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              MATRIX ERROR
                                            "That's the way the system works.
            by Charles B. Owen              Sometimes you get in and you     
                                            don't come out."                 
            Copyright (c) 1993



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"I tell you, Doc, the tix rate's up." 

Dr. Walter Donly reached for his keyboard and hit the system statistics hot key. Just inside his office door the husky service technician stood shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I appreciate your concern, John," Walt said as the screen filled with data, "but you know as well as I do that the matrix error rate is determined by laws of physics. It doesn't change." He gestured at the screen. "Last month's error rate was one in 188,000. That's close enough to the mean for me." 

John Beach still looked skeptical. Walt sighed and wondered if they would ever understand. Running two matrix error service calls in a single day always convinced the techs that system parameters had changed--or had been changed. John had been in before, for the same reason, as had most of the techs. Walt wondered what incident had brought this on. 

"I can call stats, too," John said. "But that doesn't explain sites that tix twice in a week. What are the odds on that?" 

"That's statistics. You throw five dice, sometimes you get Yatzee. The chance may be small, but it happens." 

"Twice in a month?" John asked. 

"For a single site?" 

"Yeah." 

In his entire service apprenticeship, Walt had never seen a site tix twice in a single week. In a morbid fashion he was jealous. "Sounds like you hit the lottery," he said. 

"Some, lottery, Doc. What are the odds, anyway?" 

Walt sighed. John was going to be tedious. But he was curious, too. "Let's see," he said, clearing the screen and summoning a statistics calculator on the office computer. John moved into the office and sat down. 

"OK, pods average thirty uses a day," he began. He was entering equations as he spoke. "The nominal error rate is one in 189,788. So the chance of an error on any particular day is..." He hit the calculate key. "...one in 6,387." 

"See what I mean," John said. 

"Now hold on. Divide that by seven, and the chance of an error in a week drops to one in 912." 

"That's still pretty high." 

"Not when you account for volume. With half a billion pods out there, one in 912 is nothing." 

"I know there's a lot of pods. But what's the chance of two errors in a week?" 

"Simple. 912 raised to the second power." He pressed the keys. 

"831,744," John announced. "Good God. You're not going to tell me that's normal." 

"John, surely you realize the scale of the transporter system. With the number of pods out there, this situation will happen on an average..." He again consulted the computer. "...over 600 times a week." 

John stared at the screen. "Damn system's murder," he said. 

"In a way, but we have to have it. How would you get to work if you couldn't tee? Hell, John, you know the odds. You work with the system." 

"Yeah, but I try not to think about them." 

"That's the way the system works. Sometimes you get in and you don't come out." No one knew that better than the service technicians. When they ran a matrix error call, it generally meant that someone had died. 

"Well, I would still like to know the chances of a single site tixing twice in one week -- two times in a month." 

"Hmm," Walt said. "That's a bit tougher." He pulled up a statistics text to help work out the equation. After entering it the result startled even him. "One in thirty five million?" 

"For me only?" John asked. 

"That's what it looks like. But there are 100,000 service technicians. It's just economy of scale." 

John abruptly stood up. "You guys always hide behind that economy of scale crap. You really don't give a shit. A lot of people are getting fried in your damn system, and you call it economy of scale. Why don't you do some checking for a change instead of spouting statistics." He turned and stormed out of the room before Walt could reply that that was what the system stats were for. The door slid shut, leaving the room echoing with indignation. 

"Damn," Walt said. He hated scenes like that, and there seemed to be an epidemic of them, lately. Most of the problem stemmed from ignorance. The techs always felt the system could be manipulated. As he had done a dozen times before, he pulled up a stock tpod physics summary and began editing it. He would e-mail it to his service section. Maybe it would calm some of them. If, of course, any of them read it. 

He looked at the report and knew it would go right over the heads of the service technicians it had been written for. They refused to accept that the natural D-Wave could not be manipulated or monitored. When a transmit D-Wave synchronized with the natural D-Wave--which it did a fixed percentage of the time--a matrix error occurred. The transmit synchronizer would burn out and the matter to be transmitted would be stuck in the D-dimension. No system failure could possibly cause that error. The equations did not lie; the odds stayed the same. 

He tried his best to work the document to a point where it would be understandable, but finally dropped it as hopeless. "Do some checking for a change," John had said. Well, he thought, maybe I will. 

He pulled John Beach's file and work log and examined them, looking for the cases in question. John hadn't been exaggerating. His double errors were real. Looking further, he saw that John's tix call rate was running ten a week--nearly twice normal. "Jinx?" Walt said. It wasn't a logical thought, but it had crossed his mind. 

He called up another record. Mike Thompson, also in his division, yielded a tix call rate of nine a week. The same held true for several other techs he checked. 

"Increased volume?" It seemed unlikely that traffic would have doubled on the system, but he checked anyway. The usage report said volume was down two percent in the last month; that certainly wasn't the problem. 

Walt was getting nervous. Matrix central continuously monitored matrix errors, maintaining stats for the system at all times. No increase in the error rate, even within a single division, should go unnoticed. 

He wrote a quick program to do a subset stat analysis through his local service link to matrix central. The program ran for a few seconds, then posted results. He stared at the screen in horror. Commercial class pods showed an error rate within one percent of the norm. Class three pods, commonly used for human transportation, were showing an average of one error in 82,134 uses. It was impossible. 

His math had to be wrong. He double checked his equations, but they proved accurate. Perhaps the small sample base of fifty thousand sites had yielded skewed results. He increased it to a million sites and ran the program again. 

This time the wait was in the minutes and, when the results were posted, the error rate had converged to one in 82,151. Either the error rate was high, or the computer had erroneous data. His service link yielded actual use statistics for individual sites. He had no reason to doubt the data's integrity. 

"What is going on?" In spite of the air conditioning, he was beginning to sweat. He hit a blue button on the wall that locked his office. He didn't want anyone to drop in while he had that information on the screen. 

Remembering the sites John had mentioned, he wondered if some sites were failing in some unknown way and had high error rates. He entered a scan routine to query for locations with higher than normal error rates, hoping that that would give him something to go on. 

He allowed the program to scan the million sites he had previously run stats on. After a few seconds a list appeared of locations with unusually high error rates. He was surprised to see the list headed by four class six industrial sites that were tixing one hundred percent. What he saw violated known physical laws. It was obvious that he didn't know all the laws, and someone else did. There was no doubt that the system was being manipulated. 

Wondering if the results went the other way, he changed parameters and ran the program again. Hundreds of sites were revealed with zero error rates over the last ten years. The problem of matrix errors could be controlled and prevented. Someone knew. Someone was not telling. 

"Matrix Computer Disconnect" popped up on the screen in a dialog box. Walt froze. Abruptly the phone rang and he nearly jumped out of his chair. 

He paused for a moment to let his breathing steady before answering the phone. 

"Dr. Donly?" a man inquired. 

"Yes?" 

"This is Matrix Control. We are seeing a high level of inquiry traffic on your channel. May I ask what you are doing?" The voice failed to mention that they had disconnected his channel. 

