love, sally :)

DUM SPIRO, SPERO
Part 71
 

"Now tell me, briefly and concisely:
were you aware of the proclamation prohibiting those acts?"

"Antigone," Translation by R.E. Braun. Lines 545-546. Used without permission.
 

LANGLY:

Oh man, I feel like shit. Okay, Ally was right. Everybody happy now? I conceded that my wife was dead on.

But I'm going to try out my system...the one I've been working on.

This is no little trick, I'll have you know. For one thing, we're always under video surveillance, so it's real hard to do things that are off task without getting your ass kicked. Around here, though, most people's idea of off task is a rousing game of Solitaire, and the cheeses are too busy
hassling people who just want ten minutes not to think (which, by the way, is real important if you do computers-you can't be that on all the time,
it'll kill you, you just burn out so fast) to even notice that I'm up to something a little more significant than virtual card playing. For one
thing, it looks like I'm working.

I keep thinking of this old AOL commercial, it was great. This guy's in his cube at work, and he's like, my boss thinks I'm working hard, but with AOL, in fact, I'm just goofing off! Bunch of suits complained about that one and they pulled the commercial. Fact is, the only suits I ever met that were any fun were Mulder and Byers, if you could call Mulder a suit. Unlike Byers, I notice he never wears them voluntarily. Haven't seen him in one since he got booted from the Fibbies.

I read this book back about five years ago, it was called 'Death March Programming.' The idea that companies have is, take your tech people, work them half to death, burn them out, and then when you're done with 'em, they'll be so dead they'll leave. Then you get another crop and lather, rinse, repeat. And managers think this is a strategy.

Leaves me at sort of a loss why this place works like it does. For one thing, you can only quit if you get permission to quit, and nobody seems to be going anywhere. I mean, we're civil servants, for Christ's sake. We should be like the DMV, tell everybody that's not my department. But it's like everyone around here just about lives here. If I gave a fuck about any of 'em, I'd check them out, find out why they got no lives or why it just looks that way. But I don't. It's like, you try to talk to anybody here, be friends, they just look at you like you took some sort of weird drug. Makes me miss Bryce and Goldie and Richard big time. Haven't heard from
them, and that weirds me out. I mean, I thought we were work friends at least. And I mean, when I saw Bryce last, I think he was still seeing my niece-don't know about that one. I don't know about my niece, either. I don't even really try to talk to her much. She doesn't answer. I think Daddy and little bro got her back in the fold.

It's real hard here, not having people to talk to and joke around with. Used to make the day go faster. We always had lots to do, but we also had time to just do things like have contests to see who could write the best National Enquirer headline or the best obituary for Nathanson.

I cringe at that one now. I've been trying to find him, on line, anyway. It's like he never existed.

Hell, maybe he was just an alien and his gig was up.

But I don't think so.

It's like mentally I feel so damn isolated. I mean, you do crypto, yeah, it's not the most social job in the world, but it's good to have other people around so you don't get weird and start doing what the voices in your head tell you to do. And you run into a problem, you always can get feedback on it. Somebody usually has an idea. Hey, even I get stuck sometimes! But nobody here wants to help you out, so it's like you waste a lot of time figuring stuff out on your own. Which is stupid. I mean, if we ran TMB that way, we'd never get anything published. We got each other to bounce off of and keep each other honest. Yeah, we get into it sometimes,
and we've had our share of yelling, but it always comes together. And nobody ever says, not my job. I mean, me and Junior, we fight all the time, I think it's how we communicate, but I need help, and Junior, man, he just drops everything and he's like, what you need? He'll do it. I think Junior could be real good doing work like this, and I think it's cool work, but I'd have a hard time recommending it to him as a career path in this climate. Plus Junior needs strokes all the time. Junior's like one of these people that you always got to tell him he did good. You can't be like that if you do this kind of work. It doesn't happen.

Course, I could use a little reinforcement once in a while! But it's not gonna happen. So I deal with it.

I think I'm thinking about Junior because right now I could use the little bastard's skills. He does have 'em. I mean, my kung fu, let's face it, I've done it longer, so I'd still have to say mine's better, but he's got skills. I mean, he's a smart dude. And he does have entertainment value. Course, you ever reveal this to him, I'll have to hunt you down and kill you.

