This novel is copyrighted and may not be reprinted without prior written consent.

“English Only” Chapter 3: by John Halasz

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Chapter 3

Beyond a reasonable doubt.

The building, the color of night, blackness so foul so detestable as ever she had seen. Without windows, only artificial light did gleam, only compressed air did circulate into the never-ending stories. And in ten-foot, shiny black letters which rose several feet from the main entrance: F.B.L.
It soared as high as it sunk, the first and only building to join the hundred/hundred club – to be one hundred stories high and one hundred stories deep. Science had long ago perfected stabilization by isolating deep pockets of the earth. Even California, with its regular earthquakes, had several structures that stood more than 50/50, its greatest Janis structure running away at 78 feet in either direction.
Julie flashed her identification to the two guards – one slumped over on the wooden chair typing on a computer, the other stretching his leg muscles – and was admitted to the search room. Jack had informed security that Julie would be arriving today, had shown them a picture of her and what she would be wearing — what she would be taking off.

Julie was not exempt from the routine strip-search. According to official regulations, everyone had to be strip-searched. But this was not always the case. Several high-ranking officials, including Jack, walked right to their desks without ever even being patted down. There was only time for a brief pause as they acknowledged the security guards’ nods of respect. Julie had not yet achieved this status.
Guidelines regarding strip-searches were long out of date. Over a decade ago, in the year 2057, x-ray technologies had taken away the need for a manual strip-search, and they were conducted considerably less often; however, during one’s first arrival to the headquarters, the x-ray machines seemed always to malfunction. There still remained the psychological degradation unique to the old method.
The guard who had been stretching his legs greeted Julie and the man at the computer looked up. “Julie Featherton,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, entering the information into the computer.

“Yes,” she said.

Julie was escorted into a ten-foot room, the man guiding her with his hand on the small of her back. “Take off all your clothes.”

Her face turned crimson and beads of sweat rolled down her face. “Is this really necessary?” she asked.

“Afraid so. It’s standard procedure.”

“What about the x-ray machine?”

“It’s not working properly.”

Julie clenched her fists and jaw. “Well are there at least female security guards?” she asked.

“No. But I assure you we are professionals. We’ll be inside in one minute.” He walked back to the opening and his colleague waved his knees open and closed again, bit his lip, put on latex gloves, and passed his partner a pair. They grimaced at each other and entered the room.

The room was empty except for gloves, a dispensary of lubrication, a garbage can, and a table for the newcomers to lie on. Julie’s back was turned as the men approached, their fingers closed inside their palms.

“Spread your legs apart,” said one.

“Bend forward,” said the other.

She hesitated.

“We have gloves,” they both said and she complied.

They spread out their hands and revealed their naked fingers; the gloves had been cut like those of weight lifters. They conducted the search, their naked fingers lingering a bit too long in each of her orifices.

Nervous, Julie began to perspire even more.

“You’re all set.”

Julie got dressed, walked away, and pressed her thumbprint on the sensor, which opened the door-code prompt. She entered the ten-digit number and the door opened and locked behind her. Now she was at a different set of doors where she entered another ten-digit code. The door opened, closed behind her and finally she was in the building.

She looked at the signs on the walls, tried to locate room 101. With no luck she reached into her purse for the map Jack had drawn up. It located the correct elevator, and Julie stepped inside, pressed the up button, her clammy fingerprint seeming to melt on the ivory elevator buttons. The elevator stopped, the door opened, and Julie stepped out, looked at the long and thin hallways on either side of her. The actual distance was deceiving, for as far as she could see the walls joining together, merged into one. Not an insurmountable distance, but a hundred yards easily.

Once again Julie sought the map. It was drawn up well and after a few lefts and a couple rights she was at the door. She walked in, at once overwhelmed by the size of the room, the amount of workers, the design.

