Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330)

by Mitchell, Laura Remson

  Rayna jerked forward. “You really think so, Keith? You mean he wasn’t crazy after all?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that…. I’m not a psychiatrist, and according to those tapes, Al wasn’t too sure about his sanity himself. All I can tell you is that Zorne’s ideas make sense to me, and they seem to account pretty well for the more way-out things described on the tapes and in Al’s journal. I think if Zorne had lived and finished his work, he might have made quite a name for himself—maybe even created a whole new field for serious scientific investigation.”

  “What do you mean?” Rayna asked, leaning back once more.

  “Well, take Zorne’s book, for example. I just skimmed it, but I read enough to get the overall idea. The book talks about certain kinds of oscillations that Zorne figured were responsible for paranormal events and perception. The equations he used may have seemed ridiculous back in the 1970s, but they’re consistent with current ideas on super symmetry and unified field theory.”

  Keith started to explain in greater detail. Then, to Rayna’s great relief, he stopped and shrugged. “The point is, some of the latest theories also show the importance of different kinds of oscillations. Of course, those ideas haven’t generally been considered with respect to extrasensory perception.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, the whole area of perception brings in a subjective element that’s tough to measure precisely and evaluate accurately. Most scientists are uncomfortable with that. As for the paranormal, it’s just not considered scientifically credible in most circles.”

  “But you say Zorne took it seriously. And you think Al was really doing what he claimed to be doing all those years?”

  “Your trend analysis sure makes it look that way.”

  Rayna hesitated before speaking. “There’s something very unsettling about the idea that somebody might be able to change reality right out from under you,” she whispered.

  Keith raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  “Poor Al,” she said. “He must have been in a state of shock when Aunt Vickie told him about the baby.”

  “Must have been a big jolt for you to hear about it that way, too.”

  Rayna half-smiled. “Not at first. I was surprised, of course, and a little bothered by it, especially since I first heard that particular tape not very long after I found out I was adopted. I have to admit, though, that part of me got a kick out of it. I don’t know. Gossip has a powerful appeal, I guess. It was kind of exciting to picture Al and Aunt Vickie as young and foolish. I think it really made me love them all the more. Still, the way Aunt Vickie just gave away that baby....” Rayna shook her head. “It was when I found out what happened to their little girl that I got really upset.”

  Keith’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “Guess I haven’t heard that tape yet, Ray. What happened to the baby?”

  Rayna felt the corners of her mouth droop, and a sad weight seemed to tug at her chest.

  “The baby was adopted by a very nice couple in New York. Financially comfortable. Solid marriage. And they wanted a child very badly. They seemed ideal. Unfortunately, they were killed in a car accident when the little girl was only 7. After that, the girl lived in a series of foster homes. She started getting into trouble. Ran away several times.”

  “So what finally happened? Did Frederick ever tell her who he was?”

  Rayna shook her head. “By the time he found her, she was dead. She was pregnant and living on the streets in New York, and she started to hemorrhage. Somebody finally got her to a hospital, but by then it was too late. She was 15 years old.”

  “Poor kid,” Keith said, taking Rayna’s hands in his. “And poor Frederick. He never even had a chance to know her. What about your aunt? How did it affect her?”

  “I don’t think Al ever told her what happened.”

  In the silence that followed, Rayna could almost see herself as the ill-fated child.

  “You hear the latest about that Nitinol thing?” Keith asked abruptly. “Now the colonists are saying that if they don’t get an agreement for triple payment for the wire by November 1, the price will go up even more.”

  “Incredible,” Rayna said, pushing thoughts of Al Frederick and the tragic end of a 15-year-old life into a remote corner of her mind. “I could hardly believe it when I heard. How can they possibly expect to get away with it? If they felt they deserved a price increase, they could have negotiated it through the normal off-world trade channels. But this way.... All they’ve accomplished is to turn a lot of normally decent people into anti-colony fanatics. My own parents are starting to say that Earth should declare war on the colonies if the Nitinol shipment isn’t returned within a month.”

  Keith grunted. “I’ve seen it, too. By November 1, this country is liable to be choosing up sides. And Lord help any peacemakers who try to stand in the middle!”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. That Pittsburgh incident—”

  Rayna broke off, shaking her head.

  “How can people behave like that, Keith? Those two miners were just looking for a nice evening out on the town. According to what all the reports say, they were here on Earth when the robots diverted the Nitinol. But that didn’t seem to matter to the toughs in that bar.”

  “I know. It’s sad. At least, one of them pulled through. As far as the other one’s concerned—well, maybe it’s just as well he died. They say the beating was so bad there wasn’t enough viable brain tissue left to hook up to a nanochip.”

  “And how do you suppose the colonists are going to react to that sort of thing?” Rayna responded. “It’s certainly not going to put them in a very good frame of mind for negotiating a settlement on the Nitinol crisis. And let’s face it, Keith: We need those miners and the wire workers up there.”

  Keith ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re right about that,” he said simply. “I did a study on the impact of Nitinol power on the national and world economies about 10 years ago when I was going for my degree in economics.”

  “Was that before or after the physics degree,” Rayna asked playfully, her mood suddenly more relaxed.

