On Saturday, Madeline hosted some
kind of cheese-tasting garden party for the women in her Christian Gardening
Society, and twenty of them came in nearly identical spring dresses, their ages
from twenty to sixty, their husbands in tow.The women gathered in deck chairs on the rear deck to eat Wisconsin brie and talk.God knew what they could have talked about for so long, but their
chattering voices never quieted; to Ruppert, they became like the twittering of
birds against the sleepy jazz-lite music flowing from fake rocks in the garden.
As usual, the men eventually
drifted inside to gather around Ruppert's floor-to-ceiling wall screen and
watch the Dodgers game.Like all men awkwardly
drawn together by a convergence of their women, they spoke a little about
sports and cars, drank what they could, and stayed grateful the game was there
to fill the time between arrival and departure.
The Dodgers were up three to one
against the Pirates at the top of the eighth, and Ruppert gave every appearance
of watching the game.His eyes kept
drifting towards the upper corner of the screen, where he'd always imagined the
cameras were hidden, though he had no reason to believe this.More likely, the cameras were microscopic and
scattered across the surface of the screen.
Everyone
knew the cameras were there; it was obvious every time you made a video call,
and the better screens also responded to hand gestures.The most expensive screens, like those at
GlobeNet, actually followed your eyes, highlighting and enlarging anything on
which you rested your gaze.
He'd heard
rumors about the screens.They said the
Department of Terror could track anything you did online, from phone calls to
paying your bills to watching a show; Nicholas had no doubt about that, and it
had never been kept secret.He'd also
heard that Terror could silently activate your screens at any time to watch your
activities at home, even if the screen was turned off.
The most chilling thing he'd heard,
though, was that the cameras recorded everyone, all the time, and Terror stored
every bit of it in giant data archives, somewhere deep underground in the
desert, or extreme northern Alaska, or somewhere in the Appalachian mountains
(depending on who it was that had too many drinks and dared to talk about it).If you became of interest to them, they could
search back through your whole life for signs of insufficient patriotism or
sympathy with the enemy, even perform keyword searches through your most
intimate conversations.
Nobody knew
what Terror could do, because Terror operated behind an absolute black shield
of national security.There were only
rumors and the occasional news report: "The Department of Terror has arrested a
group of leftist terrorists in San
Diego." Leftist usually meant Latino.Jihadi, of course, always meant Middle
Eastern, while imperialist always meant Chinese.
As the
Dodgers took the mound, Ruppert's doorbell rang.It sang out an instrumental of "Jesus Loves
the Little Children" played on what sounded like wind chimes.Madeline refused to change the doorbell sound,
even though she could choose from thousands at the touch of a button.After four years, Ruppert thought, even Jesus
would be sick of that song.
Ruppert
stepped into the front hall and saw Sullivan Stone through the window pane by
his front door.Sullivan waved, just as
enthusiastically as if he'd been an invited guest.Ruppert went to answer the door, puzzled,
unable to think of a plausible reason for Sully to show up at his wife's party.
Ruppert's house identified Sully
and announced in a melodic voice high above Ruppert's head: "Sullivan Stone,
and guest Brandiwynne Hope.Ms. Hope has
not visited your home before.She is a
nonfamous entertainer.Sullivan Stone is
your co-worker at GlobeNet.Both are
nonscheduled guests today."
Ruppert paused long enough to roll
his eyes before opening the door.He
vaguely recognized the name Brandiwynne Hope, mainly because it was outlandish
even for an entertainer.She would be
the latest in Sully's endless stream of models/singer/actresses that appeared
and disappeared at his arm, each of them a seductive commercial for herself,
Sully cool and indifferent as they came and went.The girls were of the type still drawn to Los Angeles for its faded mystique as the entertainment
capital of the world, a position it had long ago yielded to Tokyo and Mumbai.Terror men controlled the dying film studios.
Speculation ran back and forth
among the men at the office about Sully's wild success at dating--dating,
because no one would dare accuse another of premarital sex crimes without
strong evidence.Privately, Ruppert
doubted that Sully was ever interested in any of the beautiful ladies who
accompanied him.
He opened
the door.
"Daniel!"
Sully thrust a brown-wrapped bottle into his hands as he swept into the front
hall.After him followed the sort of
person Ruppert expected--long blonde hair, wide eyes like blueberries, her mouth
a bit redder than might be accepted at one of his wife's church groups.She wore tight denim overalls tucked into
thigh-high leather boots, a fashion unfamiliar to Ruppert, if it was a
fashion.
Ruppert
unwrapped the bottle--Signorello, a Napa
wine, bottled in 2010.
"You
brought wine?" Ruppert asked.
"Wine and
Brandiwynne," Sully said. "Have you met?She's cutting a studio setlist with Haisako.A very big, breakout hit.Or it will be, next month."
"Nice to meet you, uh, Brandy."
"Brandywynne,"
she corrected him. "Brandywynne.Brandywynne Hope."
"Right.What kind of music do you play?"
"Rust."
"Is that a...genre?"
"Hey!" she shrieked, pointing at
Ruppert. He turned, half-expecting to see a feral rodent swooping down at his
head. "You're that news guy, right?The
one that comes on before Sully?"
"That's how
I'm known to the greater Los Angeles
area," Ruppert said. "That guy before Sully."
