When Duke Makov and two watchmen arrived in Grandfather’s office early the next morning, Grandfather’s secretary informed him that the Emperor was busy in emergency meetings. “I’ve turned everyone else away, Your Grace. Even the Crown Prince’s Heir has been waiting to speak to him.” He pointed to Matthieu in the most distant lounge chair in the outer office, hidden well to the side of the entrance.
“Please, have a seat if you care to wait, but there really is no telling how long it will be. I’ve been commanded to clear his schedule four hours in advance, for every subsequent hour until he gives me further notice.”
Waving his watchmen out of hearing, Duke Makov strode over to the seating arrangement. “What do you know of the Sentinel raid upon my house?” he demanded, fists on hips.
Matthieu’s eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?” He tried his best to look confused. “How many laundresses were there to be arrested?”
“What do you mean?” Duke Makov’s interest sharpened even further.
“When Lord Lucien entered the building and Sentinel discovered the bugs in his clothing, Grandfather was appalled, so after he offered him the new position, he asked Sentinels to transfer Lord Lucien’s and Lady Nadia’s possessions to their new home. The Sentinels reported all the laundresses had been fired, so Grandfather knew they must have all been spies or helping spies, since you’ve had problems with altered clothing before,” Matthieu said innocently.
“He commanded the Sentinels to see them escorted to Sentinel Command. I never heard the laundresses were to be treated violently, just detained and escorted to their interrogations.”
“What position was Lucien offered?” Makov was turning an interesting shade of red.
“Chamberlain to my Aunt Sophia’s house, where Miriel’s project is. Her parents told Grandfather once that they wanted to be as close to Miriel as possible. He took them literally, I suppose.” Matthieu projected a worried face. “I hope they don’t think I will behave inappropriately.”
Duke Makov grunted in suspicion. “What are these emergency meetings about?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace. All I know is something interrupted his meeting with Miriel’s parents last night. They came to see me and Miriel before they took her home for the evening.”
Matthieu shrugged with both his hands spread in a gesture of helplessness. It must have been enough, for Duke Makov stormed out the door.
Matthieu told the secretary, “Report to Grandfather when Duke Makov is completely off the grounds.” The secretary nodded, and Matthieu left.
He found Grandfather at his ‘emergency meeting’ in Uncle Phillip’s parlor. Waving him in, Phillip closed the door as Father asked, “How did it go?”
“Well enough. You’ll surely watch the vids. To tell the truth, though, I feel like I could stand to take another shower.” Uncle Phillip tossed him a softee and went back to his brothers on the couch against one wall as Matthieu broke the seal to take a long drink.
“And although I didn’t lie too much, I feel like my throat won’t be adequately cleansed until I can have a good, stiff drink.” He glanced at the mess of papers on Phillip’s table, where no one was sitting. “So, how far have you gotten?”
“We have Sentinels cleaning up a dozen situations planet-wide we’ve been observing for up to five years.” Uncle Brian tried to spin a large foam ball on one fingertip before tossing it into a waste bin sitting on the sofa across the room.
“They will all be done by noon, though, so we’re trying to think of more emergencies. Your turn,” he said to Father, who wandered over to retrieve the foam ball. He wandered back to the couch where Phillip and Brian sat, with Grandfather reading a book-disk on his palm pad in a chair nearby.
“So, Grandfather. What are you planning to do for the next five days during the ‘emergencies’?”
Grandfather lifted his palm pad a smidgen while still reading. “Catch up on my poetry.”
Matthieu sat in another nearby chair and watched Father hit the bin with the foam ball; he was bored already. “So. Do I want or need to know what the emergencies are?”
“Not really,” Brian said. “None of them are dire. Go take a look, if you like.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Matthieu sat some more. “Got a spare palm pad?”
“In the upper left drawer in the study,” Phillip said, retrieving the ball and settling into the couch. Matthieu went to the study, found a book-disk on law, settled in the parlor with the others, and began to read.
A few minutes later, the secretary notified Grandfather on his wrist phone that Duke Makov was off the Imperial Grounds. Grandfather thanked him.
“I suppose Sentinel Command is too busy with ‘emergencies’ to interrogate the laundresses,” Phillip commented. He took a shot with the ball, missed, and went to retrieve it and hand it to Brian.
“Good point.” Brian activated his wrist phone and told Sentinel Command the laundresses were the last people to be interrogated, suggesting they be given small video units with common broadcast network connections to keep them occupied.
