A distant siren wailed and the walls vibrated from a semi taking off at the lights outside. Diesel fumes wafted through the open window.

Vance watched with mild amusement as Edith went around their apartment methodically turning off anything with a digital clock, the VCR, the fax-machine, the radio alarm clock. Somehow, she had put the Y2K problem and the end of the millennium together and come up with Armageddon. His chuckle as she switched off microwave, became irritation when she reached for his computer.

"That's enough!"

"But its quarter to twelve," Edith said.

"I know. We should be out celebrating instead of stuck here turning off the twentieth century."

"But..."

"Look," he interrupted fiercely. "I've told you already, Y2K will not effect us. It only effects older machines. Ones that have the century hard coded, and even then it only affects date dependent programs."

"Then why is everyone trying to fix it."

"Because there are still lots of old machines, especially in banks, but even supposing the microwave timer could be set to 1900, it would still cook the same."

"They didn't have microwaves in 1900." Edith said smugly as she left.

With an exasperated sigh Vance returned to his millennial article. Five minutes later the power went off. He cursed the increasingly unreliable supply and went in search of a torch.

He found it, and Edith, at the power board.

"It's for your own good," she said. "This house is saturated in electronic emissions. When the millennium ends, anything could happen."

"Look," Vance said pedantically "You're confusing two unrelated events. The end of the millennium is 2001, next New Year's Eve. The Y2K problem, this New Year's Eve won't affect us." He forcefully flicked the circuit breaker to ON. The lights came up, the refrigerator hummed to life and he heard Edith's voice reiterating their 'we are unavailable' message on the phone answering machine. "Don't touch!" He barked at her.

Edith remained defiant. "I'll leave!"

"Suite yourself."

Abruptly Edith changed tack. "Please Vance," she cajoled, "it's four minutes away. What can it hurt to turn it all off, just while we cross the boundary?"

"What boundary!" Vance exclaimed pushing blunt fingers through thinning hair. "It's not the millennium Edith. Even if it were, half the world doesn't use our calendar."

"But we do." She insisted. "It's our ... millennium."

"That is utterly irrelevant," Vance said through gritted teeth.

"Please.?"

"No! ... On principle."

The front door banged a minute later as Vance sat down again at the computer. Outside, the traffic began tooting in anticipation. He put the calendar on screen to watch the final seconds of 1999 tick away.

The graphically represented second hand pulsed to vertical.

With an implosive bang his computer flashed out of existence. The apartment was suddenly quiet. Then through the open window Vance's heard unexpected sounds: the whickering of horses, the click of hooves, the clatter of iron wheels on cobblestones.