Wentworth pressed a button on the side of the lectern, which slowly descended to the proper height for someone who was sitting down. Milgrom then glided up and began to speak. Moments later, however, she stopped, looked over the left arm of her wheelchair and reached down toward the bottom of her seat.
“Please bear with me,” she said against a hardly audible electronic hum. In a smooth motion, the chair brought her to a standing position behind the lowered lectern.
“Ah,” she said, patting the strap that secured her to the now-vertical support that, moments before, had looked like a standard wheelchair, “that’s better. An adjustable lectern is fine, but today I think I prefer rising to the occasion!”
Despite the murmur that rippled through the “official” audience, Rayna was sure she detected catcalls and derisive shouts from behind the ropes, the uninvited jeers muffled by interference from the electronic boundary of the sound envelope.
“First,” Milgrom said, “I want to assure you that, like Adm. Rensselaer, I consider the present situation extremely serious. Where the admiral and I part company is on the question of what to do about it.”
“You part company with most of the rest of the world on that, too, lady,” Damon said to himself, not bothering to speak in a whisper.
“You may be right, young man,” Milgrom said without rancor, “but being different isn’t the same thing as being wrong.” Damon’s eyes grew round as he realized the speaker was addressing him. “Don’t forget,” she added, “this sound envelope is multi-directional: You can hear me without my having to shout, but, as you just found out, I can hear you, too.”
Damon watched his shoes scuff the ground as Milgrom continued.
“The admiral says, we need energy in order to use most of our modern technology. He’s right. But I assure you, energy is not the only vital need in our society. Information and its partner, communication, are equally—if not more—important. I see it every day. After all, the CDN is the central nervous system of our information and communication network, not only on Earth but also in the colonies.”
While those in the ticket-holding audience listened politely, the catcalls and booing from behind the rope barrier continued. It wasn’t Milgrom’s words that prompted the heckling, though. Rayna was sure that most of those behind the barrier couldn’t hear her. No, the problem was that Milgrom stood for conciliation in a world that wanted action—any action.
“I believe in communication,” Milgrom said. “Maybe that’s because there was a time when about the only thing I could do was communicate. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t use my hands. I couldn’t even talk. So communication wasn’t exactly simple. I used to signal in Morse Code by blinking my eyes, and I could only do that for a little while at a time, because it would exhaust me.”
She shook her head slowly from side to side. “No matter how hard it was, though, it was always worth the effort. You see, it was communication that kept me human, and it was my desire to join with the rest of humanity in the business of living that made me stubborn enough to hold on until the scientists could reverse the worst of my symptoms.”
The hostility behind the rope notwithstanding, the audience within the sound envelope was hushed with respect.
“Now, then,” said Milgrom, “as head of the CDN, it’s my job to make sure that the physical lines of communication remain open. I think it’s the job of our political and economic leaders to make sure the human lines of communication stay open as well.”
She hesitated for a moment, eyes traversing the audience in small, discreet leaps from one face to another. “That’s why I continue to believe that we must contact the colonies again—especially since my preliminary examination of CDN transmission records suggests there may have been some irregularity involved in the earlier messages.”
Rayna’s jaw dropped. Irregularities in communication with the colonies? Could that have anything to do with Tauber and company? Keith had been pretty closed-mouthed concerning the details of what Tauber was doing, but he did mention something about the CDN. Could Milgrom have uncovered the thread that would unravel Tauber’s plan?
Rayna was still thinking about the possibilities when a commotion erupted behind her. The bared teeth and shaking fists in the unofficial crowd made her gasp. When she turned back to the stage, a skinny teenager in a Park Service uniform was whispering something to Wentworth. The moderator’s face blanched, and he rushed to where Milgrom stood, waiting for the disturbance to subside. Though he was addressing the CDN director, not the audience, the sound envelope transmitted his words distinctly: “Sorry, Mrs. Milgrom, but I really don’t think you should continue under the circumstances. We just got word that the missing Nitinol has been destroyed.”
Rayna fought down a spike of nausea. An angry roar spread through the audience, despite Wentworth’s attempt to restore calm. As Milgrom adjusted her wheelchair to its normal position, someone shouted something that Rayna couldn’t make out in the growing din. Milgrom heard it, though. She flushed and started to answer, but before she could respond, the throng behind the rope broke through.
Rayna pushed Ginny and Damon away from the mob and directed them toward the Trans-Mat center. With dry mouth and racing pulse, she combed the crowd for her other students. Shoving and squeezing through a crush of humanity, she managed to locate all but the last trio—the three who had found seats in the first row.
Tim, Lyna and Jason were near the stage when she spotted them. For the moment, at least, they were in the clear. Good kids. They’re heading for the Trans-Mat center. She held her breath and hurried toward them, but as she passed the stage-access ramp, a menacing voice behind her called out: “There’s the traitor!” As she glanced back, a Goliath brandishing a makeshift club crashed into her.
“Outta the way,” he shouted, “unless you wanna get some of what she’s got coming!”
