by Rachel Ford
“Who?”
“Mr. Real-Women.”
“LMAO! That must have been one hell of a chat him and Caspersen had.”
Still, he stayed on track most of the time, and after awhile of fruitless contemplation, he reached a decision. If he couldn’t open the audit Nance had been working, he presumably wouldn’t be able to pull the same data without running into exactly the same problem: sudden death. But what, he wondered, about a mass data pull? What if he pulled the ECF data along with the records from, say, fifty or a hundred similar charities? He could make it look like he was doing a trend analysis, looking for data outliers.
It wasn’t without risks, of course. If there was something in the ECF data that would stand out in that kind of comparison, he might very well attract the attention of the killer all over again. But no one from the future had showed up to warn him off yet, which – so far – had happened when he was thinking of doing something stupid. So, with sweating palms, he punched in his query, and pressed the “fetch” button.
He watched the screen, and the progress wheel that just sat there spinning. He almost jumped in his seat when a messenger window flashed up. It was from a Randy Barret, apparently – according to his chat description – on the data team. The name was vaguely familiar, but Alfred couldn’t place it.
The message read, “Morning. Did you just initiate a data pull on table 354?”
The taxman felt his hands shake, and he threw a glance around the office quickly, checking for visitors from another timeline. Then he typed, “Yes.”
“Okay. That’s a lot of data.”
“I need it. I’m doing a trend analysis.”
“It’s going to take hours. Any chance you could run it overnight?”
“I need the data today.”
“Understood. Just figured I’d check. When the report isn’t urgent, we like to push them overnight so they don’t impact traffic.”
When the other man stopped typing, Alfred stared at the exchange, his brow furrowing in thought. Randy Barret. He tried to remember where he’d heard the name before. Barret. It was definitely familiar, but he still couldn’t remember why.
Then, his eyes fell on the note he’d scribbled the day before, the list of all the usernames that had modified the audit file. Sure enough, there was a “barretr” among them. Randy Barret, he thought. Son-of-a-biscuit.
So Randy had modified the audit file; and he’d noticed instantly when Alfred ran a query against ECF’s data. Now that was quite the coincidence, he thought.
He brought up the employee directory, and searched for Barret. A page with a picture of a man smiling awkwardly popped up. On its own, that wouldn’t make the taxman take note. He fully understood the deer-in-the-headlights look that came with mandatory company photos, or any photos, really. His own official picture was probably not much different. But in combination with the data developer’s immediate interest in his search, Alfred found himself considering that discomfort in a new light.
He was looking for a mole, after all. He considered the thin, forced smile and uneasy brown eyes in that picture. Was this, he wondered, the face of an assassin? Was it the face of a man who could betray his duty, his very nation? Was it the face of a dirty cop?
Who are you really, Randy Barret? he asked in his mind. And what’s your game?
Chapter Eleven
The data pull took almost the full promised six hours. Alfred devoted himself to his other projects – his assigned work – and made good progress. He also noted a peculiar calendar update. The department’s Wednesday meeting was extended from one hour to four, and moved up to eight-thirty. Ugh. What fresh heck is this?
Finally, just around three o’ clock, the report finished. Alfred scrolled to the ECF portion, but despite his full attention, nothing stood out.
His eyes were practically bleeding by time Nancy showed up at his door. “Ready?”
“God yes.”
They stopped at Nance’s house on the way home. “I want to get everything I’m going to need, so we can finish packing and head out tomorrow night.”
“You know, Nance,” he said, and he tried to sound casual as she loaded an overnight bag, “I was thinking, we could put another dresser in my – our – room. That way, you wouldn’t have to keep running back for things.”
She paused from her packing to study him for a moment. Then she said, “Are you asking me to move in with you, Alfred?”
He swallowed the fear that came with hearing his thoughts articulated directly. “I know we’ve only been together six months,” he said quickly. “But…yeah. I mean, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just, whatever you’re comfortable with.”
She smiled. “Alright. Well, in that case, I’m going to need to get out a bigger suitcase.”
“Really?” he asked, as relieved as he was surprised. “I mean, great. That’s great, Nance!”
She did get out a second, larger suitcase, and they spent awhile longer packing. Alfred was carrying the larger bag out to the car when his phone dinged. It was a text from Josh, and he threw a discreet glance around to make sure Nance wasn’t near.
She wasn’t, and so he read, “Any progress?”
“I have a lead.”
“What kind of lead?”
“A suspect. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What about the data? Were you able to get a look at it?”
“Yes.”
“And…?”
“Nothing stands out. Not yet. I’m going to work on it tomorrow.”
“Okay. Well, the good news is, it doesn’t look like you’ve got the assassin’s attention yet. No one’s shown up to warn us off.”
“Yup.”
“Keep it up, taxman.”
Alfred slipped the phone back into his pocket, trying not to grimace. The marine didn’t seem to understand how long these things took. But he was also probably watching, so scowling was not the right move. Not when he was working in the shadows as an unpaid bodyguard while he and Nance made plans to move in together.
