Reality Matrix Effect (9781310151330) (26 page)

“Oh?” said Keith. “Really?  A lot
of people quitting the Fleet lately?  I hadn’t heard anything
about—”

“Yeah, well they don’t like to talk
about it,” Flynn said, “but it’s true. That’s one of the things
they told us when I was at the Academy. They were real worried
about officers taking early retirement and going for civilian
retraining and Fleet not having enough qualified Academy graduates
to replace ’em. Pretty funny, ain’t it?  They want to know why
good men are leaving, but they’ll flunk a guy like me out just
because I don’t talk so good. I mean, what’s the difference how I
talk?  I didn’t sign up for Fleet training so I could be no
friggin’ English teacher!  They’re as bad as my old man,
pushin’ me all the time!”

“Take it easy, Casey,” Barnard told
him. “Like I said before, we know you got a raw deal.”

“And the employment service ain’t much
better.”  Flynn was hot now. “I sign up to learn how to fix
computers and robbies, and they still make me take all sorts of
classes that don’t mean nothin’.”

“How about the important classes?”
Wraggon baited. “You pass your course on basic component analysis
yet, Casey?  How about the one on the elements of computer and
robot architecture?”

Flynn’s face flushed an even deeper
shade of red.

“You seem to know a lot about this
field,” Keith told Wraggon soothingly, automatically trying to head
off a confrontation.
What are you doing? he scolded himself. Let
them get mad. If they get angry enough, maybe they
’
ll let their guard down and say something
important!  If there
’
s really
anything important for them to say, that is.

“Charlie ought to know a lot about
this stuff,” Barnard said, basking in the glow of his friend’s
importance. “He runs the whole Los Angeles operation for King
Robotics!”

Wraggon smiled broadly at Keith’s
whistle, but the lawyer wasn’t showing respect for Wraggon’s lofty
position. Keith was thinking about something else.
King
Robotics!  Didn
’
t one of those
reports on the Nitinol diversion say the colonial robots had
recently been serviced and replaced by King
Robotics?

“I’ve been with King for three years
now,” Wraggon said, “ever since I was 25. Took hard work to get
where I am, too, but I did it. You take a fella like Flynn, though,
he’s 25 now, and he’s not only an Academy washout, but he’s about
to disprove the employment service’s motto about how anyone who
wants to learn can be trained. Maybe you’re the exception that
proves the rule, Casey!”

Flynn glared at Wraggon with barely
controlled rage. “If it wasn’t for Tauber,” he said through gritted
teeth, “I’d kill you right here and now, you rust-brained
bastard.”

Tauber again
, Keith noted, as
Barnard tried to make peace between the other two men.

“Don’t be like that,” the merchanter
almost pleaded. “It’s just like Tauber says. It’s this weak-sister
world  and its half-assed rules that’s the enemy. We can’t go
around offing each other.”

Flynn continued to glower at Wraggon.
“Don’t worry, Vince. I ain’t gonna do nothin’. At least, I ain’t
gonna do nothin’ for now.”

Wraggon snorted and smiled. “I guess
maybe Tauber’s right,” he agreed. “The important thing’s to get rid
of those damn computers and robbies and—”

He broke off and slowly turned to
stare at Keith, who tried not to grimace as his stomach muscles
cramped themselves into an icy knot. “Wonder where my ginger ale
is,” Keith mused aloud, his fingers beating a nervous rhythm on the
tabletop. “It’s been a while, and....”

Wraggon continued to study Keith in
silence, with an occasional concerned glance at Barnard and even
Flynn. “Let me out,” he commanded abruptly.

Flynn must have sensed Wraggon’s
urgency, because he slid out of the booth without protest, and
Wraggon proceeded to the public communicators in an alcove at the
back of the room. Watching Wraggon out of the corner of his eye,
Keith smiled half-heartedly for the benefit of the others.
Meanwhile, beneath the table, he tried unsuccessfully to dry his
sweaty palms on his trouser legs.

