Mask

by C. C. Kelly

  “We don’t know Sir, but it isn’t the book. It’s just the cover. There’s another layer of encrypted data we’re going through now.”

  R. Garraty relaxed a little. “Very talented demonstration. Very talented indeed. Where was the image posted?”

  “On my vid desktop Sir.”

  R. Garraty took in a deep breathe. “Very, very impressive. Does he have a tag?”

  J. Anderton again glanced at his notes. “Yes, Slipknot seems to be the tag. I researched the Archives. Slipknot was a musical group from the early twenty-first century that concealed their identities by wearing frightening masks.”

  R. Garraty rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “This is most troubling, very troubling indeed, even for a new applicant. So I suppose we had better not waste any time and offer him a position sooner rather than later, yes? A few months in Battle School and he’ll be a Level One Tech. I feel confident on this, and I’m rarely wrong about such things, now am I?

  J. Anderton laughed as he touched the screen on his hand held vid. “No Sir, you rarely are.”

  R. Garraty was less convinced of his own words. This was too bold, even for a hacker attempting to get noticed by the Division. There was a fine line between criminal hacking and showing off for IC as an applicant. This was something else entirely. No one had ever penetrated the Division’s firewalls. And the choice to post Anthem was no less troubling. Ability was one thing, but a purpose was dangerous.

  A new image appeared on R. Garraty’s desk vid.

  “This is Slipknot’s residence. Tactical has been deployed. Strange, we are having a difficult time discerning the property owner’s information. I’m hopeful you will be right again and he’ll join us. He’s quite the talent.”

  “Oh, I feel quite certain he shall. They always do, in the end you know, now don’t they? Besides, if he chooses the anti-social path, Tactical will be there to act as the cleaner.”

  “Cleaner, Sir?”

  “A delightful old expression I came across in my research. It refers to a secret individual who, for a significant sum of revenue, would tidy up after a crime had gone horribly — wrong. If Mister Slipknot does not join us, I am afraid he will have gone horribly wrong, wouldn’t you agree? See to it that his entire family is eliminated as well, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Sir, of course.”

  R. Garraty stared down at the vid of the quiet suburban home. A top hacker was sitting there, either asking for a job or taunting him. R. Garraty felt slightly sick to his stomach. He had no confidence at all, in spite of what he had indicated to J. Anderton. He desperately hoped he was wrong about this one.

  ******

  An hour later J. Anderton was back in R. Garraty’s office, pointing at his desk vid.

  “Sir, if I may? This is the on-site vid feed. The house isn’t there. As you can see, it’s an empty lot. The house appears to have burned down and been cleared away some years ago.”

  “Are you suggesting he hacked our satellite mapping systems?”

  “No, I’m not suggesting it, I’m stating it as a matter of fact,” the new comer said flatly.

  Ms. H. Offred stood behind the man with her hands out and shrugged her shoulders. R. Garraty nodded for her not to worry. He had never met this individual before and was unsettled that someone would have the temerity to barge into the Office of the Deputy Director of Information Control. He was imposing, dressed in a black jump-suit, like a member of Tactical. But R. Garraty doubted he was assigned to that Division, regardless of the weapon clipped to his belt.

  “And you are?”

  “Lint.”

  “Just Lint?”

  “No, you may call me Mister J. Lint.”

  R. Garraty was taken aback, but said nothing. The attitude was disconcerting, too confident.

  Mister J. Lint walked over to look out at the factory floor from the same spot Garraty had occupied earlier that morning. I think we have an Indie on our hands, gentlemen. I want this entire floor re-assigned. Mister J. Anderton, how’s the encryption going on that book cover?”

  “Slow. He’s good, real good. I’ve never heard the term, what’s an Indie, Sir?” J. Anderton asked.

  “A subversive hacker, a rogue, but no one is that good, they always leave a trail. He’ll make a mistake and then we’ll kill him, his family, and his co-workers and maybe even his dog,” J. Lint said.

  R. Garraty glanced down at his private drawer. Mister J. Lint made him nervous.

  R. Garraty stood up and walked around his desk. Mister J. Lint was significantly younger, better looking and taller. He stopped a few steps away so he wouldn’t have to look up. “Rest assured I have this matter quite under control. We simply have another applicant for IC, nothing to be alarmed about Mister J. Lint.” He stared at J. Anderton for reassurance. “And what Division exactly, gives you authority here?”

  Mister J. Lint just stared at Deputy Director Garraty as he pulled out a black retinal scan card and laid it on the wooden desk. R. Garraty lost most of his self-righteous indignation when he saw the Marque of the Ministry’s Secret Police. He’d never met one before.

  Mister J. Lint looked back across the factory floor. “Interesting desk you have there Director, doesn’t look like it was assigned by Division.”

  ******

  R. Garraty and Mister J. Lint circled each other, pacing.

  “Sir, something you might be interested in has come to our attention. The house in the satellite image is from a suburb of Dallas,” J. Anderton explained as he pointed to the desk vid. “See the shadows here; they are point four degrees off.”