"Oh, the techs were saying that the error rate is up, as usual. I just was checking to make sure." 

"System statistics are available for that purpose." The man at the other end seemed more instructive than angry. Walt was really at a loss for what to say. He had been nosy, and they knew it. They undoubtedly had a log of his accesses. 

"I wanted data for my section. Stats are for the entire system," he said. 

"The accesses were not all in your section. We logged accesses system-wide." 

"Oh, I made an error in the program. Can I request stats for my section?" 

"I will forward the appropriate forms to your office. But for now, I have an order to suspend you for the day. You are logged off. Please go home." 

"Yes, sir," he replied as the line clicked dead. Walt had never heard of suspensions before. He contemplated the consequences. Would he lose his job? Why couldn't John mind his own business. 

He reached for the key to clear local session memory, but hesitated before hitting it. Instead he ran a print of the session log. Fifteen crisp white sheets slid from a slot on the side of the terminal. He then cleared the memory and pocketed the data. 

Leaving the office, he headed for the floor tpod. It waited at the end of the hall--just a sliding door and a light announcing pod availability. He stopped before entering. I'm just being paranoid, he thought, and entered the pod. He slid his ID through the reader and punched in his home address code. The unit beeped once, announcing initiation of a transmit cycle. The door had nearly closed when he slammed the abort button. 

He stepped out and eyed the pod with apprehension. He'd teed somewhere every day of his life. Sure there was risk, but he accepted that risk. Everyone did. That transporter represented his only way home. But it had taken on a new, dimension as a result of his little session of snooping. It suddenly seemed likely that he might not emerge from the other end of the transport. 

He reached in and keyed the activation sequence again. When he had pressed the last button, he pulled his hand clear so the door could close and the unit could transport several cubic meters of air to his house. The cycle light came on. The unit activated. 

The soft chiming began at the same time the matrix error indicator lit. Above the door "out of service" was blazed as if to proclaim, "sorry, you will have to go 

down the hall for your chance." Walt froze for a moment, then turned and ran. 

He didn't know where he was running to, but he had to get away from all tpods. He had to get help, to tell someone. He knew he couldn't tee anymore, so how would he reach help? He did not even know where he lived in relation to matrix central. Tpods moved the world. Now that he couldn't use them anymore, he felt stranded. 

Then he remembered the air cars. He was even on the correct level. He had used the cars during his apprenticeship as a service technician. When a pod suffered a receive failure, a tech had to get to it some other way, so matrix central maintained a fleet of air cars and small spacecraft. He headed for the docks. 

When he reached the dock entrance, he tried to remember air car procedures. It had been ten years since he had flown one, but they mostly flew themselves anyway. He remembered the check-out routine, but with no valid service ID or authorization that wouldn't work. 

As he walked in the door he surveyed the docking area. The vast room was filled with the large delta wing vehicles, some parked in neat rows ready for use, others in various stages of disassembly. One sat in launch position, pointed down the launch corridor. 

"I need to check out an air car," he said to the boy at the entrance. The only occupant of the room, the young man looked all of seventeen. He wore a flowered shirt and a smudge on his chin revealed a desire for manliness through blade shaving. Of course, he was in charge of air cars. On the desk he had the usage log and a full box of key cards. 

"I need to see your ID, work order, and authorization," he said. 

"Here is my ID," Walt said, handing over the card. "I don't need authorization, I'm a supervisor." It never hurts to try, he thought. 

"I can't issue based on just an ID, sir. I'll have to call for authorization." He reached for the phone. 

Sometimes the best way is the direct way, Walt thought. It worked on tri-V. As the boy's hand snaked toward the phone and he was looking down, Walt bundled his fingers into a fist and slugged the kid with all his might. The boy, chair and all, fell backwards to the floor. 

Walt hoped that he had knocked him out, but he hadn't. The boy jumped up from the floor and for a moment Walt was afraid he would be involved in a fist fight. But the kid cowered back into the corner, obviously not wanting any more trouble. 

Walt grabbed the phone and yanked. Expecting the wonderful movie gesture of wires ripping free from the wall, he instead found the wire to be quite strong, so he resorted to throwing the phone to the floor. The plastic case, not designed for such abuse, shattered. 

He grabbed his ID and the box of keycards. Running to the ready car, he heard the boy escaping out the door. He would have very little time to get going. He jumped in the car, sealed the door, and began trying cards. The fifth card he tried activated the control panel. He dropped the box of cards, flipped the controls to manual, and jammed the throttle all the way forward. Acceleration forced him into the seat as the air car flashed down the launch corridor and into the sky. 

Once clear of the opening it began to drop. Walt grabbed at the yoke and pulled. The craft yawed to the right, then pulled up, just clearing a stand of trees. He had overcorrected and the ship almost stalled, but he pushed forward lightly and leveled out. It had been years since his training, but the motions quickly returned. Soon he had control of the car and was confronted with the awful decision of where to go. 

He pulled the crumpled sheave of papers from his pocket. The top page gave the address. He punched it into navigation and felt the car assume automatic control. It veered to the right and began to ascend. 

As the air leveled out, Walt wondered if he would be followed. The only use for air cars was transporter pod maintenance, so he didn't expect to meet any normal traffic. Of course, the key cards for all the cars in the dock were scattered on the floor at his feet. If duplicates existed, they would take a while to find, he was sure. He always likened TP Technologies to an elephant--damn big, and awfully slow. Obviously, at some higher level that was not the case. Still, that level had to deal with the norm, and the norm consisted of two million employees and no one in charge. 

The air car released to manual after two hours flight time. Walt found himself over a wooded valley occupied by a single log cabin. Far in the distance another cabin could be seen, but the spacing was several kilometers. John Beach obviously liked his privacy. 

The yard in front of the house had a clearing large enough to land the craft. He sat the car down gently in the grass, hoping to cause little damage to the idyllic setting. 

"What the hell," he heard as the hatch opened. The noise had apparently aroused John. Walt reasoned that he was the first visitor John had ever had via air car. He stepped out to meet his host. 

"Donly!" John stood there in the grass. He was barefoot and holding a beer. For the first time, Walt noticed his pot belly. With the diet drugs available, he wondered if the belly had been grown on purpose to achieve a look John particularly desired. 

"I've got to talk to you," Walt said. 

"I guess you do. Why didn't you just tee in, like regular folk." John was getting quite a kick out his guest's strange arrival. 

"John, I need your help. I checked into what you said, and I found something real bad. Can we talk?" 

"Sure, come on in." 

"I'd better not. You may be in danger, too. Can you come with me?" 

"Good God, Doc. You show up in an air car in the middle of the afternoon and want me to go flying? I haven't done anything. Why should I be in danger." 

"You wanted me to check. I did. Someone is tampering with the tpod error rate." 

"I told you so." 

"Now they're trying to kill me. They may try to kill you, too. Right now, I don't trust any tpods, including your house unit." 

