Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330) (27 page)

***

Keith was whistling as he rapped on
Rayna’s door. He continued to spew out the tune through pursed lips
as he waited for her to open up. It never occurred to him that she
might not be home.

“Hurry up, Ray,” he urged. “We need to
talk.”

Whistling a bit less confidently now,
he tried the door himself. It opened easily.

“Ray?” he called out, entering her
apartment and closing the door carefully behind him. He plopped
down on her couch and continued to whistle, but his eyes darted
nervously around the room.

“What’s going—Keith!” Rayna said,
rushing toward him. “Thank God you’re all right!”

He rose to greet her with a kiss and a
warm embrace.

“Was that you whistling that awful
Earthshine
?” she asked with a relieved laugh after he had
released her.

“What’s so awful about it?” he asked,
giving her a playful squeeze. “I kind of like it. And speaking of
being all right, when are you going to start locking your
door?  You, of all people, should know how risky an unlocked
door is these days. You see all the news briefs. Break-ins are
getting so common that pretty soon they won’t even make the news. I
can see the headlines now: ‘Unlocked Apartment Left Unscathed by
Crime Spree.’”

“I think you’re exaggerating, but you
may be right about locking the door.”  She shook her head
sadly. “Life definitely isn’t as simple as it used to
be.”

“True. But then, it never really
was.”  Keith took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver an
official report. “Well, Ray, I did it!  I must be brilliant,
because I really pulled it off. I not only contacted Barnard at
that hangout of his, I met some of his pals—including the guy from
the nonexistent Merchant Fleet unit. He seems to be in charge of
the whole thing.”

“Whoa!  Slow down,” Rayna
pleaded. “Who’s the head of what whole thing?”

“The guy’s name is Tauber. Henry
Tauber. ‘Hank’ as Barnard called him at Eduardo’s—remember? 
Used to be a lieutenant in the Merchant Fleet until he tried to
pull some stunt out in the colonies and they grounded him for a
while. I guess he kept trying to do things his own way instead of
the Fleet’s way, because they finally forced him out.”

Rayna studied Keith’s beatific
expression. “You seem awfully pleased with yourself,” she
observed.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Do I?”
he asked. “Oh, well. Maybe I am pleased with myself. I have a right
to be!  At first I thought Tauber was going to have me taken
out and shot—”

“Keith!”  The color drained from
Rayna’s face.

“Shot or whatever else Tauber does to
keep his people in line. Barnard’s involved all right, but he’s
just small potatoes. This thing is really big!”

“You mean the problem with the Nitinol
wire?”

Keith nodded. “But I got the idea that
it goes way beyond that. I don’t have all the details yet, but it’s
part of something called ‘Operation Strong Man.’  And Tauber
says they have a lot of allies in important positions, not only in
America but all over the world.”

 “
So what do we do now?” she
queried. “Is it safe to contact the Fleet and ask them to
investigate?”

Keith sank onto the couch, pulling
Rayna down beside him. “We’d better stay away from the Fleet for
the time being,” he said, running his hand gently along her bare
arm. “From other officials, too, for that matter. I don’t know how
far this goes. Yet.”

He could feel her tremble. “I guess I
never realized....  The way you just seemed to disappear after
you went to that bar....  I didn’t know what to think,
Keith—especially after Essie tried putting some urgent calls
through to my number, on the chance that you might be here. If your
electronic secretary didn’t even know where you
were....” 

Rayna stopped for a breath. “I know
I’m not making much sense right now. I guess I’m plain scared—right
down to my toenails. This Nitinol thing is really getting out of
hand. There was another riot in Zimbabwe, you know. The world still
seems to be crumbling around us. And until you walked in that door,
I wasn’t even sure whether there still was an ‘us.’”

He hugged her reassuringly. It felt
good to be here with her.

