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May 15th, 2003 Midtown Manhattan
NYE walked down the deserted hall with the same sense of wonderful nervous tension she had experienced every day for the last two weeks. With the hotel’s fourth floor all to herself—and not a chaperone in sight—she was all on her own. The Travelers had taken the entire floor for themselves when the trust had purchased this place, even though they had no need for so much room—twelve luxury suites. They had wanted the privacy.
Now, since everyone else had left the present to gallivant around time, there was only Nye. And Anya and Tate, though they would spend most of their days at the house up in Chickadee, only visiting the city occasionally—to check up on Nye. Anya had already called to say she’d be occupying her rooms at the Hotel Ngaio this weekend. Nye didn’t want her work interrupted, but Anya had agreed to begin the summer a month early, so she couldn’t complain.
Nye passed by the elevator and took the stairs to the lobby, pressing her index finger to the bridge of her glasses on the way down to activate the recording function. As she headed for the exit, she pivoted her head to take in the employees and guests in the lobby. The employees were unaware that she sort of owned the building—Mr. Hollingsworth, representing the trust, had hired a manager to run everything for them. It might be interesting to analyze changes in the personnel at the hotel, or the shifting population of the guests and more permanent residents. If she could ever find the time.
Then she was out on the sidewalk, all alone in a city of over eight million. She shook her head as she thought of the work involved in keeping track of the population of New York City. She didn’t envy whoever had that job. How could there ever be an accurate count of how many people lived here?
Everything was in constant flux. Nye had a difficult enough time trying to document the layout of the city. She had spent the past two weeks focusing on Times Square—and would probably need at least two more weeks to finish the job—and after that she would need to track any changes. She took a different route to and from Times Square every day in order to make a new recording of areas she had studied already. Then every evening she would analyze that video to note any changes.
Nye walked down each bustling block swiveling her head to make sure she recorded the full sweep of every street. Her glasses chronicled the people too, but her interest was in the buildings. They were the bones of the city. They gave it shape and structure.
But there was a gap in that skyline, and Nye had not anticipated the visceral reaction she would have to not seeing the Twin Towers. Though it had been the impact of this city’s future ruins that had caused her to make the ancient metropolis her special subject, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.
Her mind shied away from imagining what people had gone through during those attacks, painful enough to think about the damage to the buildings. So Nye distracted herself by paying attention to the perpetual construction she saw everywhere. Not rebuilding—just the everyday business of the city adjusting to its changing needs.
Thankfully, Anya hadn’t insisted Nye come into the city to volunteer in the aftermath of 9/11. She’d actually ordered Nye to stay away, saying she’d only be in the way—which would have been insulting if it hadn’t been true.
Her long, circuitous route finally brought Nye to Times Square. She stopped as she always did, turning in a full circle to appreciate the magnitude of the glaring, gaudy display. The multitude of brightly lit, giant, multicolored neon signs flashing everywhere was less impressive, though, since she had learned it wasn’t an organic phenomenon but rather one mandated by regulation. With all the mismatched, artistic architecture, and the throngs of tourists, even at this early hour, it was terribly stimulating. Nye kept out of the way of the foot traffic as much as possible. It had certainly been much more peaceful studying the city’s ruins.
She examined the buildings one by one. Before she’d begun her detailed study, she’d assimilated all the information she could find from the library and online about the layout of New York and the history of the more impressive landmarks. There was nothing like looking at them in person though.
Whether they were the renovated remnants of a former version of the city or more modern marvels, Nye found them all worth her interest. But the current occupiers didn’t seem to pay much attention to the structures they inhabited. She’d tried questioning some of them, but none seemed to know even as much about their buildings as she did.
She’d found several with an awareness of their building’s architectural history, but nobody with an appreciation for material stress tests or load balances. Everyone appeared to think their buildings were earthquake proof though.
Nye did not doubt that the newer structures had all been built in strict accordance to the latest standards in engineering—or that the older buildings had all been retro-fitted. What good did it do them?
Shaking her head, Nye walked up to one building and pressed her hand against the surface of the outer wall, so glossy it looked like plastic. But it was only a carbon composite material and not even part of the actual wall—just decoration. She moved on to where she could touch the brick that really gave the place its solidity. Feeling that sense of permanence, it was easy to see how people had fooled themselves into thinking it would all last forever.
She felt a firm hand on her arm. Then someone was flashing credentials in her face as they grabbed her other arm and lifted her to her feet. Young men in suits, and one, an Agent Burke of the FBI according to his identification, spoke.
“You need to answer some questions, miss.”
That was all she heard before they marched her around the corner and into a waiting black SUV that already contained two other men and one woman—presumably a female agent—who was in the front as their driver. The two who had taken Nye sat her on the back seat between them.
One of the FBI agents had already removed her belt pouch without her noticing, and was handing it over to another agent as the tires screeched and the SUV sprang into motion. Nye watched as this older man, with gray in his hair, examined her bag and its contents.