John stared at Walt for a moment, then glanced back at the house. "Give me a sec," he said and ran into the house. Less than a minute later, he emerged in a denim jacket and boots, with two beers. 

Not normally the drinking type, Walt gratefully accepted one. "Get in," he said, jumping back in the air car. Once John was buckled in he lifted off, turned 

east, and began to relate his story. 

"Where are we going, now?" John asked as he examined the computer printouts. 

"I figured we would try to find a tri-V network or some other news agency to break this. With enough publicity, we would be safe," Walt said. "I don't think we can go to the police. They would probably arrest me for stealing the air car, and TP would get me the moment they pop me in a pod." 

"So, where..." John began. The sky suddenly flared a brilliant white. Both men closed their eyes against the glare. Then the shock wave hit, and the air car began tumbling. John grabbed the controls, yelling, "let me." He fought them madly as the sky and ground did wild acrobatics. Trees below burst into flames, then were uprooted by the shock wave. As the ship tumbled the men caught brief glimpses of a rising mushroom cloud in the distance. 

After a desperate battle, John managed to level the craft out. He got it back on an easterly course. "Minimal damage," he said as he surveyed the instrumentation. "We seem to be ok, but if that was a nuke, we're irradiated now." 

"I doubt it. I bet there was no radiation at all," Walt replied. 

"What do you mean. That was a nuke if I ever saw one." 

"A different kind of nuke. Are you familiar with energy venting?" 

"Sure. I sometime work on an EV unit. It drains energy from matrix error mass loss and converts it to electricity." 

"Yeah, but do you know how they work?" Walt asked. 

"No, not really. I guess it's similar to other tpods. They use the same parts." 

"When something--or someone--is tixed, they are stuck in the D-dimension. Matter isn't stable there, so it converts directly to energy. EV units tap that energy in a controlled way by generating a simultaneous transmit and receive D-Wave for the same location. This causes an energy release from the field. The energy level is determined by the intensity of the field. Many people know that. What most people don't know is that any tpod can be used as an EV unit, since most tpods transmit and receive. A lot of safeguards have to be overridden, but it can be done." 

"They detonated the tpod in my house?" John had turned white, obviously realizing for the first time that he had become a target, too. 

"I think so. The problem with using a regular tpod as an EV is that the vent can't be controlled. It just dumps a large mass equivalence instantly. The best it can be toned down to would be the equivalent of a medium nuke," Walt said. "Like that." 

"You son of a bitch," John yelled. "You led them to me. Now they're after me, too." John had regained his color and was glaring at Walt. He looked ready to kill. 

"You started this, John," Walt replied. "You asked me to do the checking. Now we're in this together." 

"But you could have stayed your distance. You didn't have to lead them to me." 

"Hell, I don't think I led them to you. I had your coordinates already, so I didn't have to inquire of navigation. They may have been going to hit you anyway. I probably saved your life." 

"I doubt that," John said. He looked unconvinced. "How do you know they can't track this air car?" 

"I don't think they can. If they could, why would they wait for us to be out of range? They sure missed." 

"They didn't miss my house." 

"I think I would rather be alive and homeless, if I were you," said Walt. "We had best work together. You have any ideas?" 

"Well, where the hell are we going. You've got us pointed east, but that means nothing to me. I live by tpod coordinates." 

"I seem to remember reading that the major tri-V nets are all on the east coast. I think New York. I remember some geography from school. New York is on the east coast of the Americas, and I think that's where we are, so I'm heading that way." 

"How will we find the right place when we get there." 

"Hell, John, you got any ideas?" Walt looked at him. "I'm doing the best I can to get us out of this mess. Maybe we'll look for antennas. We could ask directions." 

"Great. Sarcasm. Antennas might work." He added, "I think I live near the coast. I saw a map when I bought the cabin. New York should be north, if I remember correctly." He adjusted their course. 

They flew for over an hour above terrain that varied from long, empty fields to mountain peaks. Occasionally a small town or city dotted the landscape, to be replaced again by green grass and pasture land. They marveled at the feeling of flight, so seldom felt in a world of instantaneous transportation. 

Suddenly the land became water. Below them waves broke on the beach. Even in the filtered cabin, the ocean smell hung heavy in the air. They turned north and followed the coast line until an island city came into view. 

"New York?" John asked. They were both straining to see in the haze. The sun was setting, painting the shiny box world ahead in shades of red and gold. 

"I guess so. Hell, I don't know. Let's give it a try." They swooped down over the city like a bird of prey. Every building seemed to have at least one antenna, but few had more. "See that one," Walt said, pointing at a mirrored skyscraper to the north. 

"Yeah. Looks like a farm on the roof. Let's give it a try." 

They flew to the building. Dozens of antennas sprouted from the roof, but a large, cleared circle with a painted red X marked a landing spot. The paint had faded, but the area was clear. John sat the craft down on the pad and they disembarked. 

A cool, evening breeze cut through their clothes and occasional gusts threatened their balance. "Tough wind up here," John said. 

"Over here." Walt pointed at a red brick block with a door. It looked like the access way for the roof. "Let's try it." 

The door was unlocked. Upon entering they found themselves at the top of a stairwell that spiraled off to the left, circling an open center shaft. 

They went down one flight and looked at the door. The handle had been lost long ago. "Let's try the next one," Walt said. They found it unlocked and pushed it open. It bumped against something, then gave way. 

"Gosh, you scared me half to death," the girl said. Her whitened cheeks 

formed a contrast to the heavy rouge she had applied. She reached up and brushed an offending strand of blond hair from her eyes, stalling for time as she regained composure. "What were you doing in the stairwell?" 

"We are trying to find the press," Walt said. "Are we close?" 

"This is the GTV building," she replied. Walt breathed a sigh of relief. Global Tri-V was one of the biggest networks. They would help. 

"I need to talk to a reporter," he said. He felt no need to explain to this girl He wanted to go straight to someone important. "Can you get someone?" 

"Ok," she said and zipped from behind the desk, not turning her back until well out of range. A hallway extended the breath of the building. She disappeared to the right at the end of the hall. 

"Thank goodness," John said. "Let's get this mess over with. Someone in TP owes me a house and I intend on taking it out of his hide." 

"I wish it were as simple as replacing your house," Walt replied. He gazed down the hall, anxious for an end to the affair. He noticed the tpod on the left near the end of the hall The blue availability light glowed above the door. He shuddered for a moment, then calmed. 

The reporter stepped into the hall and headed toward them with long, confident strides. Walt could feel her assessing them as she approached, wasting no time getting to the story. Her business suit clung tightly to her slim body with no loose cloth. Her hair was cropped close in a style that could grace the screen, yet not get in the way. She brandished a notepad as a warrior would a gun. 

"Shiela Haskel, GTV," she said when she was within range. She extended her hand. "What can I do for you." 

Walt shook her hand. "I'm Dr. Walt Donly. This is John Beach. We're employees of TP Technologies, and we've got quite a story." 

"Come with me to my office," she said. "We'll be more comfortable there." She turned on her heels and the men followed. Walt noticed the secretary regaining her territory, obviously glad to be back in charge of her little corner of the world. 

