” She reached into the inside pocket of her suit jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Just show this to the desk clerk, and he’ll take care of you. It’s only a couple blocks away.”

  Anya reached to take the paper. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll have your account set up this afternoon. I can call when the papers are ready, or I could come and drop them off at your hotel?” The woman darted her eyes at Turner. They can’t help it.

  “What about this ATM card thing?”

  “I’ll order it this afternoon, once I’ve set up the account. But as Mr. Hemmings said, it might take until Tuesday. Monday at the earliest.”

  “Well then, why don’t we wait until everything’s ready, and we can collect it all at one time.”

  Ms. Dervan gave Anya a long, considering look. “The ATM card ‘thing’ can be used almost anywhere to make cash withdrawals from the funds in your account. It’s also a debit card that can be used many places for direct purchases. I imagine you’ll find it quite useful.”

  It would indeed be useful. They might be stuck in the city doing research for she didn’t know how long, whatever Anya wished, with no idea what their needs would be. She’d have to keep them focused on that instead of starting in on their own research. But that would only really be a problem with Nye.

  This Ms. Dervan seemed to have a good understanding of what they needed, which surprised Anya—until she realized the woman must’ve dealt with other Travelers. The bank might already have been visited by Harold or Page in the past.

  Anya doubted she’d get an answer if she asked, but at least she had primed Turner to ask the other question. She flicked her eyes to prompt him.

  Turner coughed slightly, and the secretary immediately looked at him. “Excuse me, Verity. This is probably improper, but—”

  Oh, dear. The poor woman probably thought Turner was getting ready to proposition her.

  Ms. Dervan smiled. “Yes, Mr. Turner?”

  “It seemed as if Mr. Hemmings was already familiar with Anya somehow, at least with her name. But I’m not sure I understand how that could be.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “I suppose it’s alright to mention it. Mr. Hemmings might have, if it wasn’t a moot point.”

  “Moot?”

  “A long, long time ago, one of the trust recipients rented a safe deposit box and left instructions that we should make its contents available—to any future recipient named Anya or Page. And a couple years ago we had a Page. She took whatever might have been inside.” Ms. Dervan turned to face Anya. “It’s been quite a matter of speculation among the bank employees, but you can understand why Mr. Hemmings saw no need to mention it.”

  Anya nodded. She understood that, but her curiosity had been aroused. This was serious business that no one here at the bank could understand.

  What was in that box? She might have greater knowledge about what she was speculating on, but she didn’t have much to work with. At least Page was alright, if she’d been visiting the bank a couple years ago. Now they needed to leave the messages that would bring her back. Somehow.

  Anya stood and brushed her skirt before heading for the door with Turner following, the tote bag cradled in his arms. Ms. Dervan followed him out and closed the door behind them. She spared him a fleeting glance as she strode down a hallway deeper into the bank. Hopefully with her mind back on her work, their new account.

  Anya stalked straight across the lush carpet to the exit, trusting Turner to follow her out into the polluted but somehow fresher air. Glad to be out of the stifling environs of the bank, she blinked. Her eyes needed to adjust to the bright light and colors of the real world.

  Then she glanced down at the hotel reservations in her hand and back up at the street signs. It would take time to orient, but she got the gist of the directions. But pizza came first.

  As Turner walked with her toward the food, he asked the question still on her own mind. “What do you suppose was in that safe deposit box?”

  Anya’s mind seemed clearer now, and she tried to think it out as she answered. “Just as we want to find a way to leave messages for the others, it’s reasonable they might try to contact us somehow. This must’ve been Harold’s doing. Since it had been left for me or for Page. We both would have to visit the bank to get funds, so it makes some sense in its way. But it’s a very limited method. One message, only into the future and for only one of two people at a specific time and place. We’ll have to do better than that.”

  Turner nodded in agreement at her explanation as they both approached the restaurant. The lure of the pizza had quickened their steps. But she didn’t s
ee Tate or Nye waiting outside.

  Turner must have felt her concern. “They could be inside. Maybe wanting to get off their feet, since they likely haven’t been sitting down all this time.”