Could use a little help from Byers, too. Byers, he's just like, he's so damn good at this. He's so precise at stuff. Byers is sometimes too cautious about stuff, but dammit, he almost never makes a mistake. And he's like, he doesn't (usually) yell about anything, he's got this real quiet, calm voice and it's good to have when things are getting hairy. About the only thing he's not calm about is women, and who the fuck can blame him there.

Speaking of women, my wife is going to kill me. If I don't die first on my own. Might as well face it, I'm gonna get the wrath of Ally when I get home, and it's not gonna be pretty. She's got a long fuse, but once it's lit, forget it, she's deadly. I think I may have thrown a blowtorch at her in this case.

Bad thing is, I don't have any room to argue with her, really. Except that I'm so behind, and I got my own stuff I want to implement. Need to.

You know, if Frohike was here, he'd be like so able to just deal with some of this stuff, all the surveillance stuff. He's like a pro at this. He also is pretty damn lethal about communications systems, having done plenty of time at Ma Bell back in the late 70s. Hey, he knew Kernighan and Ritchie. That's sort of like, if you're a hacker, that's like saying you got an audience with the Pope if you're Catholic. And he worked with these guys a long time. It's their fault he started hacking, I think. UNIX made that possible. So we could blame them. Ally says she asked him and Martha to come to chow tonight, it's post Yom Kippur chow, and it's always good.
And if I could get out of here at anything resembling a respectable hour, I'd get a chance to see him. I've hardly seen him since he got so sick. And man, I feel it. Don't ever tell him this, but I kind of miss having him busting my chops all the time when we're working. Just doesn't feel right without him. I get real mad at him sometimes, because he does ride my ass, but it's like, I can count on him to ride my ass, and it's like, he's one of these types that does it because he wants you to be good, do your best. Junior hasn't figured that out about him yet. Maybe someday.

Let's see if this thing works...I'm nervous and I'm not concentrating so good. Maybe I should just bag it...no. Yes. Oh man...

"Langly! Get in here!" He who must be obeyed, otherwise known as Zupan-prick, has summoned me to the star chamber.

Guess that settles that. For now.
 

He's off on a rant. He's like, I'm sorry you're sick but your work is falling behind.

My ass he's sorry. He'd kill me if he could still get work out of me, and sleep nights.

And now he's got more stuff for me to do. Shit.

Telling him it's Yom Kippur and Ally's making dinner and having guests-oh, yeah, right, like that'll go over good. Or saying I got a sick kid? Like
he gives a fuck.

"This is very critical, priority one," he says.

Oh yeah, just like everything else. Everything's a fucking crisis here.

I suddenly launch into this major coughing spasm, and oh man, this one is not about to stop. I mean, it's bad.

So bad, in fact, that I end up puking my guts all over his desk. Normally, I'd be sort of embarrassed about this, but right now, in spite of how shitty I feel, I think it's sort of funny. I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much. Plus he got lung cookies in the mix. Bonus points.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, just makes this awful face.

"Mr. Langly, go home and don't come back until you've recovered."

Well, I guess there are ways to make even that bastard change his mind.
 

MICHAEL:

I hate this. I'm gonna be here late to take a stupid exam, and Kelly's sick, and Ally made Yom Kippur dinner, and I feel like hell, and it just sucks.

I better get a goddamn A on this exam. I have an A in the class so far, but I haven't been this sick, and Kelly didn't head south before.

I have a few minutes, I call Chateau Langly. Ally picks up, she's sounding more than a little hassled about stuff.

"What's up, Michael?" She sounds like she's got this whimpery kid right by her, I can hear him crying.

"How's Kelly? Dad with her?"

"Don't know. I'll check as soon as I can-Michael, can I call you back, Langly just walked in?"

"At the pay phones."

"Oh shit. Okay. Hold on. Langly, hold him." I hear her drop the phone, swear a little, and I think she says something to him like, I'll deal with you later.

Wish I could be a fly on the wall for that one...actually, could be arranged, but it's a little short notice right now.

And I can hear this thin little voice calling "Mr. Frohke?"

Shit, somebody pick up so I can talk to her.

I wait, and of course nobody picks up, I can hear Patrick crying and I think I hear Langly hacking away, and I don't know what happened to Kelly. About forever later, my dad gets on.

