Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330) (19 page)

“What did the psychiatrist tell
you, Al?
”
Vickie asked as soon as the
waitress was out of hearing range.

“What
’
s
more important is what he didn
’
t tell me.
He didn
’
t tell me I was crazy.
”
  Al tasted his Manhattan.
“
Whether you believe it or not, I
did
change
reality when Roberts was shot. And I
’
ve
done it again—more than once—over the past 15 years.
”

Vickie looked at him sadly, but
she didn
’
t try to argue.

“I don
’
t
know whether Carruthers believed me about Roberts, but at least he
took it seriously when I told him how worried I was about my
temper. Worried, hell!  I was scared shitless!
”

“Why
’
s
that?
”

He took a long slow breath before
answering.
“
I used to have these
nightmares where buildings fell on people I was mad at, or their
houses caught fire, or they were beaten up by muggers. Even though
Azey told me it couldn
’
t happen, I was
afraid my psychic powers might make those nightmares come
true.
”
  He paused and looked steadily
at Vickie.
“
I was especially worried that
I might make something horrible happen to you. I was pretty damned
angry.
”

Vickie leaned forward, her eyes
moist.
“
Al, I
’
m
so sorry about—”

“You asked what I
’
ve been doing. Now you
’
re
going to hear it!
”
  At the sudden
steel in his voice, Vickie
’
s head jerked
back as if struck by a physical blow.

“I worked with Azey for a little
over a year,
”
Al continued a few seconds
later.
“
Went up to his lab one weekend a
month and during my vacations. He was teaching me how to control my
psychic energy  how to direct it, and that sort of thing. He
also wanted to see if I was unconsciously making any other changes
like the one that saved Roberts. He had me keep a journal. Had me
keep my own log of our experiments, too. He wanted to compare my
journal with current events—see if there might be any correlation
between the things that were on my mind and the way those things
worked out.
”
 

He took another swallow of his
drink. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Vickie asked,
“
And was there a correlation?
”

Al gestured uncertainly.
“
Never really had a chance to find out for
sure. It may not be as simple as all that anyway.
”

“What do you mean?
”

“History doesn
’
t just move in a straight line. One thing has a
strange way of affecting other things. Take the 1972 Democratic
convention, for example. Where would Ed Muskie
’
s candidacy have been if Roberts hadn
’
t made that sensational nominating speech? 
Roberts just made mincemeat of all those nasty little stories that,
it later turned out, were part of the whole Watergate dirty tricks
thing.
”

Vickie nodded.
“
Roberts worked for Muskie during the presidential
campaign, too. But what
’
s your
point?
”

Al shrugged.
“
Think about it. If John Martin Roberts had died,
would Muskie have won the nomination?  What if that guy 
oh, what
’
s his name, from South
Dakota?  Oh, yeah. McGovern. What if he
’
d gotten the nomination?  Can you imagine what
Nixon would have done to him?  He was practically unknown to
most of the country, and he didn
’
t exactly
have the knack of reaching most Americans with his message. He was
no John Martin Roberts, that
’
s for
sure.
”

Vickie arched her eyebrows and
nodded noncommittally.
“
I guess
you
’
re right about that,
but....”

“Look, Roberts was the one who
finally convinced the public that the break in at Democratic party
headquarters in the Watergate Hotel wasn
’
t
just an accepted part of the political game. He got people to
listen early enough to make a difference in the
election.
”

Vickie responded slowly and
carefully.
“
And you think you were
responsible for that?
”

“I don
’
t
know. Maybe the story would have come out in time even if Roberts
had died. We
’
ll never know. Azey was the
only guy who could come close to answering questions like that. He
was working on a specialized computer program to analyze the
relationship between my journal entries and current events, but he
was killed before he had a chance to finish it. They never did get
the electrical system in his lab fixed, and the wiring just shorted
out and caught fire one day.
”

“Yes, I remember reading the story
off the AP wire when I was working for the Journal in New York.
Just a short piece. We didn
’
t run it. But
when I saw Zorne
’
s name, I....”

She broke off and looked deeply
into his eyes. It didn
’
t take words to
tell Al she had been looking for his name among the
casualties.

He gulped his Manhattan, then
glanced away as Vickie worried a tomato wedge with her
fork.

“What are you doing these
days?
”
she asked.
“
Did you ever get married?
”

“No, Vickie, I never did. After
you, no one else seemed to....”   He stopped abruptly and
prodded his thoughts along safer paths.

“What am I doing these
days?
”
he repeated.
“
You mean besides the usual garbage at the Star? 
Nothing much has changed there, of course. We
’
re using computers now, instead of just typewriters
and pencils, but mostly it
’
s all still the
same old crap. Oh, wait a minute. There is one thing. I
’
ve become a sort of businessman. How about
that?
”
     

Vickie looked at him expectantly.
“
Oh?
”

“Yeah. A while back we ran a
little science blurb about some new kind of energy source that a
bunch of scientists and engineers have been playing around with.
Got me interested enough to do some research over at the university
library in my spare time and then invest some money in one of the
companies working to develop the field.
”

“You
’
re
kidding!
”
Vickie said.
“
You?  The guy who once described the stock
market as a high class bookie joint?
”

Al grinned.
“
How ’bout that?  Surprised me, too. But I
couldn
’
t resist. This stuff is really
amazing. It
’
s an alloy of nickel and
titanium called Nitinol. When it
’
s cold,
you can mold it any way you like, but if you heat it up again,
it
’
ll snap back to its original shape. And
when it snaps back, it releases energy. Clean energy. There are all
kinds of possibilities.
”
 

Vickie
’
s
affectionate laugh sent an unexpected thrill through Al
’
s nervous system.
“
Sounds
like just the kind of thing that would strike your
fancy,
”
she said.

