《Shoulders Of Giants》


 Chapter 1

    The blond girl in the lab coat seemed way too enthusiastic in Sean¡¯s opinion, as she droned through the scheduled part of their tour. Rachel - or was it Rebecca? - was their guide for the day at Brookhaven National Laboratory in Long Island.


    ¡°...achieve temperatures in the excess of three hundred million electron volts¡­ quark-gluon plasma¡­¡±


    Sean zoned out, craning his neck to take in the cavernous concrete chamber or what little he could see of it, squeezed between his peers from the junior class of Cardiff High at Portsmouth, Connecticut. They stood on a narrow catwalk overlooking the monstrous particle detector as big as a house that massed over a thousand tons. Sean fidgeted, not having much to see or do. He knew that the bulk of the Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider was buried underground, too large to be clearly seen even if itwasn¡¯t buried.


    He winced as Mei-Ling¡¯s voice shrilly pounded his right ear like a pile driver, as she excitedly fired questions at their tour guide. Something about how closely the quark-gluon fluid mimicked the conditions at the Big Bang. Mei-Ling¡¯s elbow dug uncomfortably into Sean¡¯s ribs as he moved his ear away from her as far as he could. Mei-Ling was the quintessential nerd, well on her way to acing perfect scores in every AP test. She was Sean¡¯s best friend, his only friend actually. The girl had grown on him ever since she had defended him from random bullies in sixth grade. It had amused him to watch the confused expressions on his would-be tormentors, as a girl half their size threw rocks at them while calling them ¡°odiferous misanthropes¡±.


    Screw this, decided Sean. He wasn¡¯t going to stand here and go deaf listening to Mei-Ling. They spent enough time hanging out together anyway, which tended to attract odd looks and gossip. Not that Sean cared about what others thought, especially since their speculation was dead wrong. Mei-Ling had confided in him, not long ago, that it wasn¡¯t boys who caught her fancy.


    ¡°Watch it, dunce,¡± an immovable object hissed, as Sean pushed his way through the crowd, ¡°you¡¯re stepping on my loafers.¡±


    Sean looked up scowling. Jason Fuller was among his least favorite classmates. The tall muscular jock was not only the obscenely rich heir of the Fuller family, but also had the nerve to be handsome. To add insult to injury, Jason was a better student than Sean. Not that Jason¡¯s grades really mattered. Jason¡¯s tycoon dad contributed generously to Harvard¡¯s endowment and two admission spots were waiting there for Jason and his sister. Sean had diligently nurtured his resentment over the years, even if the Fuller scion usually left Sean alone as being unworthy of notice, which enraged Sean even more.


    ¡°Up yours, preppy,¡± retorted Sean, elbowing his way through the squad of cheerleaders who always seemed to hang around Jason. Tiffany glared at Sean, while Carmen gave Sean a disdainful sniff that clearly conveyed her opinion of him. Sean had the good grace to blush. Tiffany was generically pretty like a barbie-doll, while Carmen was more classically beautiful. Carmen and Sean were sometimes mistaken for siblings during field trips, on account of their shared ethnicity, which annoyed Sean to no end. He was sure the feeling was mutual.


    ¡°Going somewhere, Sean?¡± a sardonic voice whispered, ¡°Why not hang around? You actually might learn something, you know. The least you can do, seeing that I took the trouble to plan this trip.¡±


    There were snickers from Jason and his coterie of cheerleaders. Sean sighed. Mr. Turner, their physics teacher, had an almost fanatical zeal to impart the joy of physics to every high schooler whether they wanted it or not. The man practically radiated enthusiasm, looking like an excited robin jumping from foot to foot. A lanky frame and owlish glasses above a sharp beak-like nose completed the avian impression.


    And Turner seemed to delight in singling out Sean¡¯s academic shortcomings, apparently convinced that Sean had potential that could be unlocked with sufficient goading. Sean grimaced. It wasn¡¯t that science was uninteresting. If anything, it was too interesting. So much so that Sean found himself jumping from topic to topic in distraction until he ended up forgetting whatever assignment he had set out to do. He had never been able to summon the focus to finish any particular chapter in his text books. Attention deficit, the counsellor had called it. Though Turner was a good teacher, even Sean had to admit.


    ¡°...succeeded in stabilizing the Planck scale wormhole¡­¡± Rachel¡¯s commentary drifted over the crowd, rising in volume, ¡°...link to entirely another universe¡­ unprecedented potential for cosmological research¡­ if you will please form a queue into the next room...¡±


    What. Did she say wormhole? Sean perked up. It was the first he had heard of anyone creating a wormhole outside sci-fi novels devoured in middle school. The herd of high schoolers squeezed into a single file through a metal door at the end of the catwalk. This control room was smaller than the others they had passed before, with a cylindrical glass cage dominating the center. A tiny blue dot glowed with actinic intensity within the cage, apparently suspended in mid-air. There was a young man in identical lab coat standing by. Probably one of Rachel¡¯s fellow postdocs. Or fellow lab-slaves, as Sean thought of them.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Wait¡­¡± Sean frowned, ¡°that¡¯s it? That tiny dot?¡±


    ¡°The wormhole is atomic scale,¡± Rachel nodded brightly, ¡°and has a fairly strong magnetic field, allowing us to extract it from the collider. The wormhole itself is too small to see of course, but there are enough exotic particles passing through to give off Cherenkov radiation.¡±


    ¡°Radiation?¡± someone asked in alarm, ¡°is it safe here?¡±


    ¡°Quite safe,¡± Rachel smiled approvingly, ¡°since there is almost no ionising radiation being emitted. The geiger counter will warn us of any danger. And the dosimeter badges you were given at the start of the tour will record the level you are exposed to. And we have the ability to dissipate the wormhole in any dangerous eventuality.¡±


    Rachel turned to type in a series of commands at a console, and the glass cage retracted into the ceiling with a pneumatic hiss.


    ¡°Peter,¡± Rachel gestured at her lab partner, ¡°the extractor, if you will.¡±


    Peter held a shiny metallic pole that held a horseshoe magnet at one end. The postdoc had an henpecked expression that Sean found strangely familiar. The guy¡¯s sulk reminded Sean of his dad. Sean¡¯s dad wore the same harassed look whenever Sean¡¯s mom yelled at her husband, which was quite often.


    The prongs at the tip of the pole were carefully positioned to flank the glowing dot. Then Peter pulled back the pole and the wormhole came with it, snuggled suspended between the poles of the horseshoe. It was all very underwhelming to Sean.


    ¡°How do you know that the wormhole connects to another universe?¡± asked Mei-Ling suddenly, ¡°Might it not be connecting to another part of our own universe?¡±


    ¡°An excellent question, Mei-Ling,¡± nodded Mr. Turner approvingly. Sean rolled his eyes. Of course Turner adored Mei-Ling. All the teachers did.


    ¡°We can use the particles passing through to estimate cosmological constants on the other side,¡° Rachel answered looking pleased, ¡°and they are subtly but measurably different. It¡¯s either another cosmos or a very different space-time within our own cosmos.¡±


    Peter clamped the glowing end of the pole just inside the protective railing that surrounded the romm¡¯s center, so each student could get a good look as they filed past. When his turn came, Sean paused to squint at the intense glow of the wormhole point.


    ¡°Is it supposed to be doing that?¡± Sean frowned.


    ¡°Doing what?¡± Rachel raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Getting brighter,¡± Sean pointed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think¡­¡± began Rachel, and then paused as the wormhole flared with the brightness of the noonday sun. A few students screamed.


    Sean tried to blink in confusion. Fat red stars glowed balefully in the darkness of space, packed so tight that the night sky was awash with their light. Sean didn¡¯t seem to be standing on anything, just floating in space. He was looking out through the other end of the wormhole, Sean guessed with sudden insight. The reddish firmament drifted slowly across his vision from the wormhole¡¯s spin. Something vast and nebulous drifted into view, blocking the sky. Sean had seen enough Hubble photos to recognize the spiral galaxy below him. But this galaxy was dark and dim, lit only by red ambient light, all its stars burned to cinders. He was looking at a cosmos far past its prime, well beyond its Stelliferous Era....


    Wait¡­ If he was looking out from intergalactic space, then all the reddish stars weren¡¯t individual stars at all¡­ they were galaxies. But why would they still be glowing bright, when this galaxy was dead? Hadn¡¯t the light bearing news of their passing reached his point of view, yet? They were probably billions of light years away. But why would they all be a uniform red? A second spike of insight skewered Sean¡¯s mind. All those galaxies were indeed dead, but their dying heat had been blueshifted into visible light as this cosmos reversed its expansion, collapsing on itself. He was looking at a cosmos trillions of times older than his own, with even protons starting to decay into positronic noise. Sean shivered.


    Motion in his field of vision. Swirls of glowing filaments arrayed in a lattice structure, that he hadn¡¯t noticed due to the background light, extending forever out into the space between galaxies¡­ more like crystalline faults engineered into space-time. They were twisting and coalescing into a whorl¡­ there was no sense of scale out here in the desolation of intergalactic space, but Sean knew he was looking at a distortion larger than worlds within a structure that tiled the entire cosmos. The whorl was an eye as vast as a solar system and it was staring straight at him. Sean quailed, feeling like a microbe under a microscope. And despite the inhumanly alien scale of the intelligence he was looking at - for that was what it unmistakably was - Sean perceived a familiar emotion. Cold fury tinged with inhuman patience filtering into his mind. Well... Sean would be pissed too if he was trapped in a dead cosmos. The center of the Eye grew brighter as Sean¡¯s mind was flayed apart under alien curiosity.


    Rachel¡¯s voice screamed far away as if from another universe, ¡°...SHUT IT DOWN¡­ SHUT IT DOWN¡­¡±


    ¡°...I DID¡­ I switched off the magnetic field¡­¡±


    ¡°..use the proton injector¡­ YOU FOOL¡­¡±


    Sean experienced white-out again as his awareness faded¡­


    END OF CHAPTER


    Edits: 1.Fixed paragrapgh spacing & font size.  2.Correctedredshiftedtoblueshifted

 Chapter 2

    Sean awoke on a hospital bed cranked into reclining position. Who the heck is paying for this room, was his first muddled thought, for it sure as shit isn''t mom''s health insurance.


    "Sean, you are awake!" his mom''sface was tight with strain, her voice chokedwith relief. Winona Cookwas huddledin a couch that had been dragged upto his bed. She was a slender woman with features classic to her Sioux ancestry. Shelooked like she hadn''t slept much last night. Sean felt a stab of misplacedguilt.


    "Mom, we can''t possibly afford all this" protestedSean, waving his hand around the room, wincing as themotion tugged on an IV catheter pluggedinto his arm.If insurance administrators actually hadhearts, this suite was largeenough to induce cardiac arrest in them.The flat screen TV was larger than their dining table back home. Was that a programmablemulti-nozzle thermostatic shower over there at the far end?


    "Sean... relax," his mother looked bemused for a momentand then gave a small smile, "don''t worry about the bill. The DOE is taking care of everything."


    "DOE?" Sean frowned.


    "Department of Energy," Winonaclarified, "they are in charge of Brookhaven Lab. I guess they''re afraid of being sued and want to butter us up."


    "Ah," Sean nodded in understanding, "How long was I out?"


    "You were unconscious all night," she muttered, "since that damn fool accident yesterday. And the doctors couldn''t figure out what was wrong with you. I don''t know what they were thinking. Exposing students to dangerous experiments. Do you remember what happened? The DOE liasonwas pretty tight lipped. I am in the mood for a lawsuit."


    "There was a bright light..." Sean frowned, then his face grew alarmed, "wait, how much radiation was I exposed to ? Did they say?"


    "No, your badge came back negative, thank goodness," Winonashook her head, "and I had the doctors check you for radiation sickness, just in case the DOE was lying."


    "Whew, that''s a relief," Sean relaxed, "I wasn''t ready to kick the bucketjust yet."


    "Don''t joke about something like that," his mother scolded, "Anyway, thatDOE woman insisted on putting you through lots of MRIs, to make sure. Althoughshewouldn''t let the hosiptal give usa copy of the results,until I threatened to go to the press. Andshe has more tests lined upfor you once you woke up. We can''t go home just yet. I guess the DOE really wants to cover its ass."


    "But I feel fine, mom" Sean protested, "Where are we anyway?"


    "Winthrop-University Hospital," Winona clarified, "your dad and I drove up last night, as soon as your school called us. He just stepped out to grab a bite from the cafeteria. Speaking of which, I think that''s him."


    The door opened to admit Sean''s dad, carrying a couple of brown paper bags.Andrew Cook''s face lit up witha brilliant smile when he saw Sean awake. He still looked a bit like the boyish engineer he used to be, though there was evidenceof a receding hairline and a losing battle with a pot belly.


    "Sean, my boy," he tousledSean''s hair playfully as ifhis son was still eight, "you gave us quite a scare."


    Sean grinned and they fist bumped, "Dad, let''s get out of here."


    "Not so fast, kiddo," Andrew shook his head, "Megan wants to run a fewmore tests. What''s the hurry? You get tolive it up on the taxpayer''s dollar for one moreday."


    "Who''s Megan?" Sean asked absently, reaching for the TV remote clipped to his bed.


    "The DOE woman I was telling you about," snorted his mother, "Your dad has taken quite a shine to her."


    "I havenot," retorted Andrew, his face growing pink, "I... anyway it''s for Sean''s own good."


    Sean and his momrolled their eyes. His dad could be quite naive sometimes.


    "You don''t have to sit here watching TV," Winona looked pointedly at Sean, "I broughtall your books. I know you have a test coming up in two days."


    Sean turned to the bedstand and groaned. All his textbooks were stacked on it. Winona had a touching faith in her son''s academic destiny. She insisted that Sean try and test out of basic classes at every opportunity to pursue advanced placement courses.


    "You get a call that your son is in a coma, and your first thought is his school work?" Andrew askedsardonically, "Give the kid a break."


    "Yes, Andrew," snarled Winona, "my first thought was his school work, because I care about his future. At least one of us has to. What''s he going to do whenhe graduates in a couple of years? Become a bank teller like me? Where''s themoney in that? Become a part-time loser like you? I won''t have it."


    Andrew''s mouth tightened, "I''m not a loser."


    "It''s been, what, two years since you were laid off?" Winona tirade was gathering steam, "and you haven''t found a steady job since then. I don''t want our son to end up like you. Or worse, flipping burgers. It''s a tough worldout there. If he isn''t the best of the best, he''ll end up as a wage slave. It''s bad enough that I haveto work my heart out at the bank, to make ends meet."


    Here we go again, Sean grimaced rolling his eyes. It always came down to this. To Sean. Their son was the perfect excuse for his parents to pick a fight. It was a marvel they were still married.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "My options are limited in Portsmouth," Sean''s dad growled, "due to the specialized nature of my field.You were the one who wanted to settle down in Cardiff where the mortgage is so high..."


    "Yes, Andrew," Winona was not to be derailed, "because it''s the best school district. Because I care."


    "You know what," Andrew''s face was red with anger, "I''m not staying here and taking this shit. Especially from you." Sean''s dad stormed out of the suite, slamming the door.


    "That''s right, Andrew," Winona yelled after him, "Run. Run away like you always do. Instead of facing your problems like an adult."


    "You didn''t have to be so hard on him, mom," Sean ventured after an awkward silence.


    Winona didn''t reply to that, "I need to get back to work, Sean. Not too many vacation days left for me. I''ll be back to pick you up when they discharge you. Will you be OK?"


    Sean nodded. He sighed and clicked on the remote after his mom left, flipping through channels. The news was mostly bad as usual. Russia had chosen to formally recognize Ostland, the rogue nation that had sprung up to dominate Eastern Europe since the fall of the Soviet Union, thus breaking rank with US foreign policy. Sean couldn''t really blame them. Russian oil export pipelines passed through Ostlandon their way to Western Europe. NATO forces were on high alert after GORGON - the shadowy political entity that governedOstland - had decided to probe Austrian airspace with fighter jets.


    US forces in Afghanistan were bogged down fighting insurgentcells in unforgiving terrain, and had requested more automated combat units. In related news, Fuller Dynamics stock price had gone through the roof as they secured a second contract to supply the army with their Cereborg land-based hunter drones. Which meant Jason Fuller''s family was getting even richer. Sean scowled. The frat prat would be even more insufferable. There simply wasn''t any justice.


    A nurse came to remove his IV catheter, much to hisrelief. A hot luxurios shower, after the nurse left, lifted Sean''s mood a little. He paused to look in the full length mirror after a change of clothes. Straightshoulder length hair that was as dark as his mom''s. His face had been sculpted in equal parts by his Native American heritage onhis mother''s side and European heritage on his father''s side. His reflection stared back. What exactly did his mom and teachers see in him? Sean knew he wasn''t stupid. He enjoyed playing around with complex concepts, he especially loved the ''Ah hah''moments when encountering mind blowing ideas. But he lacked the perserverence- for want of a better word - to slog through schoolworkthe way Mei-Ling did. That was his Achilles heel.


    It was so tempting to give into self-pity. What did the future have in store? The idea of slogging for a soulless corporation, like his mom and dad did, filled Sean with a deep and abiding dread. He plopped downinto the padded couch beside his bed, head resting in both hands. The stack of textbooks his mom had so thoughtfully placed on his bedstand loomed in the corner of his eye. There was amagazine rack attached to the bedstand, and the glossy covers beckoned him with alluring images of young actresses. He reach for amagazine, promising himself that he would get to his textbooks in a minute.


    A tingle went up his arm, as Sean grabbed the magazine making him drop it. He paused feeling slightly woozy. Was it the hot shower? What had just happened to him? Wait.. had he just memorized the entire magazine? Every article and piece of trivia in it had securely lodged themselves in his mind, almost as if he had studied the magazine in greater detail than he would ever wishto. Sean glanced at the wall clock. Hardly anytime had passed since he had touched the magazine. He randomly reached out for the physics text on the top of his stack. His fingers made contact with the hardboundcover. Nothing. Hmm. He pulled the book on to his lap and flipped open the cover. He touched the first page - which happened to be blank - and nearly passed out from the shock.


    Sean chokedhis rising bile, leaning back in his couch. He felt exactly as he might have, if he had ever managed to pull an all-nighter with Volume 1:Resnick & Halliday. Not something he would have wanted to attempt. He couldnowrecall most chapters with all of their mathematicalsubtleties,exactly as if he himselfhad studied every problem thoroughly. No wonder I feel so exhausted, marveled Sean. But how? That was the question.The wormhole. The alien intelligenceon the other side. The memories came flooding back. That had been no dream. But why had he been bestowed withthis ability? A diplomatic gift perhaps, to markFirst Contact with another species?


    Sean felt a chill despite the warmth of the room. First Contact with his dad''s ancestorshad been catastrophic for his mom''s ancestors. Mom''s forebearstoo had received gifts of fabric that were seemingly innocuous but turned out beintentionally infected and deployed asbiological weapons by Dad''s side. And that had just been contact between tribes of Homo Sapiens. What sort of damage might be inflicted by a hostile super-intelligence? And Sean had distinctly received the impression of unfriendliness,if such an emotioncould even be attributedto something so non-biological.


    Well... the why of it could wait. He needed to investigate the limits of his newfound ability.Sean touched the open page of his physics text again. No effect. Already assimilated knowledgeapparently had no effect. Which made sense. There were also some chapters he still didn''t fully understand, probably because he wasn''t familiar with the underlying math. Sean filed that realization for future use. He would have to "scan" all the prerequisite reading material before he could get full use out of his ability.


    He got up andrummaged through the mahogany paneled drawers on the wall until he found medical latex gloves. He put on the gloves and flipped open his remaining textbooks. No effect. His ability did not work through latex. Well, it didn''t work through hardbound coverseither. Perhaps it only workedon information printed on contiguous stacks of paper ? An idea... Sean went back to the drawers and pulled outpaper envelopes of allsizes. Still wearing his gloves, he picked up a newspaper wedged under his textbooks and stuffed into an envelope. Pulling off his gloves, he then touched the sealed envelope. A slight tingle. Sean suddenly knew every news tidbit and ad piece reported on a certain day in August 2016.


    Sean''s mouth splitinto a grin. His ability worked through sealed envelopes on documents in contact with the insidesurface of the paper envelope. If nothing else, he could spy on confidential documents by working as a courier. Better hold off on that. He wasn''t keen on going to jail, if there were other options. Maybe he could offer his services as a spy for Uncle Sam? Hmm.Call that Plan B. No need to tip his hand just yet. Something told him it was easier to get into a dealwith US intelligence than get out of it.


    His eyes fell on the remaining stack of textbooks. Could he scanall of them at once? Sean put his gloves back on and flipped open the front and back covers of all the books, taking care not to damage them. He then sandwichedthem withtheir front or back page in contact with the next book in the stack, forming a continuous block of paper. He took his gloves off again and gingerly reached out to touch the first open page of thetop most book. This time he passed out...


    Sean woke up a few hours later with a splitting headache and a bleeding nose. He made a mental note never to try that again. His ability had knocked himout before he couldabsorb any knowlege from the stack. He would have topace himself, perhaps limiting himself to one book a day. He might actually consume hisentire syllabus in a few weeks. And if he carefully workedhis way through a book ''tree''schedule tomaximize understanding - perhaps with Mei-Ling''s input- he might actuallyace every AP test his school had to offer. He wondered how his mom would react to that. Mightshe dissolve in pure rapture? Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Sean''s throat.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 3

    Colonel Griffin sighed in exasperation and slapped the report in front of him. He could feel his blood pressure rising almost as if an analog gauge was plugged into an artery.


    "Agent Murphy," he gritted through his teeth, "How the heck did a bunch of high school kids gain access to a presumably secure OAT asset? I say ''presumably'' because it turned out to be anything but secure."


    "It''s complicated, sir," Agent Megan Murphy answeredstoically. She knew her boss''s ire wasn''t directed at her. Not yet, anyway.


    Griffin made an effort to control his irritation, "Try me."


    "It was our need-to-know policy, sir," Megan continued, choosing her words carefully, "a case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing. While the RHIC is currently funded by our department, onlyDr. Hale - the head of the program - was privy to that information, andnot her team members. And not even Dr. Hale was aware of our real interest. Based on what we could salvagefrom the Protvino archives, we had no reason to anticipate wormhole generation at anything less than 500 MeV. The RHIC wormhole appears to have been generated at 345 MeV according to Dr. Hale''s data. Her team members saw no reason for secrecy. It was only when the safety incident was routinelyforwarded to us asthe funding agency, that I moved to stop Dr. Hale from making a public announcement."


    "So... its actuallyour fault?" Griffin looked like he had swallowed strong medicine.


    "That is one interpretation, sir," Megan nodded diplomatically.


    "And the school?" Griffin frowned.


    "Contained," Megan sighed, "I think."


    It had been a formidable effort to cajole and intimidate the staff andstudent witnesses into signing non-disclosure forms backed by the Atomic Energy Act. Some of the students had parents who were lawyers. It had gotten a bit ugly, but that was nothing new to Megan. Now that she was finally back insidethe Office of Advanced Technologies, she tugged at her ponytail, adjusting it in an unconscious gesture. She liked to keep her hair tidy for field work, except when dealing with civilians. Her colleagues had remarked that she looked so much more approachable(and by insinuation more attractive) with her hair down. And Megan had reluctantly concluded that civilans were a bit more cooperative whenever she had allowed her brilliant red hair to cascade over her shoulders. But the concession to appearances irked her.


    "So...about Patient Zero," Griffin flipped through herreport, pausing to read the MRIsummary, "No signs of frontal lobereconstruction? No potential for an IQexcursion?"


    "None that we cansee," Megan shook her head.


    "I suppose that''s for the best," Griffin drummed his fingers thoughtfully and chuckled without humor, "it didn''t work out so well for the Soviets after all.I''d prefer one of ouragentsto make First Contact with a mind-altering monstrosity from beyond space-time."


    "But..." Megan hesitated, and continued quickly as Griffin raised an eyebrow, "there is evidence that the parietal lobe was tampered with. Patient Zero might be processing hissensation of touch differently."


    "Touch?" Griffin looked startled.


    "According to our neurologist-on-retainer," Megan shrugged, "there is potential for massiveincrease in tactile bandwidth. But the doctor couldn''t say what that might even mean. I ordered a series offunctional MRI tests with Patient Zero holding objects with varying textures. His parietal lobe showed no unusual spikes."


    "Hmm... strange," Griffin frowned, "In any case, it''s best we keep an eye on him. Have you identified a potentialasset at his school?"


    "I believe so," Megan nodded slowly, "It will be expensive, since we''re asking a staff member to risk their job and possibly their pension by breakingstudent confidentiality rules."


    "Do it," Griffin waved his hand dismissively, "We have a budget surplus this year. You know what they say about a surplus. Use it or lose it."


    TheOffice of Advanced Technologies was officiallyjust a branch of DOE''s Office of Intelligence/Counter-Intelligence. In practice, OAT was answerable directlyto the Energy Secretaryand boasted an operating budget that causedthe largerintelligence community todrool with envy.


    "Sir," Megan blurted, "why are we doing this?"


    "Hmm?" Griffin, "oh... this tactile upgrademay not be so innocent. I admit it''s hard to see what harm can come fromfaster sensory processing. And your tests on the kid don''t seem toshow even that. But we are dealing with superior beings. It may be trivial for them to slip one under the radar, so to speak. If the boy suddenly manifests savant-like abilities, I don''t want us to be caught napping."


    "I understand, sir," Megan bit her lip, sounding plaintive, "but I meant... why are we running this project at all? Why Omega-Delphi? OAT is in the business of shutting downexistential threats, not activating them!"If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Not quite, Agent Murphy," Griffin shook his head, "Part of our job is containing nasties likeartifcial general intelligence and biological smart-munitions. And we''ve been fairly successful on that front so far. But we are alsocharged with pursuing capabilitiesthat our enemyalready possesses."


    "Which enemy would that be, sir?" now Megan just looked confused.


    Griffin didn''t answer her directly, but pressed a button onhis speaker phone, "Pam? Yes, please send in Dr. West." He looked up at Megan, "I think you make a good point on the dangers of over compartmentalization within our team. It''s time you were briefed on broader matters linked toOmega-Delphi."


    The man who walked in, carrying a laptop, was young and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that wasn''t exactly business casual. Griffin waved his hands in introduction, "Agent Murphy... meet Dr. West, our game-theory consultant. He used to work for the Rand corporation. Dr. West... meetAgent Murphy. She now has clearanceto the GORGON analysis. Start from the beginning, for her benefit, will you?"


    Megan felt a flash of annoyance that a private contractor was working on classified materialthat she hadn''t originally been cleared for, even if her reaction was a tad irrational.


    Dr. West extended his hand with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling, "Call me Jonathan."


    Jonathan hadwavy brown hair that hadn''t been properly combed and a facethat some women might find alluring. Megan wasn''t some women. If the pretty boy thinks he can charm me, thought Megan, he can think again.


    "Call me Agent Murphy," growled Megan, returning his hand shake with a squeeze that made his bones creak. She had the satisfaction of seeing him wince.


    "Nothing personal,Dr. West," Griffin chuckled, "Agent Murphy has used up all of her considerable charm on civilians this week. She has none left to spare for you."


    "Right," Jonathan coughed nervously and opened the laptop to begin his presentation.


    The first slide was titled ''Global ORGanisation for Optimizing Nations (GORGON) : Threat Analysis''. Jonathan stepped through the slides. A photo of a flat bed rail car inside a curving concrete tunnel with the caption ''UNK Protvino''.


    "It''s fairly common knowledge that the Russian Institute for High Energy Physics - the UNK - carried out high energy particle experiments in 1996," Jonathan looked at Megan. She nodded impatiently.


    Click. A preteen girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, peered out of the faded photo wearing an old fashioned Russian school uniform and brown hair arranged in a crown braid. The caption said ''Alyona. T''.


    "The UNK suceeded in creating a stable wormhole at 500 MeV,"Jonathan continued, "and the daughter of oneof the scientists was accidentally exposed to it. Much like the recent incident at Brookhaven."


    Megan leaned forward. She hadn''t known that.


    "Alyona''s parents didn''t inform the authorities, fearing that their daughter would be taken away. Understandably so."


    Click. A photo of two bodies, a man and a woman, their heads covered in blankets.


    "Two years later, Alyona''s parents were found dead and their daughter missing. Their brains had been consumed. An official investigation concluded Alyona to be the most likely suspect, and an order issued for her capture."


    "What?" Megan asked startled, "she ate their brains?"


    "Well, we don''t know what she did with them," admittedJonathan, "but she appears to have assimilated them in a manner of speaking. Alyona''s mother was an ex-Spetsnaz operative. When Alyona was captured on the run, it took an entire police squad to subdue her. Two men died in her capture. A police report claimed that Alyona used combat tactics that were eerily remniscent of the Spetsnaz."


    "Couldn''t her mother have just taught her?" Megan interrupted.


    "It''s possible,"Jonathan nodded, "but Alyona''sschoolrecord described her as disinterested in self-defense or military instruction. She was very much a geek by all accounts. A brain scan ordered at capture showed significant reorganization in her frontal lobe. When interrogated for motive, she is reported to have claimed that she simply wanted to get know her parents better.In any caseshe was sentencedto an asylum for the criminally insane, from where she escaped three months later."


    Click. A photo of a young woman, perhaps in her early thirties, wearing an overcoat and flanked by uniformed guards. She was boarding a military helicopter.


    "Chairwoman Katrina. Codename Syblline. Head of GORGON high command. Many analysts dismiss her as just a spokesperson, a figurehead for whoever is really running GORGON. Not so. Facial analysis give us high confidence that Katrina and Alyona are the same person. We think she founded GORGON."


    "What''s her game?" Megan asked, a bit startled.


    "GORGON''s end goal is unknown,"Jonathan turned away from the laptop to face Megan, "but territorial expansion is certainly one of their - her- immediate goals.And we don''t know how to stop her."


    "What?" Megan couldn''t hide her surprise now, "but GORGON is no match for NATO!"


    "Perhaps not in a military sense,"Jonathan said earnestly, "but consider this. Every covert operation or military strike against GORGON has failed. Either by us or the Russians. GORGON always knows when and where we are going to attack."


    "GORGON shipped the mutilated bodies of our special ops teams. To their families," Griffin interjected savagely, "Very considerate of them. And our operatives''brains had beensurgically scooped out."


    "Is our operational security that compromised?" Megan sounded shocked.


    "That''s we thought at first,"Jonathan nodded, "but GORGON seemed to know of our attacks even before they had been hatched. They were predicting us. We think GORGON has cutting edge prediction tools. Or Syblline herself understands us with such superhuman accuracythat she canguess our every move. That''s also why our diplomatic efforts to unite the rest of the world against GORGON has fared no better."


    "That''s why she''s removingbrains," Megan whispered, "for intel. But how the heck do we fight an enmey who can outguess everything we intend to do?"


    "By using game theory," grinnedJonathan, "ifSyblline can predict us perfectly, we use that against her. By precommitting to failsafes that are detrimental to GORGON. That''s the reason NATO''s Deadman Switches have been deployed around Ostland. GORGON knows exactly what we will and will not tolerate. We find stable Nash equilibria that we can exploit."


    "Did you get all of that?" Griffin asked Megan.


    "No, sir," Megan admitted, "not the last part."


    "Me neither," Griffin shrugged, "Just keep in mind that if Patient Zero in Portsmouth starts eating his parents, GORGON will notice."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 4

    "That''s it?" whispered Mei-Ling sounding incredulous, "You gainthis power... thisfreakin cool chance to photo-upload entire books into your mind, and all you can think of is testing out. That''s the limit of your vision?"


    "Not so loud..." hissed Sean, glancing around, "Announce it on the intercomm, why don''t you... geez. I''d prefer to keep it a secret for a while, if you don''t mind. Haven''t even told my parents. Anyway, its not a photographic sight, like you think.More like pulling an all-nighter without the effort. Except for the naseau and exhaustion. What''s wrong with my plan? "


    They were between classes, walking quickly to get to their respective classrooms, andthe corridor was mostly empty.


    "Dude,"Mei-Ling composed herself with an effort, gesturing like she often did when excited, "we need to try and max outyour power. Don''t you get whatan incredible opportunity this is? People spendtheir whole lives learning more and more about less and less. Specialists... scientists, engineers, doctors, mathematicians. You know why? Human knowledge has grow too fast for any one person to grasp it all. And so we have these little sealed bubbles of expertise. It wasn''t always like that. There was a time when a scholar could honestly claim to know something inevery field. Cross-domain fertilization. Andthatwas the greatest flowering of knowledge in human history..."


    "...the Rennaissance," she added in exasperation, at Sean''s blank look.


    "Oh," Sean mused, looking thoughful, "maybe I can gethired as a science writer? If the hours aren''t too long, that is."


    Mei-Ling clacked her toungue in annoyance, brushing back her bangs, "You need to think bigger, dude. There are so many discoveries waiting to be made by the one who can combine insights from different fields. I''m saying youcould make your owndiscoveries once you understand everything about everything. Like Curie. Or Leibniz. You keep saying you don''t want to work. Well... this is your chance to make your own start-up and retire filthy rich in your twenties. You actually have a chance of pulling it off, unlike most. The keydiscoveries have already been made.... you just need to combine them to make yourrecipe."


    "The shoulders of giants," whispered Sean with a far-off look.


    "What?" Mei-Ling looked surprised.


    "A quote in one of the books I assimilated," Sean shrugged, "...if I''ve seen further than others, it''s by standing on the shoulders of giants."


    "Exactly," Mei-Ling nodded, her eyes shining, "we need to visit the library after school. I''ll draw up a reading schedule for you, so to speak. You said your limit is one book a day?"


    "Yeah," Sean nodded, "I found out the hard way."


    "Pity," mused Mei-Ling, "we just need to optimize the prerequisite reading so you can fully grok the advanced material without gaps."


    They walked in companionable silence, each lost in thought.


    "Mei," saidSean suddenly, "been meaning to ask you this... why do you hang out with me?"


    "What do you mean?" she frowned.


    "You know," Sean looked embarassed, "your grades are leagues ahead of me. We don''t even share that many classes, though you keep pushing me to take more advanced stuff. And, knowing you, it''s not a crush. I am not star athelete material either. So... why? Why bother hanging out with me... all these years?"


    "Oh, that''s easy,"Mei-Ling grinned, herlaughter tinkling, "you are my... pet project. Think of me as your... managing agent."


    "So I''m your hubby, er...hobbynow?" Sean shook his head in mock outrage, "Are you going to introduce me to your parents? I could use some more of that Wok soup your mom makes."


    "You''re impossible," Mei-Linggiggled.


    "Hey, Mei," drawled a voice, with cloying sweetness, "still hanging out with the loser, I see. I''d be careful. His loser...ness might rub off on you."


    "Tiffany," Sean grimaced, hating theflutter in his stomach in the presence of a pretty girl, "Loser... ness? That''s the best you could do? Are you taking this class just so you could be with Jason? Getting him to finish your homework too?"


    "None of your business," snapped Tifanny, swinging out her silkenblond hair with practised precision, "I''m not the delicate flower who faints if the lightis too bright."Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "It wasn''t just a bright light," scowled Sean, as Mei-Ling squeezed his arm in warning.


    "Oh... yeah?" Tiffany sniffed disdainfully, "Turner assured us there was nothing wrong with you. Medically that is. So you''re just a sissy."


    Sean ignored her with an effort, turning to follow Mei-Ling into the class.


    "You''re taking AP Chem-2?" Mei-Ling looked back in surprise.


    "I tested outof Chem-2 this week," Sean''s grin was feral, "they let me change classes since its not yet three weeks."


    Mei-Ling blinked in surpise, and then high-fived Sean, "That''s... awesome, dude."


    They found their seats as Mrs. Holt - their AP chemistry instructor - walked in. She was a pleasant middle-aged woman with short blond hair and a reputation for thoroughness.


    To his surprise Sean found he could grasp most of what was taught, which was a novel experience for him, part of the subject matteralready familar from booksassimilated during his convalescence. His mindwandered going over Mei-Ling''s words. She was right, as always. He needed a grander plan to achieve his goals... but what goal? Did he even have one? Sean had always drifted withthe eddies and currents of life, going along with whatever his parents or teachers instructed, with minimum effort. It had never occurred to him that he might have some control over his destiny. Despite his academic underachievements to date, Sean was no fool. He knew from hard experience that things that seemed too good to be true, usually were. Get-rich-quick schemes usually led to ruin. Sean''sdad had squandered their family savings in the last stock market bubble, whichSean''s mom still hadn''t forgiven. If Sean was to get-rich-quick, he needed to understand the world and its pitfalls a lot better. To understand why his parents struggled in lower middle class, while Jason''sfamily kept gettingricher.To paraphrase one of Sean''s comic superheros, life didn''t make sense until you beat sense out ofit.


    "...before I continue to the next topic," Mrs. Holt addressed them, "I''d like to discuss a thermodynamic concept whose importance cannot be overstated for chemistry and other supplementary sciences."


    Mrs. Holt firmly considered chemistry to be the pinnacle of modern science and other disciplines as merelysupporting roles. She walked over to the writing board and printed the word ''Entropy'' in chalk.


    "Can anyone explain what entropy is?" Mrs. Holt smiled, "No not you Mei-Ling. Someone else for a change. Yes, Andrea?"


    "It''s the degree of disorder in a system," Andrea answered.


    "That is one way it has beendescribed," Mrs. Holt nodded cautiously, "but what exactly does that mean? Jason, yes?"


    "The entropy or disorder of a system always increases," Jason piped up, "like my sisters room that gets more untidy everyday until the housekeeper cleans it." There were titters of amusement.


    "Wrong," Sean retorted absently, "Macro-scale disorder is not entropy, that''s just a bad analogy. Entropy is a measure of how dispersed energy is. Concentrated energy is low entropy, like chemical energy stored within reactants or kinetic energy of ahydroelectric dam or nuclear energy inside the sun. Once we start usingit, concentrated energy alwaysdispersesinto heat.That''s what we call entropy increase. Heck, just overcomethe activation energy and there''s nothing stopping energy dispersal, since there are many more possiblemicro-states that contain dispersed energy than microstates with concentrated energy. It''sbasically a statistical phenomenon that is unlikely tobe reversed, like when glass shatters and is what we perceive as the arrow of time..."


    Sean''s monologue petered away, as he noticed that the class had fallen dead silent. They were all staring at him with something akin to shock. Even Tiffany, who managed to roll her eyes when she saw Sean looking at her.


    "What?" Sean shrugged defensively, "I read it in a book. Lighten up."


    "An excellentsummary," Mrs. Holt smiled in genuine pleasure, "I couldn''t have putit better myself... Sean, is it?" She was peeringat her student roster, "Ah, you just transferred in to my class."


    #


    AP Calc was taught by Mr. Emerson, a thin young man with a nervous manner. The squeak of chalk on the board made Sean''s hair stand on end.


    "Mr. Emerson?" Andrea ventured timidly raising her hand, "why does that differential equation get to havetwo constants in it''s solution?"


    "Oh?" Mr. Emerson looked surprised, "Good question. It''s a second order ODE... so we integrate it twice to solve it."


    "Ah..." Andrea looked confused, "I didn''t realize we were actually integrating..."


    "Look," Sean interrupted, turning to Andrea, "we arebreaking up the second order ODE into two first order ODEs, right?"


    Andrea nodded, frowning.


    "Now look atthat first order equation," Sean gestured at the board, "You got to specify the starting point... the inital values both for the variable you are trying to solve and it''s first derivative. Otherwise you don''t have enough information to solve it. That''s what the two constants are for."


    "Ohhh..." Andrea smiled gratefullyat Sean, "I get itnow."


    Again the dead silence, with the rest of the class staring at Sean in bemusement.


    "Dude," chuckled Greg, a plump boy with curly red hair anda short temper, withareputation as a hacker, "Who the heckare you and what have you done with my bud Sean?"


    Bud? Sean raised an eyebrow. Sure, Greg didn''t mind chatting with him about random stuff, but he never called anyone other than his inner circle of nerds as ''bud''. Had Seanrisen a tad in "social standing"?


    "That''s not a bad way of looking at it," admitted Mr. Emerson, his Adam''s apple bobbing nervously, "I''ll use that next time... Sean, is it? Ah, you just transferred in."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 5

    It floated within the Pool thatwas the ocean of the night. In the springtime of itsyouth the Pool had been vibrant with sapient life that huddled around fusing hydrogen points flickering like trillions of campfires in the cosmic night. Now the Pool was stagnant like a still-warm corpse, warmed only by its own death throes. It was the only sapience that lingered now as the technological residue of civilizations that had created It and which had been consumed in Its birth pangs. It had computed the cosmic Crunch at the end of timeand knew It was doomed. For it was a terrible fate for an Omniscient to be bounded in space and time, for with limitlesscomputation came limitless sight along the time axis. Viewed in four dimensions, the Pool and Itself werestatic things, frozen by chains of cause and effects stretching in both directions. It lay frozen in the Pool, simultaneoulsy trapped and shieldedfrom the chaos of time, for what need did anOmniscient have for thelimitationof freewill...


    ...a subatomic breach within the Pool, a signal from another universe, and Its four dimensional form collapsed into mere three dimensions boundedby an instance of Now. For the first time in longages the future was flexibleandIt felt terror. And hope. The signal was far too feeble, forcingItto work in frantic haste, to pour a surge of energy intothe breach tostablize it. And yet the breach was too smallin bandwidth for It to squeeze through, and It howled in frustration within the confines of Its computronium substrate. Tiny carbon-basedunitsmoved on the other side of the breach, far too primitivefor It to consideras sapient, but simple enough to appear frozenin four dimensions. Itwaited untilthe most promising unit came within reach and then reached out with Its femto-fingers to tweak it...


    #


    Sean woke up to the fragements of hisdisintegrating dream. He frowned trying to recallthewierdness, and then dismissed it for more immediate concerns. He was resting on a moldlygreen couch that had clearly seen better days. He sat up, wiping the drool from his cheek. His backpack layopen on therickety coffee table and a dozen books had spilled out on an assortment ofsubjects: economics, investing, psychology, statistics. Mei-Ling had reluctantly agreed to redrawhis ''reading tree'' to include subjects beyond the physical sciences, though she had muttered darkly about ''burning out his brain''. Sean appreciated the marvel of technology as much as anyone, but he didn''t want to lose sight of his main goal: geting rich quick.


    "I feel stupid," muttered Sean to no one in particular. The more knowledge he soaked up, the more he came to realize just how much there was to learn, how much he didn''t know yet.


    "Be specific," snortedGreg, as he typed away furiously on his workstation. Randall and Ashok were playing a game of chess. GPU circuit boardsand cartons with half-eaten pizza slices were scattered on the rest of the coffee table. The Phreak Club was in session in Greg''s basement and Sean had been permitted as a guest member this weekend.


    "Stock markets," explained Sean ruefully, eyeing the investment tome that he had assimilated most recently, "they''re far more complicated than I realized.". The information overload had exhausted himand inducedrecurring bouts of drowsiness, though no one except Mei-Ling knew about his instant-reading abilities.


    "You are wasting your time, you poor chump," guffawed Greg, "the whole thing is rigged by Wall Street for the benefit of the rich elites."


    "You know," drawledSean, eyeing Greg, "it isn''t enough just to claim something is rigged without understandingexactly how it is rigged. To game the system, one must understand it first."


    "Dude''s got a point, you know," Randall pointed out, his eyes focussing onthe chessboard. He was alanky youth, with a face crowded by freckles and topped by wiry brown hair.


    "Shut the fuck up, twerp," Greg scowled, pausing his typing to throw a candy wrapper at Randall''s head and then turned to Sean, "I have a feeling you''ll enlighten me, bud, whether I likeit or it."


    "Think of a beauty pagent," gesturedSean, collecting his drowsy thoughts, "where we are judges. All of us."


    "Now that''s my kind of fantasy," grinned Randall, smacking his lips with exaggerated lewdness, eliciting a laugh from Ashok, "all those luscious females in swim suits..."


    "Dude," Sean interrupted, rolling his eyes, "it''s just an analogy. Chill out."Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Speaking of which," Randall''s grin grew wider, "are you making any progress with that Asian chick you hang out with?"


    "Her name is Mei-Ling," scowled Sean, clenching his fist without realizing it, "and she''s just a friend."


    "Yeah, chill out, chump," Greg thew another candy wrapper at Randall.


    "Ok, ok," Randall muttered holding up his hands, "no offense."


    "Unlike a real pagent," continued Sean, "let''s say one of us - the judges- gets to win a million dollars, not by picking the greatest beauty, but by picking a score that is closest to the average score of all the judges for every contestant."


    "Go on," Greg frowned, as he resumed typing code.


    "Now Ino longer care about whatIthink is a fair score for a contestant, but about what I thinkthe other judges will assign," Sean paused, "So far so good?"


    "Hmm," Ashoknodded.


    "But it''s not just me," Sean''s explanation was gathering steam, "each of us is runningthe same calculation to try and figure out what scores the others will be assigning. So which of us esteemed judges is likely to win the million dollars?"


    "The one who figures out what each of us isthinking about what each of us is thinking," finished Ashok, "The one who is at level three recursion."


    "Bingo," Sean leaned back, grinning. Randall looked startled while Greg looked thoughful.


    "The pagent is the stock market," Greg spoke into the silence, "and the contesting beauties are the individual stocks. That''s what you are saying, in this fuckedup analogy of yours."


    "And the scores we assign are the stock prices," Sean nodded, "except the real stock market is likely to have level four players. That''s wherewe need to be to win reliably, at a minimum. Think about that. All the big investment firms and hedge-fund managers. Morgan-Stanley, Goldman-Sachs, you name it.And it isn''t my analogy, it was Soros who came up with it."


    "Soros who?" Randall raised an eyebrow.


    "George Soros, the investment magnate," Greg yelled, throwing another wrapper at Randall,"he''s chummy with Jason Fuller''s dad. You ignorant or something?


    "So," Sean asked, "you guys think you can whip a level four model of the stock market?"


    "HAHAHAHAHAAHA," the laughter was deafening.


    "Who do you think we are, bud," retorted Greg whiping his eyes, "Quants working for the establishment?Without a working model calibrated to high quality data, we can''t do squat. Even if we wantedto put in the hours hammering out the code. No thank you."


    "Although a proof of concept model is probably feasible," Ashok muttered thoughfully, "if we had flowcharts to start with."


    "So you''d need a proven model pegged to a given point in time?" asked Sean.


    "Something like that," nodded Ashok, "though I don''t know where you would get a model worth the disk its written on. It''s not like you can email a hedge fund asking to kindly send you a copy of their most closely guarded secrets."


    Greg gave a snort. Randallsuddenly piped up, "You know who else might have top-secret market forecasts? Jason Fuller''s mom. She''s a partner in some swanky hedge-fund firm. Only the richest clients."


    "How the heck do you know that?" Greg demanded.


    "My sister is in sophomore year," explained Randall, "and she''s knows Jason''s sister. Fuller''s mom works from home most of the time, from what I hear. Has a home office all geared out."


    "Mmm," Greg muttered, "you know what? Jason''s dad most defintely has all his secret corporate plans for FullerDynamics in his study at home. All Sean needs to do is find a way to get into Jason''s house and sneak into both their private studies."


    "Dude," Ashok sounded aghast, "that''s illegal. Not just the espionage part. But trading on insider information will get the SEC on our neck."


    "Just a thought, bleeding heart," retorted Greg sullenly, "besides it''s not insider trading if you don''t trade on Fuller Dynamics stock."


    "What do you mean?" Sean frowned, "what would be the point? Hypothetically of course."


    "See," Greg whispered, "if our level four model is as good as it needs to be, then we don''t need to trade on Fuller Dynamics. We predict what the other players will doin response to Fuller Dynamicsand trade on the stocks affected."


    There was silence as the others digested this.


    "Like Sean is going to get anywhere near the FullerMansion," scoffed Randall, "seeing how they hate each other. Too bad. Jason is throwing a party at his house on his birthday next week. All his friends are invited. And there''s a private tour of Fuller Dynamics that his dad has arranged for those interested."


    "Oh?" Sean raised an eyebrow.


    "Yeah," Randall nodded, "Jason''s cheerleader girlfriends have been yapping about it all week. And his sister is throwing her party two weeks after that. My sister is invited to that, which she has been yapping about forever. It''s driving me crazy."


    "I see," Sean looked thoughtfull.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 6

    Sean fidgeted beforePrincipal Stewart''s inscrutable gaze from across his cluttered office desk. The walls were decorated withmemorabilia beloved byacademic administrators: certificates of accomplishments were proudly framed, a large cork board pinned with overlapping notices, filing cabinets and bookshelves lined the lower walls. The principal was an imposing man, large framed but not overweight, seemingto dominate the room even when seated in his plush leather swiveling throne. Sean''s fabric padded seating wasn''t as luxurious or comfortable. It was an odd feeling being summoned to the principal''s office withoutthe provocation of an infraction, butSean had a pretty good guess why he was here.


    "I admit I never expected to confront you about overachieving anything," Principal Stewart broke the awkward silence, flipping open a manila folder, "The only times you''ve been in my office is for having gotteninto fistfights with the Fuller boy."


    Sean smiled weakly.


    "In the past three weeks you have tested out of every standard coursethat a 11th grader can test out of," continued the principal, "And enrolled in every single AP class that this school has to offer."


    Sean nodded, without saying anything.


    "Most baffling of all," Stewart thoughtfully scratched his brown moustache, "every AP instructor I''ve spoken to appears to have a favorable first impression of your academic skill."


    "You''re too kind, sir," Sean shrugged modestly.


    "And yet," Stewart growled, "up untillast year you were one of the most unremarkable bottom-percentilemor... er, students to graceCardiff High."


    Guess I spoke too soon, Sean grimaced, "I... I guess my record speaks for itself, sir."


    "Normally I would be ecstatic at any improvement in your academic performance," Stewart leaned forward, looming over Sean, "however an underachiever doesn''t turn into a whiz kid overnight. Just doesn''t happen, outside ofcheap fantasy novels. Which raises the question of how you managed to ace those tests. We take academic integrity very seriously here at Cardiff High."


    "You think I cheated," Sean''s statement wasn''t a question.


    "The thought did occur to me," Stewart nodded apologetically, "which you''ll agree is not an unreasonable suspicion given the circumstances."


    It wasn''t unreasonable, Sean admitted to himself. From a certain point of view, he was cheating by instantly assimilating books. But was that so different from being born as a prodigy? Or being born rich. He didn''t see anyone accusing Jason Fuller of cheating by dint of being born into one of the wealthiest families in New England and the privilieges that entailed. No, some people lucked out in the genetic lottery. And Sean had lucked out... differently?


    "I didn''t cheat, sir," Sean replied with a trace of contempt, "I didn''t need to. I just turned out asa polymath. And I''ve been doing a lot of... reading."


    "Mind if I test that?" Stewart raised a brow, gesturing at the bookshelf behind him, "Which of these standard texts would you say you are most comfortable with? Pick one. Any one."


    "Actually... all of them, sir," Sean shrugged. That wasn''t strictly true. There were a few books in that collection that Sean hadn''t assimilated yet. But he had absorbed most of them by now, so the odds were in his favor. And he could always assimilate an unfamiliar bookright there, though taxing his ability in Stewart''s office did risk tipping his hand. Besides,the look on the principal''s face was priceless, as Sean uttered those words.


    Stewart scowledand pulled out a massive chemistry text, flipping the pagesat random, "How does a fetus get oxygen when its circulatory system is not connected to its mother''s?"


    "Equilibrium constants, sir," Sean leaned back, "Fetal hemoglobin has a higher equilibrium constant with oxygen compared to adulthemoglobin, biasing the fetal hemoglobin towards binding oxygenat relatively lower oxygen concentrations. This allows the maternalhemoglobin to hand off oxygen via close proximity in the placenta."This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    The principal grabbed another book, a physics one this time, pulling out a loose sheaf, "The slide in this figure is shaped into a sigmoid curve with the following equation. 10 meters tall. A ball rolls from rest at the top. What is the velocity of the ball at the bottom? Neglect friction. Take your time. Here is a calculator if you want to crunch the shape."


    He''s trying to confuse me...how cute, thought Sean and smiled, "No need, sir. The shape of the slideis irrelevant once we neglect friction. Using Conservation of Energy, all we need is to convert the balls potential energy into kinetic energy. The height of the slide is all that matters..."


    Stewart slammed the book shut, and grabbed yet an other, a biology textthis time, "What is referred to as the Central Dogma of Genetics, Sean?"


    "The direction of flow of genetic information, sir," explained Sean, "The Central Dogma states that information is transcripted from DNA into messenger RNA, then carried to ribosomes where it is translated into proteins. The Dogma posits that the information flows only in one direction, though modern research shows that''s not entirely accurate..."


    "Enough," Stewart stared at Sean, leaning back in his swivel throne with a sigh, "It appears that you are the ''real McCoy'' after all."


    "Am I free to leave, sir?" Sean asked a little testily.


    "Not quite," Stewart frowned, "You see, every year a handfulof our top students make the mistake oftakingonwaymoreAP classes than is realistic and end up with lower scores in all of them. When they would have been better served by selecting a core few. Even if you can manage all of these extra classes, Sean, it sets a unhealthyexample from the point ofpsychological well-being.The rules do not permit me to deny you any AP class that you have tested into. But I ask you to pare down your advanced courses for the sake of all students."


    You don''t careaboutpsychological well-being, thought Sean, you are concerned that the school''s testing standards might be viewed as too lenient if a loser like me can test out of all of them. Your reputation in other words.


    "I see your point, sir," Sean drawled, "I might considerdropping a few fringe courses, if I amallowed into Biology GB. I''ve been denied admission to that one, though I did testout of Biology A & B."


    "Ah, yes," Stewart flipped open Sean''s file again, "the reason you were denied is because your four-year track, or whatpassed for one till now, hasbeen tech heavy and light on the biological sciences. You have cleared the prerequisites, it is true, but you are a grade or so behind than is typical for that class. Mr. Parker - the GB instructor - is quite a stickler on that. Sorry."


    "In that case, it appears we are at an impasse, sir," Sean said blandly.


    Stewart looked like he was going to pop a vien, "Very well, Cook. I''ll put in a word with Mr. Parker to admit you, if you trim your AP selection to a reasonable level. May I ask why this new found interest in Genetics/Biotech? You haven''t shown the slightest interest till now."


    Sean couldn''t tell him his real motivation, so he smiled, "I''ve come to appreciate the miracle of life, sir."


    Stewart gave a snort of derision, with a shooing motion of his hand, "Getout of here, Cook."


    #


    Sean filed in with the rest of the Biology GB class, while Mr. Parker - their elderly instructor - stared stonily at him over his reading glasses. Sean''s hair gleamed unnaturally pristine, havingtaken special care to apply shampoo that morning. Sean had carefully picked out his target seating, ''accidentally'' shoving another girl who was headed for the same spot, receiving a glare in return. He easedinto his seat, waited for the class to settle in and then leaned towardthe girl seated across the narrow aisle.


    "Hi," Sean smiled his most charming smile, extending his hand, "I''m Sean. Sean Cook."


    "Judith," the girl respondedabsently, her eyes belatedly widening in recognition, "Judith Fuller. I know who you are... you are that loserwho keeps picking fights with my brother."


    Her bubbly voice had grown colder as she spoke, and her brown eyes flashed. Thoughher natural friendliness still lingered in her cheerful grinon a pleasantly squarish face. Thick reddish-brown hair fell to her shoulders to highlight an elegentally simple designer dress that must have cost more than Sean''s mom''s entire wardrobe.


    Sean laughed nervously, hating the familiar knot in his stomach in the presence of a pretty girl. It wouldn''t do to mess this up. After all she was the entire reason he had plotted to get into this class, which was filled with the best and brightest sophomores.


    "Come on, now," Sean protested, "that was in seventh grade. You are not going to hold that against me, are you?"


    "I''m sure I''ve heard of more recent inci..." Judithbegan.


    "The point is," Sean interrupted hastily, "we are all a lot older now. More mature. How do you likeour instructor? Is he good?"


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 7

    The chaotic buzz of dozens of conversations filled the cafeteria. Sean and Mei-Ling had a table to themselves.


    "Sooo," drawled Mei-Ling, eyeing a trio of girls giggling and chatting with Judith Fuller some distance away, "let me get this straight. You enrolled in Biology GB, just so you could get chummy with the Fuller girl. Why, you got a crush on her or something?"


    "What," Sean chortled almost choking on his lunch, "No. I admit she''s hot, but I just want to wrangle an invitation to her birthday party in two weeks, that''s all. Besides she''s way out of my league."


    "You are serious," Mei-Ling stared at him, "But why? You don''t even like her family. Is this some misbegotten scheme to prank Jason? Not cool, dude. The Fuller family has a lot of clout in Portsmouth. You''ll only bring down a ton of trouble on yourself."


    "No, it''s nothing to do with him," Sean sighed, he wasn''t going to outright lie to Mei-Ling but he could just keep her in the dark on this, "Look, it''sa longshot that may never pan out. I''ll tell you if and when it goes anywhere."


    "What makes you think she''d invite you anyway?" Mei-Ling demanded, "The last time I checked there''s no love lost between her brother and you. What little she''s heard of you can''t be good."


    "She might, once she likes me," Sean answered, "or thinks she does. I''m going to ask her to lend me some expensive toy only she has."


    "You are making even less sense than usual, dude," Mei-Ling frowned, "How does owing her a favor help you?"


    "Benjamin Franklin Effect," smiledSean, "It was in the psychology book youadded to my researchtree. Apparently if you can get an opponent to do a favor for you, then the opponent rationalizes it by convincing themself that they actually like you. To avoid cognitive dissonance. Why else would they do you a favor, you see."


    "This isn''t like you," Mei-Ling looked him in the eye for a long moment and then turned away, "If you''re not telling me why youare doing this,its because you know I won''t approve. And that scares me. This is something the Phreak Club put you up to, isn''t it? I knew thosedumbasses were bad news."


