"Company? Who?"
"Why, none other than the one-eyed monster himself, that paragon of journalistic virtue, the Clops."
"The Clops? You mean Corvan? What for?" As Kim spoke, she rolled off the futon and busied herself stuffing it into a storage cabinet.
"How the hell would I know?" Louie answered phlegmatically. "But I thought you might want to meet him in a vertical position."
"Thanks, Louie, I owe you one," Kim said, slipping into a fresh set of clothes and pulling on her boots.
"Does that mean you'll have dinner with me Saturday evening?"
"Of course not," Kim replied matter-of-factly. "Your idea of dinner is a naked food fight."
"Picky, picky," Louie said as the intercom went dead.
Kim moved quickly. She cared and wasn't sure why. Call it professional pride, call it vanity, call it what you will, she didn't want Corvan to see her the way she was. Kim was in the third sub-basement of a forty-six-story building, and unless the elevators were running a helluva lot faster than usual, she had just enough time.
Grabbing a small toilet kit, Kim ducked down the hall to the ladies room, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and renewed her makeup before dashing back to the editing suite, where she ordered Val to put something, anything on the screens.
By the time Corvan knocked on the door, Kim had her feet up on the console and a don't-screw-with-me look all over her face. "Come in."
Corvan liked what he saw as he entered the room. The straight black hair, the slightly Asiatic cast to her features, and the quick bright eyes. "Hi, Rex Corvan, cold-blooded bastard at your service."
Kim wanted to dislike him, wanted to keep him at a distance, but his smile and the direct reference to what she'd called him made that impossible. Much to her own surprise Kim found herself smiling in return. She swung her feet down from the console and stood to greet him. The hand which enclosed hers was strong and gentle. ' 'Kim Kio, engineer and defender of the weak."
Corvan chuckled and indicated a chair. "May I?"
"Of course," Kim replied, suddenly curious as to the purpose of his visit.
When both were seated, Kim forced herself to look him in the eye. It was hard at first, because she had a natural tendency to avoid the lens and focus all of her attention on the other eye. But after a minute or two she felt the awkwardness disappear, as she began to see the camera as a part of him, a natural extension of what he was.
Corvan picked his words carefully, needing her help, and wanting her to like him. "Kim, I'm sorry about the wounded trooper. I know what I did seemed cold-blooded, and maybe it was, but I felt something worse was taking place up ahead and hoped my presence might stop it."
Kim found herself believing him. There was something in his face, a sincerity, which she found refreshing. Right or wrong, Corvan cared, and she liked that. "The death of your friend?"
Corvan nodded. "Yes, but something more than that, the whole situation. It had the feel of a setup, a made-to-order crisis, with a made-to-order solution."
"You think the WPO killed those people on purpose? Why?"
Corvan shrugged. "I don't know. That's why I came. I'd like to review all of your footage and see if there's proof. If we can prove the raid was staged, maybe we can find out why."
Kim's eyes were large and solemn. For reasons she didn't entirely understand, she wanted to help this man. But that desire was at war with a more fundamental urge to protect herself, to stay out of matters which didn't concern her, to play it safe. It didn't take a Rhodes scholar to figure out that if Corvan was right, the government was wrong, and that the friction between the two was bound to generate some heat. Lots of it. Enough to burn him and her as well. On the other hand, she was an editor-engineer, an innocent tweaker of electrons, a nonentity, and therefore immune to political fallout. Or so she hoped. The distant-observer part of herself shrugged as she spoke. "All right, let's take a look."
Reaching up, Kim pulled the cord and slipped the jack into her head. As she did so she felt none of the strangeness that usually went with wiring up in front of a stranger. After all, the reop's bod-mods made hers look like kid stuff, and Corvan had the capacity to wire up via the suite's second cord had he wanted to. But she didn't want to, and it was her suite, and her mind.
The next few hours were spent in near darkness as Kim played recordings made from both the eye cam and the robo cam from beginning to end.
