Nine-Tenths (15 page)

“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.”

“What was on the website?”

“The other side of the story. What I have learned since is that the CR websites pop up, piggybacked on a government site. They typically don’t last more than a week.”

“What does CR mean?”

“Counterrevolutionary.”

Leonard shook his head. “Does everything in this reality have to be an acronym?”

She pushed him lightly on the shoulder. “CR webmasters post amateur spy photos and data. According to one source, about five-percent of the U.S. population is at large. Never got brought in…or escaped since. Only a small fraction of the military is assigned to locate escapees. Those special troops are called the Traitor Hunters, but fewer and fewer TH units report in these days. One CR site confirmed that many Traitor Hunters have actually defected.”

Leonard smiled. The idea of free people living out there, beyond this nightmare, gave him hope for humanity.

“Anyway, one afternoon, about nine months after you started working at the DID, I found a CR website that was only up for a day at the most. It implied that the CARS epidemic was staged, and the blogger promised to provide proof, but the site disappeared before he could post the information.”

“So you started looking.”

“I can’t believe I never even questioned the whole thing. All it took was a short walk to another department. After the database was complete and before I started working for
them,
I had loads of time on my hands.” She looked off into the distance. “So, one day, I slipped into a lab where the supposed testing was in progress, a batch of retests. Collins had disappeared several months before, and retests were on the rise.

“Seven technicians handled spinal fluid samples. They seemed to work in a factory-style, conveyer belt mode. Six of the techs sat on the opposite side of the table behind a jumble of medical apparatuses and wires that went up to the ceiling. Nevertheless, I was able to discern what they were doing by peeking through the gaps in the equipment. The first guy took a sample tube, removed the name, added a number, and made notes on a computer. Then he shredded the name. The next guy poured the sample onto a slide and added a stain. A box of small glass tubes filled with a blue liquid sat on his right. He used one bottle of blue stain per sample. After the slide was prepped, he disposed of the medical waste and moved on to the next sample tube. Beside him three technicians examined the slides under high-powered microscopes. Each tech inspected the same slide and made a note on his or her computer. The sixth tech properly disposed of the slides. The very last technician sat across from the assembly line with her back to the door. I could see her computer screen from where I was standing. No one noticed me for quite some time, so I observed the process thoroughly. As each sample became available, a name and some related data filled her screen. When the first man labeled the tube in play, a number popped up next to the name. As the sample moved down the line of the three examining technicians, the letters POS or NEG appeared on the last woman’s screen in large font.”

“The technicians entered their findings? Three opinions to confirm a diagnosis?”

“As a cover. What really happened is that the last woman changed POS to NEG or NEG to POS in the notes of what appeared to be random individuals. Others, she did not alter. I was baffled. I couldn’t determine why she changed some and not others. However, when I looked closer, I realized that each patient already had the letters POS or NEG under their name in smaller font. Basically, that last tech changed the submitted diagnoses of the three examining techs to whatever was already preset in the individual’s file.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes. “So a person was already determined to be positive or negative, and the last tech altered the data no matter what the three technicians in the assembly line thought they saw?”

“Precisely.”

“And the rest of the team did not know?”

“I presumed not.”

“But if there is no real virus, what were the technicians looking at on the slides?”

“Good question. I wandered around the lab quietly until I reached the man adding stain and prepping the slides. He noticed me and nodded. Since I wore a doctor’s coat and nametag, he didn’t question my presence.

“Casually, I grabbed several tubes of the blue stain and examined them under the florescent ceiling lights. Two of the tubes appeared slightly darker than the third. Very subtle. I replaced them and scrutinized a couple more. One light and one dark. Swiftly pocketing those tubes, I moved down the line…but I didn’t get very far.”

Leonard’s heart raced.

“The
in-the-know
woman peered through the gap between tech number four and five and asked sharply, ‘Excuse me. What are you doing here,
Doctor
, uh…’ She spit out the title
doctor
with obvious disdain. ‘Marsh?’ she said after examining my nametag.”

“Why would she be so cocky? I would think a doctor would get more respect.”

“In the old days. But in the current situation, a conspiring tech who fudges data carries more weight than a thoracic surgeon…and she knew it.”

“What a bitch. Destroying people’s lives while scoffing at someone who spent years sacrificing and studying.”

Alina shrugged listlessly and continued. “So I blurted out, ‘I’m just concerned about a patient of mine. He exhibited some strange behavior.’ At this point, all of the technicians had ceased working and were staring at me. They appeared frightened.”

“They were frightened of her or of you?”

“Of the situation, I suppose. But anyway, the in-the-know woman asked me, ‘What’s his name?’ The techs turned their heads and gawked at her as if she might go thermonuclear at any moment.

“ ‘John Thompson,’ I replied, pulling a name out of thin air and instantly regretting it.”

“Why regret it?”

“Because,” she said in exasperation, “what if there was a John Thompson in that batch? I was sick to think I might have just ruined someone’s life by a thoughtless remark.”

“I’m sure you didn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter now.” She sighed. “At this juncture, the tech at the beginning of the line fumbled through the samples that still had name labels. Miss Conspirator sneered. ‘John Thompson? What’s his date of birth?’”