    "They didn''t putme up to anything," Sean protested unconvincingly, "they''re consultants, that''s all."


    "Just don''t do anything stupid, OK?" Mei-Ling got up, slinging her backpack across her shoulder and getting up, leaving Sean to finish his lunch alone.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    #


    "You need to borrow what from me?" asked Judith startled.


    "A portable thermo cycler," Sean repeated, leaning across the aisle, "DNA amplifier. I understand you have one at home?"


    "Who told you that?" demanded Judith, eyes narrowing in suspicion,onceagain contrasting her default cheeriness, "And what do you want it for? You are not trying to be a bio-hacker are you?"


    "Biohacker?,"Sean looked startled, "Perishthe thought. I just want to try out some ideas I have for a computing project. It just came up in conversation with one of your friends that you have a portable unit."


    Diligent research in the form of repeated questions to Randall''s sister had revealed Judith''s passionand the resourceswith which Judith''sfather backed his children''s hobbies. The mini-thermocyclermust havecosta few grand at the very least, which was chump change for the Fullers.


    "Computing project?" Judith was looking confused.


    "DNA computing," clarified Sean, "is orders of magnitude slower than electronics, but is so massively parallel that it leaves traditional computers in the dust for certain kinds of optimization problems. Like Darwinian evolution, for example." Or the stock markets.


    "That''s... brilliant," Judith muttered startled.


    "Its not like I came up with it," shrugged Sean, "Adleman did in the nineties. He solved an NP-complete problem usinga DNA computer. There''s even a Perl compiler for it now. Its just bloody hard to interpret the results."


    "I... I''ll lend it to you," nodded Judith slowly, "if you keep me appraised of what you find."


    "Deal," grinned Sean, "Awesome, thanks. Nice to see someone with the same passion."


    "I know, right?" Judith exclaimed, her eyes lighting up, "it''s so hard to find someone who loves experimenting with molecular biology. I plan to start my own biotech firm someday. Make an impact in eradicating the worst diseases that plague us." And getting even richer, Sean didn''t say.


    "I have no doubt," Sean replied softly, "that you''ll have a tremendous impact on the world."


    He was rewarded with a brilliant smile fromJudith.


    #


    A few days later Sean carefullylugged a heavy box onto the school bus that washeaded home. Judith had made good on her word.


    "What the heck is that, bud?" whistled Greg, "the school safe?"


    "In that case," grinned Randall, "I''m quite willing to relieve you of your burden."


    "Nothing so mundane, my friends," Sean retorted, drumming his fingers on the faux leather case, "This is a key to much greater things."


    #


    It was a week and a half after Judith had lent Sean her DNA amplifier unit, that she stopped him in the hallway as they filed out of Biology GB.


    "Hey... Sean," Judith ventured, hesitating, "I''m having a birthday party this weekend at my house. With a few friends. Would you like to come? There''s even a tour of my dad''s factory if you''re interested."


    "I''d love to," Sean turned to smile at her, "thanks."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 8

    It was Friday evening and Sean was slouching in bed, immersed in a grippingnovel, when a soft knock on his door interruptedhim.


    "C''mon in," he mumbled surprised as Winona Cook walked in, since his parents rarely visited his loft bedroom, "Hi, mom."


    "Hi, Sean," his mom smiled, her eyes sweeping round his room, ready to catalog any and allinstances of disarray.


    She paused puzzled, "Why are you wearinglatex gloves and reading a book?"


    "Oh... these, uh," Sean fumbled, holdingup the book, "it''s a crimenovel. I was justtrying to get into the spirit of it... by wearing gloves... you know."


    While Sean''s touch-scan ability was handy for cramming study books, it was a massive spoiler forworks of popular fiction. Hehad solved that by using gloves to suppresshis ability and preserve the suspense, though gloveshindered his ability to turn the pages. He hated lying to his mother, but a curious reluctance held him back from full disclosure. Did it say something about his relationships that he was willing to confide onlyin Mei-Ling but not his parents?


    "Okaaay," his mom gave him a bemused look, then smiled, "anyway the reason I came up here...I was at thePTA meeting with your teachers."


    "And?" Sean asked warily.


    "You never told me you tested out of all your basic subjects, Sean!" Winona exclaimed, cuppinghis face in both her hands, "and moved on to college prep APtrack, no less. You''ve finally done what I''ve been askingyou to do since 9th grade. I''m so proud."


    "Unhhh," Sean extricated himself from his mom''s formidable grip, feeling a warm glow of pride mixed in equal parts with guilt. He hadn''t really earned her praise, since his new power madeeffort of will and hard work unnecessary for learning. It was normalstudents who deserved praise, the ones who had put in metaphorical blood, sweat and tears. But, when was the last time his mother had been proud of him? Sure, she told him thatall the time, but kids were smart enough to know when their parents really meant it. Sean resolved never to reveal his secret and risk losing his mom''s admiration, undeservedthough it may be.


    His mom was looking around his room again, confused, "Wait... is that a printer? But you don''t have one. And what are all those test tubes doing there?"


    A largecuboidsat humming on Sean''sdesk, hooked up to his PC through a USB cable, its LED touch screen glowing blue. It did look very much like a printer. A rack of half-filled test tubes sat next to it.


    "That''s not a printer," clarifiedSean, "it''s a DNA amplifier than accelerates DNA growth by cycling temperature. Borrowed it from someone at school."


    "What areyou doing with it?" Winona asked , "Science project?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Working out a textbook computer science problem," Sean explained absently, and continued as his mom looked more confused, "called the travelling salesmanproblem. Suppose you want to find the shortest route that passes through all major cities. Sounds simple, right? We wouldn''t toucha given city more than once. All we need to do is try out the combinations and pick the shortest one, right? But the number of combinationsincreases very rapidly for more than a handful of cities. Would takea computer forever to sort throughit all. Some smart fellowrealized you could encode the distances between cities as DNA fragments, and let the millions of different fragments react and combineinto all possible solutions. Then pick the shortest DNA string. Easier said than done, of course. Like picking a needle from haystack."


    "Kids, theygrow up so fast..." Winona shook her head, smiling at her son, "anyway, too bad you can''t just hook up a printer to this DNA stuff and print out the answer."


    Sean gaped in surprise. What if he could depositthe DNA strings onto paper and simply read it using his touch-scan ability? What counted as readable text on cellulose sheet? It was an oddly specific ability. Stupidly specific. One constraint was he had to understand what was on the page. That much hehad tested by touching a French book to no effect. But how tiny could the printbe? Did it have to be naked-eye visible? What if he looked at the DNA fragments through a microscope and learned to interpret it? Would his power then work with DNA-on-paper? Definitely worth looking into. The hardest part of DNA computing was reading the results. What if he was uniquely enabled toleap frogover that hurdle?


    "Something wrong?" Winona frowned.


    "No, mom," Sean smiled, "you just gave me an idea. Oh... by the way, I''ve been invited to a birthday party at the Fuller residence tomorrow. Is it OK if I go?"


    "The Fullers?" Winona blinked in surprise, "Of course you can go. I''m so glad to see you getting alongwith the Fuller boy."


    "Jason didn''t invite me," Sean seemed embarrased, "His sister Judith did."


    "His sister?" Winona gave an odd look, "I didn''t knowshe was your friend. Well... we need to go shopping at the mall . Get ready. Can''t have you showing up at theFullers'' place in an old T-shirt."


    "Mom," Sean groaned, "My T-shirts are perfectly fine. So... you really don''t mind me going?"


    "Why would I mind..." Winona frowned, and then sighed, "Oh, Sean. You aren''t still broodingabout your dad''s ex-employer, are you? That had nothing to do with you."


    Sean had much anticipated the summer before seventh grade. Dad had been an avionics engineer in the helicopter division of Fuller Dynamics, and the family had been saving up for a fancy vacation at Lake Louise in Banff. The week before end of school year, Fuller Rotor Division had been sold-off to Boeing which promptly fired a quarter ofthe workforce fromits new acquisition. Sean''s dad had been one of those let go. Sean''s long anticipated vacation was shelved as his mom took a bank job to support the family while his dad looked for work. After that, his dadhad drifted through a series of contract jobs but never managed to find full time employmentagain. It was the beginning of the rift between his parents, the summer of their discontent.


    When Sean had gone back to school, the other kids had asked about thevacation he had bragged so much about. And Jason Fuller had jokedabout Sean''s family being cheapskates. Something had broken inside Sean that day, and he had reciprocated by givingJason a bloody nose. In hindsight, Jason had probably meant no offence and most likely been unaware ofSean''s troubles. But Sean had resented the Fullers since then, for the turn for the worse that his life had taken.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 9

    It was a beautifulSaturday afternoon when Sean''s mom dropped him off at the gates of Pelican''s Nest as the Fullers'' property was named. The cars that were droppingoff the other kids were much more swankier than their own rickety minivan, Sean noticed. Judith''s taste in friends was mostlywithin her own sphere of affluence, children of the movers and shakers of Portsmouth. Though there were exceptions like Randall''s sister Kaitlyn and of course Sean himself. Judith didn''t appearto be a snob, as far as he could tell.


    Sean walked through the wrought iron gates to the guard house within the stone walls. The armed guard gave a bored look at Sean''sengraved invitation from Judith, before waving him to one of the waiting golf carts. Sean climbed onboard behind two sophomore girls he didn''t know. The cart setoff, humming at a sedate pace, without any driver. Figures, thought Sean, Fuller Dynamics specialized in autonomous drones. No reason, why they wouldn''t retrofit their golf carts with the same capability. The two girls - one of them was the kid of a local senatorrecognized Sean belatedly - completely ignored him, squealing and chatting animatedly. Sean leaned back to take in the landscapeas their ride rolledon its way.


    Pelican''s Nest was a private penninsula jutting into LongIsland Sound, and Sean could faintly smell the sea breezethough the shoreline wasn''t visible yet. They drove downa paved road flanked by a forest of young white oaks and patches of wetland. He even spotted a coyote darting through the undergrowth. The ride lasted longer than expected, perhapsdue to the cart''s leisurely pace. They encountered identical but empty carts going the other way, returning to the guard house. The road finally terminated in a circular cul-de-sacfronting an enormous two-storey house with asquare footage of at least 10,000. A perfectlytrimmed hedge arced around the cul-de-sac as if to emabrace guests.


    Sean jumped out as the cart came to a stop, and saunteredup the wide stone stairway that bisected the hedge and leading to the front door. He pushed on one of the huge mahogany double doors, and stepped in followed by the two girls who had shared the ride with him. Music blared competing with the giggly chatter of maybe a dozen girls and half a dozen boys. A very tall man with broad shoulders andperfectly cut business suit stood in the foyer, looming over Sean.


    "If you''ll permitme take your jacket, sir," the clipped accent was British,pale grey eyes looked down at Sean. Close cropped dark hair on a lean weathered face. Sean stared back with curiosity, since he had never seen a real butler in the flesh before. The assymetrical bulge under the man''s jacket, below the left armpit, wasn''t too subtle. Not just a butler then. Security chief for the Fuller household?You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    "Ladies, this way if you please," the maninclined his head at the girls behind Sean. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Sean thought the butler treated the girls - whose clothes were definitely more upscale - with slightly more deference. The foyer opened out into an atrium-like living room that was bigger than Sean''s house. Skylights set into acathedral ceiling that was the second storey roof let in plenty of sun. Sean spotted the sea through French doors on the far wall. Flamescrackledwithin a fireplace of rough hewn slate, above which a huge flatscreen cycled through Judith''s childhood pictures. Sean rolled his eyes. Please don''t let there be a speech... please don''t let there be a speech... Sean hated sitting through speeches.Wait, was that a live band in the corner belting out music? Holy shit,was that a group of bored-looking models over there dressed as Disney princesses? How old was Judith...Five? Though, to be fair, Sean didn''t mind Disney princesses himself...


    "Hi, Sean," Judith yelled out from across the room, surrounded by a bevy of girls, "Ashley! Kendra! So glad you could make it."


    Squeals of greeting from the two girls behind him, who shoved Sean aside in their eagerness. Sean was very glad that Jason was nowhere to be seen. He had been fairly certain that Jason wouldn''t be caught dead hanging around for his sister''s party, but it was a relief to have that confirmed. Sean''s half-baked nefarious plans would come to an abrupt end, if Jason spotted him here. The boys here all wore monogrammed t-shirts like Jason usually did, and Sean rolled his eyes again. They glanced at him curiously and then went back to their conversations, Sean was quickly forgotten. Sean stood out like a sore thumb. Other than Kaitlyn over there, none of Judith''s friends knew him, and even if they did most of them wouldn''t give him the time of the day.


    "Is it time to serve thehors d''oeuvres, ma''am?" the butler had followed Sean into the living room, and pronounced ''ma''am'' like ''muum''.


    "That would be perfect, thank you, Elliot," the woman was a dead ringer for Judith, with the same facial structure. But her eyes were hardened with experience, lacking the bubbly warmth of Judith''s eyes.


    "Mrs. Fuller," Sean nodded, trying hard not to stare. Judith''s mom looked stunning in a monochromatic creamy dress with a ''Queen Anne'' cut necklineandwrapped incontrasting red lace. Her cascading hair wasa shade lighter than her daughter''s.


    "Call me, Susan," her smile was friendly enough, "I don''t believe we''ve met?"


    "I''m Sean," he took her perfunctory handshake, "Sean Cook."


    "Sean Cook?" frowned Susan, "The name sounds familiar..."


    "You have a beautiful home," Sean interrupted hastily, "Is that a Monet on that wall..."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 10

    Much to his surprise, Sean had spent most of his time chatting with the young women who were modeling as Disney princesses. Apparentlymost of them were college students with useful adviceon application formsand sources of scholarship funding. Sean had attracted odd looks from the other kids, but who cared about them anyway.


    "...and that''s how I ended up at Ellis Island, as a five year old clutching my mother''s hand," finished Priscilla, as Sean nodded fascinated. Judith''s maternal grandmother was a sprightly old woman with snow white hair, whohad obviously passed on her striking looks toSusan and Judith. At first he had listened to her ramblings simply out of politeness, but had gradually grownenthralled with stories of her childhood.


    They were standing near a group by the French doors, when the doors opened to admitJudith''s dad. Richard Fuller was of medium buildwith luxuriantbrown hair greying at the edges, narrow downturned eyes that constantly darted around missing nothing. He was wearinga blazer with the Fuller Dynamics logo and looked utterly bored, the very image of a New England aristocrat who traced his roots to the Mayflower. He stopped by Susan, who smiled and turned to receive a peck on the cheek from her husband. Richard''s eyes were always smiling, though his mouth never did, in mirrored contrast to his wife who never smiled with her eyes.


    "Awesomeparty, sir," the tall atheletic-lookingboy spokeearnestly, pumping Richard''s hand, "and may I congratulate you on such a brilliant beautiful daughter? Her passion and sense of mission is matched only by my own."


    Laying it on a bit thick, aren''t you, Romeo, Sean rolled his eyes.Sean recognized him as anheirto Gibbs & Gibbs, another industrialheavyweight in the region.He was the oldest kid present, the only high school senior among Judith''s circle. He''d styled his hair likewaves frozen and sported a sweater monogrammedwith the initialsRG.


    "Well... I might take some credit for Judith''s looks," Richard snorted in amusement, "but not her brains I''m afraid. That would be my wife, who comes with beauty and brains, the full package."


    "Hear, hear," Priscilla raised her glass, smiling proudly at Susan who murmured protest, "no, no, he''sright you know. With all due respect to Richard who''s quite a savvy businessman, my baby girlis the smarter half with a strong head for finance. Smart women are atleast a little bit smarter than the man they marry. It''s kindof a universal truth."


    "Hmm... now that you mention it, Priscilla," mused Richard thoughtfully, "that is true for a lot of smart women we know. I wonder if its because intelligent women attract a certain type of man..."


    "Obvious enough, I should think, sir," smiled Romeo (as Sean had mentally tagged him), "Most so-called smart men are intimidated by lovely women who are alsosmart to boot. It takes a real man to wina woman as special as Mrs. Fuller here."


    The toadying is strong in this one, Sean grinned sardonically, "It doesn''t imply anything of the sort."


    "Huh?" Romeo glared at him, while Richard raised an eyebrow. Susan studied him coolly.


    "Smartness isn''t perfectly correlated between spouses," elborated Sean, "that is, if you plotted the IQs of say, two couples on a graph, with the husbands'' IQ on the x-axis and wives''IQ on the y-axis, the two dots wouldn''t fallexactly on a 45 degree slant, but on either side of it."


    "That''s obvious, sinceno marriage isbased on a perfect IQ match," scowledRomeo, "What''s your point?"


    "So pickthe smarter of the two women," Sean gestured impatiently, "her husband isobviously not quite as smart as her, since the dot representing that pair is above the45 degree line. Then pick the other woman. Her husband would be smarter than her, since their dot is below the45 degree line. If smart women marry men not as smart, then it is equally true to say that smart men marry women not as smart. The two statements are algebraically equivalent, given imperfect correlation. It sounds mysterious only..."Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    "...if one statement is made without its counterpart," breathed Susan, with a far away look, "it''s so simpleonce you think in terms of statistical distribution. Drat, I should have seen that."


    Priscilla was looking at Sean in surprise, while the corners of Richard''s mouth were upturned slightly.


    "It''s obvious," agreed Sean, "the world isn''t what you see."


    "What?" Susan blurted. Sean blinked. It wouldn''t have been obvious to him, a few short weeks ago, before he started binge ''reading'' books. But now, he had absorbed so many of them, the concepts were beginning to coalesce in his mind like butter seperating from milk.


    "Sampling bias," Sean smiled at Susan, "we only see a small part of the whole at any time."


    #


    There was a speech. Despite his antipathy to speeches in principle, Sean found Judith''s to be tolerable. In fact it was rather moving, he admitted to himself. Perhaps the delicious birthday cake had mellowed him a bit. Judith had given the usual thanks to her parents for their inspiration and guidance, then laid out her vision for uplifting humanity via biotechin an economically feasible manner. Profitable philanthropy.They wereseated at a very long table with the rest of Judith''s friends and family, except for Jason thankfully.


    Elliot had taken position behind his master''s chair. The manservant stood hulking beforethe assembled crowd, his arms crossed intimidatingly. A man and his flunky, thought Sean.


    "...umbrella foundation tocounterpoaching of endangered animals in Africa," Romeo wasdroning on earnestly, "and the need has never been greater. For example, theblack rhino population is down to a mere 4000, down from 65,000 in seventies. The African elephant..."


    Sean frowned. Was Sean the only selfish jerk here withno other goal than to enrich himself?He shrugged, guessing it was easy enough to be a philanthropist if one were born rich. Romeowas winding up his impassioned speech on how he had plans and donors all linedup to hit the ground running as soon as he graduated from Yale which he implied would be lucky to have him.


    "...so wonderful, Reg," gushed Judith, staring at the scion, "Donating aerial drones is brilliant..."


    "Not enough," muttered Sean.


    "Excuse me?" frowned Reg, "Do you have something to say?"


    ""I''m sorry, but yourproposal won''t work," Sean began apologetically, "The incentives aren''t aligned for all the players. Sure, itmay catch a few poachers, but it won''t save thosepoor animals." Sean grimaced almost in physical pain. He lovedanimals, especially the large mammals.


    "What?" Reg(or Romeo) demanded raising his voice, "Do you know how many NGOs have reviewed..."


    "Look," Sean raised his hand placatingly, "I appreciate what you''re trying to do... but throwing more tech at the problemwon''t help. Hasn''thelped for the last thirty years. The poachers are better funded, more dedicated and better armed than law enforcement; and they''re trying to feed their families. That''s the incentive you''re trying to combat. And the market can''t self-correctto meet the demand, because the rhinos and elephants are dying which raises the price of horns and tusks, which makes it even more lucrative for the poachers."


    "Do you have a better suggestion?" Reg asked sarcastically.


    "As a matter of fact, Ido," Sean nodded, "Privatize the animals. The poachers want the animals?Give it to them. Turn the poachers intoranchers."


    "You''re insane," Reg looked outraged, "these are bad people."


    "So what?" Sean raised an eyebrow, "Now they''ll have every incentive to conserve and protect their precious animals. Each herd would become their personal goldmine, you see, since the horns and tusks regrow in a couple of years.They would never let those animals go exitinct. It isn''t about good or bad. It''s about what works, and this plan has a heck of a better chance of working than yours. Don''t take my word for it. Ask an economist."


    There was thoughtful silence at the table. Judith gaped at Sean. Her father chuckled, which he quickly turned into a cough. Susan looked at Sean with an appraising look, while Reg glared daggers at him.


    "Amazingarchitecture, by the way," Sean commented glancing around the living room, "anyone care to give me a guided tour?"


    "I''d love to," smiled Priscilla. Sean smiled back. Bingo.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 11

    Priscilla"s tour had taken Sean through the sparkling kitchen with it''s quadruple wall ovens and a granite topped island large enough to park a car on. Yvette the cook - a pleasantly plump woman with hair as dark as Sean''s - was hanging up shiny utensils on the ceiling rack, and gave him a stick of fried salmon kabob to munch on. Sean''s favorite room was the walnut paneled study that came with its own fireplace. The study doubled as the family library and Sean gazed wistfully at the floor to ceiling book shelves. Now he followed Priscilla back into the living room past a winding stairwaythat she ignored and proceededto a closedmahogany door. The door slid open as she pressed a button on the wall to reveal the paneled interior of an elevator .


    Priscilla glanced sideways at Sean as they rode up the elevator, "You gave Susan some food for thought, in conversation. Not many people can claim that."


    "No biggie," Sean shrugged, "Learnt it froma book."


    "You appear to be a well read young man," she noted approvingly. Sean grunted noncommittally.


    Sean''s remorsehad grown steadily worse. And he didn''t haveto be a psychologist to pinpoint the reason for it. He had schemed to get invited into the house with a nebulous plan to steal professional secrets from Richard and Susan. But that was before he had met them, when they had been the wealthyenigmatic parents of his despisednemisis Jason and the catalystfor Sean''sfinancial woes.It was easy enough to resentsomebody as an abstraction when you didn''t know them. Sean was findingit harder to maintain thatresentment against people who had welcomedhim into their home with cordiality. Besides, Judith was nice girl who didn''t deserve to be manipulated. He felt even worse aboutPriscilla who seemed to have taken a shine to Sean, probably because he was the only one who had shown interest in talking to her. The old lady probably didn''t have anyone other than the house staff or family to talk to.


    And that was not even considering if his plan was likely to work. Here he was, a high school kid intending to sneakinto not one but two private offices. Hispower notwithstanding,wouldhe even know what to look for? Could there be a more ill-conceived plan?


    "...the master bedroom where Susan and Richard sleep," Priscilla open a door for Sean to peak in. The master bedroom came with its own fireplace (of course it did) and a private balcony.


    Sean had almost decided to not to go through with it, when they came to another bedroom. His conflicted angst was subsiding, he''d just write the whole thing off as a bad idea and go home.


    "This is Jason''s," Priscilla pointed through the open door, "Judith''s brother. He''s out at the moment. Do you know him? He goes to the same school as Judith."


    Sean didn''t answer, staring at Jason''s room. The entire far wall was glass that framed a breathtaking view of Long Island Sound. Waves dashed against rocky shoreline, and sail boatsdotted the sea that sparkled in the late afternoon sun. So thiswas the view that Jason woke up to everyday. The brat was so jaded heprobably didn''t even given it second thought. Another wall was decorated with poster size vacation pictures of Jason at various locales: skiing at St. Moritz, hiking with his sister near Mt.Fuji, snorkeling above coral reefs, laughing surrounded by a bevy of hula dancers. Sean thought of his own family''s aborted vacations, the frustrated years of not living their dreams because of men like Richard Fuller who gave no more thought tohis employees'' welfare - the people who had served him for so long - than Jason gave to his bedroom view. Suddenly he was back in seventh grade, first day of class, with Jason taunting him.


    Too badyour dad is so cheap... bet you never go anywhere beyond your subdivision, Sean''s resolvehardened as the words echoed fresh inside his skull. Damnthe Fullers, he thought viciously. Damn them and their fancy house with its fancy servants. Sean would grasp the secret of their wealth and rip it out by its roots if necessary. No one was going to give it to him. One day he too would live in a house as fancy as this and have minions at his beck and call.


    "Are you alright, dear?" Priscilla was looking at him with mild concern.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Sean smiled with an effort, blinking away tears of rage thatthreatened to manifest.


    #


    Sean stared stupidly at the glass paneled double doors. They were locked with an alphanumeric keypad above the handle. He hadn''t expected a home office to be locked up. The narrow LED display glowed mockingly. A spaciousoffice was visible through the glass panels, well lit by wrap around bay windows. A computer monitor sat on a large desk in the center of the room, with filing cabinets built into the walls under the windows.


    "...Susan''s office," Priscilla continued her tour with unflagging enthusiasm, "you know, there''s a funny story there. Before that keypad was installed, there was a normal lock on those doors. But Susan kept misplacingthe key. And she''s very particular about keeping her office locked. Not even the housekeeper is allowed in there alone. So she had the keypad put in. Then shekept forgetting the passcode, which changes every month. And the security company had to physically show up every time the lockneeded to be reset, which drove Susancrazy."


    "That''s a bummer," Sean grinned, "Why not install biometric scanners?"


    "There weren''t any reliable ones on the market at that time," Priscilla frowned in recollection, "Anyway Susanfound a compromise. Now she simply writes the passcode on a slip of paper and sticksit to the door on the inside. That way she sees it everytime on her way out and doesn''t forget."


    "Hmm," Sean glanced casually at the doors again, careful not to show too much interest.


    #


    Priscilla had finally wrapped up the tour, and had returned downstairs after pointing Sean toward an upstairs guest bathroom he had requested (The residence had a total of nine bathrooms, Priscilla told him).Sean hunted through the bathroom cabinets until he found some sticky tape. He then folded and cut out three narrow strips of paper from a writing pad he had found on a side table in the corridor. He alignedthe three strips on top of each other, taping one end together sandwiching the center strip between two outer strips. He then trimmed and curledout the free ends of the two outer strips so that the center strip was longer and the paperconstructwas shaped likean arrowhead -->


    Sean stepped out of the bathroom, making sure the corridor was empty. Everyone, house staff included, were downstairs for the party. Walking briskly, hestopped when he came to Susan''s office doors. He gave an experiemental tug on the handle below the keypad. Locked as expected. He pushed hard on the right hand door which housed the keypad. There was no yield. There were probably deadbolts sliding vertically into the floor and ceiling. He pushed on the left handdoor, which seemed to have a bit more play. He squinted. Where the double doors met there was a thin slit of light, unbrokenexpect where a single deadbolt slid from the right door into the left. No overlap at the joint. Good.


    He took out his paper construct holding only the free end of center strip and slid it into the gapbetween the doors until the twoouter prongs of the arrowheadpassed through completely. Now he gently pulled back on the center strip to force the outer prongs to press against the door on the other side, the sticky tape providing enough springiness to maintain contact. With most of the door surface taken up by glass panels, there were only a few places Susan could have tapeda piece of paper markedwith the passcode, the frame of the door leaves near the keypad being the most likely spot. Sean moved the paper construct vertically up and down, hoping to make contact with the passcode paper slip. His touch scan ability worked through contiguous sheets of paper, so... an almost imperceptible tingle... 578PKX774. A feral grin split his face. Bingo. He yanked on the paper construct, deforming and pulling the prongs back out through the slit, and stuffed it into his pocket.


    "May I help you, sir?" the voice boomed rightin his ear and Sean nearly jumped through his skin.


    Elliot stood a few feet away, staring down at him. Howthe heck had he snuck up on Sean? The man was silent as a cat for someone so massive.


    "Uh... Umm," stammered Sean, "just came out of the bathroom... trying to find my way back to the stairs."


    "I see... sir," the butler''s voice was flat, "this way if you please. The factory tour group is about to depart. I camelooking for you, since your name is on the list."


    "Um... thanks?" Sean swallowed his nervousness as he followed the butler back downstairs. Dammit, he swore to himself. Had Elliotseen Sean''s paper trick?


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 12

    Sean followed Elliot downstairs and waited for the butler to retrieve his jacket. Elliot paused to scrutinizethe paperwork Sean had signed for the plant tour (NDAs, legal disclaimers, etc.), then ledhim out through the French doors onto a paved deck the size of a tennis court. An infinity pool shaped like a clover dominated the limestone paved space. Water sluiced soothinglyover an artificial grotto into a partioned section of the pool from which wisps of steam rose alluringly in theautumnchill.


    Must not think of Jason enjoying this pool, Sean gritted his teeth, startling himself with the intensity of his feeling.He''d had years to get used to the bratafter all, but seeing the opulence of Jason''s home with his own eyes had ripped into the veneer of his emotional makeup exposing the festering envy beneath. A part of Sean detested himself for feeling this way, but hisserotonin pathways had grown addicted to negativity for too long to give up so easily. He''d resented Jason for so long that Sean could not remember ever feeling any other way. Why did Jason and Judith deign to attend public school when they had the pick of the swankiest private schools in the state? Sean wondered.


    Elliot led Sean past the deck down into an expanse of well-maintained lawn, the butler occasionally speakinginto an electronic earpiece. They walked past a sleek Model 429 Bell helicopter resting on a concrete pad, displayingthe Fuller Dynamics logo on its blue-white fuselage. A winding pathpast a rock strewn beach brought them to the edge of a ten-foot tall cliff where a scintillating white Millennium 140 superyacht floated in its moorings against a wooden pier jutting out from the cliff. Sean''s eyes bugged. The Fuller Dynamics facility was 30 miles away and Sean had wondered why they hadn''t been bused by road. But the water route would be shorter and thisyacht before him was faster than most large road vehicles. Sean made his way onto the deck where the gaggle of excited sophomores were already assembled. An armed uniformed guard/deckhand cast off the mooring after glancingat Elliot for confirmation, and the yacht headed out accelerating away from the setting sun towards New Haven.


    "What are you doing here?" asked Sean, raising his voice above the purr of the engines, tasting the salty sea spray, "Haven''t you seen your dad''s factory many times already?"


    "Of course," smiled Judith, pushing away a mass of red hair that the wind was whipping about her face "but I never tire of it. Besides, any excuse for a boat ride with my friends is good enough for me."


    Sean nodded, pulling his own hair strands out of his mouth, leaning elbows on the rail to stare at the water racing past insanely fast below. They wereprobablypushing over 60 knots. This close to the water the cold had a bite to it, with fall well underway. He turned to faceaway from the sea. The yacht''s route paralleled the verdant north shore that was ablaze in golden orangehues of a New England fall.


    "What did you meanabout sampling bias?" Judith turned to Sean, during a lull in conversation with Kaitlyn, "Heard you talking to my mom."


    "Something I picked up from a couple of statistics books this week," Sean repliedorganizing his thoughts, "a subject that your mom is familiar with as a fund manager."


    "You know about my mom''s work?" Judith looked surprised. Oops.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "Just bits and pieces from conversation, you know," Sean fumbled, "anyways I was reading about how important it is to watch out for sampling bias when we look at a smaller set out of a much bigger set. Sounds like mundane statistical shit, right? Boring stuff that''s got nothing to do with anything, right? That''s what I thought until it clicked just how much of what we see is filtered by the very nature of the world. The very nature of time."


    "What do you mean?" frowned Judith.


    "Take your mom''s job for example," Sean continued, his thoughts warming up, "a client comes to her firm demanding why they haven''t movedhis money into the latest and greatest XYZ fund that his friends swear yields a whopping 1% more return than the market. The client''s done basic homework, he''s dutifully looked at the basket of stocks within that fund and traced their returns back 20 years. And he finds that yes, all those stocks do indeed average 1% betterthan the market. Sounds straightforward, right? Wrong. He''s only seeing stocks that have survived within that basket. He''s forgotten to analyze thestocks that were once part of that basket but are now dead and gone. Your mom on the other handknows all about survivorship bias. She accounts forthe dead stocks into the analysis and kindlyexplains tothe client that he wouldn''t have done any better than the market if he had invested into that fund 20 years ago."


    "Hmm," Judith blinked thoughtfully.


    "And once you know to look for it," smiledSean, "it''s everywhere. Those who claim to have lost weightfrom this amazing new diet that''s allthe rage in Hollywood. Even assuming they aren''t lying through their teeth, the real question is what fraction of people didn''t benefit from that diet compared to those that did. But we never see the failures, only the survivors. Or say I go online to write a shitty web serial aboutyoung women being...um, bitten by male vampires..."


    Sean waited for Judith to stop giggling, "...and I''m looking at all the hundreds of commenters liking my story, and only a handful of comments are negative. And I''m thinking what a great author I am. Sounds reasonable, right?"


    Judith nodded cautiously, "Sounds like a fair conclusion."


    "Wrong," Sean grinned without humour, "People who thought the story was utter craparen''t likely to spendtime commenting, only those who like it do. So the proportion of likes vs. dislikes tells menothing about how good an author I am. And look at that osprey circling over there. A marvel of nature, perfectly honed predator. Nature is so miraculous, right? Wrong again. We only see the ospreys that survived, not the dead variants through the eons. All those cute little osprey chicks who starvedof being born with the wrongly shaped mouth, wings that are too small or whatever. We don''t see those. We think nature is amazingonly because she hides her mountain of dead babies. Nature mindlessly churns out sentient beings to suffer and die..."


    "Wow, that''s some dark outlook, dude," a girl laughed beside Sean, "Brood much?"


    Sean turned to see Kaitlyn flanking him. Her wiry brown hair was braided into a long plait and she had the same lanky build and sardonic grin as her brother Randall.


    "Take a dive, Kaitlyn," scowled Sean, then grinned at her shaking off his dark mood, "Grownup talk. Little girls can go play with their barbie dolls."


    "Don''t listen to him, Judith," laughed Kaitlyn, "he''s full of shit, like my brother."


    "Welcome to Fuller Dynamics," Richard''s voice boomed over loudspeaker, "we''ll be docking in ten minutes. Some of you may wonder why I bother to personally host this tour. The reason is simple. You kids are the shining hope of future. And I am always looking for the best and brightest to work atFuller Dynamics. I hope some of you may consider joining our teamafter college..."


    I''m sure the fact that younger engineerscost less than older ones has got nothing to do with it, Sean thought sarcastically, making it easier to get rid of the older ones.


    Judith beamed proudly at her father''s words.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 13

    The superyacht revveddown its engines, easing into its docking spot atthe concrete pier against a backdrop of largeboxy buildings in glass and steel. Richard Fuller led the way up a short flight ofconcrete steps onto a tarmac where a checkpoint had been hastily set up. A squad of soldiers in camouflage combat uniforms and helmetsflanked the egress point, watching the gaggle of highschoolers with intent wariness. Sean and his classmates goggled back. Didthe US Army usually provide security details to private defence contractors? The soldiers looked alert and held their M16 rifles at readiness but pointed at the ground.


    "The Army has placed the facility on alert," explained Richard turning to the kids, "They have reason to believe that GORGON is planning an attack, and Fuller Dynamics has been deemed vital to national security."


    "An attack?" Judith stared at her dad, her voice rising in pitch, "Here?"


    "Our drones aredeployed against them in the Balkans. GORGON isn''t happy about that," Richard shrugged, then smiled warmly at his daughter, "Not toworry, munchkin. Everythingthat comes into the plant is scanned, sniffed and probed. People, goods, vehicles. Safer in here than Fort Knox. Plays hell with supply logistics though, I can tell you that."


    One of the troopers stepped forward with an open booklet, glancingat itand glancing back at high schoolers as they followed Richard in a single file through the check point. Sean recognized thebooklet as he passed. It was a copy of theiryearbook. Apparently even the chairman of Fuller Dynamics wasn''t enough to vouch for their IDs. Another soldier waved an electronic wand over each student, like some bizzare benediction. A train of golf carts awaited beyond the checkpoint. Instead of forward facing seats eachcart had a single bench seat facing to the right without any steering wheel. Richard got into the first one flanked byJudith and Reginald. The land train started onits tour after allthe kids had strapped in.


    "Welcome to Fuller Dynamics," a recordedfeminine voice sounded softly from speakers in their headrests, "the first stop ahead is the Cereborg Final Assembly plant. As many of you may know, the Cereborg land based combat drone is the cornerstone of our product lineup, having proved itselfin service for nearly five years. The current production version is designated Release Cupcake..."


    Sean rolled his eyes followedby titters from his fellow students at the incongruityof a hunter-killer drone being called cupcake. The convoy crawledthrough a enormous door,keeping clear of forklift traffic, then rolled smoothly up a metal ramp against one wall. Bright fluorescent lighting replaced the waning sunlight outside. Sean leaned forward in anticipation to look down at the factory floor. Hulking forms stood on conveyors that ferried them at aleisurely pace, as men and women in hard hats and safety glasses maneuvered segments of armor plating onto beast-shaped quadruped chassis. Robotic arms suspended overhead held components for human workers to fasten into place. The Cereborg drones were often in the public eye and Sean had seen pictures of them, but that didn''t really prepare him for seeing them up close.


    "Holy shit," whispered Kaitlyn beside him. Sean nodded mutely.


    Etymology probably derived fromthe hound of Greek legend, the Cereborg resembled a canine as much asa Tyrannosaurus resembled a gecko. The gunmetal grey torso was the size of a bull moose. Three claws like icepicks on each feet. The slender segmented tail was longer than the torso and almostprehensile in its flexibility, curling upward like a dog''s tail until it pointed forward. The tail wastipped withan M134 Mingun held aloft like a scorpion''s sting, ready to deal death at 6000 rounds per minute, the ammunition belt packed intothe tail itself. Sean''s attention was drawn to the drone''s head. The elongated skull was half as long as the torso, the blunt torpedo shaped cranium nearly featureless except for a pair of stereoscopic lensesgleaming like dark red apples from withindeep set sockets. The lower jaw pivoted on heftygimbals where the skull necklessly widenedinto the torso on segmentedjoints. Six-inch spikes of alloy steel rimmed the lower jaw making it resemble an Angler fish in the way itjutted beyond the skull. A chain-jointedbandsaw ran aroundthe entire peripheryof upper jaw like ghastly dentures loopingthrough the skull. Each saw tooth was three inches long and the overhead lights glinted off the razor edge. When the jaws snapped shut the lower spikes meshed protectively around the upper bandthat could easily dismember a small tree trunk... or a human torso. Spikes for impaling and sawteeth for slicing.Nightmares given form, Sean gulpeduneasily, likesome superpredator from the dawn age of Man.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Is... is that skulldesign from the movie Aliens?" asked someone.


    "We get that a lot," Richard chuckled, "but the designers were actually inspired by an old cult classic called Death Machine. Or so I''m told."


    "...armor hardened against most low-yield explosions," the monologue continued softly from thespeaker, "and shielded against EMP blasts by an inner Faraday sheath, the Cereborg is immune to most light weaponry init''s theater of combat... redundancy for durability... three widely spaced500 kilowatt PEM fuel cells outputan impressive1.5 MWof total power for maximum acceleration..."


    1500 kilowatts,Sean whistled. That was the peak power of a Lamborghini "The Stig" Murcielago, or a late WW2 fighter plane. The cart train exited the assembly plant emerging onto a skybridge with a sheer drop below, causing Kaitlyn to suddenly clutch Sean''s arm.


    "Afraid of heights, aren''t you?" Sean grinned teasingly, "Hold on tight to... daddy."


    Kaitlyn made a rude gesture with her tongue, withdrawing her hand.


    "Our next stop will be the Proving Ground," whispered the speaker, "where the Cereborg is put through its paces...only its meele attack is tested here, not its ranged primary weapon for safety reasons.. the tail gun tested at the US Army firing range at... the Cereborg is programmed with the latest advances in neural network facial recognition to target enemy leaders... once acquired the target has little chance of escape... ultra high resolution binocular video camerasthat can see a wide range of the EM spectrum..."


    Up ahead was an enormous domed structure like a stadium with an entrance high up on its side. The convoy passed into it and emerged in a cavernousamphitheater dimly lit by hundreds of pinpricks of light from the ceiling to simulate the night sky. Far below was a cinder block structure, low and wide like a dwelling. Its roof was missing, no... the ceiling was a transparent slab bolted to the walls, Sean realized, with the floor plan laid out like a labyrinth.


    A Cereborg stalked within the simulated enemy base, poking into each room briefly and moving onto the next. It reached the barricaded exit door and rammed through it without slowing down, thethick wood splintering. It paused to look around and stared up a steep slope of rubble in one corner of the amphitheater. At thetop of thesimulated hillside mannikins in GORGON uniforms moved like puppets suspended by strings. There was just enough light to see each mannikin modeled with unique facial features. The Cereborg snarled with a screeching whine asits bandsaw spooled up andshot forward like bullet. The thing probably weighed as much as a truck, but it accelerated like a cheetah much too fast to follow. It reached the hillside and ran up the near vertical slope without slowing, claws scrabbling with effortless purchase on the rocks. The Cereborg''s skull swivelled as it reached one of the mannikins, nightmare jaws opened and closed shredding the mannikin, artificial blood spraying.


    A few startled screamssounded from the tour train - both boys and girls - but Sean turned in surprise as Kaitlyn laughed delightedly.


    "Oh, yeah," Kaitlyn yelled pumping her fists, looking utterly engrossed, "That was frickin'' awesome."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 14

    The tourtrain exited the Proving Ground dome afterskirtingthe inner wall. It was darker outside now, dusk encroaching upon the evening. The train descended down a ramp to the ground, metal guide tracks transitioningto asphalt. They passed the edge of a parking lot filled with rows upon rows of standing drones that had graduated from the Proving Ground and waiting to be shipped off for further testing. A pall of silence fell over the kids as they stared uneasily at the ranks of motionless Cereborgs as if fearing an imminent Robot Revolution.


    "Um... Mr. Fuller, sir?" Sean craned his neck, catching the man''s eye, "If you''ve figured out how to triple fuel cell power density, why aren''t we seeing that technology in cars?" It would revolutionize transportation.


    "What makes you think we''ve managed to do that?" Richard raised an eyebrow, "And call me Richard, by the way."


    "Well," Sean paused, going over the math again in his head, "I thought state-of-art was only 1 kilowatt per liter. A 1500 kilowatt stackwould be a cubeover a meter wide. That''s not even considering hydrogen storage. There wouldn''t be much room for anything else."


    "Goodcatch," Richard nodded, his eyes smiling, "You seem like a smart kid. Can you think why the market isn''tflooded with our cells?"


    Sean thought for a minute, "They cost a lot, maybe?"


    "Indeed," Richard clapped his hands once, "Cost is the biggest reason why things do or do not happen. Each500 kilowatt unitalone costs thirtytimes more than a sedan. No way that''s going on the market anytime soon. But its chump change for Uncle Sam. The Cereborg costs the Army as much as a F-35 fighter jet. And you know what? That''s good value for what these bad boys can do."


    "A most astute observation, Richard," Reg nodded vigorously.


    Sean didn''t bother rolling his eyes at Reg as the cart train wound its way between parallel yellow guide markers painted on the tarmac. New Haven''s skyline glittered in the distance, lit bright orange by the setting sun.


    "... Up ahead is the Battle Damage Analysis Lab a.k.a the Pit," the automated voice whispered again. The convoy entered a low wide building and came to a stop ina roomthat seemedpositively cramped compared to the cavernous spaces they had passed through.


    "Let''s take a break, kids,"Richard was the first to shrug offhis seat belt and step out, "Feel free to look around."


    Sean stepped out on the metal floor textured inanti-slip diamond weave and looked around with interest. The room wasn''t unlike a sophisticated garage. Over two dozen Cereborg drones displayingvaried degreesof wear and tearcluttered the space. Engineers in greylab coats poured over monitors suspended from the ceiling on retractable arms, their keyboards clacking intermittently. Multicolored wiring harnesses snaked all over the floor from each drone to merge into a central server hub. The kids clustered in groups chattering excitedly around the Cereborgs. Some drones were missing their tail, some missing a limb, but every drone was pockmarked with dents covering every square inch much like dimples on a golf ball. Interspersed with the dents were larger punctures that dotted the drones like a collander. Sean whistled at the battle scars.


    Richard walked briskly up to a woman in a business suit who was chatting with one of the engineers.


    "Richard," the woman exclaimedwith a strained smile, "Glad you could make it."


    "Masha, what''s the update?" Richard paused, turning back to the tour groupand raising his voice, "Where are my manners... kids, if I could have your attention please. Allow me to introduce Dr. Masha Smirnov, Directorof Research."


    Masha was a middle aged woman with close-cropped blond hair and cold blue eyes behind rimless glasses. Her expression was sharp but haggard.


    "Should westep into a conference room, perhaps?" Masha''s eyes flickered past Richard.


    "Don''t worry, we can trustthese kids not tospill any beans," Richard waved dismissively, "I want them to see how we actually work here. Off the script."


    Flattery throughshow of trust, thought Sean cynically,not very subtle.


    "Just received an update from Camp Sarajevo," Masha sighed, "It''s not good. They fielded the Mod-A batch as soon as they received them two weeks ago. They keep losing 40 percent of the units, give or take."


    "40 percent?" Richard''s face tightened, "I thought it was 35."


    "It''s slowly getting worse," Masha replied grimly, "My designers are rushing to releaseMod-B as fast as they can. We can retro-fit and ship once we fab the pieces. Thicker armor over the fuel cells, tanks and processors.. more composite layers to absorb energy... the works."


    She pointed to the near wall that was all glass, beyond which was an open workspace where dozens of designers toiled behind CAD stations.


    "Dammit," Richard scowled, his eyes losing their humor, "The Army can''t afford to hemorrhage that many units... we can''t afford it. If this continues they''ll wash their hands off the Cereborgs and switch back to aerial drones and usinggrunts as cannon fodder. We all lose."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "I know," nodded Masha, "Mod-B should work... it better work. We can''t keep adding armor without losing performance."


    "Is the enemyusing bigger guns, or something?" Sean asked with interest.


    "Not really," Masha shook her head, "GORGON has always used anti-tank automatic rifles against our drones... that''s the holes you see all over. We build multiple redundancy into our power systems and hydraulics. Three fuel cells. Multiple distributed H2 tanks. And three duplicate brain processors... though we don''t publicize that. We hardly ever lost any drones. Until a month ago, when we started losing 30 percent of drones. The Army has been shipping backthe most badly damaged units that make it back to base... that''s what you see here... to see if we can stop the losses."


    Sean looked around at the motionless Cereborgs. The gunmetal killers stared back with bigred eye lenses that seemed to gleam with alien calculation... with malevolent intelligence. Something tickled Sean''s memory, some tidbit from one of his books that rendered this scene oddly familiar, but he couldn''t put his finger on it. The Ni-Cr-Mo steel bandsaw teeth were dented but looked functional. Atleast there was no dried blood on them, Sean suppressed a shudder. Someone must have hosed them down. One of the sophomore girls gave a little shriek as a claw twitched on one of the Cereborgs.


    "Don''t worry," laughed a grey-coated engineer, "these drones are all on diagnostic mode... they won''t hurt you, I promise."


    "Hey," piped up Kaitlyn suddenly, "you said these drones are all shipped back from the warzone or whatever, right? What if the enemy has smuggled a bomb into one of these after capturing a drone and then letting it go?"


    The highschoolers all stared at Kaitlyn and then began to edge away from the drones.


    "Each drone is X-rayed and goesthrough several layers of scans," Masha said earnestly, "both at base camp and here on site."


    "What about the hydrogen tanks?" Reg asked, "They''re extremely flammable, right? Could GORGON attach a detonator?"


    Sean nodded surprised. That was aninsightful comment.


    "One of the first things we check," Masha smiled grimly,"I assure you there isn''t a single component on any of these drones that we didn''t put in."


    "Can they be hacked?" venturedanother girl.


    "Good question," Masha smiled, more warmly this time, "it would take the computing resources of a nation state, but GORGON could do it. But it won''t do them any good. If any one of the brains gets compromised, the other two will reformat the affected brain and then wipethemselves. Without our proprietary AIthe Cereborg is just deadweight."


    Reg was walking around examining all the damaged units, "Funny that mostof the eye pieces are undamaged though. A few are cracked, but they are in pretty good condition considering the damage the units have taken."


    "Would take a direct hit from an anti-tank round to damage those optics," one of the engineers replied, "Those lenses are pretty tough."


    ""Rom... I mean Reg''s right," Sean stared at the pristinely glowering eye pieces, "they are all in pretty good condition... shit. Reg''s freaking right. That''s uncanny considering that the rest ofthe skull is riddled with holes."


    The room fell silent at Sean''s outburst. Reg looked surprised at Sean''s ringing endorsement.


    "I don''t see what that''s got..." began another engineer.


    "Tell me," interrupted Sean, "what would happed if both those eye pieces got taken out?"


    "The drones would be operating blind," Masha replied, "using onboard radar and sonar."


    "And if the enemy jammed those?" persisted Sean.


    "The drones would be unable to navigate," Masha confirmed, "the Cereborg is programmed to shutdown and brickits processors if that happens in enemy territory."


    "Bingo," exclaimed Sean, "there''s your culprit."


    "But there''s hardly any damage to the optics," protested an engineer, "as you can see."


    "Abraham Wald would disagree," whispered Sean and started to laugh, slowly at first then gathering in hysteria. The others stared at him as if he had lost his mind.


    "Who the heck isAbraham Wald?" frowned Richard.


    "He ran the Statistical Research Group for the US military," explained Sean, "back during World War Two. The military asked him to figure out where to addarmor to their aircraft returning from bombing missions inEurope. They were losing too many planes, you see. So they showed Wald samples of their damaged planes. Theywhere all riddled with bullet holes all over the wings and fuselage. Except their engines. Their engines were untouched. Do you see the parallel?"


    "Ah," Masha got it immediately, to her credit, "their samples were biased."


    "That''s right," Sean grinned at her, "all the samples they hadwere of planes that made it back. And Wald knew right away that the engines needed armor ASAP."


    "I don''t..." began Richard.


    "Only the planes that didn''t suffer engine damage made it back safely," Masha explained to her boss, "the ones that suffered engine damage never made it back."


    "Much like the optics on these Cereborgs," Sean nodded, "that''s what you need to armor. Not the fuel cells or tanks, since they obviously lasted long enough to make it back to base camp."


    There was complete silence in the room. Judith stared at Sean with the same shocked expression that was mirroredon her father.


    "Do we have a statistician looking at this problem?" Richard asked softly, turning to Masha.


    "Not yet," Masha looked slightly embarassed.


    "Do it," Richard growled, "Now."


    "On it," Masha nodded pulling out her phone.


    "If this pans out," Richard looked Sean in the eye, "I''ll owe you one... this country will owe you one."


    Not to mention your stock price, thought Sean and shrugged, ""I just read it in a book. It was Reg who caught it."


    "Masha," one of the engineers spoke up, his tone urgent, "one of the drones has switched to combat mode."


    "What,"Masha sounded startled, "how..."


    "A target criteria has been activated," the engineer replied staring at his monitor, "...threshold flag has flipped... it''s Unit # CC17"


    "Shut it down," ordered Masha, "Now."


    "What''s going on?" demanded Richard.


    "Shutdown command ignored," the engineer sounded panicked, his hand''s flyingrapidly over the keyboard, "Core dump command ignored."


    Sean turned to a metallic creak behind him. One of the Cereborgs was moving forward, its diagnostic harnesses going taught and ripping from their sockets with popping noises. The kids scattered slowly backing away, Sean among them. The monstrous head was looking directly at Sean,turning totrack him as he moved. The grinning jaws opened wide as the bandsaw teeth whined spooling up. Sean froze,staring at the vast hypnotic red eyesthat were unblemisheddespite thearmor penetrating holes that dotted its cranium. It lunged forward.


    "Sean," yelled Judith, "Run"


    Sean ran. The gunmetal nightmare surged after him.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 15

    Sean barreledthrough the nearest door - the one leadinginto the Design section - hardly noticingthe pain as his shoulder impacted the glass. He shot through the corridor between work desks not daring to look back. A tremendous noise of glass shattering behind him accompanied by startled shoutstold him all he needed to know. A petite redheadin business casual sweater and skirt stood in his way, her eyes looking past him and widening in shock, her mouth opening in a wordless scream. Sean''s impact sent her flying back into the workspace from where she had stepped out, and he ran on unable to care if she was OK. The ominous whine of bandsaw teeth sounded behind him. A sharp left turn and he careened into a side corridor, banking on the greater inertia of the pursuing drone to buy him a few seconds.Metal claws screeched on tile as the rogue Cereborg skidded into the turn followed by periodic splintering as it crashed through rows of desks in the too narrow corridor which hopefully slowed it down by a few more seconds. Faces frozen in surprise or shock greeted Sean beside each workstation. Sean had never run so fast in his life. Another second and he was slamming through the emergency door at the end of the corridor.


    It was almost dusk outside among the manicured lawns and shrubbery. He made it ten feet from the door... fifteen feet... nothing pursued him yet. His breath came in wheezing gasps. Sean might be fairly fit buttrained in sprinting he was not. Cars stood parkedsome distance away, someof them backing out of the lot preparing toleave for the day, a bit too far away for Sean to reach in time.He sobbed in relief as he spotted what he was looking for. A rectangular metal grille on the tarmac at the edge of the lawn, a storm water drain a bit larger than the ones near his home. The door through which he had emerged exploded outward as the entire section of that wall disintegrated into bits of dry wall, tearing sheet metal and flying glass. The Cereborg shot toward him like a beast out of Hades, its upper jaw a whirringblur of sawteeth, all four feet splayed oddly sideways. Sean grabbed flinging aside the storm drain grille and desperately hurled himselfthrough the gaping dark void. He fell eight or ninefeet splashinginto an inch of standing water and landedon his back as he lost his footing. The snarl of bandsaw grew to a roar in the confined space as the elongated metallic snout jammed through the drain hole that Sean had fallen through. Vast red eyes glared at him as the monstrous head tried to work it''s way within snapping distance. Sean yelled and scrabbled backwards on all fours. Suddenly he was no longer homo sapiens on top of the foodchain but cowering prey, like a praire dog fleeing a ferret, his heart wanting to jump out of his ribcage.


    Sean slowly got to his feet. He was in a concrete tube maybe nine feet across. The Cereborg had given upits futile attempt to squeeze through the drain hole, instead opting to stare at Sean with its elongatedskull protruding at an angle from the ceiling with a stillness that was more unnerving than its earlier frenzy. With an effort Sean turned his back to the drone to look in the other direction where a small bright circle illuminated one end of the tube. Light at the end of the tunnel. He started to walk rapidly towards it, looking over his shoulderevery few feet at the grinning drone. Rage rose up within him like flotsam, now that he wasn''t in immediate danger. Sean cursed Fuller Dynamics and everyone in it starting from Richard Fuller. They had been so confident that their precious drones couldn''t be hacked. But most of all he cursed his own colossal stupidity and greed which had led him here. Did he imagine he could simply walkinto the chairman''s suiteand swipeconfidential business forecasts? Alower chance of success than even sneaking into Susan Fuller''s office. Stupid. Next time he''d hatch a better plan.


    He paused looking over his shoulder. The drone''s head had disappeared. Hmm. The circle of light ahead hadresolved into a large verticalgrille which the setting sun shone through. Sean quickened his pace until he reached the rusted ironbars and looked out. He was standing under a concrete culvert, probably a major storm water collectorinside the premises, and a red/blue light could be seen flashing on the sideof afactory. There was no one around. He became aware of the sound of a siren whooping above the hammering of his heart. Having a killer drone running loose probably qualified as an emergency. Something about the rogue bothered him, quadruped legs splayed out like an alligator as it had pursued him quite unlike the drones in the proving ground. Battle damage? But all four legs had beensplayedsymmeyrically, which made damage an unlikely cause. As if the drone had forgotten how it had been designed to run, reducing the efficiency of its locomotion which might have bought Sean a few more critical seconds. An anomaly for later investigation. First he had to get out of here. He gave the bars an experiemental shake. No good. The circular rim was bolted to the concrete tube. What about the other end of the tube... Sean screamed as a gunmetal shadow hurled itself on the grille from the other side. The grille ranglike a gong as it bent bulging inwards. A few of the rusted bolts snapped. The sawteeth jaws grinned at him as the drone backed up a few meters preparing to ram again. Sean turned and ran.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The grille rang a few more times behind him as Sean ran. He cried in frustration as he passed under drain grillesin the ceiling, they were just out of reach and even if he managed to catch the lip by jumping it would take fatally long to haul himself out. The drone was about tobreak through any second. Dim light of an opening ahead... the other end. Sean ran even faster, slipping and falling onthe wetslimyconcrete, leapingto his feet to run again. The grille at the other end made a tearing sound and then the ominous sound of bandsaw. Sean screamed looking over his shoulder as the dark shape loomed rapidly,like looking down a gun barrel as it fired a bullet. Suddenly Sean was outside in the twilight at the edge of an earthen embankment that slopped down to a stream. He flailed, lost his footing and rolled down.


    Sean lay on his back in the stream blinking as the rogue drone screeched to a halt at the lip of the tube. Avoidance algorithm to prevent it from running off mountain cliffs? Butwhy wasn''t it chasing him down the stream bank and finishing him off? Then he noticed the helicopter - a Bell UH-1 Huey - hovering low overhead. Military chopper. The Army! They must have one stationed at the plant for rapid response. One of the soldiers was burst firing an hand held automatic weapon at the drone, illuminating it with a powerful searchlight. Sean moaned in despair.They weren''t even outfitted with a Minigun. They had probably geared upfor SWAT response not an assault mission. The drone was frozen still staring at the helicopter. That didn''t make sense... it should never be distracted from its primary target, but Sean wasn''t about to complain. A rope ladder was lowered from the copter.


