Matrix Man

by William C. Dietz

  The double glass doors were unlocked and swung inward without resistance. The troopers were met by a wall of artificially cold air, which felt good after the heat outside. Fong motioned for Corvan and Kim to wait while half of her team performed a quick recon. The other four were busy humping all sorts of gear into the reception area and laying it out in orderly rows.

  The inside of the E-FEX-1 studios had a strange feel, like the ghost ships found way out at sea, with half-eaten meals and no sign of crew or passengers. Desks were covered with paperwork, half-empty coffee cups sat here and there, and stray pieces of clothing hung from wall hooks.

  A bank of six video monitors murmured softly, two of them showing the vice president live as she stepped out onto the surface of the moon and bounded away.

  It was as if the entire place had been evacuated on extremely short notice, and from what Sokolov said, that was pretty close to the truth. With the exception of someone called Nolly, all the employees had been sent on WPO-financed vacations. Apparently the WPO leadership wanted to keep their use of the video matrix generator a secret as long as possible.

  "With die exception of this the place is all clear," Sergeant Fong said, appearing out of a side hall. The "this" which Fong referred to had the furtive look of a rat caught in the middle of the kitchen floor when someone unexpectedly turns on the lights. She held it by the back of its collar like an errant child that might otherwise run away.

  It was male, of average height and surly disposition. Tiny brown eyes darted this way and that, and a long, pointy nose seemed to probe the air for signs of danger. It had a trickle stim inserted into the implant jack in the side of its head, and its voice was an outraged squeak. "How dare you disturb my work! Do you have any idea of who I am? Do you realize what I'm doing?"

  "Making an ass of yourself?" Kim inquired calmly. "Are you the one they call Nolly?"

  "Absolutely not," the man replied indignantly. "My name if Nollins, Henry P. Nollins, and you will address me as such."

  Fong gave Corvan a questioning look and he nodded. Stepping to one side, Fong planted her feet, made her hand into a fist, and slammed it into the side of Nollins' face. He dropped like a stone. Corvan helped him up.

  "Now listen, Nolly, you're going to cut the crap and answer our questions, or Sergeant Fong is going to kick the shit out of you. Do we understand each other?"

  Nollins held the side of his face and nodded mutely. "Good," Corvan said. "Now, are you the engineer who runs the video matrix generator?"

  Another nod.

  "Excellent. This is Captain Delany. She's a qualified television engineer. You will assist her in using the generator. All right?"

  "All right," Nollins said, "but what about the project I'm working on? It's supposed to be ready by this evening."

  "Oh really?" Corvan said conversationally. "Well, let's take a look at what you have so far. Maybe it ties in with our project."

  Nollins looked doubtful, but had the good sense to keep it to himself. With Fong at his side the engineer led them down a hall and into a large editing suite.

  Two rows of Sony holo monitors lined one wall. Facing them was a long, curved panel with row after row of red, green, and amber lights. These were the manual controls rarely used but available just in case. They served to surround and frame the main editing position, which was a thing of almost spartan beauty, consisting of a single touch-sensitive computer screen and three wires for direct interface.

  Kim fell in love with the place immediately. It had everything, the best of the best, and all laid out with an eye to efficiency and convenience. Nollins watched in amazement as Kim dropped into the editing chair and plugged in. A smile came onto her face as an entire chorus of electronic voices introduced themselves and welcomed her aboard. There was a moment of pain as the editing computer, a Yamaha 3000 VX, came on-line and introduced himself as El Supremo, but it quickly faded. Val was gone and no amount of wishing would bring her back.

  It didn't take Kim long to find out that El Supremo had the personality to go along with his name. His dealings with the other computers were high-handed and arrogant, all that is, except for the VMG, which El Supremo did his best to ignore.

  As Kim explored the system she found that the video matrix generator was a peripheral, part of the system but off to one side. Interestingly enough, it was imbued with little or no personality. Whether this was by chance or design Kim couldn't tell, only that it would respond as ordered, with a kind of bovine acceptance.

