by Mark Alpert
“Excuse me, General?” This is Marshall’s voice, with its computer-generated British accent. “May I ask why we’re practicing this particular maneuver?”
“No, you may not. Are your circuits malfunctioning, Baxley? Didn’t you hear what I told Armstrong? No premature questions.”
“My apologies, sir. I didn’t—”
“All right, enough chatter. Cut your motors right now. I’ll give a nice, shiny medal to whoever makes it down first.”
For a moment I feel sorry for Marshall, but not because Hawke chewed him out. I feel sorry for him because he doesn’t see what’s obvious. The reason for today’s training exercise becomes absolutely clear as soon as I turn off my motor. The electric buzz ceases and the propeller stops spinning and the only sound my acoustic sensor picks up is the whistling of the wind. The Raven is flying silently now. If it were nighttime, the plane would be invisible and untrackable. It could glide right into a Russian missile base and no one would be the wiser.
Without the thrust from the propeller the Raven lurches earthward, but after a couple of seconds it settles into a glide path. I’m five hundred feet above the ground, and at this rate of descent I’ll be within radio range of my Pioneer in half a minute. But then I see another Raven streak past me. It’s Number 3, Zia’s plane, and it’s diving fast. She clearly wants to be the first Pioneer on the ground. She’s so hungry for General Hawke’s approval that she’ll risk smashing herself to pieces. Luckily, she pulls out of the dive at the last second and starts gliding in a wide corkscrew above her Pioneer.
But she made a mistake. Her corkscrew is too wide, almost five hundred feet across. My circuits do the math: although she’s only two hundred feet above the ground, she’s more than three hundred feet from her Pioneer. I can get closer than that. I know I can.
I tilt my Raven downward and go into a dive. This is insane, but I can’t stop myself. My Raven’s nose points directly at my Pioneer and I’m accelerating like crazy. My camera shows Hawke’s soldiers looking up at me and scattering across the runway. The general himself doesn’t budge, but he frowns in disapproval. If I survive this stunt, he’ll probably demote me.
When I’m just a hundred feet from the ground I pull out of the dive and turn sharply right, trying to make my corkscrew as tight as possible. The Raven wobbles and almost flips over, but I manage to keep the plane flying. At the same time, I turn on my data transmitter. I’m a lot closer to my Pioneer than Zia is to hers, and that means I can transfer my data a lot faster.
Although she started her transfer several seconds before I did, I finish first. Back in my Pioneer, I take a clanging step toward the general. My Raven still circles overhead, now operated by Hawke’s soldiers. “Sir, I believe you said something about a medal?”
Hawke is still frowning. “That was stupid.”
“Sorry, sir. Guess I have a risk-taking personality.”
“It’s stupid to take risks if you don’t have a good reason. And I don’t give out medals for stupidity.”
While he glares at me, I hear clanking to my left. Zia’s Pioneer comes to life and steps forward. She salutes the general but doesn’t say anything. She knows I beat her this time, but she won’t acknowledge it.
Hawke looks at his watch. “All right, let’s wrap things up. One of Sigma’s satellites is going to pass overhead soon.” He points at Zia as he marches off. “Allawi, make sure everyone gets inside the base by twelve hundred hours.”
One by one, the other Pioneers leave their Ravens and come back to earth. Jenny stays in the air for a few extra minutes, but then she comes down too and we all head for the freight elevator. Zia marches beside me as we cross the basin, and for a second I consider saying something to needle her. But she speaks first. “You’re a show-off, Armstrong.”
“And you’re a sore loser.”
“You think this is a game? You think we’re playing around here?” She stops walking and points at me with her right arm, the one that holds her acetylene torch. “That’s the problem with you. You think everything’s a joke.”
This is unfair. Maybe I’m not as serious as Zia, but I’m not the jokester of Pioneer Base. Marshall’s the comedian, and he’s Zia’s best friend. I step toward her, ready to have it out. “You know, Zia, there’s something I don’t understand. You’ve been nasty to me since the first moment I saw you. What do you have against me? I never did anything to you.”
She turns her turret, first clockwise, then counter. “No, you’re wrong about that. You’re careless. And it’s hurting all of us.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not hurting anyone.”
“Oh yeah? What about the satellites?” She points a steel finger at the sky. “Why do you think so many of them are looking for us? It’s because you screwed up and told your high-school buddy about this place.”
What? How does Zia know about that? My conversation with Hawke about the “out west” comment was supposed to be confidential. “How did you—”
“I know a lot of things. So you better watch your step.”
Then she strides away, leaving me more confused than ever.
• • •
We have some free time in the afternoon, so I go looking for Hawke. I find him in one of Pioneer Base’s corridors, running off to another meeting, and I ask if he’s heard any news about Ryan. He says no, but he assures me that the police and the FBI are on the case. For a moment I consider asking him if he mentioned this subject to Zia, but I don’t. I think I know how she got the information. Marshall must’ve eavesdropped on my conversation with Hawke and passed the tidbit along.
