Nine-Tenths (11 page)

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.

The
Beta Sites
appeared to be locations for initial testing of the Stasi Satellites. Addresses spanned the entire metro Denver area south of Commerce City. Leonard examined a few locations. All entries said
No Activity
in the notes, but they each had a target start date — the earliest being one month from the current date. Leonard noticed that Sandy Little’s name and address appeared on the list.

I wonder if she volunteered to be a beta site.

He sat back, ran a hand though his hair, and took a deep breath. Next, he chose the
Priority Targets
link. It listed several dozen individuals, their photos, internal numbers, and other personal data. Tantalizing information graced the notes pages of the targets.

One man’s notes said,
Demonstrated against Amendment Twenty-Eight. Unconfirmed operator of CR websites.

Another individual’s record reported,
Subject spends considerable time in parks and other recreational areas. Seen meeting with individuals, who are on the low priority watch list, almost daily. Suspected of being a contact in an illegal emigration gang. Closely monitored by WLN. No incriminating conversations in the home.
Leonard shivered and shook his shoulders.

Curiosity drove him to select another name.
Smuggling and trafficking of illegal goods, including fresh fruit and toiletries. Released from prison so the WLN can monitor his activities and locate his sources. Placed in a public pharmacy where we have a fulltime Watcher. The subject appears to be suspicious about his early release.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tramer?”

Leonard spun around. “Yes?”

“I’m just taking lunch orders for tomorrow,” Amanda, the lunch server, explained. “Would you like turkey, roast beef, or salami?”

Envisioning the limp sandwich he ate earlier, Leonard cleared his throat. “I’m going to bring my lunch tomorrow.”

Amanda furrowed her brow and withdrew slightly in surprise. She cocked her head and appraised him curiously. “You’re bringing your lunch?” Her tone was doubtful, almost condescending.

“Yes. Thank you.” He turned away.

Amanda mumbled under her breath in a scolding tone as she walked away.

“Blah, blah.” Leonard grumbled, turning back to face his computer. “Make a better sandwich if you want people to eat them.”

Although surfing the
Priority Targets
link was intriguing, Leonard’s mind kept drifting to the heavily secured door he and McGinnis passed on their way back from lunch. He exited out of the system; then got up, overtly looked at his watch, and strolled along the cubicles glancing at the employees along the way. Men and women of all ages straightened their posture and focused on their computer screens with feigned interest. Leonard’s lips curled up on one side in amusement.

“Mr. Tramer?”

He felt a light hand tap him on the shoulder, and he pivoted abruptly. Standing just outside of her cubicle, Sandy Little beamed, her face flushed. A lock of sleek hair had managed to slip inside her blouse, distracting Leonard.

If Sandy noticed him ogling, she did not show a sign. She spoke quickly and confidently. “I finished the map and emailed you a copy.” Waiving a yellow slip of paper, she concluded, “I have to run now. However, should you find anything lacking, please shoot me back an email and I’ll get on it straightaway in the morning.”

Trying to focus on her face, Leonard replied, “I’m sure I won’t find anything
lacking
Sandy, but I’ll look it over.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Have a nice afternoon.”

“I’ll try, sir.”

She rushed down the hallway and across the hanger. Leonard watched her disappear into an elevator. Moving slowly, he meandered his way through the cubicles and leisurely headed for the bank of elevators. When the bell dinged, Leonard glanced over his shoulder. No one appeared to notice his retreat. He slipped in and selected the third floor, humming as the doors closed.

It was possible that his pass would not allow him access to the restricted area. Nonetheless, given the level of respect afforded him by the crew in the hanger, Leonard figured it was certainly worth a try. He wondered whether that room might hold electronics he could use to rebuild the time machine. Diagrams and new ideas floated through his mind, as he considered the possibility. The elevator opened and he stumbled into the hall.
If I can build a Stasi Satellite, surely I can rig another time machine.
His steps quickened as he envisioned freedom, but his breath caught in his throat when he faced the grim reality of the situation.
Even if I find parts, how the hell am I going to get them out of here?
He shook his head and pressed on.

When Leonard reached the intriguing door, he stood back and surveyed the maze of security measures protecting it. Card swipe, retina scan, pass code, followed by another card swipe. It seemed obvious but his hands trembled. After some hesitation, he stepped forward.

Card swipe. No buzzer.

Retina scan. Soft beep.

Pass code. Gate flew open.

