Nine-Tenths

by Meira Pentermann

  “Leonard,” a cheerful voice greeted him. “Come on in. Come on in.”

  Leonard was taken aback. He had anticipated any number of scenarios. Enthusiastic welcome was not on the list. He obediently entered and let the door fall into place. One buzz and several clicks followed, causing Leonard’s throat to constrict. He wondered, and rightfully so, if he had just been locked inside. Making the most of the situation, he appraised his surroundings. A beautiful room with a cherry wood desk and a view of the entire base dwarfed the odd, short man that sat before him.

  The paunchy, balding commander stood and reached out his hand. Although sporting a moustache and goatee, Carlyle looked nothing like the handsome man featured in the gigantean portrait in the lobby. Even so, the commander seemed to be vying for his own portrait. Although not at all successful, the man clearly desired to be attractive. A gleaming politician’s smile and an obviously fake tan betrayed him. The stunning pale green uniform and a row of bright stripes on his lapel set him apart from his underling in gray.

  Leonard furrowed his brow as he assessed the sparkling white teeth and outstretched hand. There was absolutely nothing military about Carlyle. Shouldn’t the man expect respect and, perhaps, subservience? If he truly were the commander of the base, he surely would not stand in Leonard’s presence and offer a hand. Nevertheless, Leonard shook the man’s hand and mirrored his artificial grin.

  “Have a seat,” Carlyle said as he returned to his own chair.

  Leonard complied.

  “So how are you, Leonard?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  “Have we reverted to sir? My men are right. There is something wrong with you.”

  Here we go.

  Leonard lamented over what to call the man. Clearly, they were on a first name basis. He surveyed Carlyle’s cluttered desk and found his salvation. A small name placard. Christopher Carlyle. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Why do you ask, Chris?”

  Carlyle frowned subtly and Leonard’s heart raced. Should I have called him Christopher? But the moment passed and the commander’s grin returned.

  “For starters, you bungled your pass code this morning.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, uh Chris. I—”

  “And you’ve been fumbling around all morning.”

  “Yes. I…” Leonard remembered McGinnis’ assumption. “I was drinking last night.”

  Carlyle’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen you drink.”

  “That’s the problem. When I do…pow!” Leonard made an exploding gesture near his head.

  Carlyle laughed. “You son of a bitch.”

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen—”

  “How’s Alina?”

  Leonard jolted. “Alina?” Does this man know my wife?

  “Did she pour the drinks?”

  “No, I did, but—”

  “What were you drinking?”

  Think fast. Beer won’t cover this. “Jack Daniels.”

  “Straight up?”

  “On the rocks.”

  “And Alina didn’t fix the drinks?” Carlyle pivoted abruptly in his chair and crossed to the windows.

  Leonard felt a bead of sweat trickle down his left temple. “No. In fact, I offered her a drink. She refused.”

  “I see.”

  A long pause ensued and Leonard dared not break the silence.

  “Did she ask you any questions while you were drinking?”

  “No, sir…Chris…to-fer.”

  Carlyle swiveled suddenly and gazed at Leonard suspiciously. “Doesn’t she wonder what you do?”

  “Of course. But she said just the other day, ‘I’m well aware that you cannot discuss your project—’”

  “Ah, she’s curious—”

  “‘And you ought to know by now that I’d never ask.’ That’s what she said.” Leonard scowled. And you can double-check it on your surveillance tapes.

  Carlyle put his hand on his chin. “Could be a cover—”

  “Are you trying to imply—?”

  Carlyle shrugged and waved him off. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “What’s nothing?”

  “She’s been acting peculiar at work—”

  “She’s been testing pregnant women for CARS.”

  “Alina’s been doing that for several years now.”

  “The cases have risen significantly in that time.” Leonard remembered the public service message and hoped this proclamation would satisfy the commander.

  “Yes, yes. I suppose that’s true.”

  “It’s depressing her.”