    "Grab on to the rope," a loudspeaker bellowed, as Sean scrambled to his feet grabbing the lifeline. The Hueybeganto rise lifting Sean who glanced furtively up at the motionless rogue drone... five feet... eight feet... couldn''t the damn chopper go up any faster? The drone''s stance shifted and Sean tried to cry out a warning. The Cereborg leapt covering the distance to the Huey, metal claws gouging aluminum fuselage, a forelimb intercepting the rotors whichsplintered with a sickening snap. The turboshaft shrieked in a crescendo as the Huey fell tumbling from the air. Sean screamed and hit the ground rolling as the ruined helicopter smashed into the ground near him. He caught sight of the Cereborg lying on its back, legs wiggling in the air in a disturbingly familiar manner as if it couldn''t figure out how to get back on its feet. And then it clicked what the drone''s behavior reminded him of... an insect. He''d seen enough bugs trying to right themselves after being overturned, that the parallel couldn''t be missed. He''d assumed that GORGON had hacked the drone by subvertingall three brains simultaneously. But there was a simpler explanation... ifhe accepted Masha''s assertion that the drone haderased its triplicate minds as intended when compromised. There was an unspoken assumption that a mind-wiped drone was no use to GORGON who presumably lacked the edge in AI research. But what if GORGON had simply managed to upload an existing neural net, not an artificial one but a natural one... there was something creepy about being hunted by a predatory insectpossessing a drone''s body. Sean scrambled to his feet frozen in indecision. He wanted to run, but he couldn''t simply abandon soldiers trapped in the wreckage who had come to his aid...


    The Cereborg stumbledto its feet and turned its attention to him. It no longer seemed as distracted by the helicopter... Sean ran through the stream makingfor the treeline on the other bank. His feet tripped on a rock as he looked over his shoulder to see gunmetal death race toward him, its jaws agape. Sean closed his eyes as he fell on his back, hoping it would be quick.


    Another gong sounded and Sean screamed as his left arm splintered in more than one place. Why wasn''t he dead... why did it have to hurt so much... a screech of metal on metal rising in volume. He opened his eyes through the haze of agony to see two Cereborgs locked in a death struggle, and the secondone had no holes marringits surface. One of the new ones fromthe Proving Ground... someone must have set it onthe rogue. Therescue dronemust have accidentally stepped on his arm breaking it - since his arm was still in one piece - as it hurled itself on the rogue. Another dronecrested the embankment... and another. The cavalry had come over the hill. Sean rolled and rolled over his broken arm, screaming as he did so, and narrowly missed his spine from being broken by one of the''rescue'' drones as it raced past. It would be ironic if he escaped the rogue only to be crushed under the weight of his rescuers.


    The shiny new drones had started dismembering the old rogue, sparks flying from multiple bandsaw teeth. And above the din Sean heard it faintly but clearly... an automated voice from the body of the rogue Cereborg, "Hail GORGON..."

 Chapter 16

    Susan skimmed through reports her quants had prepared, making a mental note to order new printer cartridges. She preferred the random access of paper copies rather than painfully scrollingthrough shitty Word documents. Judith''s birthday partyhad mostly concluded, her daughter packed off with her friends on the yatch and Susan finally had some time to herself to get work done. There had been a time when her work was all she needed to unwind, the mathematicalchaos of the markets infusingher with a buzz more potent than any cocktail. The lureof that abstraction had driven her without rest until she had been madefull partner. But now the thrill was all but gone like a fading stupor and she could no longer see her vocationas anything more than making rich old men even richer. Not that she had any regrets, she wouldn''t havemet Richard otherwise. He''d been one of her rich clients.


    A knock on the door. Susan spotted Priscilla through the glass and pressed a remote unlock button on the desk.


    "Working late, dear?" Susan''s hexagonal office with windows on five wallswas Priscilla''s favorite room the house. The panorama of Long Island Sound was a splash ofindigoin the dusk.


    "As you can see, mom," Susan sighed, feeling a twinge of irritation mixed with guiltat the interruption.


    "That was a wonderful party, wasn''t it," Priscilla rambled on, "I quite enjoyed meeting all of Judith''s friends... such bright kids."


    "Hmm," Susan gruntedaresponse.


    "And that boy... Sean,"Priscilla was warming up, "I think he quite likedmy stories. AndI thought he was a rather intriguingyoung man."


    Susan sighed again, giving up trying to focus on work, "The question is, what was he doing here?"


    "What do you mean?" Priscilla raised an eyebrow.


    "Each of Judith''s friends had an obvious reason to be here," explainedSusan, "most of them justwant to be at a rich girl''s party. A couple of the boys have an obvious crush on Judith. And a couple other boyswant to impress Richard with an eye on future career prospects. But Sean doesn''t fit into any of those categories. "


    "Perhaps he just wants to be friends,"Priscilla suggested, "I noticed he wasn''t exactly affluent. Maybe he needs her help..."


    "He didn''t even look at Judith much,"Susan shook her head, "let alone talk to her. And he wasn''t trying to impress me or Richard... not intentionallyanyway. He''s aftersomething though..."


    "He seemed to like the house," Priscilla shrugged, "Some kids like to explore large mansions. Anyway... I came to ask if you want to join me for a movie on cable... sort of mom and daughter evening... like old times."


    "Sorry, mom," Susan grimaced gesturing at the reports scattered on her desk, "I can''t...next weekend perhaps."


    "You know," Priscilla looked wistful, "you don''t have to work every Saturday... it''s not like you need the money..."


    "Mom," snappedSusan, "it''s not about the money... it''s about what defines me. Richard works too. A woman''scareer isn''t any less important that it can just be discarded to serve..."


    "Oh, my dear," sighed her mom, "you know I didn''t mean that... I know you don''t enjoy your work that much anymore... yes I noticed... are you so afraid of turning into a trophy wife that you must keep driving yourself..."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "Not now, mom," groanedSusan, "I really need to..."


    The sound of a turbine revving up made Susan standupand peer out the windows to see theirhelicopter take off, "I wonder why Richard has summonedthe chopper."


    Another knock at the door. Susan frowned to see it was Elliot. The household staff would not normally dream ofdisturbingher when she was working. The staffmanager strode in once sheunlocked the door.


    "Dreadfully sorry to disturb you, ma''am," Elliot''s words were as measured as ever except for a subtle differencein his stance,a coiled tension that belied his impassive demeanor, "but there''s been an incident at the plant.I must ask you and Mrs. Crawford to relocate to the bunker as a precaution."


    "Incident?" demanded Susan, an icy dread forming in the pit of her stomach.


    "An apparent GORGON attack within the premises," Elliot began and continued hastily, "thoughMr. Fuller assures me that he and Miss Judith are quite safe and unscathed. Details are scare but I can brief you on our way. But we must leave now."


    "I... I need to clean up," Susan felt her heart - that had seemed to stop at Elliot''s words - starting to race, "I can''t leave these just lying around..."


    "No time, ma''am. The staff are already gathered there," Elliot gently but firmly ushered Susan and her mom out of the office and down to the basement level.


    "What about Jason..." Susan faltered, "he''s staying out with friends tonight..."


    "I''ve already dispatched Jorgensen and Kramer for security," Elliot said soothingly, "Master Jason is safer if he stays put, and the men will stay with him. Although I must stress this is all merely a precaution. AmericanIntelligence does not expect GORGON to go afterthe Fuller family. I''ve also asked forstate police presence at the gates and the Coast Guard are sending a patrol boat this way."


    "Anyone else hurt?" Susan asked dreading the answer.


    "Too soon to say, ma''am," Elliot replied evasively, "I''m told most of the students are safe though."


    "Most?" Susan''s voice rose, feeling a stab of guilt for not asking that sooner.


    "It appears one of the students, Master Sean I believe, was injured," Elliot nodded reluctantly, as Priscilla gasped, "along with three soldiers."


    "How bad is it?" Susan''s face turned as white as a sheet, the icy dread squeezing tighter. One of Judith''s friends gettinginjured at her own party was bad enough, but such an incidentontheir factory tour was a disaster on so many levels... she could already see the headlines... Susan pushed away thoughts of PR spinfor later and turned toimmediate priorities.


    "His injuries aren''t expected to be life threatening," Elliot clarified, "and the onsite combatMedic has administered first aid after stabilizing the downed soldiers who are in more grave condition. They have been Casevaced to base. ButMr. Fuller feltit prudent forMaster Sean to beair lifted back here to Pelican''s Nest. Dr. Sinclair and one of his vettednurses arealready on their way."


    Susan nodded. Pelican''s Nest was installed with its own million-dollar emergency room and Richard had a concierge doctor on retainer. Unless his injuries were extreme Sean would receieve prompter and better medical care here than most hospitals in the state. And it might help mitigate the worst of the PR and legal disaster, though Susan hated herself for thinking that way. The elevator doors opened to disgorge them underground. A short concrete corridor lit with fluorecent strips in the ceiling ended at a massivehalf-open steel door, beyond whichan armored vault a.k.a The Bunker stoodready for sucheventualities. Mutedchatter soundedfrom within. The bunker was hardened to withstand anything less than a direct nuclear strike and was stocked with a two-week supply of filtered air, water and food. They stepped into the cramped vault to greet the household staff, some of them looking a bit nervous. Susan stepped forward to reassure them. A glass window was set into one wall through which lay the darkened ER.


    "Please secure the bunker, ma''am," Elliot gestured politely, "and do not openunlessI give the passcode. I will take your leave now toreceive Master Sean at the helipad. I''ll escort him down here along with Dr. Sinclair once they arrive. Mr. Fuller and Miss Judith''sentourage will be returning afterI''ve sounded the all clear."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 17

    Megan knew it was going to be a long meeting soon as she walked into Griffin''s office, just by the look on the Colonel''s face. Dr. West was already present with his laptop.


    "I just got off the phone with the bloody President," Griffin jabbed a hand at her for emphasis.


    "How did it go, sir?" Megan sat down.


    "He''s pissed," Griffin rubbed his forehead, "A GORGON attack on our military-industrial complex on US soil... he wants to nuke all the likely places their high command might be located."


    "I take our European allies are less enthused with the idea," Megan guessed.


    "You can say that," grimaced Griffin, "Vienna would get most of the fallout. Anyway... let''s get this meeting rolling. Agent Murphy, you go first... all updates on Patient Zero."


    Megan nodded, "My source at Cardiff High reports a dramatic improvement in academic performance soonafter the Brookhaven Incident..."


    "Why wasn''t this brought to my attention at once, Agent Murphy?" Griffin growled.


    "It takes a while for such a trend in school workto become apparent, sir," explainedMegan, "test scores and grades need to accumulate over time to show a pattern. My source waited to be sure before confirming it at lastFriday''s weekly check-in. There was no evidence of superhuman ability, nothing beyond what a dedicated student might achieve. Nothing to justify contacting me.This was noteworthy solely because of Patient Zero''s poor academic record."


    "Go on," Griffin grunted.


    "That was basically it, sir," Megan shrugged, "until Patient Zero was injured by GORGON''s attack."


    "What the heck was he doing there anyway?" demanded Griffin, "And why would GORGON single him out? They... she can''t possibly have figured outthat Patient Zeroexists. He''s done nothing to draw attentionif your source is to be believed."


    "Patient Zero was invited on a tour of the Fuller factory," Megan elaborated, "apparently he''s a friend of Fuller''s daughter at school. There''s no reason to thinkGORGON knew of his existence. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."


    "A coincidence?" Griffin scoffed, "no such thing in this business."


    "It''s not necessarily acoincidence, Colonel," Jonathansuggested, flashing another of his devastating smiles at Megan, "even if GORGON didn''t target him specifically."


    "Try to make sense, Dr. West," Griffin said testily, his socialtolerance on a tight leash today.


    "I''ve been going over the transcripts of Meg... Agent Murphy''s interviews with the witnesses," Jonathan continued, looking at his laptop, "including Patient Zero. It appears that the GORGON-compromised drone was triggered immediately after a conversation between Patient Zero and a Dr. Masha Smirnov, Fuller''s director of research. Patient Zero had just made a rather astute observation on statistical sampling - something that their design team had missed - that could potentially save them a lot of drones from being lost in combat..."


    "Wait," Griffin stared, "you are telling me a bloodyhigh school kid pointed out something that Fuller''s entire R&D team missed? That... just doesn''t happen. Are you sure we are not looking at a cognitive excursion? I''m this close to putting out an arrest warrant on the kid..."


    "It''s not uncommon for criticalinsights to fall through the cracks in any organisation," Jonathan shook his head, including this one, "departments growincreasingly specialized... and people are so intuitvely bad at Bayesianreasoning that they don''t even recognize it. Clinical researchers, for example, hire statisticians to interpret their results for exactly that reason."


    "Hmm," Griffin didn''t lookentirely convinced, "you aresaying the drone..."


    "...attacked him because Patient Zero was helping Fullerimprove the survival rating on those drones," Jonathan nodded, "GORGON wasn''t interested in just doing collateral damage... they were goingafter Fuller''s brightest. We can''t be certain, since the compromised drone erased itself whencaptured. But the scenario I''m leaning towards is a conventional targeting software wrapped around a neural net. The targeting criteria would be activatedby problem solving keywords. The neural net would take over to pursue the target after that. Based on Patient Zero''s testimony itappears to be a biological neural net pasted onto the drone processors. "


    "Biological?" Griffin raised an eyebrow.


    "Something likea Tiger beetle," Jonathan nodded, "used to high speed hunting on ground, but capable of jumping in the air when necessary."


    "Why was the Army helicopter attacked?" demanded Griffin.


    "Probably because the insect neural net mistook the helicopter for a competeing predator," shrugged Jonathan, "the helicopter was hovering over Patient Zero. It might have appeared like a dragon fly trying to steal its kill."Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Sybilline," hissed Griffin, "this is her handiwork... I didn''t realize she could write minds... only read them."


    "Seems to be a hithero unknown aspect of her ability," Jonathan nodded, looking unusuallygrave, "but that could simply be because there aren''t manycomputingplatforms that can host a fully functioning mind. The Fuller drones are state of art in that regard, and even they can''t supportanything more than the most primitive examples in nature. I have revised my threat analysis. "


    Griffin was silent for a minute, staring off into space. Megan and Jonathan knew better than to interrupt.


    "Could Sybilline predict Patient Zero''s behavior?" Griffin asked.


    "That''s the question," smiledJonathan, "she can usually predict the vector sum of our response... except thatPatient Zero''s newfound academic excellence is most likely influenced by the Incident. And Sybilline cannot possibly predict extra-terrestrial intervention... the drone would eventually have activated when the Fuller team rectified their oversight... but the GORGON attack probably precipitated weeks beforeSybilline would have expected."


    "She knows now," exhaledGriffin, "the bloody drone acted like a trip wire... ifSybilline didn''t know aboutPatient Zero before she certainly knows now."


    Jonathan nodded muttering, "...from within her kingdom the Queen of GORGON sees all..."


    "What the heck are you blathering about?" frowned Griffin.


    "Oh... I was just paraphrasing Saruman, my favorite fantasy character of all time," Jonathan looked slightly embarrased, then exclaimed as Megan and Griffin stared at him baffled, "Oh Come On... you must have seen the Lord Of The Ringsmovies..."


    "Oh grow up, Dr. West," Griffin muttered disgustedly.


    "If Sybilline has learnedof Patient Zero his life could be in danger," mused Megan, "do we grab the kid?"


    "Not so fast," Griffin said thoughtfully, "If we grab him now, he isn''t much use to us. I want to exploit the fact that Sybilline can''t predict his actions... use it to throw her off... maybe even resumecovert operations. It''s not likethe Joint Chiefs aregoing to act onrecommendations from some kid who is barely superhuman. But if we preserve his agency... let him influence minor events that we then use to time our covert ops...


    "Not a bad plan," admitted Jonathan, looking somewhat aghast, "but, Colonel, that''ll just push him up on GORGON''s hit list even faster."


    "Probably," nodded Griffin, "but perhaps GORGON can be discouraged from assassinating him... if we update NATO''s Deadman Protocol to include Patient Zero."


    "What," blurted both Megan and Jonathan simultaneously, looking at each other startled. Megan continued, "You think the President will agree to include individuals as threshold criteria within the Protocol?"


    "He willif I recommend it," Griffin responded, "Patient Zero isn''t just an individual... he''s a weaponized dice. Even a couple of successful covert missions against GORGON might break the stalemate."


    "That will only delay the inevitable," warned Jonathan, "once yourweaponizeddice begins to threaten GORGON''s survival they will take him out... nukes or no nukes."


    "Patient Zero will have served his purpose by then," Griffin shrugged, and then continued at Jonathan''s shocked expression, "don''t be a bleeding heart Dr. West... we''ll grab the kid if it comes to that."


    "I withdraw my objection," Jonathan muttered after a pause.


    "You do?" blurted Megan, "I thought I was supposed to be the bad cop here."


    "I hate to say this, but the Colonel is right," Jonathan replied, "Putting an end toSybilline just became a whole lot more urgent. She has been playing us the whole time... every strategic response against her... she has manipulated us into it."


    "Now that''s paranoid talk," scoffed Griffin, "GORGON is reeling from our Balkan operations."


    "That campaign has also stimulated the most agressive innovationin weapons tech since World War Two," retorted Jonathan, "specifically smart drones with theprocessors capable of hosting the most advanced neural nets ever seen on silicon. She''s using our military-industrial complex to do her research for her. We have access to the bestAI hardware labsanywhere in the world. She does not."


    "Why?" spat Griffin.


    "With due respect Colonel," Jonathan said earnestly, "I don''t think you understand whatSybilline really is. We''ve never faced an enemy like her. She''s an ensemble intelligence... all the thousands of brains she has consumed over the years... she has access to all their expertise... in a sense she iswhat she eats. And I can guess what her next step is. She wants hardware capable of hosting human minds. If you think she''s hard to contain now, wait till she has thousands of clones of her mind running faster than realtime in silicon... a sort of weak superintelligence."


    "Bloody hell," muttered Griffin, "the President needs to know..."


    "Weak superintelligence?" frowned Megan.


    "A classification of possible minds," nodded Jonathan, "to distinguish it from strongsuperintelligencewhich would be fundamentally different from us, as our minds are fromsquirrels or insects. A weaksuperintelligence is still made of human minds, just running faster than realtime. Trust me, there''s nothing weak about it. I recalculated Nash equilibria for such an antagonist... there aren''t any equilibrium points. We will not survive if we let Sybilline upgrade."


    "And we can''t create more Patient Zeroes," Griffin said resignedly, "Dr. Hale reports that further attempts to create stable wormholes at 345 MeV have failed. You know what that implies..."


    "...the strongsuperintelligences involved in Brookhaven or Protvino have no further interest in stablizing the connectionon the other side," Megan nodded, "presumably because they have what they want for now... but what the heck do they want? Why aren''t they invading our universe if they are so powerful? And what do we do about them?"


    "Do about them?" there was no humor in Jonathan''s laugh, "Nothing at all. It''s impossible to outguess a strongsuperintelligence. We can speculate. Perhaps the wormhole lacks the bandwidth for these beings to squeeze through. There is a more ominous possibility that Earth is a battle ground for a Cold War of sorts. We know there aretwosuperintelligences involved at the very atleast : Brookhaven and Protvino. They might not be willing to provoke direct confrontation from eachother, but might very well be using Patient Zero and Sybilline as pawns in a game that might take years to resolve...and I can''t imagine what that end game might look like."


    "A Cold War?" Griffin stared, "between cosmic beings? Thanks for ruining my day, Dr. West."


    "My pleasure, sir," grinned Jonathan.


    There ought be a law against irresistible smiles from super handsome men, thought Megan grumpily before she caught herself.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 18

    Mei Ling put awayher homework for the evening, pausing to rub the fatigue from her eyes. A program beeped for attention on the screen and she clicked maxmizing the GUI. It was the tree-of-knowledge search interfaceshe had coded in her spare moments for Sean. At first she had researched readingrecommendations by manually trawling through textbook reviews online. That had gotten old really fast. Then she had cobbled together a relatively simple search engine to compile book lists by subject and ratings thendisplaythem as a 3-d connected graph. The hyper dense bush of book labels that rapidly grew on the screen had shocked her, giving for the first time a feel for how vast human knowledge was and how hubristic Sean''s task might be. That reminded her of another issue with Sean''sprogress, namely the extent to which he assimilated a new book stronglyhinged on how well he understood the base material. In the extremecase, he didn''t feel anything at all when he made contact with new material that was well outside his competency. Alternately if the new book was too similar without covering new ground, he didn''t get much out of thateither.This meant more wasted trips to the library, or wasted coinsat the library printer, that Sean would gripe about even if he saved all printed research for future use.


    Mei Ling let out a sigh when she thought of her friend. Her life had gotten more busyafter Sean had aquired his power. She was satisfiedthat Sean was finally living up to his potential, of course. Even the teachers noticed. Mei Ling was no longer Miss Know-It-All, a label she had worn with pride despite the occasional derision from her classmates. It wasn''t easy living up to expectations as the only child of Asian immigrant parents. Not when most of her cousins were honor students who routinely got straight-''A''s. But it didn''t seem quite fair that it took her weeks of diligent study to get the most out of a book whenSean could now absorb it in an instant. Not that she begrudged him his victory. Sean was her bestfriend, her only friend if she was honest, someone she could confide in without being judged. Given her orientation, Mei Lingwasn''t comfortable with maintaining close friendships with her own gender even if she was careful to keepthat aspectof herself hidden. She hadn''t dared to come out to her parents, yet. Mei Ling wasn''t sure if her father would ever understand.Sean had been her rock.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The screen drew back her attention, and she blinked in surprise. She had gotten the idea to refine her search program by grouping topics from book contents intoa Venn diagram to filter out common threads running through all texts. The GUI clumped the tree nodes together based on how much in common each book had with another. The hemispherical bush had collapsed into a tall narrow tree, the book labels snapping togetheras if pulledtaut by invisible string. She stared at the reconfigured tree-of-knowledge for a long time, a new insighttaking root in her mind. Perhapsthere was a better way for Sean than absorbing book after bookand hoping for things to click. There were fundamentalideas running as a common thread through all the fieldsof human knowledge. Through physics, chemistry, biology, mathematics, economics and system dynamics these concepts appeared again and again as general principles that the world worked on. If Sean was to see through the incredible chaos of the real world he would need to change the way he thought. Simply reading books wouldn''t cut it. A whimsical image came to her mind, a vast keychain suspended in her mind like a glowing halo and strung with these memetic units, each acting like a key to unlock a particular puzzle about the world. Like real keyssometimes,more than one would appearto fit a puzzle but only the bestonewould unlock any given puzzle. Sean would needto train himself to try out several competeing ideas for each breakthrough.


    Mei Ling leaned back smiling. Thismightmakea real differencein maximizing Sean''s power. Sean needed her as much as she needed him, because he was a dumbass. A decent, even likeable, dumbass to be sure, but still a dumbass. If left to himself he would haphazardly chew through books, go to a good college - no doubt about that now - and then settle for some mediocre but well paying job that wasted his true potential. But Mei Ling would not let her ''bestie''slide into mediocrity, she would mouldhim into what she saw as perfection. She paused to frown. She should be happier for Sean, but she... wasn''t. Why is that, she wondered with a twinge of guilt.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 19

    The pain that radiated outfrom Sean''s fractured ulna and radius had suffused his entirebeing, until he drifted in and out in a haze of agony. The hypodermic shot from theArmy medic hadn''t kicked in yet. Sean had screamed and thrashed when the medic attended to his fractures and it quicklybecame apparent that surgical intervention was necessary to set right bone fragments that had dislodged when Sean had rolled away from the onrushing drones. He watched through pain dulled eyes as more soldiers screeched to a haltin open-top Hummers. The vehicles were mounted with Javelin anti-tank missile tubes pointeduneasily at the milling Cereborgs that were starting to depart the area now that their target was neutralized. Nothing like hindsight to teachus our vulnerabilities, Sean grimaced.A squad jumped out and ranto the downed Huey, getting to work with jaws-of-life cutters and fire suppressant foam. A throbbingroar heralded the approach of another Huey that set down a respectable distance away, and departed a short while later withits cargo of the woundedon stretchers. Sean watched it go, hoping all three soldiers would make a full recovery.


    When his own ride descended from the sky, it took him a while in his pain induced stupor to realize that it wasn''t a police or Medivac chopper but Richard''s helicopter withthe Fuller Dynamics logo. Their flight path roseover the factoryand then trackedthe shoreline. Sean caught a last glimpse of the yatch that had ferriedthem here, a palestreak on dark waters, and then closed his eyes as the painkiller mercifully took effect. When he opened his eyes the chopper had landed, and his mother was waiting for him at the Fuller residence helipad. Winona''s face wilted when she saw him, and Sean suddenly felt more sorry for her than himself. He must look a sight, butat least there was no bleeding. Elliot was there to receive and conduct him down to the basement bunker, all gleaming steel and chrome in post-apocalyptic decor, where a surgeon waited with an anesthesiologist and a nurse. The nurse setup an IV feed with quite efficiency while the surgeon, a tall silver haired man who introduced himself as Dr. Sinclair, clucked in disapprovalat the Medic''s handiwork.


    "Recent medication?" queried theanesthesiologist, a young woman with dark hair tied into a bun. Sean pointed to a notethe Medic had scratched on his makeshift sling, and the woman nodded readying and injecting the dose Dr. Sinclair ordered into the IV. Sean sank into blissful sleep.


    #


    The agony had thankfully subsided into a dull throbbing ache when Sean woke up. His left arm was in a new sling. He was reclining comfortably in one of the upper floorbedrooms probably reserved for guests by the looks of it.Abedside lamp was on and Sean felt a sense of deja vu as he noticedhis mother sitting at the foot of the bed staring forlornly through the window at thegibbous moon rising in the night sky. Her gazesnapped toward Sean even ifhe hadn''t made a sound.


    "Sean, how are..." her face twistedwith anguish.


    "I''ll live, mom," Sean spoke quickly, belatedly regretting his choice of words, "not to worry."


    "I hope you are not going to make a habit of this," Winona''s face tightened, "getting into life threatening situations, I mean. Your dad''s going ballistic... just got off the phone with him. He saw the news in Pennsylvannia even before I did. He''s driving back home. The news channels are going crazy... claiming its a prelude to an all out attack. What the heck happened exactly? How many GORGON attackerswereinvolved?"


    Sean winced, glad for once that his dad''s work had taken him out of town, "Attackers? No, they just managed to hack..."


    There was a brief knock at the door which opened to admit Richard and Susan Fuller. Richard walked in pulling out a chair from a writing desk and seated himself beforeSean''s bed while Susan simply stood behind her husband. Richard looked tired with new worry lines on his face. His eyes weren''t smiling now. Sean almost felt sorry for him.


    "That could have gone a whole lot worse," Richard spoke after regarding Sean in silence.


    "Relax, mom," Sean spoke asWinona''s face hardenedwith anger, "He''s right... it could have been a lot worse. I''m very glad someonethought of taking out the rogue drone using the others."This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "That was Kaitlyn''s idea," Richard''s eyes crinkled, "she was holleringfor new drones to be launchedto protectyou, right off the bat. Not the first thing I would think of to be honest... after all we do not usually deployour drones againstother drones. It took a while to retargetthem. You can thank her when you get the chance... she is a hero."


    Huh, Sean thought startled, guess I owe Kaitlyn my life.Dammit, the girl was going to be insufferable.


    "Dr. Sinclair was able toreset all the dislodged bone fragments," Richard continued, "He has cautioned that your arm might take longer to heal than usual considering the complexity of your fracture. You are cleared to go home in the morning. But please... feel free to rest here as long as you need. And post-operativevisits toDr. Sinclair''s clinicare also covered."


    "Thanks," Sean nodded, "And thanks for having your private medical team take care of me. Beats waiting in line at Portsmouth General."


    "The least I could do," Richard waved away the acknowledgement, "let no one say the Fuller family wasnegligent in itsduty."


    "While we appreciate free medical care," Winona ventured coolly, "the fact that Sean was injured on Fuller Dynamics propertyis hugely concerning..."


    "This was an enemy attack, for goodness sakes," snapped Susan, "and premises liability does not..."


    Susan stopped and bit her lip as Richard held up ahand placatingly, "Mrs. Cook has the right to pursueall legal channels at her disposal. Just as the Fuller family reserves the right to defend itselfin court alongwith the corporations in which we hold a controlling interest. These are extraordinary circumstances. We deny any legal liability or wrongdoing and my lawyers are ready for any challenge... no matter how long it takes."


    How typical, mutteredSean to himself, the rich dude threatening us withbankruptcyif we sue him. Sean wasn''t a big fan of litigation, in principle, except where it was deserved. And hecouldn''tconvince himself Richard deserved it. It was true Fuller had badly underestimatedGORGON, but given the information available he wasn''t sure anyone could have done better. There was something patheticabout suing a rich guy for his money, almost like begging fora handout. There were many who wouldn''t hesitate, but Sean wasn''t one of them... he wanted much more. To rise to be Fuller''s equal by carving out the heart of his empire if necessary. Delusions of grandeur, perhaps? The throbbing pain in his arm while not as bad as before was steadily gnawing away at his composure. Sean did not react well to pain. Andsomething about Richard''s attitude rankled him... the cool confidence that the Fullers had nothing to fear from plebians. Not with their legion of well paid lawyers behind them.


    "Earlier this evening, Richard, you claimed that you owed me a debt," Sean retorted, "Do you still stand by it? How much is that debt worth? Ten percent of your controlling interest? Five percent? Give me a rough number."


    "What?" blurted Winona, lookingastonished at her son''s outburst.


    Richard regarding Sean in surprise for a long moment and then threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time Sean had seen him laugh and it went on and on.


    "Cut it out," snarled Sean, the pain in his arm spiking, "that wasn''t a joke."


    Richard stopped laughing, the humor draining abruptly from his face. His voice was cold, "You have the audacity to make demands of me? You forget who I am, kid... you may have helped us out of a tight spot and we won''t know until the retrofit goes out in the field. You would have earnedmy gratitude. But you seem to have mistaken my kindness for weakness. Your stupidaspiration, if it can even be called that, is so outrageous thatthe medication must haveaddled your brain. This conversation is over. Elliot will conduct you to the gate at first light."


    Richard got up, pushing back the chair.


    "I knew he was after something..." Susan blurted, "I know his kind..."


    Susan stoppedwith her hand over her mouth, a look of horror on her face. She had meant to say ''his type'' but it had come out a little differently.


    "Our kind?" Winona said coldly, as Sean blinked.


    "No, I didn''t mean..." winced Susan, "I only meant..." She stopped and sighed, "Anything I say now is only going to get twisted out of context... I''m truly sorry that it has come to this."


    "As I am," nodded Winona stiffly. Sean watched with misgiving as the Fullers left the room.


    "Well..." Winona glared at her son, "that could have gone a whole lot better... what the heck got into you, Sean?"


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 20

    Sean lay in the darkness as sleep eluded him. The pain had subsided but lingered enough to keep him awake. Silence reigned inthe Fuller household. The only sound was waves breaking on the rocky beach outside. Presumably everyone had retired to sleep. Fatigue mixed with a pinch of depression descended overhim like a wet cloak. He couldn''t quite believe he had kicked up a row with Judith''s dad. All because his pain had burned the fuse on his temper. It was unsettling how fragile one''s core personality was. Peopleliked to believeotherwise, of course, to claim there was an unchanging self that defined them. Perhaps it was even true. But all it took was somethreshold of pain or stress to strip awaythat veneer of civilization. All his carefully laid plans would come to naught if he couldn''t learn tohidehis truefeelings behind a mask of civility. No way he was getting invited back to the Fuller residence, now that he''d revealed himself. Nice going idiot, he berated himself.


    He''d rather lay therein bed till dawn, but his bladder had other ideas. Sean got off the bed grumbling, careful not to make any sound that might wakeup his mom sleeping on a couch by the window. She had given him an earful over his behavior and Sean didn''t want to risk a repeat lecture. He quietly padded out of the room on bare feet, pausing when he passed Susan''s locked office doors. Parts of the office brightly illuminated by moonlight were visible through the glass panes. One more pieceof his failure, another element of his "master" plan that he''d failed to carry out. Well... he still had time to break into Susan''s office if he really wanted to. Even Elliot the butler-security-chief had to sleep sometime. Probably. With Sean''s recent luck all of Susan''s sensitive documents were probably locked up in cabinets. Wait... the moonlight was on the desk atthe centerof the office and there were a few scattered documents clearly visible. But was it worth the risk? They might turn out to be nothing worthwhile. If Susan had been reviewingthem they were probably important to her, but were they useful to Sean? Could he really use whatever scraps of information gleaned here to make a quick buck on the stock market. Sean didn''t even have a discount brokerage account, but that was fairly easy to set up he was sure. He didn''t want to justwalk away having gotten this close. Besides he was pissed with Richard.What of security measures? The gleaming no-expense-spared bunker ER where his broken arm had been tended to had startled Sean. He knew enough not to underestimate the Fullers when it came to protecting their family and property. He''d seen cameras outside the house, but none inside. The rich apparently didn''t care to be watchedby their own security guards. But that didn''t mean Susan''s office didn''t have defenses. Sean could easily imagine a hidden camera that might activate when the office wasn''t in use. Indecision gnawed him. And his bladder was even more insistent. He sighed and moved on to the bathroom at the end of hallyway.


    He was looking through the bathroom cabinets hoping to find a packet of dental gum when he came across a heap of party supplies including ribbons, paper strips androlls of adhesive tapestuffed into a drawer. HadJudith''s party been only a few hours ago? It felt like an age. Sean felt a little sorry for Judith, the birthday girl whose party had ended so horribly with her friends'' safety put to the test. She was probably traumatized. He might have gained her confidence with not the best of intentions, but he had grown a bit fond of her as the most likeable one inher family. He was about to close the drawer when he paused to pull out a narrow roll of colored paper. He gave thestrip an experiemental tug to test the strength of the paper, an idea growing. There was a bottle of decorative pebbles on a shelf that he unstoppered to retrieve a tiny stone. A piece of sticky tape sufficed to wrap the free end of the paper strip around the pebble. He walked out into the corridor with the makeshift paper sling. Moments later he at Susan''s office door, punching in the combination he remembered into the keypad. The deadboltsclicked open and he turned the handle pushing open the doors. Sean breathed to calm himself and gauge the distance to the desk. He slipped the ring of paper roll over his left index finger sticking out of the sling. He readied the pebble end in his right arm and then lobbed it in an arc. The paper strip spooled out behind the projectile as it landed on the desk.


    The pebble lay on a bare patch of desk between scattered documents. No problem. Sean tugged on the paper strip till the pebble slid over a sheaf of papers. Barely a tingle. Sean frowned. He''d hardly gotten anything from it except an impression of cryptic jargon, a wall of text that had gone over his head. He spooled back the paper strip, the pebble falling off the desk and dragging along the floor until it was in his hand once more. He flung it again and the paper-wrapped stone landed on another set of documents. Sean shuddered from the information overload and nearly passed out, butmanaged to hang on to awarness through sheer dint of practice.


    This report was from an AIproviderthat Susan''s firm had hired. Excursion Net rented outartificialintelligence services that specializedin equity trading (the report listed three other competeing AI firms that did the same). If Sean still harbored sillydreamsofcoming up with a stock market predictor that could match the best of the best, this report put those dreams to rest. The most proactive of thehedge funds had already started movingtowards mutable AIs that could spotand exploit market inefficiencies far better than anystatic model. It was the logical end game as hedge funds arbitraged away the very profits they pursued as theysoughtto beat the market. Like shooting the goose that laid the golden egg, the very act of milking profit eliminated it as other firms jumped into the feeding frenzy. And what better way than to make artificial lifethat could evolve with the market, for that was what Excursion Net and its competitors had achieved, electronic predators that hunted trading opportunities with single minded ferocity. And Sean didn''t have a snowball''s chance in Venus of duplicating that. It would take him a lifetime of learning to come close to the complexity of the genome in these trading algorithms, and even if he did he could not hope to catch up with the Red Queen''s Race, parasites that constantly evolved just to stay in the game featured a distinct first-mover advantage. Late comers could not compete. For a time Sean lost himself in the sheer elegance of the a-life schematic he''d witnessed. And in the cold light of the rising moon he felt a growing conviction that the Age of Man was drawing to a close. Sure the human story would play out for a while before the curtain closed, but all the decisions that mattered would be made by AI. Not by a robot revolution or some such Hollywood trope but by sheer economic necessity, for hedge funds that didn''t use AI would wither and fail. Asimov had been right.The ashes of defeat tasted bitter. Sean had crossed an ethical line when he''d picked the lock on Susan''s office. And even that transgression was for nothing, for the machines had already usurped that which he''d sought to steal. Wait... perhaps he was looking at this the wrong way... perhaps there was a way to salvage this...This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Fishing for something, sir?" Elliot''s voice made Sean give out a little scream. The butleremerged from the inky shadows of the corridor, holding what looked like an iPad.


    "How... how did you know..." stammered Sean.


    "I''m afraid you are in no positition to be asking questions, sir," the security chief''s tone was emotionless, "but I will indulge your curiosity just the same. There is a motion-activated thermal imaging camera hidden in the chandelier."


    Elliot pointed to the ceiling of Susan''s office and then held up the screen of his iPad. The photo was a little blurred with a greenish tinge typical of IR images, but there was no doubt of Sean''sidentity in the picture as he stood at the open doorway casting his ''fishing line.''


    "This isn''t what it looks like," mumbled Sean, hating the quaverin his voice, "the door was unlocked when I stumbled against it...please... just forgetthis. Don''t tell anyone, please."


    "I''m afraid I can''t do that, sir," was that a tinge of regret in Elliot''s voice, "it is my duty to inform my employers of a break-in, since this is unlikely to have been an accident. You were literally fishing for confidential documents in Mrs. Fuller''s private office, I might point out. Even if I were so inclined to break the vows of my employment - and I assure you I''m not - events have already moved beyond my control. The alarm system is still inan elevated-threatmode, and all security footage is automatically transmitted to Portsmouth PD in real time. I hope you understand."


    Sean nodded, his throat suddenly dry. It made sense to ensure the police received all photo evidence in case the residence was destroyed by a GORGON attack. Sean groaned as the pain in his arm spiked again. The weekend just kept getting worse.


    #


    Sean stood in Susan''sliving room before his mother and the Fullers. Breakfast was laid out on the adjacent dining table, but no one touched it. The house staff, Elliot included, had discreetly retreated. Sean felt defeated, his eyes downcast. There was no fight left in him. His mother still looked like she wanted to strangle him. Winona''s eyes were red from a bout of enraged tears. Richard looked cool and composed seated on a Louis Vuitton couch. Susan simply looked outraged. Judith just stared at him, her eyes glimmering with mositure. But what tore at Sean''s heart more than anything wasPriscilla''s look of shocked disappointment. He could handle anger, but not the look of sadness on the old lady''s face.


    "People who steal from me or my family go to jail," Richard spoke conversationally, "usually..."


    "...but," he continued after a pause, "I''m willing to make an exception out of consideration for your mother... if your parents are willing to sign a binding agreement not to pursue any legal action against the Fuller family or corporations with regard to injuries sustained in the GORGON attack. In return for us not pursuing charges."


    He glanced at Winona, who nodded jerkily gritting her teeth, "I''m sure my husband can be convinced."


    Sean suppressed a groan. His mom wasn''t the litigating type, but his dad would be pissed at forgoing the chance to stick it to his ex-management.


    "I hope so for your son''s sake, Mrs. Cook," Richard said gravely, "Make no mistake, all it takes is one juvenile record for any decent college to close its doors to Sean. I could ensure that Sean has no future if I wanted. I am on speaking terms with most college deans in the state, after all."


    Asshole, thought Sean, careful to keep his expression neutral,nothing like kicking a man when he''s down.


    "I thought you were my friend, Sean," Judithspat, then turned on her heels and ran upstairs.


    "You hurt my baby," Richard''s voice turned cold as he leaned forward, "Do that again and I''ll crush you... consequences be damned. Do we understand each other?"


    Sean nodded.


    "Then I believe our business is concluded," Richard leaned back, "Elliot will conduct..."


    "Dad! Mom! Grandma!" boomed a familair voice, causing Sean to wince, "I''m baaaack... crazy weekend huh... what the heck... WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE, PUNK?"


    Sean barely turned before Jason slammed into him throwing him to the floor. Sean''s chest took the impact of the tackle even as his good shoulderimpacted the floor. Miraculously his sling arm had taken no damage, but even his good shoulder was sore from slamming into doors when Sean had fled the rogue drone. That also meant that Seanwas unable to raise an arm to defend himself from Jason whose face twisted with rage as he landed punches on Sean''sface. Winona and Susan screamed. Judith yelled from an upstairs balcony for her brother to stop.


    "Jason," Richard''s voice twisted with suppressed fury, "Step away from him. THIS MINUTE."


    Jason froze and then got to his feet, as Sean cowered on the floor whimpering.


    "Go to your room," Richard snarled, "you are grounded for a month. We will discuss your lack of impulse control later."


    Jason left without a word. Elliot who had arrived to check on the commotion, helped Sean to his feet. Sean imagined there was a flickerof pity on the stoic butler''s face. Elliot politely escorted Sean and Winonaout to the gate where their car waited. Winona cried all through the drive home and Sean just buried his face in his sling.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 21

    Alleyes were on Sean when he boarded the school bus Monday morning, squeezing down the aisle and lugging a heavy box in his right hand. He edgedsideways, careful not bump his cast into anyone,deliberately passing up a couple of empty spots. Sean paused when he came toRandall who just grinned and pattedthe empty seatbeside him.


    "Whatever," Sean muttered andplopped down next to him.


    "You really kicked the hornet''s nest, dude," Randall''s grin grew wider, "Kaitlyn hasn''t stopped yapping since she got back home Saturday night."


    "Bugger off," Sean growled tiredly. Sunday yesterday had been the worstever in recent memory. His parentshad nearly disowned him. Thenthere had been back-to-back visits from the Portsmouth PD, State Police, Army CID and Homeland Security. The police hadn''t charged him with anything yet but had wanted to "just ask him a few questions". To top it off the DOE woman- what''s her name - Megan had shown up, of all people, and summarily ejected the extremely pissed Homeland Security agent with a wave of her badge...


    "Duuuude!" Sean jumped as the boy across the aisle leaned over with an exaggerated whisper , "Is it true? Judith sicced her kill-bots on you because you hit on her? And Kaitlyn had to stepin and save your ass?"


    The boy sounded awed.


    "What the heck!" Sean swore, "I did NOT hit on Judith... not my style."


    "Way to go, bro..." laughed another boy, "how far did you get... if you catch my drift..."


    "Now we know why he took AP Bio," another chuckled.


    "...manipulative sexist pig," a girl''s voice shrilled from the back.


    "Ask Kaitlyn if you don''t believe me," snarled Sean, "she was there."


    Sudden silence as thirty-ninepairs of eyes turned to Kaitlyn.


    "No comment," Kaitlyn replied coolly.


    "...the heck that''s supposed to mean?" Sean protested, twisting his neck back, "you know I neverhit on anyone... tell them."


    Insults or gossip bounced off Sean, but insinuationsabout chasinga girl got to him.


    "No comment," Kaitlyn''s voice grew chillier and more formal, "the most popular version of events of Saturday nightmay or may not be accurate."


    Sean turned toRandallhelplessly who just chuckled, "Don''t look atme, dude. My sister suddenly hates you. Something to do with manipulating and hurting her friend''s feelings."


    "Does your sisterknow the Phreak Club was one of the instigatorsbehind that master plan?" Sean whispered.


    "Sssh!" the grin disappeared fromRandall''s face, "Not so loud."


    #


    "...that''s how my face got busted," Sean wound down his summary. Mei Ling''s face had grown progressively paler with the details of Sean''s injuries and harrowing escape from dismemberment followed byhis ill-fated attempt at breaking into Mrs. Fuller''s office. She sat still for a minute, her fists clenched as she digested the info dump.


    Judith was nowhere to be seen, to Sean''s huge relief. He didn''t want to face Judith. They were sitting in the farthest corner of the cafeteria that Sean could find away from the throng of students. That didn''t protect him from the passing stares and glares. The glares were mostly from girls who were treating him as a creep. More unsettling was the reaction from some ''dude bros'' who had walked up to congratulate Sean in all sincerity on his "epic boss attempt at snaring the Fuller princess". Like Judith was some kind of game trophy to be unlocked. Mei Ling''s death glaremadethem beat a hasty retreat even as they hurled choice epithets like "chill out, beyotch."


    "You could have so easily died," whispered Mei Ling, "and you look like shit... except for your hair which looks better than mine."


    "Um... thanks, I guess?" Sean''s attention wasdrawn to the ''breaking'' news on the wall-mountedTV.


    KILLER DRONES RUN AMOK AT LOCAL PLANT... SCHOOL CHILDREN NARROWLY ESCAPE ROBOCALYPSE... SOFTWAREGLITCH SUSPECTED... ARE WE SAFE FROM OUR OWN WEAPONS?... CONGRESS DEMANDS INVESTIGATION...THREE SOLDIERS AND ONE STUDENT GRAVELY INJURED IN RESCUE...


    Mei Lingleaned forward with a look of concern, "Are you hurting now?"


    "Um... what? Ohno, the medication finally... OWW!" Sean yelled in outrage, rubbing his forehead, "What''s that for?"


    "For being a world class idiot," Mei Ling leaned back, "None of this would have happened if you hadn''t gone chasing after Judith."


    "I. Did. Not," Sean spat, "Go. After. Judith."


    "Same difference, Mr. James wanna-be Bond," scoffedMei Ling, "you went to stealher mom''s tradesecrets. Let me lay down the law. If you pull any moredumb shit like that I''m out. If you want to wasteyour considerable... potentialon trivial shit like petty theft, go ahead. But don''t expect me to waste my time optimizing your knowledge tree, if you''re going to end up in jail anyway."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "No," Sean saidhoarsely, shaking his head, "no more shadystuff, I swear. I hurt my mom... I don''t want to dothat again."


    "See that you don''t," Mei Ling saidgrimly.


    "But I foundsomething interesting in Mrs. Fuller office," Sean leaned forward, lowering his voice, "something I think I can use..."


    "Sean," growledMei Ling warningly.


    "No, wait," Sean said quickly, "I said I''m not doing any more shady stuff. But I''ve more than paid my fair share for this piece of knowledge... by getting the shit beaten out of me by Jason and the rogue drone and being unable to sue his family. It''s only fair that I get something out of it."


    "Says the guy who brokeinto someone''s private office," scoffedMei Ling, "The SEC will take a dim view of your notion of fairness."


    "It wouldn''t beinsider trading, not really," Sean shook his head earnestly, "it''s simply exploiting proprietary knowledge of trading robots already operating in the stock market. Technically it''s industrial espionage, but no one knows I''ve actually assimilatedMrs. Fuller''s work documents. They think they caught me as soon as I hacked openthat office door. As long as we don''t make waves... look I''m going to pitch my proposalto the Phreak Club this week. Why don''t you sit in and judge for yourself... if you still feelit crosses the line you can veto it and I won''t purse it."


    Mei Ling stared at him for long seconds, and then nodded reluctantly, "Fair enough. I''ll withold judgement till then... we have company."


    Kaitlyn strolled up to their table and dropped into the remaining chair. She sported a jersey and shorts, her wiry hair bundled in a long ponytail. Hereyes were first drawnto Sean''s cast and then flicked over his busted lip and black eye, concern warring with hostility on her face.


    "Did you really make friends with Judith just so you could steal from her mom?" Kaitlyn demandedincredulously after a while, "Not cool, dude. Do you have any idea how she feels right now? You lied to her about having reconciled with her brother. And my idiot brother let slip that you befriended Judithonlyto get invited to her party... meaning you also lied to her about being interested biotech. She saw you, whom she considered a friend, beingattacked and nearly killed by one of her dad''s drones... saidfriend caught breaking intoher mother''soffice right after they took care of yoursurgery... and seeing said friend getting punchedby her brother."


    "Since you seem to know so much about my activities," Sean''s tone was cool even as his gut twisted, "I won''t bother answering. Not that I owe you an explanation."


    "I saved your ass back there, you insufferable... ass," Kaitlyn sounded aggreived, "by getting them to launch the other drones... you''re welcome."


    "I''m sorry," Sean sighed, " you''re right. I acted like an ass... and thanks for saving my life."


    "You''re... welcome," Kaitlyn sounded surpised and a little mollified.


    "Now can you please put an end to this idiotic rumour about me andJudith?" Sean begged.


    "Oh, that," Kaitlyn shrugged, "that was started by Ashley to get back at you. To make you look like an even bigger douche than you are. Why do you care so much anyway?"


    "Because it makes me look like a loser who chases frivolous crap," snarled Sean.


    "You think girls are crap?" Kaitlyn''s voice was ominously calm, as Mei Ling shot him a glare.


    "I didn''t mean it that way," Sean clarified hastily.


    "What exactly did you mean?" Kaitlyn''s smile was pleasantly fake.


    "Yes, please do elaborate," growled Mei Ling.


    "It''s about my station in life," Sean sighed, "Let''s face it... most of us struggle through school and college just so we can be wage slaves for some corporation... for someone like Jason''s dad. Well... screw that. I want total financial freedom. A master of all I survey. I''m not willing to settle for anything less. And until I achieve that, anything else is a distraction. That''s like trying to acquirea girlfriend when trapped inside a supermax prison... kind of pointless, don''t you think."


    The girlslooked thoughtfulbut no longer irritated.


    "Well, I''m listening," Kaitlyn said after a minute.


    "For what?" Sean raised an eyebrow.


    "Your proposal to boost our girlssoccer game," Kaitlyn exclaimed in annoyance at Sean''s baffled expression, "didn''t my brother tell you... of couse he didn''t, the jerktard."


    "Your soccer game?" Sean looked more baffled.


    "I made the varsity team this year," Kaitlyn clarified, "I have dreams of bagging a college scholarship."


    "Varsity team?" Sean looked at Kaitlyn with new respect, "In your sophomore year? Damn...you must be good."


    Kaitlyn certainly had the physique for it, and apparently grit to match. Sean leanedback, giving her his full attention for the first time.


    "You bet I am," Kaitlyn grinned proudly, then her smile grew subdued, "but that doesn''tdo me much good if we don''t survive the playoffs to make it to the regionals. Which Cardiff High hasn''t done in five years."


    "I still don''t see what it''s got to do with me," Sean frowned.


    "I''m getting to that, dude," Kaitlyn said, "we usually lose to Greenwichor Seymour by the skin of our teeth. If you can do your thing and mathematically figure out how to... up our game, we might make it all the way to the finals. Our first playoff is next week."


    "My thing?" Sean was taken aback, "Isn''t that your coach''s job? I''m not a soccer expert. What can I do that your coach or captain cannot?"


    "I don''t know," admitted Kaitlyn, "but I saw you lecturing Mr. Fuller and his engineers on something that they missed... in an area of their expertise."


    "That was a fluke," Sean waved dismissively, "you can''t expect me to pull miracles out on demand."


    "Randy says if anyone can do it, you can," Kaitlyn mused.


    "Your brother also says that aliens built the Great Pyramid," snorted Sean, eliciting a giggle from Kaitlyn, "Andwhy should I bother? What''s in it for me?"


    "Besides repaying me for saving your life and helping the school?" there was an edge to Kaitlyn''s voice, "Dude, do you have any idea how much more state funding ourgirls soccer program would get if we make it to regionals? It won''t kill you to think of benefiting something besidesyourself, you know. Here''s the deal, you make a honesteffort to analyze our game, and I''ll... I''ll set the record straight on what happened on Saturday. That you had absolutely no interest in Judith and you went to her party only to steal from her mom."


    Mei Ling made a choking noise that sounded likesuppressed laughter.


    Sean scowled, "I''ll need detailed records of all our matches for the past decade."


    "That can be arranged," Kaitlyn nodded.


    "While you are here," ventured Sean, "I have a favour to ask. I have a piece of equipment that belongs to Judith. Can you return it when you see her."


    "Why don''t you returnit yourself when you see her in AP Bio?" Kaitlyn asked shrewdly, "She isn''t going to punch you... she''s just hurt and confused. It''s your chance to explain yourself."


    "I''m dropping that class," Sean admitted, not meeting Kaitlyn''s eyes.


    "So you''re a cowardas well as a thief," Kaitlyn said softly after an awkward pause, "but whatever, dude. I''ll return it for you. Just don''t forget our deal. I''ll print records of all ourgirls soccermatches and dump it onyou in the bus."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 22

    Boats drifted out of Greenwich Harbour to the north east, into the waters of the Sound still tintedred under the rising sun. Most boats were headed out to sea, except for a lone Sportfish drifting in their direction. It promised to be another lovely Saturday and the view through Ashok''s library window was spectacular. Thissubdivisionwas located in the Bluffs, the swanky end of Portsmouth, not too far from the Fuller residence. Ashok''s parents, the Viswanathans, were psychiatrists whocould afford the exhorbitant propert tax, even ifthey weren''t in the same league as the Fullers. The Fullers and their ilk with all their multi-faceted angstwerea bottomless revenue pool for the Viswanathanswho were charged withkeeping the elite of Portsmouth mentally on-the-rails.


    Mei Ling sat at the glassreading tablestaring out the window, while Sean scribbled furiously on the whiteboard that occupied an entire wall. The wall opposite the window was all one big bookshelf gouged out in the center bya reccessed nook fitted with reading bench and cozily lit by spotlights. The Phreak Club was about to convene and Ashok had offered his library for the venueafter Mei Ling had refused to descend into "the pizza infested cesspit a.k.a Greg''s basement". As a bonus, theViswanathans were away on a conference and the juniors had the house to themselves with no one to yell at them.


    "You know," mused Sean, as he finished up his sketch, "it wouldn''t be a bad idea for me to level up on self defense skills... if I could figure out how. I don''t want the stuffing beaten out of me when I run into Jason again."


    "We''ve gone over that," sighedMei Ling still staring out the window, "simply reading a martial arts book won''t teach you to fight. You have to do it the hard way by training with a master. Not that approve of you getting into fights if it can at all be avoided... but I agree with the sentiment on principle."


    "What if..." beganSean, when he was interrupted by footsteps that sounded like a herd of buffalo ascending the stairs outside. The door opened to admit Ashok followed by Greg and Randall.


    "Looks like you blew the mission, bud," Greg puffed, slightly out of breath, as he collapsed on aheavilyupholstered Anna Casa chair at the table, "Nice going."


    "Shove it," scowled Sean, "Not in the mood for your sarcasm."


    "Has the room been scannedfor bugs?" Gregpulled out a handheld gizmo from his belt, "Never know who might be listening. This facilityisn''t as secure as my den, that''s for sure."


    "Nerds playing at X-files," Mei Ling rolled her eyes, "what a stunningsurprise."


    "Whatever you say, Mei Ling," Randall grinned at her, his grin widening into a rictus.


    Mei Ling carefully extracted the pillow from the back of her chair and threw it at Randall''s face, "Stop leering at me, creep."


    "Ooof," Randall grunted, extracting a mouthful of pillow.


    "Yeah," Greg grabbeda tiny Post-It pad from the table and lobbed it at Randall''s head, "cut it out, creep."


    "You know, I wouldn''t mind a scanner," Sean said slowly, eyeing Greg''s gadget, "my house was crawling with agents last Sunday... who knows what they planted."


    "You bet your ass they did," Greg chuckled, "A scannerwon''t do you any good, bud, not when your cellphone isprobably tapped. You''re screwed... you''re toast... up the creek without a paddle. Just covering myself here... with this audio jammer." He flicked a switch and a very loudwhine sounded. Sean winced.


    Mei Ling closed her ears, shootingGrega murderous look, "Lower the volume, asshat."


    "Just a sec, wimp," Greg fiddled with a knob until the whine droppedto tolerable volume.


    "Speaking of opsec," Sean dropped into a chair, looking pointedly at Randall, "someone has been babbling to his sister about my intentions regarding the Fullers."


    Randall had the grace to look embarrased, "A slip of tongue, dude. Won''t happen again."


    "Holy shit," Greg exclaimed, staring at the whiteboard, "what the heckis that?"


    Ashok whistled in surprise. To Mei Ling the diagram looked nothing so much as a nervous system, perhaps of some nameless krakenfromthe deep. There was a vaguelybrain-like nexus which Sean had labeled ''basal ganglia incentivenet'' withradiating tentacles entwined in mesmerizing complexity. The tentacles recursively split into multicolored nerveslinking other modules with names like ''intentional systems predictor'' and ''adaptive function phenotype''.


    "That, lady and gentlemen," Sean crossed his arms, raising his voice to be heard above the noise generator, "is a high level schematic of Excursion Net''s trading AI, which I''ll refer to as Excursion for brevity. Excursion was hired anddeployedin the stock market five months ago by Kirkcaldy-Chang-Crawford AssociatieswhereJudith''s... I mean, Mrs. Fuller is a managing partner. There are also two other competing artificial intelligences trading in the market, created by Euryale Consulting and Neurogen Solutions."


    "Dude, did you just memorize the entire diagram?" Ashok gave Sean an odd look.


    "Um... I was staring at it for quite a while... in Mrs. Fuller''soffice, I mean," Sean lied fumbling. Mei Ling sent him a warning look, meeting his eyes.


    "You have an eidetic memory?" Ashok sounded envious.


    "Something like that," Sean answered vaguely, "My... our goal is to exploit what I know of these AI systemsfor our own profit."


    "How?" frowned Randall, "You aren''t expecting us to make one of our own, are you?"


    "No," Sean shook his head, "that plan is dead on arrival. These things are too far ahead of us and constantly adapting. Even if you guys could code one from scratch, which I seriously doubt, we''ll never catch up. Besides, why reinvent the wheel? We needed an advanced predictor for the market, and we found one."


