Nine-Tenths

by Meira Pentermann

  “Eventually, she told me that she could not go to school because her skirt was one-inch too short. I had been blowing her off about buying a new skirt. ‘This one still fits,’ I had told her impatiently. I didn’t want to waste money. It seemed reasonable at the time.”

  “One inch short? Poor thing. Pointless.”

  “It wasn’t pointless.”

  “Oh, come on, darling. The school was not going to expel her.”

  “Apparently, they had sent a girl home the previous day for wearing a skirt that showed her knees.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “We went out that very afternoon and bought a new skirt. A perfect, to specs, DEPS 7934 school uniform.”

  “Jesus.”

  “She’s been lectured since she could comprehend the subject that anyone caught with drugs in their possession, whether or not they’re using, will land their entire family in prison.”

  Leonard shook his head in dismay.

  “This girl is not doing drugs,” Alina said with firm conviction.

  He nodded. “I believe you.”

  Pulling his wife in for an embrace, he sighed in relief. They held one another for several minutes. Presently, Alina’s body began to tremble, and Leonard heard her crying again. She drew her mouth near his ear.

  “I need to talk with you. Something awful happened today.”

  “You won’t believe the things I have to share with you. This day blew me—”

  “I need to go first.” Her voice quavered. “I cannot keep this in any longer.”

  Chapter Eleven

  With a manic wave of urgency, Alina turned on the television and a radio. The cacophony gave Leonard a headache before he even reached the couch. He thought it might be unbearable to glean the words of Alina’s story under all the noise, especially since his story was far more critical. Nevertheless, he made a promise to himself to be patient and attentive.

  “The Twenty-Ninth Amendment was a historical proposal,” an announcer on the television explained.

  Leonard groaned. He recognized the program. It was Eric Stehlen, a Man with a Vision.

  “Absolutely,” the second man agreed. “It was no small matter to repeal the Twenty-Second Amendment.”

  “What is the Twenty-Second Amendment, Alina?”

  “I’m not in the mood, Leonard.”

  “Just—”

  “Term limits. I need to talk.”

  “Term limits?”

  “Can we please talk?” Alina pleaded.

  “But given the state of the country and the National Emergency, it was one of the best decisions the country’s made in decades.”

  Leonard willed himself to tune out the television voices momentarily, and he took Alina’s hand. “All right, darling. Shoot.”

  “I did some prenatal CARS tests today,” Alina said.

  “Can you imagine what life would have been like if we didn’t have Stehlen in the White House?”

  “Pure chaos, Brady. Pure chaos.”

  “Now it was the Twenty-Eighth Amendment that caused the biggest stir initially.”

  “Remember all those pathetic protesters? An unruly mob.”

  The announcer chuckled.“We got them under control eventually.”

  “Thankfully the noise had stopped by the time the CARS epidemic hit the country by surprise.”

  “Are you even listening to me, Leonard?” Alina shook him by the shoulders. “Please listen.”

  Leonard grabbed the remote and changed the channel. Another program about Stehlen greeted him. The same two men narrated. It may have been Eric Stehlen, a Man with a Vision at a different point in the documentary. Leonard flipped through several stations and encountered the two annoying hosts on every channel.

  “What is this shit?” he whispered harshly. “Government-sponsored television?”

  “What do you think? The Feds gradually took over all sources of media…and a couple of news outlets mysteriously didn’t survive. Something went wrong when they tried to renew their licenses.” She sneered. “As if it wasn’t obvious.”

  Eventually, Leonard found a nature program. Its soothing music was less distracting than the Stehlen nonsense. Then he settled down and focused on his wife. “I’m so sorry. Please try again.”

  Alina took a deep breath. Methodically, she began her story. “I did some prenatal CARS tests today—”

  “I thought you always—”

  “They were all positive,” she continued, ignoring him.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “Shut up, Leonard. Shut up.”

  Leonard put his hands up in surrender.

  Alina gave him one last quieting look before resuming. “There was this one young woman. She was trembling with fear but glowing with hope.”

  Leonard wanted to comment, but he held his lips closed.

  “We made her wait there for an hour before I delivered the test results. She sat obediently on the exam table. When I told her, she burst into tears.” Alina shifted uncomfortably as if she were in pain. “Not just crying. That can be expected. She started screaming…hysterically. ‘It’s not true,’ she shouted. ‘You are a liar.’”

  Leonard took Alina’s hand.

  “Touching her gently, I explained that she would have to terminate the pregnancy immediately.” Alina put her head in her hand. “The young woman shook her shoulders forcefully and pushed me away when I tried to escort her out of the room.”

  Leonard tipped his head and gazed at his wife compassionately.

  “She screamed, ‘It’s not true. It’s a scam.’ A couple of security guards entered the room. Each man took one arm. She kicked violently, like an animal possessed. ‘It’s a scam. It’s a lie!’”

