Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330) (22 page)

“Here’s why Nitinol is so important,”
she said. “This piece was shaped into a coil while it was cool. But
if I take the same wire and put it into hot
water....” 

As the photographic component of the
HV image-converter zoomed in on the coiled wire in Karlen’s hand,
the converter’s computerized scanners adjusted measurements for all
factors relevant to size, depth and relative distances of objects
within the HV field of view. The merged visual and scanned data in
the converter’s signal were transformed by the interference-pattern
simulator, pseudo-hologram generator and dual-laser projector in
Rayna’s HV receiver into a vastly enlarged three-dimensional image
of coiled wire being dipped into a beaker of water. Instinctively,
Rayna flinched as the gigantic wire sprang back to its original,
straight shape with remarkable force.

“Now,” Edgerton said as the HV
broadcast resumed a normal field of view, “we’ve been able to apply
this property of Nitinol in such a way that we can use it in
engines, and, as Dr. Karlen indicated, in generators for supplying
more general energy needs. As I said before, this device—” he
gestured toward the apparatus on the table “—is a simple Nitinol
engine. All it needs to get started is a temperature differential
between these large cylinders and the hub, which happens to be
hollow. To do that, I simply supply some hot water to flow through
the hub.”

Edgerton opened a valve on the model
engine where the hose connected to the central rod. The entire
frame began spinning end over end around the hub.

“Incidentally,” he added, “Nitinol
engines can use any of several inexpensive heat sources, including
solar power and waste heat from industrial processes. Now, are
there any questions?”

Rayna glanced at Keith, who was
nodding.

“I remember seeing a demonstration
like that when I was in school,” he said. “I think we talked a
little about Nitinol principles in one of my physics classes, but I
didn’t pay much attention. Seemed to be of more interest to the
engineering students than the physicists.”

“Looks like its pretty important to
all of us now,” said Rayna.

When they returned their attention to
the broadcast, the engine had been shut off, and Rensselaer was
once again at the lectern.

“As Dr. Edgerton and Dr. Karlen
explained, Nitinol generators make use of the same properties as
the engine we’ve just seen demonstrated. Now Mr. Misrahi will fill
you in on the significance of the Nitinol diversion.”

Rensselaer stepped aside, and a
distinguished-looking man with olive skin and a fringe of iron-gray
hair replaced him at the podium.

“Thank you, Adm. Rensselaer,” Misrahi
began in English tinged by a slight, vaguely middle-Eastern
accent.

“As you have already heard, nations
all over the world have been gradually replacing outdated,
pollution-producing or unsafe power plants with new ones using
Nitinol generators. This has been taking place gradually, over the
past 10 to 20 years. In that time, reliance on nuclear and
fossil-fuel based energy systems has been cut by more than 50 per
cent.

“Unfortunately, new data now indicate
that several of the older plants scheduled for phase-out over the
next two or three years must be shut down within the next year if
we are to avoid major risks to public health and safety. In
addition, the fast-growing nations of the world, like Zimbabwe and
some other African and South American countries, require more and
more power to meet their needs.

“With the steady supply of Nitinol
wire that we have enjoyed in the past, none of this would pose any
problems. However, diversion of this shipment of wire already is
causing some unrest in certain parts of the world.”

Hands again shot up at the edge of the
HV field as voices called out for recognition.

“Are you talking about war?” one
questioner’s voice could be heard above the din.

Dry-mouthed, Rayna stared at the HV
image in horror.

“Now, let’s not jump to any
conclusions,” Rensselaer said in his most soothing voice. “Mr.
Misrahi is simply trying to show you just how serious this
is.”

“If we can’t do without the Nitinol,”
another anonymous voice called out, “why not just pay what they
want and get it back?”

Rensselaer stepped aside to let
Misrahi answer.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,”
said the United Nations representative. “Some countries might be
able to make a triple payment for one shipment of Nitinol, but most
simply couldn’t afford it—especially if it continues from now on.
That kind of price increase would destabilize the entire world
economy.”