At times Corvan called for a squeeze zoom, having her blow up a particular area of the frame, or asked for audio enhancement, which allowed him to hear background sounds more clearly.
The key section started at the point where the WPO troopers left the aircraft and headed toward their objective. Corvan swore softly as he watched himself discuss how the aircraft would support Captain Dietrich while the real action took place somewhere outside.
Then came the distant sound of automatic weapons, and Corvan asked Kim for a replay. She gave it to him in slo-mo with the gain cranked up all the way. Each shot sounded like the long, drawn-out roar of a jungle beast. It went on and on, but the sound Corvan was listening for was nowhere to be found.
When it was over, Kim ordered Val to hit "pause" and waited for Corvan to explain. He frowned as he did so.
"In their subsequent press release, the WPO claimed that the dissidents fired first, but they didn't have automatic weapons, and as you just heard, it was an automatic weapon which fired first."
Kim thought for a moment and said, "So the troopers fired first and lied about it. That isn't good, but it doesn't prove premeditated murder. The troopers are scared, a weapon goes off, and it triggers a firelight. Unfortunate, but hardly a conspiracy."
Corvan nodded slowly. "You're right, of course . . . and what proof we have is something less than overwhelming. The WPO would maintain that single shots were fired but not picked up on the audio. You and I know that's damned unlikely, but we can't prove it."
Just then Val's soft voice flooded Kim's mind. "There is a special report coming in off the net," the computer said. "It is being carried on every channel. Do you wish to see it?"
"Put it on," Kim replied silently. She turned to Corvan. "There's something heavy coming in off the net. Thought you'd want to see it."
Corvan looked up at the program monitor with sudden interest. Like every other reop, he was hooked on the very stuff that he provided to others.
The "SPECIAL BULLENTIN" graphic came up along with a voice which said the same thing. Then the picture shattered into a complicated tile wipe and reassembled itself into a shot of Ken Whitworth. He wore expression two, a slightly smug version of number one, which said, "I know something that you don't."
"Ladies and gentlemen, at two-thirty this afternoon News Network 56 was notified that President Hawkins wished to make a special announcement, and ever since that time the capital has been rife with rumor. At least one highly placed source told me that the president has changed his mind regarding the possibility of a single world government, and will announce that, calling upon Congress to lend their support. If so, this would be a tremendous surprise, since President Hawkins has long indicated his opposition to establishment of a single world government anytime soon and might represent a historic turning point for the world as a whole."
The shot changed to show President George Manley Hawkins taking a seat behind his desk and looking up into the camera. As he did so, Whitworth's voice became a dramatic whisper. "Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States."
Corvan had interviewed the president on a couple of occasions, and while the reop didn't necessarily agree with all of the president's policies, he liked the man and felt the country was lucky to have him during a difficult period. Cynical though Corvan was about politics and politicians, he still liked the look of the president's square jaw, his flashing brown eyes, and the laugh lines around his mouth. Of all the world's leaders this one came the closest to what he thought a statesman should be.
The president smiled. "Go
od evening. There was a time when I would have said, 'Good evening, my fellow Americans,' but that time has passed. For too long now we the people of Earth have divided ourselves into nations, have fought wars to protect arbitrary boundaries, have lived in hate. So this evening I greet you not as Americans, but as friends, fellow travelers on the spaceship Earth."
For the next sixteen minutes a substantial portion of the planet's eight billion people watched in wonder as the president of the United States reversed his previous position and advocated creation of a single world government. It was, he said, "time to recognize a global economy, time to build on a global peace, and time to heal a global ecology." As he wrapped it up, Hawkins said, "So I urge you to join me in a new unity, anew order, and a new opportunity for our children's children. Thank you . . . and good day."
It was a moving speech, delivered by a master orator, and Corvan was touched in spite of his efforts to remain objective. Win, lose, or draw, it was a daring move and one which would certainly garner Hawkins a place in the history books.
