Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330) (14 page)

“Do you understand what I
’
m telling you?
”
Zorne
asked.

A cold knot of fear lodged itself behind
Al
’
s breastbone. Whether Zorne was right
or wrong, life would never be quite the same again. Either he
possessed a terrifying power that he didn
’
t know how to control, or else he was crazy and
Zorne
’
s theories were just so much
hogwash. Odd, he thought. He had never really considered the
implications before. He
’
d just wanted to
prove to himself—and to Vickie—that he wasn
’
t losing his mind.

He blinked and shook his head, unconsciously
hoping the movement would somehow distill sense from confusion, but
everything remained stubbornly hazy.    

“Al?  Are you all right?
”

“Sure,
”
Al responded
sardonically.
“
What could be wrong? 
You just told me I
’
m some kind of psychic
freak.
”

“All I
’
ve told you is
that you were right about what happened when Roberts was shot.
Would you have preferred it if we
’
d found
out it was all in your head?
”

 “
I don
’
t really know,
”
a glum Al
Frederick answered.

“Look, I didn
’
t
guarantee the outcome of these experiments,
”
said Zorne.
“
I
didn
’
t know what we
’
d find any more than you did. But I did think that
you wanted to know the truth!
”

Al shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and then
straightened in his chair.

“Yeah,
”
he said
quietly.
“
I did—I do—want the truth.
It
’
s just—well, even though I lived
through it, it
’
s hard to accept.
Especially as time goes by. I keep thinking maybe Vickie was right
about my just being overtired and—”

Zorne heaved an impatient sigh.

“Look, Azey,
”
Al
said, swallowing hard,
“
I
’
m a little confused here. You said I can change
things, especially when they conflict with my reality matrix.
Right?  But didn
’
t you also say that
everyone has a reality matrix?  If that
’
s so, why isn
’
t everybody
doing what I did?
”

“Well,
”
Zorne
answered,
“
I
’
m
not sure, but I can offer an educated guess. You have a tremendous
emotional investment in your reality matrix. That
’
s not true for everybody. For many of my other
subjects, the matrix just exists as a sort of passive
background.
”

“So?
”
 

“Because of the emotional component, a
reality-matrix conflict creates more tension for you than it does
for them. At any rate, the experimental results show a direct
relationship between the degree of reality-matrix conflict and your
psychic potential, as measured by the oscillations picked up by the
electroscan.
”

“Huh?
”

“In other words, the bigger the conflict, the
greater your psychic potential. And here
’
s
something else, Al. Even if everyone has some latent psychic
potential, there are bound to be variations from individual to
individual—just like with intellectual ability or athletic skill.
You happen to combine a very affective reality matrix with strong
psychic ability. That combination may not occur very
often.
”

“In other words, I
’
m
just lucky,
”
Al retorted with irony.
“
What about the other
‘
lucky
’
people in the
world?  I can
’
t be the only
one.
”

“That
’
s a good
question, Al. Unfortunately, I don
’
t have
a good answer—at least, not yet. Maybe other people are changing
the world, too, only we can
’
t tell because
we become part of the change.
”
  He
paused, pressing his lips together.
“
You
know, this thing we call
‘
reality
’
isn
’
t as simple as most people think.
”

“What do you mean?
”
Al asked with a frown.

Zorne rested his right hand against his chin,
tapping his lips with his index finger.
“
Let
’
s just say that the more
physicists find out, the more we realize how little we know. How
little we
can
know, for that matter. Heisenberg showed that
we can
’
t even look at something without
changing it.
”

Zorne gazed past Al
’
s
ear at nothing in particular.
“
Some of the
theories of quantum mechanics sound wilder than the wildest sort of
science fiction. A world that consists of nothing but
probabilities, with no physical existence at all until something is
observed or measured....  Multiple coexisting alternative
realities....  And then there
’
s
Bell
’
s theorem....”

 
The scientist focused on Al
once more.
“
But even with all that,
reality-matrix physics is going to knock them for a
loop.
”

Al massaged his closed eyes and shook his
head.
“
Enough!
”

Zorne studied him silently for a moment, then
picked up the folders he had put on the table earlier. Al shifted
about restlessly, hoping for a swift end to the lab session. He had
a lot to think about, and he needed time to digest it.

“Before I forget, Al,
”
Zorne said, leafing through the papers in the
folders until he found what he was looking for,
“
I
’
d better give you some of
these. They
’
re the forms I use for
recording experimental data. I want you to keep track of what we do
from now on, too. I want to find out just what you can do
voluntarily to control your psychic energy. The record will help
both of us.
”

“All right,
”
Al
nodded with an uncertain smile as he accepted the papers from
Zorne.
“
One thing I
’
ll say for you, Azey. You have a great sense of
timing.
”

“Huh?  What do you mean?
”

 “
Well, according to you, I
just about snatched John Martin Roberts out of the
grave.
”

“I don
’
t think
I
’
d describe it that—”

Al interrupted with a bittersweet laugh.
“
Look at the calendar, Azey. Happy
Halloween!
”
 

    “
You have a choice, Flynn. You
can be quiet and do as you’re told, or else you can run off with
your tail between your legs and go play ball with the technocrats,”
Tauber said in an icy near-whisper. “Makes no difference to me. We
can pull this off with you or without you. But you better decide if
you’re one of us or one of them.”

