Anthem's Fall

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Two

Kristen

 

Kristen walked down the crowded Amsterdam Avenue sidewalk, immersed in the sounds and smells of Manhattan’s morning rush hour. She tried to think of anything but the congestion of pedestrians, car horns, and yelling taxi drivers engulfing her. There was a cool touch to the morning air, and Kristen took some comfort in the knowledge that autumn was claiming the city. She could not abide one more day of the sticky claustrophobic swelter of summer in New York.

Her thoughts turned to the research meeting scheduled that day.

In the past when Professor Vatruvia had brought the whole research team together, it had always been to make a big announcement, either a new source of funding or a breakthrough in their work. But ever since the global media’s fascination with the iconic Vatruvian cell, funding had become a dead issue; the research team’s coffers were brimming. The meeting had to be a breakthrough in their work. This prospect filled Kristen with mounting angst she fought to conceal. Head down, she focused on the dirty sidewalk with an expressionless gaze. What was the breakthrough?

Professor Vatruvia’s team had recently branched out to other fields, and it made Kristen uneasy. How could seemingly every subspecialty of academia be working on the same research project? Biologists, engineers, computer scientists, medical doctors, and zoologists: all working separately in the same venture. It was remarkable how carefully—and Kristen thought, subtly—their leader was keeping the individual members of his team in the dark. Professor Vatruvia seemed to be gradually cloaking his long-term goals for the Vatruvian cell, concealing his intentions without anyone noticing the furtive transformation. But Kristen had noticed. She also knew the goal of the research had to be lofty, whatever it was. Kristen resented that he was hiding the truth from her of all people, considering she was one of the founders of the technology. Yet she could not help but wonder if her feelings were just misconstrued resentment at being sidelined from her vital involvement during the early Vatruvian cell developments the previous winter.

A growl in her stomach reminded Kristen that she had forgone breakfast, and she turned into a corner café. The door of the shop opened with the tinkling of a bell, and Kristen stepped in line behind half a dozen people. A television mounted on the wall drew her attention from the pastries. A CNN reporter was talking about an international flight over Canada. A commercial jetliner had undergone engine failure at thirty thousand feet. The anchors were stressing the bravery and quick actions of the pilots, who masterfully righted the plane and avoided certain catastrophe.

A passenger was talking into a microphone held by a reporter. “You aren’t listening to me!” The man was exasperated, his face flushed. “The engines didn’t start back up! I was sitting right behind the wing. I would have felt o-o-or heard them reengage. You know the roar of engines when you’re behind the wing? Well there was no roar! They were puttering! Look . . . all I know is we fell like a rock for a whole minute. God, it was a nightmare. Oxygen masks dangling, luggage crashing out of overhead compartments. People were screaming. I remember my seatbelt digging into my stomach as it held me to my goddamn seat! And the passengers who weren’t wearing seatbelts . . .” The man trailed off. “I thought we were goners.”

“Well, we are all thankful the pilots were able to reengage the turbines and take control of the plane before any serious injuries occurred.” The reporter chirped.

 “No!” the passenger yanked back the microphone. “That’s not what happened! The plane slowed to a stop in midair. It didn’t right itself, and the engines didn’t reengage. The plane stopped! I’m telling you, we were floating in the air all the way down to the ground. Look at the field where the plane landed, for god’s sake! Do you see any landing tracks?”

A replay of a helicopter bird’s-eye view depicted an enormous blue-and-silver jetliner parked like a beached whale in a cornfield. There was no indication of any landing. Surrounding the huge steel girth, tall corn stalks stood intact, the organized rows unmarked.

The broadcast returned to the colorfully decorated studio.

“Well, as you can see, the passengers are still in shock from the incident—no doubt shaken from the traumatic experience. Fortunately, the near disaster was safely avoided. Although crewmembers have declined comment, spokesmen for the airline have issued a statement that the engines reengaged at approximately fifteen thousa—”

“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” asked a café worker with a Brooklyn accent and cigarette smoker’s growl.

Kristen shook her head and brought her attention back to the breakfast options.

“One of the blueberry muffins and a coffee. To go, thanks.” Kristen said. She looked back to the television to see that the topic had moved on to a decline in European financial markets.

On the street, Kristen sipped her coffee and ruminated over a thick spiral notebook of her research observations she had pulled out from her backpack.