  At this point, Alina was sobbing. Her words oscillated between gasps and futile whispers. “They…the guards dragged her out of the room…kicking. She struggled and her shrieks echoed in the corridor.” Alina gasped. “I rushed into the hallway and stabbed her with a syringe containing a sedative. Within a minute, silence. Her head dropped lifelessly. The guards gently settled her on a stretcher. Then two nurses appeared and wheeled her away.”

  “Oh, Alina.”

  “I silenced her, Leonard. With my own hands, I silenced the young woman.”

  “You did what you had to do.”

  “No! You don’t understand.”

  “It was for her own protection. She could have hurt herself or someone else.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “Alina, please—”

  “She was right.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t know how she knew, but she was right. It’s a lie.”

  Leonard frowned, let go of Alina’s hand, and pulled back. “You delivered a false positive?”

  “They’re all false positives, Leonard.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It is a scam.”

  “What? The test?”

  “The whole thing.”

  “You’re not making sense,” he said in exasperation.

  “There is no such thing as CARS!”

  “What are you talking about? They made it up?”

  Alina nodded, tears streaming down her face.

  “And you knew?”

  She nodded and shook her head at the same time. “Not at first.”

  “But what about all the violence?”

  “Staged.”

  “The first massacre included over twenty elementary school children.”

  “I know,” she mumbled.

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “CIA? DID? Some super secret department of something? I don’t know.”

  “And they went on a rampage killing people?” Leonard winced. Forcing himself to keep his voice low, he cried, “Why in the name of God would they do something like that?”

  “Don’t you see?”

  “No, I don’t see. It’s heinous.”

  “The National Emergency, the database…stealing babies fro
m the arms of their mothers.”

  Leonard closed his eyes and nodded, suddenly comprehending.

  “They had already taken over housing. They had nationalized corporations and eliminated private schools. Public healthcare was fully established. They managed to snag one dissident here and there, but the people were not fully contained. A deadly epidemic might have been enough to justify controlling the movement of individuals and establishing a national database. But it took a gruesomely violent catastrophe to sell infirmaries, border closings, and baby snatching.”

  “So they just randomly handed out CARS diagnoses?”

  “Some random to cover their tracks, but otherwise they were very focused. Political dissidents and people who made trouble. During the first wave of testing,” Alina said, flashing quote marks with her fingers, “most of the known rebels were weeded out. But now the DOH can call anyone at any time to retake the test.”

  “You chose not to tell me all this on Saturday. Why?” Leonard demanded.

  Her eyes fixed on the floor, Alina shrugged listlessly.

  “You went to the trouble of providing a detailed description of this fake disease,” he shouted. “All that stuff about deranged violence and no cure. It was all a bullshit lie.”

  Alina dropped to her knees, put her hands together, and begged in Leonard’s lap. “Please keep your voice down. I’m sorry.”

  He pushed her away, but tears formed at the edges of his eyes. His voice hoarse, he forced out the words. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

  Alina clambered back onto the couch and sat close to him. “I’m sorry. I truly am. This world may be new to you, but I’ve been living in it for years. Laws changing overnight. Friends and family ratting one another out. The old Leonard was an enigma. I never knew whether or not to trust him. The new Leonard intrigues me. My heart is overflowing with the sense of possibility, but…”

  No longer harsh and accusatory, Leonard simply took his wife’s hand.

  She pressed on. “We’ve barely had a conversation in years. You’re right. I didn’t trust you. I was afraid, Leonard. I thought you might be testing me. There was too much at stake.”

  “Like your job?” He sneered.

  “No. I figured maybe if I babbled on about things I dislike but didn’t disclose my sworn secret, I’d pass the test…and they’d leave her alone.”

  “Leave who alone?”

  “Natalia.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The walls of the room sped toward him while the sounds of the television and radio faded away. The ceiling inched its way down. Any moment, Leonard knew he would suffocate.

  “Leonard.” Alina nudged him. “Are you okay?”

  He gasped suddenly and glanced around. Walls in place, electronics blaring, the room would not consume him after all. For a moment, that fact disappointed him. Then, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, he remembered Alina’s confession.

  Natalia.

  “What the hell did those bastards threaten to do to Natalia?”

  Alina’s lips turned inward. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. She held up one hand and attempted to bring her emotions in check. Then, leaning in close to his ear, she whispered more softly than she had all night. “They made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that if I spoke out, Natalia would mysteriously develop CARS. I promised I would never disclose the truth. I had no choice.”

  Leonard closed his eyes and put his head in one hand, remembering a snippet of Alina’s WLN record. Subject decoded the DOH project. Authorities quickly brought the situation under control using the daughter, Natalia.

  His eyes watered and he pulled her close. In a trembling whisper, he said, “Those inhuman freaks. I’d like to kill whoever threatened her with my bare hands.”

  Alina quickly covered his mouth and put a finger over her lips. After he settled down, she continued, “I know. I’ve thought about it many times. But then Natalia and I would be sent to prison or the infirmary.”

