doubleZero | Page 4

herself.
11:59:49.
"Ten, nine, eight," they quietly counted together. "Seven, six, five, four..." This was the joyous conclusion of their work, but the moment was nothing but a nightmare. Their stomachs were in knots, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Lloyd sat in the middle with his arms around Julie and Fix's shoulders.
"Three. Two. One."
Nothing. Julie turned and checked the text displays. She tapped at the keyboard, muttering to herself. "Basic input/output, date operations... system time, real time... date interfacing..." She turned back to the two young men. "Gentlemen, we have compliance! It worked!" she screamed, "Happy new millennium!" They jumped out of their chairs, yelling and cheering. Julie popped the plastic mushroom cork off the champagne. Champagne spilled down her hand. Lloyd reached for plastic glasses, which she quickly filled.
"To..." Lloyd began. But he was lost for words. All their preparation had been for the stroke of midnight, never a thought given to what would happen in the moment after.
"To business as usual," Fix said, raising his plastic glass. They clicked their glasses together and repeated the cheer. But as the tangy fizz made its way down his throat, he found himself feeling disappointed.
2
Fix opened his eyes with some difficulty. After a few seconds of not knowing who or where he was, he focused on the surroundings of his apartment. His futon lay on the floor, a raft in an ocean of T-shirts and jeans, cassette tapes and half-read computer books. Like wooden icebergs in this ocean, a few Deco-style dressers drifted in the corners of the room, the only storage space in the bachelor apartment. From the closest piece, a small unit with curved corners and dark etched lines, Fix grabbed his palmtop computer and silenced its alarm. Its screen showed the time as "10:21, Sat 01/01/2000". He smiled at the little device, happy that it made it through the date change.
He rolled from the bed and dragged himself to the bathroom, wearing only yesterday's underwear, the same kind of plain white boxers he always wore. One of his few dates once teased him, saying they were "old man underwear". Yeah, well, they were still around and the date wasn't.
His reflection in the mirror looked tired, but that was nothing new. He swore to himself that tonight he'd get to bed early. It was Saturday, after all. He'd just go to work, check a few things, maybe rent a movie, and make an early evening of it. Movie. VCR. Suddenly back in alert-thinking mode, he poked his head out from the bathroom door to look at the VCR. It flashed "12:00". Hmm, he thought, he hadn't checked the year on the VCR. It was probably screwed. Ehh, there was nothing he wanted to tape anyway.
He poked his head back around the corner. Why was the time flashing? The power must have gone out. Was this just a regular holiday blackout, or was it Y2K-related? Fix read about a power company in Hawaii whose main computer, the one that directed surges of power, failed a Y2K test. It had a backup, but that failed the test, too. When the first one crashed, it would be replaced by... another computer that would crash. But the mistake was caught. Looked like there might be an old computer on the grid here at home. Or maybe he was just being paranoid.
He went back into the bathroom and turned the taps in the shower, happy when water poured from the faucet. He'd never thought before of all the systems and people that made such simple things possible. He adjusted the taps, testing the temperature with his hand. When it was just right, he pulled off his boxers, dropped them on the floor, and stepped inside.
Mrs. Lewecki stopped him in the hall. "No bicycles inside. I tell you before," she said. As his landlady, she was obliged to remind him of the policy, but her tone conveyed no expectation that he would ever obey it. She was always very pleasant with Fix, almost parental. He didn't talk to any of the other neighbours when he saw them in the long dark hallway to the front door, but he made an exception for the super. She was just so sweet, and he figured it couldn't hurt to have her on his side.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lewecki ," he said, swinging his bike around her. "It won't happen again."
"You should not be riding this time of year. You get yourself killed." Fix nodded, half to thank her for her concern, half to appease her. This had been the driest winter in years. A quick check out the front door showed that last night's snow barely even struck the ground. This season was just cold, asphalt, and concrete.
He hoisted the bike up while he descended the stairs, then