“Sorry I couldn’t let you know what
was happening,” he said, “but there wasn’t much I could do about
that. I wasn’t exactly invited to meet Tauber. It was more like I
was abducted. I was lucky he believed my story.”  Keith shook
his head. “I’m telling you, Ray, that guy is dangerous. And he’s
smart. If we were dealing with a bunch of Vince Barnards, I
wouldn’t worry, but Tauber’s different.”

Rayna looked at him expectantly. “But
this Tauber seems to trust you?”

“Yes. In fact, I have a hunch I
already know a lot more than Barnard and some of the others do.
Tauber seems to consider me his intellectual equal—or, at least, he
thinks I’m smart enough to appreciate his brilliance. Sometimes,
these past few days, I’ve had the feeling that it took every bit of
his self-control to keep from telling me everything. But he doesn’t
trust me that much yet.”

“Then what can we do?” asked Rayna.
“You say we still can’t go to the authorities, but there must be
something.”

Keith nodded. “I think probably the
best thing would be for me to keep right on doing what I started.
You know—ingratiate myself with Tauber. He knows about the two of
us, and if I handle him right, we should be able to keep seeing
each other without making him nervous.”

“Good,” Rayna agreed. “That way you
can keep me posted on what’s going on.”

Keith looked at her steadily for a
moment, then brushed back the dark curls that bordered the soft,
smooth skin of her face. “Right,” he said, leaning toward her. “I
can keep you posted.”  But Tauber’s scheme was nowhere in
Keith’s thoughts as his mouth and Rayna’s melted into an eager,
hungry kiss that drained away the store of tension that had been
building over the last several days and left them happily
relaxed.

The communicator had chimed several
times before they finally acknowledged it. Rayna took the call on
the link in her coffee table.

“Essie?” she said to the image of
Keith’s electronic secretary that appeared on the previously hidden
screen embedded into the tabletop. “What is it?  Another call
for Mr. Daniels?  He’s here now.”

“Yes, Ms. Kingman, but it concerns you
as well. It’s Mr. Judson from the London office of the
International Adoptions Clearance Board. Shall I transfer the call
to you there?”

“Yes, Essie!  Please!”

Rayna’s eyes gleamed in anticipation.
“Maybe he’s found it, Keith!”

Keith smiled. “Maybe. Only one way
to—”

“Ah, good!” Judson said as his face
replaced Essie’s on the screen. “I get the intense pleasure of
speaking with both of you once again. I have news!”

Rayna swallowed and pressed her lips
together. Keith felt her stiffen, but he realized that the strain
of this moment was the price she must pay for the news she’d been
anticipating so eagerly.

“You’re a lucky woman, Miss Kingman,”
Judson began. “Lucky to be alive. It seems your mother began to
hemorrhage shortly before she was taken to hospital. The doctors
had to work like the very devil to save you. As I believe I told
you before, they weren’t able to save your mother, I’m afraid. And
she was a mere child herself.”

 
Rayna was white now, and her
hands felt like ice when Keith touched them.

“Your mother’s name was—”

“Ariana Naylor,”  Rayna said, her
words blending with Judson’s.

From the screen, the Englishman’s
faced stared out in surprise. Keith, too, gazed at her in
wonder.

“Keith,” she said, fighting to remain
calm, “you haven’t heard all of Al’s tapes yet, have
you?”

“No, I—”

Rayna nodded. “Naylor was the name of
the couple that adopted Aunt Vickie’s and Al’s daughter. They named
their little girl....”

Keith’s face wrinkled in concentration
as Rayna broke off, sobbing; then he closed his eyes and inclined
his head, the answer suddenly clear to him. He drew Rayna close and
stroked her hair gently, gazing out at nothing in particular. “They
named their little girl Ariana,” he finished for her, kissing the
nape of her neck. “Al Frederick and Vickie Kingman were your
grandparents.”

 
Contrary
to popular opinion, Los Angeles
does
have seasons. Not that
the City of the Angels will ever equal the seasonal variations that
mark the Midwest or the Northeast. No cornucopia of riotous reds
and yellows trumpets fall’s arrival. No mantle of white shapes
winter life into picturesque scenes reminiscent of Currier-and-Ives
prints. Still, each season tends to have its own special, if
subtle, characteristics.