“There. I made sure they each had a box of chocolates delivered with their supply of food this morning. That should keep them happy for a while.”
Grandfather read a short poem aloud, and everyone discussed it. His three sons went back to shooting baskets.
Matthieu said, “Hey, I think I found something for Lord Lucien.” He read a paragraph explaining that a class-action lawsuit could refrain from mentioning any names of the plaintiffs. “This way no one will have to know Miriel is one of the victims.”
“Good point, son.” Father missed his throw, so he had to retrieve the ball.
Some minutes later, Brian got a notification over his ear bud. He acknowledged it, went over to the table, and crossed off another emergency. “We had better start brainstorming, or we’re going to run out of emergencies by 11:00 or so.”
“Is Uncle Christian on-planet?” Matthieu asked.
“No. Why?” Grandfather asked.
“I was just wondering what kinds of assignments are being kicked around for me.”
“What kind of assignment would you like, son?” Father asked.
“What are the requirements you have for me?”
“What do you mean by requirements?” Grandfather asked.
“Well, you offered me the SDC-19 assignment because it had the Obliterator on it, ostensibly to keep me safe,” Matthieu reminded him. “So, is my security first above all other considerations?”
“Yes,” Father said.
“Then I guess I’ll be stuck in the bowels of Service Command,” he grumbled morosely. He went to the study and searched up another book-disk.
Some twenty minutes later, Brian got another call, went to the table, checked off another emergency, and went back to the couch for the next throw. Matthieu asked, “Aren’t you bored with that yet?” All three brothers erupted in laughter.
“Son, none of us has had a vacation in over five years. We’re ready for some boredom.” Father shot another basket and made it, so Phillip went to retrieve the ball. “I’m rather amazed we haven’t come up with any more emergencies yet. It seems like everything is an emergency of a day, but here we’ve declared an emergency meeting, and there really are quite few to be found.”
“May I ask where Christian is?” At everyone’s look, Matthieu explained, “Miriel has a knack for looking at micro and thinking macro. So if Christian is attending to an emergency situation, maybe we can take that macro situation, think micro, and find some emergencies on-planet.”
“He’s on Holman II, delivering a new ambassador, retinue, and staff after an attack of those dragonets terrorized the capital city,” Phillip said. “They can be tamed individually, but in the wild they can swarm like meter-long bees if they get enraged, and they spit a somewhat corrosive poison, though the pets have their poison sacs removed.
“Anyway, apparently one of the city’s major heat reclamation plants across the river from the Embassy District had a malfunction and produced odd resonances in five huge air intakes, propelling air through them instead, which created subsonic sounds that drew about nine million dragonets to swarm from all directions. They were so thick they crashed into each other, landing in streets, ramming through windows, attacking anything that moved, all frenzied, with most trying to dive-bomb those five huge columns.
“It took five days of chaos for the authorities to pinpoint the cause of the frenzy, and another four days for all the dragonets to be chased away or killed. Fully half our embassy staff were casualties, and the rest were driven so mad that they demanded to return to the Demesnes.”
“Unbelievable.” Matthieu let out a breath of relief. “I tried to trade for leave there, but now I’m glad I didn’t.”
They sat some more until Matthieu wondered, “Why did it take them so long to figure it out, though? It seems like nine million dragonets attacking columns like that would have been noticed right away. Especially if the workers at the heat reclamation plant knew there was a malfunction, and soon thereafter the dragonets showed up. I wonder why they didn’t tell the city managers?”
“True,” Brian said. “I wonder about that now, too.”
“I wonder how much our city managers don’t tell us? Do they assume we already know everything we need to know, given that Sentinels are everywhere?” Matthieu asked. “Miriel and I had a long discussion on our first date about infrastructure that needed improvements, both in the duchies and in the Urban District.
“If the municipals report standard malfunctions and begin to repair them immediately, do their managers simply assume they are doing their jobs and not report it further up the line? Who collects those reports in the Urban District? And what do they do with the data?”
As Father and Grandfather looked at each other, Brian said, “Well, I’ll be damned.” He went to Phillip’s study and got on the secure vidphone. Matthieu heard him demanding the repair reports from the last three years by every single municipal worker in the Urban District, downloaded onto data cards and to be delivered to the Emperor’s office immediately.
Returning, he asked Matthieu, “Would you mind waiting in Father’s office for the reports? They’ll be delivered by Lord Henry Strauss. It might take a couple of hours.”
“Sure.” He glanced at Phillip. “May I borrow a couple of book-disks? I’ll go get my own palm pad.”
