Matrix Man

by William C. Dietz

  They refused, of course, pointing out that under the recent Violent Crimes Act, they could hold him for up to forty-eight hours without a hearing or provision of legal counsel.

  But eventually they grew bored, loaded him onto a bus with seventy other prisoners, and sent him to the Tank. Torture might have been more fun.

  The news came on. It seemed like business as usual at first. The sea level continued to rise, a terrible train crash had taken place in Japan, new food riots had broken out in the Ukraine, there was another political scandal in Mexico, and the latest Mars mission was going well. The usual stuff. Then came an item which caused Corvan to sit up and pay attention. It seemed the vice president had broken off her visit to the moon and returned to Washington, D.C. No one knew why, but World Net News promised to find out and return "after this brief message." A commercial for hospital-assisted euthanasia came on and Corvan tuned it out.

  The Veep had returned dirtside. Now that was interesting. Were they getting ready to replace the electronic Hawkins with a flesh-and-blood vice president? If so, how would Numalo react? Corvan sighed. There was no way to know.

  The lights were always on, but Corvan decided to grab some sleep and lay down with his back to the rail. In spite of the incessant noise, the bright lights, and the never ending stink he went right to sleep.

  When Corvan awoke, it was because someone had prodded him with something hard. He awoke with a jerk and scrambled to his feet ready to fight. A huge prisoner straightened up and backed away. He had a bullet-shaped head, a pink neon nose ring, and an ugly mass of scar tissue where a temple jack might have been. "No hurt," the man said imploringly. "Me send they. Bring you meal pak they give me. I share. Come?"

  Corvan felt sorry for the giant. Like many others before him, this man had tried to better himself by saving up for an illegal implant. And while trying to hook the implant in, some quack had scrambled the poor bastard's brains. Now the giant was running errands for the guards in hopes of an extra meal pak. A meal pak he was willing to share if Corvan would come without a fight.

  The reop let his hands fall to his sides. He forced a smile. "Sure. Let's go."

  The giant smiled in return and nodded his head eagerly. The catwalk shook slightly as he turned and walked toward the nearest ladder. Other prisoners hurried to get out of the man's way. Brain-damaged or not, the man was huge, and they had no desire to piss him off.

  It was a long walk to the main entrance. The two men were ignored for the most part, but every now and then someone would recognize Corvan and nod politely, or nudge the person next to them and whisper something unintelligible.

  Corvan missed most of it since his thoughts were on other things. He wondered what the guards wanted, whether it was more bad news, and if he should've resisted. Not that it would make much difference. The guards didn't dare come inside the Tank, but thanks to men like the giant, they didn't have to. There were lots of prisoners who would bring them a prisoner for a meal pak or a free com call. Had Corvan refused to come peacefully, or managed to defeat the giant, the guards would've sent more prisoners until sheer numbers brought him down. Like the Tank itself, the system was crude but effective.

  The main entrance was heavily defended by concrete machine-gun emplacements. Corvan noticed that someone had positioned them to provide interlocking fields of fire. Heavily armed guards lounged here and there, races hidden behind ballistic plastic, light glittering off the bright metal of their harnesses. The giant stopped in front of a bright yellow line. It described an arc in front of the guard station.

  Corvan knew if he crossed the yellow line without permission he would die. No one had told him that and no one needed to. The space between the yellow line and the guard station was sprinkled with strange outlines. Each represented a dead prisoner who had stepped across the yellow line, been shot, and outlined in white paint.

  It was, Corvan decided, the ultimate in graphic communication. A pictograph so eloquent that further explanation was completely unnecessary.

  A moment passed during which the two of them were scanned, computer-verified, and approved. "Put your hands on top of your heads and keep them there! Approach the gate!" The voice was amplified and came from somewhere overhead.

  Corvan did as instructed by placing his hands on the top of his head and moving forward toward the gate. Meanwhile motion detectors sensed movement in the free-kill zone, and a computer directed two batteries of machine guns to cover the threat. Their servos made a whining noise which caused Corvan's hair to stand on end. The only thing between him and death was a dead man's switch and a guard's meaty thumb. If the thumb was tired and slipped from the switch, well, no big deal. He'd be one more outline on the floor.