They went down the hall and entered an elevator. "My office in on level eighteen," Shiela said, pressing the button. "Perhaps you can tell be what this is about?" 

Walt began telling her of the information he had discovered and his subsequent flight. The elevator stopped. They exited and went down another hall to a corner office. He paused while they entered. "Please be seated," she said, motioning at the two chairs facing the desk. Walt wondered if most news stories involved two people. 

"Please continue," she said, all the while jotting notes. Other than an occasional "OK," or "Right," she let Walt relate the story uninterrupted. 

"Are you sure this is not just statistics at play?" she asked when he had finished. She appeared unimpressed by the magnitude of the tale. 

"If it weren't for those four sites, I couldn't be certain. I guess odds could be pushed, but not that far. Those sites are impossible. Someone is doing that." 

"And I know I've been seeing more tixs than usual in the last few months," John added. 

"Do you have any physical evidence?" she asked. Walt eyed her for a moment. Was she skeptical, or just thorough? 

"I have this," he said, handing over the prints he had run earlier. She thumbed through them for a moment, apparently absorbing the data. 

"What do these numbers really mean, Doctor?" 

"What do you mean?" he inquired. 

"In lives." 

He had avoided thinking in those terms before. "I didn't run that number." 

"Care to hazard a guess?" 

"Oh, an extra twenty million a year. Maybe more." The magnitude of the problem struck home for the first time. "Can't you get this on the air and stop it?" he begged. 

She sat the papers down and clasped her hands over the desk. "I would like to, but there is a problem. I can't break a story like this without physical evidence or independent corroboration. It's too big." 

"What," John yelled. "You mean you're not going to do anything?" 

"We are going to do something. I really want to blow this story wide open. This is huge, but we have to be careful. You are not the first to make such a claim." 

"Not the first?" Walt asked. 

"No. About fifty years ago, an employee of TP came to GTV and said that matrix errors could be controlled and TP management was using them to produce power. He had internal prints and statistics to prove it." 

"You mean you've known this for fifty years?" 

"Hold on. The guy turned out to be a fraud. The prints he had were faked. We aired the story and raised quite a ruckus, only to be sued by TP. Hell, TP damn near ended up owning the place. It hurt the network's credibility, so we have to be real careful about our sources, especially on a story like this." 

"You don't believe us," John said. His hands were balled up in fists. 

"Of course I believe you. For one thing, you came here by air car. That's not what I would call a normal occurrence. And there are two of you. These prints could be fake, but they look real. We will just have to find some way to prove this." 

"What about my house?" John asked. "Surely someone noticed!" 

"Let me check." Shiela activated the terminal on her desk and entered a command sequence. "Here it is. A large meteorite impact occurred in eastern Tennessee earlier today. According to government sources, the meteorite struck in a sparsely populated area, destroying a few homes and a great deal of timber. Casualties are minimal. End of story. There you go." 

"Meteorite, my ass," John exclaimed. 

A slow whistle escaped Walt's lips. "Would seeing the computer results yourself be sufficient proof?" he said. 

"You're crazy," John said. 

"Calm down, John," Walt said. To Shiela, "we might be able to get in." 

"If I could verify personally that this information came from the matrix computer, I could break the story. Without that assurance, I'm stuck." She seemed sincere in her desire to air the story. 

"You realize they tried to kill us before?" Walt said. 

"I'm a reporter. I get the story. Don't worry about me, I'll carry my weight." She jumped up from the seat and grabbed 

a small case that was on the floor by the desk. "Let's get going. I don't want to hang around here too long." 

Walt rose from the chair. John stared at him, his mouth gaping open. "You coming?" Walt asked. 

He regained his composure. "What the hell. Besides," he added, looking around the room. "I'll bet meteorites travel in bunches." 

Shiela exited the office, with the others close behind. "Can you give me a tee address?" she asked. 

"There's no way you'll get me in a tpod right now," Walt said. "And the pods at matrix central are all locked. We'd better fly. The air car is on the roof." 


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They settled in for the flight. The air car only had two seats, so Shiela sat on the console between the two men. The men intermittently dozed, lulled by the soft drone of the blowers and the rushing air. Shiela spent the majority of the flight marveling at the vast world below her. Outside a blanket of darkness was covering the world, increasing the contrast of city lights and isolated homes. 

Since Walt and John both knew matrix central's coordinates, internal navigation flew the car. The flight was uneventful. For a brief period the hectic pace of the day had abated. Walt tried not to think of what lay ahead. 

"You awake," Shiela asked. 

"Yeah," Walt answered, though his eyes remained closed. 

"This is something people don't see anymore." She gestured at the shadowy ground and the sun just touching the horizon. "Tpods took that away." 

"In a way, but they gave us much in return." 

"I just wonder if the sacrifices have been worth it?" she said. 

"I don't know," Walt said and went back to sleep. 

When the arrival alarm sounded, it was pitch black outside. The chiming was all too similar to the matrix error alarm and jolted both men from their sleep. Walt cleared the alarm and took the controls. John began to scan the horizon for lights. 

"Where are we?" Shiela asked. 

"We're approaching matrix central. We should see lights any moment now," Walt said. 

"Maybe not," John said. "Matrix central has no windows. It's just a big rectangular building. We may not be able to see it in the dark." 

"Any suggestions?" Walt asked. 

"We could wait for morning," Shiela suggested. 

"I'd rather not," Walt said. "Navigation says we are approaching, but I don't see a thing. What about landing lights? For the air cars." 

"The air car bays are on the south side," John said. "We're east, or maybe north east, so they wouldn't show. You might try swinging to the south." 

Walt banked the car to the left until navigation reported they were south of the building. "There we go." He pointed so the others would see the light green, flashing beacon for themselves. 

"That would be the launch bay," John said. "You want to go in there?" 

"I don't think so. We will need the surprise. I'm going to put down on the ground. We'll walk in." 

"Can we get in from outside?" Shiela asked. 

"Sure," John said. "There's recreational areas on the ground. Nothing's fenced that I know of." 

"Will there be guards?" she asked. 

"I hope not," John answered. 

"I doubt it," Walt added. "Matrix central is real big. Something like a half million people work here. I'll bet there are several hundred exits. Security would be strapped to cover them all. Besides, all the tpods are locked and no one else has air cars but TP." 

"And you," Shiela added. 

"Yeah, and they'll know that. But this is the last place they would expect us to go." 

"Let's hope so," John said. 

They sat the air car down in a clearing several hundred meters from the building. A large rock pile, probably unearthed when the building was built, shielded the craft from view. "They'll probably find this come daylight," Walt said as they began walking toward the building. "We'd better hurry." 

The quarter moon provided little illumination to walk by, slowing their travel. Occasionally one of them exclaimed softly as a toe was stubbed or balance lost. They saw each other only as outlines. 

"Shame TP doesn't have a lighted night rec area," John whispered. 

"They probably do, on the north side of the building," Walt replied. He touched the rough surface of a wall. "Here we are. There should be an entrance pretty soon." 