“No need to worry about your ginger
ale,” Wraggon said in a quietly determined voice when he returned
to the booth. “We have this friend we think you ought to meet. You
can get a ginger ale at his place.”

“Oh?” Keith croaked. “That’s fine with
me. Any friend of yours is a—”

“Let’s go,” Wraggon interrupted,
turning to the others. “Tauber’s expecting us.”

Well
, Keith thought, releasing
a long, low breath,
I wanted information. Looks as though I may
get more than I bargained for.

“Look, Tauber, don’t blame me,”
Wraggon was grumbling in a corner of the room. Vince bumped into
him kind of accidental-like. He’s a friend of—”

“I know who he is,” Tauber said, his
jaw set firmly.

How would this guy know me? Keith
wondered, an adrenaline charge quickening his pulse. He wasn’t sure
whether his hormones were preparing him for fight or flight, but he
never really considered flight an option. He’d come for
information, and this looked like the place to get it. That didn’t
prevent his legs from bearing a remarkable resemblance to a pair of
rubber sticks. In any case, Tauber had blocked the exit with a
security seal, something he said he adapted from a Merchant Fleet
design.  Keith drew in a sharp breath:  Tauber’s the
Fleet lieutenant!  He’s the guy who pulled Barnard out of
Eduardo’s that night!

Keith considered helping himself to
one of the molded plastic chairs lined up at the service bar near
where Tauber and the others stood, but he decided to just wait and
watch. At the moment, they were paying little attention to him. He
didn’t want to remind them of his presence. The less aware of him
they remained, the better his chances of learning more.

Back in the corner of the room, Tauber
was glaring in stony silence from Wraggon to Barnard to Flynn. Even
at a distance, Keith could sense the authority and power in
that  look. Finally, nostrils still slightly flared, Tauber
turned to Keith.

“Have a seat, Mr. Daniels,” he said
with an insincere  smile. He picked up one of the plastic
chairs, carried it to the center of the room, and set it down with
the firm movement of an explorer planting his country’s flag in
unclaimed territory. Almost casually, he added, “It seems we have a
problem.”

Keith rounded his eyes into what he
hoped was an expression of puzzled innocence.

“My associates, here, have a tendency
to talk too much,” Tauber said. “They’re not terribly
bright—”  From the back of the room, Wraggon and the others
began to protest, but Tauber shut them up with a stern look and an
upraised hand. “They’re not terribly bright,” he repeated. “You,
however, are another matter entirely.”

Keith arched his eyebrows but said
nothing.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Daniels, I know quite a
bit about you. I did some checking after the other night at
Eduardo’s. Not only on you. On Miss Kingman and on Vince’s
girlfriend, Aurora, as well.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to do
that,” Keith said, but his voice sounded thin and reedy in his
ears, and he knew his protest merely confirmed Tauber’s suspicion
that he knew more than he should.

“Ah, yes,” Tauber said, standing
rigidly before Keith as his fingers ticked off his points: 
“Mr. Keith G. Daniels, attorney at law. Formerly deputy chief
economist for the Interplanetary Trade Commission of the United
Nations. For a short time before that, a physicist engaged in basic
research with Richardson and Davenport, Inc.” 

Tauber paused for effect and relaxed
into a military “at-ease” stance. “The ‘G’ in your name stands for
‘Gibran,’” he added. “From the last name of a Lebanese writer your
mother admired.”

Keith tried hard not to squirm beneath
Tauber’s cold, measuring gaze. He reached into the large pocket of
his blue-gray leisure-tunic. For once, the latest fashion in men’s
casual wear offered some genuine assets, he thought as he withdrew
a wrapped stick of cherry licorice.

“Care for a bite?” he offered,
striving for a nonchalance he didn’t really feel.

Tauber smiled briefly, then said,
“Thank you, no.”

Keith shrugged, unwrapped the licorice
and ripped off a chunk with his teeth. His ex-wife used to say that
his love of cherry licorice represented some kind of oral fixation.
She never could accept the idea that he simply liked the stuff.
Besides, used properly, a stick of cherry licorice provided a dandy
distraction—a way to stall for time. Keith smiled, closed his eyes
and allowed himself to savor the sweet, fruity taste of the candy
while Tauber studied him like a scientist tracking a mouse through
a maze.

