Twisted Time

36 - Home comfort

The museum, 03:25

Ric closes the door behind himself and lifts the Metec. The dim light of the gadget reveals a hall filled with a weird assembly of furniture. Dan blinks, reminded of a second-hand shop or a mass supplier's discount corner, stuffed with the most unconventional furnishings. The collection of tables and chairs includes designs from classic to Belle Époque and plain futuristic. The purpose of some strange and—to her eyes—misshaped items eludes her.

Ric studies the display of his Metec, at the same time illuminating their path ahead. The purplish glow outlines his face with an etched-on frown. He guides Dan into the next hall where groups of seats form small islands, dotting a sea of colourful carpets. He glances at the ceiling.

"Perfect, I've got them in range again. The reach of my sensors is restricted, something in the building interferes with the tracking frequency. We have to stick in their vicinity if we want to keep control of their movements. I think they still search the room with the tents."

Dan leans her head back, listening intently, but knows the menacing footsteps exist only in her imagination. Their adversaries are at least two stories above.

"What do you think about a short break? I fall asleep on my feet and want to get out of this mess. The museum is fascinating, but I'm not in the mood to appreciate it. Besides, did you hear the wailing in the stairwell? There's another alarm somewhere."

"I know, though I guess this was a burglar alarm. Fire sirens sound different."

"Is this supposed to reassure me? Listen, Ric, I don't care to be arrested, either from the police or these mafia people. Remember how you reacted to my driving licence? Chances are I'd rot in a cell forever—if I'm not shot on sight."

"Why should anyone shoot you? I'm sure they'd settle for intense interrogation."

Dan's temper flares. Her partner seems far too relaxed, his mirthful grin is far too joyful. With an exaggerated sigh, she lets herself fall into the cushions of a beige sofa placed on a colourful rug. Ric stops in front of her, his smile fading, but still holding her hand. Perhaps his joking remark was  an act? A deepening fold on his forehead announces a mood swing. "Hey, you can't sit on a precious antique upholstery. This is a collector's piece."

Dan bites her lip, unsure if he's serious or joking. Frowning, he studies the label mounted beside the piece of furniture. "Early twenty-first century, a typical example of the Scandinavian wooden style. These are valuable items, probably irreplaceable. You can't just sit on them. Also, we can leave in a few minutes now."

"Antiquity? Ric, these things are mass-produced by IKEA. They sell them in the ten-thousands. I know, we owned one of those in a student home a few years back." Ric's frown makes her laugh. "My point is, they are cheap enough for students to buy. Please relax, it's not like I'm resting my feet onto an original Louis XV chair. Sit down and enjoy the domestic culture of the twenty-first-century lower middle class. What did you mean, we can leave in a few minutes?"

Ric insists on standing in front of the sofa, still holding her hand, giving her position an awkward twist. Dan can't understand his reluctance to sit on a simple couch: He made less fuss about knocking out a person. But who am I to understand male morals? And future ones, at that.

She shrugs and tries to focus on his words, aware she tuned him out for a few moments.
"... the virus infected their systems. Then memory corruption is a matter of moments. The program is aggressive and intrusive. After erasing the data, it should destroy the hardware by overheating selected processors."

He checks the display of his gadget, and Dan believes she can almost hear the gears click while his face remains blank, his mind lost in calculations.

"In eight-point-five minutes, the power supply down there will be cut to prevent system destruction. At the same moment, the TA pulling you forward in time shuts down and releases you. It has no backup supply, I checked before we were caught down in the chamber. Even if they restart the thing, your coordinates won't be registered anymore."

Dan leans back and pulls Ric closer. He stumbles and falls onto the sofa beside her with a sigh. She prods his ribs. When he turns towards her, the corners of his mouth are pulled into his trademark smirk. His free arm sneaks around her shoulders, and she leans into the half-hug without resistance. His grin broadens. "You're right, let's enjoy our last minutes together."

"Exactly. My opportunities to test historic sofas in a museum at half-past three in the morning in the company of an attractive stranger are rare."

Before Dan finds time to feel embarrassed about calling him attractive, the room is flooded with bright artificial light. She is about to jump up, but Ric holds her down, his eyes fixed on the Metec.

"No worries, they are still on the utmost floor. Probably found the technical room and switched on the lights to facilitate the search. I doubt they'll reach us in time."

"Whatever, they destroyed our romantic moment."

Ric's eyes reflect a spotlight, and Dan is unsure how to read his expression. His smile has faded away. He releases her hand to brush a strand of hair out of her face. Slowly, he twirls it around his finger, then stops and tucks it behind her ear, the touch of his fingers warm on her neck.

"It's time soon. Are there questions you want to ask before you return home?"

The lights flicker their eerie answer.