Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330) (31 page)

“I say it’s time for action!” he said,
index finger stabbing the air. “We have the power to starve the
colonies into submission!”

While the resultant buzz remained
low-key, the number of nodding heads around her tightened Rayna’s
colon, and a backward glance confirmed that many of those behind
the ropes were all for Rensselaer’s point of view:  She could
see placards—even one holographic sign—bearing anti-colony slogans,
and some in the crowd appeared to be yelling or cheering, despite
the fact that they could hear little if any of what Rensselaer had
to say.

Damon nudged Rayna:  “I thought
the colonies made their own food.”

Rayna nodded. “Yes, but they need
supplies from Earth to keep producing it.” 

Once again, she searched the audience
until she located her other students. She had instructed them to
meet her after the debate at the Trans-Mat center on the north side
of the park, but she didn’t like the way things were going at all,
and....  None of that, now. Stop worrying. Everything’s going
to work out just fine.

“If the colonies still won’t listen to
reason,” Rensselaer continued with a hushed earnestness that seemed
all the more powerful for its lack of volume, “if they still insist
on robbing us of our Nitinol supplies, then we have no
choice:  We’ll have to resort to force.”

The admiral’s face was grave as his
eagle-eyes examined the audience.
It’s almost as if he’s
measuring every one of us for a soldier’s uniform,
Rayna
thought, an icy chill  once more ascending her
spine.

“I believe in this planet,” he said,
voice heavy with emotion. “I believe in free trade with the
colonies. But I don’t believe in submitting to a cowardly enemy who
threatens our very way of life!  If that means full-scale war,
then so be it!”

With a curt nod to Wentworth, the
admiral pivoted smartly and returned to his seat as a loud cheer,
audible despite the barrier formed by the sound envelope, erupted
from behind the ropes.

“My folks really like Rensselaer,”
Damon said as Wentworth waited for the audience to finish
applauding. “That’s why they let me come here today.”

“My parents like him, too,” said
Ginny, “but he makes me kind of nervous. Did you see how he
limps?”

“How come his limp bothers you, but
you don’t seem to mind her being a cripple?  The admiral’s a
hero. but that Milgrom creep, she’s just a sickie.”

“Damon, you’re the
biggest—”

“Now, cut it out, you two!” Rayna
ordered. “This is neither the time nor the place for that sort of
thing. Besides...” she tried to ignore the churning sensation in
her belly “...I need your help. I want you to help me keep track of
the others. This is a big crowd—a lot bigger than anyone
expected—and I’d feel much better if we could all get away from
here and back to school as soon as the speeches are
over.”

Ginny and Damon glared at each other
for several long seconds before agreeing to cooperate. When they
turned their frowning faces back toward the podium, Rayna knew they
were inspired more by their anger at one another than by any
interest in Wentworth’s introductory remarks about Althea
Milgrom.

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.

 “
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?”