Rayna shifted around uneasily on the
sofa and reached for Keith’s hand.

“What do the colonists say about
this?” another questioner asked.

Rensselaer took this one:  “We’re
still trying to straighten things out, but official spokesmen for
the colonists in the R-4 Sector have simply denied any connection
with the diversion—or any knowledge of the whereabouts of the
Nitinol. We have confirmed, however, that colonial robots were
involved.”

“Doesn’t that prove the colonists are
behind this?” shouted a man with a loud, abrasive voice. “This is
an act of war!”

The buzz in the audience grew to a
din.

“There’s no cause for panic,”
Rensselaer boomed. “The situation is serious, yes. But the Merchant
Fleet and the United Nations have their best people on this. We
will get to the bottom of it, and we’ll keep you informed.
Meanwhile, there is no immediate danger. So please remain
calm.”

Rensselaer covered the lectern
microphone with his hand and whispered something to Misrahi. The
United Nations commissioner nodded tensely and whispered
back.

“That will be all for now, ladies and
gentlemen,” said Rensselaer. “Thank you, and good day.”

Again, the babble of shouted voices
filled the room and parts of questioners’ arms outlined the limits
of the HV field. But Rensselaer simply turned and walked away,
followed by the others.

Suddenly, the HV field shifted to a
program demonstrating the latest in window-box gardening
techniques. Rayna shut off the HV unit, then turned, hollow-eyed,
toward Keith and shook her head.

Keith, though, seemed lost in his own
thoughts.

“That’s it!” he shouted suddenly. “I
remember what was bothering me.”

Rayna looked at him expectantly.
“Yes?”

“Aurora Sanger’s friend, Vince
Barnard—the guy we had dinner with at Eduardo’s—he said something
about people getting mad at the colonists when they found out about
the Nitinol. Remember?”

“Yeah, but....   You think
he meant this?  Could he have heard about the diversion
through the Fleet grapevine?”

Keith shook his head
vehemently.

“That admiral—Rensselaer—said they got
the first reports of Nitinol diversions four days ago and kept the
whole thing hushed up until they could contact the
colonies.”

“And?”

“We had dinner with Barnard Saturday
night, Rayna. That was
five
days ago.”

 
Henry Tauber—formerly Lt. Henry Tauber of
the United Earth Merchant Fleet—let a smile of satisfaction linger
briefly on his lips.

“Good ol’ Adm. Rensselaer,” Vince
Barnard said, reaching for a nearby bottle of Spacefarer’s Whiskey
and refilling his glass. “Anybody else want a blast of
this?”

“Shut up, Vince,” Tauber said
tonelessly. “I want to hear what the man has to say.”

Barnard and Charlie Wraggon were in
Tauber’s spare but efficient apartment for a briefing on the next
move in the plan they had named “Operation Strong Man.”

“We’re getting more people all the
time,” Tauber had told them earlier. “This thing is growing even
faster than I expected. Not only here. All over the world. America
isn’t the only place that’s gone soft, and we’re not the only ones
who are fed up with it.”

Wraggon nodded. “You’re not just
talking about the guys you contacted after you crashed the Fleet’s
computer records, are you?”

“No. I was able to recruit some people
in key positions who used to be merchanters and still hold some
kind of grudge against the Fleet or the colonies, but most of these
new people are just joining us based on a sort of underground word
of mouth.”

“About those key people,” Wraggon
said, “don’t you think it’s time you told us who they
are?”

“You don’t need that information,”
Tauber responded sharply. “They don’t know you, and you don’t know
them. At this point, at least, it’s safer that way.”

“But—”  Tauber had cut him off
with a wave of the hand as a flashing blue light on the HV receiver
built into his living-room wall announced the impending broadcast
of a news special—the broadcast Tauber had been waiting
for.

So it was that the three men found
themselves watching as Tauber’s old boss from Merchant Fleet days
filled the world in on the saga of the missing Nitinol in the R-4
Sector.