As to whether it was the right move, well, Corvan had privately sided with the president's previous position. A single world government sounded good in theory, but what about checks and balances? What about the populous third world countries? Would the people of the more developed countries be ready to share their ever dwindling prosperity with their less fortunate brothers and sisters? There would be lots of problems and endless new stories to identify, classify, and explain them. Corvan felt tired just thinking about it.
"Well, there goes next year's Nobel peace prize," Kim said cynically. "Everyone else might as well pack it in."
Corvan laughed. "It'll be a hard act to follow, that's for sure." His face turned serious. "And it will provide the WPO with additional credibility. It will also weaken the Exodus Society's drive to colonize other planets, since all the existing space programs are pretty nationalistic, and a global government might establish other priorities. That makes our story even more important."
"If we have a story," Kim reminded him. "At the moment we don't have much proof."
"Which reminds me," Corvan said, pulling a small package from his pocket and handing it over. "Take a look at this."
Kim felt him watching her as she accepted the package and unfolded a small square of white paper. Inside was a standard mini-disk. Picking it up, Kim saw something had been written on the inside surface of the paper. Looking closer she saw the words "MATRIX MAN." "Matrix Man? What does that mean?"
Corvan shrugged. "Beats the heck out of me. Frank slipped it into my hand just before he died. I was already suspicious of the WPO's handling of the raid, and since he went to great lengths to give it to me surreptitiously, I tucked it away. I hoped we could take a look."
Kim nodded and slipped the disk into a slot on her control console. Val took it from there, triggering the playback sequence and piping the signal up to the program monitor. The holo fluttered, tried to lock up, and failed. All they could see was a swirl of snow and electronic garbage.
Speaking for Corvan's benefit, Kim gave the instructions out loud. "Val, let's take a sample every ten seconds. Maybe there's something further on down."
Val did as Kim asked, speeding through the disk in ten-second intervals, piping the results to the program monitor. But all they saw was more of the same: snow, snow, and more snow.
When it was over, Corvan shook his head in disgust. "Damn. I was hoping Frank had something on these people but apparently not. I guess he was around the bend."
Kim smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Rex." It was the first time she'd used his given name and it sounded good.
He smiled, a glint of light flashing off his eye cam. "Hey, you can't win 'em all. I appreciate your help. I'll continue to nose around and let you know if I come up with anything else."
At that point something awkward happened, as both of them searched for a way to extend the contact and failed to find it.
Corvan stood and held out his hand. "Well, until next time."
Kim returned his handshake and nodded solemnly. "Yes, until next time."
Moments later Corvan was gone and Kim found herself alone in the darkness of her editing suite. Even though the room was small, it seemed big and empty without him.
"Kim?" Val's voice flooded her mind.
Kim dragged her thoughts back to work. "Yeah?"
"There's another special coming in from the net."
"Put it up."
The program monitor swirled to life, and this time Val was forced to upcut the feed. Kim saw a woman's face, someone she'd seen before, and a name key which read: "CARLA SUBIDO, CHIEF OF STAFF." She was well into a prepared statement.
"... and just as I entered the Oval Office, I saw Agent Jenkins pull a pistol and aim it at the president. Leaping forward, I managed to push Jenkins just as he pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a loud bang and I heard something crash on the other side of the room. Then I was falling, trying to get my hands on the pistol and knowing I wouldn't be able to do so."
Kim watched as Carla Subido shook her head in wonderment and looked into the camera. "As I hit the floor, the president pushed me out of the way and grabbed for Jenkins. The two of them rolled around on the floor and I heard a second shot. The president got up and Jenkins didn't."
Suddenly released from the obligation to listen to her, out the press went for the juicy details. The questions came fast and furious. "Is it true the president was wounded?"