  Anya shook her head. She checked her locator and saw they were still east of her somewhere, and still too distant to be blips. “I’m going to go look for them. You can wait here.”

  “Oh, no. You’re not going out there alone. I know this has been a rough day for you, so you can stay here with the—with the newspapers, while I go out and look.”

  “I’m not waiting around on my own. I’d only be worrying about you, then.”

  Turner carried the tote inside to an empty booth and set it down next to the wall. “Then I guess we order some pizza, and trust that Tate and Nye will arrive as soon as they’re hungry enough.”

  “If they haven’t returned by the time we’ve finished the pizza, we’ll start searching. Together.”

  “If and when. We’ll have to eat the pizza first.” He turned his smile on a waitress approaching their table, and Anya knew they’d get great service. “Jenny,” he said, glancing at her plastic nametag, “we’d like the largest pizza you can make, with everything you have to put on it.”

  As Jenny wrote their order on a pad, she asked, “Drinks?”

  “Water will be fine, Jenny.”

  After the waitress had left them, Anya glanced over at the tote bag beside Turner. “Can I see one of those newspapers Ms. Dervan gave us?”

  Turner nodded and reached down into the bag. He looked and searched and came out with the paper for Anya and a few bills which he casually folded and slipped into his shirt pocket. He handed her the paper with a wink. “We’ll have to pay for the pizza, you know.”

  Anya was more than happy to let Turner handle paying the bills. “And the water?”

  “It may be free. But we don’t want to drink soda or beer, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “What about iced tea?” That would be good and refreshing, especially in this heat.

  Turner smiled and got up to chase down their waitress. Soon their pitcher of iced tea had arrived and not long after that a freshly baked pizza on a hot plate that took up almost the entire table.

  Of course that was when Tate and Nye finally arrived. Nye bounced over and Tate followed with his arms full of newspapers that looked like they’d been having a rough time of it.

  Nye beamed. “Look. The perfect way to leave those messages, and—” She stopped when she saw the paper in Anya’s hand. “After we went to all that trouble digging through garbage cans.”

  Anya smiled. Leave it to an archaeologist to go digging through the refuse. “Now we have plenty of information to evaluate. And pizza to put away. So set those down, Tate, and help us eat.”

  Chapter 8

  Ties that Bind

  November 30th, 1998 Queens (on the LIRR)

  MATT appreciated how Page looked in those black boots and blue jeans and the gray sweatshirt, but he hadn’t offered any more compliments. At least she wasn’t complaining anymore, so she had to be satisfied. Indeed, she’d grown more and more pleased as the train had rattled through Queens and gotten closer to the island of Manhattan.

  Early on, when the background noise was mostly the regular clacking of the tracks and squealing of wheels, when they could still hear each other, Matt had tried to converse with Page. He had needed answers to questions he wanted to ask before the train grew crowded and people could overhear.

  Though most New Yorkers were adept at ignoring other people. If anyone did hear talk about time travel, they’d probably dismiss it, or consider Matt and Page to be nutcases. Which wasn’t a problem. The problem Matt had was Page’s refusal to discuss any of it—when she came from or what it was like.

  She wouldn’t discuss the future with him at all. Though she admitted it shouldn’t be a problem, she wouldn’t without a sufficiently good reason. Which he couldn’t give her.

  He’d questioned her about this time-travel device disguised as a watch, but she wouldn’t give him a hint how it worked. Not even how long the thing needed to recharge. He’d had a small success when he had demanded to know how the device could recharge all on its own.

  “You are recharging it. Matt,” she’d said. “The watch draws energy from your body’s own electrical field. And that’s as much as I know myself.”

  He’d found that little detail quite interesting. I hope I don’t blow this thing’s fuse.

  He’d had a little more success in getting her to talk about herself. He’d learned she’d been a coder before she had somehow gone off the deep end into fantasy math. And that she possessed a rose-tinted view of twentieth century dating, as if it were some kind of courtly romantic ritual. He’d gotten her to open up by sharing some of his own history. How he’d moved from the Midwest so he could study at GTI, but didn’t care for living in New York City.