That’s when Rayna saw Althea Milgrom at the foot of the ramp, struggling unsuccessfully to coax her wheelchair along the path to the recreation building. A policeman had spotted Milgrom, too, and was trying to get through the mob, but he was several yards away. Meanwhile, the club-wielder had turned from Rayna to the CDN director. A few more feet, and Goliath would be within striking range. Instinctively, Rayna grabbed his right forearm, dropped to the ground and rolled. Off balance, he stumbled and fell.
An instant later, he jumped to his feet, eyes ablaze, and turned on Rayna. “Bitch!” he yelled, waving the club over her head. She had to do something. Fast. But her mind was a blank. The moment was frozen, and her reason with it. All she knew was that the back of her head hurt. The sounds of the crowd melted into one another, as if the world were drifting away.
“I believe your quarrel is with me, sir,” Althea Milgrom’s dignified voice cut through the mental fog.
As the assailant turned to face Milgrom, Ethan Rensselaer seized the would-be attacker’s arms and wrenched them behind his back.
“Are you all right?” Milgrom asked, having maneuvered her wheelchair to where the dazed Rayna lay. Rayna looked up into Milgrom’s concerned brown eyes and grasped an arm of the chair in an effort to pull herself to a sitting position. A wheel began to rotate, and Milgrom quickly engaged the brake.
“Oh,” said Rayna, “I’ll be fine. I just need....”
Furrowing her brow, Rayna leaned against the side of the wheelchair and reached back to touch the sore spot on her head. She squinted in a vain attempt to clear her suddenly cloudy vision, then abandoned the effort and permitted the cloud to engulf her as she slid to the ground.
Chapter 21: Bed Rest
“It most certainly was something,” Althea Milgrom insisted, her dark eyes gleaming. “You saved my life!”
Rayna turned her head slightly on the pillow of her hospital bed and lowered her eyelids.
“We both know it’s true, Miss Kingman. The man would have killed me. And you stopped him. So, once again, I thank you.” She cut off Rayna’s response with an upturned hand. “Now you say,
‘you’re welcome,’ and leave it at that. No more denials.”
Rayna studied her visitor for a moment, then laughed at herself. “I guess if you put it like that, I’ll just have to say you’re more than welcome.”
“That’s better. Now, tell me about those students of yours. Did they make it home all right?”
“They’re fine,” Rayna said. “When I didn’t show up at the park’s Trans-Mat center, as we’d arranged, they had the good sense to go back to school and have the principal track me down.”
“Hmmmm, yes, it’s a good thing they didn’t go into that mob looking for you. There were 30 or 40 casualties, I understand—several of them very serious.” Milgrom shook her head. “I told them I didn’t like the idea of keeping people out of the open-speech area like that. The ones behind the ropes couldn’t hear what anyone was saying; so there was no way to defuse things once word got around about the Nitinol being destroyed.”
“You think it would have made a difference if they could have heard?”
Milgrom hesitated before answering. “I want to say, ‘of course!’ but the truth is, I don’t know. I do know that the ropes and the sound barrier didn’t help matters.”
“When I got the tickets,” Rayna said, “they told me they had to set things up that way because of the sound generator’s limited range. They wanted ticket-holders to have first priority when it came to getting seats inside the envelope.”
Milgrom raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Yes, I suppose that seemed the best way to handle it at the time.” She took a long, slow breath, then released the air through pursed lips and flashed a smile, her face glowing with a warmth that touched something very deep within Rayna. “I’m just glad you felt well enough to see me today, Miss Kingman. A concussion can be very serious, and they say your head hit the ground pretty hard. Now tell me the truth: How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m doing fine, and....” The skeptical look in Milgrom’s eye stopped Rayna before she could complete a sentence. “Well, to be perfectly honest,” she resumed, “I feel rotten. I’ve been here two days, and I keep getting these headaches, and they won’t give me anything for the pain. It’s wearing me out.”
Milgrom gestured sympathetically. “They have to be very careful when there’s any chance of serious brain injury. They don’t want anything to mask the symptoms.”
Rayna grunted. “Not much consolation when you hurt.”
“No, indeed.” Milgrom gazed at her for a few seconds. “You’re in pain right now, aren’t you?” Rayna closed her eyes, her fingers curling tightly into fists. That was answer enough for Milgrom, who reached out and covered Rayna’s left hand with her own. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“It’s all right. I can handle it. I know it’s just temporary. They’re giving me some new medication that they say will have me back to normal in another day or two. In fact, I just read a CDN medical bulletin about all the success they’ve been having with the drug. But you do have to put up with recurrent headaches for a while. I think my biggest problem is that I hate being laid up like this. It makes you feel so—vulnerable.”
Milgrom smiled a bittersweet smile. “I know what you mean. When my MS was at its worst, just before they discovered the vaccine, I was almost completely bedridden. It made me crazy. If it hadn’t been for a newspaperman I met when I was still working for Computer Applications, I probably would have given up altogether.”
Rayna massaged her temples gently. “Oh?”
“Yes,” said Milgrom, “he was quite a friend just when I needed one the most. Worked right here in Los Angeles. San Fernando Valley, actually. Name of Alan Frederick.... Why, Miss Kingman, what’s the matter?” Rayna’s heart was in her throat as she stared at her visitor. “I’ll get a nurse,” Milgrom said, heading her wheelchair toward the door.
