"Don't worry," the woman said, as if sensing his thoughts. "Just play along."
As the car came to a stop, a big white boy wearing makeup which identified him as a Corpse Rider stepped up to the driver's window. He was about six two, two hundred and twenty-five pounds, and subject to occasional episodes of steroid-induced rage. His favorite weapon was a policeman's femur. He held it clutched in his huge right hand and used it to tap on the door.
The woman smiled pleasantly. "Good evening, young man, could you tell me how to reach the Golden Gate Bridge?"
If the Corpse Rider heard or understood her words, he gave no sign. "I want the car."
The woman nodded understandingly. "Then you shall have it. Out, everyone."
Somewhat surprised by the easy victory, the Corpse Rider watched them get out of the car and stand to one side. With a grunt of approval he slipped behind the wheel, waited while six of his friends did likewise, and put his foot on the gas. The engine roared but nothing happened.
Shaking her head in amazement, the woman stepped over to the car, reached through the window, and put the transmission in drive. Her arm was just barely clear of the door when the kid stepped on the accelerator and screeched down the tunnel. He hadn't gone more than two hundred feet when he sideswiped a dozer, nicked a generator, and piled into a huge cable reel. A moment passed while he figured out how to put it in reverse, backed up, and roared off toward the other end of the tunnel.
"They'll be waiting for him," Kim said as the red taillights disappeared around a curve.
"Yeah," the woman agreed. "Ain't it wonderful? Come on."
As they made their way across the width of the tunnel toward an emergency stairway, Corvan felt hundreds of eyes watching him out of the darkness. It sent a chill down his spine. Dark silhouettes were outlined by the bonfires, sitting, standing or dancing to the mishmash of music which throbbed all around them.
It seemed logical to think that they'd be jumped, robbed, or even killed. But no one made a move in their direction. It was as if their willingness to hand over the car somehow immunized them from attack.
But whatever it was felt extremely fragile, and Corvan heaved a sigh of relief as they reached the stairs. They were about halfway up when they heard the rattle of distant gunfire and a double thump as two shoulder-launched missiles hit the car.
Corvan knew he should feel guilty about the dead Corpse Riders, but found it hard to do. Maybe it was the way they looked, or the human bone their leader had used as a baton, but he didn't think they'd be missed. After all, there were plenty more where they came from.
They ran the rest of the way to the surface and emerged onto a busy street. About six blocks away Corvan saw a group of skyscrapers which were backlit by an orange-red glow. A couple of helicopters circled the area and sirens whooped from every direction.
The woman shook her head in mock concern. "Kids these days. You tell 'em crime doesn't pay, but do they listen? No way. Some things never change."
As usual there were people everywhere, walking, talking, oblivious to three more members of the endless human horde. Corvan saw that the woman was prettier than he'd thought, with ash blonde hair quickly turning gray and laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. She wore a short leather jacket, khaki slacks, and the latest in expensive running shoes. The woman held out her hand to Kim.
"Hi, Kim, my name's Edith. Edith Townsend. Well, that's not my real name, but it's the one I'm using right now."
She turned to Corvan. "And here he is, the famous man cam. I love those ads. 'News Network 56, the man cam can.' Glad to meet you, Rex."
Corvan frowned as he shook her hand. "It's a pleasure, Edith. Thanks for the help. I don't want to be rude, but how come you know so much about us?"
Edith pulled a small black box out of her jacket pocket and pressed a button. "Well, I’ve been following you, for one thing, and I'm a member of the Exodus Underground, for another."
Corvan flashed to a memory of a woman with two shopping bags climbing on the train. "You were on the train?"
Edith nodded. "I was behind you when Luther tried to scatter those stickies." She laughed. "You went around them like an old pro."
Kim's eyes were full of silent fury as she looked Corvan's way. She didn't know what stickies were, but Edith's comments confirmed her suspicions and fueled her anger as well. Corvan had known something was going on and kept it from her.