Gazing around the room, Julie’s senses became fascinated, her mind memorized by the intricate network of screens projected on the enormous walls. She had read about the headquarters and Jack had told her about it, but nothing could have prepared her for what now stood before her. Hundreds of thousands of live pictures were cast on the Federal Bureau of Language’s smooth white walls. She saw rows and isles of people, stacked atop one another. So numerous, they looked like a fifty-foot sheet of graph paper. She saw the ladder leading to their terminals, the handrails highlighted with a continuous row of neon-green lights.

In the dimly lit room she could not make out the facial features of particular observers, the computer screens casting a queer illumination on their faces, which flickered and made her all the more trancelike. She thought of their jobs, of the lives they lead. “The ideal candidate should possess the following skills: close attention to detail; high degree of body-language literacy; the ability to counterattack potentially harmful individuals or groups.”

They could not possibly cover every inch of the world, or even every mile. They chose instead to focus more exclusively on high-risk areas. All the statistics were accounted for. They may not have been reported to the masses with any accuracy, but it was science with which the people were dissected.

Each observer was assigned one hundred screens. But it was, for the most part, automatic, the facial scan and track functions locating and following a pre-programmed pattern of people as they made their way around the city, the country, and even the world. The agents saved volumes of information, storing it into permanent, private records, and using them to predict future behavior. Often with surprising accuracy. There was a correlation between movement patterns and language offenses. The cameras were programmed to focus on these areas.

It was fairly consistent from year to year. The steadiest influx of language transport came from overseas where stranded family members often sent immigrants letters in their native language. Each letter or character was scanned, but still they would not deter. All e-mails were processed through databases that scanned the texts. Like the primitive resume scanners used by employees, the Bureau’s scanners looked for key words or phrases, for a questioning mind and a potentially rebellious person.

Unlike most of the FBL’s employees, Julie, because of her relationship with Jack, knew all about the FBL’s intentions and technologies. Yet she could not pull herself away from the screens, and when she looked up she noticed that there were even pictures on the fifty-foot ceilings. Heads up and arms out, she whirled around like a child playing at a playground. The images blended together and she became dizzy. She stopped for a moment, fearing she might fall.

Startled by the opened hand gently touching her shoulder, she jumped, emitted a scream that seemed to focus the 126 eyes of the employees on her alone. The few who actually looked soon realized the source of the sound and returned to work, toiling at their desks in a vain attempt to focus on detail. Over stimulation had destroyed their attention spans, and the automated functions would have to suffice.

“Did I startle you?” Jack asked, “Let me show you to your office hun. It’s right next to mine, in the same room really, but there is a divider.

They walked into the room and Jack shut the door behind them, sealing them within the soundproof walls of their offices. It was a long and narrow room, separated by a crude ten-foot wall, which could be compacted by folding along the hinges at each foot.

“So, what happened?”

“Old hot hands shot a man in the back”

“Did he have a weapon?

“They thought he did, but it was only a book. A gray book, and from the angle its spine looked like a gun. Each of the three agents shot him in the back. He lunged forward and the book went sailing through the air, turning around, showing it dimensions ands making clear their error.”

“Did you recover the book?”

“They recovered five other books he had in his coat, but none matching that description have been recovered.”

“Have you tried analyzing the trajectory and speed to determine where the book would have landed and at what precise moment in time? It was on another camera. We just need to find out which one and slow down time.”

Jack adjusted the video to the instant the man was shot. “Go to work.”

At the time he was shot, the man was on a crack in the sidewalk where two slabs met. Knowing the distance of the concrete slabs, Julie programmed the computer to time how long it took the book to move three parts of the sidewalk. From here, it went off the camera and was difficult to track. She then measured the angle of its trajectory, drew a curve that looked like a mountain, and typed in a specific camera number. Zooming in, she saw the book land and then seem to disappear.

“Did you see that?” she asked

“Slow it down.”

Julie plucked a few key strokes and the incident replayed itself twenty times slower. Once again, the book seemed to simply disappear.

Shaking his head, Jack told Julie to try a different angle. She looked typed in the camera number that was adjacent to the one they were watching, slowed down the speed, and watched in awe.

“I know you saw that. That guy just swooped up the book and put it in his pants. Find out who he is and if he’s affiliated with our guy.”

