And it was snowing.
Gingerly, she stepped into the closet. The instant her foot touched the floor, it seemed to expand to all sides. She stood at the center of a great wheel of doors, with all but two of them–to her office and to the winter world–shut. There were hooks beside each door, and hanging from them were costumes of a hundred different cultures. She thought she recognized togas, Victorian opera dress, kimonos... . But most of the clothing was unfamiliar.
Beside the door into winter, there was a long cape. Ellie wrapped it around herself, and discovered a knob on the inside. She twisted it to the right, and suddenly the coat was hot as hot. Quickly, she twisted the knob to the left, and it grew cold. She fiddled with the thing until the cape felt just right. Then she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the forbidding city.
There was a slight electric sizzle, and she was standing in the street.
Ellie spun around to see what was behind her: a rectangle of some glassy black material. She rapped it with her knuckles. It was solid. But when she brought her key near its surface, it shimmered and opened into that strange space between worlds again.
So she had a way back home.
To either side of her rectangle were identical glassy rectangles faceted slightly away from it.
They were the exterior of an enormous kiosk, or perhaps a very low building, at the center of a large, featureless square. She walked all the way around it, rapping each rectangle with her key.
Only the one would open for her.
The first thing to do was to find out where–or, rather, when–she was. Ellie stepped in front of one of the hunched, slow-walking men. "Excuse me, sir, could you answer a few questions for me?"
The man raised a face that was utterly bleak and without hope. A ring of grey metal glinted from his neck. "Hawrzat dagtiknut?" he asked.
Ellie stepped back in horror, and, like a wind-up toy temporarily halted by a hand or a foot, the man resumed his plodding gait.
She cursed herself. Of course language would have changed in the however-many-centuries future she found herself in. Well ... that was going to make gathering information more difficult. But she was used to difficult tasks. The evening of James’s suicide, she had been the one to clean the walls and the floor. After that, she’d known that she was capable of doing anything she set her mind to.
Above all, it was important that she not get lost. She scanned the square with the doorways in time at its center–mentally, she dubbed it Times Square–and chose at random one of the broad avenues converging on it. That, she decided would be Broadway.
Ellie started down Broadway, watching everybody and everything. Some of the drone-folk were dragging sledges with complex machinery on them. Others were hunched under soft translucent bags filled with murky fluid and vague biomorphic shapes. The air smelled bad, but in ways she was not familiar with.
She had gotten perhaps three blocks when the sirens went off–great piercing blasts of noise that assailed the ears and echoed from the building walls. All the streetlights flashed off and on and off again in a one-two rhythm. From unseen loudspeakers, an authoritative voice blared, "Akgang!
Akgang! Kronzvarbrakar! Zawzawkstrag! Akgang! Akgang... ."
Without hurry, the people in the street began turning away, touching their hands to dull grey plates beside nondescript doors and disappearing into the buildings.
"Oh, cripes!" Ellie muttered. She’d best–
There was a disturbance behind her. Ellie turned and saw the strangest thing yet.
It was a girl of eighteen or nineteen, wearing summer clothes–a man’s trousers, a short-sleeved flower-print blouse–and she was running down the street in a panic. She grabbed at the uncaring drones, begging for help. "Please!" she cried. "Can’t you help me? Somebody! Please ... you have to help me!" Puffs of steam came from her mouth with each breath. Once or twice she made a sudden dart for one of the doorways and slapped her hand on the greasy plates. But the doors would not open for her.
Now the girl had reached Ellie. In a voice that expected nothing, she said, "Please?"
"I’ll help you, dear," Ellie said.
The girl shrieked, then convulsively hugged her. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," she babbled.
"Follow close behind me." Ellie strode up behind one of the lifeless un-men and, just after he had slapped his hand on the plate, but before he could enter, grabbed his rough tunic and gave it a yank. He turned.
"Vamoose!" she said in her sternest voice, and jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
The un-man turned away. He might not understand the word, but the tone and the gesture sufficed.
Ellie stepped inside, pulling the girl after her. The door closed behind them.
"Wow," said the girl wonderingly. "How did you do that?"
"This is a slave culture. For a slave to survive, he’s got to obey anyone who acts like a master.
It’s that simple. Now, what’s your name and how did you get here?" As she spoke, Ellie took in her surroundings. The room they were in was dim, grimy–and vast. So far as she could see, there were no interior walls, only the occasional pillar, and, here and there, a set of functional metal stairs without railings.
"Nadine Shepard. I ... I ... There was a door! And I walked through it and I found myself here! I ..."
The child was close to hysteria. "I know, dear. Tell me, when are you from?"
"Chicago. On the North Side, near ..."
"Not where, dear, when? What year is it?"
"Uh ... two thousand and four. Isn’t it?"
"Not here. Not now." The grey people were everywhere, moving sluggishly, yet always keeping within sets of yellow lines painted on the concrete floor. Their smell was pervasive, and far from pleasant. Still ...
Ellie stepped directly into the path of one of the sad creatures, a woman. When she stopped, Ellie took the tunic from her shoulders and then stepped back. Without so much as an expression of annoyance, the woman resumed her plodding walk.
"Here you are." She handed the tunic to young Nadine. "Put this on, dear, you must be freezing.
Your skin is positively blue." And, indeed, it was not much warmer inside than it had been outdoors. "I’m Eleanor Voigt. Mrs. James Voigt."
Shivering, Nadine donned the rough garment. But instead of thanking Ellie, she said, "You look familiar."
Ellie returned her gaze. She was a pretty enough creature though, strangely, she wore no makeup at all. Her features were regular, intelligent–"You look familiar too. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but ..."
"Okay," Nadine said, "now tell me. Please. Where and when am I, and what’s going on?"
"I honestly don’t know," Ellie said. Dimly, through the walls, she could hear the sirens and the loudspeaker-voice. If only it weren’t so murky in here! She couldn’t get any clear idea of the building’s layout or function.
"But you must know! You’re so ... so capable, so in control. You ..."
"I’m a castaway like you, dear. Just figuring things out as I go along." She continued to peer.
"But I can tell you this much: We are far, far in the future. The poor degraded beings you saw on the street are the slaves of a superior race–let’s call them the Aftermen. The Aftermen are very cruel, and they can travel through time as easily as you or I can travel from city to city via inter-urban rail. And that’s all I know. So far."