It was still several hundred meters before Walt whispered "here's the door," and stopped so the others could catch up. "Any last requests," he asked. 

"Real funny," John said. 

Walt slowly turned the knob. When it reached its limit he pulled it open a crack and peered inside. The bright interior stung his eyes initially, but they quickly adjusted. The door ended a hallway that traveled as far as he could see. No one was in sight. He swung the door open and entered, with John and Shiela following close behind. 

"It's a big operation," Walt whispered. "Just act normal and no one will question us." 

"What about IDs," John asked. 

"I doubt if anyone will notice we're not wearing any. If it becomes a problem we'll just have to wing it." 

He led them down the hall to the nearest elevator. "We'll have to go to the service tech support level." He summoned the elevator, which promptly arrived with a light chime. Each of them looked around, as if to assure themselves the sound had gone unnoticed. They stepped in and Walt pressed the button labeled twenty two. 

When the door had closed he said "Our best bet is to get an ID and go to one of the other tech supervisor's offices." 

"How are you going to do that?" Shiela asked. 

"I'll bet our big friend here would love to vent some pent-up frustrations. Right, John?" 

"Damn straight!" he answered. 

The elevator opened, revealing the twenty second floor hallway, a twin of the first floor, but busier. Service techs, obvious in blue coveralls, mulled around in the hall and a low din of conversation could be heard. Vague mechanical sounds emanated from repair shops on 

the floor. With Walt in the lead, they stepped from the elevator and headed to the right. The techs appeared undisturbed in their conversation. 

At a random door Walt stopped. The name Eric Garver was etched into the metal door panel. A lighted, blue button by the door signaled Eric's presence and availability. "Let's make it quick," Walt whispered. He pressed the button and the door slid open. 

"May I help you?" the man said as they stepped into the room. He peered up at them through unfashionable wire rim glasses that perched on an excessive nose. He sat, with his hands frozen on the terminal keyboard, awaiting an answer. 

Shiela was the last in the door. She pressed the close and lock buttons behind her. As the door slid closed, John and Walt collided as each began a clumsy pounce. Walt jumped out of the way and allowed John to grab the man behind the desk. Papers flew off the desk in the struggle as John subdued the man's arms with one hand and prevented him from screaming with the other. When the pandemonium had settled, he had the man in a bear hug. "Now what do we do with him?" he asked. 

Walt glanced around the spartan office. "We need to subdue him," he stated, "but I don't see anything." 

Shiela was rummaging in her case, and pulled out a piece of wire. "Try this. It's a tri-V power cord. I'll record on batteries, anyway." 

John grabbed the wire and started tying Garver up. "Just keep quite and you won't get hurt," he said before removing his hand. "We need something for his mouth." 

"Use his belt," Walt said. 

"Right," John replied. He stripped the man's belt and used it as a makeshift gag. When the man was secure, he pulled his ID and handed it to Walt. "Here you go." 

Walt sat down at the desk. He didn't really need the ID, since the terminal was still logged on. He cleared the previous activity and then tried to decide what best to do. 

"Could you reproduce those stats you showed me?" Shiela asked, leaning over the desk. 

"I could, but that would probably alert the sysop again. What about the high rate sites?" he asked. 

"Let's start there. You need these?" She held out the prints he had given her earlier. 

"Yeah." He selected site history for each of the four locations. The screen displayed the locations and the recent error logs. "There you go." 

"You're right," she said. "Why would they make some locations do that?" 

"I don't know," Walt said. 

"Could we go there and check it out?" she asked. 

"No way. Those locations are type six industrial pods, no interconnect to type three pods. There's a service pod listed, but it's locked." He pointed at a key icon next to the entry on the screen. 

"Enter code 43W," John said. 

Walt entered the code and the key icon disappeared. "I didn't know you could override a lock remotely," he said. 

"They had a bad run of locks. They gave us the override codes to simplify getting to the sites and replacing the lock card. I can override most local safeguards." 

"Could you detonate a site?" Shiela asked. 

"Before yesterday, I never would have believed that was possible, but I don't think so. Doc said that takes simultaneous transmit and receive. I've never heard of a code to override mode separation." 

"I would think it would be tough," Walt said. "Maybe that's why they missed us. It took too long to set up." 

"Can we get to the site now?" Shiela asked again. 

"Sure, by tpod," Walt said, brandishing the pilfered ID. "I doubt if anyone suspects our Mr. Garver." 

"Will we all three fit in a pod?" 

"I'd better stay here and monitor you," John volunteered. "I would rather not go exploring right now, anyway." 

Walt clipped the ID on. "Ok, you stay. If we are very long, get to another office. You might try to call GTV if the phone system's not monitored." 

"Give them my name and tell them what is going on," Shiela added. "I don't know what they could do, but the more people who know, the better." 

"Ok," John said. "Get going. I'll watch from here." 

Walt and Shiela left the room. Looking back as they walked down the hall, Walt noticed John had re-locked the door. 

"You think the tpod will be safe?" Shiela asked. 

"I hope so. As safe as usual, at least." They reached the pod at the end of the hall, and stepped in together. He entered the address for one of the sites and activated the transporter with the stolen ID. The scene through the door view port changed to a high ceiling room full of plumbing and machinery. 

"Where are we?" Shiela asked. Her voice echoed over the sound of a roaring exhaust fan. 

"Looks like a small factory." Walt sniffed at the air. There was a distinct ozone smell to the room, intermingled with lubricants and solvents. There was something else, also. "Do you smell salt?" 

"I sure do. Do you think we're by the sea?" 

"Smells like it. The ocean has a definite smell to it." He walked farther into the room. "What is all this?" 

"You're asking me? Where's that pod?" 

"I think that's it over there." He led her over to a large box painted the same utility gray as all the other equipment in the room. "Industrial unit. Here's the control panel." He pointed to a panel mounted on the side of the unit. It was covered with gauges and indicators and had a screen indicating standby status. 

Suddenly a large motor started. It groaned before catching hold, then accelerated to a steady speed. Momentarily startled, Walt walked over to the pod chamber and wiped dust from the view port. "It's filling with water," he said. 

"Sea water?" she asked, walking over to look for herself. He noticed that she had taken out the compact tri-V recorder and was filming. 

"I guess so. It doesn't look very clean." The pump stopped. Walt suspected that the chamber was full. Then the chamber was empty. "It activated." 

"Who would transport sea water?" Shiela asked. "Space use?" 

"Not sea water," Walt said. He walked over to the control panel. The red indicator confirmed his suspicion. "And that water didn't go anywhere. It got tixed. This site has a 100% error rate, remem 

ber?" 

"But why tix water." 

"Energy," Walt realized. "They're adding energy to the system. Do you know where our energy comes from?" 

"I know it's a by-product of the tpod system. TP Technologies produces all the power." 

"When something gets tixed," Walt said, "it's converted directly to energy in the D-dimension. TP taps that energy. But you can't tap energy that isn't there. There must not be enough energy in the system to meet demand, so they created these plants to add energy to the system. A few hundred liters of sea water is a lot of energy." 