Al looked at her and wondered what
to say next. He longed to tell her how the sound of her voice made
his heart leap, how the touch of her hand made him ache for what
they once had together, but he couldn
’
t
say what he most wanted her to hear, and so he said nothing. He was
grateful when a soft rustle of clothing and the mingled aroma of
New York steak and fillet of sole announced the arrival of their
dinners.

“Steak for the gentleman and fish
for the lady,
”
the waitress proclaimed,
moving the salad plates to make room for the main course.
“
Did you want to finish your salads, or
should I just take the plates?
”

Al waved his right hand at the
salad plate:
“
Take it,
”
he said. Vickie nodded her agreement. The waitress
piled the half filled salad dishes onto her tray and
departed.

While Vickie fluffed her rice
pilaf, Al cut open his baked potato and added a scoop of sour cream
from the green and white china server on the table. Despite their
exclamations of gustatory pleasure, both knew they were only
delaying unfinished business.

“Vickie,
”
he said at last,
“
nothing
’
s changed for me. I still love you. Can
’
t we—
”

“Oh, Al, don
’
t
”
she pleaded.
“
You
’
ll always be very
special to me. I guess I
’
ll always love
you, too. But it
’
s too late for us. Ted
Manners has been very good to me. I can
’
t
just turn my back on 10 years of marriage.
”

“Even if it
’
s to the wrong man?
”

Vickie bent her head and squeezed
her eyes shut. Al shook his head sadly.

“And our daughter  what about
her?
”
he asked.
“
Do you know anything about her?  How old is
she?
”

Vickie took a deep breath before
answering.
“
She was born Oct. 15, 1971, at
Victory Memorial Hospital in Brooklyn. That would make her 15 next
month. I always remember her birthday. I go off by myself, light a
birthday candle and pray that she
’
s well.
But that
’
s all I know about her. I
don
’
t even know what her adopted family
named her. At the time, I didn
’
t want to
know.
”
  Her voice broke, and she took
a sip of water.
“
That was a very hard time
for me, Al. Giving up that baby was one of the toughest things I
ever did. After the decision was made, I just wanted to pretend it
never happened. But sometimes, I....” 

She stifled a small sob and lifted
her water glass to her lips once more.

Al
’
s
mouth stretched into a forced, unhappy smile that was almost a
grimace.

“I
’
m
going to find her, Vickie. I
’
ll never tell
her who I really am, but I have to see her. I have to be sure
she
’
s all right.
”

 
From its undistinguished
exterior, Eduardo’s looked like just another of those old-fashioned
restaurants that were so popular during the nostalgia craze about
10 years ago. But once inside the ornate entry doors, patrons were
struck immediately by the unique character of the place. Instead of
dim, romantic lighting and cozy tables or booths, there were bare,
white, fluorescent-lighted hallways leading straight ahead, to the
left and to the right. Along each hallway, the walls were broken by
closed doors painted in various hues of red or blue or green or
yellow. No two doors were precisely the same color.

“We’re looking for the Sanger party,”
Rayna said to the young, round-faced man behind the white desk that
sat unobtrusively in a corner just to the left of the
entrance.

“One moment,” the young man said,
turning to press a number of the keys mounted on the wall at his
back. As he did so, a portion of the wall just above the keyboard
slid open to reveal a terminal screen.

“Sanger, you said?  I don’t see
any....   Oh, there it is. The gentleman changed the name
to Barnard. They’re in the Ultramarine Room. The hologuide will
show you the way.”

He pressed several more keys, and a
holographic projection of a female Merchant Fleet officer appeared
before them.

“This way,” the officer said with a
smile, and beckoned them to follow.

 
The simulacrum led them down a
hallway to a bright, deep-blue door before which floated
three-dimensional holographic letters that spelled out the name
“BARNARD.”  The guide appeared to press a touchpad on the
door, though Keith realized that it was all part of the
computer-controlled pattern of the hologuide’s movements:  An
electronic relay was programmed to open the door at the precise
instant when the guide seemed to touch the pad. The effect was
remarkably convincing, though.

“Enjoy your evening,” the guide said
sweetly as she turned and headed back toward the front
desk.

Keith was still admiring the guide’s
receding figure, shaking his head at the persuasiveness of the
illusion, when a sudden gasp and Rayna’s desperate grip on his arm
caused him to turn his head and follow her across the threshold. It
was a mistake. As the door slid shut behind them, he felt his knees
grow weak, and he clapped a handkerchief to his mouth. Someone
should have warned them about this!  What kind of arrogant
astro-brain would order up a spaceborne environment without even
warning his guests?