Nine-Tenths

by Meira Pentermann

  High-level security project leader rarely speaks with her.

  That’s definitely me. He shuddered and the guilt consumed him once again.

  Leaning back in his chair, Leonard realized that something else bothered him. The WLN had their thumb on Alina ever since he started working for the DID. They’re watching her instead of me. Had he flown so successfully below the radar that no one considered him a security risk? Carlyle treated him like a buddy. Was it possible that he wasn’t a freedom fighter after all?

  The clatter of DID employees shuffling papers and opening and closing their briefcases yanked Leonard out of his unpleasant thoughts and into the present. He checked his watch. 4:50 p.m. Presuming they would be dismissed promptly at 5:00 p.m., he groaned in frustration. More time. All he wanted, more than anything else at that moment, was more time. He backed out of Alina’s record and moved his mouse to the logout button. The mouse passed over the System link and froze. Leonard glanced around furtively before selecting the link.

  Location.

  WLN02, he typed, although he realized that if the WLN system was set up like the SSP system, the zero-two section ought to have less information than the zero-one section. Nonetheless, it was worth a peek and he did not wish to waste his last ten minutes.

  A charcoal gray screen popped up. Less information? Far less information. A chill crawled up Leonard’s spine and slithered across his scalp. What little information appeared on the charcoal gray, WLN02 screen terrified him. In the center, three fields awaited a new request - Last Name, First Name, Tracking Number. But it was an ominous button that sent chills up Leonard’s spine — a large, red button marked TRACK.

  For a moment, Leonard’s breath caught in his throat. He looked at his watch. 4:55 p.m. His fingers clanked out Tramer, Leonard with no hesitation, but his hand trembled as the cursor hovered over the red button. He held his breath and selected TRACK.

  A satellite map, superimposed with street labels, showed a sparse area to the east of Denver. A little red dot blinked in the center of the screen. Leonard zoomed, trying to distinguish the satellite images surrounding the dot. As he zoomed closer, his heart raced and a jolt of panic-driven adrenaline filled his body. He recognized the outline of the objects on the screen. The red dot pulsated in the southeastern building of the DID complex.

  “Pack up, man. What’re you doing?” a familiar voice asked. “You’re going to hold up the shuttle.”

  Leonard backed out of the tracking program as quickly as possible. “I’m just looking at Sandy’s maps.” He forced his preoccupied brain to focus on McGinnis. “She does good work,” he added feigning a relaxed, end-of-day mood.

  “I’ll bet she does good work,” McGinnis said with a sly grin. A second later, he resumed his customary needling, impatient tone. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

  Leonard reached for his briefcase and withdrew his hand quickly. He glared at the attaché. Where is the transmitter? Suddenly, his watch felt oppressive, squeezing the life out of his wrist. He imagined himself ripping it off and throwing it across the room. He patted down his clothing anxiously as if an army of ants were crawling on his skin.

  “What’s wrong with you? Come on.”

  Leonard packed up hastily and rushed from the cubicle. Glancing back over his shoulder, he wondered what he would see if the WLN02 screen was still running. Would it follow the departure of a pulsating red dot as it moved away from the southeastern building of the DID complex and west toward the city, eventually coming to a rest in Leonard’s living room?

  The elevator lurched upward, causing Leonard to lose his balance. He crashed against the back wall. Buckling over, not so much from the pain but from an acute wave of nausea, Leonard tried to slow his breathing. His keen insight answered what had already become a frivolous question.

  It would.

  Chapter Ten

  Still reeling, Leonard nearly missed his bus at the transfer station. When he met up with Alina at the park and ride, he found her particularly quiet and despondent.

  “We’ll talk later,” she said, and she remained silent for the duration of the drive. Something had distressed her and Leonard figured he would hear nothing of it until she arranged a few couch cushions and a blaring television later that evening. Taking her cue, he resolved to share his unsettling news during the TV hour as well.

  When they arrived home, Leonard was far too disturbed to relax. He removed his watch the moment they stepped inside and threw it on the table by the door. Then he shoved his briefcase into the back of the closet and rushed to put distance between himself and the entryway.