"That makes sense," Shiela said. "But what does that have to do with the odds changing on human transportation?" 

"I don't know, but this does prove that matrix errors can be controlled." 

"We had a matrix error in the office last week," Shiela said. "They sent someone out to service the pod. Will someone be coming to service this one?" She looked apprehensive. 

"A tix blows the transmit D-wave synchronizer. It has to be replaced. Look!" He pointed at a small robot arm attached to the pod mechanism. It removed an access panel and pulled the burnt transmit synchronizer from the opening. Discarding it on one conveyer belt it reached to another and picked up a new unit, which it promptly installed, closing the hatch behind it. "It's automatic," Walt said. 

"Don't move," said a husky voice from behind them. "Put your hands on your heads and turn around slowly." 

Obeying, they turned to face a tall man in a dark red uniform with a handgun. He had a lopsided scowl and needed a shave. "What are you doing here?" he asked. 

Walt and Shiela just stood there. "Who are you?" the man asked. 

When they still did not reply, the guard led them to the service tpod and told them not to move as he phoned for instructions. "What are they going to do to us?" Shiela whispered as the guard discussed the situation on the phone. 

"What do you think?" Walt replied, nodding at the waiting tpod. 

"Yes, sir," the guard said and hung up the phone. He hit the open button. "Into the pod. Both of you!" 

"We've all gotta go sometime," Walt said as he stepped in. Shiela hesitated, and was violently shoved in by the guard. 

"Yeah," Shiela said, "I guess so." The guard reached in and entered an address. As the door closed, Walt wondered if the guard knew what was going to happen to them. 

The scene through the view port was replaced by a room containing a desk, another guard, and a well dressed executive type. The guard stood watch in the corner of the room. The other man was sitting behind a large desk sparsely populated by a few folders, a telephone, and a computer terminal. 

The pod opened and Walt and Shiela stepped into the room. The man behind the desk stood up when he recognized them. 

"It's you," he exclaimed. "We've been searching matrix central. How the hell did you get to Orlando?" 

Walt looked at Shiela, then turned back to the man and shrugged his shoulders. 

He picked up the phone and dialed. "Hart in Central here. Donly and the reporter are here. We picked them up in the Orlando facility. Yes. Beach must still be in the building. Good." He hung up the phone. 

"Where's John Beach?" His pause brought no reply. "Ok, you guys. I think there are some things you need to know. We've been tracking you since yesterday. I think you realize the magnitude of what you've stumbled onto. Surely you realize that we are not going to let you broadcast it to the world. We are prepared, however, to make arrangements for you that could be quite comfortable." 

"We've seen your arrangements," Walt said. 

"Yes, you have. But if you are willing to work with us, there is no reason why you should be in danger. We are not vicious killers." 

"Twenty million a year?" Shiela asked. 

"That's not your concern. I want you to tell me were John Beach is. Then if you will help us analyze the weaknesses in our security system, your help will not go un-rewarded." 

"We split up," Shiela injected. "I don't know where he is now." 

"Was he in matrix central when you split up?" 

"No," Shiela replied. "He decided to take off into the woods when we got there, figuring he would be safer." 

Hart slammed his palm down on the desk. "Bullshit," he yelled. "You think this is a game? Do you want me to get Mike here to beat the crap out of both of you? He'd like to." The big guard smiled. "I need answers, and I need them now. Where's Beach?" 

Walt looked at the man and drew up his best movie scowl. Perhaps it would be better to go for the guard, rather than awaiting fate. He judged the distance and tried to estimate Shiela's reaction. A quick pounce would be unexpected, and might catch him by surprise. If only he could get that gun. 

Walt was bracing himself for the useless jump when the phone rang. "Yes," Hart answered. A startled look replaced the anger on his face. "Where are you?" he asked, then "I can't do that." 

The blast knocked everyone down. Walt grabbed his ears. They were ringing so loudly that he could barely hear. "What was that?" he heard Shiela yell. She, too, was gripping her head. Hart was on the floor, the phone dangling by his side. The guard had dropped his gun and was scrambling to grab it. Walt leaped for it, but was too late. The guard was up and had them both covered again. 

Hart slowly rose. He picked up the phone again. "Ok, but you won't get far," he said. "Get into the pod," he said to Walt and Shiela. As soon as they were inside, he said "They're in." The door slid shut and the unit activated. Walt noted that no address had been entered. 

They stepped out into another hallway. John was running toward them. "You OK?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Walt said. "And you better keep it down. Where are we? And what happened?" 

"You're four floors above service tech support," John said as he gestured for them to follow. He was moving quickly. "We had better get out of here, quick. It won't take long for them to trace that transport. I was monitoring you and noticed a tee to your location from matrix central followed by another tee back. I figured you guys got caught. The termi 

nal gave me a service phone for the pod you teed to, so I called it. The guy who answered obviously had you, so I threatened him." 

"But what was that blast," Shiela asked. 

"An old maintenance trick. If the door close mechanism fails, you can't tee to a site to repair it. That means travel by air car in some cases. Recently, they gave us a door fail-safe override. Now we can tee in with the door open." 

"But you didn't tee in," Walt said. 

"No, I just activated a tee from the first empty pod I found. Directed it all from the terminal. You tee anything, including air, into an un-evacuated pod, and the air sitting in the pod already is displaced, like real fast. About a nanosecond, if I remember right. Makes a hell of a sound." 

"I'll be damned," Walt said. "We had better find another office and hide. They may trace the terminal that ordered the pod activation." 

"Good idea," John said. They entered an elevator. John slid his hand down every selector in the elevator, telling the elevator to stop at every floor. "That'll make us harder to trace." When they reached tech support they got out and went to another office, commandeering it as they had done previously. 

"Now what do we do," Shiela asked. 

"I think we ought to get back to GTV," John said. "Do you have enough dope to nail this mess?" 

"Yes. Can we get out of here now?" she replied. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Walt said. "If they can tix twenty million people a year, how big a deal would nuking a few hundred thousand in New York be. They may be monitoring for any pod traffic to GTV." 

"I could just call it in," Shiela said. 

"I bet not. They're probably monitoring all outgoing lines. Calling would just give our position away." 

"Well, do you have any ideas?" John asked. 

"I think we should try to put a stop to this," Walt said. 

"Releasing a news story should do that," Shiela said. 

"Do you really think we can get a story like this out of this building? Do you want to bet on whether the phone lines are tapped? We need leverage." 

"What kind of leverage?" John asked. 

Walt thought. He saw no immediate escape from their dilemma. The control of matrix errors went very high, probably to Julius Bartholemew, the executive board of TP, or higher. And the controllers possessed the equivalent of nuclear weapons. They could risk it and go to GTV, but the chances of the story getting on the air had to be slim. "Where would the matrix errors be controlled from?" he wondered out loud. 

"It could be anywhere," John said. "All it would take would be a terminal with special access codes." 

