A tight smile flashed across Tauber’s normally stoical face. “How would you like to change all that?”
***
Keith was whistling as he rapped on Rayna’s door. He continued to spew out the tune through pursed lips as he waited for her to open up. It never occurred to him that she might not be home.
“Hurry up, Ray,” he urged. “We need to talk.”
Whistling a bit less confidently now, he tried the door himself. It opened easily.
“Ray?” he called out, entering her apartment and closing the door carefully behind him. He plopped down on her couch and continued to whistle, but his eyes darted nervously around the room.
“What’s going—Keith!” Rayna said, rushing toward him. “Thank God you’re all right!”
He rose to greet her with a kiss and a warm embrace.
“Was that you whistling that awful Earthshine?” she asked with a relieved laugh after he had released her.
“What’s so awful about it?” he asked, giving her a playful squeeze. “I kind of like it. And speaking of being all right, when are you going to start locking your door? You, of all people, should know how risky an unlocked door is these days. You see all the news briefs. Break-ins are getting so common that pretty soon they won’t even make the news. I can see the headlines now: ‘Unlocked Apartment Left Unscathed by Crime Spree.’”
“I think you’re exaggerating, but you may be right about locking the door.” She shook her head sadly. “Life definitely isn’t as simple as it used to be.”
“True. But then, it never really was.” Keith took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver an official report. “Well, Ray, I did it! I must be brilliant, because I really pulled it off. I not only contacted Barnard at that hangout of his, I met some of his pals—including the guy from the nonexistent Merchant Fleet unit. He seems to be in charge of the whole thing.”
“Whoa! Slow down,” Rayna pleaded. “Who’s the head of what whole thing?”
“The guy’s name is Tauber. Henry Tauber. ‘Hank’ as Barnard called him at Eduardo’s—remember? Used to be a lieutenant in the Merchant Fleet until he tried to pull some stunt out in the colonies and they grounded him for a while. I guess he kept trying to do things his own way instead of the Fleet’s way, because they finally forced him out.”
Rayna studied Keith’s beatific expression. “You seem awfully pleased with yourself,” she observed.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Do I?” he asked. “Oh, well. Maybe I am pleased with myself. I have a right to be! At first I thought Tauber was going to have me taken out and shot—”
“Keith!” The color drained from Rayna’s face.
“Shot or whatever else Tauber does to keep his people in line. Barnard’s involved all right, but he’s just small potatoes. This thing is really big!”
“You mean the problem with the Nitinol wire?”
Keith nodded. “But I got the idea that it goes way beyond that. I don’t have all the details yet, but it’s part of something called ‘Operation Strong Man.’ And Tauber says they have a lot of allies in important positions, not only in America but all over the world.”
“So what do we do now?” she queried. “Is it safe to contact the Fleet and ask them to investigate?”
Keith sank onto the couch, pulling Rayna down beside him. “We’d better stay away from the Fleet for the time being,” he said, running his hand gently along her bare arm. “From other officials, too, for that matter. I don’t know how far this goes. Yet.”
He could feel her tremble. “I guess I never realized.... The way you just seemed to disappear after you went to that bar.... I didn’t know what to think, Keith—especially after Essie tried putting some urgent calls through to my number, on the chance that you might be here. If your electronic secretary didn’t even know where you were....”
Rayna stopped for a breath. “I know I’m not making much sense right now. I guess I’m plain scared—right down to my toenails. This Nitinol thing is really getting out of hand. There was another riot in Zimbabwe, you know. The world still seems to be crumbling around us. And until you walked in that door, I wasn’t even sure whether there still was an ‘us.’”
He hugged her reassuringly. It felt good to be here with her.
“Sorry I couldn’t let you know what was happening,” he said, “but there wasn’t much I could do about that. I wasn’t exactly invited to meet Tauber. It was more like I was abducted. I was lucky he believed my story.” Keith shook his head. “I’m telling you, Ray, that guy is dangerous. And he’s smart. If we were dealing with a bunch of Vince Barnards, I wouldn’t worry, but Tauber’s different.”
