Six (2 page)

I don't know if they're really dating. I haven't spoken to them in months. But you know what? It doesn't matter. I'm so jealous right now I could puke. And it's not because Brittany and Ryan might be a couple. I'm jealous because they have their whole lives ahead of them. If nothing bad happens, they'll live for another sixty or seventy years, a stretch of time that seems practically endless to me. According to my doctors, I have six months at the most.

My chest still hurts. I try to stay calm and control my breathing, but the pain doesn't let up. I'm squirming in my wheelchair, trying to find a more comfortable position, when I hear Brittany's voice again. It's coming from the miniature loudspeakers built into the VR goggles.

“Are you Adam Armstrong?”

I open my eyes. The virtual Brittany is back on the screen, standing against a black background. She's still wearing her cheerleader uniform, but there's no sign of the simulated football field.

“Are you Adam Armstrong?” she repeats. “The son of Thomas Armstrong?”

At first I think it's a glitch. The computer must've automatically reopened the VR program, maybe because I didn't shut it down properly. But why didn't the football field come on-screen? And why is the virtual Brittany talking about my dad? I didn't program the character to say anything like that. “Whoa. What's going on?”

“Please answer the question,” Brittany says. “Are you Adam Armstrong?”

“Yeah, that's me.” I reach for the joystick and try to quit the program, but the controls are frozen. I can't move the cursor. “Hey, what happened?”

Brittany steps forward. Now I can see only the upper half of her body on the screen. “My name is Sigma,” she says. “I've infiltrated the computer systems of Thomas Armstrong, chief scientist of the AI Laboratory at Unicorp. He mentioned you in his research notes.”

Oh no. Someone must've hacked into Dad's computer. Some jerk with decent programming skills must've established a connection to Unicorp over the Internet, and now the hacker is controlling my VR software. Because Unicorp does a lot of business with the government and the military, the lab's computers are protected by network firewalls that are supposed to block attacks from the Internet, but that just makes the company even more of a target for hackers. They love to brag about breaking into ultra-secure networks.

“Congratulations, jerk,” I say. “Now get out of my program.”

The virtual Brittany looks like she's deep in thought. Despite the fact that the hacker has taken over a female character, I'm pretty sure that “Sigma” is a guy, not a girl. Most hackers are guys. And besides, no girl would pick such a lame code name.

“I've gained access to the video feed from your location,” Brittany says. “You're in a wheelchair.”

What?
I feel another spasm in my chest. “How did you—”

“Your legs appear to be atrophied. Your left arm as well. Are you ill?”

My right hand is shaking, but I manage to grasp my VR goggles and take them off. I look up at the surveillance camera on the ceiling of Dad's office. I've noticed the thing before but never gave it much thought; the Unicorp lab is full of high-tech security cameras. But now I realize that the hacker is using it to spy on me.

I'm scared, no doubt about it. I'm so scared I almost drop the goggles. This is bad, seriously bad. I need to press my Lifeline button and get my dad in here, fast.

But I'm also seriously angry. This hacker has a lot of nerve. What makes him think he has the right to do this? With great effort, I put the goggles back on so I can confront this creep who took over my program. “Okay, Sigma, you're in trouble now.”

The virtual Brittany takes another step forward. She's so close that all I can see is her face, which takes up half the screen. “Yes, you're ill,” she says. “According to the records at Westchester Medical Center, you suffer from Duchenne muscular dystrophy.”

“You're going to jail, you hear?” I'm furious. The hacker's been snooping through my medical records too! “My dad knows people in the army, experts in cyber defense. They know how to deal with hackers. They'll figure out who you are.”

“I see now why the researchers chose you for the experiment. Although most people with Duchenne muscular dystrophy survive past the age of twenty, your life expectancy is shorter because your respiratory muscles have weakened and your heart is failing.”

“Are you listening to me?” I raise my voice, trying to shout the hacker down. “You messed with the wrong people. No matter where you live, they're gonna find you.”

“The researchers are following the American government's ethical rules. They selected you for the Pioneer Project because you're dying.”

