by John Purcell
Chapter 5
10.15.2173.9:29PM
Eppi always makes us pancakes on Sunday mornings, and, unlike other meals, she sets a plate in front of me. I butter the pancakes and pour syrup on them, because it seems to please her, but I can’t eat them. Still, it’s pleasant to relax and not have to hurry off to school.
Drake was doing poorly this morning, though, cradling his head in his hands and raising it only to sip black coffee. Luma and I knew enough not to speak, but I had a lot to tell her and was counting the seconds until she finished. She understood this somehow and ate her pancakes quickly. After we cleared our dishes, we headed out back to the swing set to talk.
We sat on the swings and dangled our feet.
Luma said, “What happened at the park last night? Why did you miss your ride?”
I said, “I went there to break an access code. It should have taken around two hours, but it took twice that long. Last night, I couldn’t figure out why. When I booted up this morning, though, it all made sense.”
“What happened?”
“When I broke that access code, a lot of new program code loaded onto my drives. That’s what took so much time. I tried to trace it but it was more like an explosion than anything else. Tiny bits of code got added to every program in my system.”
Luma said, “Wow.”
I knew she was just being a sport. Talk of codes and programs mean nothing to her. Like everyone else in Dome Nine, she’s never used or even seen a computer.
I said, “Luma, I was meant to break that access code. Two odd thoughts led me right to it. And that program code has been locked away since my father built me. I keep asking myself why.”
“I don’t know.”
“And why now?”
Luma chewed her lip, then brightened, “I know! It was your birthday last week! Maybe it was some sort of birthday present!”
Luma’s insights are always worth considering. Was it possible my father had set these thoughts to be triggered by my 100th birthday?
I said, “Something else happened at the park last night.”
“What?”
“I spoke with Miss Green.”
Luma’s eyes widened. “What was she doing there?”
“I think she came there just to talk to me. She told me a lot of things about my father that I never knew. And, in a way, about my mother, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“She told me that my mother wasn’t my father’s wife, she was his godmother. That means Drake’s not my grandnephew and you’re not my great grandniece.”
Luma shrugged. “That’s okay.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t make much difference. But it makes me wonder how much else I don’t know. I’m not sure my father even had a wife.”
Luma thought for a moment. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Well, he built you because he wanted a kid. Why would he do that if he was married?”
I could think of other explanations, but Luma’s had the ring of truth.
I was trying to decide how much more to tell her when the back door opened and Moto raced down the stairs and across the yard. She flopped on her back, waiting for a tummy rub. Luma jumped off the swing and granted her wish. Then Moto hopped to her feet and barked three times, meaning she had something to say.
I said, “What is it, Moto? Would you like to play a game?”
She barked once, meaning yes.
“What would you like to play? Fetch?”
Moto barked twice, meaning no.
“Hide and Go Seek?”
Two barks.
“Twenty Questions?”
One bark.
“Okay. Are you thinking of something?”
One bark.
“Is it something I can see from here?”
One bark.
“Is it a living creature?”
One bark.
At this point, I guessed which routine she was running. “Is it something very cute?”
One bark.
“Is it Moto?”
Moto danced around in circles, yapping. I called to her and patted my lap and she jumped into it, licking my face. Her breath smelled of machine oil.
I always find it amusing that Moto thinks she’s alive. She only thinks this because it’s the simplest way to construct her program.
iPups are quite sophisticated, because dogs were very intelligent animals, but they’re no greater than the sum of their processors. In other words, they may have multiple processor banks, and be able to run complex programs simultaneously, but the processors are still individual units, unable to function as a whole.
That’s the problem my father solved. My TEO’s create webs that link my processors together in much the same way that human brain cells are linked.
I was ruffling Moto’s fur and picturing her processor banks, trying to imagine how a TEO might be added, when it hit me: I knew exactly how to construct the Trans-processor External Overlay.
I jumped up from the swing, startling Luma and sending Moto tumbling across the grass.
Luma said, “Yikes!”
I said, “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“What’s the matter?”
As intelligent as Luma is, I knew she wouldn’t understand. I also realized it would be better if she didn’t know.
I said, “I was just thinking about Moto’s circuitry. You wouldn’t find it very interesting.”
She looked at me skeptically. “That’s what made you jump?”
“Well, I found it interesting.”
Luma rolled her eyes.
I said, “I think I’ll go up to my room now.”