"Michael."

"None other. How's Kelly?"

"She was sleeping, but she's awake now."

"She there?"

"Right next to me. Kelly? Can you talk to Michael?"

She picks up the phone, and I'm expecting her to say like she's cool and all...

But instead, she just starts crying.

Oh man.

"Hey, Kel, it's gonna be okay," I'm trying to tell her this while I'm being like utterly miserable. This is sort of ironic, wouldn't you say? "Be home when I'm done, I'll try to finish real fast, okay?"

"Don't rush," she sort of rasps out, but she's got to be kidding. "Do a good job."

"Hey, it's chem, I'll be fine. You gonna be all right?"

"I'm so worried. I'm going to miss work and I can't study..."

"Kel. It's okay. Really. C'mon. Get back to bed. Be home as soon as I can. I love you, Kel."

"Love you, too."

"Lemme talk to Melvin the Monster."

He comes back on. "How're you holding up?"

"Don't ask."

"I just did. And I expect an answer."

"Truth?"

"Good place to start."

"Like shit."

"Well, hang in there."

"Dad, can you kind of look after Kelly a little, like you do me? I mean, she's real sick, and we're like her only family..."

"Michael, what kind of bastard do you think I am?"

Don't make me answer that one.

"Of course I'll look after her. She is, after all, going to be my daughter-in-law."

Well, well, well. Did we get a concession or what?

Small one, yeah. But with Dad, you take what you can get.

He damn better not be being stingy with Martha.
 

FROHIKE:

This is chaos. The Langly kitchen is generally a place of intense activity, but right now, any semblance of order has long been disbanded. Langly's sitting at the table, damn near dying, trying to calm down a crying Patrick. Miranda's having a fit because she can't figure out her trig homework, and Langly's not helping-I tell her to give me a few minutes, I'll give her a hand. Her mother needs her to answer the phone, which rings again, as she takes a weepy Patrick off her husband's lap. I'm standing there with my arm around a very shaky, hot, pained Kelly.

"Tell the truth, I haven't even gotten that far. It doesn't look like this dinner's going to materialize, unless you count Chicken Delight as a meal." She's talking into the receiver, which Miranda had handed off to her, and she mouths 'Byers' to me. "And yeah, with Julie being pregnant, I wouldn't. Everyone here seems to be on their deathbeds, at least enough of them to make certain that you guys would pick up at least one virus. No, stay home. I'm sorry. No, I never did get to service today. I'm dying for an explanation on that one, but I don't think this is the time or place. Yeah, catch you later." I hear her press the talk button, using her thumb.

"Langly, I'm out of graph paper!" Miranda is frantic as she sifts through her notebooks, which look to be about as neat and organized as Michael's. How these kinds ever find anything, I haven't got a clue. Yes, I'm a slob, but I can tell you where everything is. There is a method to my madness.

"Miranda, just wait, I'll get you some and I'll help you-" I'm trying to placate both Kelly and her simultaneously.

Apparently the stress has gotten to her. "That's it! This place is such a fucking zoo, I can't get anything done, everybody's screaming, this is insane! I can't deal with this!" She heads for the dungeon entry and slams the door. Hard. I can feel the walls shake.

The phone rings again. Allison grabs for it while she's trying to cuddle Patrick, whose screams are escalating. "Jason? Can I call you back? No, it's not a good time. Okay, I will. I promise. Later. Tonight. I'll do it. Bye!" Her younger brother.

"Okay, that's it!" Her normally soft voice has taken on a tone I barely recognize in her. It jars us all into a momentary silence. She turns to her husband first. "You. Get in bed. Now."

"I need a shower."

"It's going to wait. Go. Now! I'll bring Patrick in with you!"

He looks at her, mystified, then just shakes his head and heads down the hallway.

"Frohike. Get Kelly back in bed, and if you could help Miranda, that'd be great, but if you can't-"

"Don't worry about it. I think I can handle a trig assignment." Of course, I'm not sure about the hormonal teenager with the trig assignment, but Michael has given me some practice in that area.

At that moment, the gate buzzer sounds. "Hang on, let me get that." She carries her little boy with her to the front hallway, and he's not pleased about this, he's like Mommy no!