  “After the physics degree,” he grinned, tickling the bottom of her foot so that she squealed and pulled away. Rayna had often teased Keith about his frequent changes in profession, claiming that he had so many degrees he didn’t have the wall space to display all the diplomas.

  “I didn’t spend much time studying the physics of Nitinol power,” he said, growing serious. “All I really had was a general overview of the field. I could see Nitinol’s commercial importance, though. In fact, that’s one of the things that got me interested in economics.

  “Anyway, when I did that study, our Nitinol replacement program wasn’t as far along as it is now, but even so, Nitinol power already was giving new life to lots of areas that had been in big trouble. The nickel and titanium deposits in the Asteroid Belt made Nitinol affordable, and new Nitinol-powered processes made rocket fuel for merchant runs affordable, which made Nitinol power even more affordable.”

  Keith’s hands painted pictures in the air as he spoke.

  “The thing you have to remember, Ray, is that some of these places—like Pittsburgh—have been waiting a long time to get their Nitinol generating stations on line. That town’s been hanging on for dear life, waiting to get a clean, reliable power source that’ll allow it to keep its manufacturing base going. It’s been tough. For the last 40 or 50 years, they’ve been making do with old nuclear and fossil-fuel power sources that were just marginally safe—and not too efficient. They went through periodic brownouts and blackouts that didn’t do their industrial base any good at all. But the people there—the ones who didn’t move out and take job retraining—those people have been patient. Finally, with this shipment, it was supposed to be their turn. So when the news came out about the diversion....”

  Keith shrugged. “I guess seeing those miners, dressed in off-world clothes and talking about how hard
their life was in the colonies—I guess that must have set off some of the patrons at the local watering hole.”

  Rayna looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You don’t seem to be taking the incident very seriously.”

  “Now, look, Ray, don’t get me wrong. I’m just as upset about this as you are, but I don’t see what I can do about it. Any more than I can do anything about what’s happening in Zimbabwe.”

  “You mean the rioting and the revolutionary talk?”

  “Yeah,” Keith nodded. “Looks like the good people of Zimbabwe figured their government should have been more aggressive in getting their Nitinol generating systems going before this.”

  Rayna closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. “And we’ve only had one Nitinol shipment diverted. God only knows what’ll happen if there are more diversions, or if the colonists push the price up even more. Could we switch over to something else if Nitinol gets too expensive, Keith? Solar, or wind power or geothermal, maybe?”

  Keith scratched his chin and considered.

  “Maybe in some places. The problem, though, is that most of the areas that can use solar or wind or geothermal power on a large scale are already using it. Nitinol power makes cheap energy available in the places that would have the toughest time finding clean, safe substitutes.”

  “Not a very pleasant picture,” Rayna commented.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Keith stood and stretched. Rayna prepared to stand but stopped suddenly, a chill spreading slowly through her.

  “Keith,” she began cautiously, “do you remember what you said about Vince Barnard? About how he seemed to know about the Nitinol diversion when we saw him at Eduardo’s—before the first reports supposedly reached Fleet headquarters?”

  “Yeah, sure. What about it?”

  “Well, do you think? Could he possibly be...? Oh, never mind! That’s ridiculous. I’m letting my imagination carry me away.”

  But despite her words, Rayna didn’t think she was being ridiculous, and something in her manner must have made that clear to Keith.

  “Come on, Ray.” he urged. “Give. What are you thinking?”

  She moistened her lips, suddenly wishing she had a glass of water. “Do you suppose Vince Barnard was involved in this diversion thing somehow? I mean, that he had something to do with it?”

  “Barnard?” Keith laughed confidently. “He’s a merchanter. He’s on our side. Besides, whoever’s behind this thing is pretty sharp. Barnard just doesn’t seem to fit the—”

  “What is it, Keith?” Rayna asked. He no longer seemed so sure of himself.

  “Barnard may not be too bright, but what about that other guy, the Merchant Fleet lieutenant who came to get him at Eduardo’s? The one with the wrong patch on his uniform. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing.”

  They looked at each other in tense silence.

  “So what do we do now?” Rayna asked.

  “I’m not sure. Contact the Merchant Fleet?”

  “And say what? Vince can always deny saying anything about the Nitinol diversions that night. Or he can claim we misunderstood him. It’s just our word against his. Ours and Aurora’s, that is. Besides....”

  “Yes, Ray?”

  “Well, we really don’t have anything more than a possible slip of the tongue to go on, do we? But if Barnard and that Fleet lieutenant are involved, how can we be sure others in the Fleet aren’t part of this, too?”

  Keith shook his head in silence.

  “How about the U.N.’s Interplanetary Trade Commission?” Rayna asked. “You worked with the commission for a while, didn’t you? Maybe they could investigate?”

  “No,” Keith said, “I’m afraid not. The commission has no independent investigatory arm. Investigations are handled by the Merchant Fleet’s intelligence unit.”

  “So we’re back where we started,” Rayna said, her mind working desperately to find another avenue for action. “There has to be something we can do!”

  Keith tilted his head, and his face twisted into an expression of thoughtful concentration.