  J. Lint glanced at the vid. “Just an applicant?”

  R. Garraty looked over J. Anderton’s shoulder as he walked by and spread his hands, “Clearly his goal is Level One and that requires a top performance. To get noticed requires more than changing the assigned cafeteria menu, don’t you think?”

  J. Anderton glanced down at his vid as a notification alarm went off. “We have new data on the Anthem cover.”

  Both J. Lint and R. Garraty stopped pacing.

  “It’s a text statement, “Tear down the Temples of Syrinx and join us in Sanctuary.”

  They all looked at each other, baffled.

  “It sounds like gibberish, Jay. What can it possibly mean?” R. Garraty asked.

  J. Lint leaned back against the factory floor windows and crossed his arms.

  “The techs are searching now,” J. Anderton responded.

  “Sanctuary?” R. Garraty asked.

  “A subversive organization, no doubt,” J. Lint answered, “a call for their followers. This layer is going to show up in more places than you realize Director. I’m confident. This is about to go from bad to worse.”

  “Nonsense, Mister J. Lint. If such a subversive organization were to exist we would certainly have ferreted them out long ago. I believe this is something else entirely, a further demonstration of his talent, nothing more. I think he very much wants to join us here at the top.”

  J. Anderton looked to the two men and put his head down to monitor his vid.

  “I do not agree with your analysis Mister Director and further more, if you were, in fact, correct in your — assessment of the situation, I would not be wasting my time here.”

  A cold shiver ran up R. Garraty’s spine. He stepped back around his desk and dropped unprofessionally into his chair. He glanced out the factory floor windows for any sign of the courier. He was very concerned that Mister J. Lint might very well possess classified details on this matter that he was, so far, reluctant to share. And if that were true, why would the Ministry choose to conceal information from him, the Director of Information Control? But, once the courier came, he could leave this all to Mister J. Lint and good riddance.

  J. Anderton looked up from his vid. “Sir, research has something. The Temples of Syrinx is a reference to a rather famous musical group from the turn of the last century. They were called Rush. Specifically, it is a song within a l
arger concept. It refers to a totalitarian regime that suppresses all individual expression.”

  Mister J. Lint glared at Garraty again.

  J. Anderton’s face paled slightly. “And Sir, the notes on the recording reference Ayn Rand.”

  “Just an applicant?” J. Lint asked again.

  R. Garraty dropped his face into his hands and studied his desk. This was becoming a pattern. He tried to maintain his composure, but he could feel his promotion slipping away. Regardless of his external protestations, he was becoming frightfully alarmed that Mister J. Lint was correct; this was not just another applicant.

  ******

  The lunch break had been canceled. Every tech on the factory floor was chasing Slipknot through elusive threads comprised of thousands of proxy addresses. R. Garraty knew he was out there somewhere amongst the servers and networks. He was also sitting at a terminal access point somewhere, he must be.

  Mister J. Lint sat in a side chair examining data on his vid and sending messages. R. Garraty assumed he was sending them to his superiors. He just sat there nervously watching him type.

  J. Lint checked the time and tapped his vid display.

  “I read your file you know,” J. Lint said without looking up, “now, I’m no re-education engineer, but I think I have you figured out.”

  R. Garraty grinned uncomfortably. “Figured out? Really, Mister J. Lint, you should find a more beneficent use of your time. Figured out, indeed.”

  “You’ve had a great career, but you know, it’s interesting, you managed to sidestep a handful of very promising promotions throughout your career. The average Suit doesn’t get that option. It was clear, from your file and a little digging, that you managed to create choices for yourself, choices that didn’t make sense on the surface.” He looked up.

  R. Garraty didn’t like where this was going. “I’m quite sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “You always managed to stay close to the Archives. Why is that?”

  “I don’t understand the question.” R. Garraty realized he was beginning to sweat.

  “Sure you do, but I think I know why. You’re looking for something, maybe trying to regain something.”

  R. Garraty decided he was not going to be interrogated in his own office for some imaginary offense. He’d had enough, especially since J. Lint was dancing close to the real truth.

  “Mister J. Lint, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have work to attend. Perhaps you can wait outside?”

  “I don’t think so. Look Garraty,” J. Lint began.

  “Presumptuously informal, don’t you think Mister J. Lint?”

  “No. We’re friends here, for now. I know what you’ve been up to. The thing I haven’t been able to figure out is exactly what you’re looking for, but I think I have a fairly good guess on the why of it.”

  “I’m not looking for anything, I assure you.”

  “You thought making Director of Information Control would give you Clearance, but that only gave you authority over the security of the Archives, no real access. And now you’ve managed to work your way into the one position, well done I might add, that will give you access to everything. Some might find that curiously — fortuitous.”

  “I’ve worked hard, nothing curious about that.”

  “Does the name Vivien mean anything to you?”

  R. Garraty caught his breath.

  “I mean, besides the fact that it’s your mother’s name.”

  “This has gone on long enough Mister J. Lint. I really must ask you to leave now.”

  “No, Garraty, not just yet. Tell me, did you ever forgive yourself?”

  “For what?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me, remember, I read your file and I already told you I did a little extra research. You’re a researcher yourself and we are both hackers of some measure I’d say. Sometimes facts are hidden in plain site, if you know how to find them. One truth added to another truth and then you have a special truth, a hidden truth, a deeper truth that didn’t appear in a file.”