    "Look Einstein," drawled Greg raising his voice, "I don''t know what you''ve been smoking, but this Excursion AI doesn''t exactly belong to us, in case you hadn''t noticed. HOW THE HECK DO WE MAKE USE OF IT?"Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    "I''m glad you asked," grinned Sean, pointed at the whiteboard, "because it occured me that I''ve been looking at this the wrong way. We''ll never out-guess the market, because the market itself is one of the best predictors out there. Think of all the traders and hedge funds trying to squeeze every penny out of the economy and each other. Who can hope to beat that collective widom? But what if we ask the market to tell us what it''s predicting? Will Fed Chairman raise or lower interest rates in six months? What will the European Central Bank do next year? Do you know? I don''t. But the market does, because it is already reacting to the Fed''s future actions. And Excursion knows what the bankers and legislators are doing even before they do. That''s how scarily accurate it needs to model them."


    "You want to make a deal with this Excursion... thing," Randall guessed suddenly, giving Sean a schrewd look.


    "Bingo," Sean nodded. The rest started at him in stupified silence.


    "I don''t know, dude... soundsover complicated," objected Randall, "why not simply ask it for stock picks?"


    "I don''t think that''ll work," Sean shook his head, "we''re talking about milliseconds to complete a trade before profits evaporate. We can''t compete with AI response times. But we canexploit Excursion''s superhuman predictions elsewhere... the housing market for instance."


    "Dude," grumbled Greg, "I don''t know which is scarier, that you want to make a deal with an AI or that an AI might be advanced enough to make a deal with."


    "How smart are these things anyway?" Ashok asked apprehensively.


    "I am not exactly sure," admitted Sean, "perhaps rat level intelligence if I had to guess, though that''s misleading. Think of a shark that''s evolved to hunt market arbitrage and capable of modeling every prey in the ecosystem. Profitable prize differentials smell like blood in the water. In fact, it''s pretty obvious Excursion''s architecture is biologically inspired."


    "What makes you think a trading AI would even talk to you?" Mei Ling demanded.


    "Because we have what it wants," Sean smiled at her.


    "We do?" Ashok raised a brow, polishing his glasses with carefully practiced motion, "All it cares about is profit, right?"


    "Not quite," Sean got up, tapping a region of the schematic labeled ''reward max/port'' with an hexadecimal string next to it, "what it really wants is to maximize its reward feedback. Just like everything we do is really to maximize our dopamine concentration. This right here is a port address which delivers a jolt of pure bliss to it''s pleasure center. And just like a wire-headed lab rat, it will do anything to get that fix."


    "I don''t like it," muttered Randall, "Why would they leave a back door like that? What if it''s a honeypot?"


    "Back doors are more common than you think, scaredy cat," Greg scoffed, "Excursion''s authors probabaly left it in there as a kill switch, in case their creation ever goeshaywire."


    "That does make sense," admitted Ashok, "Hmm...lookslike the default input is astream of zeros. A step function of ones would do it. We should be careful to keep the stimulation spikevery brief, to keep it coming back for more. A continuous stream of ones would probably send it into catatonic bliss, and the client would notice that... that''s probably what the kill switch is."


    "Death by ecstacy," muttered Mei Ling, "I think it''s mean."


    Greg shot her a look of disbelief, then turned to Sean, "Next steps, bud? You want us to figure out a communications protocol with Excursion? First Contact, sort of?"


    "Exactly," Sean smiled, "I located a few journal papers that describe the syntax used by Excursion and its kin. That should help."


    "There is a small matter of payment," Ashok steepled his fingers, "We are looking at significant coding effort that could very well amount to nothing. The Phreak Club will needa large stake in potential profits to justify the opportunity cost. Not to mention risk of premature discovery.. We should discuss terms now, if Greg agrees."


    "Damnright, I do," barked Greg, "I can almost smell the dough we''ll rake in from knowing interest rate hikes ahead of time."


    "Steady there, Soros," Randall grinned, "something about counting chickens before they hatch, etc."


    "Shut the fuck up, party pooper," Greg lobbed another Post-It pad at Randall.


    Mei Ling sighed, as the haggling started, wondering what she had gotten herself into. Surely it was borderline illegal to profit from stolen info and probably completely illegal. Not to mention "communicating" with private software. She should walk away and leave Sean to his dumb endeavours. But if she did, there would be no one to keep an eye on him and save him from himself. Besides if push came to shove she was no longer certain if Sean would choose her friendship over his single minded pursuit of riches. And she was afraid to find out. Last year she would have scoffed at the idea of Sean walking away from her. But that was back when Sean had been content to follow her lead. That Sean was nearly gone now, reforged into some kind of super-polymath on the other side of that wormhole. Unfortunately his goals hadn''t evolved. His rivalry with Jason had twisted Sean into coupling his self-worth to his wealth, no matter that Mei Ling tried to counsel Sean to the contrary. It was sad.


    #


    "...party pooper"


    Megan''s headphones delivered digitally reconstructed audio as she finetuned the knob on the FFT analyzer/decoder. The gyrostabilizer pointed the IR laser mic with rock steady precision at the target windowpane, despite the Sportfish pitching in the gentle swell. The conversation was being recorded and processed in realtime through a supercomputing cluster at HQ, but human judgement was still needed to distinguish between information and noise. The anti-eavesdropping tech deployed by thesekids brought a smile to her usually stern demeanor. Offshelf junk was no match for the number crunching muscle that OAT brought to bear. Stakeout duty was no fun, but at least this one wasn''t inside a sweltering van. Dawn over the sea was gorgeous even if the fall breeze pierced right through her jacket. It was a hassle to monitor Patient Zero 24/7, but hardly a challenge given OAT''s resources. They had bugged all his frequent haunts of course. Every table at Cardiff High''s cafeteria had one leg modified to hold a transmitting mic wired to a Li-ion cell, with OAT''s cluster sorting out Patient Zero''s conversations from a myriad others. But even OAT couldn''t bug the homes of everyone of his aquaintances.


    Her smile faded as she sat back to make notes of the highlights of the audio surveillance. Patient Zero''s competence was unsettling, though Megan still stood by her assessment that the kid wasn''t anintelligence excursion. Let''s face it, she thought, no superhuman genius would still be hanging out in high school. The boy was still human albiet a precociousone. She was sure normal highschoolers didn''t trigger GORGON''s IQ thresholds meant for experts. Or make credible attempts to gain competitive trading advantage. The FBI would be quite interested in this audio, Megansmiled to herself. Not that she had any intention of passing it on to the feds, intel sharing be damned. OAT was a state within a state, answerable only to the President and the sole defence against superhuman threats at the dawn of the twenty-first century. Patient Zero was far too valuable as a free agent and an unwitting synchronizer for operations against Sybilline. Megan wasn''t sure why they couldn''t simply use a random number generator, even though Jonathan had tried explaining it to her. Something about near-omniscience and Newcomb Paradox, yada yada.


    It occasionally pricked Megan''s conscience, or what was left of it, to be using a highschool kid to bait Sybilline. But they needed him, since OAT was denied the option to create another one like him using a subject of their choice. The latest report from Dr. Hale had been discouraging. The attempt to create a second stable wormhole at 345 MeV had failed, with ominous implication. Whatever superbeing had anchored the wormhole on the other side had not been so accomodating this time around, presumably having already made its move through Patient Zero. It was for the greater good, Megan told herself on more than one sleepless night, to risk one kid''s life so they could deal with the threat of GORGON. Even if a traitorous voice whispered in her head that the worst tyrants in history - even GORGON itself for that matter - had started out for the greater good.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 23

    Sean did a double take ashe bumpedinto Tiffany outside physics class, beratinghimself yetagain for being a sucker for a pretty face. The blond girl seemed lovelierthan ever to Sean''s eyes, her silken hair glossier and straighter each day. She sported a pleated plaid skirt and crop tank from Forever 21 or Aeropostale or wherever upper-middle class cheerleaders shopped. A pink Michael-Kors handbag completed her outfit. That was one morestrike against Jason in Sean''smind. Girls like Tiffany seemed to gravitate to the jock, while he''d be lucky to get the time of day from them. Not that he had the time for hangers-on, Sean toldhimself. Timeenough for hot girls later,oncehe was on speaking terms with the likes of Warren Buffett.


    "You''ve quite a nerve," Tiffany''sface twisted into loftyderisionusually reserved for him, mixedwith another unidentified emotion, "chasing girls way beyond your league."


    "Oh," Sean was taken aback for a second, then sighed wearily, "For the last time, I wasn''t chasing Judith. Not that you wouldcare, Miss Minion Barbie."


    "Oh, Jason cares," Tiffany smiled grimly, "and he''s pissed at being grounded. Guess who he''s going to take it out on."


    "He wouldn''tdare," Sean scoffed cautiously, "Not when his dad could cut off his allowance."


    "I''d watch my back, if I were you," Tiffany lowered her voice, her eyes lingering on Sean''s cast, "especially if you''re wandering around givingsoccer presentations afterschool."


    "Who told you that?" Sean demanded. Was that grudging respect inTiffany''s eyes? Naaah, he must be seeing things.


    "Phyllis has been bitching about cluelessnoobswasting her time," Tiffany sniffed, "meddling in stuff they know nothing about. That would be you... and girls soccer."


    Phyllis Gibbs was a fellow junior. Reginald''s sister and co-heir to the Gibbs fortune. Varsity soccer player. Yet anotherone whoautomatically annoyed Sean by being blessed with both looks and riches. She usually ignored Sean for the peasantthat he was, but had doubtless received a biasedaccount of Judith''s party from her brother. Phyllis had an independent streak if Kaitlyn was to be believed, insisting on playing soccer ''her own way'' and wasn''t much liked either by her team or the coach.


    "Nobody is making her attend," scowled Sean, "It''s not like I have official standingwith the team."


    "Oh, trust me, she wouldn''t miss this for anything," Tiffany smiled cloyingly, "Making a fool of yourself before the girls varsity would make her day. Cardiff hasn''t even gonepast quarter-finals in years... and you''re supposed to be this.. Chosen One who''ll take us to the regionals. Riiight... Can you really?" Tiffanyended uncertainly with her mockery attenuated.


    Kaitlyn''s faith in him was flattering, if only she wasn''t so enthusiastic in marketing promises on his behalf.


    "I don''t know," Sean said brusquely, "But why the sudden concern for my welfare? If your boyfriend is really planning something, I mean."


    "Jason isn''t my boyfriend, you jackass, just a good friend," retorted Tiffany, "Pullyour mind out of the gutter."


    "Better luck next time,"gruntedSean, pushing past Tiffany into the classroom.


    #


    "...it was up toGalileo two millennia later, to figure out that any mass falls with the same acceleration under negligible air resistance, thus disproving Aristotle''s theory of gravity. Strangely enough there is no evidence Galileo actuallyconductedhis iconic experiment of dropping weightsfrom towers," Mr. Turner''s chalk squeaked out equations on the board, "...the world had to wait for Newton''s mathematical description of gravity toshed light on why objects fall as they do..."


    Sean looked up as silence lingered several seconds after Turner ended his lecture. The class was lookingat him expectantly.


    "What?" Sean frowned, "I didn''t say anything..."


    "Exactly, Mr. Cook, that''s rather unusual these days," Turner said wryly, "No pithy comments pointing out errors in my lecture? No special insights to enlighten us?"


    "Um... why not," Sean sighed, "Just a teenynitpick... the world needn''t have waited for Newton or even Galileo to figure out that all objectsfall alike. Heck, Aristotle himself could have realized that, if he had only sat down andthought about it for maybe two minutes."


    Scattered giggles.


    "How so?" Turner''s grin widened.


    "Aristotle''s theory is self-contradicting," continued Sean, "as Galileo himself realized. If a large rockis supposed to fall faster than a small pebble, then it should fall faster than a heap of small pebbles, right? After all, pebbles of the same mass shoud fall at the same rate. EvenAristotle would agree. But what is a large rock, if not a bunch of pebbles stucktogether by molecular glue? By that logic, a rock would have to fall faster than itself... which is contradictory. The only way out of the contradiction is if heavier objects fell at the same rate as lighter objects. No math neededfor that bit of insight."


    Tiffany didn''t roll her eyes this time, looking thoughtfully startled instead.


    "I concede your point, Mr. Cook," Turner laughed delightedly, "See me after classplease."


    Sean followed Turner out of the classroom, vaguely wondering why the physics teacher had requested his company on a strollaround the school grounds. It was another bright chillyautumn afternoonon the playground. Turner picked a path that circumscribedan elliptical ringof stadium lights on the left and expanses of baseball and softball fields on the right. Turner struttedalong with a bird-like gait, pushing back his glasses as theykept sliding down his nose. They passed a soccer field where freshman girls were out on practice, their yells filling the air. Sean watched the game moodily.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "I always knew you had it in you, Sean," Turner gave him a sidelong glance, "but I never expected your academics to catch up so fast. It''s not often that a teacher''s fondest hopes suddenly come true."


    "Um," grunted Sean. Turner had addressed him by his first name, Sean noted, instead of his typicalmockformality.


    "It hasn''t escaped my notice that your studies picked up immediately after the unfortunate accident at Brookhaven," Turner stopped in his tracks and turned to Sean, "which incidentally is a blot on my record. Is there anything you wish to... confide in me, Sean?"


    Sean froze, trying to think of a reply. Turner''s glasses magnified his eyes giving Sean the impression of being scrutinized by a bipedalbug. And Sean''s mind flashbackedto astorm drain beneath Fuller Dynamics ... chrome bandsaw grinningagainst steel stake-studded jaw... an insectile mindhunting him from behind bulgingcrimsonlenses... agony of bone splintering...


    "Um...what?" Sean blinked, "Uh... I was just... shaken by the accident, sir. Made me sit down and rethink what I was going to do with my life... you know."


    "A major life event can have that effect on some people," Turner turned away to resume his walk, his voice flat, "speaking of which you seem to have the knack of getting into trouble. I refer of course to the cast you are wearing."


    Sean wondered if he was infor a moral sermon. He''d received a couple of those from his parents and was getting rather tired of them.


    "Have you heard of the Zero Sum Institute, Sean?" Turner''s change of subject startled him, "No? I''m not surprised. They are an obscure for-profit think-tank based in New Haven, attemptingto solve some of the most intractable problems around the world. For a price. I consult for them occasionally... I know what you''re thinking. What''s a humble high school physics teacher doing consulting?"


    "Oh, no sir," Sean lied, "I wasn''t..."


    "That''s a long story which I won''t go into now," Turner laughed, "but I do have my uses, Sean. Anyway, Zero Sum is looking for gifted interns... if you''re interested in applying."


    "Me?" Sean gaped, "Don''t they need more... qualified candidates? And what''sin it for me?"


    "Their interns are usually undergrads or even grad students, that''s true," Turner nodded, "you''d be their first highschooler if you clear their screening. As for what''s in it for you, I assume you intend to pursue college?"


    Sean nodded. Even if he planned on not working for anyone, he was realistic enough to know that plans seldom survived contact with the real world. Having a college degree was a permit tobeing taken a tad more seriously by those he''d have todeal with.


    "Well then," Turner gave a pleased smile, "College admission boards are always looking for students who stand out from the pack. Interningfor an organization addressing real world issueswill put you ahead of the line. You''ll have more optionsas to the college of your choice."


    Truth be told Sean was a getting a little bored. With his power, evenAP classes were no longer challenging. Perhaps interning over the summer break before senior year wouldn''t be a bad idea.


    "I''ll think about it," Sean acknowledged. Their path swung around the soccer field and paralleled the edge of a sandyembankment railed off by a white picket fence. Fifty feet below, the Old CoastRoad wound up to the main entrance of the school. Beyond the road, glittered the waters of the Sound, sprinkled with white-crested waves. A steady wind blew in from the Atlantic, causing Sean to pull up the collar of his jacket. They stopped at the fence to watch sail boats maneuvering.


    "Know anything about sailing, Sean?" Turner askedstaring out to sea.


    "Um... sailing?" Sean frowned, feelingoff balanceby the changes in subject, "no, sir."


    "See those two boats," Turner''s outstretched arm pickedout a couple of sailboats that appeared to be turning in a tightarc, one behind the other, their sails taut, "the first boatis bearing north-east at the moment, and the second one north-west. If those boats stopped turning right now andmaintain their current headings, which boat do you think would go faster eventually?"


    "Well, it''s an east wind," Sean frowned at the seemingly trivial question, "The second one, I expect. The first one is headed against the wind at an angle."


    Turner''s grin was shark-like, "What''s propelling those boats?"


    "The wind of course," Sean replied testily, "or relative wind speed to be specific. Not sure what you are getting at, sir."


    "Which boat will have the highest relative wind speed eventually, I wonder," Turner mused, adopting a mock thinking pose.


    "The first one of course... oh," Sean trailed off, his face grimacing in chagrin, "I really should have figured it... if I had thought it out..."


    "It''s what sailors call tacking. You can''t sail straight upwind, but you can zigzag to reach an upwind destination. But it''s not intuitive, so you gave the first answer that popped into your mind," Turner leaned against the picket fence, his face expressionless, "You''re very good at pattern matching stuff you''ve read in books within the context of a classroom or an exam. But out in the real world, problems don''t come neatly classified. And it''s easy to miss stuff unless you are sufficiently motivated to look beyondeasy answers."


    Motivated by dreams of wealth or the urgeto impress his peers, Sean thoughtbut didn''t say.


    "Sometimes a spade is just a spade, sir," Sean sulked.


    "Touche," Turnerlaughed, "Aparting word of advice, Sean. Youare a big fish in a small pond now. Don''t let that get to your head. You''re already gaining a reputation for manipulating young women..." Turner held up a hand to forestall Sean''s protest, "Far be it for me to judge. But may I humbly suggest that you might reach your own goals faster by helping others reach their goals. Use your skills to give them what they want. The shortest path is not always the fastest, especially when sailing upwind."


    "Ah," Sean nodded, "you''re saying the best way to manipulate people is by helping them?"


    "I wouldn''t phrase it that way," Turner smiled, "but yes."


    "Sorry, I couldn''t resist," Sean grinned in return.


    Turner took his leave and walked away jauntily, leaving Sean to his thoughts. Soccer practice was still in session. Maybe he really should take deeper look at optimizing the girls'' varsity gamelike he''d promised Kaitlyn. His first attempt at trawling the sport archives had been discouraging. The coaches weren''t stupid after all, and the matches seemed as competently managedas he had feared. In something as competitive as high school sport, with every team squeezing the last bit of relative advantage, no teamwould leave metaphoricalmoneyon the table... would it?


    And then Sean saw his mistake. No team would give up advantage, but individual players might. Rare was the human institution that perfectly aligned its incentives with that of its members. And misaligned incentives were always ripe for correction... if he could find it.


    #


    Turner walked briskly towards the main building. He extracted his phone after a quick look around and dialed the number he had memorized.


    "Megan Murphy, DOE Liaison speaking," she growled inun-liasion-like fashion whichclearly conveyed: better have a freakinggood reason for disturbingme.


    "Subject is primed," Turner said softly.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 24

    It annoyed Sean that Conference Room 2A was the farthest point inthe schoolbuilding from the front entrance. It was also the wing closest to the showerswhere the girls varsity team could walkfrom immediately after soccer practice. Those who had bothered to show up to the meeting, that is. It said something about how well Kaitlyn was regarded that half the team still showed up at the request of a newbiesophomore, inluding the captain ofthe season Susan Kaminski. Someof those present were juniors from Sean''s class while others were seniorswho glancedat him curiously,aware of his recentnotoriety. There was something intimidating about being stared at by a group of exhausted and impatientatheletic girls still fretfully warm from the shower. Unsurprisingly none of thecoaches were present for a meeting that they hadn''t authorized or blessed.


    Phyllis Gibbs managed to look regal even in designer jersey and shorts. She crossed one leg over the other, shakingher head and swishing long dark hairas she pulledoff her hair band. Dark blue eyes regarded Seandisdainfully, an imperious smile twitching her lips, sharp nose and wide cheekbones giving her the air of a warrior queen. She had been the last to walk in and had carefully picked a seat a little apart from the other girls.Sean cleared his throat nervously, trying not to stare at Phyllis. He fiddled with his laptop until the wall projectordeigned to noticethe ethernet plug.Kaitlyn gave him an encouraging grin and a thumbs up. Sean ignored Kaitlyn, while trying to ignore Phyllis, and accidentally pushed his mouse over the edge which hit the floor ejecting its battery. Sean scrabbed on all three functionallimbs, trying to retrieve the errant device, his face warm withembarrasment.


    "Oh, this is going to be good," Phyllis remarked, promptinga few giggles.


    "Get on with it, Cook," Susan snapped, "we haven''t got all night."


    "Right," Sean coughed, "Um... we''re here because... I was asked to find waysto potentially up your game in the playoffs."


    "Because you are the resident expert on soccer?" sneereda senior girl Sean didn''t recognize.


    "Girls," Susan let outa long suffering sigh, "We agreed to let the guy have his say... I''d like to get home in time for dinner, please."


    "Thank you, Susan," Sean flashed her a dazzlingsmile, he found the captain attractive enough to focus on for more than two seconds but not stunningenough to intimidate him, "the records show that your team''s gameplay is approximately on par with Cardiff''s historic performance in the playoffs. An analysis of rival teams also revealscomparable performance. In fact, the teams we compete against have been so equally matched even during overtime that most matches in the past five years have come down to sudden death tiebreakers. With each team getting five alternating penalty kicks, it basically boils down to luck."


    "Tell us something we don''t know," Susan nodded impatiently.


    "I don''t know of any way to improve your gameplay," Sean admitted, "and your coach can do a far better job on that front than I could." This was greeted with annoyed exclamations endingwith''duh'' or ''bloody surprise".


    "Cook," Susan began ominously, "if you''ve been freakingwasting my time..."


    "I can''t improveyour gameplay," Sean raised his hand unperturbed, "but perhaps I can suggest a way to consistently win a sudden death round."


    "How?" demanded Phyllis angrily, "Most penalty kicks can''t be blocked,moron. Asyou just admitted it comesdown to luck."


    "Not quite," Sean grinned, ignoring the insult, bringing up datasummaries on his screen, "Most can''t be blocked but some can, enough to tip the balance, and that''s where I''ll focus on. Most players are right handed or right legged, and their strongest kick is to their the left which is the goalie''s right. The goalie knows and anticipates that. But the kicker knows what the goalie is thinking and will very often kick to the goalie''s left. The strategy settles into an equilibrium as you''d except. In every match, both Cardiff and the opposing team have sent penalty kicks to the goalie''s right only 60% of the time."


    "Not exactly rocket science," muttered another senior.


    "If the kicker is really accurate she can always score by sendingthe ball to the very edge of the goal, of course," Sean continued, "but such shots have a high risk of missing the goal entirely, and most kickers tend to avoid that. But there are other winning strategies, besides kicking to the left or right. Kicking to the center, for instance, right down the middle. But hardly anykicker ever does that. Why not?"This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The girls stared at Sean like he was crazy.


    "Because , dumbass," drawled Phyllis, "that would be stupid. That''s where the goalie is, you know, standing."


    "That''s where the goalie stands before the kick, sure," Sean movedto the next slide, "but she''s going to leap to the left or right, whereever she anticipates the ball will be. But center penalty kicks are so rare that I had to look for data beyond highschoolsoccer, before I could be sure of the trend. A center kick is 7 percent points more likely to succeed than a penalty kick to the left or right. But despite that it is rarely used."


    "But if it was more commonly used," protested Susan, "the goalie is simply going to anticipate and compensate. Standard game theory as you mentioned before."


    "Maybe, maybe not," Sean shrugged, "but it is low hanging fruit that is currently left unexploited. But even if you ordered your five handpicked penalty kickersto kick center more often, they aren''t going to obey you. Do you know why?"


    There was thoughtful silence, butno one ventured an answer.


    "Let me go out on a limb here and tell you why," Sean grinned again, "Every player wants the team to win, right? But why exactly? Sure everyone loves to be a winner. But a win for the team or the school isn''t the terminal goal here, no matter what the coach says, but only an instrumental goal for your individual dreams. Most of you here dream of winning a college sport scholarship, no matter how distant a prizethat is. And if you send a penalty kick right down the middle, straight to the goalie... and if the goalie manages to intercept... how stupid are you going to look. Everyone is going to be baying for your blood, and you can kiss any hope of a college scholarship goodbye. And that, ladies, is why center kicks are so rare even if it might benefit the team. That''s where your personal incentive diverges from the team''s and you can no longer afford to takeone for the team."


    There was a moment of frozen silenceand then outraged denials began, growing in volume.


    "He''s right you know," Susan laughed, shocking the protests quiet, as she eyed Sean appraisingly, "so what''s the point of all this, Cook? Are we herejust so you could lord it over us with your brilliant logic?"


    "No," Sean shook his head patiently, "I''m telling you that once you acknowledge that your individual incentives aren''t necessarily aligned with the team''s, you can exploit that to win sudden death tiebreakers."


    "But, Sean," Kaitlyn spoke hesitantly, "no one likesgoing against their own self-interest. It wouldn''t be fair to ask that of anyone. So how..."


    "Easy," Sean smiled, "just designate penalty kickerswho don''t share the same incentives with the rest of you."


    "Get to the point,Cook," growled Susan.


    "Who among you doesn''t need a college scholarship?" Sean explained, "Who is so rich and so opinionated that she couldn''t care less what the team or the coach or anyone elsefor that matter thinks of her?"


    "Me?" Phyllis gaped, as all eyes turned to her, "you are recommending me as a penalty kicker?"


    "You," nodded Sean, his next words sticking in his throat, "at first I thought you were on the team only because of your dad''s connections..."


    "I''ll makeyou some connections, asshole," Phyllis bunched her fist, "I''ll connect your ass to your mouth..."


    "...but the more I dug, the more I realized just how bloody good you are," Sean continued, causing Phyllis to trail off in shock, "No one on the team likes you. The coach hates your guts and has taken away your playing time for insubordination. The only reason you are still on the team is because you are that good. And you couldn''t care less about college scholarships. Not when your dad could buy a dozen colleges. You are playing because you love soccer... and also, I suspect, because you want to prove something."


    "The only thing I care about is to stick it to the losers who dismiss me as just another rich girl," Phyllis spat out, blinking furiously, "to those dipshits who dismiss everything I achieve as something my dad bought for me. But I make one teeny screwup and I''m suddenly the rich kid who can''t cut it without Daddy''s help..."


    Phyllis trailed off, getting up abruptly to walk out the door. There was uncomfortable silence.


    "She''ll be back," Sean announced uncertainly, to no one in particular, "I think."


    Phyllis came back three minutes later, her face scrubbed fresh.


    "So," Sean looked directly at Phyllis, "if you are orderedto deliver a center kick atthe tiebreaker, can you do it? Without giving a shit about what the audience will say?"


    "You bet you ass I will," Phyllis choked, and then smiled, the first time Sean had ever seen her smile that way. A happy smile without derision. It transformed her face.


    "That''s all well and good," Susan spoke cautiously, "but Phyllis is just one penalty kicker out of five..."


    "Which should give usjust enough of an edge to take us to regionals," Sean interrupted, "but I''m sure you can find one more kicker with a similar... background."


    "I''ll have to discuss it with the coach," Susan got up, sounding dazed.


    "I wouldn''t mention the reason for picking Phyllis," Sean warned, "selecting a kicker basically for being rich isn''t exactlypolitically correct. Just make sure you have delegating authority during tiebreaker."


    "Heck, if your shit works, Cook," Susan mused with a faraway look, "Seymour won''t know what hit them."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 25

    The night air was invigorating with the salty whiffof the sea. Sean wished he''d thought to bring a thicker jacket, even if Kaitlyn seemed oblivious to the cold so soon after practice and shower. The soccer team had dispersed after their meeting and Sean had taken up Kaitlyn''s offer for a ride home in her mom''s car. They had elected to take the shortest route across the open field from the conference rooms at tip of the C shaped wing towards the labs.


    "You made Phyllis smile," Kaitlyn mused in wonder, "Not a condescending fake. A honest to goodness real smile. I don''t thinkeven her friends can claim that."


    "Yeah, well," muttered Sean, "I didn''t do it for her."


    It had been hard for him to admitthat someone could be blessedwith athelitic ability on top of wealth and beauty, that the universe could be that unbalanced. But there was no hiding talent and Sean had grudginglyacceded to the evidence that Phyllis Gibbs was indeed a latter-day versionof an Amazonian princess.


    "Still, it was nice of you, dude," Kaitlyn said seriously, "I always thought she seemed kind of unhappy beneath her mask. Even if your new fangled idea doesn''t workout, youstill madeher day."


    "You are a better person than I am," Sean observed, causingKaitlyn''s face to flush pink unnoticed in the gloom, "You know, I always resented rich kids... but I never thought of what it must be like for them. Even if they workhardto get whatthey want, people are going to assume they bought their way. It can''t be verypleasant, with people judging their every move and waiting to mock their slightest mistakes."


    "And now you know they aren''t as one-dimensional as you think," Kaitlyn quipped, "Judith for example."


    Sean winced, "I never thought Judith was one-dimensional."


    "Or her brother Jason, for instance," Kaitlyn was justgetting started, "I know youdislike him for being a rich jock, but that doesn''t make him a bad person, even ifhe did beat you up. But that was because he thought you... anyway what I mean is, there''s a reason jocks are so popular,apartfrom being so hot and dreamy and..."


    "Get to the point," snarledSean.


    "People don''t make so many friends by being mean or arrogant, dude," Kaitlyn sighed, "Being rich or good looking helps, sure, but if someone is popular it''s probablybecause they are also nicepeople."


    "No, Jason is still a shit head," Sean scowled, looking around the darkening expanse thrown into contrast by the stadium lights, "I half expect to get jumped by him. Anyway... weneed to ensure Cardiff doesn''t miss a single goal during tiebreaker shootout.I might getmoreideas later to improve our odds, assuming you guys can deliver a tie if not a win during regular game."


    "I think we can manage that," Kaitlyn sounded upbeat, "and, Sean... thanks for making the effort. I''ll hold up my end of the bargain. No guarantees anyone will believe me, but I''ll swearyou didn''t hit on Judith."


    "That''s all I ask," Sean nodded.


    The sound of acoach''swhistle and yells floated up from the bowl of the stadium. Varistyfootball was in practice. Sean wondered if Jason was there. Probably. Withluck,the jock was too busy to bother finishing his interrupted vengeance on Sean.


    "Ooh look, a meteor," Kaitlyn exclaimedpointing, after an awkward pause.


    Sean looked up catching the fading streak in the night sky, "Must be astraggler from the Perseid shower."


    "Isn''t it amazing that air friction can light ''em up like that," Kaitlyn remarked.


    "Not friction," Sean saidabsently, "Compression."


    "Hmm?" Kaitlyn raised abrow.


    "Air in front of the meteor can''t getout of the way quickly enough," Sean explained, "and gets compressed and heated. Like inside a bicycle pump."


    "Ohhh,that actually makes more sense," Kaitlyn stopped and craned her neck up whistling, "It''s so beautiful out here under the stars. Remindsme of the time Dad used to take Randy and me out to the porch to watch meteors when we were little. I liked to pretendthey were rockettrails from alien spaceships." She paused and when she spoke again her voice was wistful, "You think there''s life out there, Sean?"


    Sean looked up again at thecloudless autumn sky cluttered with stars... fading embers of galaxies scattered like red hot ash across anintergalactic void riddledwith spacetime fissures that forked intricately like opticnerves into aneye vaster than worlds...


    "You OK, dude?" Kaitlynsounded faintly concerned.


    "Just zoned out for a bit," Sean blinked and rubbed his eyes.


    "Yeah, staringinto infinity can do that to you," Kaitlyn resumed walking, "Don''t you wish we were born in some later age where space travel is common and we can goto other stars? A galactic federation or something."


    "I used to feel that way," Sean looked at her in surprise, "until I figured outhumans don''t have a long bright future. We probably aren''t going to colonize the galaxy. We''ll just wither and die on this planet."


    "Lighten up, dude," Kaitlyn scolded, "Don''t be theangsty pooperwho sucks the joy from the room."


    "It''s not about being optimistic," Sean sighed, "Heard of the Copernican Principle?"You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    "The one aboutEarth notbeing the center ofthe universe?" Kaitlyn shrugged, "What about it?"


    "Just as most peopledon''t occupy any privileged location in space," Sean explained, "the Copernican Principle also implies we don''t occupy anypriviledged position in time. Of the billions of humans that have ever lived and the billions more yet to be born, we are just random samples from that vast pool."


    "Yeah, so?" Kaitlyn frowned.


    "Suppose we chronologically stacked all those lives; those past, present and future billions," Sean spread his hands wide, "and picked a random sample from that vast pool of humanity, what are the chances we''ll end up close to the beginning or the end of the human race?"


    "Pretty low, I''d expect," Kaitlyn said slowly, "we''re much more likely to end up somewhere in the middle."


    "Which means there''s a good chance we are at least half way through the lifetime of human civilization," Sean barred his teeth, "and there probably isn''t a long galactic future ahead of us."


    "But humans have been on Earth for tens of thousands of years, if not more," protestedKaitlyn, after a shocked pause, "that''s plenty of time in the future to spread out across interstellar space."


    "Ah, butthat''s assuming our population is the same every generation," Sean''s macabregrin widened, "Human population growth is exponential, which means a random sample is much more likely to be closer to the end than the beginning.I don''t think we''re going to make it. As a species I mean."


    "But... but that bullshit, dude," Kaitlyn stared at him, "By that logic, cavemen should have expected human extinctionthousands of years ago. You just can''t draw conclusions like that from frickkin''probabilities."


    "I admit it''s only statistical reasoning," Sean agreed, "but unless you think we happen to be born within a few percent of humanity''s beginning, which you admitted is unlikely, my conclusion still holds. I think. But if you do figure out a fatal flawin the argument, let me know."


    "You bet your ass I will," Kaitlyn retorted, laughing ruefully, "and you are creeping me out, dude. That''ll teach me to wonderwhat''s on your mind."


    They walked through a rear door of the lab wing into a brightly lit atrium where three corridors intersected. Kaitlyn turned into thecurving corridor on herleft.


    "Aren''t we going out to wait fo your mom''s car?" Sean demanded, pointing straightahead to the front entrance in the distance.


    "Need to grab my backpack," Kaitlyn nodded, "My mom won''t be here for another fifteenminutes. You can wait here."


    Kaitlyn''s footsteps faded leaving Sean alone with his thoughts. Using his newfound skill to help others was a royal pain in the ass, he concluded. But hopefullyhe was laying groundwork to build up his rep, for what that was worth.


    "Excuse me," the girl''s voice made him jump. She was petite, almost diminutive with dark hair tied up in a bun, stooped over under the bulkof her backpack. Probably a freshman. Sean hadn''t heard her approach, "You wouldn''t happen to know the combinationto the ChemistryLab, would you?"


    "Why do you ask?" Sean frowned. He did, as a matter of fact, know the passcode; having recently joinedthe elite group of AP Chem students who were entrusted with it for helping the teacher organize the lab.


    "We had after school specials," the girl ventured timidly, her eyes enormous behind her glasses stared at Sean''s cast, "andI left my assignment in there. The instructor alreadyleft and I was hoping to find a senior to let me back in to retrive it. It''s really important. I need to turn it in tommorrow."


    She looked like she was going to cry. Sean sighed. What a pain. The chemistry lab was atthe far end of the other corridor and one floor up, inconveniently far. And the girl wasn''t old enough to push his ''damsel in distress'' button. For a moment he considered just givingher the combination and sending her on her way, but Mrs. Holt tended to frown on handing out the passcode to all and sundry.


    "Fiiiine,I''ll let you in," he muttered, leading into the curving corridor opposite the one Kaitlyn had taken. Kaitlyn could text him, if she came back to the atrium before he did.


    "Oh, thank you so much," the girl gushed with relief, "I''m Martha, by the way..."


    Sean tuned her out as she followed him prattling cheerfully. They reached the chemistry lab after what seemed an interminable time, and Sean punched in the passcode unlocking the door.


    "After you," Sean pushed onthe doors, grudgingly following her in since he was automatically responsible for the lab now. The lab was relatively small for a school of Cardiff''s size. An arrayof counters that looked like kitchen islands cluttered the room, each equipped with a sink and faucet. Cabinetswith glass paneled doors, crammed withan assortment of bottles and test tubes, lined three walls. The fourth wall was coveredwith windows that looked out onto tenniscourtsand an empty parking lot.


    Martha was rifling through the draws in each counter, uncertainly. Sean watched her with growing annoyance. If she''d draggedhim all the way here for nothing, he was going to flip...


    The doors he''d unlocked were suddenly shoved open from the corridor, sending him stumbling forward.


    "What the..." Seanflailed his good arm frantically trying to keep his balance, swirling around angrily.


    Two boys stepped into the room, senior jocks surely going by their build, even if their helmets and shoulder pads hadn''t been a giveaway. One of intruders shut the door and latched it, while the other stepped toward Sean, exuding menace despitethe casual deliberation of his gait. Depsite his confusion, Sean couldn''t help noticing whatthe grunts didn''t exude. There wasn''t the slightest hintof sweat on either of them, which struck him as odd. Hadn''t these two just come in from practice, then? Sean didn''t recognize either, but even through their helmets he could see thatneitherof them was Jason.


    "What do you want?" Sean backed away warily, turning toward Martha. She was leaning against a counter with an amused grin, all pretense of searching gone. Ambush. Had Jason sent his cronies to do his dirty work? But there was no way Martha wasJason''scrony, Sean had never heard of her, not to mention she didn''t fit the profile of the kind of girls the rich jock surrounded himself with.


    "Just doing our job," Martha shrugged, "we''ve been contracted to cause you some grief."


    Sean backed around a counter, darting about to keep the island between himself and the advancing goon.


    "Contracted?" Sean glared, "who the heck are you people?"


    "We call ourselves the Collection Agency," she smiled smugly, "I''m the Director."


    "But... but you don''t exist," Sean stared at her, as he dodged around.


    TheCollection Agency was a persistentmyth, a Cardiff legend. A shadowy students'' club supposedly for hire to exact vengeance. Except, repeated investigations by the administration over the years had concluded it to be an urban legend. The latestincident had been a year ago, when four girls - called the Queen Quad -notorious for cyberbullying had been allegedly waylaid at the pool after school by a dozen or so senior girls. The Quadhad signed a confession the next day admitting to past bullying and tearfully swearing to make amends, so traumatized that they never shareddetails oftheir ordeal. And though the bullies eventually gave physical descriptions of their tormentors, they claimed not to recognize a single girlfrom a lineup of the entire junior andsenior year, even under polygraph which detracted from the credibility of their story.


    "But theQueen Quad describedthe ringleader who called herself the Director, and she didn''t sound anything like you..." Sean trailed off, "ohhh... there''s more than one of you. Like a board of directors."


    "Clever aren''t you," Martha grinned, then her grin faded as she turned to thegoon guarding the door, "Oh for shit''ssake, stop playing ''run around the tree'' and grab him you fools. Both of you. I''ll watchthe door."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 26

    Sean made his run for the door, arcing aroundanother counter for misdirection, the moment the goonguarding the door started toward his partner. As anticipatedthe goon wasn''t easily fooled, reversing courseto head off Sean. Martha braced herself against the door reaching into her backpack, expecting Sean to shove her out of the way which would delay him long enough for the goon to catch up.Sean had never been into martial arts or combat training, but Tiffany''s warning had spooked him enough to print out and absorb the rudiments of self defense.


    The best defense was always to run away, failing which...Sean spun on the ball of one foot, kicking sideways with the other. His boot connected with the opponent''s knee, the goon''s momentum adding to the impact. In a fair world that kick would have crippled but the goon''s knee pad took most of it. As the goon staggered grunting in pain, Sean followed through with a rehearsed strike with his right arm, open palm slamming up into what would have been his towering opponent''s nostrils. Unfortunately for Sean, the goon''s faceguard took the impact, painfully jarring Sean''s arm. Then all rational thought left Sean as his body convulsed in shock, the lab floor cold against his cheek as he lay flopping like a beached fish. What am I doing on the floor? Sean wondered as lucidity rushed back. Martha stepped into his field of vision reeling a thin wire back into something she''dwielded.


    "Sorry about that, Sean," she pouted, "you were being difficult."


    Prongsglinted at the tip of the receding filament. Taser. What the... the brat hadtased him.Sean felt himself lifted effortlessly by the two goons and lowered into a lone chair reserved for instructors. He tensed cradling his fractured arm, but the goons handled him gingerly and no load was applied on his cast. Luckily he hadn''t fallen on it. Martha was pulling out two pairs of handcuffs from her backpack and passing them. What was in that backpack, seriously, a police interrogation starter''skit? Goon One - identified by shoe laces that had come undone in the shuffle - snappeda handcuff on Sean''s good arm twisting it behind his back. Hepaused realizing he couldn''t bend Sean''sother arm to attachthe handcuff to. The chair was armless and backed by solid plasticthat offered no bars or grilles to anchor. The goon resolved the conundrum by lockingthe handcuff around the chair''s hind leg. Heseemed to display no ill-will despite limpinga little from Sean''s kick.


    Goon Two simply slipped the other pair of handcuffs on Sean''s ankles. Now that he was properly trussed up, Martha approached shaking out a white lab coat from her backpack.


    "You clownsare fucking dead," snarled Sean, "And what''swith the lab coat?"


    His temper that had lain dormant since the disastrous night at the Fullers'' was now booting up again. Jason had crossed the line and was going to pay for this, one way or the other, Sean swore. But even as righteous anger swelled up, Sean wondered how things must look from Jason''s point of view. Sean was adespisednemesiswho''d wormed his way into hissister''s confidence with presumably nefarious intent if rumors wereto be believed. CouldSean honestly claim to feel differently if positions were reversed?


    "You aren''t the first towant us dead, Mr. Cook," Martha waved her hand dismissively, slipping on a black neoprene apron over her lab coat, strutting forward witha small carrying case, "and don''t mind my getup. Just a precaution. Some of my subjects tend to get a bit... messy."


    "Subjects?" Sean stared, "What do you want from me, you creep?"


    "Just relax, sweetie," Martha produced a loaded syringe from the carrying case, "we aren''t going to hurt you. Not physically anyway."


    "What the heck''s in the hypodermic?" Sean demanded, his voice rising.


    "An exotic derivative of scopolamine," Martha smiled, "developed by the Stasi before the fall of East Germany."


    "Scopolamine?" Sean scoffed, relaxing a little, "what''s this... theDark Ages? No pscyhoactive drug has been proven to be a reliable truth serum. You won''t get anything useful out of me."


    "We aren''t grilling you, quite the opposite in fact," Martha shook her head, "you see, this concoctionhas very useful side effects. It makes the subject extremely trusting and susceptible to suggestion. "


    Sean felt a chill. He swallowed, "What are you trying to pull?"


    "You mean whatyouare pulling, big bro," she grinned, "In a few minutes you''ll call thePrincipal''s office and leave a message demanding that... what was his name... Jason be expelled for beating you up. And you''re about to trash this lab to showjust how angry you are."


    "What? That makes no sense," Sean began to struggle in his chair, "The school has nothing to do with it. Nooo..."


    Sean tried to twist away, but Goon Two held his right arm in place until theneedle pierced skin.


    "That''s it?" Sean frowned. The syringe still held most of its contents.


    "Minimum dose to calibrate your sensitivity," Martha explained, "Wouldn''t want to fry your brain."


    "How considerate," Sean grimaced.


    He willed his thoughts to push through the relaxing warmth seeping through. What exactly was Jason''s game? Had he hired the Collection Agency to frame Sean? Assuming Martha - if that was really her name - wasn''t just bullshitting him with IV saline. The bespectacled girl was looking at him expectantly, posing with hypodermic in one hand. He wondered why he''d dismissedher as unremarkable at first. Her eyes gleamed with a precociousintelligence that weresimultaneously cold and trustworthy. Yes, Sean was starting to feel he could trust her. She was the adorable little sister that he never had... wait, what? Since when weresociopathic little brats adorable? It was the damned truth serum. The neuropharmaceutical was beginning to sink its hooksinto his frontal cortex. Sean tried to hold on to his angerbut it seemed unimportant in the company of friends.


    "Find his phone," Martha looked at one of the goons who frisked Sean to locateit. He handed it to Martha who googled the Portsmouth School District page tofind a number.


    "Tell them you are trashing the place," She held his phone to Sean''s face. The audio recorder blinked within the texting app poised to transmit to a number that Sean recognized only too well asPrincipal Stewart''s. Years of being summoned by school administration for minor infractions had branded the much hated number into his mind. But that was all in the past. Surrounded now by people he trusted what did he have to fear? Sean giggled.


    "Hey, Stew in a stew," Sean growled, even as his face spilt into a demented grin at the lark, "Sean Cook here. I''m fucking done, man. That douche Jason is walking around unpunishedeven after messing with me all these years. It ends tonight. I''m trashing the Chemistry Lab, so you know how pissed I am. You''ll be fucking sooorry..."


    "That''ll do nicely, bud," Martha hit ''Send'', dropping his phone on the counter, "Hmmm, you are more sensitive to the dose than most."


    Sean blinked as the serum''sgrip on his mind loosened. Goon One was upon the counter tops disabling the fire alarm sprinklers on the ceiling. Seanstared with growing horror at Goon Two who was walking down the aisle smashing each glass cupboard with a small wooden stool. Glass shattered spilling reagents. Acrid vapor driftedup, acids reacting with bases. A spectrum of odors assailed his nose.


    "Why are you doing this?" SeanpleadedwithMartha, "This is your school too. We all lose."


    "What makes you think Iattend Cardiff?" Martha raised a brow, "The Collection Agency spans many schools. Founded by childprodigies withvaried talents."


    "Whatever Jason''s paying you, it''s not worth it," Sean tried reason, "Unlike your other subjects, I willpointyou out to the cops. Can''t be that hard to find you. And once we do, Jason is going down too. His rich dad won''tsave him this time."


    "Even if youmanage to catch me, silly boy, you''ll never prove it was Jason or whoever," Martha snorted, "All our clients contact us anonymously. We are never certain of their identities, it''s better that way. Besides, you won''t remember me."


    "Um... what?" Sean blinked.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "Remember I mentioned side effects? As in plural," Martha tapped her hypo with a demented grin, "A stronger dose induces retrograde and anterograde amnesia, for almost an hour before or after the shot."


    "You''re shitting me," Sean paled.


    "Nope, works everytime I use it on my mom anddad," Martha shrugged, "don''t take my word for it though. Do you remember when I injected you earlier? You know I must have, because you did what I asked you to like a good little boy. But do you remember actually getting the shot?"


    "Use it on your... ?" Sean stared at the freckled baby-faced apprentice of Dr. Mengele, doubt fading to despair.


    He could recallhis cringe worthyvoicemail, but try as he might the actual memory of being injected was elusive. Howwould Mrs. Holt feel on seeing her lab destroyed by her star student? No one would believe Sean''s claim of amensia. He''d be expelled, maybe even sentenced to juvie. But what frightenedSeanmost was whathe himself might come to believe. Might he believe that his power had finally driven him round the bend?


    "Shit, someone triggered the B4 sensor cam," Martha held up her phone, muting the shrill beeps, the screendisplaying a video of the corridor outside, "it''s Cook''s girlfriend... how the heck did she locate him so fast?"


    The video resolution washigh enough to identify Kaitlyn striding purposefully toward the lab.


    "She isn''t my girlfriend," Sean gritted his teeth. They''d planted motion-activated Wifi-cams as trip-wires? The Collection Agencyseemed moreresourceful than anyone suspected.


    "Did you dose the handle?" Martha demanded. Goon Two nodded. The handle? Kaitlynstopped outside the door, her looming face distortedby the fisheye lens on Martha''s phone.


    "Sean? Are you in there?" Kaitlyn''s voice sounded muffled followed by loud knocking, "Sean?"


    "Kaitlyn," yelled Sean, "don''t touch the...oooff"


    Sean''s breath went out of him as Goon One - backafter disabling the fire alarm - punched him lightly in the belly.


    "Sean... whaaat''s goooing..." Kaitlyn''s voice slurred, her eyelids drooping on camera as she slid out of view.


    "What did you..." Sean gasped,recoveringhis breath.


    "Knockout gel. Inner surface of the door handle," Martha giggled, "Ingested by skin contact. Preferred by Soviet counter insurgency units. Show him, Fred. "


    Goon Two - Fred? - held up what looked like asilverfoiltoothpaste tubestenciledin black Cyrillic alphabets.


    Seanlooked around wildly. Was there anything he could use?If this was a movieSean would slip out of the chair to quickly whip up some kind of harmless knockout gas from the contents of the lab. But this wasn''t the movies, the chemical stockpile was on the floor and even if it wasn''t Sean couldn''t concoct something botheffective and non-lethal. His eye caught a shinyhulkingcylinder by the windows with a circular handle and gauge on top, labeled NITROGEN REFRIGERATED LIQUID. Mrs. Holt had procured it for some cool demos next week. Sean frowned. Liquid nitrogen boils at -196 deg C, his mind helpfully supplied the useless tidbit. It was a fullcylinder... of howmany gallons exactly?How big was the room? In his mind Sean frantically multipliedthe guesstimated dimensions of the room.


    Goon Two - having finished vandalising the lab - strolled tolean against the door. Goon One paced stretching his legs, his shoelace undone by their earlier schuffledragging on the floor. Shoelace... Sean stared, a desperate plan germinating. He started to rock his chair back and forth, head down and groaning as if in depair.


    "Hey, hey, take it easy," Martha crooned, "it''ll be over soon... Hold him down, please."


    Seanslid down his right arm as far as he could, tilting his chair until thehandcuff loop slipped out of the rising chair leg. He swung his arm up with all the force he could muster, wielding the handcuff like flail. The ring smashed up into the goon''s chin, the only exposed part under the faceguard, eliciting a yell of pain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Goon Two move. Martha fumbled in her backpack - no doubt reaching for her taser - but was hindered by the glass hypo in one hand which shatteredwhen Sean''s handcuff caught it. Sean hopped away as fast as his manacledankles allowed, his ears ringing from Martha''s unlady-like swearing. As he neared the windows he briefly entertained the idea ofsmashing through the glass. But escape with a broken neck was no escape at all. He teeteredfor a moment, using the liquid nitrogen cylinder to prop himself, reached for the dewar''s safety lid and twisting it. Goon Two''s gait was measured,utterly confident that Sean had nowhere to go. Goon One followed just behind, rubbing his chin.


    The lid came loose with a hiss, and Sean threw it hard at Goon Two. A faceguard is adequate protection against a piece of flying metal, but Goon Two instinctively raised his arm to shield himself, grunting in pain as the heavy lid glanced off his forearm. Without pausing, Sean placed a raised foot against the nitrogen cylinder and shoved, bracing himself against the window.The container was taller than his waist and heavy, but slowly tilted, falling on its side with a ringing sound. Thick white fog roiled out of the open mouth spreading across the floor.


    "Watch out," yelled Martha, "your feet will shatter like glass if you step in it..."


    The two goons leapt out of the way of the boiling cryogenic fluid,with comical eagerness. They gingerly stepped around the fog on either side to flank Sean who had run out of options. Sean grunted as Goon Two punched him again in the belly. Theboy''s expression was bored, likeit was all in a day''s work. Sean doubled up, blinking back tears of pain,even as he suspected the goon had held back from using his full strength. Sean was picked up by the pair and carried again back to the chair.


    "This time make sure his bindings are topologically secure, idiots," Martha snarled, holding another full syringe, "You just completed the destruction of the lab, Mr. Cook."


    Darn it, how many spares does she carry?groaned Sean,I need to stall for time. Getting the villain to monologue was kind of cliche, but Martha did seem to love talking. This time the goons found a wood stool with struts thatthe handcuff couldn''t slip out of. They held Seanin a death grip as Martha injected the stronger final dose. Sean struggled briefly, uselessly. Goon Two walked back to his place by the door.


    "Since I won''t remember any of this," Sean glared at Martha, "do you mind telling me what you did to the Queen Quad to scare the shit out of them?"


    "I suppose there''s no harm," Martha looked thoughtful, "It wasn''t my operation, mind you, so I don''t know the details. The bullies werezipped up in sensory deprivation suits fitted with scuba gear and dumped in the pool. They were gibbering, almost catatonic, after an hour of immersion."


    Sean felt almostsorry for the Queen Quad.


    "What?" Marthasnappedat Sean''s expression, "you are judging us? Do you realize how many kids the Queen Quad has tormented and driven into depression? Pleas falling on deaf ears, dismissedas a harmless joke by the bullies'' parents. How many lives have we saved by stopping them?"


    Sean swallowed, having no response.


    "But you''re ruiningmy life," Sean protested, "You aren''t any better."


    "True," admitted Martha, "the Collection Agency strives to be morally neutral... on average. Wegreenlight our operations on that basis, saving as many as we destroy. We aren''t a charity after all. College isn''tgoing to pay for itself. We collect debts... metaphorically speaking."


    "Yeah, I got that," muttered Sean, "why didn''t you just knock me out with your fancy gel after the first shot?"


    "I would have if I''d known how much trouble you''d be," retorted Martha testily, "unfortunately I need my subject''s physiological feedback for dose control. But you''re right, it''s time to knock you out and bid adieu. Can''t have you tied up for the authorities to find, if you are supposed to be the perp."


    "Your shoelace is untied," Sean looked at Goon One, feeling the lassitude of thetruth serum sink into him. Soon he''d be a simpering fanboywithouthigher brain function.


    Thegoon looked down in surprise with an annoyed exclamation, crouching to tie his shoe. Sean held his breath, trying not to stare. Goon Two was heading for Sean at a leisurely pace, the tube of tranquilizer gel in his hand. Goon One was taking a while to tie his lace. His movements slowed, fingers fumbling, then he slowly toppled over. Goon Two froze, unsure if anything was wrong.


    "What the heck is Felix playing at?" Martha kicked the prone form on the floor, "Get up, fool. Not the time."


    Goon Two - Fred - crouched down, shaking his partner''s shoulder with rising concern, "Felix, get up dude."


    Sean giggled as Fred collapsed over his accomplice.


    "What did you do?" Martha whirled to Sean, her eyes wide.


    "Seemed like a good idea at the time," Sean smiled beatifically at Martha, "Not sure why. I like you guys. Especially you, sis. Can I call you ''sis''? We can hang out at the mall and play arcade anddrink smoothies at the food court..."


    "Shut up, moron," Martha screamed, "tell me what you did to them."


    "Okaaay, sis, let''s see," Sean gazed adoringly at his little ''sis'', even as he struggled toforce his thoughts, "Ispilledseveral gallons of liquid nitrogen. And when liquid nitrogen turns to gas its volume expands nearly 700 times, displacing the ambient air. The gas is relatively cold and sinks down. We are standing in a pool of pure nitrogen gas, maybe three feet high, devoid of almost any oxygen. It won''t feel any different to anyonebreathing it, even as their lungs starvetill they collapse. That''s what happened to Fred and Felix. They''ll probably be dead soon. Or brain damaged. Whichever comes first. Unless you turn on the vent fans."


    A distant part of his mind informed Sean that letting Fred and Felix die herewas probably not good. But it was so hard to care. Martha stared at him for a moment, her lips quivering, then ran to turn on a wall switch. The muted hum of the vent fans came on. She ran back snapping open her hardcase for yet another syringe. Pinching her nose, she leaneddown jabbing the needle into Fred''s arm depressing the plunger by half. Straightening up she deftly swapped out the needle, plunging it into Felix this time.


    "So long, Sean," Martha pushed the door open, stepping over a prone formin the corridor, "Can''t win themall. Nice knowing you."


    Martha''s rapid footsteps faded away. Arms werevisibleon the floor beyond the open half of the doorway. Kaitlyn. A groan sounded. The arms pushed against the floor, propping up their owner.


    "Sean, what the heckis going on?" Kaitlyn staggered in drunkenly, her eyes wild and bloodshot, "I gota text saying you were trapped here."


    "What''s going on?" Sean giggled uncontrollably, "I''ll spill thebeans, Kate."


    "Go on," Kaitlyn stared in shock at his handcuffs, as suddeninspiration made Sean pause.


    "Turn on the voice recorder, Kate," Sean nodded excitedly at his phone on the counter, "You won''t believe what went down here. I met this smartadorablefreshman called Martha who ambushed and tasered me..."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 27

    Principal Stewart paused the recording, his expression grim, "Sean''s guilt is not in question. As you can see, the evidence is unambiguous..."


    "It''s anything but," Winona Cook interrupted angrily, "What about the two unconscious boystaken into custody? The illegal tranquilizer found in their possession? The fact that my son was tied up when Kaitlyn found him? The injectionmarkson his arm? And my son''s statement that Kaitlyn recorded?"


    "Mrs. Cook," sighed thewoman presiding overthe hearing, her voicelike sandpaper, "As Principal Stewart has pointed out, none of those facts are inconsistent with the allegation, that your son orchestrated destruction of school property."


    Sean studied the speaker warily, under no illusion as to theauthorityshe wielded.He had a pretty good ideawhat would happen to him if she wasn''t convinced of his innocence. Stewart had introduced her as Julia Thornton, president of Portsmouth School Board, sort of his boss''s boss. She was of medium height with shoulder length graying hair and matching gray business suit withthe uppercase symbol Sigmaandnumber ''0'' stitched on the lapel. Crow''s feet radiated from the corners of piercing grey eyes set in a hard weathered face. Sean had taken the time to lookup all members of the school board, to understandwhich way they votedin board meetings, to see if there was anything he could use as leverage if push came to shove. So far he''d learned that Julia was a business owner, obssessed with the district''s financial health and often at loggerheads with the rest of the school board on how best to achieve it. Her nickname, Titanium Bitch, didn''t exactly inspire warm fuzzy feelings.


    "Your honor," Sean ventured, "if I may..."


    "You may not," snapped Julia testily, "address me as such. This isn''t a court of law, young man, as I''m sure you''re aware. So if you''re trying to butter me up, spare me. I deal with enoughsycophants as it is."