"But a terminal would have to go through building switching, wouldn't it?" 

"I don't know. I've never worked with terminals other than the service ports." 

"Would a terminal be secure enough to control this?" Shiela asked. 

"I guess so," Walt said. "Of course, any activity can be monitored at the matrix computer main system console. That's how they caught me meddling with the matrix error records. Even if we found the right terminal, the sysop would catch us." 

"It seems," John said, "like the system console would be the ideal location for controlling the error rate." 

"You're right," Walt said. "Even if there are other terminals, all system functions are available from the system console." 

"Where is it?" Shiela asked. 

"It's adjacent to the the matrix computer," Walt said. "That's the basement if I remember right." 

"Yeah," John added. "They showed us the system during orientation. Just a bunch of racks and the system console. I don't remember anyone else being on the floor at the time." 

"Can we get to it," Shiela asked. 

"It should be heavily protected," Walt said. "Let's see if we can tee in." He activated the terminal, using their latest host's ID to log in. "I don't see any pods on that floor," he said after a moment of perusing records. 

"There has to be," John said. "That's how we got to the floor during the tour." 

"Well I don't see anything listed," Walt said. "That would be one way of securing the floor from unauthorized personnel. Either way, we can't tee in." 

"What about elevators," Shiela asked. 

"I didn't see any floors below one in the elevators," Walt said. "You hit all of them, John. Did you see any?" 

"No, I didn't. I doubt if the elevator goes down there. If it did, they wouldn't have teed us in." 

"True," Walt said. "No elevator and unlisted tpods. The only thing left would be stairs. I wonder if they go to that level?" 

"Only one way to find out," John said. 

They left the office and walked to the end of the hall. A door panel with a graphic step icon opened to allow them in the stairwell. They began down. 

"How far," asked Shiela. 

"We're on twenty two," John said. "Figure that many flights." 

Spiraling downward toward the basement, they eventually reached the end of the stairs and faced a blank, red, door panel. 

"How do we open it?" asked John. 

"I don't see an access pad," Walt said. "All the rest of the floors had access pads. This must be exit only. No way in." 

"I've got tools in my kit," Shiela said. "Could we break in?" 

"I doubt it," said John. "I don't see any panels or hinges we could remove, and the door's sealed." 

"I don't think we can get in from here," Walt said. "Let's go up a level and see if we can find another way down." He started back up the stairs with the others following. 

The next level had a normal access pad. He pressed it and the door opened to a huge room filled with the sound of buzzing fans. "Looks like computer equipment on this floor also," he said. 

"They distinctly said in the tour that the matrix computer is all contained on the bottom floor. Of course, that was several years ago. Maybe they expanded." 

"Or this may be support equipment," Walt said. "Input/output gear and tpod links." He looked at the large, featureless racks. Each had a plate with the words "TP Technologies, Inc." and a seven digit model number. "Probably link equipment," he ventured. "TP buys its computers." 

"Is all this equipment connected to 

tpods?" Shiela asked. She had activated the tri-V recorder again. 

"It probably connects tpods to the matrix computer," Walt said. He looked down. "I'll bet this floor has a maze of wiring under it." 

John glanced down at the white floor tiles. "False floor?" he asked. 

"It looks like computer flooring," Walt said. "The tiles lift out to allow easy access to the wires. I don't see any overhead cabling, so it must be under the floor." Suddenly he saw what John was getting at. "And that cabling probably goes to the main computer. There may be an access-way." 

John and Walt began examining the floor for a way to get under it as Shiela continued recording. "How do they get the tiles up?" John asked. 

"There's a special handle with two suction cups on it. I've see it done. It's a common item, so there may be one lying around somewhere." 

They all began to search for the floor tool. After a few minutes of searching behind and over racks, Shiela pointed at the top of a rack. "Is that one?" 

"Yeah," Walt said, grabbing the tool. He set it on one of the floor tiles and lifted. The tool lifted. The tile remained seated. 

"Press the lever," John said. 

Walt noticed the lever on the top of the tool and, placing the tool back in place, he activated it. This time the tile lifted. It was much heavier than he expected, so it was a struggle to get it out of the hole. "Got it," he said at last. 

They stared into the cavity. A spider web of wire confronted them, some loose, some bundled into tied groups. There seemed no general direction to the wires; they went in all directions simultaneously. "Let's go," Walt said climbing into the meter and a half crawl space under the floor. Crouching down, he found he could move over the wire fairly easily. Shiela followed him down, with John bringing up the rear. John had removed the floor tool and tossed it into the hole. As he entered he pulled the loose tile back into place. 

The only light under the floor was tiny slivers around the edges of the tiles. Shiela pulled a portable light source from her bag and activated it. White light streamed in all directions. "That should help," she said, handing the light to Walt. 

"God, I'm glad you came equipped," Walt said. "You always carry a flashlight?" 

"Ever tried to tape a news spot in the dark?" Shiela replied. "Your basic black doesn't sell." 

"Right," Walt said. He looked around for order in the chaos. "Any ideas as to where to go?" 

"We might try following the wall," John suggested and they proceeded toward the nearest one. Travel in the under-floor maze was slow, but steadying. Occasionally they had to climb over a large bundle of wire, but most of the cabling was only a few layers deep. 

They traveled until they reached the end of the floor, then turned left. There was an area devoid of cabling next to the wall that made movement easier, and they stayed in that area. 

"I think we're getting somewhere," Walt said. "Notice that the cable bundles parallel to the wall are getting larger. We may be approaching a feed-through of some kind." 

"How far?" Shiela asked. 

"I don't have any idea. But the wire bundles can only get so big before they become..." He stopped moving and doused the light. "Hear that?" he said. 

"What?" whispered Shiela. 

"Footsteps." In the distance steps could be heard on the floor. Suddenly they heard a striking sound and the darkness was broken far ahead of them. The square opening became a searchlight as a beacon was lowered into the floor space and rotated around, casting light in all directions before retracting back above. The tile was replaced and the footsteps began again. 

"They're searching under the floor," John said. 

"And they appear to be heading this..." Walt stopped as another tile lifted, only closer. "Under the wire," he said when the tile was replaced. 

Each of them scrambled to lift a wiring bundle and shimmy under it. The wire was not heavy, but was dense. They had just managed to find hiding places when the next tile lifted. They froze as the searchers drew nearer. At one point they were less than ten meters away. Then they were behind, continuing the search. 

"We'll stay low until they clear the floor," Walt said. The searchers were near the corner where they had entered. They reached the wall and began a cycle back, this time closer to the center of the room. They obviously intended to sweep the entire floor area. "We should be safe. They've already passed us, but they might see movement." They relaxed where they were and waited for the search to end. 

It was several hours before the searchers left for another floor. "Let's go," Walt said as he untangled himself. John was quickly behind him, but Shiela was caught. It took several minutes for the two of them to free her, then they began to move again. 

Following the growing cable bundle, they soon reached a hole in the floor. It went down about four meters and had wire on all four sides lashed to rungs, giving the appearance of a hollow, square ladder. The access way had plenty of room for climbing and the rungs made ready steps. They climbed into the basement. 