“One key chain, with four keys. One long wallet with a state ID card and cash. Four hundred thirty-two dollars. And some loose change in the bottom.” He handed her bag over to the fourth agent who had been making notes. “You can count the change.”
Nye was glad that she’d gotten into the habit of leaving her watch in the hotel room safe. “This is a lot different from the last time I was arrested.”
Their expressions were all blank, so she blinked rapidly to activate one of the analytical programs in her glasses to decrypt their microexpressions. Dismay. Consternation and surprise. And amusement from the older agent. There was no direct response to her comment though.
The one agent finished counting her coins, then noted down the exact amount and quickly reviewed the meager inventory. “No notes, and there doesn’t seem to be any recording equipment.”
The older agent shook his head. “We’ll see.”
Nye was still wondering what this was all about. “Can you at least tell me what it was I did wrong this time?”
The older agent looked at her with hard eyes. “I think we’ll wait until we get to the FBI field office to have our discussion, Miss Nye Walker. I’m Special Agent Coulter, by the way.”
She sighed. She couldn’t see why they wouldn’t tell her now why they’d taken her into custody when they would have to inform her eventually. Wouldn’t they?
Turning her head to look out the tinted window, she saw they were headed south into the Downtown Civic Center. They drove to Foley Square and past a large group of people doing Tai Chi exercises, right up to the monstrous glass and concrete lattice of the Javits Federal Building.
Nye was hustled out of the SUV and in through a side entrance. Inside, she was directed to some sort of scanning machine—not a metal detector, but rather an advanced full-body scanner. Special Agent Coulter took the glasses off her face, and the female agent patted her down, and then they propelled her into the space where the machine would attempt to analyze her.
A technician operated the equipment. The machine hummed, the lights flickered, and Agent Coulter frowned. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, sir. Must be an issue with the power company. Anyway, I’m getting a full readout, so everything is working properly.”
Special Agent Coulter was busy closely examining Nye’s glasses. “And?”
“There are no transmitters or listening devices. And no traces of explosive material of any kind, and no radioactivity.”
The man looked like he had more to say, but the agents were already marching her down the hallway to an elevator. They still held her by the arms. Rather firmly.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked. “I’m willing to cooperate. With whatever this is about.”
They didn’t let go of her or respond to her question, but at least when they got to the elevator doors they put her glasses back on her face. That technology was impenetrable, thankfully, unlike the watch. And Nye had a feeling she’d need her glasses—since she would have to get out of whatever trouble she’d gotten into on her own. This was an opportunity to prove she no longer needed a chaperone.
The elevator whisked them all up and deposited them in a clean-smelling carpeted lobby, where the agents then whisked her down a long corridor into a spacious interrogation room. At least she supposed it had to be that. There was a rectangular table with chairs on opposite sides, and a large mirror set into one wall.
The female agent and one of the men deposited Nye into a chair, then took up positions looming behind her. The agent still holding her belt pouch sat in one of the chairs across from her.
Special Agent Coulter took the chair beside him and nodded at Nye. “You’ve got clear glass in those frames—is it some kind of disguise?”
She shook her head. “No, I wear them to make myself look good.” Which was the truth, just not in the way he was likely to think. She could watch her words just as well as Anya to avoid telling lies. She considered it a mark of her professionalism. “Now, what is this all about?”
“I’ll ask the questions. Over the past two weeks you’ve been seen hanging around Times Square, all day, every day. You’ve been asking questions about various buildings—what materials were used in the construction, and about the entrances and exits and the layout of stairs and elevators. Are you assessing targets for an attack?”
“No, I’m interested in architecture.”
“Then why have you been varying your routes to and from Times Square?”
“Because I want to learn about this city. There’s a lot to take in.” Had they been following her? That seemed the only way they’d know how she was coming and going. She blinked furiously again to start a subroutine search for reappearing faces in the video she’d recorded.
“Is this what you call cooperation?”
Nye cocked her head. “I’m answering the questions you’re asking. What more do you want?”
“How about we start at the beginning?” Special Agent Coulter paused as the door opened and a secretary walked in to hand him a very thin file folder. “Your legal name is Nye Walker, and you were born in Boartown, Indiana in nineteen eighty-three?”
“If you already know, why are you asking me?” Since he was asking about the history constructed to establish her legal identity, she blinked furiously to bring those ‘facts’ up on her glasses.
“Yes, we already know a lot about you.” Opening the file in front of him, he scanned the contents. “Though I find the things we don’t know about you much more interesting. While your birth certificate is on file with the state of Indiana, and we found an announcement of your birth in the Lafayette paper, there are no hospital records for you in the area, at all. Not even for your birth.”
Nye frowned. Either they had worked very fast or already had a file on her. “I wasn’t born in a hospital. Most women where I come from don’t bother with going, unless there’s a problem with the pregnancy. And I’ve never been sick.”
He glanced at his file again. “This Boartown has a population of twenty-eight thousand, but we can’t find any other records of your existence there. How do you explain that?”