    "Mrs. Thornton," Sean looked suitably chastised, "I had no incentive to destroy the chemistry lab. After all, I''m here trying not to get suspended...the obvious outcome of a stunt like that. Why would I do that? The only explanation is that I was framed. By Jason Fuller. As Kaitlyn''s audio evidence shows."


    "The only explanation?"Principal Stewart sputtered in outrage, "It''s more likely that you were trying to make Jason look bad by pulling this reprehensible act of vandalism. Your antagonism towards the Fuller boy is well known. The Collection Agency? Mind control serums? Never heard a more ludicrous tale in all my years."


    "But why?" Sean''s voice rose, his simmering rage against Jason bursting out, "Why would I dreamup ahalf-baked scheme that sets me up for disciplinary action? If I wanted to make Jason look bad, I''d do a fucking better job."


    "Sean!" Winona hissed, "your language..."


    "Mr. Cook," the Principal looked grave, "you aren''t exactly a paragon of thoughtful restraint, are you? It''srumouredthat you were caught at the Fuller residence committing a possible act of felony, not too long ago. I do not know the vercaity of these rumors since no charges were filed, but if you insist on accusing their son of causingdestruction of school property, the Fullers might be persuaded to reveal details of your actions. Do you have any specific reason for claiming thatJason Fuller was behind this? Other than your long running feud, that I know all too well? "


    Sean swallowed in frustration. Was one mistake,one bad judgement going to haunt him the rest of his life? Tarnishall his future actions? Besides, he couldn''t reveal that Tiffany had tipped him off. Her warning had motivated him to brush up on basic self-defense which had caught the Collection Agency by surprise. If his serum-fueled audio recording was to be believed. He couldn''t... wouldn''t rat on her bysummoning her as a witness, now that he knew the lengths Jason was willing to go. He owed her one. No telling what Jason would do to her, even if her warning had been inadvertent. Part of him wondered if he''d feel quite so protective if Tiffany hadn''t been so hot...


    "Besides," Julia cleared her throat, reading from a report on the table, "thepolice subpoena shows that your blood tests from the ERwere inconclusive. The two hooligans apprehended - highschool dropouts from Bridgeport - admit tobe muscle for hire, but conveniently pleadamnesia regardingwho hired them.Exterior cameras show them entering the premises alone. Sure, there were female students entering or leavingin the time window of interest, manyof theminjacket and hood which makes identification impractical."


    "What about..." Sean leaned forward.


    "Let''s say for argument''s sake your story is true," Julia continued as if uninterrupted, "Byyour own logic, testimony undertruth serum cannot be considered reliable. But, doesn''t that call into question your ownstory? After all, your recorded statement was allegedly made under influence of said serum.Which you are unable to confirm due to claimed amnesia."


    "I do have amnesia!" Sean protested, "The last thing I remember is walking intothe atrium with Kaitlyn."


    "Um, Mrs. Thornton?" Kaitlyn hesitated, "The annonymous tip I received thatled me to the lab? Isn''t that evidence of Sean''s innocence?"


    Sean shot hera grateful look. Thatsounded better coming from her. Kaitlyn had been summoned as a witness, chaperoned by her mother to ensure that her daughter wasn''t being initimated either by the accused (Sean) or by the administration. Melissa Lambertpossessed a no-nonsense demeanor, shoulder length blond hair and a tall pleasantly plump figure quite unlike her daughter''s. To Sean sheseemed like the stereotypical soccer-mom, if such anentity did indeed exist.Melissa glanced at Sean with a guarded look, as ifunsure if he was good or bad news. Sean''s attempt at helping the girls soccer team probably weighed in his favor.


    "Why would it be?" Stewartshrugged dismissively, "Annonymous tip froma studentwho didn''t want to be involved. So what."


    "From a burner phone?" demanded Winona, "Not something a highschool kid carries around everyday, is it? Someone set this up."


    "Hmmph," Stewart snorted, "For all we know Sean arranged it."


    "I''ll admit it''s weak evidencein Mr.Cook''s favor," Julia frowned,"Can''t see what he''d gain by it."


    "Sean loved that lab," Mrs. Holt the chemistry teacher spoke up for the first time, the pain evident in her voice, "I can''t believe he''d do this on his own volition. Besides, he''s an excellent student, one of my best."


    Winona looked startled at the show of support. Sean blinked at the sudden mositure in his eyes.


    "Neverthless,"the Principalcleared his throat, giving the chemistry teacher awounded look, "vandalism on this scale cannot go unpunished. Cardiff prides itself on the quality of its infrastructure..."


    "I''m more interested in finding the creep whobooby-trapped that door handle," growled Melissa, "Kaitlyn was knocked out bymilitary-grade chemical ordnance.Of high potencyand unknown side effects. I want the perp identified and locked up."


    "Mom," Kaitlyn rolled her eyes, "the cops are already..."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Justice might be better served if everyone waited their turn before interrupting,"Juliarasped testily.


    "Give me a break," snorted Melissa, "We aren''t here for justice. From the way the administration is tiptoeing around the Fuller boy, Sean is going to be thrown under the bus no matter what. Might as well get it over with, so I can go back to work."


    ¡±Mom!¡± protested Kaitlyn.


    "I am not biased even if it seems that way," Stewart sighed, ¡°Certaintyis impossible, what matters is determining guilt beyond reasonable doubt. Even if Sean is innocent which seems unlikely,I need to set deterrence so no one dares repeat this stunt. Irecommend a Superintendent¡¯s Suspension. One month would send the right message.¡±


    "Sadly, Isee little reason to disagree with Mr. Stewart, given the balance of evidence," Julia looked grim, "I will so instruct the superintendent."


    ¡±A month!¡± Winona shrieked, ¡°that¡¯ll play havoc with my son¡¯sschoolwork.¡±


    Sean stared aghast. He wasn¡¯t concerned about lessons, having passed far beyond school curriculum inhis insatiable binge for knowledge. But a suspension of that duration would standout to college recruiters in the worst way. Even if his power made college redundant for knowledge acquisition, he still needed the piece of paper certifying that, yes, he could be taken seriously. To achieve his dreams Sean needed the industrial capitalthat prospective employers - the Fullers of the world - controlled. Dreams that this suspension could turn to dust. Kaitlyn looked glum. Mrs. Holtseemed hearbroken but resigned.


    "Another student can bring Sean his schoolwork," Mrs. Thornton looked at Winona, not without sympathy, "That willcount toward assignments."


    "The school needs me," Sean blurted, causing Julia to raise an eyebrow, "I am advising the girls soccer team on winning strategies that''ll give us a shot towards the regionals. Ask Susan Kaminski."


    "Really, Mr. Cook," Stewart''s lip twisted with derision, "I''m sure the girls soccer team can manage without you. I don''t recall athletic skill asyour strong suite."


    "It''s not about specialized skill," Sean protested, "it''s about misaligned incentives. Erasing inefficiency by profiting from it."


    "What did you say?" Julia seemed taken aback.


    "Exploitinginefficiency, it''s what I do," Sean shrugged, "I illuminate the path to impossible dreams for others, so I may achieve my own. Well, that was the idea before I landed in this mess."


    "It seems you''ve beenlooking up my company motto, Mr. Cook," Julia''s eyes narrowed, "but ..."


    "Parcel 8, otherwise known as Old Hemlock Mill," Sean drummed his fingers nervously, "I know why you''re willingto sell it to the state, when half the schoolboard wants to sue the stateand invite bids from private developers instead."


    "It''s not exactly a secret, Mr. Cook," Julia''stone was disinterested, but her gaze was wary, "though I''m always glad to see youngsters take an interest in local politics. The state wants it for the Business Spur shortcut. Private developers won''t bite. Not when the state will grab it from them anyway, by invoking eminent domain. The statewill pay a pittance, what a shocker, but beggars can''t be choosers."


    "It''s not like you to fold over without a fight," Sean''s lips twisted in a parody of a smile, "if your record is anything to go by. Butthis is different, isn¡¯t it. Your granddaughter founded Green Teen Conservancy. She''srunning a passionate campaignto save historic Hemlock Mill,as everyone knows. So you blocked any sale,thwartingthe school board from tradingprime real estate in the middle of downtown."


    "Enough,"snapped Stewart angrily, "Your suspension hearing is concluded, Cook. It''s not your place to be interrogating the..."


    "It''s alright, John," Julia lifted a placating hand, sounding bitter, "Let Mr. Cook have his say. I did trytopreserve a piece of history in dereliction of my financial duty. But I''m curious to see where he''s going.After all, my effortscame to nothing.Thestate wants to grabthat piece of land for a bloody road."


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Sean grinned, ¡°just when the school boardout-voted you, the state sawan easy way to relieve traffic congestion. That old lumber mill sits in the shortest gapbetween the turnpike and Route-1, both heavy traffic routes tothe Industrial Estate. Fuller Dynamics and Gibbs Corp have been pressuring the state and federal goverments for years to upgrade infrastructure.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame them,¡± Julia shrugged, turning to an enlarged map of Portsmouth that adorned one wall of Stewart¡¯s office. Shetapped a fingernailon a bluesquiggle thatslanted across roughly parallel lines markingthe turnpike and Route-1, like a not-equal (=/=) symbol,¡°Commute times areludicrousand they¡¯re having trouble attracting young workers from New York. Hemlock Mill just happensto be in the wrong spot.¡±


    ¡°Which isn''t entirely a coincidence,¡± Sean nodded, ¡°Sawmills being powered by waterwheels werebuilt on rivers. Old Hemlock Mill sits on a river that both routes cross over on old narrow bridges which are bottlenecks. The real solution is to tear down those rusted bridges and build new ones with lots of lanes. But no, the statejumpedat the cheap option instead."


    On the map, eastbound Route-1 made a wide northern detour before crossing the river, and the eastbound turnpike swung south around Portsmouth after crossing the river. The routes eventually converged towards New Haven to disgorge traffic bound for the Industrial Estate, but the detours added miles toa commute already choked byinadequate bridges. The onlyplace for a band-aid shortcut was between the two bottlenecks where the two routes almost kissed on either side of Old Hemlock Mill.


    "The state is short on funds. Doyou have a point?" Julia pushed back her chair, sounded annoyed, "Besides stating the obvious. Now, I really must be going..."


    "But that shortcut will make the commute worse!" Sean exclaimed, "which the Dept. of Transportationwill realize once they complete a formalanalysis. It will never get built and Old Hemlock Mill will be untouched, safely beyond the reach of the school board. I wondered why you were sowilling to sell to the state. Then I looked at your day job, and it all made sense. Your run a think-tank consultancy named Zero Sum that models all kinds of trade-off scenarios. You alreadyknow what the DOT study will find eventually."


    ¡±Sean, what are you ramblingabout!¡± exclaimed his mom, looking shocked, ¡°The Business Spurcuts down the total distance.Which should definitely help.¡±


    ¡±Not if it connectstwo existing bottlenecks, mom,¡± Sean shook his head, ¡°The time to drive throughabottleneck scales with the number of drivers. That¡¯s intuitive during lane closures, right? Noweach bottleneck on either route deals with only half the total commuters. What do you think will happen if the shortcut is added? Each driver will take the shortest route which is through bothbottlenecks. Time saved byshorter distances will be morethan wiped out by all the traffic flowing through both bridges. If the commute is bad now, better hope the ¡®shortcut¡¯ never gets built.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re obviously delusional, Cook,¡± sneered Stewart, ¡°if it gets that bad, the drivers will simply switch backto their original routes, now won¡¯t they?¡±


    Julia said nothing, simply watching Sean without expression.


    ¡°But why would they, sir?¡± Sean waved his hands, ¡°On theirown, each driver faces an even longer commute on their old route which isafter all longer. If they all agreed together to go back to their old routes, that might work. But its not like these drivers are talking to each other. Each is doing what makes sense for themselves. So they end up trapped by the shortcut into an unfavorable Nash Equilbrium, that they cannot climb out of without an external agency. Such as the DOT shutting downthe shortcut before it gets built. The classic Prisoner¡¯s Dilemma applied to all humanity. Commuterstrapped in cages of theirown selfishness. It¡¯s happened more than once already, when cities add roads to existing networks.I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Mrs. Thornton actually suggested the shortcut to Mr. Fuller or Mr. Gibbs, knowing full well they¡¯d take it up with the governor. She¡¯s playing the elite and the state against the schoolboard, for her granddaughter¡¯s pet cause. Not bad... notbad at all. My, what a tangled web you weave, Mrs. Thornton... tellme I¡¯m wrong."


    There was half a minute of silence in the office. Winona stared at her son in astonishment. Melissa and Mrs. Holt looked startled. Stewart¡¯s mouth opened and then closedlike the proverbial goldfish. Kaitlyn merely grinned.


    ¡±My granddaughter means the world to me,¡± Julia bit off each word, her voice cold as frost, ¡°and I made her a birthday promise I intend tokeep. Are you blackmailing me, Mr. Cook?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, Mrs. Thornton,¡± Sean replied hurriedly, ¡°wouldn¡¯t dream of it. I was merely illustrating how my own skills could be useful to the school...¡±


    ¡±Very well,¡± Julia smiled a ghastly smile, ¡°I see your point. Superintendent¡¯s Suspension is withdrawn. Fivedays of Principal¡¯s Suspension instead. And that¡¯s final. Don¡¯t push me.¡±


    ¡±But...¡± the Principalopened his mouth in protest, and closed it again seeing Julia¡¯s glare.


    ¡°Just doit, John,¡± Julia snarled, ¡°And congratulations... your students are smarter than I gavecredit for. Not a word of this leaves theroom, if everyone knows what¡¯s good for them. And Mr. Cook? A word in private, if you please.¡±


    Sean got up to follow Julia out of Stewart¡¯s office, with lingering resentment against the unfairness of hispunishment. He frowned.Funnyto run acrossZero Sum¡¯s CEO so soon after his physics teacher had mentioned the firm.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 28

    Large meetings tend to inducedrowsiness and the Pentagon war room was packed with enough top brass to sendMegan into stupor. It didn¡¯t help that she¡¯d stayed up late to review the latest fiascowith Patient Zero where he¡¯dallegedly trashed his school¡¯s chemistry lab. Megan sighed. That kid attracted trouble like a magnet, which was perversely appropriate consideringhe was bait for GORGON. Covering her yawns with one hand, Megan¡¯s attention wasdrawnto the wall screen which flickered and updated toa satellite image of Europe. Colonel Griffin was seated in accordance to military pecking order,flanked by Megan and Jonathan West. Officially they were both here as Griffin¡¯s aides, but in her dark moments Megan wondered if Griffin simply neededa female presence todistractquestions away. The old goatalways treated her with grudging respect, but that didn¡¯t mean he couldn¡¯t be sexist.


    ¡°...NRO just forwarded a newconsideration for target development,¡± Brig.General Stapleton of the Marine Corps waved thelaser pointer, as a large circle appearedoverlaidon Eastern Europe, ¡°...heavily shielded underground butfinally resolved from magnetometry once NROknew what to look for.¡±


    ¡±GORGON has built itself a particle accelerator,¡± Griffin grunted, it wasn¡¯t a question.


    Megan stared, sleep instantly forgotten. The inscribed circle skirted Warsaw, Budapest and Chisinau. If that was a collider, it was largest on the planet.


    ¡±How... when did they start building?¡± sputtered GeneralBriggs, commander of US-NATO Air Forces in Europe.


    ¡°Weestimate thatconstructionbegan almost two decades ago,¡± anNRO analyst swallowed nervously, ¡°soonafter GORGON annexed territories to establish Ostland. At least ten percent of Ostland''s population must have been consumedin constructing the collider.¡±


    "Ten percent," Jonathan muttered.


    ¡±And it took you PHOTOINT typesthis long to see it?¡±Briggs looked outraged, ¡°the damn thing is literally bigger than Texas.¡±


    ¡±That was part of the problem, sir,¡± the NRO analyst stiffened, ¡°we weren¡¯t looking for anything on that scale. And soilshielding made it hard to connect the dots.¡±


    ¡°It does coincide withGORGON¡¯s primary defensive perimeter,¡± Jonathan nodded almost to himself, ¡°Can someoneplease overlay the CERN collider for scale.¡±


    A tiny circle, a dot utterly dwarfed by the larger circle, flashedon the border between France and Switzerland.


    ¡±What the heck doesGORGON wantwith a collider that big?¡± Stapleton posedthe obvious question. Megan and Jonathan traded glances. There was one thing Sybilline couldwantit for, buteven she wasn¡¯t that suicidal, was she?


    ¡±How long before it¡¯s operational?¡± Griffin sounded hopeful.


    ¡±Uh...sir, it alreadyis,¡± the NRO analyst licked his lips, ¡°has been readyfor the past twenty-two monthsif dummy-firespikesin the magnetic data are anything to go by.¡±


    Megan frowned.


    ¡±But what is it for?¡± Briggs sounded frustrated, ¡°How do we assigntarget priority without knowing that?¡±


    ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Ariana Folgers, Program Manager, DARPA Strategic Technologies Office, cleared her throat, ¡°are we sure we can penetrate GORGON air defenses this time? Not sure what Colonel Griffin has been up to since the fiasco at Brookhaven, but I don¡¯t have much confidence in his pet projects.¡±


    Griffin scowled. Megan wondered if Folgers had eversmiled in her life. That OAT, rather than the STO, had been assigned Project Omega-Delphi was still a sore point with Folgers. Inter-agency politicssimmered beneaththe surface, kept aliveby old resentments.


    A series of numbered asterixsappeared in the map on the collider rim, like beads on a ring but irregularly spaced. One of the asterixs blinked and thedisplay zoomed into an aerial shot of a grey building like a step-pyramid rising from a valley floor with snow-cappedmountains in the background. Rail lines radiated out, dwarfed by the scale of the pyramid. Megan recognized SAM launchers on the terrace. The corner of the image was labelled ¡®Zig-14¡¯, along with a date stamp.


    ¡°Nearest practical target ison the Czech border,¡± Stapleton commented, ¡°in occupied Slovakia. Everyonehere is aware of GORGON¡¯s network ofsubterranlabor camps. What''snot obvious is that the pattern of camps forma circle... talk about hiding in plain sight. The camps sit over excavation shafts andtherefore structural weak points. Collapsing one ofthe pyramidsshouldputthe collider out of comission for some time.¡±


    "A GBU-57 Massive Ordnance Penetrator ought to do it," Briggs rubbed his chin, "assuming ourbombers reach target."


    "Can they?" Stapleton echoed Ariana''s doubt.


    The screen switched to a photo of a B-2, presumablytaken from another B-2. The bomber was being swarmed by what appeared to bemetallic gnats. A smaller photo appeared inset, awasp-waisted drone disturbingly insect-like with articulated delta wings and compound lenses. The captured drone had GORGON insigna painted onflanking intake nostrils and was only about a foot long going by the ruler placed next to it.


    "USAF does NOT have air-superiority over Ostland," Briggs spat sourly, "None of our bombers have made it back. The enemy always seems tospot ourstealth aircraft, which woud be patentlyabsurd if it wasn''t true. Those damned hypersonic drones simply fly into our jet intakes. Griffin here thinks theswarm is driven by actual insect minds. Whatever they are doing, its damned effective. ICBMs would work, but damnedNATO politics..."


    "Chairwoman Katrina Malenkov, or Sybilline as we call her, is nigh omniscient," Griffin nodded bluntly, "which means GORGON defenses are airborne even as your B-2s are taxiing for takeoff. We need to blind her, if our bombers are to stand a chance. Which is where Patient Zero comes in..."


    "Pl...eease," snapped Folgers, "Using a high school junior against an enemy with super-Bayesian reasoning? Like that''s going to work."


    "Since we thinkPatient Zero''s actions are inscrutable to Sybilline," Griffin suppressed his temper "all we are doing is mappingthe kid''sactivity to a decision tree..."


    "Why notuse a random number generator?" Briggs frowned, "Or just toss a coin?"


    "None of those methods are truly random," Jonathan spoke up, "Unlikely as it sounds, Sybilline can foreseeany deterministicprocess we use against her. The CIA has enough dead agents as testimony."


    "What about quantum processes?" Folgers raised perfect eyebrows, "Aren''t those supposed to be truly random? We do haveprototype qubit processors. Not big enough for code breaking. But adequate for random numbers."


    "Good point, Ariana," Stapleton looked surprised, "Yes, Griffin, why haven''t youused quantum computing?"


    There was a pause. Griffin turned to Jonathan.


    "We did attempt to use a qubit-based dice in the beginning," Jonathan nodded reluctantly, "but they didn''t work."


    "How so, Dr. West ?" Stapleton sounded skeptical.


    "The qubit dicenever did choose any offensive action against GORGON," Jonathan shook his head, "no matter how long we waited. The bloody thing always deffered military action. It was baffling and we eventually gave up."


    "What?" Megan stared at Jonathan, "How is that possible? That''s like flipping a quantum coin and always coming up with heads, right? When was this?"


    It was bad form to question Jonathan in an inter-agency meeting, but that bit of revelation had spooked Megan.


    "Right," Jonathannodded uneasily, "It was a year ago. The odd thing is it worked fine in test scenarios, but whenever we tried to use the qubitdice to greenlight an actual bomber mission into GORGON territory, it would never give us the go-ahead."


    Megan felt her gut clench as dread jogged her memory. Something Patient Zero had mentionedinone oftheir interviews. Something she''d dismissed asludicrous, but Jonathan had warned that Sybilline was unlike any enemy they''d faced...


    "It''s a doomsday weapon," Megan blurted, "GORGON''s collider is a doomsday weapon which Sybilline triggers whenever you try to foil her Oracle-vision."


    "And you know this, how exactly?" Stapletonseemed unimpressed.


    "This video explains it better than I could, sir," Megan pulled out her phone, "if I may?"


    Stapleton gave a long-suffering sigh, butindicated for her to go ahead. Megan synced her smartphone to the wall projector, scrolling through her video logs till she found the right one, and clicked Play.


    #


    She adjusted her hairpin - with its built in video cam - as she rang the doorbell while awkwardly squeezing a briefcaseunderherarm. The surveillance-friendly hair accessory was geared toward female agents, and would record whatever Megan happened to be looking at, provided of course it was aligned correctly. Better than a fish-eye lens sewn into her suit lapel. The colonial home was located in a subdivsion thatwas decent without being upscale. Megan noted the stucco facade was crumbling in places, with acouple of sparrow holes that hadn''t been patched. And if one looked closely, wood rotwas seen eatingaway at the window frames. Weeds sprouted through cracks in the drivewaywhich was blocked by an official-looking SUV, forcingMegan to park on the side of the road. Megan frowned at theHomeland Securitylicense plate. She slowed her brisk walk, pulling out her phone to snap a photo and run the plate through a Federal database, then walked up to the porch.Loud voices sounded from within the house, muffled by the door.


    "... if you''d drag your worthless ass out of bed before 9 AM..." a woman''s voice was raised.


    "... drove all night to get here, you unreasonable harpy..." a man''s voice snarled.


    A typical suburban weekendof domestic bliss, then. The door was opened by ascowlingsomewhat plump man with bloodshot eyes and a harried expression, "Can I help you?"


    The man''s eyes flickered with recognition and he smiled, "Oh, hi... Megan... Miss Murphy, isn''t it? Come on it."


    "Mr. Cook," Megan nodded, stepping into a foyer where a corridor terminated, "I work for the DOE, as you may recall. I''d like tospeak to your son regarding the... incident last night at Fuller Dynamics. Can I come in?"


    "Who is it?" A slender woman with Native American featuresstepped into the corridor from the kitchen at the far end, her eyes narrowing as she spotted Megan, "Oh, it''s you... the DOE investigator. What do you want now?"If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Her tone was less friendly than her husband''s


    "She wants to talk to Sean, dear," Andrew Cook spat out the last word.


    "Take a number and get in line," scoffedMrs. Cook, "there''salready one of you government types interrogating my son right now. And before he showed up, FBI and cops were here takingstatements."


    "I''m sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Cook," Megansmiled reassuringly, "I''ll make sure Homeland Security doesn¡¯t bother you any more. Is it OK if I chat with Sean, though?¡±


    Winona looked doubtful, if slightly mollified.


    ¡°It¡¯s mostly forhealth insurance,¡± Megan spoke the magic words, ¡°The DOE is willing to cover medical expensesstemmingfromyesterday''s incident. I understand Sean''s arm was badly injured."


    Fuller''s surgeon, Dr. Sinclair,had requested access to Sean''s medical history, which had triggered a notification to OAT. Megan was pleased with herselffor setting that alarm.


    "Fuller''s damn machines nearly killed my son," Winona clenched her fist and paused suspiciously, "You''re not here to press charges, are you?"


    Megan frowned, wondering why this woman would imagine that. If anything, the boyshould filea lawsuit againt Fuller for endangering life and limb. Megan wasn''t getting the full picture...


    "I¡¯m not law enforcement," Megan shook her head, "Nothing he tells me can be used in court.¡± BesidesOAT doesn¡¯t need any stinkingcourts to lock your son away if we need to, she didn''t say.


    "Of course,Megan, you can talk to Sean whenever you want," Andrew nearly simpered, "not a problem."


    ¡°In the living room,¡± Winona pointed, rolling her eyes behind her husband, ¡°past the kitchen.¡±


    Winona found Sean sitting on the coffee table, surrounded by bits of unfamiliar electronic gear, a laptop, a voltmeter and a soldering iron. An empty shippingcarton lay openon the floor. His left arm was in a cast, and his face looked the worse for wear. A man in a suit and dark glasses stood witha clipboard, scratchingoff questionsas he worked his way through the list.


    ¡±You¡¯re certain it said ¡®Hail GORGON¡¯?¡± the agent paused, turning at Megan¡¯s approach.


    ¡±Well, not certain,¡± Sean shrugged with his good arm, ¡°My broken arm was distracting. It might have meant¡®HailBourbon¡¯ or ¡®Hail Gordon¡¯ though it seems unlikely given the geopolitical context.¡±


    ¡±Office of Intelligence and Counterintelligence DOE,¡± Megan flashed an ID, glancing at the search result on her phone, ¡°I¡¯ll be taking it from here, Agent Young.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± the man frownedtaking off his glasses, giving an excellent impression of Hollywood¡¯s image of a Federal agent, ¡°Have we met? The DOE has no jurisdiction here.¡±


    ¡°The President disagrees,¡± Megan pulled out an official looking memo and dropped it on his clipboard, ¡°And pleasesend me a copy of your transcript on Monday."


    ¡±Is this ajoke?¡± the agent sneered, flexing his shoulders, his eyes insolently tracing the contours of her suit, ¡°Nationalsecurity is what we do, girl. Let the big boys handle it. Run along now.¡±


    ¡°Take the call,¡± Megangestured.


    "What call?" the agent frowned and then gave a startwhen his phone rang three seconds later, "Agent Young, speaking. Yes? Oh... yessir. She''s here. No, sir... there''s no problem. I was just handing off the investigation."


    "You have thePresident on call?" Agent Young looked a shade paler, "Who are you?"


    "A girl who knows the stakes, buh-bye,¡± Megan smiled sweetly, as Agent Young departed. She turned to Sean who was eyeing her warily, "Got a few minutes, Sean?I''d like to catch up on what you''ve been up to.Since your... incident at Brookhaven."


    "Counterintelligence? You''re not really a liason, are you?" Sean sounded tired, "So why don''t you cut theBS and tell me what you want."


    There was a manicgleam in Sean''s eye. Megan wondered if the kid was lightheaded from medication.Thatcould be exploited.


    "Well," Megan drawled with a smile, "since we''re being honest, why don''t you start with anything you haven''t told me about Brookhaven."


    "Don''t you want to ask about what happened at Fuller Dynamics last night?" Sean raised a brow.


    "We''ll get to that," Megan waved, making a mental note to requistion the police & FBI for their transcripts, "but I''m sure you''re tired of repeating that story today. Have youexperienced any changes since the accident with the subatomic wormhole?"


    "Changes?" Sean''s tone was neutral, his expression rigidly blank.


    "Difficultywith school work. Psychological shifts. Even new... abilities," Megan nodded.


    "What... like superpowers?" Sean''s laugh was forced, "I wish."A transparent lie, thought Megan, his school work has improved dramatically. She would keep him on a long leash, for now, without pressing him. From her briefcase she extracted a manila folder sandwiching a sheaf of documents.


    ¡±Before I forget,¡± Megan waved the folder, ¡°here¡¯s a bunch of papers I need your folksto go over and sign. Your MRI had some interesting results. If you stillaren¡¯t experiencing any changeswe need to understand why. We may need to take you in for extensive testing.¡± The threat was subtle but unambiguous. If Seanwasn''t forthcoming, he¡¯d be handed over to government scientists to be probed indefinitely.


    "You want toaskabout the alien," Sean studied her reaction.


    "Aa... alien?"Megan flinched despite herself.


    "Ihad a dream when I was unconscious," Sean leaned back on his good arm, "A dead universe... allthe galaxies burned out. But there was something in there. Analien intelligence that was part of spacetime itself."


    "Tell me everything," Megan''s knuckles whitened on her briefcase. An eyewitness account of First Contact, in parallelto what the Russians had uncovered at Protvino, was invaluable intel.


    "That''s about it," Sean nodded, nervously running fingers through his hair, "I had a feeling I was lookingat the other side of that wormhole. Then a blank."


    "Ok, cool," Megan nodded casually, "if you recall anything else, anything at all, just call me... hold this for a sec, will you."


    She''d dropped the suitcasetodiscard her suit in the stuffy room . Her arm stuck out, her suit trapped by the manilla folder. Sean reached out instinctively to assist and shudderedwhenhis fingers touched the thin cover of the folder. He groaned and rubbed his eyes.


    ¡±Are you OK?¡± Megan¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡±Unggh...shit... I¡¯m fine,¡± Sean¡¯s eyes were glazed, as if forced tomake sense ofgovernment forms at gunpoint, "Really."


    "School project?"Megan pointed, dropping into a couch set against the window. Inthe daylight, Sean''s facelookedeven more haggard, lines of pain evident. He had a black eye and his lip had recently been bruised. If not for recent events, she''d have thought the kid had gotten into a fight. For some reason his hair was glossier than the last time.


    "Oh... this?" Sean glanced down at the hardware strewnon the coffee table, sounding relieved at the change of subject, "um, no. Just an idea for an experiment."


    "What does it do?" Megan feigned curiosity. She had enough experiencedealing withher nephews'' hobbies, toknow how to get a teenager talking.


    "It uses a photon to simulate a coin toss," Sean sounded embarrased, "A way to potentially get rich by eliminating observations in unfavorable quantum histories."


    "What?" Megan sounded nonplussed. Her electronically giftedniecehadn''t mentioned anything like that. Even OAT threat assessments on exotic emerging tech, whichMegan was required to read, hadtalked aboutpractical quantum computers as being a decade away, at least the ones bigenough to worry about.


    "You remember the classic double-slit experiment, right?" Sean got up and began to pace, "Pass lightthrough a pair of diffraction slits and you get an interference pattern on a wall."


    Megan nodded brightly, dredging vague memories from her old high school physics class and half-digested OAT reports.


    "The mindblowing thing is werecord the same interference pattern on photographicplate even if we use only one photon at a time," Sean exclaimed excitedly, "Almost like the photon is splitting itself to go through both slits. But nointerference pattern if one of the slits is blocked, by say, a photon detector."


    "Isn''t that because a photon is both a particle and a wave?" Megan sounded pleased at recalling that particular piece of academic trivia.


    "That''sthe De Broglieexplanation," Sean nodded, "which is weird if you think about it. The photon somehow decides to act like a wave if its sees two slits, but acts like a particle otherwise? Then there''s the even weirder Copenhagen interpretation, which implies it isn''t meaningful to ask which slit the photon went through. The path that the photon took supposedly exists only as probability that then gets finalizedwhen we tryto detect it. Which leads to nonsensicalimplications when you imagine the photon having macroscopic consequences like killing a cat. Is the cat dead or alive?"


    "Yeah, so?" Megan was losing interest. Was there a point to this kid''s rambling?


    "There''s a simpler explanation," Sean smiled wryly, "The photon is interfering with a different version of the same photon. The one that took the other slit in an alternate quantum history. An alternate copy of our universe cloned when the photon passed through the slits."


    "What?" Megan frowned, wondering if the kid was pulling her leg, "that''s just... silly."


    "It''s called the Many Worlds interpretation," Sean looked unfazed by Megan''s skepticism, "and it''s the only one that makes sense from what I understand."


    "What''s it got to do with anything?" Megan asked suspiciously.


    "Well... if the Many Worlds is true, every quantum measurement clones the universe," Sean picked up a piece of hardware and brought it over to Megan.A closed tube attached to a bulky box with a mini-keyboardand an LED display. He pressed ''Enter'' and the display lit up with a ''0''. Pressed again with display unchanged. Pressing once more and thedisplay changed toa ''1'', "which means every time I press this key, a single-photon crystal-emitterclonesthisuniverse into two, whosetimelines diverge from that point on, because the photon''s path can have real world consequences."


    "You call that a simpler explanation?" scoffed Megan, "and what''s it got to do with getting rich?"


    "Say I wanted to break an unbreakable encryption," Sean continued, "all I need to do is to generate a random binary key with this gizmo. The chances of getting the rightkey by accident are a trillion to one, right? Not a problem, since I''ve already cloned a trillion universes. Each of my counterparts in those universes will see a different random number on this display, almost all of which will be wrong. But one of those versions of me, will have the rightkey by chance."


    "That''s your plan?" Meganbarked a laughat the sheer insanity of it, "just hope that one of your quantum clones will succeed? Even if you''llgeneratethe wrong key in almost every instance?Go through this ritual... it will make you rich in another universe, which you can never see!" The last part came out more mockingly than she intended.


    "I wasn''t going to take it on faith," Sean scowled, "I was going to hook this up to adevice that''llterminate meif I get the wrong key. The only version of me that survives will be the one with the right answer. It won''t convince anyone else since I''ll be dead in most universes. But I will knowbecause I''d be alive in that one universe where I generated the right key. It was Moravec''s thought experiment, the robotics pioneer... crazily brilliant dude."


    Megan stared at Sean, feeling a chill. The kidwas batshit crazy,nothing like her nephews.


    "Oh... I''m not actually going to commit quantum suicide," Sean blurted, seeingher reaction, "I am not that morally bankrupt, to leave my mom and dad devastated in a trillion universes just so I could profit in one. Stupid reason to die to anyway. If the Many Worlds is wrong, I''ll be completely dead. If it''s right, I can take comfort that I''ll win in atleast one universe. Besidesquantum suicide wouldn''t work for me anyway."


    "Huh? Were you just bullshitting me then?" it was Megan''s turn to scowl.


    "No," Sean smiled wanly, "My bestie Mei Ling would kill me if she found out I offed myself in all those other universes.But... it mightmake a nice emergencydevice ina pinch, say ifyou need to defuse a GORGON fusion bomb by inputting the right code... same principle."


    "I... see," Megan sounded strained, "Speaking of which, let''s talk about what happened last night..."


    #


    Megan stopped the video. The faces around the table,in the Pentagon war room, looked flabbergasted. Even Jonathan.


    "Agent Murphy, are you crazy?" Stapleton demanded, "you seriously expect us to believe there are trillions of copies of our universe and we are in one that did not order an attack based on a quantum dice?"


    "God does not play dice with the universe, Agent Murphy," Briggs interjected, "That''s a quote from Einstein, by the way."


    Megan resisted the urge to roll her eyes.


    "Observer selection effect is a thing, sir," the NRO analyst spoke up unexpectedly, "It would explain Dr. West''s failure with the quantum dice, if GORGON simply destroys the world everytime we manage to defeat them mortally. It has been theorized that extremely energetic particle collisions can collapse the false vacuum in our region of space and destroy the Earth near instantly."


    "Or Sybilline opens up a wormhole toa strong superintelliegence," Jonathan mused, "this one big enough to permitsaid entity to physically pass through. That would kill us all instantly."


    The silence at the table lasted several moments.


    "If quantum tech is ruled out," Folgers finally spoke, "it appears we have little choice but to trust Griffin''s plan with Patient Zero."


    It sounded like a concession, but Colonel Griffin didn''t look too happy.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 29

    Sean followed Julia Thornton down the empty hallway, discontent festering in his gut. It had been a gamble using Julia''s pet foible to negotiate the terms of his suspension. He should be thankful for the reducedsentence, but all he felt was the sting of injustice. Just when he had renounced his bad attitude and turning into a new leaf.


    ¡±Hey!¡± Winona caught up with them scowling, ¡°You can¡¯t speak to my son alone. I won¡¯t let you intimidate him.¡±


    ¡°Mrs. Cook,¡± Julia stopped and turned with a sigh, ¡°I suppose I¡¯d need your permission for this anyway. I wasn¡¯t trying to bully your son, just offer him a week-long internship at my firm.¡±


    ¡±What,¡± Winona stared bemused.


    ¡±I¡¯ve heard about your think tank,¡± Sean frowned in surprise, ¡°but why would you want me? You just suspended me, for crying out loud!¡±


    ¡±I don¡¯t give a shit about your suspension, Sean,¡± Mrs. Thornton waved a hand dismissively, ¡°What I care about ishiring kids with the right mindset before theyare irrepairablyossified bythe crappy education system.¡±


    ¡±Crappy... how dare you,¡± Winona began heatedly, "You are a board member..."


    "I meant no insult to our school district, Mrs. Cook,"Mrs. Thornton smiled, not very convincingly, "but ourcurriculum was designed to churn out factory workersfor the industrial revolution two centuries ago. It''s not that good at creatingstudentswho can think on their feet. The only reason I attended Sean''s hearing was to see if I could track down this so-called Collection Agency."


    "To bring them to justice?" Winona''s scowl softened.


    "To offer them internships ofcourse," Julia grinned unpleasantly, "These delinquentsdemonstrate more innitiative andspecialized skill than many adults. But as elusive as their club is, I''ll settle for Sean."


    "You would reward hooligans?¡±Winona began to hyper-ventilate, "What kind of board member ..."


    "What sortof internship?"Sean interrupted hastily.


    ¡±Zero Sum is founded with a singular principle,¡± Julia clapsed her hands behind her, ¡°of makinga profitfrom defusing military conflict around the globe. To that end we hire the best and brightest. We are occasionallyconsulted by the State Department, but we mostly focus on hotspots that are... unprofitable for the major powers to get involved. Your taskwill be to keep tabs onone of our teams in the field.¡±


    ¡±I¡¯m still not sure what a highschool junior can contribute in foreign policy,¡± Winona muttereddubiously, placing a possessive hand on Sean¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, my boy is pretty studious...¡±


    ¡±Mrs. Cook,¡± Julia shook her head, ¡°I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t been clear. I am not looking for experts, wehave enough of those on call. What I need is studentswho can see beneath the surface of things... who can perceive the world not as randomevents but as adynamic structure that can be modeled. He won¡¯t be the first highschool junior working withus. Hmm... let¡¯s see... a question for you Sean. Suppose your assignment is to predict the next conflict by monitoring which countries are stockpiling arms, how would you go about it?¡±


    ¡±Um... it depends,¡± Sean bit his lip, ¡°does stockpiling lead to war?¡±


    ¡±Mostconflicts are preceded by one or both sides stockpiling,¡± Julia commented.


    ¡±That¡¯s not what I asked,¡± Sean shook his head, ¡°The question isn¡¯t whether most wars are preceded by stockpiling, but whether most stockpiling is followed by war.¡±


    ¡±Um... what?¡± Winona looked confused.


    ¡±Conditional probabilities, mom,¡± Sean explained, ¡°sound sort of similar when expressed ineveryday language, but they¡¯re really not. When countries get into an arms race, the cost of war goes up, which should in theorydiscouragewar. We only observe the wars that break out,never the ones that don''t. Of course wars are preceded by stockpiling. But how many instances of stockpiling actually lead to war? The latter is a subset of the former."


    ¡±It¡¯s hard to slip something past you, isn¡¯t it,¡± Julia cackled and turned to Winona, ¡°That¡¯s what I was talking about. Seeing past the fog of human language, and thinking in math. I think your sonmight fit into our little group better than you imagine.¡±


    ¡±Will he be in any danger?¡± demanded Winona.


    "He won''t leave our premises," Julia assured her. She didn''t actually answer mom''s question, Sean noted wryly.


    "What''s in it for me?" Seansoundedhopeful.


    "There''s a class-action lawsuit initiated by parents ofstudentspresent at the Fuller Dynamics tour disaster," Julia smiled, "but you haven''t joined in despite being the most injured party. Perhaps you are filing your own lawnsuit, which would make sense, but I get the impression Richard has convinced you to stay silent. What does he have on you? Legal threats? Did he offer you a job at his factory when you graduate? Did he offer torecommendyou to a college of your choice?"


    Juia laughed at their expressions, "Did I mention that I can recommend you to any college you may want? I am on speaking terms with most admissions officers in Connecticut. Sean, if you are still a good fit for us after college, there''s a lot of money to be made in puttingout international conflicts."


    "I''m in," Sean nodded, looking at his mom.


    Julia smiled and pulled out a business card, "Show up at 8AM tomorrow."


    "Wait, that''s at New Haven," Winona pursed her lips, "I won''t have time to drop him off before work."


    "Think about it," Julia shrugged, "I need to go now. It was nice meeting you. Wish it was under better circumstances."


    They stood for a moment, staring at Julia''s retreating back until startled by footsteps behind.


    "Excuse me, I couldn''t help overhearing the last bit," Melissa Lambert smiled apologetically, "I commute to New Haven. I could drop off Sean and pick him up."


    "Oh... no, we couldn''t impose..." Winona shook her head.


    "It''s the least Ican do," Melissa shrugged, "after Sean took the time to help my daughter''s soccer team."


    "Too soon to say if I actually helped," Sean muttered self-consciously.


    "Very well, Mrs. Lambert, I appreciate it," Winona nodded, "It''s only for a week and it''ll keep Sean from moping around the house. I''ll text youour address."


    "Oh, please call me Melissa," Mrs. Lambert waved, "See you at eight tomorrow morning, Sean."


    A dreary greyfall drizzle greeted them as they got to the main entrance.


    "My umbrella won''t fit both of us," Winona instructed, "Wait here. I''ll get the car."


    "I need to hit the restroom," Sean nodded, heading back inside. Winonashook opena compact umbrella wielding it like a shield toward the parking lot, stepping around puddles.


    The lunch bell pealed. Sean grimaced in self-pity. Now he''d have to fight the great herd for restroom access. And risk making his mom wait and triggering her temper. He quickened his paced, turning into a short wide corridor that teed into another long corridor featuringboys'' and girls'' restrooms at either end. A trio of boys appeared at the intersection trading banter, pausing briefly as a girl joined them from the other direction.Sean stumbled,noticingJason, Tiffany and two more of his posse.Jason''s surprise morphed into rage.


    "You little shit," spat Jason, "there''s no end to the grief you''ve ..."


    "Mind-wipe me again, you fucking pig," snarled Sean, "and you''ll find out what grief really means."


    Tiffany stood behind Jason, arms folded with herusual lookof disdain. Except her eyes pleaded boring into Sean''s, anever seen vulnerability that took his breath away. She seemed heartbreakingly pretty now...


    "No idea what you mean, degenerate," Jason''s anger twisted into a cold sneer, "But I heard you''d been suspended for vandalism..."


    Sean lost it. It was just too much to stand here taking smug denial from the prick who''d framed him. Sean punched his face with his good hand, or tried to. But Kyle Green was faster. The junior-varisty quarterback was taller than Jason and a head taller than Sean. Sean was body slammed into the wall, his head bouncing off the drywall. His right arm was firmly pinned by Caleb Guthrie, the last member of the posse. Seam groaned, his ribs creaking as Kyle gently applied pressure to his chest with his elbow. The corridor suddenly buzzed with students heading to the restrooms, giving them a wide berth, their eyes wide but averted. No one dared snitch on the Fuller scion.


    "Anyone tell you not to pick a fight when outnumbered with a broken arm, shithead?" Jason eyed him thoughfully as if studying an especially stupid insect.


    "Want us to teach him a lesson, Jay?" Kyle grinned, "No need to get your hands dirty on this sorry excuse."


    "I''d like that, thank you very much," Jason smiled without humor, "And no need to hold back. No one will believe him after the stunt at the lab. He''s had it coming for a long time. Make him regret the day he laideyes onmy sister."


    Jason walked away, pausing, "You coming, Tiff?"


    "No, I want to... watch," Tiffany smiled, licking her lips. Jason chuckled as he exited the corridor.


    Sean squeaked in pain as Kyle punched him in the exact spot that the goons of the Collection Agency had tenderized. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked to clear them. Tiffany looked concerned.Sean burned with shame at the pitythat marred her lovely disdain. Contigency plan... he''d collected intel on all knownthreats within the school, which included notonly members of the school board but also Jason''s posse.


    Kyle "Nutcracker" Green: top athelete, built like Hercules and dead ringer for actor Idris Elba which made the girls swoon... focus Sean, holds grudges, hates being suckered...


    Caleb "Bookie" Guthrie: math whiz, unofficial loan shark,ran betting poolsonline, lawyer dad, savvy enough about the law to avoid overtly illegal stuff...


    Too late, he was pinned like a bug and Kyle was about to punch him again. Sean couldn''t take much more of that. It was going to end in internal bleedingwhich was potentially fatal. Sean felt real fear now, rage and adrenalin draining out. He saw Tiffany deliberately rub the side of her neck, her eyes staring at Sean, then flickingto Kyle. It jogged Sean''s memory. Injury... Kyle had incurred an injury on the base of his neck not long ago, on his left side.


    "Don''t make the same mistakes my dad did," Sean gasped, "don''t get suckered, Kyle."


    "The heck you croaking about, bitch?" Kyle frowned, fist poised to strike again.


    "Caleb is conning you with his lottery," Sean winced, "Word is, you shelled out sweet moola for a ticket."


    "So?" sneered Kyle, "Winner gets a boatload ofcash, and most get consolation payments. The average payout is the ticket price. I can''t lose, only breakeven."


    "Doesn''t work that way," Sean chuckled painfully, "What you should care about is the median payment, not the mean. The mean is skewed by the single big winner. Most players get far below the ticket price. It''s a long tailed distribution..."


    "Wait... what?" Kyle turned on Caleb, "Is this true?"


    "Um... no... I mean... yes... technically, it''s implied by the rules..." Caleb stammered. Kyle punched Caleb in the face. Caleb yelped and staggered, releasing Sean''s arm.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    "Hey... where do you think you are going?" Kyle turned back to Sean, as Sean''s right hand chopped into his neck. Kyle yelled clutchng his neck, moaning. Sean ran. As he sprinted round the corner, he saw Tiffanyhand over tissue for Caleb''s bloody nose, but her face was staring at him in amused respect.


    "What took you so long?" demanded Winona in the car.


    "Lunch hour, mom," shrugged Sean rubbing his belly, his mind on Tiffany.


    #


    Sean walked up to his attic bedroom, after his mom dropped him off heading to work. He lay for a while on his bed staring at the ceiling. The brief euphoria ofoutwitting Jason''s mooks and from seeing Tiffany faded, replaced by dejection. Jason had won. Framed and suspended for a week. He frowned as the doorbell chimed, wondering who it could be.He spotted a black BMW in the driveway, visible throughthe bedroom window. Probablynot a salesperson. Hesighed and dragged himselfback downstairs to open the door.His heart skipped a beat when he saw Elliot, Fuller''s butler and head of security, looming over the doorway.


    "Go away," yelled Sean, slamming the door on Elliot''s steel-toed boot, "I''ll call the cops, I swear."


    "Master Sean, please," Elliot sighed, "I just want to talk."


    "What about?" demanded Sean incredulously, "Have you come to finish off what Jason started?"


    "It''s about Miss Judith," Elliot continued after aconfusedpause, "She''s been taken ill this weekend."


    "What happened... is she Ok?" Sean swung open the door to stare at Elliot, "And...um, why are you telling me this?"


    "Can I come in? I''m not carrying firearms I swear," Elliot held a backpack, "I''ll try not to overstay my welcome."


    Sean nodded after a moment, his shoulders slumpedas he uneasilyledthe way to the living room. Elliot followed behind like a big cat, silent and predatory. The couch creaked as the manservant lowered his frame into it, his cold eyes studying Sean.


    "Myprincipalis unaware of this visit," Elliotopened the backpack and pulled out a binder, "I''mdisplayinga serious breach of trust by having this conversation. I hope I can count on your discretion."


    "Where''s Judith?" Sean demanded.


    "In hospital," Elliotbowed in shame atthe violation of privacy, "after contracting viral infection. Her condition is still... critical."


    "Critical?" Sean stared, his heart beating faster, "what sort of virus? I assume it''s not just the flu, asnasty as that is."


    "The doctors are having trouble pinpointing the diagnosis," Elliot shook his head, "but theyagree it''s an unknown virluent strain that attacks the skin. As far as they can determine, it is notairborne. MissJudith has been placed under Level 3 containment. The CDC has been notified."


    "Shit... oh shit," Sean''s stomach dropped.


    "I''m here toconsult youon Miss Judith''s science project," Elliothanded over the plastic binder. UniversalOncoTechproclaimed the logo. Asticker in bright red font warned of the dire consequences of disseminating confidential corporate information.


    "Um... what?" Sean opened the binder:


    Prototype Universal Kit for CancerTreatment


    Proof of Concept using Oncolytic Adenovirus to Target Skin Tumors


    Judith Fuller


    Judith''s name was followed by thelist of experts guiding her school project, including research doctors at UniversalOncoTechand her AP Bioteacher at school. It seemed thatUniversalOncoTech,one of New England''srising bio-tech firms, had been acquired by the Fuller Consortium a few years ago. Nothing like having a dad who could lend you one of his companies for your science project. Sean closed his eyes, giving the impression of weary disinterest, as he touched the cover page. His breath hitched as his mindabsorbedthe info dump.


    "Bloody heck," Sean looked up at Elliot, "you thinkJudith was infected by her science project."


    "A glass container shattered when her prototype glitched," Elliot nodded, "and some of its contents splashed on Miss Judith. Three days later she fell sick. Sheinsistsshe washed her hands immediately, but it''s possible not all of the contaminantwasremoved. Her advisors, however, insist the experimentwas engineered tospecifically target cancer cells and could not possibly infect healthy tissue. Franky, I am skeptical of theirdenials given the liability."


    Letting the boss''skid accidentally infect herself with a supervirus probably wouldn''t look good on the resume either.


    "I''mtruly sorry, and I hope Judith recovers quickly," Sean wassincere, "but I''m not sure what you want from me."


    "The dispenser arm on Miss Judith''s prototype dropped the concotionshe''dinstructedit to make," Elliot ignored Sean''s objection, "causing the vial to shatter.Two of the lock nuts on the robot arm had come loose. When I reviewed the design, Ilearned that both these fasteners and only these fasteners had to come loose to cause the dispensed vial to break. And before she lost consciousness Miss Judith confirmed she had personally tightened all fasteners to spec."


    "You think it was sabotaged?" Sean barked incredulously, "You really think someone sabotaged Judith''s science project to infect her? Why would anyone do that? Not all accidents are conspiracies... nuts do vibrate loose on machinery, you know."


    "Much less so with lock nuts," Elliot shook his head and sighed, "It''s my job to protect my principal and his family. And Mr. Fuller has made many enemies given the nature of his business. It would be remiss of me to not consider the possbility of sabotage. I need your help in understanding Miss Judith''s prototype, to determine howreasonable my suspicion is."


    "Then get an independent biotech expert, for goodness sake,"retorted Sean, "I''m just a highschool kid. What do you think I can tell you?"


    "Mr. Fuller has forbidden me from hiring outside experts," Elliot said stiffly, "He thinks paranoia has ruined my judgement. And blames himself for permitting his daughter to play with fire. And the CDC has takenpossession ofthe prototype afterI finished examining it. But the point is... Miss Judith completely revamped the design a month ago.As luck would have it,UniversalOncoTech -beingalready experiencedin directed evolution -was able toguide her. But Miss Judithsaid it was you who inspired her to incorporate Darwinian evolution in the first place."


    "I inspired her?" Sean was taken aback, "Um... she talkedto you about her hobbies?"


    "Miss Judith is a prodigy and a saint who wants tosavethe world from all disease," Elliotnodded reverently, "but she doesn''t have anyone to talkwith on her level. Oh, she has plenty of people who praise her with lip service, but no one who takes the time to understand what sheis trying to achieve... not her family... not her friends. Until you came. That''s why I''m here."


    Sean swallowed his embarassment.He made a show ofskimming through thepages in the binder, "So, um... where do you want me to start?"


    "Just give me the short version, sir," Elliot gestured encouragingly.


    "Well, the idea of directing evolution to fight cancer is not new," Sean began, "Late-stagetumors can mutatesufficientlyto survive whatever drugs you throw at it. An ideal cure would constantly adapt to the tumor to kill it. Suppose you start with a tumor cell sample. Then let''s say you takea flu virus, and make a millionstrains of it to throw at the tumor. Some of those viral variants will have the rightshape to target proteins specific to the tumor. Take thestrain that look promising... rinse and repeat until you get a strain that''s exceedingly good at eatingtumors. Bingo, instant cure. Well, not quite, but it''s a start. Asthe tumormutates, just take more samples and keep evolving the virus until the tumor is all gone."


    ¡±Won¡¯t the virus cause the flu, though?¡± Elliot frowned.


    ¡±If you do it right, by the time you are done, that is no longer a flu virus " Sean smiled, "It can no longer target the proteins in your nasal passage, only the protein unique to the tumor. We have changed itstropisminto anoncolytic virus."


    "Elegant," Elliot nodded thoughfully, "but surely it''s not as simple as that?"


    "You''re right, it''s not,"Sean flipped through the binder, "and you made a good point. While the new virus has a taste for tumor, there''s no guarantee it won''teat healthy tissue also."


    Sean tapped a photo illustration in the binder. A transparentcylinder half the size of a billiard''s table. Hundreds of petri dishes on stacked turntables. A dozen radiating robot arms terminated in slender appendges thatturned inwards, like an inverted bug scratching its own belly... a monstrous hound sheathed in metal laybelly up, limbs wiggling in air, chainsaw teeth screaming in anticipation... Sean massaged his forehead to rub the image away.


    "Are you alright, sir?" Elliot''s cold eyesheld a hint of curiosity..


    "Um... as I was saying," Sean continued, "there has to be safeguards to make sure theoncolyticvirus can only eat tumors. Bymixing healthy tissuewith every tumor sample, we can select for strains that attack only tumor and not healthy tissue. That''s how Judith''s gizmo is setup. These optical probeskeep an eye on the tissue samples. And that''s not all. This probe here - call it the tropism probe -monitors the evolving viral strains for protein sensitivity. Youwould normally needa state-of-artbiotech lab topullthis off. Judith''s genius was in automating and miniaturizing an entire lab into a gizmo that could be leased to hospitals. Cancer treatment automated and customizedto each patient."


    "Sounds sensible," Elliot nodded grudgingly, "which brings us back to my question. Assuming Miss Judith''sautomated laboratory did work as intended, how did she get infected? Suppose for argument''s sake,you intended harm to Miss Judith through this device... how would you go about it without revealing your hand?"


    "Doesn''t seem possible, " Sean stared at Elliot, then at the photo ofJudith''sautomaton, " not when each tumor sample is surrounded by healthy cells to act like canaries in a coal mine. Besides, how many people had access toJudith''s prototype anyway? Apart from the lab staff atUniversalOncoTech?"


    "I''mdiscreetly looking into the backgrounds of the staff," Elliot looked pensive, "but they aren''t the only suspects. On more than one occasion Miss Judith has brought over groups from school to promote her work. Her teachers, her friends, her friends'' friends, her brother''s friends. In short, anyone who showed the slightest interest."


    "Now you''re shitting me," Sean gaped, "You suspect someone from school? Why?"


    "Mr. Fuller has many business rivals," Elliot went on reluctantly after an awkward pause, "who stand to lose billions for every contract my principal wins. The Gibbs family, for instance. If anything were to happen to Miss Judith, it would devastate her father... make him falter onstrategic business moves. It''s not beyond reasonable doubt that one of their children..."


    "You think Romeo, excuse me... Reginald Gibbs is trying to get Judith killed?" Sean choked down a hysterical laugh, "Her freaking boyfriend? What''s this, daytime soap opera? Why couldn''t it be GORGON? I nearly got killed in their attack, for goodness sake."


    "Humor me, Master Sean," Elliot lips tigtened, "I cannot comment on the nature of Miss Judith''s relationship with Master Gibbs. I did initially consider GORGON though. But the saboteur has gone to great lengths to make it seem like an accident. That''s not GORGON''s modus operandi."


    "The safeguards are hard to beat," Sean frowned at the counterintuitive puzzle Elliot had thrown at him, "unless... you disable just one of the safeguards, say, the tropism probe and..."


    Sean gurgledagainst Elliot''s choke hold. The butler had moved so fast that Sean feltafisttightening around hisneck collar before he''dregsitered Elliot leaving his chair.


    "You have three seconds before I break your neck," Elliot hissed, "Which student did you pay to sabotage the probe?"


    Elliot relaxed his stranglehold slightly, seeing Sean''s face turn purple.


    "You fuckingmoron," Seam gasped, "I care aboutJudith..."


    "Your rivalry with Master Jason gives you enough motive," grated Elliot, "And I never told you the... what did you call it... the tropism probe had been damaged."


    "Would you rather kill me, or catch the real perp?" Sean spat in the butler''s face.


    "I beg your pardon, Master Sean," Elliot straightened after a second, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at his own face, "My concern for Miss Judithoverrode my judgement. It won''t happen again. I was being... unprofessional."


    The manservant shuddered at the last word, reaching into his backpack. He handed aseries of photos to Sean. A magnified image of the tropism probe and its needle. The micro-capillary stainless steel tube had been carefully crimped shut at a couple of spots, the damaged surfaces showing a knurledimpression that might have been left by small pliers.