"That was easy," John said. 

"Yeah. We're on the matrix computer floor now," Walt said, "or rather under the floor." They were again in an under-floor crawl space, but the cabling was far more organized. It was tied carefully in bundles that only ran in two directions. "Looks like TP hired someone to do this job," he added. "Any ideas where the master console is?" 

"I remember it being in a corner," John said. "I don't think this level is partitioned, so if we follow the wall we should find it sooner or later. We can always lift tiles and look." 

Walt tried this. First he lifted a tile just a crack and looked for guards. Not seeing any, he lifted it higher. Aside from rows and rows of blue cabinets the floor was empty. The aisle they were under stretched as far as he could see. 

"This floor looks deserted. We could get out and walk," John said. 

"There might be motion alarms," Walt said. "Let's stick under here for now." 

"I'd feel a lot safer under the floor," Shiela added. 

They began to move along the wall. With the exception of occasional feeds from the higher floor, the basement had 

the same characteristic of a cleared space near the wall, which made for easy travel. Walt did find himself wishing he could stand. The constant crouch had become tiring. 

They traveled for hours. Walt remembered reading that the dimensions of the building were expressed in kilometers. It would take a while to go from corner to corner on hands and knees, and then the master console could still be elsewhere. He became aware that it had been over 24 hours since he had last eaten. At least he had gotten some sleep in the air car. 

"Hold it," he said, holding up his palm. In the distance he saw a wall in front of him. They had reached the first corner. He lifted a tile to see. 

Lowering his head back into the floor he whispered, "Got it." He looked again to determine what best to do. Shiela slipped up next to him and looked out also. 

"Good God," she said. "That's Julius Bartholemew." 

"Chairman of the board of TP," Walt said. "I guess that tells how high this goes." 

"Yeah. Do you recognize the other two?" 

"No. One appears to be a system operator, but he must be in on this. He would see everything. The other guy is just a guard." 

"What do you see," John asked from below. Walt slipped down and told him. Then John lifted up for his own look. 

"We've got to get rid of the guard," John said. "I think we can take him." 

"He's got a gun," Shiela said. 

Walt was counting floor tiles. "But we've got surprise," he said. Once he knew the distance to the guard he lowered the tile back into place and began moving toward the console. 

"Here?" John whispered, pointing up at a floor tile. 

"If I counted right," Walt replied. "Let's go for it." 

In a single action, the two men pushed up on the tile with all their might. The tile went one way and the guard the other. He dropped the gun and Shiela grabbed it. She turned and covered Julius and the operator while Walt and John subdued the guard. "Don't touch that," she yelled as the operator reached for his console. He pulled his hands back as she fired the gun past his ear. 

Upon hearing the shot, the guard quit struggling and Walt and John quickly gained control of him. In a moment the three captives were lined up against the wall. Shiela gave John the gun. He looked at it a moment then aimed it at the hostages. 

Walt had jumped into the master console chair and was typing request sequences on the keyboard. "Good," he said. "It works just like my office console; it just has more commands available. I've locked all the pod's on this floor--there are twenty." He continued typing. "There was a phone lock and trace on GTV. I've killed that, Shiela. You can use the phone." He motioned to the phone on the desk. Shiela ran over and grabbed it. 

"You don't know what you're doing," said Julius Bartholemew. 

"Keep quiet," John said, motioning with the gun. 

"No, let him speak," Shiela said, setting the phone down. "I want to know what's going on here." 

"I'm sure you know by now that we can manipulate the matrix error rate," he said. 

"But that's supposed to be impossible," Walt said. "It's a violation of the laws of physics." 

"We didn't know all the laws," the operator said. 

"Who are you," Shiela asked. 

"I'm Dr. Howard Drake, director of research for TP. I discovered the missing term in the D-wave equation. With it I can predict and, therefore, control matrix errors." 

"If you can do that, why didn't you just stop them? You would have been global heroes," Walt said. "Why continue to murder innocent people at a massive rate if it can be prevented?" 

"It's not that easy," Julius said. "You know where our energy comes from." 

"Of course I do," Walt said. 

"So what would happen if we stopped matrix errors? There'd be no power. We couldn't shut down the world power grid." 

"So just shove mass in and convert it," Walt said. "You seem to be doing that already." 

"We are now, but the amount of mass needed is a lot more than can be quickly tossed in. We had to build facilities like the one in Orlando to add energy to the system. It took several years to get a sufficient base of those built that we could shut down the matrix errors." 

"But you did build them," Walt said. "And I know you are using them." 

"We are. It seems that no matter how much energy we supply, the world requires more. We have been tapering supply down, but it takes time." 

"That's a pretty lame excuse for killing millions a year," Shiela said. "You can make enough energy with the sea water plants, I'm sure. Just build more plants." 

"There are other complexities," Julius said. "When we got the plants operational, we did start cutting the tix rate. We could not do it quickly, since the plants only came on line one at a time. So, we manipulated the odds. It gradually became safer and safer to travel via transporter." 

"I'm seeing worse odds, not better," Walt said. 

"We had to turn it back up again. Do you know the present population of the world?" 

"About 500 million," Shiela said. 

"Right, but before tpods came into general use, the population was around two and half billion. People accept the odds as a part of life. Because of those odds and the amount people use the pods, the average person lives 35 years before the odds catch up with him. The life span used to average over ninety." 

"You're worried about population growth," Walt said. 

"Right. With medical science as advanced as it is now, the life span would be over two hundred. That tpod error statistic has become the only stabilizing factor in our population. We cut it back and the population began to climb, rapidly. In four years it was obvious that the growth could not be controlled. We had to offset what we had done to regain a balance." 

"A balance," Walt yelled. "This is not a ledger sheet. People die in matrix errors. Who gave you the right to decide?" 

"You don't rise to my level waiting for someone to let you make decisions," 

Julius said. "If our population runs back up over a billion, people will be starving. We live in an idyllic world, with a young, healthy population. Do you want to see that ruined?" 

"The population controlled itself before tpods," Shiela said. 

"No it didn't. It rose exponentially. We were heading for a crisis. The transporter system saved us from it." 

"Mass murder is always a solution to population problems," Walt said. "But it's not an acceptable solution." He turned to the keyboard. "Shiela, call GTV. Let's blow this whole thing wide open." She picked up the phone and dialed. "Now it's my turn." He began to type. 

"In some ways he's right, you know," Shiela said as she waited for an answer. "Thinks will change." 

"Maybe they will," Walt replied, "but it's not for him or us to decide." He looked at the tix rate counter on the screen. For the first time in the history of the system, it had stopped. 


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Charles B. Owen is currently a graduate student at Western Illinois University where he will soon complete a Master's Degree in Computer Science. He lives in a large house with a wife, three children, a cat, and a large goldfish with a beautiful fantail. This summer he will move from rural Illinois to rural New Hampshire, where it really gets cold. 

mgcbo@uxa.ecn.bgu.edu 


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