  Carlyle nodded appreciatively. “I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you will notify me if you see anything…anything out of place?”

  Leonard tilted his head and frowned. “Are you asking me to spy on my wife, commander?”

  The sudden formality took Carlyle off-guard.

  “Because if you are, by all means,” Leonard continued, playing the game. “She’s squeaky clean and, honestly, I often wish she wasn’t. Some days I’d just like to get her off my hands.”

  “If you’d like me to arrange—”

  Leonard swished his hand down, hushing him. “No, no, no. Natalia’s turning thirteen. It isn’t the right time.” Arrange what? A divorce…or an imprisonment?

  “Well, if you trust her that’s good enough for me.”

  “Thank you,” Leonard said.

  “Just keep your eyes open.”

  “I will.”

  “We depend upon good citizens to maintain what we have built in so little time.”

  It’s a paradise. “Absolutely, commander.”

  “Anything else, Leonard?”

  You called me. “No, sir…Chris.”

  Carlyle grinned spontaneously and circled the desk. An onslaught of cheap cologne, drenched in brazen insincerity, overpowered Leonard’s senses as he attempted to process the nuances of the conversation. Carlyle patted him on the shoulder and escorted him to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Leonard detected a picture of the handsome goateed man from the lobby.

  Pressing five numbers quickly on a keypad near the doorknob, Carlyle offered Leonard freedom.

  “It’s been good chatting with you,” the commander called after him.

  Leonard waved one hand in the air without turning around. “Any time.”

  “I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Carlyle taunted playfully.

  I’m sure you will.

  Chapter Eight

  “He started his political career at a very young age,” a television announcer said.

  A second man chuckled. “Younger than we knew.”

  The first man nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, but he made the right decision. Those five years made all the difference. Had he delayed at any step along the way, the country might not have survived the depression or the CARS epidemic.”

  “True, true.”

  “It was his destiny.”

  Leonard stood in a long lunch line, directly behind Thomas McGinnis. Florescent lighting buzzed and flickered, clashing with the blue-gray shimmer of the television, which was anchored on the ceiling.

  “Eric Stehlen, a Man with a Vision,” McGinnis said. He sighed dramatically. “I’m all for an interesting story, but we’ve seen this documentary at least a dozen times in the past six weeks. Think fresh, gentlemen. Stehlen Gone Wild or something. Stir the pot a little now and then.”

  Several people in the lunchroom laughed.

  “I don’t mean any disrespect to the First Lady, but give me a break.”

  “Better watch your tongue, McGinnis,” a man called from the corner of the room.

  “They’re not going to bring me up on smart-ass-ery charges.”

  “You never know.”

  McGinnis threw a doughnut at the man.

  “Hey!” The mousy-haired woman serving food glowered. “That was a perfectly good doughnut.”

  “Give me another one, sweetheart.” McGinnis rais
ed his eyebrows up and down waggishly.

  “No. Move along.”

  When they reached the end of the line, Leonard glanced around the room. Where do we pay? Assuming he was going to look like an idiot for the umpteenth time that day, Leonard clutched his tray possessively and stuck close to McGinnis, following him like a shadow. McGinnis chose a table against the wall as far away from the television as possible. As a bonus, the table afforded a morsel of privacy. Leonard deducted that the food was courtesy of the U.S. taxpayer, so he joined his friend, placing his tray carefully on the unbalanced table.

  McGinnis groaned. “Sorry. I chose the wobbly one.” He grabbed a napkin, folded it skillfully, and shoved it under the shortest leg. “I just wanted to avoid eavesdroppers.”

  Leonard arranged his food on the table and set his tray aside.

  McGinnis stared at him, hands folded neatly on the table and an expression of exasperation on his face. “So?”

  “So what?” Leonard bit into his sandwich and grimaced. It tasted like stale bread and wet cheese. He peered inside and found limp lettuce, grayish deli meat, and a slice of pale orange cheese. He made a mental note to bring lunch the following day.