Corvan knew there was nothing he could do or say which would heal the rift between them, at least not at the moment, so he turned his attention to Edith.
"Why would the Exodus Underground want to follow us? Or help us, for that matter?"
Edith shook her head. "Sorry, Rex. You're asking the wrong person. A delivery truck will arrive in about two minutes. It'll take you to the folks in charge of questions."
"And if we don't want to go?" Kim asked suspiciously.
"Then you don't have to," Edith answered easily. "We won't force you. But it's my guess that you're gonna need some help."
Distant sirens seemed to echo her words, and when the truck pulled up, Kim got in first. Following, Corvan found that outside of some plumbing supplies, they were all alone. A single bulb lit the truck's interior. There was no way to see out or communicate with the driver. Wherever the truck was going, it involved a lot of twists and turns, because lacking any sort of seats, they were frequently thrown from one side of the vehicle to the other.
After five or ten minutes of this Kim began to worry and tried the door. Much to her relief she found that it was unlocked. A quick peek outside revealed that they were in the financial district and weaving their way between massive high-rise towers. Closing the door, she answered Corvan's questioning look with a shrug and retreated to her own side of the truck.
A few minutes later the floor tilted as the vehicle went down a steep grade and then it leveled off. "You can get out now." The voice was muffled and came from the driver's compartment.
Corvan opened the door and they both jumped down. The second they were clear, the truck made a wide turn and whined its way up a steep ramp. As the vehicle rolled by, Corvan tried to see through the darkened windshield but failed. Whoever the driver was, he or she valued their privacy.
Looking around, they found themselves in a large garage, empty except for a small fleet of identical Dodge Solar Vans. Their photo-sensitive paint seemed to shimmer under the bright lights.
Something chimed behind him and Corvan turned to find an open elevator. "Welcome," it said. "You are expected. Please step inside."
There seemed to be little point in doing anything else. After all, no one had forced them to come, and they certainly needed some help. In addition, there was the larger question of who was using the video matrix generator and why. And since Neely had been a member of the Exodus Underground, a.k.a. the Exodus Society, it occurred to Corvan that they might have at least part of the answer.
As Corvan and Kim stepped into the elevator, the doors slid silently closed behind them. "Thank you," the elevator said softly, and accelerated upward.
Corvan watched the digital readout over the doors grow progressively larger until the elevator came to a smooth stop and the number "42" flashed on. They had arrived.
As the doors slid open, they were greeted by a rather unusual man. One side of his face was a mass of scar tissue while the other was completely normal. And although the upper portion of his body was broad-shouldered and quite muscular, the lower part was encased in a black box. A wire led from the box to a flat black temple stud. Like the walker used by Warden Waller, this prosthesis required an implant to make it work. As the man moved forward, Corvan heard the whine of a gyro stabilizer and realized that the black box rested on a single tire. The man grinned and held out his hand. "Rex Corvan. We meet again."
Corvan was embarrassed. Like most reops, he met thousands of people each year, but this one drew a blank. But wait a minute, there was something familiar about the undamaged side of the man's face. Then he had i
t. "Chris Saxon!"
The other man's grin grew even wider. "You've got a good memory, Rex. I looked a lot different the last time we met."
Corvan nodded soberly. What the other man had said was true. The last time they'd met was at Vandenberg Air Force Base. Saxon had been commander of the first multinational expedition to the moon, and Corvan had interviewed him, along with the other members of the lunar team.
But that had been before they reached the moon, before the disastrous fire in Lunar Dome Two and Saxon's now famous efforts to rescue those trapped inside. He'd succeeded, but at tremendous cost to himself. Besides the burns to his face Saxon had suffered extensive internal injuries and the loss of both legs.
Corvan remembered the drama which surrounded Saxon's return to Earth, the occasional news stories about his painful recovery, and realized that he hadn't heard or seen anything about the man for a long time. Corvan brought a hand up to his eye cam. "That makes two of us. I looked different too."