"Wow!So, yeah, what's the news today?"
"I'm off
today.The kids take our place on the
weekends, at least until they're trained up enough to take our jobs.You'd better come back and meet my wife."
Ruppert led
them through the living room, where a few heads turned towards Brandiwynne and
quickly swiveled back to the screen.Ruppert cast a questioning look at Sully, who had only visited his house
once before, at Ruppert and Madeline's housewarming four years ago.Sully held up his index finger and raised his
eyebrows.Ruppert had no idea what he
meant by it.
The garden
club women, who had broken into small, chattering groups, fell silent as
Ruppert emerged with Sully and Brandiwynne.They eyed the pretty, unnamed younger girl with cold suspicion.
"Ladies,
you all know Sullivan Stone--unless you avoid my newscasts as well as Madeline
does." This brought one or two laughs, which were instantly quashed by hard
glares from the other women. "And this is...Brandiwynne Hope, a new rock star--"
"Rust
star," Brandiwynne interrupted.
"--anyway, a
musical genius, from what I've heard people tell me recently."
Madeline
took Brandiwynne's hand and smiled, but her eyes were like smoldering green
coals when she glanced at Ruppert.
"So nice to
meet you. I'm Madeline.We're just in
the middle of a private cheese party."
"I'm
terribly sorry, Mrs. Ruppert," Sully said. "We were just passing through
Bel-Air when I remembered Ruppert mentioning you were having a party today, and
I just really, honestly, needed to see the end."
"The end?" Madeline
asked.
"We're up
by two, but it's just moving into the bottom of the eighth and the Pirates have
that new pitcher, Marshall What's-his--"
"Fine,
fine," Madeline said. "Men to the den.We can take care of Miss...Hope?"
"Brandiwynne.Brandiwynne.Brandiwynne Hope."
"And what
sort of music do you sing?"
As they
walked toward the door, Sully whispered to Ruppert: "Is there a screen in your
bedroom?"
"Yeah," Ruppert whispered back.
"Where can
we go?"
Ruppert
thought of his house--the den, the guest bedrooms, the small screen set into the
kitchen wall. "Follow me."
Ruppert's
basement was mostly underground, the floors and walls lined with cold, flat
stone.Probably faux-stone, but it felt
real to the touch.He slid his against
along the smooth surface until he brushed the touchpad, bringing the ceiling
bulbs to life.Sully closed the door
before following him down the steps.
"What's
going on, Sully?"
"Are you
sure we're safe?"
"From who?"
Ruppert asked.
Sully just
looked at him.
"There's no
screens down here."
"Any kind of media link?"
"Just my old college
furniture."
"Listen,
Daniel," Sully whispered. "I need your help, but first I need to know if you'll
keep a secret.A serious one."
"Sully, what
are you--"
"Just--please,
all right?"
Ruppert saw
that Sully was sweating hard now, his hands trembling.His eyes slashed back and forth between
Ruppert and the basement door above.
"Okay,
Sully, just calm down.It can't be that
bad."
Sully
breathed out something between a snort and a laugh. "That bad, that bad...Listen,
Daniel, you're probably right.We'll say
you're right.Then help me out?"
"I'll help,
Sully, Jesus."
"I can
trust you?Swear to God and the flag?"
"I...yeah,
Sully, I swear."The childish expression
unnerved Ruppert.He began glancing
furtively at the door, too, though he'd done nothing wrong.Not yet.
"Okay.I thought so.Great." Sully lifted a thin wafer of plastic from his pocket and held it
out to him.A long chain of numbers and
letters was stamped across it.
"This
is...what?" Ruppert asked. "A data slide?"
"A contact code.Just type it into your web interface.I mean, not your interface.Not here.Do it from a cafe."
"Why?"
"Don't do
it yet!" Sully glanced at the door again.His hair, matted with sweat, drooped into his eyes. "This is just in
case."
"I don't
understand, Sully."
"In case it
happens to me!" Sully yelled, then winced at his own voice. Whispering again,
leaning in close to Ruppert, he said, "If they come for me.If I disappear.Then I want you to call.From a safe line.Voice only."
"Nothing's
safe, Sully.I have a wife, Sully."
"Don't
involve her."
Ruppert
looked at the digits--forty-three numbers and letters.It was a phone number, but nobody used the
actual numbers anymore.You just told
your screen who to call and it called.
"Who will
this connect me to?"
"He's a
friend of mine.A really good friend,
Daniel, and I don't want anything to happen to him.If they come for me, call him.He can give you what you always wanted."
"What?"
The
basement door swung open, and a graying man in a beige sweater vest looked down
on them.
"Oh," the
man said, taking in the sight of them huddled in the basement. "I was
looking...for...the men's room?"
"Second
door on your right," Ruppert said.
"Yes, thank
you." The man remained in place. "Should I close the door again, or...?"
"It's fine," Ruppert said. He heard
his own heart pounding in his ears. "Thanks."
The man's gaze lingered on them as
he stepped away.
"Be careful," Sully whispered.
"Don't mention this again.Remember,
only if they come for me."
Then Sully raced up the stairs and
out of sight.Ruppert stood in his
basement, puzzling over the slice of plastic. What you always wanted. What
did Sully mean by that?
