Again with the Numbers
The door made an angry noise, like the kind one might hear on a trivia game show after an incorrect response. It was an unassuming metal door, painted off-white and set in a concrete wall on the side of an office building in the warehouse district of a well-populated city in the southeastern region of the country.
The man in front of the door ceased his tuneless whistling and mumbled something faintly confused and unintelligible. His suit was a gray, pinstriped affair, and his black tie matched his shoes and belt. He grabbed his security badge and swiped it through the card reader set into the wall next to the door. When he let go of the badge, its cord quickly retracted, letting the badge slap up against his hip and settle back into place.
The control panel made tiny digital-watch beeps as the man punched in roughly a dozen digits. This elicited only more angry buzzer sounds from the door.
The man stepped back from the door, putting all his weight on his back foot. He bit his lip in concentration and stood for a moment, absent-mindedly tapping the package tucked under his left arm. He picked up his badge again and turned it over in his hand, carefully examining the holograms, barcodes, and magnetic strips that crowded the little plastic rectangle. Then he wiggled the doorknob.
Moving a couple more feet away from the door, he squinted at a little black box set into the wall above the door. Just then, the door gave a little ding and hesitantly creeped its way open. The man opening the door held it open, stepping back to make room for the first man to enter. "They changed the passcodes again," the second man said. He was similarly dressed, though he was considerably taller and had more hair.
The first man tipped an imaginary hat and entered the building. He said, "Thanks, Ganymede."
"It's 88-03, now," said Ganymede.
"Again with the numbers? I had just about gotten used to the names. Did they tell you mine yet?"
88-03 shook his head and replied, "Nope. You'll have to get yours from the security desk."
"That's too bad. I kind of liked being 'Farfalle.'" He sighed, "I suppose I'll have to relearn everyone all over again."
"Yangtze's 24-15."
"God, I'll never remember that."
88-03 pushed the button on the elevator. "Trafalmadore is 74-73."
The man who was no longer Farfalle replied, "Well at least that one will be easier to pronounce." The elevator doors opened. "What about Dromedary?"
88-03 shook his head. "Didn't you hear? He leaked."
Having taken only one step towards the elevator, the other man stopped. "Really? I had no idea." He continued into the elevator and pushed one of the buttons.
The doors closed, and the two passengers stood in silence for a few moments. After a while, Not-Farfalle said, "Dromedary...I never would have guessed it."
88-03 shrugged and said, "You never can tell. That's why they changed all the codes. We nailed him, but not before he got Them a message."
"Do we know the contents?"
"I dunno. My classification doesn't cover counter-intelligence. Does yours?"
The other man chuckled. "My classification is classified. You know that."
Another moment of silence passed.
"88-03, is it?"
"That's right," 88-03 said.
"I don't suppose I get to go back to being h909?"
"I doubt it. Whole new scheme. Turns out the old id numbers were just a simple algorithmic translation of our badge numbers."
"Did that algorithm get leaked too?" not-h909 asked.
"Unlikely. I think they were just playing it safe. Better that then..." 88-03 trailed off.
"Can't be too safe," not-Farfalle agreed.
The elevator gave a cheerful ding and the doors opened. Both men exited and headed down the hallway. 88-03 paused when the other man stopped at a door on the left.
He looked over his shoulder, and asked "You going to the front desk?"
"I'll get there in a minute." He tapped the package as he continued, "I've got an important component that needs to be put into storage for my team's project. Shouldn't be more than a few seconds."
"Anything you're allowed to discuss?"
"Not much. I guess I can say that we're at a very delicate stage right now. If we don't get the new infrastructure underway quickly, the whole thing could go to pieces." He paused. "Metaphorically speaking, of course. That doesn't necessarily mean the project has a physical infrastructure that could fall apart." He paused again. "And that doesn't necessarily mean that it doesn't."
"Of course not."
"You're very inquisitive today, 88-03."
"Just testing you." 88-03 winked at him and began to turn back around and head to his office.
The other man called out, "Ganym-uh, 88-03. Do you know if they changed the team password for our lab?"
88-03 turned back around and said, "Most likely. If no one on your team has been there to pick a new one since last night, it'll still be the reset default. You know the drill: last 5 digits of the project number followed by the Julian date, backwards."
"Right." He beeped away at the keypad until the door unlocked with an audible clunk. "Got it." He entered the lab, whistling softly to himself.
As the man with the yet-to-be-announced designation entered his lab, 88-03 walked on down the hallway.
As he passed the security desk, 88-03 waved at guard 60-27. The guard waved back and off-handedly asked, "Who were you just talking to?"
"Don't know his number yet."
60-27 furrowed his brow. "He didn't tell you?"
"No, I mean he hasn't received one yet."
The guard sat up in his chair and grabbed a clipboard off the desk. He said, "I could have sworn we gave out all the num-oh, here's a couple who haven't been by yet." He traced a finger across the clipboard and asked, "Was his old codename 'Marimba'?"
"Nope, but they were both working in the same lab."
"How about..." he ran his finger down the page a bit. "How about 'Ganesh'?" he asked.
88-03 shook his head. The elevator emitted a ding, only faintly audible at this distance. "No, his old designation was 'Farfalle.'"
60-27 bolted to his feet. "Farfalle disappeared when they caught Dromedary. His access has been cancelled."
88-03's face froze with a stupid look. "What? But he just went into th-" He stopped himself short. "62, uh 6-whatever your number is, get the bomb squad on the line. And find someone who has access to that lab."
88-03 sprinted off down the hallway towards the elevators. A faint whistle without any particular tune to it drifted towards him, but then he heard the elevator doors close, and only the sounds of his shoes slapping on the tile floor remained.