Afterward, I stop by my bedroom to recharge. While juicing up I practice the transfer process, wirelessly sending my data to Pioneer 1A—my evil twin, standing motionless in the corner—and then back to Pioneer 1. But I still hate doing this. It still makes me nauseous, so I cut the practice session short as soon as I finish recharging. Then I leave my twin behind and head for Dad’s laboratory. I take an envelope with me, gripping it gently between my steel fingers.
It’s my letter to Mom. I finally worked up the courage to write it. It’s a short letter, just eight sentences. I scribbled it in pencil because that seemed more personal than printing it out. Now I’m going to ask Dad to send it to the secret location where the Army’s hiding her.
When I get to the lab, though, I see a soldier guarding the door. He says Dad’s talking with General Hawke. Then he sees the envelope in my hand and offers to give it to Dad when the meeting’s over. But I say no thanks. I don’t want the soldier to touch it.
As I head back to my room I realize I’ve seen Dad only four times in the past week, and each time we spent only a few minutes together. I know he’s very busy now—he’s working on the plans for the Tatishchevo mission—but it still seems unfair. Before I became a Pioneer we spent hours together every day, chatting about computers or math or football while he changed my clothes and prepared my meals and took me to the bathroom and put me to bed. Now, of course, I don’t need as much assistance. I’m a low-maintenance robot instead of a high-maintenance human. But I miss our talks.
When I return to my room and open the door, I get a big surprise. Another Pioneer stands next to my evil twin. It’s Pioneer 2, Jenny Harris.
Dumbfounded, I step inside and let the door close behind me. Jenny has avoided everyone for the past six days, so I don’t understand what she’s doing here. Did she wander into my room by mistake? No, that can’t be right. She would’ve known she was in the wrong place as soon as she saw the Super Bowl posters on the walls.
I put my letter to Mom on the bookshelf next to my comics. Then I take a cautious step forward. “Uh, Jenny? Are you all right?”
She turns her turret, aiming her camera at me. “Yes, I’m fine.”
I wait for her to say something else, but she just stands there, as motionless as my evil twin.
&n
bsp; “So, uh, what’s up?” I ask. “Do you want to talk or something?”
Several seconds go by. I’m about to repeat the question when she extends her right arm and points at one of my Super Bowl posters. “I recognize that,” she says. “It was in your memories.”
She’s pointing at my Super Bowl XLVI poster, the one with the drawing of Eli Manning and the photograph of me and Ryan. Jenny must’ve seen it when I was inside her Pioneer. It makes sense that she’d remember this particular image, because it’s one of my most powerful memories, so strong that it shapes a big portion of my electronics. I guess it was powerful enough to leave an impression on Jenny’s circuits too.
I’m agitated now. What else does Jenny know about me? How many other images from my past were copied onto her circuits?
After a moment she points at another Super Bowl poster, the last one. “I recognize those drawings too.” She gestures at the three portraits I drew, lined up left to right on the poster. “That’s Brittany, right?”
This is too much. It’s too personal. I need to stop this right now. “Look, Jenny, I’m confused. For a whole week you wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t talk to anyone. And now you come in here and—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Well, what’s going on?” My synthesized voice is loud and angry.
She lowers her arm and strides toward me. She doesn’t stop until she’s less than a yard away. “I was scared, Adam. Scared and confused and depressed. Every time I looked at myself, I was horrified. I couldn’t think straight.”
“Why didn’t you say something? My dad could’ve helped you.”
“No, not really. He could’ve adjusted my circuits, I guess. And maybe that would’ve made me feel a little better. But he couldn’t solve the real problem. He couldn’t make me human again.”
My anger fades. I’m starting to understand. I remember what I did right after I became a Pioneer—how I stormed out of the laboratory and down the corridors until I found my dead body still lying inside the scanner. I remember the aching loss.
“But you know what?” Jenny adds. “I feel better today. Maybe because we went flying. I guess it gave me a different perspective.”
She was the last Pioneer to come down from her Raven, I recall. Obviously she enjoyed the experience. “Yeah, it was pretty cool,” I say.
“Or maybe I’m just getting accustomed to my situation. If you give it enough time, maybe you can accept anything, no matter how crazy.” She lifts her arms at the shoulder joints, shrugging. “But whatever the reason, I feel better. So now I’m doing what I should’ve done a week ago. I came here to thank you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“What you did was very brave, Adam. You didn’t know what would happen when you jumped into my circuits. Your files could’ve been deleted. You could’ve disappeared.”
“You’re giving me too much credit. I just—”
“No, it was brave. And now I want to be brave too. I’m ready to get the memory back.”
She doesn’t have to specify which memory she’s talking about. It’s the one that nearly killed her, the memory of being trapped in a pitch-black closet when she was two years old. I still have it in my circuits, the image of toddler Jenny staring at herself in the mirror, and then the sudden terror as her older brother shoves her into the closet and locks the door. I’m not surprised that it paralyzed her circuits when she awoke inside her Pioneer. In fact, I’m afraid it might shut her down again.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “You can wait a little longer, you know.”
“I’m ready. It’s a piece of me, an important piece. And I want to be whole again.”
“Well, I guess I could put the memory in a separate folder and transfer it to you wirelessly. Then you could put it back in the right place in your files.”