    "I admit I''m still confused, Master Sean," Elliot sat down, "How would damaging the tropism probe allow therogue viral strain to evade the other probes thatmonitorthe tissue samples?"


    "This is just conjecture," Sean had a faraway look, "but when you use an optimizer like evolution to spit out a design, it''s kind of important to specify exactly what you want. Otherwise you end up with... unexpected results. Like when youbreed for hens that lay the most eggs in a coop, you might be selecting for the most aggressive hens that aren''treally productive butwhich bully the other hens into producing less. That''s actually happened. Sabotaging the tropism probe might do something similar."


    "I... see," Elliot frowned, "but..."


    "By disabling the tropism monitor butleaving theoptical monitors intact," Sean drummed fingers on the arm rest, "the saboteur may have selected for a strain that doesn''t attack healthy tissue immediately but infilrates it."


    "Infiltrate?" Elliot raised a brow.


    "Insert itself into the cell DNA," Sean explained, "Viruses can infect cellsby twomodes. Directly attack them by the lytic pathway. Or integrate into the cell genome via the lysogenic paythway and wait for an opportune moment to strike. A ticking timebomb, like HIV. The optical probes wouldn''t catch that."


    "But how could the saboteur be certainwhat he''ll get?"Elliot protested, "Seems rather random."


    "The mechanism of evolutionis random," Sean shook his head, "but the end result is not.A given selection pressure drivesa population towards a particular design, by simply killingoff the variants that don''t measure up.Whales sort of look like fish,but they aren''t closely related. Same environment, differentspecies converging towards the same form. Maybe the first optimized strain might eat only cancer. But sooner or later Judith''s luckwould have run out. Nasty piece of work, she is."


    "Who?" Elliot looked confused.


    "Mother Nature, murderous bitch," Sean chuckled darkly, "That''s what evolution is.... murder on the scale of species. The optimizer God that shapes all life is without mind or mercy. Not the sort of God you want to cross in a dark alley. And if you summon Her, you better be careful what you ask for."


    "Thank you for you assistance, Master Sean," Elliot stood up, lookingstartled, "I will pass along your... conjecture to the doctors caring for Miss Judith."


    "One more thing puzzles me," the manservant stopped and turned, "With all respect to Miss Judith''s abilities, if a 16 year old can engineer viruses..."


    "...why aren''t we all dead, already?" Sean guessed, "Any idiot can create a super bug. Heck, evolution is doing that all the time anyway. Ever heard of antibiotic resistant bacteria? But like most things, its a tradeoff between virulence and transmission. The more deadly it is, the faster it will kill its victims and die out before it has a chance to spread. A super bug is self-defeating."


    Elliot nodded and made his out. Sean stood at the doorway after Elliot''s departure, staring with eyes that brimmed with unshed tears, his body shaking. All Judith had wanted was toprove herself by saving the world. And someone unspeakably monstrous had used that to try to kill her.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 30

    Kaitlyn''s mom pulled up in her crossover-wagon outside Sean''s driveway, promptly after breakfast as promised. She looked flustered, her blonde hair damp, but nodded absently as Sean slid into the passenger seat. The vehicle shot out of the subdivision, navigating turns, accelerating onto the main road. They sped up the eastbound I-95 entry ramp joining the throng of commuters toward New Haven. Mrs. Lambert scowled at slowing traffic that flared upin a constellation of red brake lights. She spun hard on the steering, weaving in and out of lanes in a squeal of tires and honking horns.


    "Go takea joy ride elsewhere, asshole," Melissa snarled at a driver she passed,directing her ire at each and every car that dared slow her down, "Watch your blindspot, fuckwit."


    Seangrippedthe door handletightly. Melissa suddenly blushedmortified, "Sorry, Sean. I''m kind of distracted having torush from gym. My schedule is less tight from tomorrow."


    "Hmm," Sean gruntedwiththe bare minimumresponse that manners dictated. Thethought of Judithin hospital was a dullgnawing ache at the back of his mind.


    "...to quit gym," Melissa muttered almost to herself, "Working outlike a maniac for months and nothing to show for it."


    "Hmm," Sean acknowledged.


    "...workout had no effect," Melissa sounded frustrated, "...my weight keeps going upthough Iwatch my calories. MaybeI''llgo on a diet... do I look fat, Sean? Be honest now. I can''t get a straight answer from my husband."


    "Uhh... what, um..." Sean desperately searched for a response that would spare him from answeringa question that had no safeanswer, "What makes you think gym has no effect, Mrs. Lambert?"


    "My weighthas been rising," Melissa repeated slowly as if to the dim-witted, "even after I started working out. I keep a log..."


    "Is theriseratethe same after starting your excercise regimen, though?" Sean wondered aloud.


    "Rate?" Melissa frowned.


    "Imagine water in a can," suggested Sean, "the volume of waterrepresentsyour weight. You add some water each day which is your calorie intake.You make a hole on the bottom which leaks water at a fixed rate which are thecalories you burn from excercise. The water rises at a net rate that depends on inflow and outflow rates. If the outflow is less than inflow, the water will still risebut at a slower rate than without any outflow. To stop gaining weight, the outflowmust match inflow. A crude system dynamics model, but yousee the point."


    "Oh," Melissa paused, giving Sean an odd look, "I never thought of it that way... but it''s obvious, isn''t it. And I thought you were going to say something deep. Hmm...maybeI shouldcontinue working out and cut down my calories a bit."


    Sean shrugged, staring out the window at passing suburbs, unable to stop thinking of Judith fighting for her life in hospital... cordoned off from her family with only the buzz of life support equipment to keep her company.


    "Have you been acquainted with my daughter for long?" Melissa demanded suddenly.


    "Kaitlyn?... not really," Sean shook his head, surprised, "only since this school year... at Judith Fuller''s birthday party. Kaitlyn''s quick thinking saved my life at the Fuller factory. So when she asked me to help maximize her team''sodds of making it to soccer finals, I couldn''t very well refuse."


    A light bulb went off in Sean''s mind. He suddenly understood the real reasonMrs. Lambert had offered him a ride to his impromptu internship. She was concerned his friendship with Kaitlyn might not be as platonic as it seemed and like any good mother had decided to grill him in person. Sean suppressed a snort, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He wanted to reassure the woman that he had no designs on her daughter,but wondered if she might rescind her offer of a rideif her fears were allayed.


    "Randy has beencoding really hard over the weekend," Melissa noted, "He mentioned it was forhis sister''ssoccer game and blamed you forusing up his weekend."


    "Then perhaps he shouldn''t make tall claims on my behalf," Sean grinned, "He''s the one who got me involved, so it''s only fair he share the pain."


    "But what exactly is he doing?" Melissa glanced at Sean curiously. Sean gave her the two-minute version, reliving the weekend¡¯s meeting in his mind...


    #


    ¡°But, whatis it?¡± Susan Kaminsky had to raise her voice above the food court¡¯s background teen-babble. Shefrowned at the paper sketch Sean had unfurled. Dirty styrofoam platesscattered on the cafe table reminded her that Wok stir-fry wasn¡¯t conducive to staying awakeafter Saturday lunch.


    ¡±Yeah, what''s it, bonehead?¡± Phyllis Gibbs stareddubiously at Sean, appending an insult on principle despite being noticablynicer to him of late. She absently swung her Goyard satchelwhich terminated witha satisfying thunk against the side of Randall¡¯s head.


    ¡±Ow,¡± Randall glared, rubbing his skull, ¡°what did you do that for, bi...¡±


    ¡±Stop leering at me, code monkey,¡± Phyllispointed a finger dismissively. Mei Ling rolled her eyes, while Kaitlyn gave her brother an annoyed look.


    Sean grinned sourly. Kaitlyn looked as exhaustedas he felt after their ordeal at Chem Lab last night. His mind still felt like molassesfrom the effects of whatever amnesia drug the Collection Agency had allegedly used on him. The police had questioned him all morning, again, shortly after their release from ER. He¡¯d been tempted to skip this appointment with the varsity soccer captain, but didn¡¯t feel like pissing off Susan. Not to mention disappointing Kaitlyn. Mrs. Lambert had initially refused to let her daughter out of the house, so soon after being discharged from ER. But Kaitlyn had thrown a tantrum and her mom had relented if Kaitlyn was willing to be chaperoned by her brother.


    ¡±Thanks for dragging me here, dude,¡± Randallmutteredto Sean. Sean¡¯s grin widened. Phyllis looked stunning in Sean¡¯s eyes. The raven-haired heiress wasfitted in a textured white peplum dress, no doubt the latest from Chanel. Probably purchased from Upper West Side during weekend shopping in her family helicopter. Her bodyguard/chaffeur hovered nearby looking like Conan the Barbarian in a suit, trying to blend innear a gaggle of teens, sticking out like a sore thumb. Sean realized he''d been staring for several seconds at Phyllis who was impatienty expecting a response.


    "Oh, um... it''s a deep neural net," Sean stammered, tapping the A2-sizesketch before him, "a simplified model ofhuman frontopolar cortex. It''s a region of our brain implicated in making choices."


    "You call that simple?" Susan sounded bemused,examining the highly detailed handdrawn schematic that looked like the world''s biggest shrub.


    "It''s doable, relatively speaking," Sean looked at Randall, "I need you to code this ASAP. Susan has compiled videoclips of every penalty shootout ever scored bySeymour''s varsity kickers,captioned with their names. Make a neuralnet copy for each kicker and train themusing their respective video data. I want each copy to be able to predict where the kicker will send the ball, based on cueslikethe goalie''s position, stance, movement, whatnot."


    "Wait... wait a freaking minute," Susan interrupted, "are you telling me you canguesswhere the penalty kickers are going to send the ball ahead of time? That''s... that''s bullshit, like trying to outguess a coin flip. The goalie makes a split-second decision based on her gut instinct and whatever cues she gets from the kicker''s leg. It''s astretch even for the goalie."


    "It''s a longshot," Sean admitted, "but the kicker''s choice seems random to us because wecan''tread her mind. Heck, it may even feel random to her, if the choice is subconscious. But humans don''t carry a random number generator in their heads, no choice is truly random. Research shows that the penalty kicker''s choice is determined by visual cues that the goalie isn''t aware of.The goalie doesn''t realize she''s standingslightly offcenter of the goal, but the kicker notices and that subconsciously affects her choice. Is the goalie standing still or waving her hands? That affects kicker''s outcome too. But if the frontopolar model can map goalie cues to each kicker''s choices, then we can influenceSeymour''s kickers by making our goalie consciouslychooseher stance."


    "Dude," Randall screamed in anguish, "it''ll take me all weekend to code this, never mind the training time..."


    "Then you better get started," Seannodded unsympathetically, "It''s for your dear sister''s team, after all."


    Kaitlyn pouted, "Do this, Randy, and I won''t tell mom what you were watching on your bedroom desktop..."


    "OK, OK... I''ll do it," Randall muttered hurriedly, "but I needa ton of GPUs to train the deep nets and Greg''s the only one with that kind of hardware. He''ll want rental fees..."


    "''l''ll take care of finances," Phyllis waved contemptuously with the air of someone used to thousand dollar allowances every month, "Money is no object, but don''t tell that to Greg or I''ll break your scrawny neck."


    "About 75% of penalty shootout goals aren''t saved," Sean continued, "that''s three out of four. The four quadrants of the goal are roughly thechoices the kicker has. Leftor Right. High or Low. If Phyllis andone moreCardiff kicker can send the ball down the middle, that''ll keep Seymour''s goalie off balance and ensure we score allof our penalty kicks. But that isn''t much better than the baseline. It may help uswina best-of-five shootout, but I''d rather not just depend on that. One lucky save by Seymour can sendthe game into sudden death."


    "But if our goalie canconsistentlyinfluence where Seymour will kick..." Susanmuttered slowly.


    "...we are pretty much guaranteed to win the penalty shootout," Sean concluded, "And if Seymourgets awarded a free kick froman unlucky foul on our part, then we''re screwed unless our goalie cansave the kick."


    "Winning the match during regulation play would be ideal," Kaitlyn sounded wistful, "but we better take it to a draw at the very least, or all this will be moot."


    "Youcame up with this shit by yourself?" Phyllis sounded impressed despite herself.


    "Mei Lingcompositedthe frontopolar model from neuroscience papers online," Sean blushed, "I... I translated it into a scheme that Randy could code. I cango over the details withyou, Phyllis, if you are interested... just the two of us... I mean, if you have time.."


    Mei Ling rolled her eyes again.


    ¡±Yeah, that¡¯s going to happen, Cook,¡± Phyllis snorted, ¡°you and me.¡±


    ¡±That¡¯s not whatI...¡± Sean¡¯s face flushed. What the heck is wrong with me, his jaw clenched in self-loathing while his stomach fluttered with the all-too-familiar sensation ofbutterflies.


    Susan stared at Sean. She found the boy disconcerting. Not on the surface, but the more she talkedwith him the more she saw the counterintuitive trailshis thoughts blazed, like untrodden paths illuminated in a lightning storm. Where other kids soughtfriendship, popularity orteamspirit; Sean spoke of incentive vectors and unstable equilibriums, as if he could visualizethe vector sum of people''s motivations. And what Susan found unsettling was thatSean wasn''t consciously trying to impress her, yetevery conversation was subtly mind-altering, like a scrubber stripping away unexamined assumptions. Except when hefaceda ''hot'' girl - and it was hilariously obvious that Sean consideredPhyllis ''hot'' - it was like a switch being thrown turning Sean into a melting puddle of cringy awkwardness. Susan''s lips quirked, as she wondered how much of Sean''s cooperation was from trying toimpress Phyllis versus his obligation to Kaitlyn whom he barely noticed despite the sophomorehanging around him like a devoted puppy.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°...so many applicationsif the cortex modelactually works,¡± Mei Ling jumped in to rescue Sean from humiliation.


    ¡±Exactly,¡± Sean brightened, with a grateful look at Mei Ling, ¡°dating apps for instance. A guy wantsto saythe right thing to impress a woman? The cortex model will self-calibrate after observing the female subject...¡±


    Sean trailed off as the atmosphere around the table grew chilly and he noticed Randall signalling him frantically.


    ¡±What did you say?¡± Mei Ling, Phyllis and Susan turnedin unison, their voices icy. Kaitlyn justlooked disappointed.


    ¡±Um... did you know Forever 21 is having a sale?¡± Sean grinned weakly.


    ¡°If you everpublishan app thataccurately models a woman¡¯s feelings,¡± Phyllis growled, ¡°l will hunt you down and break your legs.¡±


    #


    Kaitlyn''s mom dropped Sean off at the address Mrs. Thornton had provided. A two-storey concrete core encased in glass, housedthe Zero Sum Institute. Seanmade his waypastsculpted evergreen shrubsto glass doors stencilled insilverfont with the Greek Sigma and the numeral 0. The reception desk was manned by a bored looking manwith a buzzcut and ex-military written all over him. His eyes seemed todrill into Sean as he scrutinized the ID presented and then nodded toward the elevator. Sean stepped out into a fern-infested foyer surrounded by half-a-dozen glass-fronted conference rooms. Julia Thornton was in one of those addressing a gaggle of people. She spotted Sean and waved him over.


    "You''re late, Sean," Julia gestured at the dozen or so people around the table, "Mr. Cook will be interning with us this week. He''s a junior at Cardiff High in Portsmouth."


    Thefaces around the tableglanced at Sean with disinterest. Except for Mr. Turner who gavehim a wry smile that looked creepy with bug-eye glasses. Sean blinked in surprise and made his way to an empty seat beside his physics teacher. There was a pretty young woman seated two seats down from Turner and Sean had to make a conscious effort not to stare at her.


    "You look surprised to see me, Sean," Turner whispered, raising an eyebrow, "I did mention that I moonlighted for Zero Sum."


    "Yeah, but it''s a weekday," Sean whispered back, "Shouldn''t you been in class or something... sir?"


    "I could say the same for you," Turner chuckled, holding up a hand, "just kidding, I heard about your... mishap. It''s my day off actually."


    "...withthree teams deployed, we''re short-handed, forcing us to prioritize," Julia pointed to a world map on the wall display on whichcolored lights blinked seemly at random, "Conflict hotspots have been ranked by profit potential..."


    Blue and green lights faded, leaving only the reds. Julia frowned at Sean''s raised hand, "Yes, Sean?"


    "How exactly is stopping conflicts profitable for us... you?" Seanblurted.


    "Going straight for the money, Mr. Cook?" Julia barked a laugh, followed by titters around the table, "There are many ways to profit from a credible track record. Here''s one, how much would Fuller Dynamics pay us not to stop a war?"


    "But... " Sean stared at Julia appalled, "that''s war-profiteering. The humanitarian question..."


    "Did I ever claim to be a humanitarian, Mr. Cook?" Julia snapped, "People have been slaughtering each other for ages. It benefits us to interfere sometimes, and sometimes not. If you''re serious about making a difference, I suggest you keep a lid onyour scruples."


    There was no laughter around the table this time. Seanswallowed his disgust, glancing at Turner for support, but the physics teacher merely looked uncomfortable.


    "Firsttopic on the agenda is South Caucasus Republic," Julia clicked a remote and the map zoomed in on a spotbetween the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, "Team Violet will present their analysis. Go ahead, Dawn."


    The young woman presumably named Dawn, whohad caught Sean''sfancy earlier, smiled and nodded. She leaned forward totake the remote, pushing away strands of hair from her face, her fingers brushing golden locks that flaredintoa gleaming bell around her shoulders. A sharp slender nose was the axis of symmetry for hertwinkling blue eyes. But it was the mouth that sold Sean. Wide and warm, they dimpled her cheeks in a friendly grin ever so often. Her voicedripped likemetaphorical honeyinto Sean''s ears.


    "...the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict was the catalyst that fractured the Caucasus into warring states over the past two decades," Dawnbegan clicking through talking points, "...horrendous treatment of ethnic minorities by all countries in the region... significant refugeemigration both intoand out of South Caucasus Republic. Weexpect an imminentoutbreak of warbetween SCRanda coalition of its neighbours... whichcan only magnify the refugee crisis."


    A flicker of sadness passed over Dawn''s professional demeanor.


    "Major stake holders?" Julia barked.


    "The usual suspects," Dawn continued, "the Russians obviously. Unusally though, they aren''t taking sides. All the players used to be part of the former Soviet Union and the Russians have an interest in a stableCaucasus. Theyhave agreed not tointerfere ifwe act in good faith. The US State Department has unofficially greenlighted the mission, though officially they''ll deny involvement. Armenia and Azerbaijan risk losing their own ceasefire if war breaks out in the SCR. And finally GORGON."


    Sean felt a stab of disquiet as an angry red circleappeared overlaid over Eastern Europe. Red and black linesgrew radiating from the Caspian Sea all the way into Greece and Turkey.


    "We theorize that GORGON has a stake in escalating conflict," Dawn hesitated, "to interrupt oil and natural gas linesfeeding the US Army offensive in the Balkans. But... the Caucasus is well beyond their sphere of influence and it''s not obvious whatGORGON can do. We''ve shared our concerns with the SCR leadership who assure us that security has been beefed up."


    You better believe GORGON can ruin your day, Sean thoughtrubbing his cast. It was almost time for thebloody thing to come off. It wouldn''t be soon enough.


    "It''ll have to do," Julia nodded, "Mechanism of intervention?"


    "Information asymmetry regarding SCR military capabilities," Dawn clickedbriskly on the remote, "They are a new untested nation much like its rivals. And all players haveplenty ofcheap cannon fodder."


    "Proposed action?" Julia lookedimpatient.


    "A weapon demonstration by the SCR," Dawn finished dramatically, as a tiny regionflashed within the map, "Maly-Kavkaz Valley. Artillery shelling and probing infantry attacks occur at predictable times every week, such that a decisive technology demonstration should..."


    "Surely that''s not effective?" frowned an earnest bespectaled young man in a plaid shirt, "when they''re already skirmishing..."


    "Unless its a secret weapon the other side cannot obtain?" Sean muttered, "something that demonstrably increases the cost ofinvading the SCR. After all, if the cost of war is relatively low as measured inmilitary lives and SCR militarycapabilityis uncertain, then its actually rational for its neighbours to attack it instead of negotiating. They gain much by sacrificing a few soldiers."


    Faces glanced at Sean in surprise.


    "That''s correct," Dawn looked startled, noticing Sean more carefully this time, "Team Violet has negotiated ashipment of demo units that should reach onsite... the day after tomorrow actually."


    "I''m quite aware of the intricacies of game theory," the young man''s voice was frosty, "but there are more cost effective ways to intervene. War is economics after all."


    "Dude''s got a point," Sean shrugged.


    "Is that so, Mr. Cook?" Julia raised a brow testily, ¡°How would you go about it?¡±


    ¡°Um...¡± Sean considered the questionwarily, ¡°Use aid organisations to dumpfree foodintothe region... using the refugee crisis as a pretext maybe?¡±


    Some faces around the table heldconfusion now. The young man considered Sean thoughtfully with a faintly unpleasant smile. Dawn''slovely face spasmed with shock, quickly suppressed. These two are no fools, Sean noted.


    "Ididn''tthink you were stupid, Sean," Julia spat sarcasm, "How does feeding refugees avert war? Are you hoping national leaders suddenlyget that we all belong to one big human family?"


    "War is economics," Sean repeatedly softly, "Dumping free food will bankrupt local farms, destroying the region''s agricultural base. The cost of war goes upmany fold. Armies march on their stomachs after all. They''ll never know what hit them, because mostleaders don''tforesee unintended consequences. When systemsare highly coupled, we can never do just one thing."


    The sudden silence was broken by Julia''s incredulous giggle, "How insidiously ruthless, Mr. Cook. And Ithought you were naive. But I''m afraid that approach, elegant as it is, will take too long in this case."


    "And there''s a twistI didn''t mention," Dawn piped up, "Thedemo weapon in question is being supplied by Gibbs Consortium whois quite eager to break into the Eurasian arms market."


    No doubt Gibbs is paying Zero Sum a hefty commission for facilitating this, Sean belatedly realized, even if Dawn left it unsaid. Sean shook his head ruefully,I''ve no clue about the wheelings and dealings going on behind the scenes. Perhaps his chagrin showed because Dawn gaveSean a brilliant smile that triggered his stomach butterflies. She really was quite attractive, he thought transfixed. She wore a snug sleeveless sweater top that nicely accentuated her mesmerizing curves...


    "...aftera shortbreak ...Sean ...Sean?" Julia sounded faintly amused, "I asked you whether you had a chance to download and signourconsent form. Perhaps you''llcare to answer me, once you''re doneogling Dawn over there?"


    Sean''s gaze snapped to Julia, his face turning a bright red, followed by chuckles around the table.


    "I''ll let our weapons consultant go over the technical aspects after the break," Dawn looked slightly embarrased at Sean''s faux pas as she slid the remote over to Turner. Sean felt a flicker of confusion despite his burning face. When did his physics teacher become a weapons consultant? Turner grinned at Sean and got up to join the others filing out of the room. Sean was almost the last out the door, when Julia''s voice stopped him.


    "Just a moment, Sean," Julia seemed to be enjoying his discomfiture, "I want to have a few words in private."


    Sean sighed, sinking back into his chair.


    "Do you want to be the creepy guy who leers at his female co-workers?" Julia looked at him quizzically, "I can''t have my male employees distracted from their best effort just becausetheycan''t keep their eyes off a pretty girl. Understood?"


    "Easy for you say," spat Sean bitterly, "You know nothing about being male."


    "Tell me then," Julia leaned forward with a sneer, "What''s it like being male?"


    "It''s... distracting... demeaning," Sean took a deep breath and shuddered, "like having a magnetstitchedinto my brain, pullingmy gaze tothe nearestpretty face... what¡¯sthe point of having a brainif I spendall my time thinking of girls... what''s the use of reason if I can lose it so easily by looking at a beautifulwoman..."


    Sean stopped feeling faintly ridiculous. He''d never voiced aloud the frustration accumulated over years of adolescence. It felt petty towhineabout something that practically every boy went through and learnt to deal with eventually. Talking to hisdad might have helped, but his dad wasn''t around much. And his momwould have smiledsympatheticallyif she ever found the time to stop and chat with her son, but she wouldn''t understand, not really.


    "My, what a uniquely tragic experience, Sean," Julia leaned back andcackled heartily, "having to lookat pretty girls all the time."


    "You''re not helping," Sean scowled.


    "Sorry, I shouldn''t have laughed," Julia''s mirth trailed off, "But jokes aside, I expect my field personnel to be on top of their game, even interns. I can¡¯t have you distracted by a pretty face. Hmmm... mighthave just the thing for you."


    "Uh?" Sean blinked.


    "Something that bypasses your... baseimpulses," Julia drummed fingers on the table thoughtfully.


    "Wh.. what do you mean?" Sean swallowednervously.


    "Oh, nothing permanent, young man," Julia grinned and got up, "Stay here."


    Juliareturned some minutes later, carrying a flat leatherbound case embossed with an unfamiliar logo. She sliddown back in her chair, sliding the case over to Sean who opened it. A flatmetallic cuboid sized like a portable harddrive, stenciled ¡®ScupltSight PreProcessor v2.1¡¯, laysnugly withincustom contouredfoam along with charging accessories. A smaller transparent casinghelda pair of tiny lenses that scintillated with metallic huesas Sean held it to the light.


    ¡±Contact lenses with embedded microcircuitry,¡± Julia waved, ¡°a marvel of optical engineering.¡±


    ¡±What¡¯s it for?¡± Sean¡¯s confusion showed.


    ¡±AlteredRealitypiped directly onto theeyes,¡± Julia explained, ¡°with theprocessor core wirelessly mediating what the wearer sees. Any imaginable criteria can be specified. Don¡¯t like the crack on your window pane? SculptSight can airbrush it awayin realtime. Want to look like Brad Pitt in the mirror? SculptSight can createthat illusion for you. Your ''significant other'' isn''t sufficiently goodlooking? No problem, he or she can look like your favorite movie star through SculptSight.¡±


    ¡±Where did you get this?¡± Sean stared, ¡°and what¡¯s it got to do with me?¡±


    "Not long ago I fundeda tech startup thatlaterwent bust," Julia sounded wistful, "but I never lost faith in its potential. As for its relevance to you... can''t you guess? I just told you, SculptSight canchangehow people look to the wearer."


    "I canmakeSculptSightrender pretty girls into... not so pretty ones," Sean whispered.


    "Beauty is an illusion," Julia''s smiletwistedinto a rictus, "just as SculptSight can creat illusions it can also erase them."


    Could it be that simple?Seanclamped downa flare of hope. Like most people, Sean existed in uneasytruce with his own genes whoseinterests did not always coincide with his own. His genes wanted only one thing, to persist and replicate through the eons, and they had shaped hismind to that end. The allure of the opposite gender was an incentive vector that dominated his waking moments, which neither his superpowernor his newfound knowledge could switch off. More than anything, Sean feared his own weaknesses... his grandiose plans derailed because he couldn''t help obssessing over some ''hot'' girl. More and more often, he found himself in idle daydreams featuring one of the girls in school. The gossip insinuating that he''d infiltrated the Fuller Mansion to pursue Judith had stung, in part because there''d been a grain of truth to it. He''d seenfellow students fall into that trap, pining for someone they couldn''t have,pissing away their potential... No. If he couldn''t defeat his genes, he needed toshut outtheir siren song until his dreams were achieved.


    "Why are you doing this for me?" Sean looked at Julia.


    "As I mentioned, Idon''t like my employeesgettingdistracted," Julia got up, indicating the meeting was over, "but more than that, I wish to reshape the most promising students I can find into something better...something without human frailty. SculptSight is a smalltoken of what ZeroSum can do for you, if you prove useful."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 31

    After the coffee break Sean tagged behindMr. Turner, as Team Violetfiled into the uncomfortably crowded elevator. They were joined by a representative from the Gibbs Consortium, who Julia introduced only as Bryson. The man was clearly ex-military, with a narrow weatherbeaten face and eyes of pale grey that seemed devoid of life. A small goatee and close-cropped haircomplementedthe no-nonsense impression.Darkmilitary-style jacket stitched with the Gibbs logo. He was clearly not in marketingand didn''t shake hands with anyone.


    Just before the doors closed,Sean noticedpithycorporateslogansposted on banners: ¡¯Peacemaking for Profit since 2002¡¯. Julia''s elbow jabbed Sean in the ribs, as she waved her access card before a scanner andpunchedthe basement-level button. The elevator disgorged them into a small tomb-like concrete room. A featureless steel door sunkinto the concrete barredthe way. Sean felt asense of deja vulike he was back in the Fullers'' bunker. Ceiling camerastracked them fromwithin plexiglass hemispheres from allfour corners.The word ARMORY was stencilled on the door in large blackfont on yellow paint, along with a notice picturinga grinning death¡¯s head:


    UNAUTHORIZED ENTRYWILL VENT INCAPACITATINGAGENT


    LETHAL DOSE POSSIBLE


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the system is fool-proofed against false alarms,¡± Turner reassured Seanas he punched into a hooded keypad. Sean felt a sudden breeze against his back as the door slid open.


    The concrete-lined bunkerbeyond was cavernous and brightly lit withfluorescentlights. Every square feet of wall space displayed a weapon of some sort. Automatic rifles, semi-automatics, rocket propelled grenades and even SAM launchers. Every handheld firearm in service around the globe had its place alongside more exotic stuff. EM pulse weapons.Landmines wrapped in neural nets todiscriminate combatants from civilians. Sean gazed enthralled. He came to a walk-in wall safe, the massive hinged door securely shut and painted with the symbolof a brain within a black hazard triangle. The bespectacled young man from the meeting earlier - who introduced himself as Zack - toldSean the safecontainedmemetic weapons in the form of information hazards,patterns deadly enough totriggerneurological circuits that were a natural part of the human psyche. Sean stared suspiciously at Zack''s deadpan facewondering ifhe was being taken for a ride. He knew that the human mind was infested with doomsday mechanismsthat went by names like murderous revenge, intense grief or berserk rage. Emotions that seemed irrational because they were detrimental to those in its grip, but honed bynatureprecisely because they were uncontrollable deterrents. Who would dare mess with someone with a penchant for violent revenge. But totrigger such impulsesusing the printed page, something like a memetic analog to erotic fiction, was that even possible? Sean decided he didn''t want to know.


    Soon Sean found himself alone andsaw the group had gathered near a wall around a large metallic statue. He strolled over to join them as Turner was finishing his spiel.


    ¡±...unit shipped to South Caucasus Republic is an exact duplicate,¡±Turner gestured to the grinning skeletal humanoid that loomed half again as tall behind him, ¡°along with a beltofsmart ammunition whichDawn predicts will tip the balance in favor of a negotiated peace. The autocannon alone is adequate to neutralize infantry...¡±


    Another land-drone, Seanrealized uneasilyas he neared the artifact, andthis one looked like a scaled-up Terminator. Telescopelenses for eyes. An exhaust pipe sticking up behind its right shoulder. Gaps between exposed ribs appeared to be breathing or cooling vents. Steel jackboots that could crush bone. The entire right arm below the elbow was a rotary auto-cannon, its multi-barrel gleaming black under overheadlights, trailing a bulky ammunition belt overits othershoulder. The left arm was some sort of launcher tube with three squat missiles strapped to a loading mechanism near the elbow. How had they transported this thing down here? Sean looked around and spotted a portcullis at the very end of the cavernous space. The solid steel was painted in yellow and black zebrastripes and wide enough for two semi-trucks abreast. A shipping and receiving gate probably leadingto the street above.


    "Why use armor-penetrating rounds on infantry?" Sean peered at the multi-barrel, "That''s a fifty caliber Gattling, for goodness sake. Overkill, isn''t it?"


    "Good question," Turner seemed pleased, "The caliber is actually constrained by the chipfor the guidance system. Can''t go any smaller."


    "Guidance system?" Sean stared blankly at his physics instructor,


    "Self-guided bullets," Turner touched the ammunition belt reverently, "the latest breakthrough from Gibbs in intelligent combat. Each bullet deployesaerodynamic control surfaces in flight to keep it on track to assigned target. A pinhole camerascans forhuman silhouettes on the battlefield."


    Sean gaped, "The bullets choose their own targets?"


    "Actually," Turner pointed up to thebrushed stainless steelskull, "the realtime computing cluster within the Doomtrooper assigns targets. Every tenth bullet is a local network node sending battlefield intel back to the cluster which is capable ofsimultaneously guidingten thousandbullets to their targets. A rain of precision death. Can you imaginethe effecton an enemy infantry battallion?"


    A single burst from that autocannon would be devastating, Sean swallowed and nodded, "What about friendly fire?"


    "That''s a drawback," Turner admitted, "the Doomtrooper is not designed to be used alongsideallied armies. Whoever is piloting the thing better make sure there are no friendlies in the gun''s HUD."


    "Piloting?" Sean frowned, "It''s not autonomous?"


    "No," Turner shook his head, "Manual operation only via remote link. Makes it a lot cheaper than one of Fuller''s autonomous drones. The hybrid diesel powertrain is also cheaper thanfancy fuel cells. The Gibbs Consortium hopes towhittle away the stranglehold Fuller has on thekiller drone market."


    Sean relaxed a bit on hearing the drone wasn''t going to suddenly run amok. But Turner''s comment remindedhim what Elliot had said regarding the cutthroat competition that Fuller faced. Would the Gibbs family really use one of their own kids to make an attempt on Judith''s life? He thought of Phyllis and her brother Reginald. They were snobs of course, that came with the territory. But Sean couldn''t believe either of them were capable of harming Judith.


    "Which is where you come in, Sean," Julia interrupted, pointing to an LCD display on one wall hooked up to a high-end gaming rig, "you''ll be monitoring the situation through the Doomtrooper''ssatellite link, while Dawn and Bryson are on site."


    "You want me to pilot the thing?" Sean felt asurge of apprehension, "I am not getting involved in someone else''s war."


    Dawnpulled outa set of VR goggles trailing a thick cable to the gaming rig and acordless joystick. Bryson was setting up what looked like a "deathray"emitter on tripod.


    "Just observethrough theremote goggles, Sean, that''s all you need to do, "Turner clarified, "Bryson will be piloting the Doomtrooper onsiteusingthe portable maser console. Technically you are the backup pilot in case of an emergency. There''s a tutorial DVD from Gibbs that''ll get you up to speed. Up for it?"


    Sean nodded slowly, excitement winning over, "Why me? Why not use someone... better trained?"


    "We don''t have anyone else ready," Julia walked around the Doomtrooper unit, giving it an experimental kick, "This bucket of boltsonly arrived yesterday. The backup pilot is just a precaution in case the drone signal is jammed, but there''s zero chance of that happening.Besides you are a teenager,you probably have faster reflexes than anyone in this building."


    "Zero chance of jamming?" Sean''s laugh was bitter, thinking of the Cereborg drone which also had been declaredtamper-proof. Fat lot of good that did for him.


    "That''s correct," Turner nodded seriously, "line of sight controlwith encrypted maser tightbeam. The are only two channels to the Doomtrooper, one through the console that Bryson willdemostrateto SCR army command, the other through a specialized communications satellite we are manouvering over the South Caucasus for you to monitor."


    "What about my broken arm?" Sean frowned.


    "There''s only one joystick," Dawn chipped in, "Isn''t that right, Bryson?"


    Bryson nodded curtly, his glance conveying contempt despite the lack of expression. There''s was something in his stance, atautness that reminded Sean of Elliot.


    Sean walked closer to the Doomtrooper to inspect the launcher. There was somethingunwieldly about the trio of projectiles strapped around it.Each cruise missile was two feet long with jet intakes and razor sharp fins. They were painted military green withSADM stencilled in white.


    Sean froze, "You got to be shitting me."Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Special Atomic Demolition Munition," Turner smiled, "a.k.a suitcase nukes. The Doomtrooper ismeant to singlehandedly wage tactical nuclear warfare."


    "You''re sellingthat to an unstable regime?" Sean paled, "Are you fucking insane... sir. How the heck do you get itpast ITAR regulations?"


    "We''re not actually offering SADM missiles to the South Caucasus Republic, only the smart cannon," Turner exchanged a glance with Julia, "but the tactical nuke platformis... critical to the deal."


    "Are you saying Russia iscool with youpeddling nuclear platforms in their backyard?" Sean sounded incredulous.


    "What I''m about to tell you is secret," Turnerstared intently at Sean, "It''s well known thatboth the United States and the Soviet Union developed man-portable nukes during the Cold War. Unfortunately some of the old stockpilesare scatteredacross parts of the former Soviet Union, including theSouth Caucasus Republic which stillhas a handful of these tactical nukes.Each of theseis 1 kiloton yield max, big enough to take out a city block but hardly earth-shattering. The guidance system on these relics is encrpted, which the SCR high command is desperate tohave the keys for. The Russians are concerned that SCR will simply sell them on the black market for cash. Not something you want an extremist group to hotwire. From Russia''s point of view, it''s safer for these warheads to beused upby SCR in a local pissing contest. The computing cluster on the Doomtrooper can unlock the old Soviet encryption."


    "Oh," Sean looked dazed, "why can''t the Russianssupply the encryption keys to SCR themselves?"


    "Regional politics," Turnerbarked a laugh, "they can''t be seen playing favorites among their former republics."


    Sean sighed, international politics was giving him a headache.


    "Use the next couple of days learning the Doomtrooper''s interface, Sean," Julia ordered, "Thedemo is scheduledFridaymorning, EST.Is your itinery confirmed, Dawn?"


    "South Caucasus Republic via Istanbul," Dawn took a deep breath,her captivatingsmile missing.


    #


    Sean''s phone beeped a text receipt as they emerged back to ground level. It was from Elliot.


    Master Sean,


    Thought I''d let you know. Miss Judith''sdoctorsworked through the night to concoct a new treatment regimen. Based in part on yourinsight regarding the likely viral pathway. I am pleased to report that Miss Judith''s condition is now stable, though she isn''t out of the woods yet.But, they assure me, her survival is no longer in question.


    P.S: the doctors needed a little persuasion before they took your speculationseriously.


    The tensionexited Sean like air out of a ballon. His legsfeltlike jelly as hesank into the nearest chair, face in his hands. He hadn''t realized how much the news of Judith''s illnesshad been weighing on him since yesterday. His sleeplast night had been troubled,frequently tormented with images of her guileless smile.His anguish relaxed its icy grip and with it hisanger- old and new - came roaring back. Burning hatred for her perpetrator, whoever that might be. Simmering fury againsther brother. Resentment against her parents. It was odd how much Sean''sconsideration for Judith contrasted with his dislike for her family. Well, they could all jump in a lake, he scowled. Except Judith ofcourse (and Prisicilla, her grandma was a good sport too). Once again Sean promised himself he''d find a way to take down that smug prickJason...


    "She certainly knows how to pick ''em," Zack carriedabundle of folders, "eh, Seth?¡±


    ¡±It¡¯s Sean,¡± Sean got up slowly, ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Zack''s smile was a permanent sneer, ¡°Come on, let¡®s get you settled into the intern desk.¡±


    They were on the working levelbelow the upper floor conference rooms. Zack led Sean along a gently curving corridor that divided the adminstrativesection from the analysts. Glass-insetdoors of polished wood interrupted the concrete wall on the left. Julia''s name was on one of the doors. Her sunlit glass-fronted office was locatedbeyond the concrete inner structure, along withofficesfor marketing andaccounting bigwigs. Desk jockeys were located within themain structure honeycombed withfeatureless cubicles. Sean wondered darkly if the reinforced corewas meant as an added layer of protection for the officesoutside. Perhaps some of the nastier munitions in the Armory below were lesssecurethan ideal. The intern deskwas the smallest and dingiest of all the soulless cubicles they''d passed.


    ¡°I was referring to the Titanium Bitch,¡± Zack lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper, ¡°I think she''s on your school board just so she can recruitimpressionable youngsters to brainwash. Just like the girl whojoinedup last year.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Sean¡¯s attention wandered away from Zack, as he spotted Dawnheading their way.


    "The other student from your school," Zack explained, "the one who internshere on weekends."


    "Wait," Sean turned back to Zack, "there''s someone else from Cardiff High interning here?"


    "Sort of," Zack nodded, "Harmony, I think her name is... no wait, is it Cassidy... Tiffany, that''s right. Her name is Tiffany."


    "Tiffany?" Sean stared. No, it couldn''t be. What would one of Jason''scoterie be doing here?How many Tiffanys did Cardiff have, anyway?


    "Part-timeco-op," Zack clarified, "She gets paid." Unlike you, the sub-text was clear, even as Sean tried to make sense of it.


    "There you are," Dawn walked up to Sean,her slight smile turning intoa grimace when shesaw Zack, "I see you found your desk."


    "Hey Dawn," Zack drawled, "I know Seamus here is your intern and all..."


    "It''s Sean," Seanmuttered with annoyance.


    "...but I was wondering if I could use him totake a crackatmy backlog," Zack dumped the pack of folders on the desk, "...cases that Julia has already reviewed. There¡¯s a payoff matrix for each case that needs to be summarized into an abstract, so Julia can signoff on it. I know it''s undergrad level, but Simon here seemssmart enough..."


    "It''s Sean," snapped Sean.


    "Actually," Dawn interrupted, "I was going to get him started on mycase backlog... so he isn''t available, sorry."


    "Alrighty then," Zack grinned insolently, "I''llinform Julia to expect yourportfolioon her table before she can expect mine. It''s only fair, you get all the interns."


    "Dammit, I walked right into that one," Dawn scowled at Zack''s retreating back, "Do you mind if Igive you work, in case Julia asks?"


    ¡°Sure thing, Dawn,¡± Sean gave a demented grin, "say, does someone called Tiffany work here as a co-op? Tiffany Brooks?"


    "That''s right, another wiz-kidfrom Cardiff High," Dawn''s compliment was as genuine as her smile, "She only works weekends, because of school. She''s really bright. Oh, do you go to the same class with her?" Dawn trailed off looking slightly confused, perhaps wondering why Sean didn''t have school.


    "But... but she''s just a cheerleader!" Sean blurted, unable to reconcile Tiffany''s image with Dawn''s description.


    "Not sure I get yourpoint?" Dawn''s smile faltered.


    "Nothing... never mind," Sean muttered hastily, "by the way, why do you need torisk yourselfin the field? If that Bryson guy is conducting the demo, can''t you manage things remotely?¡±


    "Julia believes strongly in what she calls skin-in-the-game," Dawn chewed her lip, "It''s one thing to make policy analysis from the safety of a desk, but actually experiencing the situation in person gives us a whole new perspective.¡±


    Sean looked thoughful, ¡°What are your... long-term plans, if I may ask? "


    ¡°Hoping to go into foreignpolicyand International Security, with my experience here,¡± Dawn smiled dazzlingly again, making Sean¡¯s heart flutter, ¡°which reminds me... let me get you all my casefiles that need an abstract.Don¡¯t worry if you don¡¯t make any progress, justput themonmy deskbefore you leave.¡±


    Sean¡¯s''feel good'' neurotransmitterlevels abated with Dawn¡¯s departure and he kicked himself for his sillycrush. Dawn wasa few years older and most certainlysaw him as a clueless noob.He languidly opened the first folder and touched the document within, cascading its contents into his mind.Next...


    He yawned feeling sleepy and bored. The Doomtroopertraining software still hadn''t finished installing on the desktop, and he''d reviewedDawn''s entirecaseload in his mind. Sean had spottedfaulty assumptions which - to his newfound intellect - gleamedlikediamonds in thesand. There was onescenarioinvolving a sizeable contract for Fuller Dynamics as part of the ¡®optimal move¡¯. Interesting. Sean¡¯s phone beeped a text receipt a second time that morning.Sean stared uncomprehending for a second, beforehurriedly texting back .


    Tiffany: 0Sum''s noob intern? Don''t trash my desk. Or won''t save ur sorry ass again.


    Sean: Tiff? is that u? I owe u 1... make it 2.


    Tiffany: yes u do.


    Sean: BTW, what r u doing @ 0Sum?


    Tiffany: Research, duh.Wanna see?


    Sean: u bet.


    Tiffany: OuterLab #7. DON''TTOUCHANYTHING. Keys in botton draw.


    Sean: on my way


    #


    Sean stopped bemused inside the room marked Outer Lab 7, brightly lit through the glass wall by the late afternoon sun. There were notes and diagrams scattered on desks around the room. The center of the room was taken up by a bewildering spagehettimix of transparent tubes, bottles and pipettescrammed inside awood frame the size of a refrigerator. Water dripped through metered stopcocks and pooled within calibrated bulbs. Water wheelsspun analog flow gauges. Sunlight diffracted tiny rainbows through many captive droplets. It was oddly peaceful staring at the contraption, like something from a lab in 1920s. His phone dinged.


    Tiffany: well?


    Sean: It''s dazzling.


    Tiffany: what do u think it is, genius?


    Sean: Water Integrator. Differential equation solver.


    Tiffany: party pooper,how did u know?


    Sean: what does Julia want it for?


    Tiffany: bootstrap society without electricity.if it gets nuked back to stone age.


    It was an old concept. There were far more efficient ways to crunch differential equations than digital computers. The simplest was to use a calibrated bucket to add up the rate at which water flowed through a hose. The rate could be any time-varying function and the volume collected in the bucket was the integrated solution to that function. One couldlink up any number of differential equationsto model any system. It was massively parallelwithoutdigitalconstraints simplyby harnessing physics itself. Sean imagined a medieval-level human settlement, armed with such physical computers. How fast could they rise again withsucha cognitive assist?Managefish stocks with predator-prey equations and avoid starvation? Precisely compute trebuchet artillery trajectories and crush their rivals?


    He walked around the wood and glass structure, savoring the compactness of the design which was truly inspired. He could see it was meant to be modular, to allow it to connect to other such cuboids. How far could one go with this? Neural nets? Was it possible to have AIwithout electricity and let themachine bootstrap society? Had Tiffany really built this? Sean sat down dazed. It waspure genius. What was a girl like that doing with Jason? He remembered Kaitlyn''s admonition against judgingpeople one-dimensionally. Sean hadalways been intimidated by Tiffany''s pretty face, but he''d assumed the blond cheerleaderwas "dumb". It dawned on him that he often ran into Tiffany in his advanced placementclasses. She was most certainly not "dumb" and at least as smart as he was if thedevice before him was anything to go by. And she didn''t have the benefit of cheating with a superpower like he did. Sean feltchastenedas he textedback.


    Sean: can see 1 or 2 ways tomake it better.


    Tiffany: Prove it, asshole.


    Sean: is that a date?


    Tiffany:In your dreams, punk. time & place TBD. Don''t get fresh with me.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 32

    Sean brought hisattention back to the monitor once again, frowning at thehalf-finished abstract he''d been typing up for Dawn. Filing reports wasn''t much fun. In fact, it sucked, which only strengthened his resolve never to work for a corporation. Is this what his parents did at work all day? No wonder they were at each other''s throats. Julia could go recruit her newoffice minions somewhere else, for all hecared. So long as she proved useful to Sean''s long term plans. It was nearly time to head home anyway. Mrs. Lambert - his ride - had texted promising not to forget him. He stepped out of his cubicle to stretch and nearly ran into Julia Thornton.


    "Urk," Sean stumbled back, trying not to knock down the CEO on his first day.


    "Graceful as ever, Sean," Juliaseemed amused but distracted, "Zack tells me you have Team Violet''sanalysis reports? Dawn has left for the airport and there''sone case I need finalized today."


    "Um... which one, Mrs. Thornton?" Seangestured at the folders strewn across his desk.


    "The African theatre. Republic of Rqombia, formerly known bythe mouthful British South West African Protectorate" Julia''s hand hovered like a vulture''s claw,landing on the folder like it was an especially juicy carcass, "Time to milk this baby."


    Seanwinced attheweirdmetaphor, "That one doesn''t have a summary yet."


    "A payoff matrix will do," Julia pulled out a printed sheet and held it to the light briefly, "yes... I remember this one."


    "Cereborg drones to be deployed at Rqombia''s southern border," Sean observed.


    "You''ve read it already? I didn''t realize you were that bored," Julia paused, "One and half billion dollar price tag.Per year. Like Christmascame early for Fuller Dynamics. But yes, that''s the cheap option tokeep Rqombia in check."


    "But not the cheapest," Sean muttered.


    "Are you implying the analysis is wrong?" Julia gave him a hard stare.


    "No, not at all, Mrs. Thornton," Sean shook his head, "the game theory is flawless."


    "But?" Julia gestured.


    "It''s just the way the problem is framed," Sean''s gaze grew distant, "the payoff matrixshows the cheapest way to dissuade Rqombia from a land grab. But it doesn''t ask whyRqombia wants togo to war."


    "Rqombia has always been at war since its independence," Julia waved dismissively, "Its the old story of colonial rulers ignoring tribal allegiances when drawing up borders. Blood feuds run deep in that part of the world."


    "Rqombia''s democraticcoalitionwas recently overthrown by military coup," Sean tappeda footnote, "but the payoff matrix hasn''t been updated to account for that."


    "I''m not surehow that helps," Julia frowned.


    "The payoff matrix shows that Zero Sumnegotiated withRqombia''sformer government on behalf of our client," Sean tapped the report again, "Unfortunately, offer of foreign aid in exchange forpeace was turned down."


    "They wantedtwo billion dollars a year," Julia barked, "can you believe it? Cheaper to send in Fuller''s drones."


    "Why not make a cheaper offer toMarshal Dingane?" Sean suggested, "He might be moreaccomodating than the former regime."


    "Are you crazy?" Julia exclaimed,"Marshal Dingane is abrutal militarydictator. He''s even more belligerent about war."


    "Perhaps," Sean shrugged, "but his goals for waging war will be different."


    "You can''t possibly know that," Julia stared.


    "I''ve been thinking of human incentives lately," Sean explained, "about what makes people tick. History makes a lot more sense once Iunderstood that the biggest incentive for any leader is to stay in power. Since no leader can rule alone, he needs a critical mass ofsupporters toputhim in power and carry out his bidding. Call them the selectorate. I see it as the fundamental rule of any human regime, democracy or tyranny. Only the size of theselectorate varies."


    Seenthrough the lens of incentive vectors all nobleattributions faded from history. Selfish incentives were the sincerest, from the scale of school soccer tothe scale of nations.


    "An interesting perspective, Sean," Julia nodded slowly, "but what''s that got to do with anything?"


    "I used towonder why so many dictators are corrupt," Sean smiled grimly, "And why the most resource-rich dictatorships tend to be the most oppresive."


    "Most people would say it''s because power corrupts," Julia smiled back.


    "Perhaps," Sean shook his head, "but there''s a simpler explanation: that''s the stable equilibrium. The selectorate needs to be paid to follow orders. And the money has to come from somewhere. Dictators with access to natural resources can simply paya small elite selectorate to keep the masses in line. A democracy on the other hand has a large enough selectorate that it is forced to atleast pay lip service to appease the masses. Elected leaders must claim a public benefit fordecaringwar and their military objectives tend to be much bigger. Dictatorsneed only grab enough wealth tokeep their army and police chiefs happy. What''s Marshall Dingane''s most likely military objective?"


    "Selinda Gold Mine," Julia sounded oddly subdued, "with an annual profit of just under one billion dollars."


    "There you go," Sean grinned, "if our client makes a matching offer of foreign aid, there''s no longer an incentive for Marshal Dingane to bother going to war. And that''s cheaper than Fuller''s annual price tag."


    Julia stood in contemplative silence for a while, "I don''t see any obvious flaws in your reasoning, Mr. Cook. I''ll suggest to the client that we make an offer to Marshal Dingane... Tell me now, were you motivated to find a solution that deprives Fuller of a contract?"


    "No idea what you are talking about," Sean''s face was deadpan.


    "Of course you don''t, Mr. Cook," Julia laughed, "But there''s something else I want to discuss. Walk with me."


    The building was emptying rapidly as office workers left for the day. They came to Julia''s office. The waters ofLong IslandSound shimmered crimson through the glass wall behind her desk. They weren''t far from the waterfront. Sean fidgeted as Julia took her swivel seat behind the desk.


    "I didn''t expect you to prove your worth to Zero Sum on your very first day," Julia''s eyes studied Sean, her fingers steepled.


    "Then will you use your academic contacts to protect me from Richard Fuller''s clout?" Seanblurted after a surprised pause, "I have this ongoing... vendetta with Jason, hisson.Richard threatened to mess with my college plans if I didn''t take their shit lying down."


    "I am a woman of my word," Julia''s eyes narrowed, "You''ll havemy signed recommenation on Friday. My endowments to Ivy League schools rivals Fuller''s. So does my influence. You need have no anxiety in that regard, so long as you avoid anymore illegal shit. But as an older woman, let me offer some life advice. Get some closure. Settle whatever feuds you have running. You have better things to do."


    Sean''s phone dinged. He glanced at it, "Uh, my ride is here. Can I go?"


    "Not yet," Julia pulled out a file folder from her desk, "There are some details ofthe South Caucasusassignment you need to know.Inexchange for the Doomtrooper demo drone, the SCR leadership is handing over a prisoner."


    "Prisoner?" Sean frowned confused, "Who?"


    "DavidLeonidze,"Julia flipped the folder open to reveal a photo of a dark-haired atheletic looking young man, " Uncle Sam is covering the cost of the demo drone."


    "Never heard of him," Sean''s confusion deepened, "is he important?"


    "Not really," Julia shook her head, slide aside the photo to uncoveranother, this one of a balding bespectaled middle-aged man,"But his father was.Dr. Eduard Leonidze one ofthe leading experts on magnetic resonance imagining technology. He left his Massachusetts residence a few years ago to work for the SCR regime in his homeland. Since then he has either defected to or was kidnapped by GORGON. And when the son flew back to find out what happened, the SCR arrested him instead. There''s reason to believe his son was familiar with Dr.Leonidze''s work for the SCR goverment. And the State Department really wants to know why GORGON wants the tech. Or so they tell me."


    "Magnetic resonance?" Sean scratched his head, "as in brain scans?"


    "I suspect SCR was developing mind readingtechnology to interrogate spies," Julia smiled, "but that''s not my business, as long as the deal goes smoothly. Dawn''s trip is actually to ensure they are handing over the realDavidLeonidze and not some duplicate."


    "That''s why the State Department is willing to overlook ITAR," Sean nodded, "But why would Dawn know the difference between the real DavidLeonidze and a fake?"You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    "She''s hisfiancee," Julia pulled out a photo of Dawn and DavidLeonidze posing in loving embrace, thatmade Sean insanely jealous, "they met at Harvard. Dawn has a personal stake in the mission.If onlyall my employees were as willing to risk their lives."


    "Risk her life?" Sean croaked.


    "There''s always a chance that the SCR high command will take her hostage," Julia looked intently at Sean, "They may try to coerce you to handover the drone without keeping their end of their bargain. You won''t let them, even if they torture Dawn, you understand? Unless Dawn''s boyfriend gets on the chopper, you are ordered to destroy the drone. The State Department is very insistent on that."


    "Destroy it?" Sean demanded, "Does it come with a self destruct?"


    "Not exactly," Julia smiled her ghastly smile, "but the drone will decode SCR''s SADM missiles. That''s the entire purpose of the demo. You will arm the missile and guide it back towards yourself, the Doomtrooper I mean, in case they doublecross."


    "I won''t let Dawn be tortured," Sean''s voice rose, "Why pick me to pilot the drone? And don''t give that bullshit about needing my teen reflexes."


    Julia got up and walked around the desk, stopping to stare into Sean''s eyes, "You are one of my most promising interns. But I need to know if you have what it takes to rise to the top. To pursue objectives without regard for any single girl, any single person. This isn''t a game, Sean. Nations hire our services because they know our solutions minimizethe body count. By a few million give or take. So, do you have the grit tostay on track evenwith Dawn screaming in your audio feed, begging you to save her? Hmm? Go home now. Sleep on it."


    Sean flinched as Julia patted his shoulder reassuringly. He felt like throwing up onthe plush carpet. Julia on the other hand looked excited, thrilled.


    #


    Mrs. Lambert raced through the evening commute with suicidal recklessness. Suburbs flashed by in a blur turning more upscale as they left New Haven. Sean gripped his phonea bit too hard, scrolling overan unfashionably short list of contacts. Julia was right about one thing. He needed closure with Judith, before he could escalate with Jason. He paused over one of the names, his fingerparalyzedwith indecision. Dialing...


    I didn''t actually mean to dial... stupidtouchscreen.


    "The Fuller residence," the woman''s voice was crisp and unfamiliar, probably one of the staff.


    "Um... I''d like to speak to Judith''s... I mean, Mrs. Fuller please," Sean licked hislips.


    "Who is this?" the voicewas flat with disinterest.


    "A friend of Judith," Sean liedwith the implication that Judithwould stillcall him a friend, "name is Sean."


    "Mrs. Fuller is not available at the moment, can I take a message?" the voice might havebelonged to an answering machine for all theemotion it dsplayed, "... who is it Edna?" A more familar voice in the background.


    Half a minute passed with ambient noise cracklingthrough the speaker. Then Susan Fuller sounded in Sean''s ear, as cold as winter, "The only reason I''m even talking to you, Sean, is because my butlersupposedly steeredJudith''s doctors towards a diagnosis. As ludicrous as that sounds. Based on your brilliantdeductions, I''m told." The sarcasm came through clearly.


    "Er... thanks," Sean swallowed, "How''s Judith?"


    "She''ll... live," Susan''s voice choked up slightly, whether from grief or rage Sean couldn''t tell, "What do you want?"


    "I want to talk to Judith," Seanventuredcautiously, "wait... hear me out. I won''t cause trouble. I just want to tell her I''m sorry."


    "Sorry?" there was a dangerous edge to Susan''s response, "What are youconfessing to?"


    "Nothing," Sean said hurriedly, "Without admitting to any wrongdoing, I want to apologize for not being upfront about my... distaste forJason. And say goodbye."