  “We could try to get some more information,” he suggested. “Maybe I can talk to Barnard again—tactfully, of course. As you said, all we have right now are some suspicions. If I talk to him, though, I might be able to get a clearer picture of what this is all about.”

  “Could you do that without letting on that we know something?” Rayna asked, concerned. “After all, if Vince is involved in something big enough to affect the whole world’s Nitinol supplies, this could get kind of dangerous.”

  “Ah, my dear, you underestimate me! We lawyers, after all, have a way of getting people to say things they don’t intend to say. For one thing, I might be able to find out whether high-level Fleet officials are involved. Then we’d know whether it’s safe to report this. Would Aurora know how to contact him?”

  “She might. I can ask her.”

  “Good,” Keith said. “Do that.” Suddenly, his eyes began to twinkle mischievously. “You know, this might even start me off on another profession.”

  Rayna eyed him suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

  Grasping the arms of the easy chair, he leaned over her, smiling broadly.

  “There’s another side to this mild-mannered lawyer you’ve been hanging around with,” he said.

  “And what would that be?” Rayna asked, amused, as she draped her arms around Keith’s neck.

  He bent to kiss her, then straightened up and assumed a conspiratorial look.

  “Secretly, I’ve always wanted to be a spy!”

  Chapter 16: Undercover Operation

  It was just past 7 p.m. when Keith walked into the Milk of Human Kindness bar. He moved confidently, a friendly expression on his face, a relaxed rhythm to his walk. The pose—for it was a pose—was crucial. No matter what he felt inside, this had to look like a casual visit. His presence here had to appear entirely natural.

  The place was just beginning to fill with customers. If Aurora Sanger was right, it was nearly time for Vince Barnard to show up. Barnard wasn’t drinking much alcohol these days, she’d said, but he liked to meet his buddies here anyway.

  Aurora herself had never been to the Milk of Human Kindness. Her information was based on Barnard’s rambling effort to cajole her into meeting him here the night after their dinner at Eduardo’s. It seemed obvious that Aurora should not see Barnard again unless absolutely necessary, however. The mere mention of his name set her mouth to twitching. Besides, in view of all her previous refusals, a sudden acceptance might arouse suspicion—if not in Barnard, then perhaps in his Fleet-lieutenant friend.

  The tavern was small, simple and unassuming. As he entered, Keith took note of the polished ebony bar on his left, where a half-dozen customers sat on stools, some drinking and others engaged in friendly discourse with each other or with the bartender. Booths lined the more dimly lit right side of the room, two of them occupied. A few small, round tables of plastic-laminated oak rested in the space between the bar and the booths. All the tables were vacant.

  There was little here to distinguish the Milk of Human Kindness as a 21st-century establishment rather than one of the middle-to-late 20th century. At first, Keith thought the ambiance might be the result of a conscious desire for nostalgia, but then he noticed a stout, middle-aged man depositing a coin into a modern syntho-player at the rear of the place. Seconds later, the gentle strains of Earthshine, a popular love tune, filled the room, the sound seeming to emanate from all four walls.

  The man had chosen a conventional arrangement featuring mellow strings and rich horns and a moving piano solo. Keith usually preferred the more imaginative approach: Linked as it was to the Consolidated Data Network, a syntho-player’s programming permitted you to come up with your own versions of virtually any musical composition. Keith liked to invent his own “instruments,” building unique sounds from aural information stored in the CDN’s data banks.

  The music helped soothe Kei
th’s nerves, which, despite his carefully honed appearance, were taut with anticipation. He was grateful that the selection wasn’t one of those avant-garde electronic pieces that grated like fingernails on an old-fashioned blackboard, or some boisterous number designed to challenge your ears’ capacity to absorb decibels. He wandered toward the bar, humming softly to himself and wondering how he was going to approach Barnard if, indeed, the big merchanter came into the Milk of Human Kindness tonight. He was just hoisting himself up on a bar stool when he felt a large hand grasp his shoulder.

  “Well, hey there, pal! You remember me, don’t ya?”

  It was Vince Barnard—all 6 feet 5 inches of him—grinning boyishly.

  “C’mon over ta our booth, uh…uh...?”

  “Daniels. Keith Daniels.”

  “Right. Daniels. Aurora’s friend’s friend. Right?” Barnard winked and began pulling Keith toward one of the occupied booths.

  “Right over here, Daniels,” Barnard said genially, ignoring the lock of coarse, dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. “This here’s Charlie Wraggon, and the Irishman over there is Casey Flynn.”

  Barnard slid his large form into the booth with surprising grace and patted the rust-colored upholstery in a bid for Keith to join him.

  Keith marveled at his good fortune. Barnard had found him! It couldn’t have begun better, he thought. They can’t very well suspect me of anything if Barnard approached me first.

  He introduced himself, shaking hands with Wraggon and Flynn, and then settled into the booth next to Barnard.

  “How about a drink?” the big merchanter asked. This prompted a sour look and some grumbling from Wraggon. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” Barnard said quickly, “I’m not ordering any hard stuff. But that don’t mean Daniels can’t have some good hooch!”

  Keith looked inquiringly at Wraggon.