Rayna looked at him expectantly. “But this Tauber seems to trust you?”
“Yes. In fact, I have a hunch I already know a lot more than Barnard and some of the others do. Tauber seems to consider me his intellectual equal—or, at least, he thinks I’m smart enough to appreciate his brilliance. Sometimes, these past few days, I’ve had the feeling that it took every bit of his self-control to keep from telling me everything. But he doesn’t trust me that much yet.”
“Then what can we do?” asked Rayna. “You say we still can’t go to the authorities, but there must be something.”
Keith nodded. “I think probably the best thing would be for me to keep right on doing what I started. You know—ingratiate myself with Tauber. He knows about the two of us, and if I handle him right, we should be able to keep seeing each other without making him nervous.”
“Good,” Rayna agreed. “That way you can keep me posted on what’s going on.”
Keith looked at her steadily for a moment, then brushed back the dark curls that bordered the soft, smooth skin of her face. “Right,” he said, leaning toward her. “I can keep you posted.” But Tauber’s scheme was nowhere in Keith’s thoughts as his mouth and Rayna’s melted into an eager, hungry kiss that drained away the store of tension that had been building over the last several days and left them happily relaxed.
The communicator had chimed several times before they finally acknowledged it. Rayna took the call on the link in her coffee table.
“Essie?” she said to the image of Keith’s electronic secretary that appeared on the previously hidden screen embedded into the tabletop. “What is it? Another call for Mr. Daniels? He’s here now.”
“Yes, Ms. Kingman, but it concerns you as well. It’s Mr. Judson from the London office of the International Adoptions Clearance Board. Shall I transfer the call to you there?”
“Yes, Essie! Please!”
Rayna’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Maybe he’s found it, Keith!”
Keith smiled. “Maybe. Only one way to—”
“Ah, good!” Judson said as his face replaced Essie’s on the screen. “I get the intense pleasure of speaking with both of you once again. I have news!”
Rayna swallowed and pressed her lips together. Keith felt her stiffen, but he realized that the strain of this moment was the price she must pay for the news she’d been anticipating so eagerly.
“You’re a lucky woman, Miss Kingman,” Judson began. “Lucky to be alive. It seems your mother began to hemorrhage shortly before she was taken to hospital. The doctors had to work like the very devil to save you. As I believe I told you before, they weren’t able to save your mother, I’m afraid. And she was a mere child herself.”
Rayna was white now, and her hands felt like ice when Keith touched them.
“Your mother’s name was—”
“Ariana Naylor,” Rayna said, her words blending with Judson’s.
From the screen, the Englishman’s faced stared out in surprise. Keith, too, gazed at her in wonder.
“Keith,” she said, fighting to remain calm, “you haven’t heard all of Al’s tapes yet, have you?”
“No, I—”
Rayna nodded. “Naylor was the name of the couple that adopted Aunt Vickie’s and Al’s daughter. They named their little girl....”
Keith’s face
wrinkled in concentration as Rayna broke off, sobbing; then he closed his eyes and inclined his head, the answer suddenly clear to him. He drew Rayna close and stroked her hair gently, gazing out at nothing in particular. “They named their little girl Ariana,” he finished for her, kissing the nape of her neck. “Al Frederick and Vickie Kingman were your grandparents.”
Chapter 18: Ordeal
Contrary to popular opinion, Los Angeles does have seasons. Not that the City of the Angels will ever equal the seasonal variations that mark the Midwest or the Northeast. No cornucopia of riotous reds and yellows trumpets fall’s arrival. No mantle of white shapes winter life into picturesque scenes reminiscent of Currier-and-Ives prints. Still, each season tends to have its own special, if subtle, characteristics.