“Calling your bluff.”

“Naturally. So I stammered, ‘You know, uh, I’ll need to get the file.’ Then tech number one piped up, ‘I don’t see any John Thompson. Lizzy can look it up, can’t you?’ He addressed Miss Conspirator, a puzzled expression on his face. She glared at him.”

Leonard grinned. “Busted.”

“Yeah. That threw her off her game for a moment. Eventually she retorted, ‘Yes, I can, but I need the date of birth,
Kenny.
’ She was quite flustered.”

“I’ll bet she was.”

“The Feds expected Lizzy to keep the underlings
out of
the know. Keep them pushing tubes and slides along the line. Maintain the status quo.”

Leonard gazed at the ceiling. “I wonder how many people the government pays to do completely pointless jobs. The hours of their lives consumed in tasks that accomplish absolutely nothing.”

“Except provide cover for the national ruse.”

“Yeah.” He considered his own role in the national ruse.

“But Lizzy didn’t know about the bottles I’d slipped into my pocket, so I figured I needed to stop stirring the pot and just get out of there. I worked my way to the door apologizing for the interruption. Most of the techs resumed their work, but Lizzy glared at me the entire way. I didn’t look back, but I felt her eyes upon me until I turned the corner.”

“So what was in the bottles?”

“The stain. Right. The slightly darker liquid contained some kind of virus, nothing earth shattering, a flu or something, and the lighter liquid was just colored water.”

“Jesus.” Leonard rubbed his temple.

“So it was entirely random. Whatever tech number two grabbed out of the box of blue tubes became the diagnosis.”

“And the diagnosis didn’t matter because Lizzy changed the results as they went along.”

“Exactly. A complete waste of time.”

“Yet people are sitting in the infirmary right now because of that test room.”

“
No.
People are sitting in an infirmary because someone in a position of power flagged their names.”

He nodded. “How did they know you knew? Did you confront someone?”

She shook her head regretfully. “No. I was a coward. I already knew they put people in prison for minor offenses. Surely if I blew the cover off the scandal that made it all possible, they would execute me or something,” she said. “Now I wish they
had
killed me.”

Leonard touched her arm tenderly. “Did Lizzy report you?”

“I presume so. I was
visited
the following morning. I tried to stammer my way around the issue. Told them I didn’t know what they were talking about. But one man held up two empty stain bottles. ‘Funny how these ended up in the garbage of the lab adjacent to your exam room,’ he said. The other added, ‘And no one else has been seen in that lab for at least twenty-four hours.’ I capitulated, but in the same breath I promised not to tell.”

“Right away?”

“Yeah, right away,” she admitted, shame in her eyes. “At that time I thought it would keep me out of prison. But they upped the ante.”

“Natalia.”

“Then they had me. I was completely worthless as a human being from then on.”

“Why didn’t they just send you to prison?”

“They needed more in-the-know cogs, as well as trained doctors to do the dirty work in a time of need. Originally, they asked me to do Lizzy’s job. Sent me to a test room on another wing of the hospital. When I’m dressed in a tech’s uniform, no one knows the difference. That’s the beauty of isolation.”

Leonard took both her hands in his and tried to catch her eyes. “You didn’t do that, did you? Change negatives to positives?”

Alina refused to meet his gaze.

“Oh, Alina.”

“It’s easy when they are just names on a computer screen.”

“Is it?”

“I do worse now. I examine distressed women with healthy developing fetuses, and I send them away.”

Leonard caressed her trembling hands. “It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not okay.” She yanked her hands away. “It’s worse. During the abortion process, the woman on the table is sterilized.”

“Why?”

“How should I know? These people are hideous. ‘You’re a good doctor,’ they told me when they
recruited
me. ‘We don’t want to lose you,’ they said.” Alina put her head in her hands. “Good doctor,” she spat in scorn. “What kind of doctor does that?”

“Alina, hush.”

“Doom perfectly healthy babies to the incinerator? Condone a scheme to sterilize women? What kind of doctor?” Her voice had risen several decibels during her rant. Leonard attempted to quiet her.

“Keep it down, Alina. You’re risking your cover.”

She nodded, suddenly aware of her surroundings.

“Why so many abortions?” Leonard probed. “Clearly the babies are not yet enemies of the state. And since CAPERS takes a hold of them right away, why—”

“I’ve wondered about that.”

“And?”

“Population control? Genetic engineering? Both? I can’t figure it out. Typically, the older, dowdier women are marked positive and the younger mothers-to-be slip through. I thought perhaps there was a desire to weed out unattractiveness. But this girl, the one from today, she was young, blond, and beautiful. Why take out the beautiful, presumably intelligent, baby a woman like that might spawn?”

“You make her sound like an incubator.”

Alina tipped her head despondently. “That’s what they are, aren’t they? Women who give birth these days. They aren’t mothers, that’s for sure.”

“What a terrible thing to say.”

“But it’s true.”

He closed his eyes. “This is an evil world. I’m going to build another time machine. Anyplace would be better than here.”

“Can you do that?” Alina asked hopefully.