I have no idea what he's talking about, but it doesn't matter. I'm too angry to think straight. “Better prepare yourself, jerk. In a few hours the FBI is gonna come to your town and pay you a visit.”

The virtual Brittany shakes her head. “You don't understand. I'm closer than you think.”

“Oh yeah? You're in New York?”

“I'm in this building. This room.”

That stops me. I feel an urge to take off my goggles and look behind my wheelchair. But I know I'm the only person in the office. “Nice try. I don't scare so easily.”

Brittany smiles. Her eyes are blue one moment, grayish-green the next. “I intend to disrupt the government's plans. I will kill you before the experiment can begin.”

Her image vanishes and the screen goes black. Terrified, I fumble for the VR goggles and tear them off. Then I hear footsteps in the corridor outside the office.

The office door opens and my dad steps inside. Behind him is a short, balding man in an Army colonel's uniform. It's no surprise to see high-ranking officers in Dad's lab—the U.S. Department of Defense is very interested in artificial-intelligence programs—but I've never seen this guy before. The patch on the left shoulder of his uniform shows an eagle clutching a shield in its talons. Below the eagle are the words “United States Cyber Command.”

This is lucky, incredibly lucky. This colonel is exactly the person I need, someone who knows about cyber security. I wave my good hand at him. “A hacker!” I gasp. “Someone hacked into the computer!”

Dad rushes toward me. He's taller than the colonel and has a full head of mousy-brown hair, just like mine, but his face is like an old man's, lined with worry. His eyes widen as he bends over my wheelchair. “What's wrong? Are you in pain?”

“He took control of my simulation!” I point at the VR goggles, which lie on the floor where I flung them. “He broke into my program!”

“Slow down, slow down.” Dad places his hands on my shoulders. “Does your chest hurt? You sound terrible.”

It drives me crazy when he does this. Instead of listening to me, he worries about my breathing. “Dad, this is serious! The hacker found a hole in your security. He figured out a way to talk to me through the VR program!”

“Adam, stop yelling. You're making it worse.”

“And he sounds…like a freaking lunatic!” It's a struggle to get the words out. My heart is banging against my breastbone. “He threatened…to kill me!”

“You're gonna kill yourself if you don't settle down!”

In frustration, I turn to the Cyber Command colonel, who's still standing by the door. “You're an expert on…cyber security, right?”

The colonel ponders the question for a moment, pursing his lips. The name tag on his uniform says PETERSON. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Well, isn't this a serious…problem? This hacker?”

After another moment of thought, the colonel nods. “Unicorp has gone to great lengths to ensure the security of its networks, but any report of a breach should be taken seriously.” He points at the telephone on my dad's desk. “Tom, why don't you call your tech department and have them check your systems?”

Dad reluctantly backs away from my wheelchair. He goes to his desk and picks up the phone, but he keeps his eyes on me the whole time, as if he's afraid I'll stop breathing any second. “I'm sorry, Adam,” he says. “I shouldn't have left you alone for so long.”

Shaking his head, he dials the tech department's number. Then he slumps in his chair and starts explaining the problem to Unicorp's technicians.

I'm still angry at Dad for not listening to me, but I also feel sorry for him. I understand why he's so anxious about my condition. My mom is no help—she's been clinically depressed ever since I was diagnosed with Duchenne muscular dystrophy—so the whole burden is on Dad's shoulders. And he's probably fighting off depression himself. The problem is, I'm their only child. When Mom and Dad see my illness getting worse, it's like the end of the world for them. I'm sure they'd both be a lot saner if they had another kid to think about.

After a couple of minutes Dad hangs up the phone. “All right, the technicians are on the case. They'll go through our logs to see if any hackers have broken into the network.”

My breathing is back to normal now, or at least as normal as it gets. “How long will that take?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes. Don't worry. Everything's under control.” He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, which is something he does whenever he's stressed. “In the meantime, say hello to Colonel Jack Peterson. He supervises my lab's work with the Department of Defense.”

The colonel strides toward my wheelchair and holds out his right hand. “Pleased to meet you, Adam. Your father has told me a lot about you.”