“You’re romantically involved with
Miss Rayna Joanne Kingman,” Tauber said. “She’s a Los Angeles
public schoolteacher who’s also a friend of Aurora Sanger. Miss
Sanger is a former merchanter and an old love of Vince Barnard over
there.  Shall I go on?  I can give you Miss Kingman’s
address, if you wish.”

“No,” Keith said between chews,
“that’s not necessary.”  He paused to swallow. “You’re
certainly well-informed.”

“I do my homework, Mr. Daniels, and I
don’t like surprises. That’s why your arrival on the scene is
so—inconvenient.”

Keith waited expectantly, but Tauber
let his steely gaze do all the talking for him.

“As a proper guest,” Keith said, “I
naturally regret any inconvenience I might have caused
you.” 

Tauber chuckled. “Either you’re not as
smart as I thought you were or else you’re very cool under fire….
 All right, let’s get down to it. Why did you show up at the
Milk of Human Kindness, and just what did you make of what you
heard?”

Keith considered his response
carefully. Playing stupid wouldn’t work. He was sure Tauber
wouldn’t buy the act.  

“Actually,” Keith began slowly, “I was
intrigued by what Barnard had to say the other night about how
merchanters are treated by the colonists. The lawyer in me started
wondering about whether the merchanters ever thought about taking
any legal action.”

Tauber ran a hand over his
close-cropped hair, moved  the chair from a nearby desk closer
to Keith, and sat down. “Interesting idea,” he said.

Beneath his tunic, Keith’s flesh
rippled into goose bumps. He had the feeling that Tauber was
peering directly into his mind, baring his innermost doubts and
fears.

“What do you think about how the world
is run?” Tauber finally asked.

Startled, Keith cleared his throat and
rubbed his chin. “How do you mean?”

“You know,” said Tauber, “the world.
The power structure. The people who pull our strings.”

Keith helped himself to another stick
of cherry licorice and concentrated on unwrapping it. “I don’t
know. I guess I never thought much about it.”

“Well, think about it now,
Daniels.”  Tauber tugged on his laser-cauterized right
earlobe. “We’ve all gotten pretty comfortable living in a world
where computers and robots do just about anything we want them to
do. Technology’s become the great equalizer. Individual strength
and intelligence don’t matter much when machines do your physical
work and your thinking for you.”

Tauber stood and walked to his
computer/communicator console. Turning back toward Keith, he tapped
the console with two fingers.

“There was a time when a man who knew
how to operate one of these could climb pretty high in the world,”
he said. “But that was a long while ago. Before computers became
second nature. Before robots were integrated into the work force.
Now, any kid with a grade school education knows how to operate
these things.”

Keith cocked an eyebrow. “What’s your
point?”

“The point is, there’s no place left
for superior people to go.”  Tauber’s manner was calm, but his
voice was hard and chilly as he returned to his chair. “Some of us
don’t think that’s right. I’m not just talking about Wraggon and
Barnard and Flynn. There are a lot more of us. Some are pretty
powerful, despite the system we live under.”

Keith frowned. “What do you mean, ‘the
system we live under’?”

“The system,” Tauber said. “It’s plain
enough. The world today is run by and for the weak. The strong are
expected to stand politely aside and give away their birthright of
power.”

Keith took a deep breath, his mind
racing. Getting information was only half the job he’d undertaken.
The other half was leaving this place alive. Any way you looked at
it, the moment was critical. He leaned forward, eyes
alert.

“Go on,” he told Tauber. “You have my
attention. I’ve got to admit, I sometimes feel that way, too. Like
you said, I’ve tried three different professions. Each time, it was
the same story:  The rules of the game were set down by a
committee of ninnies who didn’t really know what they were
doing.”

A tight smile flashed across Tauber’s
normally stoical face. “How would you like to change all
that?”