  “So how did it go with Carlyle?” McGinnis whispered impatiently.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine? Is that all you can say? Fine?”

  “He didn’t seem to be interested in me.”

  McGinnis paled. “Oh, my God. He didn’t ask about me, did he?”

  “No. Alina.”

  “Alina? She’s as straight as they come.”

  Leonard nodded, although he knew otherwise. “That’s what I told him.”

  “And your reassuring words satisfied him?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What did they suspect her of?”

  “Trying to elicit information.”

  McGinnis chortled. “That’ll be the day,” he whispered. “As if she’d understand what we’re doing here.”

  Leonard frowned. She’s a doctor and, as I recall, a straight-A student. A rush of adrenaline almost made Leonard lose his head. He wanted to lash out at the son-of-a-bitch right then and there. Nevertheless, he held himself in check. He looked away, trying to clear his mind, but it drifted back to the conversation with Carlyle.

  We depend upon good citizens to maintain what we have built in so little time.

  Leonard shuddered.

  Stasi Satellites. Either the name was someone’s idea of wry humor, or it was a tribute from a person enchanted by the repressive regime of East Germany. After meeting Carlyle, Leonard wasn’t sure which was more likely.

  Going out on a limb, Leonard said, “It’s kind of clever, you know…spy satellites named after the Stasi.” Unsure how dangerous it was to wander into this territory, he tried to appear nonchalant. He took a large bite of his sandwich, nearly finishing it off.

  McGinnis scowled. “You tell me, Einstein.”

  Leonard chewed laboriously, hoping that McGinnis would continue. He was not disappointed.

  “You bragged about that the last time.”

  “Last time?” Leonard mumbled, trying to swallow. He took a sip of water.

  “The last time we had this conversation. I don’t know why it’s clever, Tramer. You tell me. You chose the name.”

  Leonard nearly choked. He knocked over his water.

  “Jesus you’re a klutz today.” McGinnis grabbed some napkins and proceeded to mop up the table.

  I chose the name?

  “It baffles me how much reverence people pay to you. If you ask me, Stehlen should have named the project, or even Carlyle. But you designed the prototype, so you got to name her.”

  I designed the prototype?

  Leonard reeled. Then he remembered how awestruck he felt when he entered the hanger for the first time. They are beautiful, he admitted, perhaps trying to justify his affiliation with an eerie technology — the purpose of which was to decimate individual privacy. With the Stasi Satellites, the government aimed to shred intellectual freedom on a scale Leonard never before dared to imagine. It was a nightmare…and Leonard was the star.

  McGinnis drummed his fingers on the table. “Are you going to share your secret or will you shut your mouth and stop taunting me?”

  Leonard leaned in and whispered, “The Stasi were the secret police in East Germany during the Cold War.”

  McGinnis merely stared, his eyes unreadable.

  “They spied on individuals, listening to their personal conversations, even watching people in their own homes. The Stasi encouraged neighbors and family to inform on one another, and they interrogated, tortured, and executed people. A very effective, evil agency.”

  McGinnis shook his shoulders in confusion. “What’s wrong with East Germany? What are you talking about?”

  Leonard cocked his head. “The East Germany, an arm of the Soviet Union before it crumbled.”

  McGinnis leaned in and practically touched Leonard’s ear with his lips. “I don’t know if you’re trying to be a wise guy or fuck with me.” His venomous tone pierced Leonard’s brain. “And that’s all I’m going to say on the issue.”

  Turning his head, McGinnis hollered teasingly at the woman who served their food. “Today’s lunch was particularly bland. Thanks, Amanda.” He winked at her.

  “Shut up,” she snarled.

  McGinnis stood up. He cast Leonard a cold glance. “Are you coming?”

  Startled, Leonard jumped up, accepting the invitation. “Yes, yes.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry about—”

  “Have a nice day, Amanda,” McGinnis called. To his colleague, he whispered, “Shut the fuck up before I ram my fist down your throat.”