“The perpetrators of this act are
demanding an increase in Earth payments for Nitinol wire in the
amount of 300 per cent,” said the tall, fit-looking Adm.
Rensselaer.

Rensselaer’s bearing was so impressive
that nobody ever seemed to notice that slight limp of his, Tauber
thought. And of course, it was understood but never mentioned among
merchanters and Fleet officials that Rensselaer suffered from poor
night vision which, like his limp, was a memento of his active-duty
days on merchant runs to the Asteroid Belt.

“I hate the way HV cuts off parts of
people,” Wraggon grumbled as a jungle of truncated hands and
forearms along the edges of the HV field competed frantically for
Rensselaer’s attention.

“Why don’t ya just have a drink,
Charlie?” Barnard urged, shoving the bottle of whiskey at
Wraggon.

“Quiet!” Tauber said firmly, and the
others watched silently as Nitinol Development’s Dr. Edgerton and
NiPoCo’s Dr. Karlen demonstrated the properties of the valuable
wire that had been diverted from Earth.

“You did a good job on those robots,
Charlie,” Tauber said as the three-dimensional image of a model
Nitinol engine spun rapidly on its axis within the HV projection
field. “It all went just the way it was supposed to.”

Wraggon nodded. “Just like I said. We
send a few signals to scramble the programming of the original
robots in R-4, and then, when the bowl-squatters ask for
replacements, we give ’em the ones I built at the plant—the ones
that respond only to
our
instructions.”

“The real beauty of it,” Barnard put
in with a smug laugh, “is that the rock farmers still don’t have
any idea what’s going on!”

“With the steady supply of Nitinol
wire that we have enjoyed in the past, none of this would pose any
problems,” the man from the United Nations was saying. “However,
diversion of this shipment of wire already is causing some unrest
in certain parts of the world.” 

“Are you talking about war?” a voice
called out.

“Hey, that’s Jim Allison,” Barnard
said. “What’s he doing there?”

“Just exactly what he was told to do,”
Tauber said.

“Yeah?  What’s that?” Wraggon
asked.

“Allison and Casey Flynn and a few
others are planting some seeds for us.”

“Seeds?”

“Yes, Vince. Seeds. We’re seeding the
clouds now. The storm will come in due time.”

Barnard looked at Tauber blankly.
Wraggon seemed about to comment, but at the last moment, he simply
licked his thin lips and squared his shoulders.

“This is an act of war!”
shouted a disembodied voice from the edge of the HV field. They all
recognized the voice as Casey Flynn’s.

“Listen to that,” Tauber said against
the uproar that followed Flynn’s statement. “This is the first time
in years anyone on Earth has even considered the possibility of
war.”  His mouth stretched into a tight smile, and he pounded
his right fist into his left palm. It was all going perfectly.
“Right now, they all think war’s an outrageous idea. Tomorrow, it
might still seem unacceptable. But after a few more messages from
‘the colonies’ like that ultimatum we faked, well....  Pretty
soon the thought won’t seem so impossible.”

They watched quietly for a few
minutes.

“That Rensselaer looks pretty
impressive, Hank,” Wraggon said. “Any chance he’ll figure out what
we’re doing?”

“Let me worry about Rensselaer. You
two just do your jobs. The robbies out in R-4 are your
responsibility, Charlie.”  Turning to Barnard, he added, “And
you did great recruiting merchanters to help us spread the
diversion story, Vince. After my little escapade out there, they
won’t let me near any active-duty merchanters on Asteroid Belt
runs. So we really need you as a contact inside the Fleet.” 
He paused, letting the sounds of the HV broadcast fill the
void.

“You just remember what you’re
supposed to do,” he told Barnard. “And what you’re
not
supposed to do. No more crap like Saturday night at Eduardo’s. You
stay away from outsiders until we’ve got this thing well under way.
Especially, stay away from women. We can’t afford to go around with
our brains between our legs.”