Matrix Man (28 page)

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.

By unspoken agreement they made their leave-taking crisp and efficient, with Corvan running checks on his gear and Kim confirming that all systems were green. The single exception came just as Corvan was about to leave. At that point Kim ignored the possibility that someone might listen in and used the off-air intercom. "Take care, Rex. I want you back."

Corvan paused in the doorway, an alien-looking figure with the skeletal form of a robo cam perched on one shoulder and a black lens where an eye should have been. The light from the corridor beyond threw Corvan's face into shadow, but his words warmed her heart and lingered long after he was gone. "I love you, Kim."

The cruise ship was huge. Tier after tier of decks rose twenty stories up to tower over the South Atlantic, a skyscraper on a trimaran hull, an oceangoing pleasure palace turned troop ship.

Knowing that Numalo's Immortals monitored military movements which came anywhere near their master's headquarters, the combined leadership of the WPO and the Exodus Society had fallen back on the ancient concept of a Trojan Horse and packed a cruise ship with soldiers.

With its original complement of passengers being held incommunicado on the Cape Verde Islands, the ship could carry the combined attack force down along the west coast of Africa without attracting attention. After all, it was
supposed
to be there, and its cargo of rich, overfed passengers offered no threat to Leader for Life Numalo.

Or so it would seem anyway, until the host of hastily concealed tilt-rotor aircraft rose from the ship's decks and headed inland across what had once been known as Namibia. Then an escort of WPO aerospace fighters would drop out of orbit to wipe out whatever planes the Immortals were able to launch, and destroy the surface-to-air missile sites which dotted the countryside around Numalo's stronghold.

With that accomplished, the VTOL craft would land, discharge their troops, and lift off again. As they did, the tilt-rotor aircraft would turn to their secondary ground-support mission, and use their guns to chop up any reinforcements the Immortals might summon from the surrounding area.

It was, Corvan reflected, a pretty good plan, and if it survived first contact with the enemy, stood a fairly good chance of working.

As Corvan moved toward the central elevators he found himself rubbing elbows with everyone from combat-suited WPO troopers to grim-looking Exodus Society freedom fighters and the tough desert warriors of Emelda Smith-Shad, the woman chosen to replace Numalo as the leader of Unified Africa. He'd seen her shortly after boarding, a tall, willowy black woman, her eyes flashing as she spoke to an aide. She'd been around for some time, never directly challenging Numalo but close on his heels. Now she'd have her chance at power, and Corvan hoped she was up to the job. The fact that she appealed to both the WPO and the Exodus Society might mean she was a master politician or a spineless hack. Only time would tell.

A Klaxon sounded somewhere and a bored voice read orders from a printout. "All troops, report to your staging areas. I repeat, all troops, report to your staging areas. If you don't know where you are, or don't remember which staging area to report to, pick up a blue courtesy phone and give your name, rank, and serial number." Moments later the recording started all over again, this time in Arabic.

The elevator doors opened and spewed men and women in every direction. What the voice neglected to mention was that the main assembly time was already fifteen minutes in the past. These were the stragglers, well aware they were late, still hoping to avoid almost certain punishment.

Corvan had a seat reserved for himself on one of the first planes out, but not being attached to any particular unit, he could take his time. Strolling out onto one of the many sun decks which circled the craft, he looked out over the huge playing field which occupied most of the stern. It was large enough for polo, American football, soccer, or any other open field game, and it was covered with rank after rank of gleaming VTOL stealth-equipped aircraft. The combined sound of their idling engines made a thunder of sound. Tidy lines of camo-clad men and women were already snaking aboard to take their places inside. All wondered the same thing. The computers estimated that at least twenty percent of them would be casualties, so given that figure, what about them? Would they live or die?

"Impressive, isn't it?" Saxon's approach had been masked by the background sound, and he was forced to yell in order to make himself heard.

Corvan looked down to see the eagerness etched into both sides of Saxon's face, the soft morning light somehow balancing it out, reminiscent of the young officer he'd interviewed at Vandenberg years before. "Yes, it's real impressive, but kind of sad too."

Saxon frowned. "Sad? How's that? We're gonna kick Numalo's ass! There's nothing sad about that."

"There is if you're part of the twenty percent," Corvan replied, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the engines. Saxon wasn't listening anyway. He was still there, looking out over the playing field, when Corvan headed down toward his plane.

The wood-paneled halls and corridors were almost empty now, with most of the troops preparing to board their planes or already strapped in, checking their equipment one last time, praying that they would live.

Corvan thought about Kim somewhere below, sitting inside the ship's television studio, preparing for battle. Thanks to the two-way intercom, she would ride with him, a mental hitchhiker seeing what he saw and vicariously sharing his fate.

If Corvan were hit, she'd hear the scream through his ears, see the world stagger and fall through his eyes, and feel the darkness envelop him as he fell into the void. He knew she'd thought about it, feared that it might happen, but remained silent. Kim had a job to do and above all else she was a pro.