“No problem.” Phillip winked at him with a weird smile. The others were talking intently about connections when Matthieu eventually let himself out.
He was reading in Grandfather’s outer office when three dukes showed up. The secretary went through his spiel, pointing once again at Matthieu, waiting to see his own grandfather. “Everyone knows the Emperor usually lets the young prince attend his meetings, Your Graces. I’m terribly sorry, but I know I told your secretaries earlier this morning that all meetings have been cancelled for the day.” The dukes stalked out.
“How many dukes have been here so far today?”
“Eight,” the secretary replied. “They always think if they show up in person, it proves they really need to see him. I have my orders, however.” He gave Matthieu a wink.
Lord Henry Strauss showed up just before lunch with a large box filled with data cards, at least 60 centimeters in each dimension. The secretary accepted it, Matthieu greeted Lord Henry, they chatted a minute or two, and the public works manager strode out with noticeable relief that he wasn’t being asked into the Emperor’s office.
A few moments later, when Matthieu decided that harried lord had made it far enough down the hall, he took the box from the secretary. “Oh, by the way, the emergency meeting is now in the planning center,” the secretary said.
“Thank you.” Matthieu offered him a generous smile and left.
The second-floor planning center was a broad space with fourteen computer stations along the walls, and eight large planning tables, lightweight enough to be moved around the room easily. Not only were the four older Sinclairs there, Grandmother was, too, along with her computer laboratory manager, Lord Charles Strauss.
They were just taking four cerametal data boxes of Grandmother’s design out of one cardboard box, and they had two other boxes on that planning table. Grandfather thanked Matthieu for the box of data cards, dumped them out wholesale onto one table near the door, and said to his sons, “Grab a data box and find a computer. Matthieu, would you help your grandmother distribute data cards?”
For the next hour, Matthieu and Grandmother would take a double handful of cards to Father, Brian, Phillip, or Lord Charles, retrieve the data cards they had just processed through a computer into their cerametal box, and place the downloaded cards back into the original box. Grandfather had a large map of the Urban District delivered by the Imperial Archivist, which he spread out on the six tables he had pushed together and locked into position to one side of the room. He then placed a huge grid over it, fairly transparent, and began to letter and number the sides.
“Why did you start labeling from AA to AZ instead of A, B, C, eventually working up to the HZ’s?” Matthieu asked.
“I wanted eight sectors first, A through H, then divided by 25, the alphabet minus the letter I,” Grandfather responded, still numbering. He called to his wife when he was done, and Grandmother got a computer out of a box. He gave Grandmother the coordinates of his grid to associate with the geographic coordinates of the map while she set that information into a master file. Matthieu hustled to do her share of the data card relays.
At one point in the data-card-shuffle, Matthieu asked, “Couldn’t you have Sentinels downloading the information for you?”
“This is more than Sentinel work,” Grandfather said offhand, digging in a separate box for at least two dozen packages of long, fuzz-covered wire pipe cleaners in various colors, lining them up by color. He next brought out a number of boxes of small plastic toy connectors Matthieu remembered from chemistry class. These were the dodecahedrons, with 32 holes available for 12 surfaces and 20 vertices.
His last contribution consisted of several packages of blank stickies and colored markers, which he lined up next to the pipe cleaners according to their color. Finally, he went to the windows and closed all the blinds, sealing them in some way Matthieu had never noticed before, such that there was no light from the windows at all.
After distributing and collecting and stashing a few more rounds of data cards, Matthieu asked plaintively, “Isn’t anyone going to eat lunch?” As everyone laughed, he offered, “I’ll even order it. Do you want it brought here?”
“That would be fine,” Grandmother said, looking at the small pile of data cards left. When Matthieu returned, that pile was gone, Grandmother had retrieved all data cards and put them in the original box, and they pulled computer chairs over to the materials-distribution table, removing the empty boxes as the servants ported in lunch.
Matthieu wasn’t sure why no one was talking about what they were doing there. They all spoke about family-type things, with Charles getting ribbed about the recent birth of his eighth child. “What can I say? Sara enjoys being pregnant, and I enjoy making her pregnant,” he joked, causing everyone to cackle, for he had had a reputation as a ladies’ man before his marriage.
As the servants cleared away the main dishes and served up pie for dessert, Matthieu finally asked, “Why aren’t we talking about the project?”
“Besides the fact that the servants are here? We’re going to do something we rarely do,” Grandfather said. “We’re going to matrix a huge amount of data, and for that we’re going to put our regular lives on hold until the first stage is done.