Card swipe. The large double doors opened slowly, moving away from Leonard into a dark hallway.

He tiptoed cautiously down the corridor. The soft hum of computers and an irritating blue light loomed at the end of the hallway. Soon, Leonard stepped into a huge room filled with computers, each manned by a transfixed human wearing headphones. No cubicles, just rows of computers on narrow tables and at least two hundred employees on small swivel chairs. Up in the far corner, an unmanned station with a plexiglass window overlooked the scene like a watchtower.

Leonard wandered toward the enclosure. None of the computer drones seemed to notice him. A retina scan and card swipe guarded the entrance to the little room. Leonard performed the ritual and the door clicked open. Once inside, he inspected the station. Big enough for two people, three if they got cozy, the small room housed one computer on a tall desk. In order to view the screen, the computer operator needed to stand. The entire department and all the employees were clearly visible through the plexiglass, their monitors glowing like rows of lanterns.

Leonard shook the mouse and a pale purple screen came to life. He selected the
System
link to pinpoint his location in the network. Smiling at his own shrewdness, he clicked
Back to WLN01
and returned to the purple menu. The upper right corner of the screen caught his eye. Three search options beckoned him.
Last Name, First Name, Tracking Number
. Leonard tapped his finger on the desk before typing
McGinnis
. Thomas McGinnis popped up as the only match, so Leonard selected his record. A screen, identical to those of the
Priority Targets
, opened.

Not a very photogenic man, Thomas McGinnis’ photo scowled at Leonard. Thomas’ notes spanned only one month and they were three years old. The daily activity was uneventful. Notes like
went to the liquor store, had two friends over for the game, stayed at home all day
cluttered the page. In conclusion, the report said,
No unusual activity. Voted for Stehlen. Otherwise, not politically active. Set start date for December 1st.

Leonard backed out, intending to enter his own name, but a commotion startled him. He logged out hastily before assessing the consequences of such an action. Only the words
Username
and
Password
remained on the default login page for WLN01.

A chubby man entered the small room, sweating and apologizing. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to log out. It won’t happen again,” he stammered. “I’m not feeling well. I just popped out to visit the nurse.” He waved a small yellow piece of paper. “I was getting an early dismissal pass. I’m so sorry, sir, I—”

“What are you yammering about?” Leonard pointed at the screen. “You logged out. Take a breather. Obviously you
do
need to go home.”

The man tilted his head and examined the screen. “Huh. I could have sworn…”

Trying to sound like the oppressive high-level superior with whom his underlings were accustomed to dealing, Leonard remained aloof. “Now finish up your business and be on your way.”

The man didn’t even question Leonard’s presence at his station. Instead, he jostled his way to the computer, delicately trying not to bump into Leonard. Before he reached his destination, the flustered man stumbled and dropped his pass. Leonard seized the opportunity and swiftly squatted, snatching the ID.

Mark Dickens, WLN.

Leonard casually returned the pass.

Dickens poised his fingers above the keyboard and began to type while Leonard watched stealthily. The nervous man clacked out
dickensms
and then a password that looked like
linda0106
, possibly
linda0409
. He glanced over his shoulder as the purple menu page popped up.

Leonard cleared his throat and turned to leave. “Later, Dickens.” He slipped out of the booth quickly. Marching down the steps, he glanced sideways at the rows of drones flipping menu pages, making notes, and listening intently.

Mark Dickens, WLN.

Watcher Listening Network.

Chapter Nine

Shortly after Leonard returned to his desk an irritated female voice called, “Break time.”

Immediately, the sound of dozens of chairs rolling away from desks echoed in the hanger. Leonard, not interested in a break, shook his mouse and selected the
System
link. He entered WLN01 with his own name and password.

You are not authorized to access WLN01.

Not to be dissuaded he tried another tactic.
Location, WLN01. Username, dickensms. Password, linda0106.

This computer is not authorized to access WLN01. Please return to your station and try again.

Dammit!
Leonard slammed his fist on the table

“Break time.” The woman approached Leonard’s cubicle.

“I don’t need a break right now.” Leonard kept his back to the annoying woman.

“You have to take a break.”

“I’ll take one later.”

“It’s mandatory.”

Leonard swiveled around and regarded the woman disdainfully. Frumpy dress and tangled hair, she looked like a disgruntled housecleaner. Leonard rolled his eyes. “I’m the project leader,” he said coolly.