Still, the conversation did remind him of one other detail, and when he returned to the house, he asked, “Hey Nance? Where’s the time travel device?”
She seemed surprised by the question. “In the living room.”
“In the living room?”
“Yeah.” She pointed to the shiny silver gadget, nestled into a display case among a handful of video game and television show replicas. “I couldn’t think of where else to put it. You know what they say about hiding things on the mantle.”
It did blend, he had to admit, with all the crazy things she collected. “We should take it with us,” he said nonchalantly.
“Take it with us? Why?”
He shrugged. “We’re going to be gone for half a week. We shouldn’t just leave something this powerful sitting around. You never know who might break in.”
“Even if someone did, they’d have to have the key too,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but I’m going to be gone too,” he countered. “They could get both pieces.”
“They’d have to know we had them. Only Angie Garrity and a handful of Futureprise people know that.”
“Still,” he persisted. “I’d feel better knowing something powerful enough to destroy the timeline as we know it, wasn’t sitting around unprotected.”
She laughed. “Alright, alright. We can take it.” Then, though, she shook her head and offered a bemused smile. “But I have to say, you’re getting awfully paranoid lately, Alfred.”
Nancy rose on Wednesday morning with all the excitement of a kid at Christmas. “Today’s the day!” she greeted, pecking him on the lips.
“Yay.”
She was in too good a mood, though, to be bothered by his pre-coffee grumbles. He turned his focus to acquiring the caffeine he felt he was going to need to get through the day, and she stayed upstairs, working on the suitcases. He came back a few minutes later, a steam
ing mug in each hand.
“Here, babe,” he said.
“Thanks.” She took it and kissed him again. “So I’ve got everything organized by person and purpose.” She indicated the first of two suitcases. “This side is your clothes, this one is mine. And here’s our makeup and props. I’ve got the shared stuff in the center, yours over here, and mine here.”
“I’m going to be wearing more makeup than you,” he observed.
“That’s because I only need my spots. You’re green-blooded, remember?”
“No. But that, at least,” he said, “I’m looking forward to.”
“What?”
“Seeing you in spots,” he grinned.
When he got to work, Alfred settled in to check through his emails. The case, he decided, would have to wait until after the eight-thirty meeting. There was no sense trying to get enmeshed for half an hour, just to set it aside for the next four.
He was distracted from his work by the sound of Justin’s door closing, and he smiled to himself at that. Guess he’s not in a talkative mood this morning. What a shame.
Eight-thirty rolled around soon enough, and he filed into the conference room with everyone else. He shuffled over to Nancy, who had reserved a seat for him.
Director Caspersen was at the podium with a woman wearing a pinstripe suit and a serious expression. Once the movement settled down, Caspersen spoke, “Good morning everyone. Thank you for coming today.
“You no doubt noticed the meeting’s longer today than usual. We’re going to do something a little different this morning. This-” She gestured to the suit-clad woman. “Is Martina Engel, with Human Resources.”
Martina flashed an all-business smile, and said, “Good morning.”
A dutiful murmur of “good morning” rose from the assemblage.
“Today, we’re going to talk about workplace environment. We’re going to talk about what kind of behaviors make a healthy, productive workplace, and what kind don’t. We’re going to talk about what we can do to ensure we’re fostering a welcoming, diverse workplace.
“So, without further ado, I’m going to turn it over to Martina.”
The HR rep took the podium, and smiled again. “Well, thank you, Director Caspersen. And good morning again, everyone. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Chapter Twelve
“That was definitely for Justin,” Nance nodded confidently.
Their impromptu sensitivity training session had wrapped up, and the pair were at lunch now. “He certainly thought so,” Alfred said. “He was beet red the entire time.”
“I almost feel sorry for him,” she nodded. “If he wasn’t such a prick, anyway.”
He cringed at the language.
“Sorry,” she grinned. “Such a…well, what would you call him? Something to do with food, I know.”
He didn’t have anything directly analogous, and he shrugged, “I don’t know. A turd sandwich, maybe?”
Nancy laughed. “Alright. I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t such a turd sandwich.”
“He is, though,” Alfred reminded her. “I mean, he’s been on your case for months. If we reported half the stuff he’d said, he’d have lost his job months ago. But because we don’t want to hear his ‘real woman’ crap, all of a sudden he’s running to Caspersen?” The taxman shook his head, incensed at the idea. “What a – well, turd sandwich.”
She laughed again. “You know,” she pointed out, “not too long ago you would have told me it was ‘nothing personal,’ to report people for breaking the rules.”
He flushed. “Yeah, but I wasn’t breaking them when I was reporting people. And, anyway, when I turned you in for having too many posters on your wall, you still acted like a professional.” Though the taxman still maintained that that many posters on a wall was a fire hazard, he acknowledged that it was not one of his finer moments. That, of course, had been before he knew Nancy.