  "Halt!"

  Corvan did as he was told. Two guards approached. One ran a metal detector over him and then stood aside while the second patted him down. Apparently satisfied, they did the same to the giant and handed him a new meal pak.

  The giant took the carton and held it out to Corvan. His smile said, "Here, take your half."

  Corvan smiled in return and shook his head. "No, thanks. You earned it."

  The giant shrugged and turned away. Servos whined as he trudged through the kill zone and across the yellow line.

  "Straight through there," a guard said, and pointed his cattle prod toward a heavy metal door. There was a sign over it which read, "Thanks for coming. We hope you enjoyed your stay."

  As Corvan moved toward it he looked back over his shoulder. Strangely enough, the guards weren't even looking his way. It was as if they'd completely lost interest in him.

  As Corvan approached the door, a whole battery of scanners looked him over, sent the results to a computer, and dropped off-line when confirmation came back. The door slid open with a heavy rumble and closed again as Corvan stepped through.

  Half expecting another set of guards, Corvan was surprised to find himself in a small reception area. There was only one person in sight. The gyro stabilizer in Chris Saxon's chair whined as he approached. The good side of his face looked tired. "Hello, Rex, there's a limo waiting outside."

  Corvan frowned and crossed his arms. "That's it? 'Hello Rex, there's a limo waiting outside'? Two days ago you tried to kill me."

  "True," Saxon replied calmly. "But times change. Kim's in the limo."

  Corvan walked past the other man and toward the outside door. It swished aside at his approach, and cool night air touched his face. There was indeed a limo sitting in front of the entrance, a long black affair with an open door and a ramp for Saxon's convenience. Corvan walked up to it and stuck his head inside. Soft light bathed the interior. Kim was there and looked absolutely beautiful. He saw a small bandage on the side of her head. She smiled.

  "Hi, Rex. It's good to see you." There was something restrained, something formal in the way she greeted him, and that's when Corvan realized that die limo contained another passenger: Carla Subido. She sat opposite Kim and raised a carefully plucked eyebrow when he looked her way.

  "Hello, Mr. Corvan. We meet again."

  Corvan ignored her as he turned back toward Kim. "Are you okay?"

  Kim nodded and touched her side. "Outside of a little soreness, I'm fine. The bullet went through without hitting anything important."

  Corvan heard a whir as Saxon approached from behind.

  "Touching though this is," the other man said impatiendy, "we're working on a tight schedule. If you'd get inside the limo, I would be most appreciative."

  Corvan looked at Kim. She shrugged. "They have a plan. You won't like it, but it's better than nothing."

  "Or staying here," Saxon said pointedly. "Or do your journalistic ethics prevent you from accepting our hospitality?"

  Corvan didn't have to see Saxon's face to know the other man was sneering. It was clear from his voice and from the look in Kim's eyes. She was afraid that he'd climb up on his journalistic high horse and ride it back into prison. With a sense of disappointment Corvan realized that the thought h
adn't even crossed his mind. By now he was so involved in the story, he no longer measured his actions against any standard except that of momentary expediency. He was like a priest who, having forsaken the priesthood, does all the things he once sermonized against. Corvan found the decision was surprisingly easy. He climbed into the car.

  Saxon whirred up the ramp and rolled inside. It took less than a minute to position himself next to Carla Subido. She put her left hand on his arm. He patted it and smiled.

  The hydraulic ramp made a loud whining noise as it disappeared underneath the vehicle. Seconds later the car pulled away from the curb; the ride was so smooth that Corvan barely felt it. He felt suddenly dirty and out of place within the limo's scented luxury. He felt compelled to say something. "So how did you get me out?"

  "We didn't," Saxon replied matter-of-factly. "That was your friend Martin's doing. He introduced new evidence into all of the appropriate computer files, had the charges against you reduced to reckless driving, and went your bail. I'd plead guilty if I were you. I understand there were a dozen cops standing around when you parked that delivery van in the middle of their reception area."