Nye shook her head. “Is it my fault if you have trouble finding my records? I’m not very impressed with the information you have compiled. Almost all of those twenty-eight thousand are hogs—a fact you didn’t seem to be aware of.”
“Hogs?” Agent Coulter struggled trying to contain himself. “Are you telling me they count the pigs as part of the official population of the city?”
“Yes. They aren’t allowed to vote of course, but a local ordinance does grant them the right to freely assemble.”
At that point her glasses popped up with results showing two fresh faces that could have been young federal agents appearing around her in the last few days. In the hotel lobby as well as on the streets of the city. So they had been following her.
Once Agent Coulter could control his facial features again, he continued. “While you have a social security number—applied for at birth—there’s little information about you in the system. We can’t find out where you went to school.”
“I’m not surprised.” And they wouldn’t find any other records of her, all of which existed only in the far future.
“To be honest, Miss Walker, it’s all highly suspicious. It’s what we might expect to see if your identity were merely a cover that had been established a long time ago for someone to step into. Such as an agent of a foreign power. Are you truly an American citizen? And is Nye Walker your real name?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how I could prove who I am to you if you won’t believe the official documentation.” They likely would not believe her if she told them the complete truth either. And she certainly couldn’t prove it.
“If we have to, we can interview your supposed relatives.”
Nye squinted. Most of her ‘relatives’ would not have any idea who she was. She only had Matt and Anya to back up her identity, and Matt had taken off for two thousand twelve. At least Anya wouldn’t be going anywhere. Nye realized that her default decision to take Matt’s Walker surname along with Anya was a blessing. Unlike her fellow Travelers, it would give her a ‘real’ relative to back up her identity. “Go ahead. My cousin Anya lives outside of Little Piece in Chickadee County.”
Special Agent Coulter looked through the file in front of him again and switched topics. “In fact, you are a complete blank as far as we’re concerned. Until two thousand that is. You were picked up by the police at the New York Coliseum demolition site for harassing the workers there.”
“I was only asking them questions.”
“Your interest in architecture seems to be centered on buildings’ weaknesses—how to bring them down? I’m not surprised the New York police took you in for a psychiatric evaluation. But I find it odd that you didn’t have any identification on you at the time.”
Not so strange, considering she’d had no identification at all back then. She smiled at the memory of her brief stint in the looney bin. “Do you happen to have that file? I never got the chance to see what the doctors said about me, and I have to admit I’m curious.”
The agents across the table stared at her—while Nye recalled the reason she had been released from the facility so quickly. Mr. Hollingsworth. Nye had been the reason for the Travelers’ Trust retaining an attorney in the first place. And while he might have been expensive, he was also effective.
And still on retainer. She sat up straight, blinking to bring up the contact information for the lawyer. “Look, have we cleared this up now? I’d like to get back to my study of Times Square.” Something always seemed to be interrupting her research.
Special Agent Coulter stared at her. “I’m afraid we’re not ready to let you go yet, Miss Walker. And we certainly don’t want you heading back to Times Square.”
“You haven’t even read me my rights, or let me make a phone call or anything. How long do I have to stay here and submit to this interrogation?”
“Suspected terrorists don’t have a lot of rights—and besides, who would you call?”
“My lawyer. Crispin Hollingsworth. He has his practice in Midtown. Hollingsworth and Everett. I can give you the number for his direct line, and you can call him for me. And tell him I won’t say another word to you until he gets here.” Nye was only to contact the man in an emergency, but this was starting to look like one.
Special Agent Coulter stared at her first, then at the agent sitting next to him. Whatever passed between those two wasn’t in words. Both men rose to their feet.
Agent Coulter gave her a look her glasses failed to interpret. “Thank you for your cooperation. We will be in touch, Miss Walker, if we have any further questions.” Then he nodded at the other agent, who grabbed her bag off the table and handed it back to her. “And now Agent Burke will escort you from the building.”
All the way down to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk, Nye was pondering what had happened to her. Although she understood the gist of the situation, too much had passed her by, and she didn’t appreciate that at all.
Since her research routine had already been seriously disturbed for the day, she decided to return to the Ngaio and review the notes she’d taken. She should also apprise Mr. Hollingsworth of what she’d just experienced. Nye didn’t need to tell Anya anything though—even if it did prove that Nye needed no supervision, Anya would only worry more.
Turning north and walking away, Nye observed her surroundings to continue collecting more information. Even if most of it was irrelevant to her real work, more data was always a good thing—and now she needed to find the time to analyze more of what she gathered if she was going to begin understanding these people.
Nye had a difficult time relating to her contemporaries from the future. She found the twenty-first century inhabitants of this ancient metropolis more perplexing still. But if she ran enough analyses, and the right ones, on sufficient information, she should be able to comprehend them. She’d have the rest of the summer to think of a way to convince Anya to let her stay in the city year-round—she would need the extra time.