Millennium Babies

The double doors were open and inside, she heard the sound of soft conversation. She stopped just outside the door and surveyed the room.

The lights were up—not soft and golden at all—but full daylight, so that everyone's faces were visible. The Jones Room was one of the largest—the only theater, apparently, whose dimensions had been left intact. It seemed about half full.

There were tables lining the wall, with various kinds of foods and beverages, small plates to hold everything, and silverware glimmering in the brightness. People stood in various clusters. There were no chairs, no furniture groupings, and Brooke knew that was on purpose. Small floating serving trays hovered near each group. Whenever someone set an empty glass on one, the tray would float through an opening in the wall, and another tray would take its place.

Something about the groupings made her nervous, and it wasn't the lack of chairs or the fact that she didn't know anyone. She stared for a moment, trying to figure out what had caught her.

No one looked the same; they were fat and thin, tall and short. They had long hair and beards, no hair, and dyed hair. They were white, black, Asian and Hispanic or they were multiracial, with no features that marked them as part of any particular ethnic group. They were incredibly diverse—but none of them were elderly or underage. None of them had wrinkles, except for a few laugh lines, and none of them seemed younger than twenty.

They were about the same age. She would guess they were the same age—the exact same age as she was. It was a gathering of Franke's subjects for this study: all of them born January 1, 2000. All of them thirty years and 147 days old.

She shuddered. No wonder Franke was worried about this second half of the study. Most studies of this nature didn't allow the participants to get to know each other. She wondered what discipline he was dabbling in now, what sort of results he was expecting.

A man stopped beside her just outside the door. He was wearing a denim shirt, a bolo tie, and tight blue jeans. His long blond hair—naturally sunstreaked—brushed against his collar. He had a tan—something she had rarely seen in her lifetime—and it made his skin a burnished gold. He had letters on his name badge: DKGHY.

“Hi,” he said. His voice was deep, with a Southern twang. “I guess we just go in, huh?”

“I've been steeling myself for it,” she said.

He smiled. “Feels like they took away my armor when they took my name. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say, 'Hi. I'm DKG—whatever-the-hell the rest of those letters are.' Or if I'm not supposed to say anything at all.”

“Well, I don't want to be called 333.”

“Can't say as I blame you.” He gri

“De,” she said. 'I'll call you De.”

“Nice to meet you, Tre,” he said, holding out his hand.

She took it. His fingers were warm. “Nice to meet you, De.”

“Where do you hail from?”

“Right here,” she said.

“You're kiddin'? No travel expenses, huh?”

“And no hotel rooms.”

He gri

“I suppose.” She smiled at him. He was making this easier than she expected. “Where're you from?”

“Originally Galveston. But I've been in L'siana a long time now.”

“New Orleans?”

“Just outside.”

“Some city you got there.”

“Yeah, but we ain't got a place like this.” He looked around. “Want to go in?”

“Now I do,” she said.

They walked side by side as if they were a couple who had been together most of their lives. Neither of them looked at the food, although he snatched two bottles of sparkling water off one of the tables, and handed one to her. She opened it, glad to have something to carry.

A few more people came in the doors. She and De went farther into the room. Bits of conversation floated by her:

“…never really got over it…”

“…worked for the past five years as a dental hygienist…”

“…my father wanted to take us out of the country, but…”

Then there was a slight bonging sound, and the conversation halted. Franke stood in the very front of the room, where the theater screen used to be. He was easy to see because the floor slanted downward slightly. He held up his hands, and in a moment there was complete silence.

“I want to thank you all for coming.” His voice was being amplified. It sounded as he were talking right next to Brooke instead of half a room away. “Your assignment today is easy. We do not want you sharing names, but you can talk about anything else. We will be providing meals later on in various restaurants—your badge ID will be listed on a door—and we will have drinks in the bar after that. We ask that no one leave before midnight, and that you all return at noon tomorrow for the second phase.”

“That's it?” someone asked.

“That's it,” Franke said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Tre,” De said.

“Me, too,” Brooke said. “It can't be this simple.”

“I don't think it will be.”

She sighed. “Well, we signed on for this, so we may as well enjoy it.”

He looked at her sideways, his blue eyes bright. “Want to be my date for the day, darlin'?”

“It's always nice to have one friendly face,” she said, surprised at how easily she was flirting with him. She never flirted with anyone.

“That it is.” He offered her his arm. “Let's see how many of these nice folks are interested in conversation.”

“Mingle, huh?” she asked, as she put her hand in the crook of his arm.

“I think that's what we're meant to do.” He frowned. “Only god knows, I 'spect it'll all backfire 'fore the weekend's done.”

It didn't backfire that night. Brooke had a marvelous di

“What made y'all sign up for this foolishness?” he asked.

“The money,” said the man from Los Gatos. He was slender to the point of gauntness, with dark eyes and thi

“Me, either,” the woman from Boston said. She was tall and broadshouldered, with muscular arms. During the conversation, she mentioned that she had played professional basketball until she was sidelined with a knee injury. “I haven't had so many tests since I got out of school.”

The man from Santa Barbara said nothing, which surprised Brooke. He was a short stubby man with more charm than he had originally appeared to have. He had been the most talkative during di

“How about you, Tre?” De asked Brooke.

“I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't part of the university,” she said, and realized that was true. Professor Franke probably wouldn't have had the time to convince her, and she would have dismissed him out of hand.

“Me,” De said, “I jumped at it. Never been asked to do something like this before. Felt it was sort of important, you know. Anything to help the human condition.”

“You don't really believe that,” Santa Barbara said.

“If you don't believe it,” Los Gatos said to Santa Barbara, “why'd you sign up?”

“Free flight to Madison, vacationer's paradise,” Santa Barbara said, and they all laughed. But he never did answer the question.

When Brooke got home, she sat on her porch and looked at the stars. The night was warm. The crickets were chirping and she thought she heard a frog answer them from a nearby ditch.