  Another thing which made the editing system different from all the others she'd encountered were the huge data banks it incorporated. A quick check showed that thousands of commercial movies and millions of television programs had been digitized and made available for recall. Given El Supremo's army of digital record and playback machines, the VMG's processing capability, and all the images stored in the data bank, she could make Winston Churchill sing rock 'n' roll.

  Kim spun around in her chair. Corvan was waiting. "The VMG is everything Neely said and more."

  "Excellent," Corvan said approvingly. "Now let's see Nolly's current project. I hope it's as good as the one where he turned us into psychopathic killers."

  Nollins' eyes grew suddenly big as he looked from one to the other, seeking confirmation for what he'd just heard. He must have found it because suddenly his eyes started to bulge and he tried for the door.

  Just for the fun of it, Fong let him get real close before she reached out and jerked him back. He was blubbering for mercy as she dumped him into the chair next to Kim's and jerked the trickle stim out of his head. "I didn't want to . . . They made me do it . . . please don't hurt me!"

  Unwilling to be on-line with Nollins, Kim pulled her wire and shoved it into the other engineer's socket. "Shut up and hit playback."

  Snuffling and sobbing, Nollins did as he was told. Or more accurately, El Supremo did as he was told, selecting the proper audio-video file and playing it back. The program monitor fluttered and locked up with a shot of President Hawkins. At the moment there was nothing but blue background behind him. Later on, once the primary sound and pix had been properly laid down, computer-generated graphics and music would be added in.

  Hawkins looked sad and older than his years. "Greetings. As you know, the last few days have been extremely difficult for me. Yet they have been useful as well. For as each of us are tested by the fires of adversity, we are tempered too, made stronger like steel which is heated and then cooled. In some strange way Mary's untimely death has burned me and me stronger, made me see that the world is in crisis, that every passing moment brings even more danger. Simply put, there are too many of us, and while some dream of distant stars, most know that real solutions must be found here on earth.

  "With that in mind I have asked Congress to pass a resolution favoring a single world government. Eventually it will be necessary to revise the Constitution of the United States to allow membership in a global government. In the meantime, however, I recommend that the United States agree to support and participate in a coop government until something more permanent is hammered out. By doing this we will demonstrate our good faith and set an example for others.

  "With that in mind I would like to nominate an interim chief executive, a man with demonstrated leadership ability, who has already unified an entire continent. A man who was educated right here in the United States, a man who has come to symbolize the best of East and West, a man who is no stranger to adversity and hard work. My fellow Americans, that man is none other than Samuel Numalo, the leader of Unified Africa. It was my—"

  At that point the VMG ran out of processed video and the speech was suddenly cut off. Corvan and Kim looked at each other in amazement. The opposition was making its move and introducing a new player at the same time. Samuel Numalo. Was Numalo a tool of the WPO or vice versa?

  Fong jerked Nollins up and out of his chair, removing his interface as she did so. "Are you done with this one, sir? If so I'll lock him up."

&n
bsp; Corvan looked at Kim and she nodded. Corvan looked at Fong. "Yes, Sergeant. Thank you. And post a guard on his door. After that, make the rounds. I want all potential entry points well covered. And scout our friends outside too. If the shit hits the fan, we'll be forced to take them out."

  Fong grinned. The phony Colonel knew his stuff. She gave Nollins a shove and headed for the door.

  "And Sergeant ..."

  Fong grabbed Nollins by his collar. "Yes, sir?"

  "Monitor all of Captain Sokolov's radio transmissions. If you hear anything funny, tell me right away."

  "Yes, sir," Fong answered, and pushed Nollins out the door.

  Corvan dropped into the seat next to Kim. There was a long silence as she lit a fag and he stared up at blank monitors. It was Kim who broke the silence.

  "So here we are. The VMG's at our disposal. What do we do, tell the whole story?"