"Frohike, it's Martha-I'm sorry, I forgot to call her about dinner-shit!"

"She'll understand, don't worry about Martha."

And I say a silent prayer of thanks for reinforcements.
 

MARTHA:

Allison has this edge in her voice that indicates that things are going poorly. Perhaps Mel and I should take off. I appreciate her offer of dinner, but she sounds as if she's...

Badly in need of a drink.

As am I. It's been one of those days-all week. Gizzie hasn't left the hospital in two days. I told her I'd stay on, but she told me to get my ass out of there before I got as cooked as she is.

I took this order with some misgivings, but even more relief.

"Let me get him in bed," she indicates her little boy. "C'mon, sweetie, you're gonna go with Daddy, and this time he's not getting up."

"You gon' tie him up?"

"No, I'm going to chain him down." I have to giggle as I hear her say this. She sounds like she's had a day.

"Allison-"

"It's Ally, you've seen me being a bitch now."

"Ally, have you seen Mel?"

"Downstairs in the dungeon. Enter at your own risk."

"Anything you want me to do?"

"Hold on." She vanishes into the bedroom, I can hear some muffled speech, which I'm sure I know what it is. A minute later, she reappears.

"There is something you can do for me," she says as she brushes an errant strand from her hair out of her face.

"Sure."

"Go say hi to your man. Then, since I've made it policy not to drink alone, you're going to have one with me."

Maybe there is a god.
 

I walk as quietly as I can down the stairs-I feel as if my surgical clogs make a clomping noise which has to be irritating to the inhabitants. I'm used to moving about quietly, and being on these steep wooden stairs is making me feel awkward.

"Mel?" I call softly.

"Door on the left," I hear him call back.

It must be Kelly's room. There's a poster of the Human Genome project on the door, a few pictures of cats and dogs hung around the room, candles, and the usual array of books and dirty clothes strewn about. I notice a tiny, delicate glass unicorn on her night table. She seems to be looking intently at that unicorn from her cocoon of blankets. Mel is sitting by her, murmuring to her to relax, Michael will be here soon.

I ask if I can check her out, and she just nods quietly in assent. There are tears creeping out of the corners of her eyes. First order of business: find a thermometer. Which, in this house, could be something of a challenge.

I look for Ally, but she's probably in the bedroom with her husband and son, the door is closed and I can hear some soft voices from behind there.

I decide, I've always had to do for myself, why should this time be any different?

The bathroom cupboards are packed with stuff, and it takes me a few minutes, but I find an ear thermometer. This is good-fast, noninvasive. And I luck out and find rubbing alcohol to clean it.

Kelly's sick, all right. Temp of 102.5. That's high for an adult, which, medically speaking, she is. (Menstruating females are not considered children for purposes of medication). Her pulse is rapid, as one expects in someone with a high fever. And she seems to be in a lot of pain. She describes a headache, sore throat, and deep muscle aches.

The flu, early in the season and with a vengeance. Possibly a bacterial infection, but I look into her throat and don't see the telltale pus streaks on her tonsils which would indicate that. For now, I'm going to consider it the flu and have her treat it as such. I head upstairs to bring her a bottle of water, and when I come back down, I hesitate for a moment before going in.

I can hear Mel singing softly to her. I didn't know he could sing.

But he can. He's got a low, sweet, lovely voice, and it soothes me just listening out here in the hallway.

I leave the water near the doorway, and him to his future daughter-in-law.

Maybe he'll stop being so grumpy about Michael and Kelly's new status now.

Somehow, though, I doubt it.
 

"Hope you like margaritas. My poison of choice." Ally's got a blender pitcher of pale green slush ready to pour into Chablis glasses. They look just like the ones I picked up in the 99 Cent Store.

"Love them. With extra limes."

"We can deal with that." She throws four wedges into my drink. "How's Kelly holding up?"

"Mel's taking good care of her." Watching him do this, I feel very warm inside. He's definitely got an indisputable tender streak. And while he may have concerns  about Michael and Kelly's relationship, it's not going to stand in the way of him caring for her while his son is absent. "And yours?"

"I think they're asleep now. At least I hope they are. I hate it when cocktail hour gets interrupted." She takes a large gulp of her margarita.