Jenny pauses. “I might need some help with that. Is there any chance you could jump into my circuits again? You know, just in case I have a problem?”
She says this in a casual, offhand way, but I can tell she’s worried. She really, really wants me to help her. For a moment I wonder if I should get Dad involved. He’s the expert on neuromorphic circuits. But then I dismiss the idea. Dad may have designed our electronics, but he doesn’t live in them. At this point I know more about the circuits than he does.
I go to the corner of my room where Pioneer 1A stands and pick up the data cable that lies by its footpads. Then I return to Jenny and plug one end of the cable into her data port. “I have just one request.” I plug the other end into my own port. “Promise you won’t hit me in the turret and break my camera again.”
Jenny holds up her right hand. “I promise. No hitting.”
“All right. Here goes.”
I initiate the transfer. As my data rushes through the cable I feel the familiar nausea, but it’s not as bad as before. In less than a second I’m inside Jenny’s Pioneer and occupying a vacant section of her circuitry. Her electronics are utterly calm, which is a stark contrast from last time. She gives me a moment to settle down, then sends a message from her side of the circuitry to mine.
Welcome back. Do you like what I’ve done with the place?
I move toward her, venturing into the circuits between us.
Yeah, it’s nice. Very quiet.
You see, you’re helping me already. I was nervous a second ago, but now I’m fine. Do you have the memory?
I retrieve it from my files and move a little closer. There’s less than a millimeter of empty circuitry between us.
Okay, I’m going to hand it off. Just like a football. Here it comes.
Our minds touch, and it’s like seeing Jenny’s whole life in front of me. Unlike last time, though, all her memories are neatly organized now. There are folders for every person, place, and thing. Most of her recent memories are in the high-school folder, which is divided into hundreds of categories: soccer practice, tenth-grade geometry, junior prom, and so on. Older memories are in the elementary-school and preschool folders.
I see images of her friends, her arguments with her brother, her favorite TV shows. She knows how to play the flute and speak French and ride a horse. She was hoping to become a lawyer, like her dad, and she was about to start filling out her college applications when she learned she had brain cancer. I see her memory of the doctor telling her the news. She’s sitting on an examining table and staring at her hands. She’s trembling in disbelief.
At the same time, Jenny’s viewing my memories. I can sense her presence in my files and feel her reactions to what she’s seeing. Although she’s sympathetic and understanding, it still makes me uncomfortable. I want to end this as quickly as possible and get back to my Pioneer.
I give Jenny the traumatic memory from her childhood. A tremor runs through her circuits as she accepts it, but the disturbance doesn’t last long. She puts the file into her folder of early memories, and it becomes part of her again, shaping who she is.
Thank you, Adam. That wasn’t hard at all.
Glad to help. Though I don’t think you really needed me. You handled it perfectly.
No, you helped a lot. Now I want to give you something. To show my appreciation.
Jenny, you don’t—
Here. I want to share this with you.
It’s one of her memories, a fairly recent one. I see a wide green valley on a sunny summer day. There are rolling hills in the distance and a red barn and a gray silo. Jenny’s lying in the grass, and the air smells of clover and horses. Someone else lies nearby, a brown-haired teenage boy. Probably Jenny’s boyfriend, although I didn’t see any images of a boyfriend in her folder of high-school memories. Then the boy turns his head toward Jenny and I recognize him. His legs are paralyzed and so is his left arm. It’s the boy I used to be. It’s Adam Armstrong.
What’s going on? This can’t be a memory.
Well, part of it’s a memory. I went to a horse farm in the Shenandoah Valley last summer. It was a wonderful place.
But I wasn’t there.
I added your image to the scene. I figured out how to do it a couple of days ago. It’s like using Photoshop on a regular computer. You can take an image from one memory and insert it into another.
So this is more like a dream than a memory?
Yes, that’s right. It’s a dream. A beautiful dream.
Jenny turns to me, propping her elbow on the grass. She resembles the girl I saw on my first visit to Pioneer Base, the pale, bald girl sitting beside her parents in the auditorium, except in this image she’s neither pale nor bald. It must be a memory of how she looked before she got cancer. Her eyes are bright blue and her cheeks are full of color and her hair is long and blond and lustrous. Like Brittany. She reminds me of Brittany. I get a little worried as I notice this similarity, because I know Jenny can see all my thoughts, but the comparison doesn’t seem to upset her. She stretches her arm toward me and clasps my right hand. I feel the pressure of her grip, which surprises me. My mind is participating in Jenny’s dream, responding to everything she does.
I like you, Adam.
Uh, thanks. I like you too.
Do you like me as much as you like Shannon?
This also surprises me, although it shouldn’t. Jenny can see my memories of Shannon, all the conversations we’ve had. Nothing is hidden here, and maybe that’s a good thing. This is a place where it’s impossible to lie.
I like both of you. Is that okay?
I don’t know. I guess so. She squeezes my hand. I want to kiss you. Would you like that?
Circuits crackle all around me. If I had a heart, it would be pounding. I never kissed a girl before. I never imagined it could happen. I thought I’d live my whole life without it.