“True,” she acknowledged, adding with a twinkle in her eyes, “but I did kind of hate you for it, just a little.”
She was joking, but the words hit him unexpectedly. “Well, that was a long time ago.”
She smiled and reached out to take his hand. “Yes it was. A very long time ago.”
He held her hand for a moment, and her gaze. “Nance?” he said.
“Yes?”
“I-” He swallowed. “I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore.”
A tender look settled in her eyes, and she smiled again. “Me too, Alfred.”
After lunch, the taxman found it hard to concentrate. His mind seemed in a kind of a daze, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t fully extricate himself. His thoughts were all over the place. He was happy – thrilled – and yet strangely terrified too.
It was, he decided, the case. It had to be. He was worried about what could happen to Nancy. He was worried by his lack of progress. What else could it be?
So he forced himself to study the data. The rows merged, the columns danced, and his thoughts wandered. Again and again, he found himself smiling into the void, or chewing nervously on his thumbnail; and he’d have to call himself back to the work.
It seemed an eternity before three o’ clock rolled around. That, he and Nance had agreed, is when they’d leave. That would give them time to reach the hotel before traffic got too crazy. And Caspersen wouldn’t mind. She was flexible like that, especially where employees who clocked as many hours as they did were concerned.
He had made no earth-shattering discoveries. Indeed, he’d discovered nothing at all. There were, as far as he could tell, no irregularities in the Entrepreneur’s Child Fund financials. Whatever Nance had discovered in that other timeline either was not in his search, or else was evading his eyes.
It would be a good idea, he thought, to make his findings accessible in case he had downtime over the long weekend. So he exported the portion of the audit that related to ECF to his personal directory. The employee directories were accessible from any device via a secure URL and login, so it would be available if he had time. If nothing else, he decided, taking the work with him would be a step that would keep Josh off his back.
Then, he logged off and went in search of Nancy. As it happened, she was already on her way to find him, laptop and purse in tow. They met at the junction between his hall and the main hall. “You ready?” she said.
“You bet.”
A loud sigh issued from Justin’s office a moment before the door closed. Nancy laughed quietly, and Alfred rolled his eyes. “‘I was subjected to a gratuitous use of human speech for basic communication,’” he opined.
She laughed again, saying, “Come on. Let’s get out of here before we do something really unprofessional, like this…” She slipped her arm through his, and he smiled.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Nance’s earlier preparations paid off now. They had the car packed in minutes of returning home. Alfred slipped the spacetime field generator into his jacket, and they locked the doors behind them.
“Alright, last check…we got everything?”
He nodded. “As far as I can tell.”
She nodded. “Great. Then let’s hit the road!”
The trip took about two hours, and Nance took the opportunity to go over their schedule for the next day. Alfred tried to concentrate, but the truth was he didn’t hear much. He simply allowed himself to enjoy the sound of her voice as she talked on about things that were meaningless to him, but brought her joy.
Then, once she was convinced that they had a solid plan, she switched topics. “You know, I was reading about Rick Ashworth.”
“Whose he, again?”
“The founder of Marvelous Detective Comics.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Do you know he was a programmer before he got started in comics?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. When he started the comics, he didn’t even expect to make money. He just loved doing it.”
“He’s super ric
h now, isn’t he?”
“Oh yeah. Fire Fell topped a billion dollars, and they’ve got two sequels plus another four films planned in the universe.”
Fire Fell was the latest MDC movie. Alfred’s expression soured at the memory. It wasn’t the movie itself that bothered him – while he didn’t care for it at all, it was no better or worse than a standard comic book movie. They were, in his opinion, all silly spectacles of CGI and cheesy dialogue. But it was the memory of his own stupidity relating to the film that was particularly unpleasant. Nancy had bought tickets and wanted him to go with her, but he’d been so wrapped up in the Landing Site Earth case that he’d been oblivious. She’d gone with Josh instead; and he’d almost lost her.
He could still remember the day it premiered – September 19th – and the feeling of sitting alone in his car amidst a UFO festival, knowing that Nance was hours away with Josh Stevenson.
“Oh.”
“But do you know how he got his big break?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, no. How?”
“He wrote a panel with Swell Dude-”
“That’s one of his superheroes, right?”
“Yeah. So, Swell Dude goes back in time right before Germany invades Poland, and he’s about to knock the daylights out of Hitler, when one of his standard super villains shows up, Devil’s Advocate. And Devil’s Advocate spends the panel berating Swell Dude for infringing on Hitler’s right to hold a different opinion. ‘So much for your vaunted tolerance now, eh, Swell Dude?’ and stuff like that. Meanwhile, Hitler slips away and gives the order.”
Alfred was confused. “Why would anyone stand up for Nazis?”
Nancy laughed. “Great question.”
“But why let Hitler get away?”
“Well, it was political satire.”