  Leonard nodded submissively and followed McGinnis to the exit.

  As they wandered through the corridors, they passed a door with a complicated security system similar to the one Leonard had bluffed his way through that morning. Only this one included a security card swipe. Security card, retina scan, pass code and metal gate. Beyond the gate another security card swipe next to the door. Leonard stifled a laugh. He almost asked McGinnis where that section led, but he bit his tongue. The rogue redhead was already miffed at him, not to mention suspicious. It was not a good time. Leonard resolved to return to the location. He looked around to get his bearings.

  Third Floor. Northwest corner.

  When they reentered the hanger, a chill crawled up Leonard’s back. The Stasi Satellites suddenly seemed ominous. A peculiar déjà vu flashed through his mind. It was as if he remembered designing the Stasi prototype and all the conflicting emotions such a project would elicit. Definitely a challenge, and challenges thrilled Leonard; but also a monstrosity, the magnitude of which would crush his spirit. All at once, he realized that he named the project Stasi because it so duly fit its mission. The naming was a sardonic gesture. In a sudden moment of clarity, he understood why he had chosen the desk furthest away from the fleet. The satellites nauseated him.

  I wasn’t a monster in this world, and I wasn’t an inconsiderate bastard. I was a broken soul.

  Leonard stared at the field of satellites for several minutes. He did not notice that McGinnis had returned to his desk. When Leonard realized that he was gawking and that fellow DID employees were stealing disapproving glances, he moved quickly to his cubicle.

  Once settled, he shook his mouse. tramerlm remained in the username field. Leonard tabbed to the password window and tapped his finger on the desk. What would alternate-reality-Leonard use as a password? Could it be the same one that the real-world-Leonard used? He varied his password based on the complexity of the program or website. For the highest level of security, he used his childhood pet’s name spelled backward followed by the numbers 3981.

  Leonard typed in his favorite high security password. His hand hovered over the Enter key. Finally, he could not stand the anticipation. Click. The machine hummed and a pale green menu appeared on the screen. Leonard looked at the ceiling briefly and sighed in delight.
>
  The menu selections seemed straightforward enough. Several involved the Stasi project. Leonard scrutinized links to programming, diagrams, and features. On the 3-dimentional diagrams, Leonard could click specific sections and view more details. He marveled at the program’s fluidity and explored the virtual satellite before checking out the rest of the information.

  A link named Stasi Execution outlined the implementation of the project. Leonard’s eyes zoomed over the paragraphs and his heart quickened. Everything south of I-70 was divided into installation zones. WLN crews were already in the process of going door to door in the southwestern portion of the map. Under the guise of refitting households with energy efficient lighting fixtures, engineers would add or replace ceiling lights in every room of a home, including bathrooms. The fixtures, in addition to supporting only government-approved, fluorescent light bulbs, would contain revolving miniature cameras programmed to cover every inch of the area. Leonard put his head in one hand and vigorously rubbed his temple before exiting the Stasi Execution page and moving on.

  Other links led to an email program and a staff list. The staff list included basic information: name, title, and a detailed description of duties. Leonard tipped his head as he perused the data. Among those listed: Leonard Tramer, Stasi Project Leader. Feeling accomplished for having snagged such a title, Leonard smiled. Next, he flipped through his emails. Nothing of interest. Scheduled meetings, proposed deadlines, and requests for facts and figures filled his inbox.

  The last link on the main menu page was System. Leonard sat up and selected the link. Another Username and Password screen appeared, but it had three empty fields. Above Username, a field labeled Location awaited with a blinking cursor. Below the password field a large button read Back to SSP02. Leonard clicked the button and found himself on the main menu page again. Curious, he returned to System. On a hunch, he typed in SSP01 along with his username and password. A new menu with a gray background appeared on his screen. Leonard grinned, considering the options.

  Three links enticed him. Staff, Beta Sites, and Priority Targets.

  The Staff link provided detailed private information on each employee including a photo and a variety of numbers related to each name.