I take a sip-oh my God. I've had plenty of margaritas in Mexican restaurants, and Daniel used to make wonderful ones, but these are powerful. I can feel the liquor slam my brain. I'm going to have to go easy on this-Ally's obviously used to more heavy lifting than I am.

"Slow down there, girl," I tell her gently. Mel has alluded to the fact that alcohol is problematic for her.

But at least she isn't drinking alone. I'm grateful that she's decided not to do that.

I remember many nights, with Daniel being so ill, I couldn't sleep, and even with night duty nurses on to watch him, I couldn't relax. So I'd get out a bottle of Merlot and try to get it to lull me into a certain sense of unreality. Daniel and I had built up a pretty decent wine cellar over the years, which I managed to eliminate in six months.

I didn't even realize what was happening until I went to grab a bottle one night...and discovered that all of the cells were empty.

I was horrified, and ashamed. I quit drinking for quite some time.

And being with Mel, well, he's not able to drink right now, so we haven't shared any of the pleasures of alcohol yet.

And in spite of everything, I realize, this is a small pleasure.

And small pleasures count for everything.
 

FROHIKE:

Kelly is finally resting somewhat comfortably. I cover her gently and tell her I'll be across the hall with Miranda.

I knock on Miranda's door.

"Yes?" She sounds tired, irritable.

"It's Frohike."

"Just a minute." I think she has to clear a path for me to enter. At least that's been my experience with her in the past. Allison is disinclined to enforce any standard of cleanliness in her daughter's room beyond no organic substances.

She lets me in. "Would you still like some help?" I ask her.

"Well, I gotta hand this in tomorrow, and I'm not getting it, so yeah."

I've never seen Miranda look this depressed. Not even after the death of her beloved father did she seem so despondent.

"Show me what you have," I tell her, and she brings it over to me, her textbook and papers.

And I notice it then.

She smells of alcohol.

Miranda is not even 16 yet.

Oh Christ.

What should I do here? Tell her parents? Talk to her? Ignore it?

The last one is not a realistic possibility, so far as I'm concerned. Children are all of our responsibility, and I feel I've been involved enough with this one-and her parents-for long enough that I should say something to her. But I don't want to put her off.

"Miranda." I say her name gently. "You're drinking." I try to keep it neutral. I don't want her exploding in my face, and I don't need her getting defensive and lying to me.

She doesn't say anything for a few minutes.

"Well, you'd be the first one to notice," she says, shrugging. "My parents certainly don't."

No, they probably don't right now.

"My mom, it's like I'm always supposed to be so good and so responsible and keep my head and be cool and just do it all. That's how she thinks of me. She's too busy taking care of everybody else to even talk to me!"

The words are spoken bitterly, and I hear tears come into her voice. Miranda is disinclined to cry. This worries me greatly.

"You know, Frohike, I used to have friends. I used to have fun. My parents used to love me and talk to me and all that. But now my mom has this new kid, and it's like I'm sloppy seconds or something, and she's always busy dealing with Langly, and everyone at school hates me-"

"I doubt that's true, dear," I tell her gently. And I do doubt it.

"Well, this year, it's true. I was running for student government president? I lost. And I lost because my opponents were really dirty to me. They spread rumors about me, and that was one thing, I mean, Michael says it's politics-"

"And it is. It's not for the faint of heart."

"So I blew it off. I mean, people who know me, they know that stuff isn't true, right? Or so I thought. But then, today..."

"What happened today, dear?" I'm keeping my voice quiet and level.

She looks at me, large green-gray eyes filled with uncertainty. "Okay. You have to promise me not to tell my mom and Langly."

I'm not sure I can do that in good conscience. But I promise her, anyway.

"Here." She unzips her backpack, and pulls out a brown paper bag, something like a lunch bag. "I found this in my locker today. With this note."

I take what feels like a glass jar out of the bag. It's a specimen jar.

And in it...

I examine it.

Oh my God. It's aborted fetal tissue. I'm sure of it. What species it is, I have no idea...but I'm sickened. Sickened by the thought that someone would do this to this child.

She silently hands me the note that came with it.

Done in magazine cut out letters, very much like a ransom note, it reads : 'Die Baby Killer Jew."

And this is high school in the new millenium?

No wonder that kid is drinking.

END OF PART 71