  “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “The infirmary. Where is it?”

  “Oh.” She sat back and regarded him curiously, still seeming to doubt his state of confusion. “The Colorado Infirmary is in the mountains.”

  “How big is it?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”

  “Sounds like they’ve got room for a lot of people. It isn’t an existing Federal prison?”

  Alina shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Eventually, Leonard asked, “How did you find out?”

  “About CARS?”

  He nodded.

  Alina took a deep breath. “While Stehlen was in the Senate he spearheaded legislation that set the stage for the Feds to successfully hijack housing, education, corporations, and the health industry. By the end of his first term as president, he had pretty much accomplished all of that. So about seven years ago, I no longer worked for a private hospital. All healthcare facilities reported to the Department of Health.” She lifted one shoulder lethargically. “At first, I didn’t notice any difference. No one did. But slowly as the years passed, the DOH restricted our duties. Previously, I performed a lot of surgeries, but my docket dwindled until I no longer had surgical privileges. I wasn’t even allowed to do C-sections. I worked only in the clinic.”

  “That must have been infuriating.”

  “It was, but that was before you were working at the DID. We managed to stay in our original home in a decent neighborhood. The kids were healthy. We were happy. I reminded myself that it could have been worse.”

  “Why would they take away the privileges of a good surgeon?”

  “How do you know I was a good surgeon?” Her eyes betrayed a pain Leonard could not quite identify.

  “Everything you touched turned to gold. You must have been an awesome doctor.”

  “Had been…”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. I did have talent. In fact, many of the people who remained in the surgical department were less skilled, not just in my opinion. It didn’t make sense. I wondered at the time why they discontinued the surgical privileges of so many doctors. I assumed they were doing fewer surgeries. Medical rationing…But they also seemed to be isolating the MDs. Doctors were not allowed to call up other doctors. We had to apply for a consult. The paperwork was a nightmare and they took their time processing it. When the Fed-assigned consulting doctor eventually surfaced, he or she was typically a complete idiot. I even wondered sometimes if any of them were actually MDs.” Her gaze drifted to a focal point in the distance. “By the time the CARS epidemic hit, they had us fully isolated and ready to become a cog in the machine.”

  “You? A cog in the machine?”

  “I didn’t even do LPs.”

  “What’s an LP?”

  “A lumbar puncture. They draw spinal fluid. That’s how they test for CARS.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, I didn’t do the LPs. I just prepped the patient, took samples to the lab, and did data entry for the national database after the results were determined. Basically, I was assigned the duties of a nurse’s assistant.”

  “Why waste your talent?”

  “I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. We were so lucky compared to many people, I didn’t want to rock the boat. But then you were sent to the DID, and you changed dramatically.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “And—”

  “Wait. I was sent?”

  “Yes. What did you think?”

  “They didn’t recruit me?” His heart rate accelerated.

  “They don’t recruit, Leonard.”

  “So I wanted to stay with IBM?”

  “Of course. You thought the DID was creepy.”

  A warm feeling washed over him. “I wasn’t excited about the opportunity? The DID boys just showed up one day and told me I was going to work for them?”

  “Pretty much. You got a letter in the
mail, and you had to meet someone. You didn’t talk about it. Eventually, all the engineers — computer, electronic, and otherwise — were either drafted or they left.”

  “Left IBM?”

  “Left Denver. I don’t know where they went or how they got out, but IBM closed six months after you started working for the DID.”

  Leonard narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, you don’t know how they got out?”

  “Under the guise of the National Emergency, everyone had to be quarantined. The Feds relocated people to major cities and a nationwide effort to build infirmaries and prisons ensued. Within a year they had everyone rounded up, imprisoned, or infirmed.”

  “What’s the difference between being imprisoned or infirmed? If there is not a real illness, why distinguish?”

  “I’m not sure. Political prisoners versus average prisoners, I presume. Or just to maintain the pretense. Anyway, after that you began working at the DID on God knows what project.”

  He looked away, trying to envision the other Leonard being drafted and bullied into inventing a spy satellite.

  “And then you got that look on your face.”

  “Huh?”

  “That look you have right now. A detached, leave-me-alone, dead expression in your eyes.”

  Leonard refocused on his wife and smiled faintly. “I’m sorry.”

  She returned his waning smile, accepting his apology. “When my Leonard disappeared, I fell apart. I continued to go into work, feigning contentment, but inside I was climbing the walls. In my free time, I spent hours at the library, following the Fed-approved news stories, hoping to determine how many people were corralled into how many cities. Perusing government websites, trying to read in-between the lines.”

  “Any luck?”

  “None. Until one day a man walked by my terminal and reached over my shoulder. He pretended that I just asked for his help. ‘I know what happened,’ he said. ‘You just need to refresh.’ He typed in a dot-gov site and added forward-slash-CR2589 at the end. ‘They will come and go,’ he whispered. Then he vanished. I never saw him again.”