  Corvan shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I'd love to just lay it out for everyone, but chances are it wouldn't work. Thanks to the WPO's skillful use of the VMG, the public sees me as a murderer. If I told them that the president's dead, that Carla Subido's running the country, and that Samuel Numalo's about to take over the world, they'd assume that I'm completely deranged. No, we've got to come up with something underhanded, something sneaky."

  Kim blew smoke from the corner of her mouth and raised one eyebrow. "What was that? What happened to journalistic purity?"

  Corvan gave her a twisted smile. "You know, for a nice lady, you really are a bitch sometimes."

  Kim laughed. "Sorry. I couldn't resist. So, got any sneaky ideas? "

  Corvan was silent for a moment and then he smiled. "Yeah. I've got one sneaky idea and it's a real lulu." When Corvan told Kim what it was, she found it was extremely difficult to choke on smoke and laugh at the same time.

  16

  Carla Subido allowed herself few of the pleasures which most people take for granted. The single exception were the long, luxurious baths she took at the end of each day. In fact, baths were so important to Carla that she had remodeled the bathroom of her condominium to make room for an even larger tub. It was black with gold fittings and was surrounded by a jungle of plants. At the moment it was full to overflowing with wonderfully hot water mixed with aromatic bath oil. The water surrounded and embraced her, lifting her gently away from the bottom of the tub, and filled her with a sense of peaceful well-being.

  Yet even here in the tub, her pleasure was measured out in minutes. A glance at her Rolex confirmed the message from Carla's internal clock. It was time to dry off, watch the president's special address on TV, and work her way through another stack of briefings.

  With a sigh of regret she flipped a lever and allowed the water to drain. Standing, she grabbed one of the huge, fluffy towels from a nearby rack and began to dry herself off. A large mirror took most of the opposite wall. She watched herself with the detached interest of a race car driver inspecting her vehicle.

  Her body was long and slim, a little softer than she would have liked due to her sedentary life-style, but still beautiful. For a moment Carla thought about her time with Numalo, but the memories were so painful that she pushed them away.

  Carla threw the towel into a corner where the maid would find it and slipped into a thick robe. She belted it around her waist as she entered the living room. It was a designer's vision of what a living room should be: full of perfect furniture and carefully selected art which had nothing to do with Carla's personality.

  Sensing her presence, the household computer turned the lights to the level of illumination she preferred, triggered some soft music, and waited for further orders.

  Curling up on the long white couch, Carla slipped her toes under one of the brightly colored throw pillows and said, "Holo set."

  It shimmered to life and Carla saw that a standard intro was well underway. As it happened, the set was tuned to News Network 56. Barbara Lansing looked her usual best, with every hair firmly in place. "And so," she said, "for reasons not entirely clear, Carla Subido has agreed to address the nation in the President's stead. And here, without further ado, is Carla Subido, President Hawkins' chief of staff."

  Carla sat bolt upright as she saw herself appear on the screen. What the ... ? Her screen image began to speak:

  "I bring you greetings from the president. Unfortunately the stress and strain of the recent events has rendered him unable to appear tonight, but rather than cancel, he asked me to speak in his stead. I assure you that the president is fine and will be up and around after some much needed rest.

  "As you know, the president recently advocated formation of a single world government. In fact, it was his intention to recommend that the United States participate in a temporary coop government, pending changes to our Constitution which would allow us to become part of a global partnership. In addition, President Hawkins was prepared to nominate Samuel Numalo, leader of Unified Africa, as Prime Minister pro-tem, and ask the rest of the world to make his nomination unanimous.

  "Unfortunately, however, new information has fallen into the president's hands causing him to withdraw his nomination of Samuel Numalo—and his support for a single world government."

  Carla was on her feet. She could almost hear the worldwide gasp of amazement as the camera zoomed in on her electronic likeness. Blood surged to Carla's face and she could feel her heart beating a mile a minute.

  The electronic Carla Subido looked solemn. "According to top-secret information obtained by the CIA, Leader for Life Numalo has used blackmail, bribery, and murder to position himself for global leadership. Details will be forthcoming in the next few days. In the meantime President Hawkins joins other leaders around the world in mourning this lost opportunity to move forward into a new age of peace and harmony. He hopes that coming years will bring us closer to this important goal, but feels this particular opportunity has passed. Thank you, and good night."