  Matt hadn’t progressed far, though, before she had used the excuse of the increasing crowd to shut down all conversation, leaving him with nothing to do but stare into her beautiful crystal blue eyes. She glared at him in return, making him smile and irritating her further. Which only made him grin.

  Page gave up on glaring, and he watched as her gaze turned inward, the wheels turning in her mind. She was the most complicated and puzzling woman Matt had ever met, before he included the fact that she was a time-traveler from the future.

  He was watching those wheels turn when he felt the passing shadows stop. He looked over and saw five slovenly dressed young men—like the juvenile delinquents who’d snatched Page’s purse. Standing in the aisle way too close.

  Page broke off whatever internal dialogue she’d been having with herself and swiveled her head to squint at them. These weren’t the same thugs, but they were the same type—hoodlums. He wondered what she was feeling. Whatever she felt, he didn’t care for the way they were leering at Page, or pressing in closer with hostile stares for him. They’re looking for trouble.

  Matt stood to shield Page and let his foot slip—‘accidently’ tripping one of them who then fell backward into his friends, knocking a pair of them down like bowling pins.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Matt pleaded, trying to look apologetic as he grabbed Page’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “We were just leaving, and I should’ve watched where I was going.”

  The young men had started swearing, more to themselves than at Matt, but then they turned their attention to him. Their language was totally inappropriate in front of a lady.

  He stepped over the legs of the three men who lay sprawled in the aisle. Turning back, he wrapped his hands around Page’s hips and lifted her in the air, over the seats and the other passengers and to the far side of the aisle, putting himself between her and the delinquents. He’d lived long enough in the city to recognize gang apparel, though he couldn’t identify them. It hardly mattered. They dressed the way they did so people would be afraid.

  Matt saw one of the two who remained standing pull a switchblade out of his pocket. Thankfully the other decided to take a swing at him. Matt shifted a little out of the way and spun the man around, causing him to crash into his friend. Time to get out of here.

  He pushed Page ahead of him, down the aisle and into the next car before the thugs could get up and follow. He prodded her on to the next car and glanced out to see where the train was. It would be stopping soon at the Woodside station.

  Matt had managed to hustle Page through two more sections by the time the train had screeched to a halt. He continued pushing her forward into the next car, despite the difficulty of other passengers getting on and off in throngs.

  Page had kept quiet until then. “Why aren’t we getting off the train and away from those, those—”

  Now Matt could imagine what she was feeling. “They’ll expect us to get off. They think we’re running because we’re afraid, and scared people would be leaving the train. So we stay on.”

  “And we’re not afraid?”

&nb
sp; “Not of them. But I do worry about you.” Matt sighed. “Let’s get as far away from them as we can, though. They’ll give up, and we can keep going and get you the rest of the way to wherever you’re headed. Your bank, I suppose?”

  Page was still being close mouthed about precisely where it was and what she’d do when she got there. She’d refused to tell him any more than what she considered he needed to know. As if she could understand what that was.

  He kept them moving forward through the train as it entered the tunnel. Without pursuers though, he didn’t rush—they took their time ambling along as they sped under the East River.

  Once they slid into Penn Station, Page had no choice but to tell Matt where to take her. While he fought to get her off the train and through the mayhem of the bustling transportation hub, she gave up the name of the bank and its address.

  It was a dozen or so blocks away, and he didn’t want to spend what little cash he had left on a taxi. And stopping at an ATM, assuming his card would work, would only encourage Page to spend more of his money, so he presented her with just two alternatives. “We could walk a dozen blocks or take the subway to Forty-second and walk from there.”

  Page ignored him, striding through the crowd as if she knew where she was going and not paying any attention at all to her environment. It irritated him. She’d continue getting into trouble that way, and he had to keep running interference for her amid the throng.

  Finally she gave him a quick glance. “The subway. We’ve walked enough for now, and there will be all that shopping to do later.”

  All the way, riding the subway and up onto the street, he focused on one thing and one thing only, making sure she arrived safe and sound. At least he accomplished that, and soon enough he was following her out of the loud, bustling city into the tasteful lobby and quiet atmosphere of the American International State Bank.

  Once inside, Page stopped and stared at Matt. “I probably shouldn’t have you along for this. You already know too much you shouldn’t.”