Status Check part 2 page 2

The room assigned to her was a remarkably faithful reproduction of her living room at home. Its utter alienness was therefore doubly disconcerting to her. Still, that sense of detachment from her surroundings made it easier to face Number 2, who sat comfortably on one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. She never would have allowed such a reprehensible individual into what she persisted in thinking of as her "real" home.

"I hope my staged demonstration reinforced my warning to you about Number 6," the Village master said, sipping tea she had made at his request.
Number 9 appeared relaxed, seated on the sofa with her legs curled beneath her. In truth, it was a posture she habitually assumed when anxiety threatened to get the better of her. Fortunately, Number 2 didn't know that. Or did he? Number 9 was beginning to the appreciate that the Village possessed intelligence-gathering capabilities that rivaled those of her former employer.

"You mean," she said, her voice betraying turbulent emotions, "the entire scene was scripted?"
"No, of course not," Number 2 said. "We simply provided the setting, and Number 6 played the role he is accustomed to playing. There is, thankfully, a somewhat predictable nature lurking beneath his volatility."
"But you didn't know for sure that he would stick his neck out to keep me from...from frying my hand on that damned scanner of yours."
"No," Number 2 admitted thoughtfully, "not as such. But the action was entirely consistent with his psychological profile."

Number 9 pressed her point. "You relied on the consistency of a man you describe as your most unpredictable citizen?"
"He gives us little else to rely on, my dear."
"But what if he had acted...unpredictably?"
Number 2 frowned. "Yes?"
"If he hadn't stopped me," said Number 9, "would you have allowed me to scan myself to prove my innocence?"

"Oh, that." Number 2 leaned forward in his chair. His rugged features loomed before her like the face of a dangerous cliff. "My dear," he said softly, "I have a job to do. Some of my predecessors have chosen to disguise the fact that the Village's larger mission sometimes requires Machiavellian action on our part. I've never seen the point in doing so." He paused to sip his tea. "There are very few stupid people in the Village, you know. Stupid people by definition don't know very much, and we are, after all, in the information business."

"That's a very flattering way of saying you would have tortured me just to prove a point," Number 9 said.
"If you like," Number 2 conceded. "But Number 6 would have done no less if it had suited his purposes. And that was the point I was trying to prove. He's not the sort of person you want to place your trust in. Do you understand?"

"I think I do," she said coldly.

It didn't take her long to find Number 6's cottage after her visitor left. She found him at home, at rest but not relaxed, his burned hand freshly re-bandaged.
"I'm confused," she said without preliminaries, "and you're the only one who can help me sort things out."
"Really?" he said, his bland tone unreadable. "What makes you think that?"
"May I sit down?" He gestured her indifferently toward a seat. "First of all, I want to thank you. You prevented me from doing something...well, very unpleasant. I'm not sure I understand why - " She trailed off, shaking her head. "My stubbornness nearly got the best of me, and you could have let it, but you didn't. Thank you."
"Always glad to lend a hand." It could have been a joke, except for the guarded, humorless tone of his voice.

"Did it hurt?" Number 9 blurted out curiously.
"What, this?" Number 6 held up his injured hand. "I don't actually remember. It looks like the sort of thing that would, doesn't it?"
She regarded him thoughtfully. "What were you doing with one of those devices?" she asked.
"I thought you weren't supposed to talk to me," he said, ignoring her question. "I'm dangerous."
"That's certainly what Number 2 wants me to believe. The entire bizarre scene with the scanner was staged to prove his point. Or so he says."
"And you doubt Number 2's word?" Number 6's tone was a parody of shock. In truth, he had already lost interest in this afternoon's show trial. He was tired and in pain and, for the moment, totally drained of outrage. But he found himself admiring the petite American's tenacity. The smile that traced his features was fleeting but genuine.
Number 9 failed to respond to his attempt at levity. "I wouldn't believe him if he said the Earth was round," she said bitterly.
"That wouldn't do you much good," Number 6 responded sardonically, "if it turned out he was really trying to convince you it was flat."
"What?"
"A dog chases its tail because it doesn't know any better. That's why dogs are so amenable to being led on a leash." Number 6 waved away her confusion with his good hand. "No matter. Tell me, what do you think our friend Number 2 was really up to today?"
Number 9's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. "Well..." she said uncertainly, "I mean, obviously he...you..." She stopped, took a deep breath and started over. "Obviously, he was using me to get you to implicate yourself in the theft of the scanner."
Number 6 had so seldom laughed since arriving in the Village that his reaction caught him off guard. He smothered the sound as the bemused expression on Number 9's face deepened. "Number 2 knew perfectly well that I took the scanner," he assured her. "Don't shed any guilty tears on my account." At that Number 9 shot him an indignant look. "I didn't say anything about tears," she retorted. "But how do you know? How can you be sure?"

He was glad to see some of her spark return. He decided he rather liked the newest Village resident. "Number 2 said I was found, unconscious, here," he explained, gesturing to indicate his cottage. "He should have been more careful."
Abruptly Number 6 stood and crossed the room, coming to a halt before the television monitor on the wall. "If I had been at home when this little accident occurred," he continued, staring into the silent eye of the darkened screen, "there would have been no question of what happened." He turned to face Number 9. "But there are places one can go when one doesn't wish to be a cooperative citizen. Come on, I'll show you." He motioned her toward the door. Number 9 looked dubious but obediently preceded him out the front door.

