Twisted Time

4 - Data

The cold store, 23:32

Dan tries to open her eyes during a fit of dizziness but gives up. Still nauseous, she searches for support and finds it in the form of a strong arm. She gets a good grip on it and leans into the solid body, grateful for this piece of reality in an incomprehensible world.

It takes a while until she feels stable enough to open her eyes. At least this time, she didn't wake up sprawled on the floor. A quick glance around tells her she's back in the cold store. Not that the icy temperature left room for doubts. The glow of the tiny red led illuminates parts of the cabinet. Dan tries to stop the uncontrolled trembling of her limbs, glad Ric holds her tight. His face reflects a mixture of worry and lack of understanding.

"Where have you been? You disappeared without warning." His voice is reduced to a faint whisper. Dan turns her head to stare at the door of their inadequate hideout.

"Are they still out there? It's bloody freezing." She struggles to prevent her teeth from chattering.

"There's two of them, and I think they're about to leave. But you didn't answer my question."

"Cause I don't know what happened. I was—back. Home, but only for a short period. How long have I been gone?"

"Five minutes, maybe six." Ric shivers.

"That fits. You must be sub-cooled. You'll develop frostbite." Dan is worried about her accidental companion. His continuous shivers confirm her suspicions. He spent five minutes longer in this unnatural environment. They have to get out without further delay.

Ric concentrates on the faint transmission of his grey box. "Okay, this was the door closing. They're gone. Another minute, and we leave."

Dan counts seconds, her impatience growing by the moment. She can't imagine into what kind of weird story she got entangled. But for the moment, Dan won't alienate her only potential ally—even at the risk of frostbite. However, she fears Ric will realise any second she is not the partner she tries to embody.
To pass the slow-moving time, she tries to decipher the labels of the boxes on the shelf to her right. There is no recognisable pattern in the numbers and codes. These are not the bar- and QR-codes she is used to, those found everywhere from supermarkets to libraries and on the labels of DNA-samples.

The cold makes her thoughts so sluggish that a metallic click is the first thing telling her Ric is about to shift the lever and open the door. Dan holds onto his arm while she follows him into the well-lit lab, stumbling on shaky legs.

"This was bloody cold and damn dangerous. Are you all right, girl?" His voice is hoarse, probably from the cold. "Hey, when did you find an opportunity to change?"

Embarrassed, she checks her dark clothing, aware of the unfashionable rip in her dirty jeans. But this isn't a catwalk. Dan decides on a forward strategy and forces a cocky grin. What's there to lose? "Don't complain about my outfit. For one, that's the best I could find in the five minutes I had at my disposition." She wraps her arms around her shivering body. "Besides, you still owe me explanations. What are we supposed to search for?"

"Hey, I wasn't about to complain. These clothes suit our little endeavour better than the other museum's pieces." He walks up and down with quick steps, rubbing his arms. "And for the rest, we search proofs for temp animation use. They must hide an illegal TA somewhere in this facility. Marc was supposed to brief you. I know he's kind of boring, but did he lull you to sleep?"

"Listen, Ric, this was too complicated and fast for my frozen brain. Explain what you want me to do. Dig through the drawers? Fine, as long as it helps to thaw my bloodstream."

He shakes his head and turns to the row of consoles. Still shivering, he runs his grey device over the surface of tables and shelves. In front of a strange, boxlike unit, he stops.

"Just as I thought. Those two came here to use the coffeemaker. Explains why no one  mentioned important business." He stows his box in his pocket. "They mainly bickered about the new hairdo of a female colleague. I felt almost sorry for her. Guess it's time to check where our machos went. Come!"

"Wait, fifteen minutes ago you had only eyes for the data or whatever you were looking for in the blinking computer over there. Now, you want to leave and don't bother anymore?"

Ric glances at the console with the tiny LEDs, a frown marring his forehead. He seems torn between the urge to quit the lab and the duty to remain. "You're right. We need a copy of the data. Although I hate to stay in the vicinity of that fridge for much longer."

Dan shakes her head behind his back. It wasn't her idea to hide in the cooler, but she doubts Ric wants to hear this right now. He rubs his arms and wriggles his fingers before he steps up to the computer terminal. His hands must be as numb as Dan's, and almost drop his indispensable grey box while retrieving it from his pocket and places it beside the screen. Without another word, he punches codes into the touch-pad.

Dan itches to check out the grey instrument. Is this a high tech recorder? It carries a distinct touch of Star Trek glamour. Fascinated, she follows Ric's effortless mastery of the comp. With a blank face, he cracks a code, confirms a password, enters strings of commands. Suddenly, rows of numbers fill the screen.

His mumbling is almost inaudible. "I hate these antique models. Take an eternity to process the simplest request."

Dan raises her eyebrows. The installation looks anything but outdated. Futuristic would be the adjective of her choice, or fit for a science fiction movie. Before she can remark on his selection of words, Ric sucks in his breath, air hissing between his front teeth.

Dan's curiosity flares. "What? Have you found anything useful?"

"Not sure. But this one name keeps reappearing, Danielle Lent. I know she was the initiator of the whole gig, of course. But they store more data about her than we have available in our own archives, and that's some. What makes her so important to this gang?"

Dan stares at him wide-eyed. She fumbles for words, her thoughts a whirlwind of questions.
The flickering of the ceiling lights tears her out of her paralysis. Her fingers clamp on a table-rim the moment the lights wink out.