Subido nodded weakly. "Yes, the first shot passed between his right arm and side. It's a flesh wound, but the doctors have placed him under observation just in case. They say he'll be up and around in a day or so."
"What about Jenkins? Why did he do it?"
Subido shrugged as a hardness came into her eyes. "Why are crazy people crazy? We don't know why he did it, but I can tell you this, some nationalistic propaganda was found on his body. There's no way to be sure, but when the president endorsed the concept of a single world government, it's possible that he angered members of the lunatic fringe."
"Nationalistic propaganda?" Kim recognized Barbara Lansing's pretty face behind the News Network 56 mike. "What sort of nationalistic propaganda, Ms. Subido?"
Kim noticed that other reporters were asking what seemed like more important questions, like, "How could a member of the lunatic fringe wind up as a Secret Service agent?" but Subido chose to ignore those and answered Lansing's instead.
"The sort of nationalistic propaganda put out by certain organizations more interested in leaving Earth than living on it," Subido said bitterly.
"Do you mean the Exodus Society?" Lansing asked brightly.
"No comment," Subido said, clearly suggesting that Lansing should look into that possibility.
"When will we see the president?" someone shouted. "Will he appear at the press conference scheduled for Friday?"
Suddenly a big man in a dark blue double-breasted suit was pushing his way between Subido and the press. "That's enough. Ms. Subido's been through a lot today. Let's give her a break."
Subido smiled gratefully, but held up a hand in protest. "That's okay, Stan, I'll take that last question. All of you know the importance the president places on regular visits with the press, but given what happened today, his staff has recommended that he cancel all public appearances."
An audible rumble of dissatisfaction ran through the crowd, to which Subido raised a quieting hand. "If his doctors agree, the president will be available via two-way video and will take your questions at that time."
At that point the man in the double-breasted suit pushed back in and, with the help of some Secret Service agents, hustled her away. Seconds later a second-echelon news anchor appeared to begin the inevitable rehash, and Kim killed the audio. She didn't want to hear what Jenkins' mother had to say about her son's attempt to kill the president.
Man, what a news day. She was no journalist, but you didn't need a degree in political science to see Corvan was right. The da
y's events would build credibility for the WPO and damage the opposition. Especially the Exodus Society. But what if they were stacking the deck somehow? What if they'd staged the Canadian raid? What if they were staging other stories as well?
Something caught Kim's eye and she picked Neely's video disk up off the counter. She threw it up into the air and caught it. A glance at her wrist term showed she still had a couple of hours before her shift officially began. She slipped the disk into the slot once again and told Val to play it. Snow appeared on the program monitor and Kim went to work. Maybe, just maybe, there was something on it after all.
4
Dietrich had the limo drop him a few blocks from his destination. He'd never been to Seattle before, and a hunter, especially a hunter of men, should know his quarry's territory. The look of it, the feel of it, even the smell of it could be important.
And in this case the streets smelled like urine, an unpleasant side effect of overcrowding, a hallmark of big cities everywhere. The smell of urine combined with the stench of uncollected garbage made Dietrich breath through his mouth. Most people wore nasal deodorant plugs when venturing forth, unless they lived on the streets, in which case they simply got used to it.
A pair of hard-eyed cops looked him over, noted his nice clothes, and marked him down as a pimp or a fool. Of the two they preferred pimps, who were less likely to get rolled and scream for help.
Like most American cities, Seattle was divided into economic zones, with the most expensive real estate occupying the top ten to fifteen stories, the medium-priced space just below that, and the low-rent district extending down to the second floor. At ground level the rents began to skyrocket once again due to the business opportunities available there. Endless fast-food outlets, convenience stores, and cut-rate retail stores lined the streets.
Looking up, Dietrich could see the spidery network of sky bridges and tubeways that connected various floors with their economic counterparts in other buildings. Many people lived and worked in the same building and rarely ventured out. Why bother? The shops and restaurants which catered to their needs were conveniently located in the same band as they were.
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