  “There are no truths, there is only The truth, the Ministry’s Truth. So what if I’ve spent some time in the Archives, what does that matter? That was my job. I’m sure that was in my File as well?”

  “Yes, but it depends on what you were searching for, taking into account the time and all — right?”

  “Do you really think repeating the same question in a different manner is going to provide you with an answer, considering that there isn’t one?”

  “Oh, I’m not that clever. But you were looking for something. Your ID track is all over the place, constantly bumping up against your Clearance Threshold.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “It proves that you went to extremes to read a lot about Vivien Leigh. She was the lead in Gone with the Wind I’m told, one of the illegal films that sent your parents to re-education. Know what I think? I think you watched it when you were a kid, maybe with your parents, maybe alone?”

  “Nonsense.”

  “I think you’ve been searching for Vivien your whole career.”

  “Vivien Leigh? That’s absurd.” R. Garraty placed a hand on his knee to slow the tremor.

  “No, V. Garraty, your mother.”

  “She is dead. You are quite out of line here.”

  “I think you’re looking for your childhood, the one you lost when you first got noticed by the Ministry.”

  R. Garraty paled, a dismissive laugh catching in his throat.

  J. Lint had no such issue and laughed piteously; “You don’t even acknowledge the guilt, do you? You are one twisted puppy, Garraty. I’m not sure you’re stable enough to be trusted with the Archives.”

  “Is that going in your report?’ R. Garraty asked defensively.

  “Oh, there isn’t going to be any report.”

  For the first time in many years, R. Garraty was speechless.

  “You’ve been a naughty boy Garraty. You’ve done things haven’t you? To stay close to the Archives, I mean? Things barely noticeable to the casual observer, but I’m not casual about such things. I noticed you have a very interesting method for creating your opportunities, but then you have significant control over Tactical, don’t you? You’re pretty good, I’ll give you that. I had to connect quite a few dots before I found the murders. That’s a truth too, isn’t it? But it can be our little secret, we are friends after all.”

  R. Garraty tried to remain still, but felt the panic rushing up and spreading.

  “You know, your tenure as Curator would have been a disaster for everyone? But your promotion did make for a timely distraction, just like this conversation. We couldn’t have you mucking about in the system just now.”

  R. Garraty was confused, long dormant emotions, raw and urgent, pealed back years of rationalizations. Would have been?

  “So, are you sorry you turned your parents in?” J. Lint asked quietly.

  R. Garraty jumped to his feet and shrieked, “It was the Law!”

  J. Lint watched moisture begin to gather in R. Garraty’s eyes as he trembled.

  “You’re a piece of work Garraty.”

  The phone on R. Garraty’s desk rang, cutting through the tension.

  He flinched and J. Lint laughed and shook his head.

  R. Garraty slowly picked up the receiver and answered with an unsteady tone, “Hello?”

  “Director R. Garraty, what is the name of your Division?”

  It was R. Deckard, the Second to the Minister himself.

  “Pardon Sir?”

  “Your division, its name, please?” the voice answered tersely.

  “Information Control, Sir.”

  “Why didn’t you control the goddamn information?” he shouted and then softer, “We had such high hopes for you, Garraty.” And then the line went dead.

  J. Lint raised an eyebrow.

  They both turned to the factory floor as the closest Techs to the exterior walls were peering through the narrow wi
ndows; others were straining for a view, their long cable interfaces trailing behind them.

  R. Garraty jumped up and raced to the windows, J. Lint grinned as he followed. R. Garraty was shocked by what he saw. All of the government information vids along the avenue, both large and small, had gone black and where repeating the same message over and over in large bold white letters:

  WRITE

  SING

  PLAY

  PAINT

  EXPRESS

  They stared at each other again; Mister J. Lint’s grin quickly became a sneer while R. Garraty swallowed hard.

  They were interrupted when J. Anderton raced back into the office. “We are identifying thousands of hacks, including the postings of independent and unapproved stories and music.”

  R. Garraty looked to J. Lint, waiting on the authoritarian glare he knew was coming. He felt small now in his presence, almost ashamed. Everything was falling apart and the Archives, his love, suddenly felt further away than ever.

  J. Anderton continued, “K. Winton. V. Smith. A. Potterley. They aren’t even using tags; it’s as if they want to be discovered.”

  The pattern was becoming a trend. Trends became change. And for the Ministry of Arts, change was very, very bad. R. Garraty’s eyes began to glisten, he felt certain the courier would not be coming now. But he was wrong.

  He saw someone running out of the corner of his eye and turned. The courier was racing down an aisle toward Room 101, his office. The courier bounded up the steps and then leaned over, bracing himself against his knees. With the promotion, he would be beyond Mister J. Lint’s reach — with the promotion, everything would be as it should — with the promotion, he could forget Mister J. Lint’s accusations and that nasty conversation.

  Gasping for breathe, the courier asked, “Who is J. Lint?”

  R. Garraty slumped.

  J. Anderton was surprised, but not J. Lint. He motioned with one finger and the courier asked for a signature and then handed over the manila envelope.