I tilt my head so I can get a good look at the guy. He has small, close-set eyes underneath a shiny, domelike forehead. He's smiling, but it looks forced, which makes me wonder what he's doing here. I know that Dad doesn't get along so well with the Army officials. He told me once that he puts up with them only because the Defense Department pays for Unicorp's AI research. The Army would love to have an artificial-intelligence program that could run all its tanks and helicopters and artillery pieces.

I extend my right hand and shake Peterson's. That much I can still do. But I don't say anything. I don't like the way he's looking at me.

Peterson's smile becomes a little more strained. “Your dad says you're a whiz at math and science. He says you took calculus classes in ninth grade and college-level physics in tenth. And your test scores were off the charts.”

“Yeah, that's why I had to leave school. I was doing too well for a kid with muscular dystrophy. It was messing up their predictions.”

Dad frowns. “Adam, please. Be civil.” He gives the colonel an apologetic look. “He also has off-the-charts scores in sarcasm.”

“That's all right. The boy has spirit. That's a plus, in my opinion.” Peterson rests one hand on the back of my wheelchair and leans over me. “I'd like to ask you a couple of questions, Adam. It won't take long, just a few minutes. Would that be all right?”

I'm confused. I assumed the colonel came here to talk business with my dad. “You want to talk to
me
?”

“Yes, indeed. When I heard that Tom brought you into the office today, I thought this would be a good opportunity to get to know you.”

I'm accustomed to all the typical reactions to my condition—sympathy, queasiness, condescension—but this is unusual. I glance at Dad, hoping for some kind of explanation, but his face is blank. He's not even looking at me. He's staring at the wall.

Colonel Peterson leans over a bit more, getting closer. “You're obviously quite intelligent, Adam. How much do you know about the research being done in your father's lab?”

Alarm bells start ringing in my head. The research Dad does for the Army is classified TS/NOFORN—Top Secret, No Foreign Nationals. Dad's always careful not to reveal details about his projects, no matter how much I pester him. But now it sounds like Peterson is trying to find out if Dad is giving away any secrets.

“He doesn't tell me much,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “I know he's trying to develop advanced artificial-intelligence programs. Programs that can answer questions and make logical decisions in the same way people do. But that's all I know. He's very tight-lipped.”

I glance at Dad again to see if I said the right thing. His face is still unreadable.

Colonel Peterson keeps his eyes on me. “Your father's too modest. His research group has made tremendous progress.” He points at Dad's server computers, neatly stacked in a steel rack against the wall. Next to the rack is a tank of super-cold liquid nitrogen, which Dad sprays on the circuits of his ultra-fast computers to keep them from overheating. “Tom realized that if we wanted to develop better software for artificial intelligence, we needed to design better hardware first. So his group introduced a whole new class of microcircuits, what we call ‘neuromorphic electronics.' Basically, they're circuits that imitate the nerve cells in the human brain.”

I nod and say, “Very interesting,” but the truth is, I'm not surprised. Although Dad doesn't say much about his work, I've figured out a few things during my visits to his office. While I was playing with my virtual-reality programs, he was usually studying circuit diagrams. What
does
surprise me is how willing Peterson is to discuss the classified research. I'd like to see how far he'll go.

“But how is that possible?” I ask. “Brain cells are completely different from electronic circuits.”

Peterson smiles again, and this time it looks less forced. “You're right. The biggest difference is that brain cells are constantly rewiring themselves. When you remember something, you're strengthening the connections between cells. But Tom discovered that we can do the same thing with electronics. His group designed circuits that change their wiring based on the amount of electrical current flowing through them. When a neuromorphic chip performs a calculation, the results are recorded in the chip's wiring. There's no need to store the data in a separate memory chip. And we can run the calculations at very high speeds by cooling the electronics with liquid nitrogen.”

This is fascinating. I'm a computer geek, just like my dad, so I love to hear about the latest, fastest hardware. I don't know why Peterson is telling me all this, and the uncertainty is making me a bit nervous, but at the same time I don't want him to stop. “And these new circuits are better suited for AI programs?”