  Alina immediately occupied herself clattering dishes in the kitchen. Although Leonard presumed she would appreciate some help, he could not rein in his apprehension long enough to dawdle in domestic chores.

  Natalia set the table methodically and with little pleasure. When she finished, she asked her mother, “May I take a quick walk before dinner?”

  Alina did not respond.

  “Mom?”

  As if in a drug-induced fog, Alina laboriously pulled herself away from the stove and focused on her daughter. “What?”

  “May I take a quick walk before dinner?”

  “Sure,” Alina said listlessly. “No later than six-thirty.”

  Natalia nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Damn,” Alina shouted, and she swiftly pulled a pot off the stove. Something with red sauce had spattered on her arm and she mopped it up with a dish towel. Frustrated, she barked at Leonard. “Could you at least cut the mold off the cheese and put the bread on the table?”

  He obeyed, dismayed by the condition of the food. Hard to the touch, the bread did not seem at all appetizing, while the cheese was covered with patches of white-green fuzz. “I thought you just went shopping yesterday.”

  Alina slammed a wooden spoon on the counter. “The bread was already stale. That’s all they had. And we need to finish this cheese before I buy a new one, or we’ll have a second block of moldy cheese sitting in the refrigerator.”

  Leonard put his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “That’s right. You didn’t think.” She mumbled something under her breath.

  Silently, Leonard cleaned up the cheese and placed the two requested items on the dinner table. I just can’t settle down long enough to help. You’ll understand after we talk.

  The door closed as Natalia swiftly exited the home. Leonard wondered what he would find if he followed her. Is it just an evening walk? What was Natalia doing? In a wave of anger, Leonard bolted up the stairs and burst into Natalia’s room. If there were drugs, he intended to locate them. He started rummaging in her bedside table. There he found a brown paper bag, which contained a book called The Giver. Flipping through the book, he swore under his breath. No paraphernalia, but probably propaganda. He tossed it on the bed.

  Fifteen minutes later, after rattling through every drawer, Leonard found a medium sized plastic box in the corner of his daughter’s closet. It was tightly sealed and secured by a combination lock. It reeked of the citrus smell Leonard had detected yesterday. He yanked on the lock in vain. Shaking the box, he heard a soft crinkling sound.

  “God dammit.” He returned the mystery box to its hiding place, and he descended the stairs at the precise moment Natalia reentered the house. It was nearly six-thirty. Alina was already arranging serving dishes on the table.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” Natalia called as she bolted up the stairs.

  Leonard scowled and took his seat.

  A moment later Natalia arrived at the table, clutching her book with tears in her eyes. “Why?” she whispered desperately.

  Leonard leaned back and glared at her. “I’ll give you something to cry about, young lady.”

  Natalia brought her finger to her lips, hushing him. Tears poured down her face. She gestured to the four corners of the room and silently mouthed, “Please.” Leonard realized then that his daughter knew the house
was bugged. He further understood that whatever book Natalia clutched was not Youth Brigade propaganda. In all likelihood, The Giver was banned by the government.

  Blood rushed to his face and he felt momentarily dizzy with confusion. Standing, Leonard gently removed the book from Natalia’s grasp, tucked it gently under Garrett’s placemat, and patted it. He nodded compassionately. Alina regarded the empty table setting with a distant, wistful expression.

  “Have a seat, Natalia,” Leonard said. “Your mother has slaved away to bring us this tantalizing…” He peeked in the pot. “…chili with beans.”

  Natalia’s eyes widened. She sat, slowly and cautiously, staring at her father in bewilderment. He gestured for her to make herself comfortable, and his expression conveyed the message we have a secret. Natalia smiled awkwardly. At that moment, Leonard understood that she had just experienced a heartwarming revelation. My father is not one of them. He nearly forgot about the drugs as he focused on the warmth of family companionship.