“I don’t see how he could have known, but I’ll check it out. We have to get that book back anyways.”

Jack went back to manning the cameras and audio, watching people and listening to their conversations. He checked back with Julie about an hour later.

“What did you find out about this Manuel Luhon character?
“He works alone at the megamarket, but it’s loaded with security cameras so they can keep an eye on the employees. His accent is thick, but we already knew that. Oh, and get this, he actually plans to join the FBL. He even seemed to take a liking to me, which I find rather repulsive. Let’s see. We already know there is an access code and thumbprint scan, not to mention two security codes. This isn’t going to be easy Jack.”
“No, it isn’t going to be easy, but we can do it. You said he took a liking to you, right? Well, there’s your chance to get some more information. And he wants to join the FBL so let him think he has a good chance at getting accepted. He may actually have a good chance for all we know. With affirmative action and all.”
Jack paced back and forth. “This is your office,” he said, opening the door. She followed and sat at her oak desk. Jack opened up a locker across from the desk, took out a map, unfolded it on her desk.

“This is the blueprint of the megamarket,” he said.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“The internet, of course.”

“Excellent – I think we’ve found our fall guy.”

This novel is copyrighted and may not be reprinted without prior written consent.

“English Only” Chapter 2: by John Halasz

From behind his desk at the FBL Headquarters, Director Jack Marshall had overseen his agents on the streets. He leaned forward in his leather seat, and among the thousands of video images which shone on the smooth white walls of the Headquarters, he focused on one; it was the man they had been looking for, wanted for felony charges of disseminating hundreds of thousands of foreign literature in as many as thirty different languages.

From his control booth, Jack ignored the constant clatter of computer voices, which were intended to help the agents process the vast volumes of data. Jack analyzed the various functions: Verbal Systems, Facial Recognition, Gate Walk Analysis, and X-ray Text Scanning. There was no need for the Verbal Systems because the suspect was neither speaking nor moving his mouth. The Facial Recognition and Gate Walk Analysis had already confirmed the identity of the suspect and nature of his crimes. Every facial feature had been scanned, measured, and processed into the enormous database, which held the information for the entire nation.

The face of the suspect was somewhat chiseled, and his walk was not the walk of someone indigenous to New York City; it registered in the FBL’s Gate Walk Analysis System: the distance of the stride in comparison to the speed; the placement of the feet as they touched the ground; the swagger of the hips. These signs, among others, were processed into the computer to give a remarkably accurate identification of the person being monitored.

As powerful as these technologies were, they were no match for a well-trained agent. As Jack had anticipated a moment later the computer voice chimed,

“Stature and gate match international language terrorist.

“Manually scan suspect,” commanded Jack. An instant later an alarm sounded in sector 29, and the agent assigned to this section radioed to Jack.

“Sir…”

“One step ahead of you. And how many times do I have to tell you not to rely
solely on the technology. You have to be alert at all times.”

“But sir.”

The radio went dead and Jack commanded his men on the ground, at the scene. “830,1,2, we have an L.V. (language violation) at the corner of fifth and Broadway.”

“Copy that sir.”

“Suspect is wearing olive-green pants, a baseball hat, and black Nike running sneakers. He is of Spanish descent and is to be charged as such. He is in possession of five items. Don’t blow this one guys, we’ve put too much into this. He’s number three on the list.”

“No worries, sir.”

From the control booth, Jack zoomed in on his agents and then the assailant, honing in his team. “Walk about ten more yards, turn left at McDonalds, and he is right there. I want him brought in alive.”

“Roger that.”

The commanding officer motioned for his men to spread out on either side of him, creating a triangle pattern.

In case he decided to run.

But it had not gone as planned. He had pulled out the books and the officers had mistaken it for a gun. His back facing the agents, he was thrust forward and the books sent flying in the air.

At the Headquarters, Jack ran his hand through his thinning hair before calling his girlfriend and image alteration specialist to alter reality, superimposing frames, overriding the system and erasing images prior to the moment of the shooting.

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