Saxon chuckled. "I know. I'm one of your fans." When Saxon turned, the entire black box turned with him. "And this is Kim Kio. Hi, Kim, I'm Chris Saxon."
Kim found herself smiling as she shook Saxon's hand. There was something about him which made that easy to do. She hadn't recognized him at first, but she certainly remembered his heroism and did her best to ignore the black box. "Hi, Chris. It's a pleasure to meet you. How did you know my name?"
Saxon's smile disappeared. "That's a long story, Kim. Let's go to my office. We've got lots to talk about."
Corvan looked Kim's way as they followed Saxon down the long corridor, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. Saxon's unicycle made a soft whirring noise and left a deep track in the plush carpet.
Kim noticed that both sides of the hall were graced with large high-quality blowups of Mars, Venus, Saturn, and the other planets of the solar system. They were beautiful, like gems set in black onyx. She found herself wanting to reach out and touch them.
A huge door slid aside at Saxon's approach. Corvan saw a large office with wall-sized windows. Beyond the glass, other skyscrapers crowded in all around to block out the bay and turn the office into a sort of fish bowl. Even late at night, squares of light showed that other people were up and working, some turning to see what was happening across the street, all of them no more than sixty or seventy feet away. Saxon must have felt it too, because he said, "Curtains," and they appeared from both sides of the glass.
"Have a seat." Saxon indicated two of the three guest chairs, and rolled into the spot where a fourth would normally sit. "Go ahead and light up if you want to," Saxon said, looking Kim's way, "although you really should give them up."
This earned Saxon a dirty look and caused Kim to dig through her purse until she found one. Corvan spoke as she lit up.
"No offense, Chris, but it's been a long day. How 'bout telling us what's going on? You're with die Exodus Society?"
Saxon nodded. "That's right. And in a moment I'll tell you what's going on, or what I’ve heard, but you go first. We've been watching you—that's apparent by now—but I'd like to hear it from your perspective."
Corvan looked at Kim and she shrugged. "Go ahead. You probably kept a lot of it from me anyway."
This was unfair, but Corvan didn't care to pursue it in front of Saxon. So he smiled and his eye cam whirred as he turned the other way. Quickly and concisely Corvan told the other man everything he knew, starting with the Canadian raid and taking it all the way down to their ride in the plumber's truck. At times Saxon would nod knowingly or add some comment like "We lost you during the whole barge farm episode," but most of the time he was silent.
And then, when Corvan was all done, Saxon shook his head in amazement. "You two have been extremely lucky. Frankly, I'm surprised that you're still alive, and very thankful. Together we might be able to do something about this mess."
Saxon placed his elbows on the sides of his black box and steepled his fingers. "My part of this goes back a number of years, to the time when I got out of the hospital. It took three years and twenty-seven operations for them to put me back together—if you call this together. And when I finally rolled out of the hospital for the last time, I wanted—no, needed-something to do, and the Exodus Society was the obvious choice. It supports the very thing I'd built my life around, the exploration of space, and was willing to take me on. I suspect they saw me as sure-fire fundraiser at first, you know, the crippled hero with no legs but both hands in your pockets. But whatever the reason, they gave me a chance and I took it."
Saxon gestured to the office. "I earned this by working hard and making things happen. Right now I'm number three in the organization's chain of command, with every intention of making number two this year and number one somewhere down the line. I tell you that not out of ego, but to assure you that I speak for the entire organization, and that what I'm telling you the truth."
Kim blew out a long, thin streamer of blue-gray smoke. "I believe you, but as Corvan can attest, I'll believe just about anything."
Corvan winced but didn't look her way. "All right, so give, what does the Society know about all this?"
Saxon nodded and his eyes focused on a spot somewhere over Corvan's head. "Like you, we didn't know a thing about it until the WPO's raid and Frank Neely's death. At first we assumed the whole thing was just another episode in the WPO's ongoing efforts to destroy our organization. The two organizations are natural enemies. We want change and the WPO wants the status quo to last forever. They're making money hand over fist. That's why they work so hard to link us with the Underground."