“Everyone has been notified not to expect us for anything at all. Not dinner, not vidphone calls, nothing whatsoever. Our concentration must be absolute. We’re relaxing in preparation, because it takes a huge amount of energy. If you plan to stay, find a vidphone and tell Miriel not to expect to hear from you, probably for days, and we’ll teach you how to do it.”
Matthieu finished his pie and went to the nearest office, belonging to one of the budget analysts, in order to use his vidphone. Calling Sophia’s house, he asked the servant for Lady Miriel. She arrived quickly and rather breathlessly.
“Hello, love. How are you? And how are your parents settling in?”
“Well enough.” Miriel looked very tired. “I went to my classes this morning, and our group meets later this afternoon. Keeping busy helps me not to think about things too much.”
“I’m sorry to say this, but there’s this project I’m involved in right now, and I might not get to see or even chat with you for some time.” Matthieu was saddened to see her face immediately warp into suspicion from his third word.
“I understand,” she said, wan.
“It has to do with a real emergency,” Matthieu offered, being circumspect since the analyst was still in the room. “My grandfather’s secretary is turning everyone away. I just got notified I’m needed on this project, and to tell you we have to work on it until it’s done.”
“Sounds difficult,” she replied, showing some worry.
“I don’t know how difficult it is. Something to do with matrixing.”
For some odd reason, Miriel’s eyes lit up. “Okay, I’m sure I’ll see you soon enough. Thank you for warning me,” she said with a genuine smile. Perplexed, Matthieu told her he would call when he could, and signed off.
When he got back to the planning center, Aunt Marie was helping two medics set up cots. He greeted her, but Grandmother waved him over to the tables before he could ask about the cots. She was connecting the four cerametal data boxes to a central data exchange already attached to two computers. At one of them, Charles was typing faster than the eye could see.
Grandfather asked Grandmother, “How is your energy, dear?”
“Not too bad. I’d just had a nap before Zhaiden told me. I’m excited.” She rubbed her hands together with a huge smile. “This is my kind of fun.”
Laughing, Grandfather looked around. “Are we ready to start?” At everyone’s nod, he faced Matthieu.
“This is a mental technique more than anything else. If your body demands a break, the restrooms are there,” he pointed to a door, “we have cots for naps, and otherwise you tell Marie or one of the medics. If one of them approaches you to take a medical reading, try to ignore them and concentrate on building the matrix.
“Matrixing is making cross-connections. What you must do is imagine this as world-building, where each piece of data rests briefly in your mind with its own fullness while you deal with it, and then you dismiss it utterly in order to deal with the next piece of data. That doesn’t seem too difficult, but there are five of us, with Felice and Charles running the data placement, so listen carefully when they call your name.
“The second thing you must do is hold an awareness of an area of your mind that will consider the big picture. If you will imagine someone drawing an outline and coloring it in, that’s the big picture.
“What we’ll be doing is drawing the big picture by little strokes, coloring in the individual lines until the big picture comes into focus. Any trends that suggest themselves to you, you say aloud, because we’ll be recording everything. Do you understand so far?”
“Yes. Rather like inductive reasoning, collecting the data until you can make generalizations and further predictions about it,” Matthieu said.
Grandfather’s face split with an enormous grin. “Exactly, except we’re doing it physically, stimulating our senses with colors, textures, and shapes, instead of merely looking at numbers. We’re going to do it in the abstract, in three dimensions. You have stickies, markers, wires, and snips for the wire. Ready?”
“Yes. Tell me what to do.”
Grandfather nodded to Mother and Charles, sitting at one end of the map with their cerametal data boxes and computers. Grandmother stated quite formally, “Matrixing urban development, phase one, 15:25, Monday, June 29th, 619.” She named some fifteen colors, associating them with different departments such as water, sewer, power, communications, and roadwork, with the rest of the colors representing such bizarre things as vandalism, streetlights, road signs and traffic signals, suicides, and homicides.
“Matthieu, when I say your name, I will tell you a color first, so pick up that colored marker. You write the code I tell you on one of the stickies, then do what I tell you to do otherwise. If the final place has no connector, you add one to the end as a new point.
“Matthieu, red, 68HB492, stick it on a connector and place it at GH-118 on the map.” Matthieu was searching for the location just as Grandmother finished giving Phillip a command to put his connector on a map.
She gave each one their commands, but her next command to him was, “Matthieu, brown, 14HB421, take a new connector, add enough green wire to connect DM-111 to GR-227, and add a connector to its end.