  Corvan looked at Kim and back at Saxon. "What about the VMG footage of me killing Bethany Bryn? The shoot-out at the E-FEX-1 studios in San Francisco? And the game of hide-and-seek at your bakery?"

  "What about them?" Saxon replied cooly. "At Martin's request I gave a sworn deposition that you were with me when Bethany Bryn was killed. I understand the police are looking into the possibility that the murderer was disguised to look like you. The firelight at the E-FEX-1 studios was caused by a party, or parties, unknown, and the shots fired inside the bakery were part of a straightforward robbery attempt."

  Corvan looked from Saxon to Subido and back. It was outrageous. "You're still working on a cover-up. You don't want people to know about die VMG.'' Corvan looked at Kim. "It's the same deal they offered us in the bakery. We said no. How's this any different?"

  Kim shrugged. "I said you wouldn't like it. But hear them out. It's true that Subido pulled the trigger, but Numalo put her up to it, and they plan to take him out."

  Corvan started to speak, but Kim held up a hand. "I know, Subido's playing our friend Chris like a grand piano. But it doesn't change the fact that we've got a shot at Numalo. The world isn't perfect. That's why so many people want off it."

  Saxon started to speak, but Carla squeezed his arm. One glance at her face and he swallowed his words. She was right. He'd ignore the personal slur. Carla loved him and that was enough.

  Corvan allowed himself to slump back in his seat. He was tired. Too tired to do anything but go along. He shrugged. "All right. Fill me in. Two days ago Numalo held all cards. What's new?"

  Subido kept her face carefully blank. It still hurt when she thought about Numalo's attempt on her life. Still, that was in the past. What mattered now was survival. Hers. If she moved with great care and played it just right, she could still emerge a winner. She chose her words carefully.

  "Samuel made some serious mistakes. He should've backed off and tried again later. Instead he got angry and ordered my bodyguard to kill me. That attracted a lot of press attention, and while we don't know for sure, it's safe to say the whole thing has made top WPO leadership extremely nervous. Nervous enough to start asking questions. Chances are, they contacted Samuel, told him to back off, and waited for his reaction."

  Subido gave a half smile. "Samuel doesn't know how to back off. He made plans to keep right on going.

  "That's right," Saxon added as he picked up the narration. "Apparently Numalo has a VMG, a copy of the two which had been built in this country, and he attempted to use it. The day before yesterday he arranged for an ersatz Hawkins to deny the statements made by your phony Subido." Saxon chuckled. "It's surprising how many stations and networks are owned by the WPO. They dumped the broadcast."

  Corvan remembered the lead-in to the Hawkins broadcast and how quickly it had disappeared from the screen. Now it made sense. "So they know about the VMG."

  "That's right," Saxon agreed. "You were wrong about us. We aren't hiding the VMG, we're putting things back together."

  "The way they want them," Kim added cynically, "but that's better than letting Numalo have it all."

  Corvan agreed, but didn't want to admit that in front of the others. He asked a question instead. "Is that why the vice president returned dirtside?"

  "It's nice to see that you're keeping up with current events," Saxon replied sarcastically. "Yes, even as we speak, the WPO medical staff is working to come up with a suitable cause of death, and once that's taken care of, the vice president will take his position. You'll be interested to know that the vice president's new cabinet will include an interesting mix of WPO- and Exodus Society-trained advisers."

  Corvan looked from Saxon to Subido and back. Their expressions confirmed his statement before he made it. "So the WPO and the Exodus Society have agreed to share power."

  "Yes," Saxon replied easily. "Although the WPO would tell you that they regard themselves as the senior partners in our little arrangement."

  "And are they?"

  Saxon shrugged and glanced toward Subido. "For the moment. In the fullness of time, who knows?"

  The limo took a corner, and Corvan braced himself so that he wouldn't lean on Kim's injured side. "So it's all settled," he said grimly. "You’ve divided up the spoils and now you're about to tidy up some loose ends."