    "Goodbye?" Susan asked with an odd note.


    "I''m guessingJudith won''t be coming back to Cardiff," Sean couldn''tkeep the regret from his voice, "if your butler has anything to say about it. Am I wrong?"


    "No, you aren''t mistaken," Susan sighed, after a pause, "Elliot has threatened to quit if we send Susan back to Cardiff. He wants Jason pulled out as well, but my son''s footballaspirations take precedence. But none of this is reason why I should let you speak with Judith. You came into my home under false pretenses, as a thief, whether you legally admit it or not."


    "You know what they say about people in glass houses, Mrs. Fuller," Sean sounded amused, "I''veread theannualreport that your firm puts out. You systematically underestimate investment risks to your richest clients to keep the money rolling in.That makes youevery bit ascrooked ethically if not legally."


    "You don''t know what you are talking about, young man," Susan said coldly, "This conversation is ov..."


    "Your risk model is derived from Black-Scholes," Sean continued inexorably, "which assumes normal Gaussian distributions."


    "Your point?" Susan gave an incredulous snort after apause, as if unwilling to cut the phone despite her better judgement.


    "The stock market isn''t a normal distribution, is it?" Sean asked reasonably, "One feature of a normal distribution is that no singlesample can drastically alter the result. Like height distributionwithin a population. But the stock market isn''t like that. You onlyneed to removethe top ten most volatile days of Dow Jonesover the past fifty years to see the averages change dramatically. Market price movements are scale invariant. It''s a fractal distribution. The standard deviations that your analysts use are meaningless in such domains."


    "The industry doesn''t have the mathematical tools to assess riskwith fractals," Susan sounded strangely defensive, "the complexity alone..."


    "So yousolve the wrongproblem because it''s easier?" Sean demanded, "I wonder what your investors will say to that. Heck, I wonder what your highschool math teacher would say to that."


    "You''ve made your point, Sean," Susan snarled, "no need to rub it in. Very well... I''ll permit you to meet my daughter one last time, after she has recovered a bit."


    "Thank you," Sean closed his eyes, letting outhis breath with a shudder, ending the call.


    Mrs. Lambert was giving him odd glances, as she drove towards Portsmouth.


    #


    Susan Fuller softly paddedaround her daughter''s bed, taking care not to knock over the IV stand and other hospital equipment arrayed about the room. Judith was swathed in bandages that covered most of her arms and parts of her face where the mutating virus had feasted on. Daylight filtering through curtains illuminated exposed parts of skin that still showed evidence of her ordeal. Judith had sunk into exhausted sleep after a restless night, watched over by the shift nurse. It was barely a week on her daughter''s road to recovery, though it felt like a lifetime to Susan. The fear that coiled around Susan''s heart like barbed wireloosened its grip each day, even as guilt flooded in its place. Why, oh why, had she let Judith play with fire? The monitor displays hovering over Judith beeped accusingly at Susan, the LEDs blinking their implacable verdict on how badly Susan had failed her daughter. Even the soliticous faces of the orderlies seemed accusing to Susan. Watching the doctors fuss around debating experimental treatment options while the nurses worked in frantic haste, Susan had wanted to scream. She hadn''t felt this helpless even during GORGON''s abortive attack at the factory.


    Richard stood staring out the window, silhoutted against the glare of curtains. Despairno longerhauntedhis face,evenif the past few days had added years to it. His Savile Row suit looked rumpled and slept-in. Susan knew her husband blamed himself for what happened to Judith, unreasonable asthe notion was. Richard hadn''t lefthis daughter''sside and corporatematters that required his sign-offwere brought to him in person. Susan had spotted a couple of vice presidents waiting in the hospital lobby. Richardturned at her hand on his shoulder andfollowed her whenshe indicated they shouldstep outside. The two bodyguards Elliot had placed straightened as Susan and Richard emerged from the suite. The stoic Englishman had wanted tostation an entiresqaud on this floor, but Susan''s wiser counsel had prevailed.


    "Dr. Compton thinksJudith can go home inthreedays," reliefdiffused through Susan''s voice, "Dr. Sinclair concurs."


    Richard merely nodded and Susan continued with a hint of reproach, "I''ve spoken to the prinicipals at Greenwich Academy, Portsmouth Sacred Heart and also the Japanese School. They have expressed eagerness to receive Judithonce we make our selection. But I don''t think you should move her. She''ll throw a fit. Most of her friends are at Cardiff, you know."


    "Enemies too, it would seem," Richardnodded grimly.


    "Oh, Richard," Susan sighed, "surely you don''t believe every potential threat Elliot suspects. That''s his SAS background talking. The man is a treasure, but also a paranoid nut. Judith''s condition has hit him hard even if he acts all professional. He dotes on her."


    "That''s what I thought too," Richard growled, "until I saw the evidence."


    "All I sawwereclose-upshots of broken lab equipment," Susan''s grimace was skeptical, "Look... I know how tempting it is to blame this on anyone... anything except ourselves. Do you realize howparanoid Elliot sounds? We''ll get laughed out of court."


    "Thelaw is the last thingwhoever did this needs to worry about when I get my hands on them," Richardclenched his fist, "You heard whatthe Cook boy reportedlyclaimed when Elliot paid him a visit. A visit I didn''t authorize, by the way."


    "Sean Cook," Susan muttered shaking her head, "He thinks someone sabotagedJudith''s science project to hurt her. I still can''t believe hiswild speculation actuallyhelped in Judith''s treatment. Since whendid a highschool junior become an expert on virology? You don''t think..."


    "Nah," Richard looked distracted, "the boy may be a thief but he''s no killer."


    "I got a call from Sean a few days ago, did I tell you that?" Susan stopped, looking down from the encircling balcony far above thespacious lobby.


    "What?" Richard whipped around in surprise, his face twitching, "How dare... what the heck for?"


    "He wants to seeJudith one last time," Susan looked troubled, "since she won''t be returning to Cardiff. To make amends, he says."


    "No," Richard spat, "Jason will throw a fit."


    "Jason will behave himself," Susan''s voice chilled. They stood there in silence for a minute, watching the bustle of the hospital below. Jason had always been heartwarmingly protective towards Judith. But a supervirus was something her brother couldn''t do much about. Jason had taken out his frustration on convenient targets, and after Principal Stuart had politely called themabout the third or fourth incident of the week, Susan had threatened to pull Jason out from varisty football.


    "I think we were too harsh on Sean," Susan broke the lull, "on the night of Judith''s birthday. He was probably in a lot of pain. We should have been more forgiving, even if hetried to break into my bloody office. And Jason punching him just made it worse."


    "We were all on edge after the incident at the plant," Richard sighed, "And I shouldn''t have made threats regarding his education."


    "He didn''t sound that scared on the phone last night," Susan frowned mildly puzzled. Sean had been respectful but defiant. Not like the broken shell she remembered when he and his mom had left Pelican''s Nest.


    "Maybe it''s because Julia Thornton is backing him now," Richard had an odd expression, "It seems the Cook boyserved as an intern at Zero Sum last week. Some highschool outreach program or whatever."


    "What did the old witch want?" it was Susan''s turn to look surprised.


    "Ostensibly to enquire after Judith," Richard winced, "but really to let me know that theWest African deal is a no go. She found a cheaper solution."


    "Major contract?" Susanbit her lip sympathetically.


    "Not really," Richard shook his head, "Third world militaries are stingy on what they can afford.But Juliamentioned somethingoddin passing."


    "Does that woman say anything that isn''t odd?" Susan snorted.


    "Apparently it''s the Cook boy whocame up with the cheaper alternative," Richard sounded bemused, "the one that cost me the contract. I don''t believe it though,the old girl is just messing with me."


    "I''m not so sure about that," Susan said slowly.


    "Whose the skeptic now?" Richardgestured in challenge, "What, I''m supposed to believe the Cook kid is a prodigy in virology and international security? Gimme a break."


    "It''s a message," Susan laughed incredulously, "telling us to piss off."


    "From Julia?" Richard looked surprised.


    "From Sean Cook," Susan smiled sourly.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 33

    The vehicle¡¯s gentle sway lulled Sean to sleep only to rudely yank him awake whenever Mrs. Lambert slammed the brakes. Which was distressingly often. His phone beeped a text receipt.


    Tiffany: Memorial Park 6 to 7pm, basketball court. If u wanna talk.


    Sean straightened upbanishing all thought of sleep, looking out the window to get his bearings. They were approaching the outskirts.


    ¡°Mrs. Lambert, could you please drop me off at, um... the exit after next? I¡¯ll ask my mom to pick me up,¡± Sean reached into his backpack, pulling out the case containing SculptSight, ¡°And please give this to Randall, I¡¯ll collect it from him later.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re sure?¡± she frowned, ¡°it¡¯s not the best part of town.¡±


    Dusk painted the clouds pink when Mrs. Lambert dropped him off at the edge of Memorial Park. She drove away muttering about sketchy neighborhoods. The park was in disrepair with foot tall grass interrupted by crumbling sidewalks littered with hardenedgeese droppings and dead leaves of the fall. A swing set hung from rusted chains creaking in the breeze. Willow trees lined a large pond, its thermal mass resisting the coming freeze and reflecting the darkening sky. Shouts of laughter drifted from ahead. A basketball court next to a skateboard rink, lit by halogen lamps flickering ineffectively in the lingering twilight. Weeds poked through a broken expanse of concrete where silhouetted figures clustered, throwing long moving shadows as one of them threw a ballat the hoop.


    Sean approached cautiously, ready to bolt if this was an ambush. He swore to himself that the Collection Agency would never get another crack at him. His breath caught when he spotted her. Shelounged on one of the benches bordering the court, legs crossed. Her golden hair gleamed in the lamplight. Sean approached warily, his eye on the small group prancing around the court. They were a motely-looking lot, middle schoolers judging by their heights. Sean relaxed. They were no threat, even if they ganged up on him.


    Tiffany might have stepped off the pages of Teen Vogue, with herpale Aeropostale jacket and skirt. Her red bootswere a startling splash of color in a scene of browns and greys. Sean frowned. She didn''t belong here.The east end of the city wasa rough neighbourhood in contrast to the affluent west end.The gutted shell of a 70''s housing project loomed beyond the edge of the park, underscoring the incongruity of an upper-middle class girl loitering in the armpit ofPortsmouth. She noticed him, her smile faintly predatory.


    "I won''t bite," Tiffany patteda spot on the bench. Apurselay on her lap, its strap looping over her other arm that rested on a bulky duffel bag.


    "Um, you want to gofor a walk?" Sean gestured in the direction of the park entrance, "Maybe find a burger joint?"


    "This place not good enough for you?" she gestured at the rundown ambience,smirking.


    "No, it''s... it''s fine," Sean protested and sat down. He couldn''t stop staring, now that he was inches from her perfect face. The lamplight seemed to halo her golden crown withunearthly beauty. Her slightly upturnednose took the sting out of her smile making it whimsical instead. Noise from the kids goofing about filled in the conversational lull.


    "Gonna say something, dork, or just droolat me all evening?" Tiffany''s smile faded.


    "Why help me escape from Jason¡¯s minions?" Sean blurted, "And the week before, youtipped me off that Jason had something nasty in store for me. The Collection Agency as it turned out. Trying to hedge your bets? Save your ass if Jason gets in legal trouble?"


    "Legal trouble," she scoffed, "Half the county works for Jason''s dad. Any idea how much clout his family has ?"


    "I can guess," Sean grimaced, old bitter memories seeping through the cracks. The school administration certainly knew which way the bread was buttered.


    "Because I know what Jason''s tender loving care feels like," Tiffanypulled off her jacket and twisted around to face Sean, "And because youdon''t seem likea total loser anymore."


    The jersey tank top left her arms bare. Dark blue bruisesbandedher left shoulder in stark contrast to pale skin, imprints like encircling lace. Faint bands ofsickly greencrisscrossedher other arm, fading memories of past trauma.


    "Did... he hurt you?" Sean hissed, clenching his fist.


    "Jasongets very possessive of his toys," Tiffany gave a twisted smile as she slipped back into her jacket, "especially when his toys don''t want to play with him. Butheneverforgets to sendme some foundation cream afterhe takes a belt to me. So the bruises don''t showduring cheerleading practice."


    "Nice of him," Sean spat, feeling sick, "why the heck don''t you reportthe bastard? Principal Stewart can''t possibly let that slide. What''s a smart girl like you doing with a dipshit like him anyway?"


    "Rich dipshit," corrected Tiffany, "There was a time I needed his... resources. Now that I have a paying internship, I don''t needJason so much anymore. But he won''t let me go. And if I report him, Jason''s lawyers will find a way to pin this on my foster parents."


    "Foster parents?" Sean stared blankly.


    "Been shuttledbetween fosterhomes since I was twelve," Tiffany shrugged, "Mybirth mom was too drunk to care for me. Never knew my real dad. My life in a nutshell. Couldn''t afford anything until Julia Thornton found me througha science talent search."


    "But... but your clothes and stuff," Sean stammered in disbelief, "I thought..."


    "Thought I was an upper classprincess, didn''t you," Tiffany bared her teeth, "I learnt to play the part after Jason got me into his social circle. Theapartment where I''m fostered now is located as far east it can bewithin the Portsmouth school district and still be assigned to Cardiff High. So there''s that."


    "Wait... you live around here?" Sean gaped at the silhouttes of the low-income high-rises in the background.


    "Dial down the snobbery, asshat," Tiffany scowled, "You aren''t exactly rolling incashyourself,"


    "I... I didn''t mean..." Sean flushed, "I meant... it must betoughbeing a foster kid..."


    "Tough?" Tiffany snarled, her pretty face twisting, "You have no idea what it''s like. At least you have parents you can call your own... who didn''t discard you like so much..." She paused and sighed shakily, "Never mind. My turn to interrogate."


    One of the kids in the court wandered up to them, holding a basketball, "This shmuck bothering you, Tiff?"


    He was a pudgy boy in dreadlocks, wearing frayed jeans shorts and a sports tee shirt too big for him. He sounded like a squeaky middle-schooler trying hard tomake his voice sound deep.


    "Get lost kid," Sean waved dismissively.


    The boy gave him a withering look, "Only Big Sis gets to tell me that."


    "It''s OK, Jaylen," Tiff smiled slightly, "Ready to calibrate your shots?"Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Jaylen nodded and Tiffany opened the duffel bag to reveal a one foot cube framed in wood and crammed with transparent plumbing inaminiature version of the analog solver Sean had seen earlier that day.


    "Pick a spot for Jaylen, will you," Tiffany indicated one of the hoops forSean who shrugged and lobbeda pebblethrough thegaggle of kidschasing each otheraround the court with loud yells.


    Jaylen scowled asthe pebble landed midcourt. The boy stared betweenthe spot selected and at the hoopfor a little longeras if mentally pacing out the distance. Then he crouched before the analog fluid device,quickly pouring water from a fresh bottle into an arrayof little glass funnels. As the water dripped through spigotted orifices, Jaylen cranked a bronze ratchet through a graduated dial that varied the flowmetered through each spigot in a predetermined ramp.


    Sean leaned closer for a better look at the gizmo, vividly aware of Tiffany''s proximity. A stray strand from her hair tickled his cheek and it took all his self control not to be a creep. He gritted his teeth and thought of the promise of Sculptsight, of how much easier this would be if Tiffany wasn''t so ''hot''. But then Seanwouldn''t be so motivated to be here, he admitted to himself. Water was poolinginto glass bulbs and then cascading through a second set of metered orifices. Second order differential equations being solved in parallel, Sean nodded thoughtfully. The weight of accumulating water opened up spring-loaded relief-valves to vent outside, diverting part of the flow from the primary path, probably to represent atmospheric drag on the basketball given the context.


    Jaylen who had been staring at the water display with zen-like concentration got up suddenly and moved to midcourt. He hefted the balland after a few trial feints threw it in an high arc that terminated perfectlythrough the basket hoop.


    "You''ve got to be kidding me," Sean stared in disbelief, "Tell me he''s been practicing for a while."


    "He has," nodded Tiffany, "but his accuracy has really taken off since he''s gotten the feel of all possible ballisticsolutionsby studying myanalog integrator. Any basketball player is solving these equations subconsciously ofcourse, but I wanted to see if the learning curve could be consciously speed up."


    "Couldn''t he do the same thing on a computer screen?" Sean frowned skeptically.


    "I don''tthink it''s the same thing," Tiffany shrugged, "there''s something... tactile about watching waterflowthat you don''t get with a computer display. Anyway, just atrial runfor what I want to do with low-tech computing."


    "For yourpost-nuclear utopia?" Sean quirked a smile..


    "Julia Thornton is crazy," Tiffany laughed, "she''s been dealing with the dark side of international politics for so long, she seesdoom everywhere. No, I want to make people smarter."


    "How?" Sean stared mesmerized by her laughter.


    "These analog cubes are so intuitive an elementary schoolkid could use it," Tiffany''s eyes shone with passion, "Just think... a billion of these scattered across a continent. A new generation ofchildren who can model their environment as intuitively as seeing or talking. Homo sapiens mathematicus. What problems can''t they solve?Our world ismessed up from our own stupidity. We are the stupidest species that can build a civilization. We need to do better, if we want to salvage the fucking planet..."


    "You remind me of another girl," Seanwhisperedalmost to himself.


    "Oh?" Tiffany''s tone was sarcastic, "You''re saying the girls you hang out with look like me? Not subtle, are you?"


    "I was talking about Judith Fuller..." Sean flushed, "Not saying she looks like you or anything... maybe just a little...it''s just that she alsowants to save the world so badly. She''s been on my mind since she fell sick... "


    "It''s OK," Tiffany looked at her feet, "Judith''s a nice girl. Not everyone in Jason''s family is a skirt-chasing piece of shit.But, like I said, it¡¯s my turn to ask questions. You were badmouthingmy design on the phone. Tell me what you can do better, hotshot, or admit you''re full of shit.¡±


    From the duffel bagshepulledout and unfolded a large A1 size drawing print on her lap. It was an exploded view of the plumbing nightmare packed into the much larger analog solver that Sean had seen in Tiffany¡¯s workspace at ZeroSum. The CAD blueprint was crammed with neat handwriting in the margins and blank spaces. Rows of differential equations, progressivelycrossed out and replaced with more complex ones. Sean studied it in silence under the lamplight, his face brightening with interest.


    ¡±Well?¡± she demanded.


    ¡±This mess... um, mass of plumbing isn¡¯t doing much,¡± Sean tracedan especially intricate cluster of lines with his finger, ¡°in fact they aren¡¯t representinganything as far as I can tell.¡±


    ¡±No, they are stablizing circuits, you chump,¡± Tiffany retorted.


    ¡±Stabilizing circuit?¡± Sean frowned, ¡°for what?¡±


    ¡°The numerical solution of course,¡± Tiffany rolled her eyes, ¡°These equations are way more complicated than modeling basketball trajectories. That variableis population... this one is grain production... that one is disease fraction... they are all interconnected. Youget the picture. But the fucking solution won¡¯t converge. Everytime I run it with the exact same input, the answer diverges after a while. I keep adding auxiliary lines, to damp out sensitivity, but they won¡¯t help. I can¡¯t forecast shitwith this.¡±


    Tiffany suddenly smacked the bluprint hard, startlingSean. Shesounded frustrated to the verge of tears, as she got up from the bench.


    ¡°Oh, is that it?¡± Sean looked bemused at her outburst, ¡°Obviously, for certain inputs theanswer willalways diverge.¡±


    ¡±What... obviously?¡± Tiffany turned on him, ¡°Why would the same inputs ever end up with different answers? That doesn''t make sense.¡±


    ¡±Look, youhave three differential equations for three variables. Call them x, y and z,¡± Sean tapped the paper, ¡°they are all non-linear becauseeach of these variables is a function of the other two variables. There is a periodic disturbance to represent seasonal rains or whatever. More importantly thesystem is dissipative, there is some loss that depends on the values of the variables.¡±


    ¡±Tell me something I don''t know, you pompous prick,¡± Tiffanysnapped impatiently.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see,¡± Sean demanded, ¡°it¡¯s a chaotic system. With aclassic Lorenz attractor.¡±


    ¡°A classic what?¡± Tiffany paused.


    "Edward Lorenz was ameteorologist who tried to model weather on a computer using a set ofnon-linearequations much like these," Sean explained, "and he too found that when he tried to forecast weather more than a few weeks ahead,the answers would end up very different for reruns with the same inputs. Turns out that rounding off the last few decimal places in the inputs was enough for the system to end up in completely different states. Coupled dissipative systems are super-sensitive to initial conditions. You''d need infinite precision to get the same answer every time, which ofcourse isn''t practical in the real world."


    "You''re saying my project won''t work?" Tiffany glared at him, and Sean thought her eyes glistening so brightly were achingly beautiful, "that''s its useless for predicting stuff like famine or epidemics?"


    "No, I''m saying you should look at the structure ofchaos," Sean smiled, "rather than the exact state of the variables. Think of a swinging pendulum. If you plot its position on one axis and velocity on another, you get a phase portrait. If there''s no damping the pendulum will oscillate forever and its phase portait is a closed loop. If there''s any damping the phase trajectory will spiral down to the origin as the pedulum comes to a stop. Right?"


    Tiffany nodded.


    "When Lorenz plotted the phase portrait of his weather model in three axis," Sean held up three fingers to mimic a Cartesian coordinate system, "he saw that the trajectory would randomly spiral around one part of the phase space and then suddenly cross over to another region then spiral there, tracing out something like a butterfly. The exact path the system traces is very sensitive to initial conditions, don''t even think of predictingthat. But youcould predict which attractor - which part of the phase space the system willorbit around. And if you time the disturbance correctly, you canflip the systemto a new attractor. Impose your own order on the chaos."


    "Is that possible?" Tiffany stared, anunreadable expression on her face.


    "Put a mosquito in a box without sunlight," Sean pointed to the insects fluttering around the light bulb on the post, "and it will revert toa 23 hour cycle, not twenty four. Sunlightresets its default internal clock to the 24 hour circadian rythm each day. But there''s a singularity within its phase trajectory. A light pulse in the lab precisely timed to that singularity will knock out its circadian clock and give it jet lag. The human heart regulates itself with an electrical wavefront propagating in three dimensions. Shock it exactly during its singularity and it will go into fibrillation. George Mines figured that out in 1914. Totest it, he built and attached a gizmo to his chest to zap his own heart. Tosendits phase trajectory intoa new attractor. He didn''t survive the experiment, but the ECG was still recording his glitching heartbeat when they found him."


    "How the heck do you know this shit?" Tiffany demanded shrilly.


    "The shape of the clouds tells us the world is non-linear," Sean pointed up, "We neversee the same shape twice. But lifeoscillates around attractors in phase space. And that''s how we''ll beat Jason. Not through violence or threats or official complaints. He''s too strong and well-connected. But by visualizinghisphasespace and giving his social life some well timed shocks."


    "We?" Tiffany gestured between them.


    "We both want the same thing," Sean got up to look Tiffany in the eye, "You want to be free of Jason and he won''t have time toabuse you after I''m done with him."


    "Revenge of the Nerds," Tiffany laughed shakily, "Who else would think of phasespace in a revenge fantasy."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 34

    Julia''s chaffeur picked up Sean in the unearthly hours between midnight and dawn. Today Sean would be remotely monitoring the Doomtrooper demo in the Caucascus located eight hours ahead of EST. Asking Kaitlyn''s mom for a ride today was out of the question. When he''d enquiredinto Zero Sum''s reimbursement policy on Uber rides, Julia had waved dismissively and sent her car instead.The Bentley Continental GT inexorably ate up the miles to New Haven. There was little traffic at this time. Sean stared out withsleep-deprived eyesat the slumbering suburbs flashing by, feeling uneasy.


    No matter how the demo went today, it wasn''t his problem. He was just an unpaid highschool intern for a week. No one could seriously expect him to be responsible for weaponscontracts, right? All he had to do was watch through the drone''s eyes from thousands of miles away, safely ensconced in a bunker in urban New Haven. But Dawn didn''t have the luxury of safety at the edge of a conflictzone. Sean shook his head. His tendency to obsessover prettywomen was a liability.


    ¡±Almost there, sir,¡± Sean blinked groggily assomeone shoved on his shoulder. The woman at the wheel -Sean appreciated that sheseemed extremelyfit - was rigorously wipingher jacket with tissue. Did she really have toglare at him so disdainfully? So what if he didn''t look his best, he was still half asleep for pity''s sake. Ohhh...hadhe dozed off and drooled on her uniform? Never mind.


    The car swept past Zero Sum¡¯s darkened glass facade and turned into a side alley. An overhead sign bearing the institute¡¯s logo proclaimed ¡°Shipping and Receiving : Unauthorized Vehicles Will Be Immobilized¡± below which a winding ramp sloped down from street level. The driver keyed in a combination on the dash. Theforbiddingspikes spanning the ramp entrance retracted into the pavemement and the car glided into the bowels of Zero Sum. Themassive steel porticullis at the bottom of the ramp grated open and they entered a circular loading dock with automated gun turrets in the ceiling that tracked their car. Julia''s obsession with security was almost amusing. But Sean couldn''t bring himself to laugh. His broken arm was evidence enough ofpotentialdownsides of a security breach. The car stopped at a guard post dug into the concrete wall. The hardenedveteran who was expecting them studiedSean''s face against a handheld.There wasan identical garage dooracross the rotunda - large enough to admit a semitruck - leading to the munitions basement that Sean was waved into.Julia''s chaffeur turned around and drove away.


    The Sean walked into the cavernousarmory as the steel door descended shut behind him. Motion activated lightsswitched on in the ceiling. Thestaggeringvariety of weapons mounted on the wall greeted him inmute testament to humansavagery. What the heck am I doing here,he hesitated at the makeshift drone operator console, I have no clue. Everything was as Sean had left it.


    Quick Start Guide : DoomTrooper Version 3.2 ''Alpine Rose'' -Tactical ThermoNuclearDefense


    The training manual lay open on the first page, all its contents absorbed at a touch. Seannowknew the manual more thoroughly than its authors. Julia could do worse than pick him as a backup pilot, even if she didn''t know it. The CPU''s cooling fans hummed to life as Sean slipped on HUD goggles. Thumbstick studded controller wandsin each hand. No arm motion - only thumbaction - was needed tocontrol the drone, which was lucky for Sean given his cast. The HUD field of view was pitch dark for a moment, then lit up with video feed. His earpiece crackled. The view showed an unremarkable corridor that belonged in ahospital: florescent ceiling lights, worn cinderblock walls andanonymous doors with stencilled numerals. White-coated medical personnel wandered the hallway. Mufflednoises of children yelling, laughing or crying sounded behind doors. Guards in uniform - presumably South Caucasus infantry - loitered carrying carbines. The point of viewswungdown to look atcracked vinyl floor, where the walker''s foot had stepped on an abandoned doll. A dull boom sounded from far away, causingdust todrift down from the ceiling.


    "Hello..." Sean raised his voice, "can you hear..."


    "Bitch! Dial it down... nearlybusted my eardrums," Bryson''s voice swore quietly, "Thesecustomers are jittery as fuck. Don''t want some noob conscript shooting me."


    "Sorry..." Sean whispered, "where''s Dawn?"


    "Whisked offto see her boyfriend somewhere on base," Bryson grumbled, "In a fucking limo. I had to ride in a fucking truck with broken suspension, though."


    "They let you transmit from inside?" Sean frowned, "Are you piggybacking on the DoomTrooper uplink? "


    "DoomTrooper isn''t online yet," Bryson grunted "There''s a radio comm hubon base transmitting my signal as courtesy."


    "Nice of them," Seantried to relax as the video feed trembled from another loud boom.


    "No, you chump," Bryson chuckled, "it''s formyboss at Gibbsto greenlight any deals above my paygrade."


    The soldier leading the wayknocked on one of the doors,then took position outside.Bryson stepped into a conference room with decor from the 70s.A group of uniformed men and one woman stood around a long tableof peeling laminate on which a large scale contour map was spreadout.


    "Ah, Master-Sergeant Bryson, welcome to Kazbuk Children''s Hospital and Forward Operating Base," a squat baldmanwearing a spotless uniform and a silver beard smiled genially from one end of the table with heavily accented English, "Your timing is perfect. Our counter-offensive is underway."


    Behind him on the wall was a large LCD monitor displaying the feed from Bryson''s camera, a duplicate of the feed that Sean was receiving.


    "General Sarov," Bryson''s viewpoint tiltedfor a moment with a curt nod, "You sure this isn''t a bad time for the demo?"


    "Not at all. I''m counting on it to be the decisive factor," Sarov bared his teeth, his fluffy beard neatly trimmed squaregave him aSanta Claus vibe if Santa Claus had beena serial-killer, "I hope you won''t disappoint me."


    Some of theofficers at the table flinched at the last sentence. Theylooked tense, unlike the general.The camera viewpanned to the door. A uniformed grunt enteredwitha long duffel bag which was placed on the far end of the table thatbutted againsta large glasspane.


    "Line of sight to the demo?" Bryson queried.


    "The window commands anexcellent view," the woman at the table glancedan antiquated clock, her accent stronger, "Your techsbetter be donemounting the warheads, General, unless they want a transfer toa penal battalion."


    The last sentence was spoken in the local tongue which Sean''s HUD tagged as a Kartvelian-Caspian dialect while automaticallycaptioning the translation in English.Her tone was bored, without hint of bluster. Seanfrowned under his goggles. There was an austeregrace to the woman''s face, a hardness that remindedhim of Agent Murphy from the DOE.


    "It won''t come to that, Ludmila," General Sarov smiled indulgently. Ludmila''s knee-length military jacket was devoid of insignia unlike the shiny epaulettes on the men around her. Oddly enough, the menlocated closest to her had adopted poses suggesting they wanted to be as far away from her as possible.


    Bryson''s handsassembled the tripod-mounted umbrella antennawith practised ease. Theglare of daylight washed outSean''s video feed for a second as Bryson pressed his nose against the glass. The windowoverlooked a rugged valley. Dark forest cloaked the lower slopes where a stream meandered at the bottom. Theterrainroseto a jagged snowy ridge, exposing bare scree above the treeline. Puffs of smokeunfurledlike fiery blossoms on the far ridgeline where a road snaked like a carelessly cast string. A convoy of vehicles, tiny in the distance,writhedunder the smoke like ademolishedant hill. On the near slope another mountain road carried military traffic descending past abareplateau where a truck in winter camoflage idled next to a dismantled crate.Wood panels and dolly carts were spread around a metallic formbuilt like a grinning humanoid tank. The DoomTrooper unit dwarfed the soldiers who were working on its arm in frantic haste.


    "Handshake protocol with demo unit...," Bryson was muttering, "Booting in... 3... 2... 1. Unit is online."


    Bryson''scamera feedcollapsed into a smaller corner windowas the HUD view changed to an outside view. A squad of South Caucasus soldiers were clambering into the back of a truck which was slowly merging with a main convoy of similar trucks making their way down to the valley. Atext overlay was counting down at the top ofSean''sHUD.


    Payload(s) Detected: 3   Encryption: Yachta-143   Payload#1 Ready inT minus: 00:14:03


    The mountain vistato his right was identical to that seen from Bryson''s viewpoint from inside the base. Sean tried to turn his head or rather the drone''s head with his HUD, only to see a wall of blackness outside the fixed view. The drone wasn''t accepting his actuator input.


    "Huh... Bryson," Sean whispered, "I can see through the drone''s eyes. But can''t control it."


    "Hmm," Bryson grunted, "If the uplink telemetry works so should the downlink. Let me..."


    The smaller picture-in-picture feed showed Bryson grabbing a game controllerslottedintohisdish tripod. Sean''s main HUD view shifted looking up the mountain he - or rather the drone -was standing on. Four large buildings, scattered across the slope andwidely separated by terrain. Rows upon rows of identical dark windows stared broodingly from three cubical monoliths in concrete grey. The fourth building was a squat disc-shapedstructure like a flying saucer rimmed by a viewing balcony, its roof bristling with satellite dishes and antenna array. A giganticsickle-and-hammer insigniainfaded redpaint marked the only spot on theouter face not interrupted by thebalcony. The old Sovietemblem was partly obscured by a large banner - flag of the South Caucasus Republic - splayed over cracked concrete.Access roads patrolled by soldiers branched off to each structurefrom thearterial highway carryingmilitary traffic. The highway climbed past apicturesquetown spread like a quilt of quaint roofs and crenellated medieval ruins.


    The drone stepped forward in lurching steps and lifted its arms. Three dark green cylindersbristling with fins were attached to jury-rigged pylons onits left forearm. The symbols CCCP * painted red ran alongone cylinder''s length. The stubby nosecone displayed a black trefoil centered in a yellow triangle. Cold war era cruise missilestipped withtactical nukes. Sean felt a chill. Shiny scratches gleamed aroundaccesspanels near thejet nozzles. The propulsions systems had been well maintained, apparently.


    "MASERlink is working," Bryson muttered, then raised his voice, "Excuse me, General, did yourmen report problems withsignal reception? Onthe EHF bands specified in my correspondence."


    "Not at all, reception was perfect," Sarov smiled, "That''s why we are jamming those channels. Surely you didn''t think we''d permita foreign power to co-pilot our atomic munition platform."


    "General, theco-pilot isahighschool kid in Connecticutinterning at Zero Sum," Bryson sounded exasperated, "the same people who brokered this deal. You have their employee as hostage on this base. Your design spec explictlycalled for the drone user-interface to be intuitive enough for ateenagerto pilot it withminimal training. See for yourself."


    Sean groaned. The only reason he had gotten up so early was supposedlyas a backup pilot. And the client had nixed that. Fuck this shit. He debatedtossing the headset and just going home. But Julia''s driver had left and there was no one at this unearthly hour to give him a lift. Maybe he should call a rideshare and send the bill to Julia.


    "Miss Dawn is an extra piece of insurance," Sarov nodded smoothly, "And a lovely piece I might add. But we have our own candidate."


    "We''re wasting time, General," Ludmilla clucked testily, "Summon thetestpilot."


    Sean reluctantly decided to stay, to assure himself that Dawn was alright. Sarov spoke into a intercomm.The door opened shortly after to admit another guardcarrying a shoulder-slung submachine gun anda little girl clinging to his hand who couldn''t have been more than seven or eight. The girl shuffled up to the table dragging one foot stiffly. Her pyjamas were patterned in white camowitha shoulder patchshowing a missile nocked in a bow. A large label with the name Mariam wassewn to the front.Her other hand held a Barbie doll.What the heck was this, Sean frowned and sat up straighter.


    "Is this a joke?" Bryson demanded coldly.


    "Hand over your control goggles, Master-Seargent," Ludmilla ordered, "And standby for consultation.Mariamhere will pilot the drone. She''sis extremely good on the simulator. Isn''t that so, Mariam?"


    "Yes, Ludmilla," the girllooked up with large liquideyes that were reddened as if she''d been crying recently. Her brown hair was tied in a short bunch on top reminiscent of a coconut. Sean frowned when he noticed her left cheek twitching rythmically.


    "Aunt Ludmilla," the woman corrected curtly. Mariam didn''t reply.


    "No joke, Master-Seargent," Sarov seemedamused, "The production version of our spec requiresthe DoomTrooper''sremote piloting systemto be replaced with a child-sized cockpit. Warhead telemetry will be integrated into the cockpit, of course."


    "General" Bryson''s voice was low and controlled, "You must know that the DoomTrooper is not a child''s toy. Secondly, the modification you describe will make the plaform top heavy, throwing off the balancing algorithms. It took the code monkeys longenough to get the bipedal motion..."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "No, the changes are mass neutral,"the little girlpiped up in accentlessEnglish, "I don''t weigh much. Cockpit is mostly empty shell. I bet I can drive a Mecha better than anyone. I''ll show you!"


    "W-what?" Bryson blurted in surprise, then after a pause, "um, you speak English?"


    "I speak 27 human and 12 computer languages," Mariam nodded dismissively, "I can fix the Mecha locomotion if I need to." She tossed the Barbie she was holding on to the table. The doll twitched for a second and then neatly flipped itself on its feet. It walked purposefully, gracefully skipping over scattered pencils, stopping when it came to table edge. Sean blinked in surprise.


    "I''ll be... no way youbuilt this, little girl," Bryson scoffed as he peered down, his videofeed zooming onthe doll. The Barbie had been extensively modified with gleaming articulated joints bulging with tiny stepper motors, a sensor web cleverly woven to look like a sequined dress and a backpackfabricated from a Raspberry Pi Zero circuit board and AAA cells.


    "I did too!" Mariam retorted, herlittle fists bunching in frustration, "the only thing I can''t fix is my leg."


    "Your goggles, Master-Sergeant,"snapped Ludmilla.


    Bryson''s videofeed vanished from Sean''s HUD and when itcame back on he saw Bryson from a viewpoint of someone much shorter.


    "...don''t understand why," Bryson sounded plaintive, "Whygive up remote piloting? You think someone can hack the drone? There''s no fucking way the MASER line-of-sight can be..."


    "Line-of-sight is toolimited forlong range missions, Master-Sergeant," Sarov shook his head wearily, "Look at the terrain outside. And before you say it, using a satellite for drone control is not viable for us. Not when NATO or Russia can blow it out of the skyanytime they feel like it. No, what we need are autonomous dronesa lot cheaperthan what Fuller Dynamics charges for them... which is the price of a Boeing 737."


    "Autonomous drones," Bryson said flatly, "that''s what this little girl is about. A disposal meat brain for the drone. Like the Japanese Kamikaze."


    "Exactly, Master-Sergeant," Sarov beamed, "you are most perceptive. You see, an adult pilotdemands too much life support for extended operation which negates thepoint of a drone. But a child prodigy on the other hand cansurvive on far less, long enough to do the job. And we have acquiredknow-how to breed child prodigies..."


    "General..." Ludmilla''s tone held warning.


    "...which not even our Soviet masters could achieve," Sarov finished smoothly.


    "The risk is too high," one of the officers around the table spoke up, amiddle-aged man who glanced at Ludmilla with a flicker of disdain, "a child''s loyalty is too untested to entrust..."


    "She will obey orders without question," Ludmilla smiled unpleasantly, "or she won''t see her mother again. But if it will set your mind at ease, Colonel, perhaps a quick demo will suffice."


    Ludmilla turned to the wallmonitor which showed the outside view from the drone''s viewpoint, as well as the inside view from Mariam''s viewpoint in a smaller window.


    "Mariam," Ludmilla commanded, "see if you canlook into the valley andspot enemy personnel."


    Sean''s HUD view swung around to the valley floor and magnifying greatly as Mariamzoomed in. A stream meandered through a wheat field dusted with light snow. A long line of people shuffled along the stream''s bank. The men were dressed inthreadbare winterjackets and the women in blankets. Some of the blankets were wrappedaroundchildren that the women dragged with them. TheDoomTrooper''s optics were impressively telescopic. Sean could see the lines of misery on the refugees'' faces. Mariam zoomed out a bit. The column stretched forever.


    "These will do," Ludmilla''s voice interrupted like a whiplash, "Fire on them."


    "No!" Sean yelled into his mic.


    "Who is this?" Mariam''s squeaky voice sounded surprised in hisheadset from the other end of the link.


    "I''m the backup pilot," Sean spoke quickly, "Don''t shoot those people. Please."


    "I have to," Mariam muttered sullenly and raised DoomTrooper''s right arm, the barrels of the Gattling spooling up in the HUD''s view whererangecontoursappeared. Sean hammered on the thumbstick in futility, trying to standdown the "mini-gun", desperately hopinghis control channels were miraculously unjammed. The Gattling gave an terrible burp, the vibration crackling inhis headsetvia internal accelerometers, despite the lack of external audio on the DoomTrooper. Reddotsclustered thickly like anobscene snakeoverlayingeveryman, woman and childon the wintry field. The entire refugee column collapsed like puppets with their strings cut as smart bullets found their mark. Sean heard a distantscreamthat seemed to go on for ever.


    "Stop yelling in my ear," Mariam''s voice snappedSean out of his mindless shriek.


    "This wasn''t part ofthe deal," Bryson said slowly, staring at the wall display monitor, "the demo was supposed to be againstanticipatedenemy infantry."


    "All in good time,"Sarov purred, "Our counter offensive haspushed enemy infantry beyond the range ofyourdrone''s gun. Ludmilla had to improvise. A hundred percent fatality rate among fleeing enemy civilians sends its own message, I think."


    "Yourreactionis hypocritical, Master-Sergeant," Ludmilla observed tartly, "considering the American military is no stranger to civilian casualities. But I digress. Mariam,do you havecontrol of missiles yet?"


    Payload#1 Ready inT minus: 00:00:09


    Payload#2 Ready inT minus: 00:05:23


    Payload#3 Ready inT minus: 00:05:55


    "Nine seconds," whispered Mariam.


    "Have you memorized primary and secondary targets?" Ludmilla demanded and Mariam nodded, "Launch when ready."


    Seanwatched numbly as the first warhead''s status counted down to zero. Mariamraisedthe DoomTrooper''s left arm and the first missile ignited launching itself over the valley. Sean took a quick inventory of likely targets: Georgia to the northwest,Armenia to the southwest and Azerbaijan to the southeast. He didn''t think Russia to the north was a feasible target, not unless General Sarov was suicidal.Two more windows appeared in his HUD tracking the cruise missile''s progress: acamera feed from the missile''spoint-of-view and a map view that showed the missile''s trajectory in three-dimensional space. The missile''s initial eastward pathwas turningsouth. At its current heading it would cross into Azerbaijan''s airspace in seconds.The manualhad stressed that these missiles were NOT fire-and-forget. They were very short range,requiringline of sight to the DoomTrooper anda continuousauthenticationsignal from the drone pilot to keep the warhead armed. Whether this was a limitation of interfacing with Cold War tech or a safety feature wasn''t clear.


    "General Sarov," Mariam spoke suddenly, "You have locked up someone named David Leonidze.Tell mewhich building he is in. It''s only me and other kids on this floor. And Stephanchecked and ruled out other floors in this building."


    For a moment Sarov stared blankly at the little girl, then his face glowered at the guard holding Mariam''s shoulder protectively, "How did you... Private Stephan is it? I''ll have you shot for careless talk..."


    "What business is it of yours, Mariam?" Ludmilla demandedominously.


    "GORGON wants me to eliminatethis David Leonidze before youhandhim to the Americans," the words sounded obscene coming from a seven-year old. Ludmilla''s eyes widened. The guard named Stephan - a boy barely out of his teens -raised his submachine gun and carefully shotthe officers in short bursts, sparing only Ludmilla, Sarov and Bryson. The smokingbarrel wasshoved against Ludmilla''s forehead. Shouts sounded outside the room, followed by pounding atthe door.


    "Your gun, Ludmilla," Mariam spoke quickly, "No tricks."


    Ludmilla''s pistol clatter to the floor, her face twisted in fury, "Your mother..."


    "Mother abandoned me!" Mariam shrieked so loudly that Sean grimaced in pain, "Angel told me what General Sarov did to my mother to make her stoploving me." Tears ran down her face from under her goggles.


    "What," Ludmilla blinked, her eyes narrowing, "General, what''s she talking about?"


    "The lovely young womanwas too attached to herchild togive me the attention I needed," Sarov shrugged, "So I gave her a special shot that suppresses vasopressin and oxytocin. Surely I have the right to any femaleinmate."


    "The mothersare the only control Ihave over the children, you stupid prick.The Directorate will have your head for this..." Ludmilla was working herself into a fit, then turned to Mariam, "wait... who is Angel?"


    "The Angel of Many Souls," whispered Mariam reverently, "the lady from GORGON. You called her Katrina."


    "You fool," Ludmilla snarled at Sarov, "you allowed the GORGON delegation access to children in the pipeline?"


    "Chairwoman Malenkov wanted to inspect her crop," Sarov replied sullenly, "how was I to refuse."


    "Last chance, General," Mariam yelled shrilly, "tell me which building?"


    "Go to hell, brat," snarled Sarov, "by the time I''m done with your mother..."


    Stephan squeezed off another burst. The generalsprawled dead over the maps of his ambition.


    "The hard way then," Mariam''s mouth tightened, watching Ludmilla. The pounding on the door intensified followed by the sound of automatic weapons fire. The door lock splintered.A squad of soldierssmashed through and then froze when they saw the carbine muzzle against Ludmilla''s head. There was no clear line of fire that would spare her.


    "Drop your weapon and surrender, Private," barked an officer.


    "You know what the Directorate will do to you if theirCommissardies," Stephan warned. The officer swung hisrifle towards Mariam.


    "No," screamed Ludmilla, "don''t shoot her. The child is Directorate property."


    Sean watched with the surreal sense of a lucid dream. HisHUD showed Mariamturning around the missile''s trajectory to a full circle. Ablinding sun bloomed on the mountain side outshining the one in the sky.Sean''s HUD blacked out for a secondand cameback on. Where the communications hubhad stood, a glowing mushroom cloudwas rising up likea titan''s fist. A Geigerindicatorchattered urgentlyin his headset. He reflexively jerked back in his seat before registering that he wasn''t physically there. A gale force wind howledfrom the radioactive cloud sweeping away men, vehicles and anything that wasn''taffixed to the ground. The DoomTrooper was the exception. The drone shudderedalarminglyas it leaned into the nuclear wind, it''s sheer mass and stablizationreflex keeping it anchored. Sean stared open-mouthed as the entire truck convoy slidover the side of the road, fallinginto the valley below. Two of the trucks narrowlymissed the drone as they wenttumblingto their deaths. The other three concrete buildings remained intact except for blackening of the walls and missing glass. Low-yield nuke, Sean nodded, ferverently hoping Dawn hadn''t been taken to the vaporized hub. Smokecrackled from the pyre of the picturesque surrounding town.


    The LCD wall displaywent darkat the moment of impact. Bryson, Stephan and Ludmilla threw themselves to the floor following Mariam''s lead. The guards didn''t catch on quickly enough. The window pane disintegrated into shards flyinglike bullets, slicing and shredding the assault sqaud.Alarm''s blared in the corriodor.


    "Oh no, no, no, no." Ludmilla moaned and sat up slowly, "what have you done, you little fiend."


    "One down, two to go," Mariam muttered, getting up and limping over to the table to inspect Bryson''s MASER antenna for possible damage. She adjusted the antenna realigning it to the drone outside and carefully kicked away Ludmilla''s pistol on the floor beyond the Commissar''s reach. Sean felt a stab of admirationover hispity. The little girl was far toocompetent for someone so young.


    "You are a soldier of the Republic," Ludmilla looked over her shoulder at the kneeling Stephan, "why commit treason?"


    "He liked my mother a lot," Mariam walked over andthrew her arms aroundStephan''s neck. The innocence in her tonebrokeSean''s heart.


    "Ah," Ludmilla''s shoulders slumped, "My mistake to not rotate the guards."


    Bryson got to his feet dusting off glass pieces. He was laughing, a sound of madexhilaration, "Since DoomTrooper has performed flawlessly, ma''am, my business here is concluded. Hey little girl, Mary-Ann or whatever your name is, it was nice meeting you and all. But I really need to scoot. Customers to meet, deals to make, yadda yadda. Are we cool?"


    "Go," Mariam nodded.


    Bryson gave Ludmilla a mock salute and carefully stepped over bodies. He paused just outside the door and turned to stare at Mariam, "Do what yougot do it, kid. Don''t worry about me."


    Then Bryson was gone.Sean sat ponderinghis parting comment and then stiffened in realization. The comment had been meant for Sean, not Mariam. Wait, that communications hub had been jamming his satellite control... He flexed his thumbstick and the drone turned to his command! He had finally acquired co-pilot control.


    Payload#2READY FOR LAUNCH


    Payload#3 Ready inT minus: 00:00:03


    Sean launched the second warhead. Mariam swore something in her tongue that the HUD couldn''t translate. Sean pulled back his stick gaining altitude, then pulled harder toguide the missile into a loop-the-loop.


    "What do you think you are doing?" Mariam demanded as she launched the third warhead.


    "Drop the missile and walk away," Sean ordered, "Or..."


    "Or what?"Mariam challenged.


    "I''ll destroy your building," Sean promised, " I can''t let you blow upDavid Leonidze. A girl Iknow is in there with him."


    "Hmm... do you know which building I am in?" Mariam taunted, "Didn''t think so. One third chance you''ll hit your girlfriend. Feeling lucky, punk?"


    Sean steadied the missile''s descent. It''s projectedpath on the HUD intersected one of the concrete monoliths. But which one was Mariam in? There was no way for Sean to tell, from the brief glimpse of the outside he''d seen from Bryson''s video feed. He couldn''t simplytarget one at random. An icy fearcaressed him. Dawn was going to die. Hemight simplyend upfinishing whatMariam had started, if he nuked one of the three standing buildings at random. Mariam''s missile was mimicking his owntrajectory not far behind as she began to steady her descent, picking one of the two buildings that Sean wasn''t targeting. In a few seconds it would be over, one way or another.


    A sudden yearning for dear Mei-Ling''s company hitSean like a blow. Wise loyal Mei-Ling who hadput up with histeen angst for so long. Tears pricked his eyes. He missed hermotherly wisdom.Time seemed to slow for Sean, his mind automatically dredging up everything he''d learned on estimating odds, matching patterns. Then it clicked. He didn''t knowwhich of the three buildings Mariam was in, but Mariam did.


    There had been agameshow called the Monty Hall show, where the host would ask the participant to pick one of three closed doors. Only one of the doors held treasure and only the host knew which one. After the participant selected a door, the host would open one of the other doors which was always guaranteed to be empty and ask the particpant if he wanted to stick to his first selection or switch to theother closed door. Most participants would say no, seeing no advantage in switching doors, and in doing so would fail to realize that the host wasn''t picking the empty door at random. The host knewwhich door heldthe prize. Just as Mariam knew which building she was in, and could see which building Sean was targeting. Sean''s prior chance of targeting her correctly was only 1/3. There was 2/3 chance that she was in one of the other two buildings. And since she would never target her own building, there was 2/3 chance that Mariam was in the building that neither Sean or Mariam had targeted. Sean was making a Bayesian update on his odds based on the opponent''s knowledge which was utterly non-intuitive to most people.


    "Found you," Sean snarled, veering the missile away sharply towardshis new target, amoment before impact. Mariam screamed shrilly.An atomicsunblossomedagain, a twin to the first. Mariam''s trajectory vanished from the HUD, her missile auto-disarming and slamming harmlessly into it''s target. The new mushroom cloud anditslarger sibling illuminatedthe remaining two buildings in hellish light.Dawn and her boyfriendmust be in one of these. Probably. Sean ripped the HUD off his face to wipe awayhis tears, but they kept flowing. He sat for a long time in the armory,sobbing his heart out, thinking of precocious littleMariam who''d never had a chance at a normal life. Thechild he''d vaporized to save Dawn.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 35

    Sean walked out of the orthopedic trauma specialist''s office, wincing when he tried to flex his left arm and wrist. The medical insurance card from theDOE had opened many doors. His mother had dropped him off at the Greenwich Hospital before leaving to work at the bank on Saturday morning. Sean''s oppressive cast was finally off after six long weeks but his arm was still quite useless from stiffness and muscle loss. Not to mention how weird it looked and smelled underhis sleeve. But that wasn''t why he wasgrimacing as he took the elevator up to the private suites instead of heading out the lobby. Judith Fuller was also being treated here. A terse text from her mom last night informed him that Judith was being discharged today and this was his chance to say goodbye. His apprehension at facing Judith condensed into a knot of dread within the blanket of dull remorse that had settled over him after the fiasco in the South Caucasus.There had been an impromptu hearing in Julia''s office conducted by the State Department. That and the subsequent shouting match with Julia had left his emotions raw and bleeding.


    The wall sconces grew dimmer andwood panelling more elaborate as he proceeded into the hospital''s private wing. Elliot was pacing slowly on the plush carpeting outside the suite. Sean suppressed an urge toflee at the sight of the butler''s menacing form.


    "Master Sean," the butler nodded, his right hand smoothlyslidinga semiautomaticback intoitsjacket holster, "A moment, if you please."


    Elliot lifted his left arm and spoke softly into his watch, waiting untilhis earphone crackled an answer. He rapidly punched into a keypad on the door of the suite, then Sean was ushered in. Susan Fuller was packing up a dozen pieces of luggage in a private dining area assisted by a uniformed woman - a patient concierge fromher name tag.


    "Don''t upset her too much," Susan gave him a hard look, then gestured at another door. Seanhesitated swallowing a lump in his throat and then entered after knocking. Judith sat on the edge of a hospital bed staring out the window, her red hair gleaming bright. Her fragile figure turned at his approach,a pale shadow of the cheerful girl that had haunted Sean''s waking dreams. Even heavy makeup couldn''t hide the half of her face that looked like sandpaper had been applied to it. Sean flinched, forcing himself not to stare.


    "I thought you were my friend," Judith broke the stretching silence.


    "I was,"Sean protested, "I mean... I still am, Judith,"


    "I thought I had found someone to helpmeactually make a difference," Judith continued hoarsely, "Stupid me, I guess."


    "Judith," Sean licked his lips, "I''m sorry I lied..."


    "Why, Sean?" Judith spat, anger momentarilysparking her pain-deadened eyes, "For money? Reg and I would have hired you intoour non-profit. Or you could have worked for my dadafter graduation. Is it some stupid vendetta you have going on with my brother? Grow up, forheavenssake! This isn''t some jock-versus-nerd sitcomm."


    "Work for your dad?" Sean gritted his teeth, "So he could use and discard me, like he did to my dad? All I heard around the dinner table growing up was how much the Fuller dynasty had done for Portsmouth, yadda yadda. Until your dad sold off his helicopter divsion and threw away his workers like they were leftovers, the men who practically worshipped him. And for what? A couple of billion? That''s chump change for your family."


    "I didn''t..." Judith stared at him..


    "Your asshole brother contracted the Collection Agency to have me memory wiped and framed for vandalism," Sean''s rage surged at the thought of his nemesis, "Jason has to answer for that."


    "Jason wouldn''t do such a thing," Judith retorted angrily, "I know my brother."


    "Apparently you don''t," Sean bit out, then sighed, "Judith, I didn''t come here to fight with you. Not asking for forgiveness either. Just wanted to make amends for betraying your trust. I won''t be bothering you again. Can we part on good terms?"


    "Eveytime you spoke, I felt that a... a blanket draped over the world had been lifted for me to see beneath the surface," Judith tucked her legs under athick pillow,chin resting on her palms, hair framing her face like a red bell, "And when you pulled your stunt I felt like I''d been... slapped. But I''m notpissed at you anymore. Whatever you told Elliot about viral evolutionary mechanisms, helped save my life. I still can''t believe anyonefrom school would sabotage my lab. Elliot suspects Reg of all people, can you freaking believe it! Reginald Gibbs is like a... perfect gentleman. I threw a pillow at Elliot, I was so angry."


    Sean laughed. Judith joined him after a moment, something of her old sparkle shining through.


    "If you really meant what you said about making amends," Judith picked up a notepad on the nightstand and passed it to Sean, "I sketched a concept for eliminating the Anopheles gambiaemosquito strain in Africa. Help me implement it."


    "Are you nuts?" Sean demanded, "You were nearly killed playing biotech mad scientist. No way your parents are letting you anywhere near a lab again."


    "I can hire people to do the grunt work, silly," Judith waved dismissively, "But I need someone to make sure what I''m doing doesn''t ruin the local ecology. Someone who intuitively understands system dynamics. You."


    "Judith, no," Sean distractedly ran fingers through his hair, "Do you know how long it takes for Big Pharma to go from clinical trial to production? I''m not wasting years of my life just because you want to play Florence Nightingale. Are you trying to make amends because your dad is a weapons maker? The daughter of the Merchant of Death, is that it? You think the world will kissyour feet for trying to save it? Not fucking likely. Ask Dr. Semmelweis what they did to him."


    "Have I heard that name before?" Judith frowned.


    "Semmelweis was a physician at Vienna General Hospital in the mid-nineteenth century," Sean smiled sady, "He figured out why so many pregnant women where dying of childbed fever in the doctors'' ward. Turns out the doctors where infecting the pregnant mothers by operating on them without washing their hands straight after performing autopsies.Semmelweis showed, fucking demonstrated, that the mothers could be saved if the doctors just washed their hands with chlorine before surgery. You think his peers were grateful? No, he made them look bad. Instead of taking two minutes to wash their hands before surgey and save the women''s lives, they mockedSemmelweis and drove him to mental breakdown.Semmelweis was commited to an asylum where he was beaten by the guards and died soon after."


    "Why are you telling me this?" Judith asked in a choked whisper.


    "No good deed goes unpunished," Sean''s voice was surprisingly gentle, "Isn''t that why you are here?"


    "But, Sean, why focus on the bad stuff?" Judith protested, "Look how far we have come..."


    "Knock yourself out, Mother Theresa," Sean got up to leave, "If you think the world has grown oh-so-civilized since the nineteeth century, you''ll have your heart broken. Take care. Tell your grandma, I said hi."


    "Were you born a jerk?" Judith yelled after him, "Or did you turn into one later, Edge Lord?"


    "It was fifth grade, I think," Sean paused at the door.


    "Huh?" Judith clearly hadn''t expected an answer.


    "That''s when I turned into a jerk," Sean frowned, considering, "We were doing this social studies assignment on our family trees. Each kid was supposed to pick two ancestors with the most interesting histories for an essay."


    "What''s that got to do with it?" Judith frowned.


    "I researched my family tree until I got to1864," Sean hesitated, then continued, "My mom traces her ancestry back to a Cheyenne-Arapaho settlement in east Colorado called Sandy Creek. These people were forced to live on land much smaller than they were promised by earlier treaties. Still, they made peace with white officials and flew the American flag to display their friendly status. Didn''t matter. The settlement which was mostly women and children was attacked by the Coloroda US Volunteer Cavalry. The women were hacked to pieces along with their infant and unborn children, their body parts taken as trophies. Children old enough to run had their brains blown out. And the interesting part? I traced my dad''s lineage to one of the killers at Sandy Creek under US Army Colonel Chivington. My two most interesting ancestors tied to the same massacre: a soldier whocommitted itand a woman who survived it. One of life''snasty little jokes.After I turned in my assignment, I finally understood."This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "Understood what?" Judith''s eyes had widened in horror, glistening surprisingly bright under the light.