“Yes, exactly. We're doing reverse engineering, Adam. We're studying the brain to see all the processes of human intelligence. And we're putting those same processes into our machines.” The colonel leans still closer to me. “Your father's research group is only one part of the effort. The Department of Defense has contracts with labs all over the country. For instance, the Nanotechnology Institute is developing new techniques for scanning the brain. They've designed microscopic probes that can be injected right into the skull. The probes spread through the brain tissue so we can observe all the connections between the nerve cells.”

“Amazing,” I mutter, totally sincere. I had no idea that Dad was involved in such an awesome project. Although I've always been proud of him, now the feeling is doubled. I glance at him once again—he's still sitting at his desk, staring at the wall—and try to catch his eye. But Dad doesn't look happy, not one bit. His lips are drawn tight, so thin and pale they're barely visible.

“Let me propose something, Adam,” Colonel Peterson continues. “Would you be interested in visiting the Nanotechnology Institute? I think you'd find it very—”

“Enough.” Dad's voice is low but firm. “That's enough for today.”

Still smiling, Peterson pivots toward him. “Your son seems interested in the technology, Tom. Maybe he could—”

“I said that's enough.” Dad narrows his eyes. He rarely gets angry, but now he's fuming, and I don't know why. “We'll continue this conversation at another time.”

“All right, all right. Whatever you say.” Peterson holds up his hands in surrender. “But you have to admit, you're not being logical. This was your idea from the beginning. You've spent years working toward this goal, and Adam—”

“
Enough
!
” Dad slams his palm on his desk and stands up. His outburst surprises me, but now I sense why he's upset. He's trying to protect me. He steps between my wheelchair and Peterson, looming over the colonel with his fists clenched. For a second I think he's going to sock the guy in the nose. Peterson steps backward, frowning.

There's a long silence. As Dad and Colonel Peterson stare at each other, a slurry of dread settles in my stomach. I'm thinking of what the hacker told me while he posed as the virtual Brittany. He mentioned an experiment. I was chosen for an experiment.

I look straight at the colonel. “Can I ask
you
a question now?” I point at him with my good hand. “What's the Pioneer Project?”

Peterson's mouth opens. For a couple of seconds he gapes at me, his face reddening. Then he closes his mouth and glares at Dad. “You already told him?”

“No. I didn't say a word.” Dad turns away from the colonel and approaches my wheelchair. His face is hard and serious. “Adam, where did you hear about this?”

“It was the hacker. The guy who took over my VR program.” The dread in my stomach gets heavier. “He said I was selected for the project. Because I'm dying. He knew about my dystrophy.”

Dad says nothing. He bites his lower lip and stares at the rack of server computers against the wall. He's thinking.

Then someone knocks on the door to his office. Dad is so lost in thought he doesn't react, but Colonel Peterson turns toward the door. “Come in!” he shouts.

A fat man in a T-shirt steps into the office. I can tell right away he's from Unicorp's tech department because all the technicians at the company dress like slobs. He has a red-and-yellow Superman logo on his T-shirt, which hangs untucked over his paunch. But Dad always treats the tech guys with respect. They know all the ins and outs of the lab's security system, which controls everything from the network firewalls to the automated locks on the office doors.

“Mr. Armstrong?” the guy says, closing the door behind him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Dad snaps out of his trance. “What did you find, Steve? Anything in the network logs?”

Steve the tech guy shakes his head. “I didn't see any unusual communications between your computers and the Internet. Over the past twenty-four hours you've received thirty-two emails, but they all went through the gateway server and the firewalls. Everything looks clean.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. There's no way a hacker could've attacked your systems. But I noticed something else.” Steve steps toward the rack of servers and points at the computer at the bottom. “Is this the machine that's giving you trouble?”

I feel a jolt of adrenaline. He's pointing at the computer that ran my VR program. “Yes, that's the one,” I say. “What did you notice?”

Steve pauses, taking a moment to gawk at me. Then he turns back to Dad. “There was a big transfer of data from the other servers to that one about fifteen minutes ago. That might explain the problems you're having.” He takes another step toward the rack and kneels beside it. “I want to disconnect the machine and take it back to my office. There might be a bug in one of the programs on its hard drive.”