  The dinner progressed in near silence. Not up to the façade of casual dinner conversation, Leonard served himself a modest portion of chili and dipped the stale bread in its sauce. His mind churned as dozens of thoughts vied for his attention. The tracking button. Natalia’s drugs. Carlyle’s accusations. The Stasi Satellites that would be unleashed onto an already oppressed population. He glanced up. Alina seemed to be battling her own demons. Languid and obviously not at all interested in eating, she poked at her food.

  It was clearly not a good time to bring up the subject of Natalia’s secret. On the other hand, it would never be a good time. Many unpleasant conversations lay ahead. It appeared that Alina had at least one of her own to throw on the already wavering pile of disturbing discoveries.

  Now or never, Leonard encouraged himself. His anger had subsided somewhat and he believed he could handle the situation firmly but delicately. Placing his fork next to his plate, he examined Natalia thoughtfully.

  The young girl flinched. She tilted her head and gazed at him expectantly.

  Leonard took a deep breath. “Natalia…”

  “Yes?”

  “While I was in your room…”

  Her face drooped. An expression of resignation swept across her features. She looked nearly broken.

  “I found a locked plastic box.”

  Natalia’s brows crinkled. She opened her mouth as if to speak. Instead, she curled her lips inside and bit down as the tears flowed once more with earnest.

  “Natalia…it’s not right.”

  She waved at him pleadingly, again pointing at the ceiling and shaking her head.

  “At your age especially.”

  Natalia clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Rocking back and forth, she sobbed while trying to suppress the noise. A girl defeated, beside herself with terror, it was as if she expected him to beat her…as if she thought her life, and everything she knew, was about to be irrevocably snatched from her grasp.

  Her response deeply concerned Leonard. He expected an onslaught of teenage backtalk, not an emotional implosion. He chose his words carefully, hoping to keep his daughter intact for the duration of the conversation. “Drugs are not the answer and I want to help you.”

  Natalia drew her head back in surprise. She stopped crying and appeared entirely baffled.

  “Leonard, no,” Alina said, startling him. The last person he would expect to shout him down on the subject of their daughter doing drugs was his own wife.

  Drying her eyes with a napkin, Natalia seemed oddly relieved. She cleared her throat and spoke softly. “I’m not doing drugs, Dad.”

  Alina stormed into the kitchen and turned on the empty dishwasher. Motioning for her family members to join her, she leaned against the counter, fuming. When Leonard reached her side, she said, “Your daughter is not using drugs. She wouldn’t do that to her family.”

  Natalia, puffy eyed but calm, looked from her mother to her father. “I wouldn’t.”

  Aghast, Leonard shouted, “Then what was that hysterical emotional breakdown I witnessed over there.” He pointed dramatically at the table.

  Alina broke in. “Keep your voice down.”

  Ignoring her, Leonard focused on his daughter. “Well?”

  Natalia looked briefly at the ceiling. “I just thought you were going to take my book away.”

  “That many tears over a book?”

  She nodded.

  “Leonard Michael Tramer, your daughter would not do drugs. Would you, sweetheart?” Her bravado broke for just a moment before she continued. “She wouldn’t put her whole family in jeopardy.”

  “Let’s not go overboard,” Leonard shot back.

  Alina touched Natalia’s cheek tenderly. “She wouldn’t risk her whole family being sent to prison.”

  “I wouldn’t, Mom. I promise you. I’m not.”

  Leonard balked. “The whole family? Give me a break.” He sneered. “If our daughter was smoking pot, the whole family would go to prison?”

  Alina raised a hand as if to slap him. Then she dropped her arm and brought her daughter in for a hug.

  “The whole family?” Leonard whispered.

  Natalia glanced up from her mother’s shoulder, bewildered, as if she assumed her father already knew the consequences.

  Shit. He turned away from them, grabbed his head with both hands, and pulled it toward the ceiling. Dumbstruck, he stared at the kitchen lights. Although he would not appreciate finding marijuana in his daughter’s room, it was certainly not a matter that should land her, or anyone else in the family, in prison. In fact, he now wished there were drugs stashed in Natalia’s room, even heroin would be a welcome discovery. He would find it, get high, and drift away from this nightmare of a universe. Images of the time machine, prepared to whisk him away, danced in his mind.