Wraggon smiled at Flynn’s discomfort—a
reaction Tauber noticed and tucked away in the mental file he
automatically kept on the strengths, weaknesses and peculiarities
of everyone who crossed his path.

“All right, now,” Tauber said, “everybody got
it straight?  This is Phase One. Anybody wants out of this
operation, better do it now.”  Tauber gazed directly at Flynn.
“After tonight, we’re committed. We’re at war. We’re going to bring
down this whole weak-sister regime we’ve been stuck with for so
long and get back to the natural order of things, with the strong
in charge.”

Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at
Tauber, but he said nothing as the others nodded.  

It was just past 2 a.m., and the streets were
as deserted as those big, old-fashioned shopping centers became
after retailers started emphasizing instant-delivery home sales.
The group’s destination—about half a block away—was housed in a
simple, unadorned structure built in the utilitarian architectural
style that was so popular around the turn of the century.

 
The five of them made up an
odd-looking bunch, Tauber mused. Wraggon, sporting an incipient
beard, swaggered instead of merely walking, as if intoxicated by
the scent of power. To Tauber, he just looked like a little boy
playing soldier. Barnard could have been sent by a holovision
casting director to play the hulking, not-too-bright sidekick.
Flynn, still hot over their earlier clash, seemed more concerned
about who gave the orders than about any outside interference with
their immediate objectives. And Thompson strolled along as if they
were merely out for a middle-of-the-night constitutional. Only
Tauber himself exhibited the mix of competence, confidence, and
caution that the circumstances warranted.

“Okay, Flynn,” Tauber said as they stopped
before a door marked:

LOS ANGELES PUBLIC LIBRARY, CENTRAL
BRANCH

“Open it.”

Flynn scowled for a split second, then tried
the door.

“Locked,” he grunted

“When’d they start locking the library
doors?” Barnard complained. “I thought they always kept ’em
open.”

“Yeah, well, with all the vandalism lately,
maybe they’re starting to smarten up,” said Thompson.

Tauber jerked his head toward the door.

“Open it,” he repeated, handing Flynn a set
of lock picks.

Flynn ran thick fingers through his dirty
russet hair, then took the packet from Tauber.

“What’s the matter?” Wraggon taunted as Flynn
studied the picks uncertainly. “Aren’t you the guy who told us all
last week how you didn’t need Tauber or anyone else to teach you
how to open some goddamn door?  Maybe you need a little more
motivation. Just think, Flynn. Now that people are locking their
doors again, you’ll probably have to use one of those to get into
your latest whore’s pants!”

Flynn flushed with anger and took a step
toward Wraggon, only to feel Barnard’s huge, restraining hand on
his shoulder.

“Come on, Casey. You don’t really want to do
anything like that, do you?”

Tauber gave Flynn a few seconds to regain
control of himself, then turned to Wraggon.

“I don’t want that to happen again, Wraggon,”
he said firmly. “So far, we’ve only got 23 men, including us, to
change a world that right now doesn’t even know it needs changing.
As long as Flynn’s with us, he’s part of the team. We don’t take
pot shots at each other!”

Wraggon glared at Tauber. “I was
just....”

Tauber’s hard look cut Wraggon short.

“The door,” Tauber said, turning to
Flynn.

Flynn took a deep breath, selected a pick and
inserted it in the lock. After a few seconds, the lock gave way.
 

“Thompson, you stay out here, and keep watch.
I don’t think anyone’s going to show up, but we’d better play it
safe. Here, take this.”  Tauber removed a silver flask from a
satchel slung over his left shoulder. “Anybody comes snooping
around, you start playing drunk.
Loud
drunk.”

Thompson nodded and took the flask as Tauber
directed the other three men through the wide library doorway.

Once inside, Tauber removed a low-intensity
glow lamp and a focus-beam flashlight. He set the lamp in the
middle of the room and switched it on.

“Close the door, Wraggon,” he said, turning
his head to survey the scene.

The soft light of the glow lamp revealed two
rows of public-access computer terminals on the main floor, as well
as racks filled with what at first appeared to be books.

“Hey, Tauber,” Barnard asked with a wave of
his arm. “What
is
all this stuff?”

“Yeah, Tauber,” Flynn added. “I thought you
said they don’t keep books in libraries anymore.”

“Wait a minute,” Wraggon chimed in, removing
a “book” from one of the lower shelves. “These aren’t books.”

Tauber looked at the three others and shook
his head.

“No, they’re not books. They haven’t kept
real books in libraries for at least 20 years. Those are disk
modules.”  He pointed to the open end of the three-sided
container in Wraggon’s hands. “Each module holds up to 10 optical
disks. The open end faces the read/select circuitry behind the
racks. When you want some sort of information, you punch up the
library on your terminal at home. The library’s supercomputer uses
high-speed molecular switching circuits to locate the right place
on the right disk, access the data and send it to you.”

Wraggon swiveled his head slowly, studying
the racks.

“The central L.A. library holds more
information than you could find in all the libraries in Southern
California combined a hundred years ago,” Tauber added. “That’s why
we’re here. Not only does this library have a lot of information,
but it also acts as a link with other local libraries. Haven’t any
of you ever heard of the Consolidated Data Network?”

Barnard wrinkled his brow in concentration,
then suddenly smiled in recognition. “Sure,” he said. “The CDN. I
just never figured that had anything to do with libraries. Always
thought libraries were places you punched up if you wanted to read
something.”  He turned to Wraggon. “I never did like to read
much,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.