Crossover

Escape

'You're from the future,' Ash repeated.

'I need to talk to someone in charge,' the boy said. 'There's not much time. No!' He hesitated. 'Wait. There's lots of time. There's decades. I'm in the past.'

'The past? Decades? In charge of what?' Ash was aware that she sounded ridiculous, but she was faced with a ridiculous situation. Surely the boy was insane – but how had he gotten here? He had appeared right in front of her eyes.

'In charge of radioactive materials,' the boy said. 'Rare ones. If you don't know who that is, perhaps you can tell me–'

'I can tell you you'll get arrested by the TRA if you ask anyone in charge of anything about radioactive materials,' Ash said. 'Who are you?'

'What's the TRA?'

Ash was a very, very good liar, and she could usually tell when someone else was. The boy looked completely honest. But if he hadn't heard of Terrorism Risk Assessment, then where had he come from?

The green room door creaked open. Tognetti stepped in, holding a bow in one hand and the $11 million violin in the other.

He smiled at Ash. 'Hello again.'

Ash's heart kicked in her chest. 'Hi – how was the performance.'

'Fine, fine.' He looked at the boy. 'Who's this?'

I wish I knew, Ash thought.

'Are you in charge here?' the boy demanded.

'Mr Tognetti, this is Quentin James,' Ash said quickly. 'He's my driver. I'm afraid we really must get going.'

The boy frowned at her. 'Where are we going?'

'Straight to the hotel tonight, thank you,' Ash said, herding him out the door. 'Lovely to meet you, Mr Tognetti.'

'Wait.' The boy stepped around her and walked over to the far side of the room. Ash was horrified to see him stop right next to the fake violin case, and pick up a small canister with a pointed nozzle mounted on one end.

Tognetti frowned. 'What's that?'

'My cutting torch,' the boy said.

Tognetti's eyes went back to the fake case.

'Gotta go,' Ash said. She grabbed the boy's arm – which felt like an iron bar wrapped in thin silicone – and dragged him out the green room door. It fell closed behind them.

'Why do you have a cutting torch?' she hissed.

'I had it with me when I was captured,' the boy said, frowning. 'Byre must have left it on me when she sent me through time. I don't know why she would do that – or why it appeared all the way over on the other side of the room.'

Stagehands, musicians and audience members bustled back and forth through the corridor, chattering excitedly. Their voices bounced off the high ceiling, magnifying the din. Ash wasn't sure what was causing the commotion, but she figured she could use it to escape.

'Okay,' she told the boy. 'Wait here. I'll find someone to talk about radioactive materials with you.'

To her relief, he nodded. She threaded through the crowd, looking for a way out. She had planned to leave by the main exit, but the rest of the audience was going that way, and they might slow her down, particularly if they recognised her. Instead, she headed for the rear loading dock.

As she passed another television screen, something caught her eye. A metal table stood on the stage, adorned with nylon straps, designed to restrain someone. The wood beneath it was cracked, as though the table had been dropped from a few metres up.