  Leonard pivoted suddenly and beheld his ladies hugging by the dishwasher. His eyes narrowed. If Natalia was so desperately frightened of whatever he might have found in that box, and it was not drugs, what the hell was it? He marched over to her and pulled her away from her mother.

  Ignoring Alina’s admonishing glare, he addressed Natalia. “I believe you. But you have to tell me. What is in the box? What are you so afraid of?”

  Natalia’s eyes flew open. Her emotional collapse threatened to make a reappearance, but the courageous girl fought back, holding the meltdown in check. She looked away from her father and replied, “It’s my diary.”

  “Your diary?”

  “Yeah.”

  Leonard grabbed her arm. “So you’re burying pages of your diary in the backyard?”

  Natalia blanched.

  “Shut up, Leonard. Just shut up,” Alina whispered harshly. “We’re going to return to the table now and act as if we are a normal family. You understand?”

  Leonard glared at Alina, but he complied, making his way back to his seat silently. The remainder of the dinner consisted of Alina asking benign questions and a grateful Natalia answering them in mock cheerfulness. Leonard returned to his own inner turmoil.

  The satellites. The tracking button. As Leonard vividly pictured the pulsating red dot, he shuddered involuntarily. He gazed at his daughter, perched on her chair, chatting aimlessly with her mother, shielding herself from his curiosity and joining in the deception that kept her family safe. If the ears of the WLN were to tune in at that very moment, they would move on due to sheer boredom. All at once, it struck Leonard; the painful reality of it smacked him across the face, stinging his skin. He was no different than them, the mindless spies who imposed themselves on the lives of others. Rampaging through his daughter’s things, tossing them aside in disregard, he upheld the state’s directive — to eliminate privacy and quash individuality. Whatever his daughter held in her private box, it was not worth Leonard stooping to that level.

  Noiselessly, he stood and politely collected the dishes. Alina and Natalia exchanged glances before joining him.

  Natalia meticulously sorted the recyclables. L
eonard watched surreptitiously. Clear glass, brown glass, and softly tinted glass each had their own bin. Leonard also spotted two containers for a variety of plastics. Next to them, a large box held all paper products, including napkins and junk mail. Dutifully, Leonard scraped the plates into the organic bin, bluffing that he knew the routine by heart.

  He whispered to Alina, “This recycling system is pretty cool.”

  In monotone, Alina said, “It is taken to the same dump and burned, except for the organic waste.”

  Leonard balked. “What’s the point then?”

  “I don’t want to get a $500 fine.”

  Leonard had no response, so he returned to the task at hand.

  Within fifteen minutes, the dishes were loaded in the dishwasher, the counters were clean, and the leftovers were properly packaged and stashed in the refrigerator.

  Natalia took her father’s hand. “I would like to take a walk and listen to music.”

  Leonard tipped his head backward and shrewdly examined her expression.

  “I’m not going to get myself in trouble. Honestly, Dad. You have to trust me.”

  Leonard nodded.

  “In fact, I may just hang out in my old fort. It’s been a bad day, and I just need to be alone.”

  Bad day? If you only knew.

  Natalia grabbed her shoes and slipped out the back door. Leonard watched nervously, wondering if he should follow her.

  Alina patted him on the shoulder. “Let her go. She’s a good girl.”

  With so many things to discuss, Natalia’s mysterious hole in the backyard was a low priority. Still, Leonard worried. “How do you know for certain she’s not doing drugs?”

  “She is not a risk taker, Leonard. I’ve had to push her into things, just so she experiences the world a little.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “She grew up in a society where the rules changed every other day. Stupid rules for petty, ridiculous things.” Alina’s tone darkened. Her anger surfaced. “One day, when she was nine, she refused to go to school. She sat crying on the floor in hysterics. It took me an hour to get her to open up. I was beside myself. I called in sick that day.