  "Crudely put," Subido said, "but basically accurate."

  "And that's where I come in."

  "Yes," Saxon agreed, steepling his fingers in front of his face. "That's where you come in. With a little help from our friends we're going to cancel Numalo's ticket. The man is too dangerous to live. Properly managed, his death will be the biggest media event the world has ever seen. And who better to narrate the action than the famous Rex Corvan?"

  21

  Corvan fell softly through the interface, each layer of darkness slightly different than all the rest, sensing Kim all around him. Then he was there, drifting beside her, a shadow on a shadow. This time there was no pause, no hesitation as they came together, joyously flowing in to fill each other up.

  And somewhere far, far away, their bodies merged as well, the physical pleasure echoing down through the interface like a huge ringing of bells, the music rolling over and through them in waves. Corvan and Kim laughed with pleasure and gasped when the interface fed it back, each new wave amplified by the old.

  And they hung on as an ocean of joy lifted them up to the very top of an enormous tidal wave and carried them racing toward a distant beach. With bright blue sky above and deep blue ocean below, they skimmed the point where air and water come together, breathing pleasure through every pore, at one with each other and everything around them. And then as the bottom shelved steeply upward and the wave was forced even higher, there was a single moment of exquisite pleasure before earth and water met and exploded into complete chaos. Then the water was gone, sucked back into the ocean from whence it came, and they were left side by side on a foreign shore, the same but different, their minds and bodies still linked, but gradually drifting apart.

  It was a long time before either one spoke, so long that Corvan might have slept, though he wasn't sure. Her touch was feathery light, a gentle caressing of his mind, and reminded him of the interface. It still bound them together and made speech unnecessary.

  "Enjoyable though it is, we can't stay like this forever."

  Her thought seemed to float through his mind like colored dye in crystal-clear water. He chuckled. "Why not?"

  "Because," Kim answered gently, "they'll come looking for you. The assault is an hour away."

  Corvan felt himself involuntarily pull away. She was right. In an hour he and two thousand others would lift off for an assault on Numalo's African headquarters. Ostensibly called in by unnamed "forces of liberation" to counter Numalo's tyranny, the force consisted of WPO troopers, plus a healthy contingent of
Exodus Society "freedom fighters," and just enough African nationals to put a good face on everything. Corvan's role was to report the whole thing with Kim as his engineer.

  In many ways, however, the report was more like a script, since it had been written in advance and was far from factual. In order to protect Carla Subido, the WPO, and the Exodus Society, the report would cover up the president's murder, justify the attack on Numalo, and avoid all mention of the video matrix generator. Nothing had been said to Corvan, but he could see that those in power planned to stay in power, and continued use of the VMG would help them accomplish that.

  In other words, the script went against everything Corvan stood for and believed in. Which was why he had absolutely no intention of using it. He sent a thought Kim's way. "Is it safe to talk?"

  Kim's reply came as a feeling of reassurance. "Yes, as long as we're in the interface. But the editing suite is bugged, so watch what you say when we come out."

  "Understood," Corvan thought back. "Are you ready?"

  He sensed her mental shrug. "As ready as I'll ever be. You'll get things rolling, Martin will take care of distribution, and I'll glue it all together."

  "And then?"

  "And then we'll live happily ever after."

  "Promise?"

  "Promise," Kim thought, and began to cry.

  "Why are you crying?"

  "Because you're a selfish bastard, because you could get killed, because you'd leave me behind."

  Corvan tried to think of a strategy, some formulation of words which would make her happy, but couldn't. He settled for a kiss instead, a kiss which started on the emotional plane and was physical by the time he made his way up and out of the interface. Her tears tasted of salt as he kissed them all away and removed the jack from the side of his head.

  Clothes were scattered all over the place, and as Corvan and Kim put them on, they did their best to make bright conversation for the benefit of the eavesdroppers. But what they truly thought was in their eyes, plain for the other to see, and completely inaccessible to even the most sophisticated electronics.