This early November Friday, for example, was typical of the year’s autumn: crisp, clean, bright and, for Los Angeles, cool. As usual, the summer had been warm, but there were only two especially hot spells, one in July and the other in early September. October was a transitional month, with some days clinging to summer like a frightened child to its mother, while other days rushed headlong into the new season.
Maybe that’s why no one ever thinks we have seasons here, Rayna reflected as she crossed the campus quadrangle en route from her classroom to the school office, enjoying the fresh scent in the air. The changes here kind of sneak up on you without any fanfare.
Bob Carlson, the school’s principal, was working at a terminal in the office as she entered the modest-sized room, which was dominated by computer equipment and library cases of data disks.
“Rayna,” he said, rising from his chair as she entered, “I’m glad you stopped by before you left. Are you still planning that field trip for your students? The one to the Los Angeles debate between Althea Milgrom and Ethan Rensselaer?”
“Yes,” Rayna said, surprised at the question. “Is there some problem?”
Carlson hesitated before answering. “I’ve been getting phone calls.”
“What kind of calls?”
“Hostile ones.” He drew himself to his full height, which was little more than her own, although he always seemed much taller. “Some of the parents feel Althea Milgrom is a traitor,” he told Rayna. “They don’t think the school should sanction a field trip that exposes the children to her ideas about cooperating with the colonies.”
Rayna’s face grew hot. “So it’s finally started,” she protested. “I was wondering when those self-serving Earth-Firsters would get around to attacking free academic inquiry, not to mention the democratic process!” She pressed her lips together and reminded herself that Bob Carlson wasn’t the enemy. “Damn it, Bob,” she said, this debate is a part of an open examination of a public policy issue. It’s the kind of discussion that’s essential to a free society. Besides, Milgrom and Rensselaer are probably going to wind up as their parties’ candidates for the United States Senate.”
“That’s probably true, but—”
“The greater the controversy, the more value there is in having my students see the two of them go head to head. I’ve been taking my classes to debates like this for years, and I have no intention of stopping now, just because some narrow-minded little—”
“It’s all right, Rayna,” Carlson soothed. “I managed to put them off for the time being. After all, if those parents don’t want their kids to go, they can just refuse to grant permission.”
Rayna grunted. “That’s true. Unfortunately. It’s the students with parents like that who need this kind of field trip the most.”
“Be that as it may,” said Carlson, “we can only do so much. This Nitinol thing has people very upset. The President still hasn’t come up with a coherent policy to follow. How can we expect the average person to react with any real understanding? Everyone’s frightened.”
“They should be,” Rayna agreed, “but not of the colonies or the loss of the Nitinol. Look at what’s happening to us! We’re becoming a world of intolerant, selfish children, ready to attack one another at the slightest provocation.”
Carlson rumbled as he cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t call holding the world’s Nitinol supply for ransom a ‘slight provocation.’”
“Maybe not, but Althea Milgrom didn’t steal the Nitinol, and the news reports say she’s had four death threats since her speech last month urging the Secretary-General to contact the colonies again.” Rayna looked away briefly, then fixed Carlson with an earnest gaze. “Let’s face it, Bob: Reason seems to be out of fashion these days. People are letting their fear and anger drive them into doing things they’d never have tolerated six months ago. They’re desperate for an easy answer; so if a scapegoat is handy....”
“I don’t like what’s going on, either, Rayna. Did you hear about Frank Brannigan and Esther Mayall?” Rayna shook her head. “Fired,” said Carlson. “Just like that. The board found out that they have close relatives living in the colonies. Of course, the board didn’t want to be accused of giving traitors a forum for subverting the young, and —”
“Hmmph! You mean the noble members of the Board of Education were afraid the Earth-Firsters would make good on their promise to destroy any elected official who’s ‘weak’ on colonial policy. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it, Bob?”
The principal bowed his head and looked up at Rayna from under bushy gray eyebrows. “I’m afraid you’re right. That’s why I want you to think very carefully about this field trip thing. If anything goes wrong, it could mean your job, and you’re just too valuable a teacher to lose.”