  Carla reached for her comset, but it buzzed before she could pick it up. Only a few people had her unlisted number, so she didn't hesitate to pick it up. "Carla Subido."

  "Yes, ma'am. This is Sugar. I can't find my keys. Could I take a look to see if I left them laying around somewhere?"

  Carla's brain raced. Was it for real? Sugar had spent the afternoon with her but. . . Where did he live anyway? With a sudden sense of shock Carla realized she didn't know. What if it was just minutes away, so close that someone could see the broadcast and order him to come over? She did her best to keep it light. "Of course, Sugar. Come on up. I'll release the front door."

  Carla hit the door release and ran for her bedroom. It would take Sugar three, maybe four minutes to cross the downstairs lobby, enter an elevator, and ride to her floor.

  The bulky robe swirled and swished, almost causing her to trip. She dropped it at the foot of her king-sized bed and dived for the nightstand.

  The ugly blue-black shape of the Mini-Uzi was in the top drawer, right where it was supposed to be. She grabbed it and hit the magazine release. The magazine was full up. She slammed it home, slipped a bullet up the spout, and released the safety. It was ironic that Sugar had provided the Uzi and taught her how to use it.

  Still naked, she padded toward the front door, holding the weapon's cold metal close to her body. Adrenaline surged through her circulatory system and blood pounded in her brain. Unlatching the front door, she backed away and dropped to the thickly carpeted floor.

  Outside, beyond her front door, Carla heard the sound of a chime and the swish of elevator doors. There was a moment of silence followed by a soft tapping on the door.

  "Come in!" Carla shouted, trying to make her voice sound far away. "I'm getting dressed."

  The door swung open and bumped softly against the doorstop. Carla started to squeeze the trigger, but the doorway remained empty. Damn. It was just as she'd feared. Sugar had orders from Numalo, orders to kill her, and was playing it smart.

  Carla forced herself to wait, holding her breath, trying not to sh
iver as the hallway's cool air raised goose bumps along her arms and legs. Carla liked Sugar and wished it was someone else. She wondered if he felt the same way.

  Then Sugar came, sliding around the door frame like a shadow on the wall, the sawed-off Mossberg an extension of his right arm.

  Carla squeezed the trigger and held on. The Uzi chattered and jumped. Sugar's body jerked like a puppet on strings, slammed into the wall, and slid toward the floor. It settled there like a pile of old clothes.

  As the Uzi clicked empty, Carla listened for the sound of disturbed neighbors, alarmed security guards, or other signs of distress. The only thing she heard was the insistent buzz of her phone. It seemed the building's expensive soundproofing had done its job.

  Carla stepped over Sugar's body, closed the door, and returned to the living room. She hesitated for a moment, then picked up the phone. "Yes?"

  "Is this Carla Subido?" The voice was male and extremely polite. She wondered how he'd obtained her number.

  "Yes."

  "My name is Martin," the voice continued. "Did you watch the special address on television?"

  "Yes," Carla answered, wondering where the conversation was headed.

  "Excellent," Martin replied. "It is my opinion that agents of Samuel Numalo will attempt to murder you. Do you agree?"

  Carla glanced toward the front door and cleared her throat. "Yes."

  "And you wish to continue living?"

  "Yes."

  "Good," Martin replied. "In that case I suggest you do exactly as I say."

  17

  "It's time to leave," Corvan said, stepping into the editing suite. "Company's on the way by now."

  Kim nodded, pulled the wire out of her temple jack, and stood up. She looked tired and had every right to. In the last six hours she'd bullied Nolly into helping her with the VMG, carried out some tricky editing, and done all of it under pressure.

  Kim held her left index finger over the touch-sensitive computer screen and looked at Corvan. "If I touch it, the VMG goes bye-bye. Yes or no?"