Walter Stickle and the Galactic Rangers, page 11
Walter handed him the comic section. “I noticed some odd things about my computer when I was working late last night. I’m a little worried about it. Do you think you could get Central Office to run a scan and reset all my passwords while I’m out? I want to make sure nothing’s wrong with it.”
“Absolutely. The last thing we need is a hacker breaking into the Social Security database. Perfect time to do it, too,” Mr. Ruben said. “Good thinking, Walter. You’re always one step ahead of the game. Now, go home and get some rest. That’s an order, Mr. Stickle.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Hey, did you make the Rangers today?”
Walter shrugged. “I think they’ll be killing me off soon.”
“Say no more. Feel better, Walter,” he said and walked away with the comics.
Walter left the office before any of the others arrived and went to the library. He stopped at the circulation desk and said “good morning” to Will Bentley, who volunteered there weekday mornings. Will was a retired naval shipyard worker, a little too young for full Social Security benefits, but doing well enough on his stevedore pension. Every time Walter ran into him, Will asked if he should file for benefits before the government ran out of money. Every time, Walter counseled him to wait until his full retirement age before applying. “Your house is paid off. You have health insurance. Don’t worry about them running out of money,” he always said. “If the government goes under, we all go under, and it won’t make any difference.”
“You look like something the cat dragged in, Walter,” Will said. “Don’t they give you guys paid sick time anymore?”
“Yes, they do,” said Walter. “As a matter of fact, I left work sick, but I wanted to use one of the library computers before I went home.”
“What’s the matter with yours? Internet down?”
“No, I just thought since it was on the way…”
They chatted a bit until the phone rang. “I have to get this,” said Will. “Take your pick, Walter. I’ll put you down for an hour. Think that will be enough?”
“That’s plenty.” Walter thanked him and went into the computer room.
The library computers were rebooted and re-imaged every night and when they were, everything that the library patrons had done to muck them up the previous day was erased when the original operating system image was restored. That meant no viruses, no malware, and no prying eyes if you got to them first. Walter found one that hadn’t been used yet that day and logged in.
He started with the Social Security death index, a public list of every deceased person who had ever applied for a Social Security number. It’s a harsh fact of life that in spite of all the privacy protections mandated for the living by the government, the dead have no privacy whatsoever. The Social Security Administration sells a yearly-updated list of deceased persons with Social Security numbers and other identifying information to vendors who make the database accessible on various ancestry and family heritage sites. Walter searched one of those sites for Vivien Benoit, locating the same one he had found previously. She had not died on the date the TV Galactic Rangers had said was the date they’d lost contact with their scout ship. The Vivien Benoit in the Social Security database had died the following year, and in New Mexico, not New Jersey.
Without access to the secure Social Security database of living individuals, Walter searched the Internet for the date the Rangers had given him, July 7, 1947. Not much had happened on that date except one thing in particular that made him sit back in his chair. It was a press release by an Army Airfield public information officer stating that, on July 7, 1947, personnel from the airfield's 509th Operations Group had recovered a flying disk, which had crashed on a ranch near their base in Roswell, New Mexico. Walter read and reread the entire article from the reprint of the Roswell Daily Record. Then, he clicked through page after page of related articles on UFOs, captured extraterrestrial beings, and the alien autopsies performed at Roswell. He searched for any stories related to anyone in New Mexico named Benoit but there were none.
“Hour’s up, Walter,” Will said, popping his head in the door. “The Women’s Circle from church is having computer class this morning. They’ll be here any minute, so I’ve got to kick you out.”
Walter thanked Will, left the library, and went home. He got changed and moped around the house until the guilt of not being at work and not really being sick overwhelmed his inertia, and he decided that it was time to fix that screen door. Armed with a screwdriver, the razor knife he had borrowed from his dad three months ago, and a roll of screening, he set up two sawhorses on the porch and had the screen out and lying between them when a car drove down the street, bumped up onto the curb, and stopped with a jolt in front of his house. His first thought was that it was the Leave Abuser Police come to check up on him. His second thought was that it was a field agent from Central Office there to question him about the security breach. The last thing he would have expected was Vivien Benoit getting out of the car dressed casually on a workday and walking up his sidewalk.
“Hello, Vivien,” he waved.
“Hello, Walter.”
“No gangster suit today?”
She shook her head.
Walter looked past her to the gray Prius straddling the curb.
“Nice car. I guess you get pretty good mileage with that hybrid engine.”
“I don’t know. I just borrowed it.”
“Oh, okay. Well, it’s a good car, in case you’re ever in the market for one. They’re very environmentally friendly. Tom Wilcox over on Grandview Avenue says he gets over fifty miles to the gallon. They probably sell them in France if you’re interested.”
“I guess you’re busy,” she said, pointing at the screen.
“Not really. It’s just something I’ve been putting off.”