“No, no,” Rayna croaked. “I can call a nurse myself if I need one, but I don’t.” She attempted a smile of reassurance. “I’m all right. It’s just that—well, you caught me by surprise when you mentioned Al Frederick.”
“You knew him?”
Rayna grunted. “I guess you could say that.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’m his granddaughter.”
Milgrom returned to Rayna’s bedside. “Really!” she said. “His granddaughter! How wonderful!” She smiled wistfully. “I honestly think your grandfather saved my life just as surely as you did. Seems I owe quite a debt to your family!” Rayna waved a hand at Milgrom, who seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. “I used to love talking with him. He was interested in just about everything, and I think we talked about it all at one time or another, from the state of the world to the state of my MS.” She laughed at some private memory. “After we finally got him over his beginner’s jitters, he even got to enjoy talking about computers and technology.”
Rayna struggled to concentrate on her visitor’s words, despite the throbbing inside her skull.
“Of course, Al never believed in the kind of sterile, computer-run society that some people were predicting in those days,” Milgrom continued. “Definitely not! He always insisted that computers and robots should be used to enhance human creativity and opportunities for individual growth—not replace them.”
Rayna mumbled some vague, indistinct response.
“That man had real vision, Miss Kingman.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well...” Milgrom put a finger to her lower lip, “...like his ideas about the role of human beings in a computerized society—about the importance of keeping the human spirit human, even when technology made it tempting to treat people and robots like interchangeable labor units. A world that has a meaningful place for everyone—that’s what he believed in.”
A sudden stab of pain made Rayna wince, and her guest drew in a sharp breath.
“How thoughtless of me!” said Milgrom. “You’re feeling miserable, and I’m just babbling on and on.” She released the brakes on her wheelchair. “I’d better go and let you get some rest.”
“No, please,” Rayna said, grabbing Milgrom’s hand. “My head will hurt whether you’re here or not, and I’ve done almost nothing but rest for two days. Please stay a little longer.”
Milgrom looked at her uncertainly.
“Please,” Rayna reiterated. “Tell me more about how you met my grandfather.”
“Well, if you’re sure about this….” Milgrom examined Rayna carefully, her eyes remaining watchful and concerned as she resumed speaking.
“I was 24 when I first met him back in ’78. I was new at Computer Applications, and the company had just installed a computer system at the old Valley Star. You’ve heard of the paper?”
Rayna started to nod, then stopped abruptly as a painful pressure reminded her to limit her head movements. “I’ve heard of it,” she said.
“Then you probably know your grandfather worked on the copy desk there. He wasn’t too happy about switching over to a computer system.” Milgrom grinned. “He kept arguing that copy pencils were still the best way to edit. Insisted he wouldn’t use a computer terminal until you could put one behind your ear.”
“That sounds like him,” Rayna agreed.
“My job was to teach the staff how to use the new equipment. Al Frederick was my most reluctant student, but he turned out to be my biggest success story. Once he learned the system, he became the liaison between the Star and Computer Applications.”
Milgrom stopped. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look very pale.”
“It’s just this headache,” Rayna explained. “The headaches can get pretty bad for a while, but then they ease off on their own. It’ll be fine. Please go on.”
Milgrom sighed, hesitating despite Rayna’s assurances.
“You sound as if you knew my grandfather very well,” Rayna prodded.
“Not really,” Milgrom answered after a moment’s hesitation. “He used to talk a lot about the world in general but very little about himself. He always said I was a good audience, t
hough.”
“Did you see each other much after you finished training the Star staff?”
“Actually, we didn’t see each other at all for a long time. My MS was diagnosed a few months later, and I was off work for quite a while after that.”
“That must have been hard for you,” she said. “Did they send you to the employment service for retraining when you got back on your feet?”
Milgrom laughed. “Well, I wasn’t very steady on my feet when I got back, but no, they never sent me to the employment service. No need. Turns out, I was in the perfect profession.”
“What do you mean?”
“This damn disease affected almost every part of my body at one time or another,” said Milgrom. “Things never seemed to stay the same for long. For some people, that might make it impossible to stay in the same line of work, but so many things are computer-related that Computer Applications was able to transfer me from one kind of job to another, depending on my physical condition. If I needed more training or special equipment, they gave it to me.” She shook her head appreciatively. “They really were wonderful.
“Today,” she continued, “we take it for granted that people with disabilities can get retraining when they need it, just like everybody else. But not back then. The employment service programs were still being developed, and most people like me had a terrible time finding and keeping decent jobs. The world seemed to pity us or treat us like superheroes just for trying to live a normal life. Even worse, they ignored us or treated us like infants. I remember going to a restaurant once with your grandfather. When the waitress came to take our order she asked him—not me—what I wanted to eat!”
Rayna closed her eyes and tried to focus on the conversation instead of the ache in her head.
“As it turns out, all the training and experience I got at Computer Applications helped prepare me for what I’m doing now. After all,” said Milgrom, “running the CDN is really the biggest computer job in the world.”
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