Rayna patted Carlson’s hand. “You’re a good man, Bob. I appreciate the warning. But if I back down under this kind of pressure, then I’m not such a good teacher after all. Unless you order me otherwise, the field trip is on. And, Bob, I have to tell you: If you order me to cancel the trip, I’ll quit.”
Carlson nodded, his mouth stretched into a taut smile. “That’s just what I thought you’d say. I’m not sure I’d have your courage, Rayna, but I won’t stop you.”
“Thanks, Bob,” she said, turning to check the message terminal near the office door. Finding nothing designated for her, she walked to the faculty Trans-Mat pod. “I’ll see you on Monday, then,” she said with a wave just before activating the mechanism.
Back in her apartment, Rayna continued to think about the exchange with Bob Carlson and the news about her fellow teachers. Frank and Esther were no more subversive than she was. Why would people send their children to a full-service school like the Brandemar Learning Center if all they wanted was programmed material that they could get from the CDN and educational software on their home terminals?
She knew what all the studies had concluded for the last 30 years: Most people learn best in an atmosphere that blends social interaction, instruction and ample opportunities for development of critical thinking skills. Now a few small-minded simpletons were trying to deny those opportunities to others. Or was it only a few? Rayna didn’t really want to know the figures. The number sympathetic to the extremist Earth-Firsters may still be small, but she feared it was growing.
An overwhelming sadness enveloped her. Maybe it would be better if everyone just learned at home after all, she thought bitterly. No! she quickly admonished herself. She knew better. She’d known better for a long time.
It was Al Frederick who first showed her the advantages of learning centers. She was very young then maybe 5 or 6. A quick, independent student, she had suffered from a painful shyness, and she had objected strenuously to attending classes with other children.
“Why can’t I just use our terminal here at home?” she remembered asking her mother. “I’ll be real good. I’ll do all the work. You’ll see, Mommy. I don’t hafta go to the learning center, do I?”
She appealed to Al, too, but he refused to intervene on her behalf. Instead, he listened politely as she recited her objections, then took her to the local center so that she could meet some of the teachers and see the facilities for herself. He patiently expl
ained that learning about people was as important as learning about the arts and sciences. At last, reluctantly, she accepted the inevitable. By the time she had completed high school and then earned her university degree, she had grown as much socially as intellectually, and, in the end, it was her skills with people, not just her keen intellect, that marked her as an outstanding teacher.
Rayna choked back a tear. It was Al who had made the secret arrangements for her adoption. Arthur Judson’s investigation finally revealed Frederick’s name on some key documents. “Aunt” Vickie wasn’t involved and probably never knew the truth herself. Maybe Al felt guilty over what happened to Ariana (my mother!, Rayna thought with a pang). Apparently, he wanted to ensure that no such tragedy befell his granddaughter. Fate took a hand in the matter when Vickie’s brother and sister-in-law encountered problems trying to adopt a baby. Al was able to arrange for the Kingmans to adopt Rayna, while hiding his own involvement in an intricate web of paperwork.
It must have been Al who sent those letters to Mother and Dad warning them not to tell me I was adopted.... Damn it! Somebody should have told me! I had the right to know!
She closed her eyes and swiveled her head clockwise and counterclockwise, back and forth, trying to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. She was furious with Al for hiding her identity from her, all the more so because he was dead, and she couldn’t confront him, couldn’t tell him how he had hurt her or how much he had meant to her. For Al had been there when she needed him here with a new idea, a comforting touch, an encouraging word. Despite the deception, their relationship had been unusually close. But, oh, how she wished she could have told him, just once, “Grandfather, I love you!”
Drawing a mental curtain to shield herself from such painful thoughts, she began preparing for an evening with Keith. She had seen him much less frequently since he began what he liked to call his “espionage escapade,” but the plan seemed to be working. Tauber had come to regard Keith as something of a confidant. Even so, however, the former Merchant Fleet officer had revealed little of his overall plans.
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