Walter set the screen and his tools aside and offered Vivien a seat on the porch glider. Picture a sofa mounted on a metal frame. Picture it gliding back and forth with no up-and-down movement. Picture two people sitting on its vinyl cushions on a warm summer day watching the world go by, and you would be picturing Walter and Vivien on his porch glider. Vivien sat at one end of the three-cushion glider and Walter sat at the other with the empty cushion between. He tried to get the glider going back and forth, but Vivien obviously never had experienced gliding on a front porch in Pitville, New Jersey. After a few fits and starts, he suggested that she just lift her feet, so she sat cross-legged on the cushion while he got them gliding.
“How’s that?” he said.
“Nice. I like it. I stopped at your office. They told me you were sick.”
“I guess I am, technically. Mr. Ruben sent me home to take a couple of days off. He said I looked sick.”
Walter waved to the mailman across the street, and he waved back.
“How did you find me?” Walter asked.
“Your receptionist told me where you live.”
“Oh. So much for privacy rules.”
“Are you unhappy that I came?”
“Oh, no,” he said, dragging his feet until the glider stopped. “It’s just that she probably shouldn’t have done that without my permission. Rules are rules after all, but I’m glad you’re here.” He noticed the paper bag she was holding in her lap and asked what it was.
“Soup. I thought you might like some.”
“You brought me soup? What a nice thing to do.”
She handed him the bag, and he looked inside.
“I love wonton soup,” he said, “and it’s from my favorite place, the Ming Wok. They make the best broth. Are you hungry? I could really go for some right now.”
“Well,” she hesitated.
“Come on. Think of it as a late breakfast.” He took her by the hand and dragged her inside. “Don’t mind the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
Walter’s house was not a mess. Walter’s house was never a mess. His younger brother called him “Mr. Clean” because when it was cleaning time at the Stickle house, all the kids found good places to hide except Walter. He hid in the broom closet.
He led Vivien to the kitchen, and while he set places for them at the table, she stood at the sink looking out the window. Walter noticed her puzzling at his Galactic Ranger action figures.
“Those are the Galactic Rangers,” he said. “It’s a comic strip. The big one is Captain Kleeg. The tall skinny one is First Officer Gak, and the other two are Klaxon and Sparks.”
“Yes, I know. I was just wondering why you keep them in your kitchen.”
“I don’t know. They keep me company when I’m eating breakfast. I have their poster in the upstairs bathroom if you’d like to see it.”
“No, thank you,” she said.
They sat down and began to eat.
“Chicken soup is supposed to be good medicine when you’re sick,” Vivien said. “How is it working?”
“Great,” said Walter. “I feel better already. So, are you going on a trip? Is that why you borrowed a car?” Walter stopped in mid-sip and whispered, “You’re leaving today, and you’re here to say good-bye, aren’t you?”
“No,” she said, “not yet.”
“Oh, good.”
“I’m going to visit my clients one last time.”
“All ten of them?”
“Nine, actually. I’ve already seen Lenny.”
“Oh, okay.”
“It’s his car I borrowed.”
“Really? That was nice of him.”
“He’s a nice man.”
“Do you have an international driver’s license?”
“No, I don’t.”
Walter shifted in the kitchen chair that wasn’t quite as comfortable as it had been a second ago. “Is your French license valid over here?”
“I don’t have a driver’s license, Walter.”
“Then, how were you planning on driving?”
“Lenny showed me.”
“Was he the one who showed you how to park?”
She frowned at Walter. “I made a minor miscalculation.”
“You know, I don’t know about France, but it’s illegal to drive in this country without a license. If you get stopped, they would impound his car. You could go to jail.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You really shouldn’t do this, Vivien. People are crazy out on the roads. You might get hurt, or hurt someone else, or worse.”
She took a sip of her soup and pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. “I have to, Walter. I’m not sure if I’ll see them again.”
Walter drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. “Okay. Then, I guess it’s settled.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be all right.”
“I know you will because I’m driving you.”
“What? But…”
“No ‘buts’ about it. No arguments. I’m driving.”
Chapter 10
Walter packed a few snacks, a flashlight, a compass, some other odds and ends, and two bottles of water for the trip.
“We’re not going camping, Walter,” Vivien said.
“Be prepared,” he replied. “That’s what I always say. It’s also the Boy Scout motto.”
“I see. Were you a Boy Scout?”
“Of course. I have over a hundred merit badges. Surprised?”
“Actually, no.”
They waited out front in the car listening to the radio until Walter heard the traffic report. A three-car accident on the freeway was tying up everything, so he took the longer way to the turnpike to avoid it.
“I guess I wasn’t the only one who listened to the radio,” he said, as they merged into a fast-moving stream of cars heading north on the turnpike. “There’s just so many of them.”
“Yes, there are,” said Vivien, “and they all seem to be passing you.”