Outside, twilight was deepening into darkness. Number 6 quickly took the lead and guided Number 9 along the quiet Village streets. Presently they arrived at the small clearing where he had tried to use the calibration scanner on himself.
A nearly full moon gilded the lush greenery with pale light. Number 9 seemed relieved and happy to find this small part of the Village untouched by the invasive technology of their captors. At Number 6's urging she stepped inside the rough circle of trees that would shield them completely from the view of the nearest path.

Her smile vanished as she realized they were not alone in the clearing. Number 6 followed her frozen gaze downward. A figure lay prone on the grass, face down and motionless. He knelt beside the colorfully dressed body, trying and failing to rouse it. After a moment he rolled the inert form onto its back. The wide, terrified eyes of Number 240 stared sightlessly up at him.
Number 9 crept forward until she could read the penny-farthing badge still pinned to the warder's striped shirt. "Two-forty," she whispered. She looked hard at Number 6. "Did you kill him?"

Number 6 got to his feet, picking stray blades of grass from the mass of bandages on his hand. "Kill a man who doesn't exist?" he said casually.
From a distance they heard the clarion call of the Village public address system. "Curfew in fifteen minutes," chirped the ever-cheerful announcer. "Almost time to say goodnight to another perfect day."

As Number 9 listened dumbly to the cloying announcement, Number 6 turned her gently but firmly away from the silent figure of the late security drone. "Let's go. Wouldn't want to ruin a perfect day," he said with quiet irony.
She didn't resist, but threw a final glance over her shoulder as they walked away from the clearing. "But what about him?" she asked.
"Somewhere there's a grave with his number on it," he replied. "They will see he makes his way into it."

Morning found Number 2 in his command chair before sunrise. His booming voice echoed off the walls of the chamber and was recorded by unseen devices that efficiently digitized and categorized his dictated notes.
"Operation Status Check is proceeding according to expectations," he said between sips of tea. "Phase 1 is effectively completed. With the data encoding of all Village citizens, the necessary infrastructure now exists to implement Phase 2. As an aside, I offer my personal congratulations to our superiors, who incorporated the very practical mechanism of the pan-Village database into the project. Any means of cutting down on paperwork is always appreciated."

Number 2 consulted a small notebook before continuing. "Preliminary testing of the Phase 2 device has gone quite well. Of the three subjects implanted with the device at the time of encoding, we have already liquidated Number 240. This of course was necessary to test the efficacy of the technology at lethal setting. His demise was arranged to appear as the result of an unrelated disciplinary matter. In a nod to efficiency, I was able to use this liquidation to aid in the progress of what I am calling Phase 2a."

The Chief Bureaucrat paused to refill his teacup. He reflected on the last sentence of his dictation. Phase 2a was not altogether popular among his superiors, he knew. Strictly speaking, it was not even an authorized addition to the operation he was charged with carrying out. It showed initiative on his part, and in the Village that could be dangerous.
But it was worth the risk, he told himself, rubbing the line of his square jaw thoughtfully. If his plan succeeded, he would have achieved what none of his predecessors had ever been able to do. Some sort of reward would be in order, surely. That, he thought, made the risk worthwhile.

It wouldn't hurt to reinforce his own cause while he was about it, he decided. He cleared his throat and resumed his report: "Number 6 and Number 9 continue to carry Phase 2 devices without their knowledge and without physical side effects associated with implantation. A nonlethal test of the device has been performed on Number 6, with desirable results. As I have stated in previous reports, further applications of physical stimulus, combined with an engineered state of emotional helplessness, should produce in this particularly recalcitrant subject a state of subjugation that will be far more useful to our long-term goals than any of the primitive attempts at controlling him that have been made in the past."

The last words had barely passed his lips when the double doors to the chamber slid quietly open. Number 110, a sharp-eyed young warder currently assigned as Number 2's chief aide, entered with quick, leggy strides. She waited expectantly for the Village Master to invite her to speak.
"Good morning, Number 110. What is it?"
"Good morning, sir." Her voice was firm, businesslike. "There's a message for you from Number 1. I didn't wish to disturb you while you were making a report."
Number 2, somewhat irritated at her presumption, said, "You should have interrupted, Number 110. What is the message?"
"Number 1 wishes to know why you haven't liquidated Number 9 yet."
"Ah." Was the timing of the question coincidental, he wondered, or did his recorded words play to an unseen audience in an unknown place, the moment he dictated them? No matter. Number 2 stood and stretched his limbs while he mentally composed a reply.
"Our records show she wasn't scheduled for long-term accommodation," Number 110 added with the barest hint of disapproval.

Number 2 stifled an urge to upbraid the young woman for her insubordination. When he spoke his voice was smooth and reasonable. "As you know, 110, Number 9 has an important role to play in our current operation. Maintaining her here in the Village for a while longer will pay us back with interest in the long run. Perhaps you would be so good as to pass on that information to Number 1...as my representative."

He was gratified by the brief flash of fear in her eyes. He couldn't have his own aide using him as a stepping-stone for her career ambitions, after all. Let her toady up to Number 1 on her own time. "That will be all, Number 110," he said brusquely.
Number 2 barely noticed her march-step retreat from the chamber. So his superiors were beginning to apply pressure? He knew better than to believe he could prevail in a confrontation on the matter. Such beliefs by his predecessors had left a fair number of ex-colleagues in their wake.

Yet he felt in his bones that Number 9 was the key to achieving victory over the maddening enigma that was Number 6. There was no question in his mind of terminating Phase 2a. He had his own career ambitions to think about. He would simply have to step up the pace of the experiment.

Number 2 reached for the telephone on his console. "Supervisor? I want constant visual surveillance of Number 9, starting now. It's time to test the third Phase 2 device."

� 1998 Theresa Donia � Part 3 � next issue