Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330) (32 page)

“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, though.”

“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.”

Rayna opened her eyes again. “So when
did you see my grandfather again?”

“Well, let’s see now. About six or
seven years after we installed the Star’s computer system, their
management decided to upgrade. Al was still the liaison to Computer
Applications, and so he was the one who made all the arrangements
from the newspaper’s side.”

“And you were the one Computer
Applications put in charge?”

“Not in charge,” Milgrom said, “but Al
did ask for me to teach the new system. All this happened when I
was between attacks. I was already using a wheelchair, but I’d been
stable for about two years. I was checked out on the new system,
and I was completely qualified to instruct the
Star
staff
again, just as I had originally. Except for one thing, that
is.”

Rayna arched her eyebrows. “And that
was?”

“Stairs. The
Valley Star
offices were in an old two-story building that was remodeled around
1981, more for appearance than function. The way things were
rearranged, most of the computer equipment wound up on the second
floor, and there wasn’t any elevator.”

Rayna frowned.

“You look irritated,” said Milgrom.
“Just think how
I
felt. I’d worked very hard to get where I
was. I was intelligent, highly qualified, and damn good at my job,
but I couldn’t do that job just because some architect or builder
or business manager had decided that a slick new look was
necessary, but an elevator was a luxury!  It wasn’t the first
time I’d run into that sort of thing, of course, but it always made
me so angry.  I wasn’t always exactly polite about telling
people so, either. But in those days, you had to yell if you wanted
to be heard.”

Rayna could hardly picture this
good-natured woman with the fashionably silver-streaked, slate-gray
hair as an angry young rebel. On the other hand, she thought, maybe
it was a rebel spirit that drove Milgrom to speak out about the
Nitinol crisis.

“I think your grandfather was almost
as angry about the stair problem as I was.”

 “
I’m not surprised. The Star
should have put in an elevator.”

“That’s what your grandfather said.
They did it, too, but not for a few years. You know, I see a lot of
Al Frederick in you.”  Milgrom blinked and inhaled deeply.
“Anyway, I saw Al from time to time after that. At least I could
still service the Valley Star account as long as they didn’t need
me upstairs, and he made a point of asking for me. We got together
socially on occasion, too. And whenever I had a problem, it seemed
he was there to encourage me. It’s been at least 10 years since I
saw him last, though.”

Milgrom gazed across the room, looking
at nothing in particular. “He was an unusual man, Miss Kingman.
Once, when I was in the hospital with an especially bad attack, he
came to visit. I remember because he was particularly philosophical
that day. He told me he’d figured out the root of the world’s
problems.”

“Yes, I remember,” Rayna said. “He
used to tell me the same thing. He blamed nearly everything on
fear. One day I told him I thought greed and anger might have
something to do with it, but he said no. He agreed that guilt might
complicate the picture a little, but he insisted that fear was the
main culprit. He said most problems would disappear if you could
just get people to stop being afraid all the time.”

Milgrom nodded. “All I know is that he
sure helped me get over
my
fears that day.”

“You said you haven’t seen him for 10
years?”

“That’s right,” said Milgrom. “I could
sure use his moral support these days, too. How is he?”

Rayna blinked and massaged her
temples. The pain, which she had almost succeeded in ignoring, was
now demanding her attention, pounding insistently against the
inside of her cranium. “He died in April.”

The director of the CDN stiffened in
her chair, and her eyes grew moist. She sniffed a few times, then
swallowed in an obvious effort to regain her composure.

“You must have been very fond of him,”
Rayna said. “I didn’t realize—”

Milgrom raised a hand and shook her
head. “It’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t realize it myself until
just now. As I told you, I didn’t know him terribly well, but he
was very important to me at a critical time in my life. Almost a
father figure. The funny thing is, I don’t know if he ever realized
what a difference he made.”

Rayna closed her eyes.
He knew he
made a difference,
she thought,
but not the kind you’re
talking about.

A signal from the communicator at
Rayna’s bedside halted any further discussion. Rayna covered her
face with her hands, then swept her hair back before accepting the
call. The visage of a young hospital volunteer formed on the large,
flat screen mounted on the wall across from the bed.