Mask (2 page)

H
e was very good at both managing the new talent averages and meting out justice as necessary.  His performance over the last few years had been exemplarily, moving along new Content Applicants and continuing to feed the Forbidden Archives.  But it was the Draconian suppression of subversive self expression and his devotion to maintaining the status quo that had garnered him invitations to the right parties, to sit with the right social elite and most importantly — to converse with the right politicians.  At such social gatherings he was careful to let slip a casual reference here, the obsequious gesture there and now those subtle hints and hard work were paying off.  His machinations had curried favor.  The communiqué of his dream-come-true was certainly on its way even now.

“
Sir?” J. Anderton asked.

“Oh, never mind me
.  I was wondering if I would get pinstripes.”

“
Pinstripes, Sir, yes.”

“Oh, drat.
I’m being a terrible bore aren’t I?  Sitting here gloating.  My sincerest apologies.  So, enough about me.  It’s our last day together; let’s hear what wonderfulness you have for me this morning.”

“Yes Sir.”  J. Anderton sat with his personal vid in his lap while he held a clipboard with reports and notes.  He studied the material.

“Time is running in ever so short supply this morning, snap it up.  I’m waiting Jay.”

J. Anderton glanced up, nodding and then began to speak, “Sorry, Sir.  Last month we had thirteen thousand applicants seeking permission to submit content for approval.  They are under review.

“We have one thousand one hundred thirty-eight breaches of contract from the approved applicants for content submission.  They have all been assigned to re-education from between two weeks and six months.”

R. Garraty nodded.

“The remainder of the creative content submissions for the month have been cataloged, so for those receiving permission to develop their concepts we have three thousand forty-seven new musical compositions, one thousand three hundred twelve new literary works and nine thousand six hundred four artistic expressions.”

J. Anderton
handed the print out to R. Garraty.  He scanned the data and compared them to numbers displayed on his desk vid.

“Randomly purge
, oh, what do you think - sixty-seven?  No, I have a better idea, much better,” he said flashing his eyes, “let’s do eighty-eight percent of everything, since this is such a so, so special day.  Send out the usual ‘Apply Next Year’ letter to all of those rejected.”  He flitted his fingers in a dismissive fashion.  “Purge their content and forward the remainder to,” he sighed as he continued, “the Division of Content Creation – Compliance Department.”

“Yes
Sir.”  J. Anderton noted the wistful smile, but continued without comment.  “I think you’ll enjoy this.  We have a one T. Iommi, High School student in Iowa, who violated the School’s Arts Charter on Music Appreciation.”

“Pray, what did the young lad do?”

“He was found utilizing a diminished fifth in a class assignment.”

R. Garraty
grinned, “A tri-ode, interesting.  The Devil’s note refuses to remain quarantined?  And what are we doing about this particularly pesky morsel of wickedness?”

“Tactical is currently in route.  The class will be held for a day of re-education, the student will receive a month re-education assignment and the teacher will be detained for the statutory term of six months.  The student’s family is being vetted as we speak.”

“Excellent work Jay.  Most excellent.  As usual, yes?  Tell me, which clever, hard-working tech caught this odious wisp of unpleasantness?”

J. Anderton
glanced at his report.  “That would be Tech F-dash-Four-Five-One.”

“Put a commendation in his file
, ‘
hard work and devotion, blah-blah-blah-something-something’
, okay?  Few would have caught this one.”

“Consider it done
, Sir.”

“
Marvelous. 

“I thought you’d appreciated that
, Sir.”

“But
I assume there is more?  Please, tell me there is more,” R. Garraty encouraged.

“
And just to top off your morning,” J. Anderton grinned foolishly as he continued, “we have a new applicant for IC.”

“A
new applicant?  Well, that is just, that is just stupendous, that’s what that is.  Simply stupendous.  Oh, go on, please, please share.”  R. Garraty cradled his face in his hands in anticipation.

“He posted Anthem.”

R. Garraty lifted his head and his eyes narrowed and for the briefest of moments darted to his locked drawer.  His tone changed abruptly.  “That’s sealed away in the Forbidden Archives.  How did he get a copy of that book?”

“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.