"Well, aren't you linked with the Underground?" Corvan asked, automatically activating his record function.
A red indicator light began to blink on and off in the armrest of Saxon's black box. He smiled. "One of the nice things about my body is the fact that they were able to build all sorts of electronic goodies into it. Like the one which says that there's a sufficient amount of electromagnetic activity in your vicinity to indicate some sort of surveillance, or in your case, out-and-out recording. Fine. Record all you want, and when I'm finished, use it in anyway you choose. If you think it's wise to do so."
Corvan nodded, only slightly embarrassed.
"So," Saxon continued, "in answer to your question. Yes, we are connected to the Exodus Underground, and find it useful for our organization to have a somewhat schizophrenic personality. Were it otherwise, the WPO would have had a much easier task isolating and then destroying our organizational structure."
At this point Saxon leaned forward in his box, the intensity of his gaze leaving no doubt about his devotion to the Society's cause. "But remember this, Rex, even if they destroy the Society's structure, they'll never kill its mind or soul. That's safe in millions of minds and hearts all around the world. Rex, we must succeed. We must get a third of Earth's population into space or die trying, because if we don't, the weight of our own numbers will crush us."
This last part was right out of the Society's countless public service announcements and brochures. Part of Corvan's mind nodded in agreement, but a substantial portion stood back, folding its arms and refusing to be swayed. He was a reporter, after all, and reporters are objective, especially on assignment. And without a doubt this was the biggest story he'd ever tackled. It was time to get Saxon back on track.
"So you didn't know anything at first," Corvan reminded him.
"Right," Saxon said, leaning back in his box. "We didn't know anything until Neely died and passed you that disk. We thought he was just another one of the countless eccentrics who flock to our cause. While we value their support, they can be a source of trouble."
"How did you know that Neely passed Corvan a disk?" Kim asked.
"Oh, that was easy," Saxon replied. "We have a rather sophisticated television studio of our own. We recorded the input from both of Rex's cameras and subjected it to intensive analysis."
Corvan and Kim looked at each other with the same thought in mind. If the Exodus Soc
iety could do it, so could the WPO and the government.
"Yes," Saxon agreed as if reading their minds. "It's now obvious that the government did likewise. In fact, it's safe to assume that they found a way to monitor your editing activities. That would account for the mysterious fire in Kim's editing suite and the unexpected death of her friend Mel Ryback."
"He wasn't my friend," Kim said, sharply dropping her cigarette butt into an expensive vase. "But he didn't deserve that.''
"No," Saxon said smoothly, "I'm sure he didn't. In any case, based on the disk and on the government's sudden interest, we started watching you as well. At first we couldn't make heads or tails out of the whole thing. Then we got a phone call, a very strange phone call, and one which I think you must hear for yourself."
Saxon looked toward a distant desk as he spoke. "Audio playback. Security code CS 4191."
A moment passed, followed by the hollow sound of a long-distance line and Saxon's voice: "Chris Saxon."
The other voice was computer-simulated, a high-quality simulation but a simulation nonetheless. It could be heard in clipped formality of the computer's words. "Greetings, Mr. Saxon. I would like to speak with you regarding a matter of extreme importance."
Saxon's response was annoyed. "I don't have time for computerized sales calls. If this is something more, say so and be damned quick about it."
"This is something more," the computer responded evenly. "It is a matter of national security."
"National security?" Saxon said doubtfully. "In that case you should call the FBI or someone like that. Who are you anyway?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if the other party had never anticipated such a question and was formulating a response.
"My human interface was uncomfortable around computers, especially those which approach sentience, and called me by a variety of names. However, my programming informs me that those names are considered to be profane. So, since I have no wish to offend you, I shall use a name that my human interface respected. You may call me Martin."
Matrix Man Page 12