This early November Friday, for
example, was typical of the year’s autumn: crisp, clean, bright
and, for Los Angeles, cool. As usual, the summer had been warm, but
there were only two especially hot spells, one in July and the
other in early September. October was a transitional month, with
some days clinging to summer like a frightened child to its mother,
while other days rushed headlong into the new season.

Maybe that’s why no one ever thinks we
have seasons here, Rayna reflected as she crossed the campus
quadrangle en route from her classroom to the school office,
enjoying the fresh scent in the air. The changes here kind of sneak
up on you without any fanfare.

Bob Carlson, the school’s principal,
was working at a terminal in the office as she entered the
modest-sized room, which was dominated by computer equipment and
library cases of data disks.

“Rayna,” he said, rising from his
chair as she entered,  “I’m glad you stopped by before you
left. Are you still planning that field trip for your
students?  The one to the Los Angeles debate between Althea
Milgrom and Ethan Rensselaer?”

“Yes,” Rayna said, surprised at the
question. “Is there some problem?”

Carlson hesitated before answering.
“I’ve been getting phone calls.”

“What kind of calls?”

“Hostile ones.”  He drew himself
to his full height, which was little more than her own, although he
always seemed much taller. “Some of the parents feel Althea Milgrom
is a traitor,” he told Rayna. “They don’t think the school should
sanction a field trip that exposes the children to her ideas about
cooperating with the colonies.”

Rayna’s face grew hot. “So it’s
finally started,” she protested. “I was wondering when those
self-serving Earth-Firsters would get around to attacking free
academic inquiry, not to mention the democratic process!”  She
pressed her lips together and reminded herself that Bob Carlson
wasn’t the enemy. “Damn it, Bob,” she said, this debate is a part
of an open examination of a public policy issue. It’s the kind of
discussion that’s essential to a free society. Besides, Milgrom and
Rensselaer are probably going to wind up as their parties’
candidates for the United States Senate.”

“That’s probably true,
but—”

“The greater the controversy, the more
value there is in having my students see the two of them go head to
head. I’ve been taking my classes to debates like this for years,
and I have no intention of stopping now, just because some
narrow-minded little—”

“It’s all right, Rayna,” Carlson
soothed. “I managed to put them off for the time being. After all,
if those parents don’t want their kids to go, they can just refuse
to grant permission.”

Rayna grunted. “That’s true.
Unfortunately. It’s the students with parents like that who need
this kind of field trip the most.”

“Be that as it may,” said Carlson, “we
can only do so much. This Nitinol thing has people very upset. The
President still hasn’t come up with a coherent policy to follow.
How can we expect the average person to react with any real
understanding?  Everyone’s frightened.”

“They should be,” Rayna agreed, “but
not of the colonies or the loss of the Nitinol. Look at what’s
happening to us!  We’re becoming a world of intolerant,
selfish children, ready to attack one another at the slightest
provocation.”

Carlson rumbled as he cleared his
throat. “I wouldn’t call holding the world’s Nitinol supply for
ransom a ‘slight provocation.’”

“Maybe not, but Althea Milgrom didn’t
steal the Nitinol, and the news reports say she’s had four death
threats since her speech last month urging the Secretary-General to
contact the colonies again.”  Rayna looked away briefly, then
fixed Carlson with an earnest gaze. “Let’s face it, Bob: 
Reason seems to be out of fashion these days. People are letting
their fear and anger drive them into doing things they’d never have
tolerated six months ago. They’re desperate for an easy answer; so
if a scapegoat is handy....”

“I don’t like what’s going on, either,
Rayna. Did you hear about Frank Brannigan and Esther Mayall?” 
Rayna shook her head. “Fired,” said Carlson. “Just like that. The
board found out that they have close relatives living in the
colonies. Of course, the board didn’t want to be accused of giving
traitors a forum for subverting the young, and —”