“Phillip, pale green, 23AF804, take a new connector, bright pink from FR-25 to FS-240.” Matthieu noticed FS-240 didn’t have a connector, so Phillip attached a second one quickly to the end of his pink pipe connector after setting it in place.
Grandmother’s voice hardly paused. “Zhaiden, brown, 83LM412, new connector, red wire, from DY-120 to DY-198. Brian, dark blue, 78BD047, new connector, bright pink, from GA-118 to GH-118. Victor, yellow, 222DD640, new connector, dark green, from AZ-221 to DY-120, take your time,” she said as Grandfather took several of the dark green pipe cleaners to quickly twist their ends together.
Although Grandmother spoke rather slowly, the hypnotic way she did so made the task easier, even though at some moments the men were dashing around the table to get to a new position. Matthieu could see why all the table’s edges had stations of markers and pipe cleaners, with stickies and boxes of connectors handy every which way.
It was an odd mental state to maintain, alert for the quick task of picking up the color of marker indicated, writing the code on the stickie already in hand, dropping the marker and scooping up a connector to quickly slap the stickie upon it, grasping a colored pipe cleaner and inserting it in the connector, then trying to hold the two coordinates in your mind while picking up the snips, measuring the distance, cutting and connecting as fast as possible, or twisting a second piece of wire to the first if the distance required it. The piles of pipe cleaners were soon quite chaotic, as they tossed the unused pieces toward the nearest pile if they were in some haste. Soon enough, sometimes the stickies were placed upon connectors already labeled, and not much longer after that, some connectors had to be connected by twisting the end of a wire to another wire already inserted in the connector.
Eventually a medic nudged him. “Take two or three drinks.” He was holding out a bottle. Matthieu gulped them because he was next.
Marie soon handed him a standard Service meal replacement bar, which he held in his mouth at one point because he was still being assigned data. He had no idea of the time when Charles’s voice took over, nor when Grandmother’s voice came back.
The other men began making short comments, such as, “A lot of yellow lines radiating from BG-220 area”, or “AL-16 to FL-16 has a straight line of connectors.”
Matthieu wondered, “Why are there no connectors in that wide area from AZ to BT?” He knew no one would answer when Grandmother gave the next instructions to Grandfather. Realizing it was just another trend, he waited for his next turn.
Soon he realized Grandfather wasn’t being given instructions. Glancing over to the cots, he saw Grandfather taking a nap while Marie attached a small device to one finger. He turned back to the matrix.
When he had to ask a second time for Charles to repeat a location on the map, Charles said, “Take a quick nap.” Matthieu finished the connection and flung himself onto a cot. A medic made him take a few sips of a powerful syrupy drink first. He closed his eyes as the blood pressure and oxygen reader was slipped on his finger.
When he woke up, he saw a third cot in the room, Sophia in attendance, and Grandmother back at the computer with only Father and Phillip. Over the course of unknown hours, medics were assisted by Elizabeth, Anne, and Stefan as needed. A medic gave him a ration pack, and soon he was back at the matrix, with Charles taking over for Grandmother a short time later.
Charles finally said, “Okay, everyone to their suites. The time is 03:44, plan to restart at 11:45.” Everyone at the table immediately turned away as Charles made a couple of notes and shut down the equipment.
Aunt Anne was there, making Grandmother get out of her cot and head to bed. She reminded everyone to grab a ration pack and fork on the way out.
Matthieu headed back to the East Wing with Grandmother and Grandfather, all munching away at their ration packs. “I feel so strange. I’m tired, I know I’ll sleep, but I feel oddly energized, too.”
His grandparents chuckled. “Yes, it’s an odd state of mind. When you’ve gone through the whole process, though, the insights are priceless.” Grandfather crammed more food into his mouth, quickly finishing his packet.
Grandmother added, “I think it’s because matrixing accesses a creative portion of the brain most people don’t use at all. We all three have it to a good degree, just for dealing with information in everyday life. But when we really give in to that dimension of mind, it’s almost addictive.” She, too, ate from her packet quite hastily.
“Why are we doing this?” Matthieu asked them. “Why are we matrixing?”
“Because you pointed out a serious lack of which we have been unaware, one that not only needs to be understood by us thoroughly, but also addressed in the future and always kept in the back of our minds,” Grandfather said. “It’ll undoubtedly provide insights into our current emergencies. Thank you for that.” He put his hand on Matthieu’s shoulder.
They parted in the corridor with no further words.