“I’m going the speed limit.”
“I think it’s more a guideline for them than a limit.”
“The limit is the limit.”
“Yes, it is, Walter.”
“Oh, well,” he shrugged. “Someday, they’ll invent a trans-beamer like the Galactic Rangers have, and all this traffic will be history. No more beeping at people who are going the speed limit, thank you very much,” he said through the window, to the man passing them with an angry glare and his hand on the horn. “No more tailgating and giving people the finger and cursing at them just because they’re obeying the law,” he frowned into the rearview mirror, at the car that was a foot from their bumper. “We’ll just beam ourselves wherever we want, and everyone will be happy.”
“The transmission of matter through space is a difficult problem for conventional physics,” said Vivien.
“Are you sure you’re a lawyer and not Einstein’s granddaughter?”
She laughed. “I’ve read a few Galactic Rangers episodes.”
The stream of cars thinned to occasional clumps when they passed the next exit and left the sprawl of Philadelphia behind.
“I was wondering if you have any relatives in this country,” Walter said, “someone who might have come over during the revolution when the French were helping us or something like that?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“So, no long-lost relatives in New Mexico?”
“New Mexico? Why New Mexico?”
“Just curious. I found a few Benoits in our database and thought some of them might be related to you. That’s all. I even found one named Vivien Benoit who lived in New Mexico, but she was too old to be your mother. She could have been your grandmother, I guess.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You have an interesting last name, Vivien. It’s unusual and unique. I like it. I looked it up. It’s Old French for ‘blessed.’”
“Thank you, I like it too.”
“You know, if I had to make up a character’s name for a TV show, I’d pick a name like Benoit in a heartbeat, unless it was a show about aliens. Then, I think I’d pick something weird like Graktar or Thramus. What do you think about an alien named Benoit? Strange, right?”
“What are you talking about, Walter?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just passing time.”
Another pack of cars came and went, and they were alone again on the road.
“What about the name ‘Stickle?’” she asked. “What does that mean?”
“My dad told me my great grandparents were German, so I guess that’s where it comes from. In English, the word means to argue stubbornly, especially over scruples. Someone who stickles is a stickler. You know, as in a stickler for the rules? Not very flattering is it?”
Vivien laughed. “No, it’s not.”
“But it fits me to a tee, I guess,” Walter said. “Stickle the stickler.”
They passed a traffic jam in the opposite direction, and traffic on their side of the turnpike slowed as people looked to see what was happening.
“What are they all looking at?” Vivien asked.
“The same thing you are. Any time people see something that’s not normal they have to know why. It’s human nature.”
“Is there an accident?”
“I don’t think so. It’s probably just people heading to the shore for a long weekend.”
“I hope they’re not in any hurry to get there.”
Northbound traffic came to dead stop and then started up again.
“Can I ask you something?” Walter said.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever had something amazing, I mean really amazing, happen to you only to find out later that maybe it wasn’t so amazing after all? Maybe something that you thought was good at the time, but turned out to be bad?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to think about it.”
“If someone you knew had something like that happen to them, what would you think of them, keeping in mind that they didn’t mean to do anything wrong? They’re not even sure it was wrong. It just might have been.”
“I guess that would depend on what that person did about it.”
“Let’s just say that this person is trying to find out without turning himself in to the police because he’s still not sure. It might be nothing, but it might be something very, very bad.”
“What did you do, Walter?”
Walter sighed. “Oh nothing, just something incredibly stupid that might have resulted in hackers getting access to the Social Security database and compromising the identities of three hundred million people. That’s all.”
“How did it happen?”
“They tricked me. Somehow, they got into my TV. It must have been the guy that upgraded my dish on Sunday. That has to be it. Then, they got me to click through to a website that can’t possibly exist. And I’m usually so careful about going to unfamiliar sites like that. I should have known better when Red told me the site was bogus. I’ll bet that’s how they infected my home computer. And I check my work email from home almost every night. They must have stolen my email password and figured out the others from that to hack into my work computer. I really messed up, Vivien. The worst thing is, Kelso is in on it too. To think I actually admired that guy. He’s a genius. I just never expected him to be an evil genius.”
“The one who draws Galactic Rangers is involved in the hacking?”
“He has to be. I was in the comic strip, Vivien. He put me in the comic strip. I was somebody for one day. Can you imagine what that felt like for a nobody like me?”
A car beeped at them as it cut them off. Walter leaned on the horn.
“You’re not a nobody, Walter.”
“No? I thought it was a TV show, Vivien. Me, Walter Stickle, boy genius, thought they were making Galactic Rangers into a TV show. I was going to be a star. I gave them my suit size, for God’s sake. I am so stupid.”
“What makes you think it wasn’t a TV show?”
“Because they used your name. They got it from my computer at work, from all those files I store on it. It’s the only way.”