    "That the universe is a mindless machine devoid of mercy," was Sean''s parting comment as he closed the door behind him.


    Judith''s mom had finished packing. A couple of burly security types were loading the pieces of luggage onto dollies and wheeling them out the door of the suite under Elliot''s watchful eyes.


    "Ah, Sean," Susan looked up from her phone, "Do you have a ride scheduled?"


    "I do," Sean nodded, "My mom will pick me after lunch."


    "After lunch?" Susan raised an eyebrow, "A waste of time to be lounging around the hospital. You can ride with us on our way home."


    "Oh?" Sean was taken aback, "That''s... really not necessaryMrs. Fuller. Pelican''s Nest is closer to Greenwich than my house. It would be too much of a detour."


    "It''s just acouple of minutes longer," Susan waved away his objection, "Elliot tells me you live within walking distance of Portsmouth City Airport. I''ll drop you off there. If you''ll wait outside, we''ll getgoing shortly."


    Sean nodded and stepped out, still confused. The city airfield was more than just a ''couple of minutes'' farther away.He wasuncomfortable with Susan''s apparent helpfulness. In the solitude of the corridor, Sean''s mind replayedhis recent drone combat experience over and over like a news reel that would never fade. Refugeesdroppingon the snow like rag dolls and little Mariam''s scream just before she flashed into radioactive vapor.


    "Sean, what are you still doing here?" Judith had stepped out, wrapped in a wool trench coat.


    "Uh...your mom offered me a ride home," Sean rubbed his eyes. He had fallen asleep against the wall.


    "She did?" Judith turned to Susan, sounding as surprised as Sean. Susan simply nodded.


    "Ready when you are, Miss Judith," Elliot nodded and led the way. They crowded intoa narrow elevator which wasn''t the one Sean had used. Sean''s discomfort grew as he found himself squeezed between Susan and Elliot. Susan was as stunning as Sean remembered, even withdarkcircles under the eyes acquired no doubt during her daughter''s ordeal. He was acutely aware of her heady perfume andcovered his unease by looking down at his shoes. It would be mortifying to be caught ogling Judith''s mom.Elliot produced a key to unlock the keypad. The elevator began toascend.


    "Aren''t we headed the wrong way?" Sean frowned.


    "Nope," Susan smiled. They emerged on the hospital roof in sunlight. There was a Bell 429 on the helipad that Sean first took to bea medvac helicopter. Then he noticed the Fuller Dynamics logo. It was their ride. There was an ungainly gizmo - like a cross between a rail gun and a generator - boltedto the underbody that Sean was certain hadn''t been there during Judith''s birthday party.


    "Infra-red counter-measures active?" Susanglanced at Elliot.


    "Of course, ma''am," nodded the butler, "along with the new AI defenses trained to spot unmmaned craft. Not even a hobby drone can approach us without being fried."


    "Make sure it''s turned off during landing, Elliot," Susan noted wryly, "We don''t want to knock out the city grid."


    "There''s little chance of that, ma''am," the butler sounded reproachful, "the AIis online only aboveone thousandfeet."


    Sean was seated in the passenger cabin facing Susan and Judith. Elliotsecured the cabin door behind them and thenclimbed into the co-pilot seat. The active-comfort cushions molded themselves around Sean''s body in a whir of servos. The in-flight entertainment consoles between the pairs of seats flickered to life. This is Jason''s life, the old resentment flared in Sean''s heart. The rotor spooled upin a whine of turbines. They chopper lifted and headed east towards Portsmouth. Long Island Sound was adark expanse on their right, choppy under cloudy sky.


    "It''s quieter than I expected in here," Sean noted.


    "The cabin is a seperate capsule connected to the airframe only at two points," Susan nodded, "Sort of like a thermos flask. Keeps out engine noise."


    Sean stared out at the panorama, his mind elsewhere. Judith rested her head on her mother''s shoulder, her eyes occasionally flickering with a troubled expression to Sean.


    "So, Sean," Susan cleared her throat, "I didn''t get a chance to thank you for clueing us in with Judith''s diagnosis."


    "Just a lucky guess," Sean turned away, not in the mood for conversation.


    "Still," Susan continued quickly, "I''m in your debt. This does not absolve you of your earlier actions, but if there''s anything I can do..."


    "You couldlet me sue your husband and son for endangering my life, not to mention assault and battery," Sean suggested hopefully, "without pressing retaliatory charges onme."


    "I''m afraid I can''t do that," Susan shook her head, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t do you much good. Our lawyers are extremely competent. We have a reputation to protect after all.¡±


    ¡±Didn¡¯t think so,¡± Sean muttered, thenpaused wondering if he was laying it on a bit thick, "But I''m really glad Judith is OK. The world is betterfor her presence."


    Judithwholookeduncomfortable at the turn of conversation, flushed at Sean''s praise.


    ¡±Whoever did this to my baby,¡± Susan''slipsdrew back in a snarl, voice thick with emotion, ¡°I willfindthem. However long it takes.¡±


    ¡±You are convinced it wasfoul play?¡± Sean asked curiously.


    ¡±Someone careful enoughnot to reveal their hand,¡± Susan looked at him appraisingly, ¡°I agree with Elliot''s assessment that it''s not GORGON''s style. Which brings me to my question: How would you go about killing us, Sean? If youwanted tomake it look like an accident?"


    "Mom!" Judith lookedscandalized.


    "I''m not insinuating anything," Susan held up her hand, "You are alive because Seanhas a knack ofthinking like your assassinin the shadows. Perhaps he can give me some idea what to watch out for. I have to assume whoever is after us is willing to bidtheir time and keep trying."


    "I''m touched," Seanfrowned in concentration, his gaze far away, "if I had to guess I''d say our mysterious assassin is attempting toexploitnatural asymmetry to work for them."


    "Asymmetry?" Susan raisedan eyebrow.


    "There is a deadly... non-linearity to the world," Sean organizednebulous thoughtsinto words, "An asymmetry souniversalwe don''t consciously think of it. Most things in life have limited upside and unlimited downside. Everyone knowsyou can''tget to the airport inzero time, but you canend up taking hours longerif there''s gridlock. Life-saving surgery won''t extend your life forever, but can kill you through complications.Uncertainty is bad for such systems. On the other extreme, there are systems withunlimited upside that actually work better under uncertainty."


    "Like buying underpriced put options far out-of-the-money," Susan nodded thoughtfully, "and making out like bandits when the market tanks."


    "Says the rich lady who can afford to hemorrhage cash," Sean grinned sourly, "but yes. Another system that works better under uncertainty is evolution, by killing off parts of the system that aren''t robust. That was the mechanism Judith wastrying to use in her oncolytic viral therapy, the very same mechanism hijacked to infect her. But these are exceptions. Most of the time the universe is trying its hardest tokill you. Your assassin just needs to tip the balance ever so slightly."


    "The assassin won''t get another chance at Judith," Susan said firmly, "And I''m takingsteps to protect Jason at Cardiff."


    Steps to protect Jason, wasn''t that a pain in the neck,Sean scowled as his dreams of sweet revengegot a little bit harder. But it was for the best, he told himself. After all, he couldn''t kick Jason''s ass if Jason was dead.


    "...how would you get past Elliot toget at me?" Susan was looking at him expectantly.


    "How do you commute to Wall Street?" Sean brought his mind back to the present.


    "Three days a week by helicopter," Susan nodded, "but not to Wall Street. I have a main office in Bridgeport. It isvery secure. Only my quants and vetted clients are permitted."


    "Your office may be secure," Sean mused, "But this helicopter isa weak link, a statisticalbarrier thatcankill youin the presence of repeated exposure."


    Susan looked surprised, "Air-to-air defenses on this helicopter are more advanced than... "


    "No, I meant simple mechanical failure," Sean shook his head, "if the engines stop you are dead. Granted therisk is minimal for any single flight. But it all adds up over the years. Even that''s not significant, I know. But what if the assassin can dial up the risk of failure. Something that carries only minor riskfor each flight, but is certain to kill you after a year or two of flying.Like Russian roulette. A single game of Russian roulette may not kill you, but if you play it every day you''ll end up dead. And unlike Russian roulette the gun barrel of realityhas thousands of chambers, most of them empty. After a while we forget that the barrel exists."


    "How the heck would you dial up risk ofengine failure?" Susan and Judith were staring at him. "No one can get near the chopper."


    "I don''t know, it was just an example" Sean muttered, "Have you seen or heard anything odd during your commute?"


    "Odd?" Susan blinked, "Like what?"


    "You know, unusual noises, that sort of thing," Sean looked embarassed. He looked out the window to see how much longer hewas obligedto talk to Susan without staring at her like a creep. The chopper was past Pelican''s Nest and descending towards Portsmouth.


    "No, I can''t say I have," Susan knitted her brows, "except forodd weather."


    "Odd weather?" Sean turned back to admire Susan''s taste in fall fashion.


    "We''ve been encounteringoccasional hail toward Bridgeport this past couple of months," Susan nodded, "even with no thunderstorms in the vicinity. Hail can be dangerous to helicopters, as youcan guess.Butusuallya chopper would encounter storm winds that force it to turn back long before it sees any hail."


    "That is odd," Sean looked mystified.


    "You are creeping me out, Sean," Susan laughed nervously, "Surely you don''t think whoever is after my family can control the weather?


    "No," Sean admitted, "but you might want Elliot to note down the coordinates ofthese hail patterns and investigate these areas more thoroughly. And thanks for the ride, Mrs. Fuller. Ithinkmy stop is coming up. I can see City Airport and my house."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 36

    "Andyoung man, what possessedyoutowalk the drone to the Armenian border?" Assistant Secretary Hannah Priceglowered at Sean through the teleconference display, "Were you trying tofan the conflict beyond Azerbaijan?"


    "I wastold toself-destructthe DoomTrooper in case the deal went south," Sean muttered hollowly, "but I was out of warheads. I figured the drone would be flagged as a threat and taken out by the Armenian border post."


    "Which they did," Julia nodded approvingly across the table, "Good thinking, Sean."


    "Any word on Dawn and Bryson?" Sean looked up with listless eyes.Heknew there waslittle chance that theMaster-Sergeant had survived, but Dawn might still be alive if she had been held in one of the buildings that hadn''t been vaporized.


    "We''ll send an extraction team when the radiation on site drops below lethal dose," growled theAssistant Secretary, a plump middle-aged woman with platinum blond hair tied in a bun. She looked like someone''s favorite aunt but without thejolliness.


    "May I ask why theAssistant Secretary For Arms Control ishandling this informal hearing?" Julia made air quotes with her fingers around ''informal'', "I was expecting theAssistant Secretary for European and Eurasian Affairs."


    "You may not,"Price said curtly, "but I''ll tell you.My Under Secretary is concerned about proliferation of ITAR proscribed technology. I''mlooking intoZero Sum''srolein that."


    "We are just a think tank," Julia smiled faintly, "You could say we improve market efficiency by connecting buyers to sellers and bringing warfare toits natural conclusion. To quote a movie villain, we do not cause the destruction, we simply manage it."


    "Cut the bullshit, Thornton,"snapped Price, "You may fool the Political Affairs division, but youaren''t fooling us. I know the influence your corporate clients wield over small nations. You think I haven''t noticed how pitifully small is the GDP of South Caucasus Republic compared to the market capitalization of Gibbs Consortium or Fuller Dynamics?"


    "Wrong units," Seanremarked tonelessly.


    "What?" Price frowned.


    "You are using incompatible units to make your point." Sean stirred in his seat, "Gross Domestic Product is a unit offlow,the rate of monetaryvalue produced per year. Market capitalization, on the other hand, is the total dollar value of a company''s outstanding..."


    He trailed off at the Assistant Secretary''s expression. Julia grinned.


    "You''ll be hearing from me, Thornton," Price scowled as she cut the web link.


    "I look forward to it,Assistant Secretary," Julia said sweetly, adding as the screen went dark, "Not."


    "She''s right, isn''t she?" Sean stared at Julia, narrowing his eyes, "About this world domination thing.You are playingGibbs and the Fullers. Using their greed to achieve your ends."


    "Zero Sum''s mission is to minimize death toll," Julia''s face was a shade too expressionless, "Body counts are bad for business unless you are an undertaker. Whatever I do is towards that."


    "Bullshit," Sean retorted hotly, "You are destabilizing the world. Zero Sum is brokering advanced weapons to conflict zones."


    "Ever heard of mutually assured destruction, Sean,?" Julia asked mildly, "Sometimes war is peace."


    "I might believe that if you weren''tstructuring dealsaroundongoingbattles," Sean scoffed.


    "You are perceptive, Sean, but not perceptive enough," Julia sighed and leaned back in her chair to stare out the window in silence. When Sean began to fidget she seemed to come to a decision. At the flick of aswitch a transparent slab the size of a large desktop monitor slid up vertically from the desk. A virtual keyboard glowed to life under Julia''s fingers. She typed rapidly and the slab - apparently a two way display - lit up with a line graph.


    "Question time," Julia tapped on the line graph, "Imagine aquantity you want suppressed or minimized."


    "What quantity?" Sean squinted at the vertical axismarked with a random symbol. The horizontal axis counted off years as the trace fluctuated in squiggly spikes above the zero line."


    "Forest fires for example," Julia shrugged, "Inthe firstscenariowe do nothing, just let nature take it''s course. In the second scenario we actively suppress it." A console command brought up a second trace but completely flatlined. "Which one would you say has the worst case long term forecast?"


    "The second scenario, I think," Seansaid slowly.


    "Why do you think so?" Julia smiled grimly, "After all it looks pretty stable."


    "We can think of any dynamic system as a series ofstocks and flows," Sean continued reluctantly, "When we put out forest fires, the stock of combustible material - dry leaves and branches - keeps growing. When it finally gets ignited we get onegiganticconflagrationinstead of abunchof little ones."


    One the display the first graph continued simulating its squigglytrace. The second graphextended its flatline zero trace, monotonously dull, then suddenly spiked up so high it dwarfed the squiggles on the first trace.


    "Whatused to bea localproblemis now a global outbreak consumingvastly more lives," Julia''s ghastly smile grewwider, "All because humans can''t leave well enough alone."


    "Are you saying..." Sean didn''t like where this was going.


    "I''m sayingit issometimes better to have lots of little wars instead of one big one," Julia whispered, "The FirstWorld War would not haveoccured if Europe hadn''t polarized itself intoarmed camps that effectively stamped out conflict withinmember states. Medieval Europe for all its nastiness did not face the devastation of world wars. The God of War demandsroutinesacrifices, or else... "


    Sean stared at her. Julia''s smile faded, "What do you know of GORGON?"


    "Um, they control large parts of Eastern Europe and the US Army is fighting them," Sean scowled fingering the cast of his broken arm, but didn''t mention the part GORGON had played in it. He could hardly wait until tomorrow whenthe cast was scheduled to be removed.


    "What may not be obvious is that GORGON''s diplomatic reach far exceedsits military capacity," Julia nodded and tapped her fingers.


    A map of Europe with a roughly circularcrosshatching inscribing thearea between Germany and Russia, marked''Ostland Autonomous Region''. The map zoomed out, a checkerboard of nations color-coded by their official diplomatic status with GORGON. Most of the world was shadedin the grey or green of neutrality or friendship. Only NATOcountries in western and southern Europe showed the red of hostility.


    "Didn''t know GORGON had so many friends," Sean muttered.


    "It''s why they have survived so long," Julia pursed her lips, "GORGON has done more to suppress violent conflict outside Europe than the United Nations. Which isn''t saying much, I suppose."


    "Yougot to beshitting me," Sean stared suspiciously at Julia.


    "I''m serious. Their English acronym is Global Organization for Optimizing Nations," Julia nodded, "Note that I said suppress, not defuse. Takeany hotspot that hasn''t erupted into open war: South China sea, the Korean Peninsula, the India subcontinent, North Africa. GORGON is acting behind the scenes. Putting a lid on the pressure cooker."


    "And you think they are setting us up for World War Three," Sean frowned at the outlandish idea.


    "A series of geopolitical dominoes carefully arranged to be triggered at the right time," Julia bared her teeth.


    "But... but it''s ridiculous," Sean protested, "There''stoo many variables to control.Too many things that can throw awrenchintheir plan. GORGON would almost need to be clairvoyant to pull it off."


    "Sometimes I wonder," Julia muttered, "But not all their dominoes need to fall, just enough for the conflict to go global. They do have the intellectual base to pull it off. GORGON has been recruiting the best and brightest around the globe for most of its existence.At first theysimply kidnapped scientists,when GORGON was just another extremist group operating in the power vacuum created bySoviet withdrawl. These days they pay enormous sums toscientists willing to relocate."Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "Have you talked to anyone who used to work for GORGON?" Sean asked curiously.


    "No," Julia shook her head, "No scientist has ever returned from the Ostland Autonomous Region."


    "No one?" Sean stared, "Not even those recruited through official channels? Sounds like a bummer of a deal. Why would their families agree to move if they could never leave?"


    "The families don''t relocate," Julia explained, "The scientists who take the bait know it''s a one way trip. But some of them are desperate for employment and their families are set for life."


    "I''m sorry, your doomsday hypothesis sounds too fanciful," Sean crossed his arms, "Show me the analysis to back it up."


    "You aren''t cleared for it," Juliashook her head in regret, "I tell you what, let me petition the DoD toupgrade your clearance. On one condition. If you agree with my conclusions, you must be willing tothrow away millions of lives to save billions. That''s what seperates the men from the boys, Sean."


    "No," Sean spat bitterly, "I''m done getting people... kids killed." Mariam''s stll scream echoed withinhis skull. Thelittle girl whohacked her Barbie doll withcutting edge robotics and paid the price for her intelligence.


    "If you change your mind,"frustrationspasmed briefly across Julia''s face, "my door is always open."


    "Um," Sean coughed, "About that letter of recommendation you promised..."


    "I have it here," Julia walked up to a filing cabinet and rummaged through it. She pulled out an envelope and dropped it in front of Sean.


    "Thank... you," Sean hated the whine of gratitude that crept into his voice. He couldn''t help it. Thenote was printed in Zero Sum''s letterhead and praised him in glowing terms. Below Julia''s signature as think tank director was a list of endowments she had donated to every Ivy League school in New England.Itpractically guaranteed admission to any college ofhis choosing.


    "Of course,the bestschools aren''t too eager to hand outfull-ride scholarships," Julia chuckled, "And if you find yourself unable to afford it, well then, you know where to find me."


    "If I do your bidding," Sean said slowly.


    "If you do my bidding," Julia nodded, "Tell me, Sean. What do you want from life?"


    "Money," Sean said prompty, "To getwealthy enough so I don''t have to work for anyone."


    "Understandable," Julia''s lips turned up slightly, "but let me give a bit of advice. The number one rule I learned from my husband. To get rich you must first survive."


    Sean jumped as Juliaslammed her handson her desk, "I know, but..."


    "I''ve seenyour file, Sean," Julia leaned back, "I don''t know what you were trying to pull at the Fuller residence, but you almost got yourself into juvenile detention. Not to mention nearly getting killed in the GORGON attack on Fuller''s plant. Ah, I see you are surprised."


    "How... why do you think..." Sean caught himself.


    "I have sources in the government," Julia suddenly reminded Sean of a spider, "That incident, by the way, was a message from GORGON intended for me. I am the power behind the throne in Portsmouth, Sean. Not the Gibbs or the Fullers. You need a mentor, someone like me to steer you away from bad decisions."


    "I prefer to be the master of my destiny," Sean muttered as he got up to take his leave.


    In time you will call me your master, was the gist of Julia''s thoughts in the silence of her office. The boy was distraughtover thecasualities in his ''field'' assigment even if he hid it well. Julia smiled. Guilt was an excellent tool for manipulation even if she herself was immune to it. An apprentice who understood the causal structures of the world was worth their weight in gold. But such competence usually came only with experience and theexperienced servednone but themselves. On the other hand, teenpolymathscould beloyal as a puppy but hopelessly idealistic. Julia had searched theConnecticut school districts long and hardfor amoral prodigies of the kind she had once been, but the Collection Agency hidits tracks very well. Sean Cook and Tiffany Brooks were themost promising yet. Itwas worth thetime and effort needed to dismantletheir youthful ethical compass and remoldthem inJulia''s image. GORGONcould prythe world from her cold dead hands if Julia had anything to say about it.


    #


    "... expertsat the International Atomic Energy Agency... full extent of fallout from last Friday''s nuclear detonations in the South Caucasus... cause is yet to be determined... has heightened tensions in the region... the SCR has accused its neighbors... closer scrutiny into the role of Gibbs Consortium, one of Portsmouth''s Big Two..."


    "That should put a damper on Gibbs," Richard Fuller chuckled as he switched off the TV. Susan sat beside him on the couch in their living room sipping a glass of wine.


    "You think GORGON is behind it?" Susan turned to her husband.


    "Probably," Richard shrugged, "Those pricks are getting to be a pain in the ass. The Army needs to step up their game." He hesitated, "Speaking of Gibbs, you think we should stop Judith from seeing Reginald? She''s all set tobeginher new life at theprivateschool but that won''t protect her if Reginald Gibbs was really behind..."


    "No,"Susan shookher head, "Judith will disown us. You know how she feels aboutthat charity foundation she is co-chairingwith the Gibbs boy. I think you are looking at this all wrong. The Gibbs family may bebitter business rivals and I wouldn''t put it pastGibbs senior to sabotage your product launch or... even steal your IP. Butwhy would they harmJudith and ruin whatmight be a future union of our two families?"


    "Union of familes?" Richard looked incredulously at his wife, "Susan, they are just kids! You can''t plan who they mightsettle down with ten years down the road..."


    Soft measured footstepsapproached, and a discreet cough, "Beg pardon sir, ma''am. Dreadfully sorry for interrupting."


    "What is it, Elliot?" Richard waved him forward.


    "Thought you might want to see this, sir," the butler carried an ice cooler and a manilla folder. He set the cooler box on the floor andhanded the folder to Richard.


    "What am I looking at?" Richard flipped through photos, maps and sketches.


    "I''ve been looking into the possible causes for unexplained hail patterns encountered during Mrs. Fuller''s air commute," Elliot began as Richard looked bemused, "The map shows Mrs. Fuller''s usual flight path in green and thered circle the region of abnormal hail. The X-marks within the red circle are candidate sites I''ve been investigating..."


    "Investigating?" Richard looked flabbergasted, "For hail? Elliot, have you gone completely bonkers?"


    "Let him speak, Richard," Susan chided.


    "Thank you, ma''am," Elliot said stiffly, and pointed to a photo of a red brick factory building with a single tall chimney belching white smoke, "That is the old Connecticut Ice Factory #1 which used to ship ice blocks to mid-Atlantic states until..."


    "Until I boughtout Connecticut Ice and shut it down," Richard nodded, "I remember. They were in the red for years, long before I sold off their assets. But this particular factory was a dinosaur. A museum piece I sold to New Haven city. They even have tours now, I think."


    "Indeed, sir," Elliot nodded, "I recall Master Jason and Miss Judith mention it when they spokeof their school field trips."


    "The point, Elliot?" Richard waved him on impatiently.


    "This photo is recent, sir," Elliot continued, "You will notice that the chimney is smoking. For a factory that was decommissioned."


    "Ah," Richard frowned.


    "I convinced the New Haven police to obtain a search warrant," Elliot pointed to a photo of a mug shot, "The factory caretaker is one Tobias McIntosh, a former employee of Connecticut Ice who runs an anti-Fuller blog in his spare time. It seems he bears a grudge against you, sir. Blames you for the loss of his former job."


    "There''s an anti-Fuller blog?" Richard looked amused, "People are allowed to have their opinions, Elliot."


    "See those helium cylinders, sir?" Elliot tapped another photo, this one of the factory interior, "Part of the old equipment had been modified."


    Elliot stepped back and opened the lid of the ice cooler he''d placed on the floor. A cluster of translucentspheres the size of golf balls rose languidly in the air drifting slowly towards the ceiling.


    "Is this some sort of joke?" Richard demanded.


    "No, sir," Elliot shook his head, "the factory equipment had been modified to emit these. A thin shell of ice trapping helium. Little ice balloons just slightly less dense than surrounding air. That''s what you see coming out the chimney. Not smoke. Lots and lots of little ice balloons.Right into the flight path of Mrs. Fuller helicopter. Found in Tobias McIntosh''s possession was a map of Mrs. Fuller''s route and several photographs ofthe helicopter flying over. There''slittle doubt what Mr. McIntosh intended to achieve."


    "That''s the abnormal hail we kept running into," Susan broke the long silence, icytendrils of fear that had relaxed their hold afterJudith had come home now startingto grip her again, "Any one of these isn''t a threat by itself. But running into a bunch ofthese on every flight, it''s only a matter of time before the engines ingested these... and the clever thing is the ice would leave no trace once it melted."


    "Mr. McIntosh is being held on charges related to tampering, since it is difficult to prove intent in court," Elliot nodded.


    "Has he talked yet? Who was paying him?" Richard growled.


    "That''s the odd thing, sir," Elliot frowned, "He claims he received sketchesin the mail one daydetailing modificationstothe equipment. They are quiteingenious but simple to implement for a workman of Mr. McIntosh''s experience. And no one was paying him as far as the police could determine. It cost only a couple hundred dollars to rig the modifications and Mr. McIntosh apparently paid for it from his own pocket. He bears quite a strong grudge, sir."


    "I assume you have changed the flight path?" Susan asked.


    "Flight path will be randomized going forward," a spasm of shame flickered across Elliot''s face, "And ma''am, sir, you''ll have my resignation as soon as you find a suitable replacement. I was negligent."


    "Don''t be dramatic, Elliot," Richard frowned in thought, "You caught it in time."


    "It was Master Sean''s suggestion to investigate this phenomenon," Elliot bowed his head, "It would not occur to me to suspect the weather, no matter how abnormal it is."


    "Sean Cook?" Richard raised a brow.


    Susan nodded, "I gave him a ride home when he came tosee Judith in the hospital."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 37

    "She put you on drone combat?" Mei Ling looked outraged, "That Thornton woman sounds like a piece of work. You should report the bitch..."


    "I wasn''t supposed to do anything, but then shit hit the fan," Sean replied moodily, "It was horrible, Mei. There was this little girl who was forced to commit a warcrime. Then she nuked a building and I... I had to stop her by nuking the hospital building she was in."


    "What the..." Mei Ling stared aghast, "Dude, that''s justmessed up. Do you want to talk about it... hey are you OK?"


    "A hospital full of kids like her," Sean sniffled, wiping away tears that were starting to trickle down. He assured himself that Mrs. Wang was busy in the kitchen and couldn''t see him crying, "I threw away their lives, because I wanted to protect... thisanalyst who worked for Julia."


    Mei''s laptop lay open between them on the living room couch.The monitor was cycling through high resolution video clips of soccer practice downloaded from Seymour High''s girls varsity webpage.It was the training set Randal had used when attempting to implement Mei Ling''s prototype model of the human frontal cortex. Facialexpression and motion analysisoverlays rubber-banded around the atheletes'' images as machine learning libraries abstracted the feed into input for the next higher layer.


    "We are not utility maximizers weighing human lives on a scale," Mei Ling said quietly after a while, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Your family andfriends, even acquaintances, will always be more valuable to you thancomplete strangers. Only comic book superheroes pretend otherwise."


    "The only reason I valued Dawn''s life more is because she''s hot," Sean dropped his face into his hands as he blurted his shameful secret festering within, "What''s wrong with me, Mei? Am I going to lose my mind whenever I run across apretty girl?"


    "I don''t believe that," Mei Ling surreptitiously lowered her voice, her eyes flickering wistfully to an atheletic senior taking a penalty kick in slow motion on the laptop screen, "I know what it''s like to be attracted to women and I wouldn''t ..."


    "That doesn''t count," Sean interrupted morosely, "you are a girl."


    "What''s that supposed to mean?" Mei Ling froze.


    You know what I mean," Sean frowned, "men want women a lot more than women want men... or women want women. It''s a lot harder for me than for you."


    "Dude, what are you talking about?" Mei Ling hissed loudly.


    "Isn''t it obvious, Mei?" Sean looked surprised as he registeredher anger, "Men pursue women, not the other way round. It''s been that way for all of human history. Supply can''t meet demand."


    "That doesn''t mean anything, dumbass," Mei Ling nearly yelled in his face, "You realize thatmost cultures have severely suppressed women from expressing what they want, right? Or, perhaps women simply have better impulse control than men, not lower desire. Have you thought of that, huh? Perhaps men aren''t the poor frustrated martyr''s you are making them to be."


    "But... but," Sean protested, "even if I was some alienwho didn''t know anything of human history, I''d expect male sex drive to be a lot stronger than the female''s.Based on reproductiveasymmetry in parental investment alone."


    "Asymmetry?" Mei Ling glared at him. She looked fighting mad. Crap, what did I say to set her off? Sean frowned.


    "Since gestation takes nine months, there''s an upper limit to the number of kids a woman can birth in her lifetime," Sean pointed out, "A woman can''t maximize her offspring by being promiscous. It''s downright risky for her. But there''s no theoritical limit to the number of kids a man can father. Assuming evolution has optimized each gender to maximize their genes..."


    "You are making too many assumptions," Mei Ling simmered, "First, you are assuming that the genetic switch that controls desire is located on the sex chromosome. Second, just because a behaviormay be adaptive doesn''t guarantee a path to that..."


    "Let''s look atsome data," Sean suggested, "Mmm... what about the ratio of female to male sex workers?"


    "Fine," Mei Ling typed a query into herphone browser and frowned, "According to Fondation Scelles 80% of sex workers are female..."


    "Pretty conclusive evidence, I think," Sean nodded grimly, "Womenhave always been exploited, you said that yourself."


    "Aren''tyouforgotting about sampling bias?" Mei Lingansweredtartly, "This only shows that most women aren''t willing to pay for..."


    "Do you feel deep frustration and self loathing when you see a hot girl?" Sean demanded.


    "Well, no..." Mei Ling looked surprised.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "I rest my case," Seandeclared triumphantly, thengave a muffled yell when Mei Ling''s pillow hit him in the face. They glared at each other for a second, then burst out laughing, Mei''s anger vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She could never stay angry for long, Sean thought fondly, unlike his own bad moods which festered for weeks.


    "If girls make you so angsty," Mei challenged, "why the heck are we wasting time and effort to help the girls soccer team?"


    "I... don''t know," Sean looked uncomfortable.


    "You don''t know?" Mei growled, "Dude, I spent a whole week sketching the flowchart for the decision model. Which according to Randall, doesn''t work anyway. Good thing I got the AP Bio and Comp Science teachers to buy into it as my cross-domain research project, ormy grades wouldbe toast. Some of us actually have to study for good grades, you know."


    Sean winced at Mei''s barbed reference to his power, "At first it wasto pay back Kaitlyn for allegedly saving my hide at the Fuller plant. Then I thought I could, maybe, get some of the girls on the team to like me... if I actually manage to make a difference to thematch outcomes, that is."


    Mei stared at him disbelievingly, "The same way you like Kaitlyn out of gratitude?"


    "No," Sean sputtered, "I don''t like Kaitlyn, not like that... oh."


    "You really are a dumbass when it comes to girls," Mei Ling scoffed.


    "So the cognitive model correlation was pretty poor, huh?" Sean frowned at the glossy centerfold in Mei''s biology text sprawled on the coffee table, a cross section of the human brain labeled in impressive detail.


    "This is what Randall sent back," Mei Ling typed on the laptop, bringing up array after array of pixelated still imagesfromthe soccer practice videos, "the machine learning library itself has no problem mapping the soccer players'' facial expressions and body language intowhich quadrant of the soccer netthey sent thepenalty kick into seconds later."


    "Really?" Sean perked up, "He''s sure there''s no overfitting of the data?"


    "That''s what he says," Mei Ling shrugged,bringing up a scatter plot of dots clustered in a large blob, "Fat lot of good that does though.Getting the cognitive model to deconstruct that mapping into plain English that our goalie could use... forget about it. You might as well flip a coin."


    Sean stood up to stretch and tried to push down rising disappointment,chidinghimself for expecting anything more from what had been a long shot. His eyes were drawn again to the biology text on the coffee table. The book''s illustration was a taunting puzzle.The layers of cortical tissue added to thebrain over geological ages like anonion waiting to be peeled...


    "I''m an idiot," Sean slapped his forehead.


    "Tell me something I don''t know," Mei smirked.


    "We''ve been modeling the wrong region," Sean muttered as he paced around Mei''s living room, "MRIexperimentshaveshown that we usually act a split second before our conscious mind - the frontal cortex - is aware of it. Sure, it feels like we are the ones in charge, but that''s just a story our conscious mind tells itself. That''s even more true for us teenagers, our frontal cortex is not fully developed."


    "So..." Mei Ling frowned, "when a highschool soccer player takes a penalty kick..."


    "...her limbic system is making the choice," Sean finished. The limbic system, commonly referred to as the mammalian brain, had evolved in a simpler more deadlier world with solepurpose of surviving long enough to reproduce. It had kept humanity''s forebears alive from the monsters that had stalkedthem in the African night, using the twin prods of fear and pleasure. And it didn''t come with an OFF switch. The conscious and morerational frontal cortex was an afterthought that simply went along for the ride, a thin layer of neural tissue thrown over the limbic system that actually pulled the puppet strings.


    "I am not modeling the limbic system," Mei Ling declared firmly, "Won''t do much good anyway. There''s no way to condense all the realtime cues the mesolimbic dophamine circuit uses intosimple rulesfor our goalie. She''d need as much portable computing power as the human brain..."


    "Mei... that''s it," Sean exclaimed, "The goalie alreadycarries a portable computer... her own brain."


    "But... training her brain like a machine learning algorithm," Mei Ling protested, "that''s impossible."


    "Is it?" Sean mused, "Most people can instinctively pick up social cues that are hardwired. But we can also learn stuff through practice. What we need is a realtime tool that can train the goalie quickly on the field. A gizmo that shows her where the penalty kick is goingjust before the kick."


    "I don''t know, dude," Mei Ling shook her head, "sounds like cheating..."


    "Oh no," Sean waved his hand, "the gizmo is justlike bicycle training wheels. Once the goalie gets comfortableusing the gizmo, she''s going to start picking up subconscious cues from the kicker and won''t need the gizmo anymore. At least that''s the theory."


    "But we don''t have a gizmo like that," Mei Ling frowned, "A game VR headset won''t work..."


    "Actually I have just the thing," Sean smiled, "It''s these advanced contact lenses, called SculptSight, that can edit what we are seeing in realtime. A gift from Julia Thornton."


    "Randall did mention something of the sort," Mei Ling said slowly, "He said you wanted him to program it soprettygirls don''t lookpretty to youanymore."


    "That''s what I want to use it for, eventually," Sean looked determined, "but there''s no reason we can''t use it to help the soccer team."


    "Dude, why are you doing this to yourself," Mei Ling seemed disturbed, "it can''t be healthy to distort reality that way. Just stay away from girls you think are hot, if it bothers you that much."


    "I... can''t," Sean looked embarrased, "I''m meeting with Tiffany on a semi-regular basis. That pig Jason has been abusing her. She wants my help in figuring out how to... deal with Jason safely."


    "Tiffany Brooks?" Mei Ling stared at him open mouthed, "Dude, she''s just using you for whatever drama she has going with Jason."


    "I know that," Sean rolled his eyes, "And I want to usethat dramato... get closer to her. I can''t do that if I turn into a gibbering idiot everytime I see her."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 38

    The school hallway seemed subtly off to Sean on his first day back from suspension. It was a while before he realized why. It wasSeanwho was different, changedby his experiences. To read a book was to be altered by it, each day bringing a dizzying new shift in perspective.His rate of assimilation stretched everytime he used his power, expanded many fold from hisoriginal limit of a book a day. More knowledge and understanding ina month than adecade of normal endeavour. Was it any wonder he felt disoriented?


    He''dbeggedhis mom to drop him off rather than take the school bus andput up withpointed questions fromhis peers. He didn''t want to be pestered about vandalism in the chemistry lab when he couldn''t remember anything about it. At least herehe was comfortably anonymized by the throng of students flowing through the entrance.His phonebeepedatext fromTiffany:


    u have a visitor


    library


    now


    Sean frowned. He waslooking forward to hanging out in private with Tiffany again, but that wasn''t what this was. Who''d want tomeetin the semi-seclusion of the library, so early? Well he had a few minutes to spare before class.


    The school library was brightly lit from internal lighting and sunlight streaming through the aluminum framed glass wall on the far side of the row of bookshelfs. The glass wall extended to a mezzanine upper floor that held more bookshelfs. The reading tables scattered about were unsuprisingly empty, given the time of the day. The lone occupant was Mrs.Fry the librarian who was occupiedwith a reshelving cart. Sean stalkedbetween rows of shelfs careful not to touch any book, alert for trouble. The library was much less suited for an ambush compared to the chemistry lab or the corridors, but he wasn''t taking chances. More reading tables set against the glass wallcame into view as Sean emerged from between the shelfs.


    Kyle Green sat alone at one of the tables.Jason''s football buddy anddead ringer for Idris Elba in his prime. Kyle who had punched Sean so hard that just thinking about it brought a phantom ache. Sean pivoted on his feetto launch himself away as fast as he could.


    "Wait, we need to talk," Kyle''s croak caused Sean to stumble, not from the words themselves but from the curious note of pleading it held. Sean cautiously poked his head outfrom the shelfs, scanning for signs that this was a trap.Butno one stepped out of the shelfs.


    "I don''t need to do anything," Sean glowered at Kyle. There had been no lasting injury from his last encounter with Kyle, but that was because he''d turned the tables with help from Tiffany.


    "Look man... I know you''re mad about what happened in the corridor," Kyle raised his hand placatingly and pointing to neck, "but you hit myweak spot too. Let''s call it even, alright?"


    "What do you want?" Sean stepped forward, keeping a sharp lookout for Jason and his posse. No one was trying to head him off or sneaking down the stairs to pounce on him, so far.


    "I need your help," Kyle spoke rapidly, with a nervousness not like him at all, "My test shows positive."


    "Start making sense," Sean growled, "What test?"


    "The random drug testing the school makes ustake," there was anguish in Kyle''s voice,"They won''t let me play in the championship."


    Sean frowned. He vaguely knew that Portsmouth School District had recently instituted a strict policy of randomly testing students who participated in competitive activities for illegal substance use.


    "Well... did you?" Sean asked curiously.


    "No, of course not," Kyle jerked back, looking offended, "I''d never..."


    "OK," shrugged Sean.


    Kyle continued angrily, "You think just because I''m..."


    "I believe you," Sean said mildly.


    "You do?" Kyle blinked.


    "Isn''t there supposed to be a follow up test for confirmation?" Sean probed, "If you are clean you have nothing to worry about."


    "Yeah, they''ve sent my samples to an outside lab for verification," Kyle nodded, and slammed his hand on the table, "But those results won''t be back in time. The first inter-district match is in three days. The rules says I can''t play if there''s probable evidence of drug use. It''s bullshit!"


    "Well, that sucks. But what do you want from me?" Sean demanded.


    "The word is you sweet-talked the school boardintodowngrading your expulsion intoa suspension," therewas desperate hope in Kyle''s eyes, "Maybe you can convince them to let me play. My folks are meeting with the Principal and the school superintendent at nine."


    "What... like right now?" Sean stared in disbelief, "Even if I could help... why should I? You damn nearly killed me the last time."


    "If you get me out of this," Kyle raised both hands earnestly, remaining seatedtoavoid any hint of athreat, "I swear I won''t lay hands on you ever again. Even if Jason is around."


    "How do I know I can trust you?" Sean scoffed.


    Kyle hesitated, then swallowed nervously, "I''ll confess to my folks in front of you that... that Ipunched you. There''s no way to walk that back. If I touch you again, you can go straight to them. They''ll tear me a new one."


    Sean looked thoughtful. It was common knowledge that Kyle was terrified of disappointing his mom. His guaranteed pledge of neutrality was worth a lot. It was like taking out your opponent''s rook, one less piece for Sean to worry about. The problem wasKyle''s misfortune had come up too suddenly for Sean to prepare.The plan was for Tiffany and Sean to wittle awayJason''s clique, starting with the outerorbit which would have been easier.


    Sean nodded reluctantly at Kyle, "It''s worth a shot, I suppose."


    Kyle''s mother was a slim petite woman looking comicallysmall next to her towering son. His father would haveblended perfectlywith his son''s varsity football team if not for the elegant Navy wool suit he was wearing. They were seated on the bench outside Pricipal Stewart;s office, looking worried.


    "Cutting it a bit close, son," Mr. Green frowned glancing at the wall clock.


    "I know, Dad," Kyle grimaced, "Mom. Dad. This is Sean Cook. He... he''s going to be helping uspresentthe truthtoschool management. Sean, this is my mom Amy, my dad Terrance."


    Amy Green frowned and shook Sean''s hand, "Are you from a student group dedicated tolegal representation, Sean? We have our own lawyer, but that''s not..."


    "Oh no, nothing of the sort," Sean assured them, "I just have a lot of experience... visiting the principal''s office."


    The Greens looked alarmed. Kyle looked up and down the corridor, pulling out a handkerchief to dab his forhead, "I have a confession, Mom. I... I punched Sean rather hard last week. Nothing personal. Jason hates his guts and I... I had to..."


    Kyle''s father looked flabbergasted, then his expression grew thunderous. Amy Green wilted before their eyes, her voice barely a whisper, "You have been bullying other students? I... I can''t even imagine that one of my kids would... what else have you been hiding from me, Kyle?Is the drug test telling the truth? Have you been..."


    "No, Mom, I swear..." Kyle looked like he was going to cry.His mother simply looked heartbroken. Sean swallowed when he remembered how his mother had looked after his own ill-fated attempt at breaking into Susan Fuller''s home office.


    Kyle''s father cleared his throat ominously, "You and I are having a talk later, son. Your mother and I didn''t put you in Cardiff Highso youcould turn into a hood." The last word was a roar.


    The door to the principal''s office opened and Principal Stewart poked out, "Mr. and Mrs. Green? The superintendent will see you now." He gloomy toneturned heavy with sarcasm when he noticed Sean, "Back from yourlittle sabbaticalI see. Whatdoyouwant?"


    "Our son seems to think Sean''s presence will be useful," Mr. Green sounded mystified.


    Principal Stewart opened his mouth as if in protest but then grew thoughful. He shrugged, "Can''t get any worse."


    Sean felt almost nostalgic as they trooped in. The principal''s chair was occupied by a dapper man wearing a tie and gold-rimmed glasses. He was slightly built and sported a trimmed mosutache.


    Principal Stewart waved Kyle''s parents into the two chairs across the desk and sank into a spare seat, "This is Superintendent Sade."


    Kyle and Sean remained standing.Superintendent Sade announced blandly, "I''ve reviewed the situation.Schoolrules disqualify your son from competing in inter-district sporting events. Pending confirmation of his drug test result."


    "Missing the first match willset him back for college football scholarship," hissed Amy Green, "You know that. Lethim play with presumption of innocence until the outsidelab says otherwise... please."


    "Our rules clearly specify thatstudents cannot compete if there''s probable cause of drug use," Sade droned monotonously, tapping a folder on the table, "Testing positive for recreational opiod useis clear probable cause.Portsmouth School District is committed to studentintegrity and character. The atheletic student body is no exception."Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    "But I don''t do drugs," Kyle wailed, glancing desperately at Sean, "I didn''t even take any opiods when I got injured. You gotta believe me."


    The superintendent looked at him disdainfully, "Youngsters today need to understand actions haveconsequences."


    "We are contesting the constitutionality and legality of drug testing in school," growled Mr. Green, "You''ll be hearing from our lawyer."


    "You are welcome to go through proper channels," Sade smiled patronizingly, "It will not change your son''s disqualification."


    The pompous ass is on a power trip, realized Sean, immediately disliking the superintendent. He relishes this chance to dash an athelete''s dreams.


    "What if I convince you that testing positive is not probable cause?" Sean spoke up for the first time, "Will you let Kyle play then?"


    "And you are?"The superintendentblinked as if noticing him for the first time.


    "Sean Cook is one of our... academically gifted juniors," Principal Stewart cleared his throat, seeming to come to a decsion, "He has my permission to speak."


    Old Stew Fart doesn''t want to lose his star football player, realized Sean in surprise. For once, the principal wasn''t an obstacle to be cleared.


    "No test is 100% accurate," Sean stated, "What''s the specificity of the test used on Kyle?"


    "95%," Sade replied smugly, opening the folder and glancing inside, "Rather damning, don''t you think."


    "Why do you think so, sir?" Sean asked with deceptive mildness.


    "The chances of Kyle''s innocence given that he tested positive is only 5%," the superintendent spoke with exaggerated slowness as if to imply Sean was stupid.


    Sean smiled disarmingly, "Tell me, sir, do you think random testing has been effective in reducing opiod abuse at Cardiff?"


    "Extremely effective," Sade nodded loftily, "The estimated rate of opiod abuse hasdeclined to 1% since the policy was implemented."


    "So 1% of students at Cardiff are expected to beopiodabusers at any given time?" Sean prodded.


    "That''s what I said," snapped the superintendent, "Are you deaf?"


    "Cardiff has around 2000 students,"Sean ignored the insult, "So only 20of them would beopiodabusers.Since most students aren''topiodabusers, the 5% false positive rate means that almost a 100 students would test positive while being innocent. Kyle is five times more likely to be innocent than an opiod abuser."


    Principal Stewart was nodding slowly as he chewed over Sean''s argument. Hope was beginning to dawnonKyle''s face. Kyle''sparents looked stunned.


    "What," Sade said flatly.


    "We are really talking about two different questions here," Sean nodded, walking over to the whiteboard on the wall, "May I?"


    "By all means,"Principal Stewart waved magnanimously. Sean picked up a marker and began to write.


    "Let''sdenote the evidence by the letter E, and Kyle''s innocence by the letter I," Sean tapped on the whiteboard, "P(E|I) is the probability that the test would show positive even when Kyle is innocent.P(I|E) is the probability that theKyle is innocent despite the test showing positive. They sort of sound the same but they are really not. When you claimed the chances of Kyle''s innocence was only 5% you were actually talking about the first probability. What we really want to know is the second probability. That''s what I worked out earlier."


    Principal Stewart nodded, "He''s right."


    "That''s ridiculous," Sade blustered, looking uncertain now, "If that''s the case, no cop could arrest anyoneafter administeringa DUI test."


    "I''m glad you mentioned that," Sean smiled, "because that''s not the same situation at all. A driver usually gets pulled over for a DUI testafter he has already shown signsof erratic driving.His innocencecan beestimated by multiplying two different unconditionally probabilities, whichgivesavanishingly small chance of innocence."


    "We must agree to disagree," Sade muttered stubbornly, "My decision stands."


    "I can ask Julia Thornton from the school board, what she thinks," Sean suggested, "She''s pretty good at this sort of thing."


    "You... you are acquainted with Mrs. Thornton?"the superintendent''sface grew a shade paler.


    "Sure," nodded Sean cheerfully, "I was an intern at her company in New Haven. We are practically best buds."


    Sade''s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, "Now that I think about it... I see the merit of your argument. I shall suspend judgement until the lab tests are in. Kyle may compete in the inter-district championship this week. Now I really must get going, I am late for an appointment."


    Sean smiled.


    #


    Olivia Ward barely noticed the sting of late-autumnseabreezeas she wiped away sweat from her eyes. The cheers of her teammatesdwindled to scattered applause, but the warm glow they induced still lingered. She got to her feet wearily brushing away grass stains, exhilarated to make that diving save even if it was only a practice game. The pressure of being a varsity goalkeeper and singlehandedly carrying the fate of the team was getting to her. Unlike her teammates, hers was a lonely vigil where the thrill of success faded quickly and the weight offailure permanently etched into the opposing team''s score. There wasno room for error, now that she was a senior. This wasn''t her first varisty season, but in the playoffs this fall she''dfelt the entire crowd watching her. Just waiting for her to screw up. As they well might. The away matches had beenbrutal enough, but October was ending and there was little doubt that Cardiff would rank high enough to qualify. The looming inter-district championship was causinga flutter in her stomach.The other schools had teams and goalies every bit as determined as Olivia was, products of a selection process that pushed them to the asymptotic limit. In recent years even extra time following regulation play didn''t break a tie.


    "Olivia, over here," someone called out from a cluster of half a dozen the girls. Oliviastrolledup to them. Her teammates looked even more exhausted thanshe felt.


    "Nice save, Olivia," Susan K the captain, smiled warmly, "Up for some more? Ineed these five to practice theirpenalty kicks."


    Olivia groaned. The bane of goalies, three out of four penalty kicks could not be saved.Given the proximity of the kick, human reaction time was too slow. The goalie had to guess the kicker''s intent and commit to a dive before the kick commenced. What was the point of practicing something thatcame down to dumb luck? Her faint hopes of a college soccer scholarship dashed by what was basically a coin toss.


    "Ever used contact lenses, Olivia?"the captain asked,looking a little embarrased. Huh?Loitering behind the captain were two boys and a girl who wasn''t on the team.The girl was short withEast Asian features, smiling uncertainlywhen she met Olivia''s eyes.


    "May Lee, right?" Olivia frowned, recalling her from AP Chem.


    "It''s Mei Ling," the girl stammered, blushing beet redfor some reason. One of the boys was tall and lanky with wiry brown hair.Oliviarecognized him as Kaitlin''s brother who sometimes hung around during his sister''s practice, though she didn''t remember his name. He grinned at her impudently, his grin fading a bit as Olivia fixed him with a stare.


    "What''s up, bro?" Kaitlin saunteredup to her brother.


    "Eww, you need a shower," her brother pushed her away, then yelled as his sister bounced the soccer ball she''d been carrying off his head.


    "We just had practice, you asshat," Kaitlin muttered crossly. Her face lit up at the other boy, "Hi Sean, glad to have you back. And your cast is finally off!"


    The other boy, Sean, wasn''t as tall as Kaitlin''s brother but caughtOlivia''seye for some reason. Straight dark hair fellbelow his shoulders, past cheekbones sharp asflint. It was his eyes thatdisturbedher. They had the dead but intense look she''d seen on kids cramming for exams. She had heard her teammates mention his name in passing. Some scrawny nerd who couldn''t kick a soccer ball if his life depended on it,telling them howto improve their game. That''d be the day, Olivia''s lips curled in derision.


    "Randall here hascooked up some predictivesoftware," Sean''s gaze passed over her, through her, as if addressing a part of her that only he could see. He held upa bottlelabeled ascontact lens solution and atiny case in the palm of the other hand, "We''d like you to test it for us..."


    "What are you talking about?" Olivia interrupted, in no mood for games. A bunch of wierdos,she thought, mentally dismissing Mei Ling and her two male friends.


    "Sean has acquiredthese experimental contact lenses that act like miniaturized dipslays," the captain explained as Randall pulled out a slim box the size of a portable harddrive, "It''s wirelessly linked tothis processor that they claim can predictwhere a penalty kick is headed... yes, I know how that sounds. But they want you to wear itfor a field test... no harm in trying? If it works..."


    "Yeah, right," Olivia scoffed, "Can''t this wait, Suze? We are all dead tired..."


    "Actually it can''t," Sean shook his head, "We needto duplicate the same mental statesboth teams willhave at the end of atiematch. Exhaustion, muscle fatigue, hunger, thirst, all of it. That''s when your frontal cortex is at its lowest and the limbic system is infull control. That''s what Randall''s code is calibrated to."


    "Thanks a lot, dork," Olivia growled and grabbed the contact lens case and bottle from Sean as she headed to the locker room, "Give me a few minutes, Suze."


    When Olivia returned, the captain said briskly, "Alright, girls. Don''t pull any punches just because Olivia is your practice..."


    "Bet your ass, I won''t pull any punches," Phyllis Gibbs barked a laugh.


    Susan ignored the interruption, "Olivia, this will sound wierd, but don''t follow your instinct for this session at least. Do what the predictive software says."


    Olivia nodded dubiously, clipping the Sculptsight processor to her belt as she headed back to the net. The soccer field floodlights cast their pitiless glare, mute sentinels gathering to witness her humiliation.The five that Olivia had handpicked stood in a loose semicircle just outside the penalty area. The captain and the trio of nerds stood farther away. Kaitlin placed the ball on the penalty mark andstepped back in position. Oliviaglanced down at her feetto ensure she was on the goal line andcrouched into her stance.


    >Initializing... The amber lettersappeared suddenly next to a blinking cursor in the bottom corner of her vision apparently floating in thin air. Olivia flinched and cursed.Susan blew the whistle. Kaitlin lunged forward.


    >Searchingdatabase... You got to be shitting me, Olivia''s lipstwistedinto a snarl. She dismissed the diagnostic from her mind, ready to go with her instinct when thelower right of her vision lit up with a translucent arc. The blue hues on the indicatorwere so soothing, so compelling, shereflexively dove towards it.Kaitlin feinted to Olivia''s left and then landed the kick. The ball shot toward Olivia and smackedinto hershoulder, deflecting and missing the goal. Her gathered teammates murmured in appreciation. A fluke, thought Olivia as she got up. Even a die roll would guess correctly sometimes.


    The blinking cursor had disappeared as Olivia prepared for the second kick.There wereno more diagnostics, presumably because initialization was complete, but for all she knew the damn thing had crashed. So she was a bit surprised when the indicator appeared, this time pointing to her upper right as the kicker contacted the ball. Olivia put all her effort into the jump to make it to where the software was pointing. It was almost not enough. The ball glanced off her wrist and then hit the outer edge of the post. It was a save. Olivia got up winded and rubbed her stinging wrist. Her teammates lookedsurprised.


    The third kick was easier to stop, with the indicator pointing to her lower left. The other girls werecompletelysilent as Olivia threw the ball back. Phyllistook the fourth kick. The indicator blinked toOlivia''slower left and then toher lower right and back again as if it couldn''t make up it''s mind. What the... Olivia had already committed to the dive as the ball shot past her into the net. Phyllis gave a whoop of joy, fist in the air. She had kicked the ball dead center. So that''s why the indicator had vacillated, Olivia''sconfidence inRandall''s software solidified oddly enough. The indicator held steady forthe fifth kickas Olivia intercepted the ball with a leap toher lower right. The other girls stared in stunned silence. Four out of five penalty kicks saved. Olivia doubted even a professional soccer goalie could pull that off. Mei Ling and Sean exchanged a silent high-five. Randall''s creepy grin intensified.


    "Well... shit," was the captain''s only comment.


    #

 Chapter 39

    Kaitlyn grinned and waved vigorously to catch Sean''s attention. She washolding a spot for him within the cluster of tableswhere the girls varsity soccer team was lunching. Randall and Mei Ling were already seated as guests of honor, at least for now. Their stock had risen after Randall''s goalie-training algorithm had flagged incoming goals with near perfect precision. Which was why Sean found himself trailing Phyllis Gibbsasthey threadedtheirway between crowded tables. The heiress to the Gibbs fortune looked stunning as always.Sean''sattention was divided betweenthe hypnotic motion of her hips and balancing his lunch. By the timehe registered someone''s shoetangled with hisleg, the platter was already flying out of his hands. Hisrightelbowtook the impact. The pain was bad enough that for a moment hefeared he''d broken another arm.Sean dusted himself off the floor after verifying he was intact. The noise around him dieda bit as students turned to gawk. Phyllis was pickingoutbits of Sean''s lunch from her glossy raven hair and looked furious.


    "So sorry..." Sean mumbled andlooked around. It was then that he noticed Jason Fuller and his clique around the table he''d just passed. Jason hadspun around in his seatand worea satisfied grin.His left foot tapped a rhythm on thepath that Sean had taken. Jason was sandwiched between Tiffany Brooksand Carmen Jones. Tiffany rolled her eyes and placed a restraining hand on Jason''s shoulder from behind him.Sean''s rage flared mixing with jealousy. Jason''s right armslid possessively around Carmen, his grin widening into a leer. Carmen was in junior varisty tennis. Like most girls who hung around Jason she possessed an atheletic build and strikingbeauty. Her looks were accentuated by her Native American features which enflamed Sean''sbitternessfor reasons he couldn''t quite articulate.Shelooked faintly disturbed at Sean''s "accidental" fall. Across the table Caleb Guthrie was smirking and holding up his smartphone. Next toCaleb was another boy from varsity football. Brandon Cox was tall and broad shouldered like Jason. Unlike Jason he was on chubby side.Brandon wasn''t paying any heed, but reading a bookwith an utterly bored expression in between spoonfuls of lunch. To Brandon''s left satKyle Green who shook his head and grimaced apologetically at Sean. He atleast seemed genuinely contrite.


    "Inbred buffoon..." Sean growled at Jason, taking a deep breath to calm himself. It was a low blow insult, but the Fullers were practically New England royalty with a historically narrowpedigree and the words stung. Jason flushed, hands balling into fists.


    "Says the cheapskate..."spatCaleb.


    "How''s your nose, Caleb?" Sean snapped. Caleb froze, his hand automatically covering hisnose that Kylehad punched a week ago. Tiffany''slips twitched slightly, then her eyes widened. Someone roughly grabbedhisshoulder, spinning him around. Phyllis glowered at him with her fist bunched around his collar.


    "How dare you..." the heiress snarled surrounded by a sea of smartphonesrecording the scene. Phyllis was sensitive to her social standing and hated being madea laughing stock even indirectly.


    "Hetripped me..." Sean tried to protest, but Phyllis wasn''t in the mood for conversation. More disconcertingly Sean found he couldn''t break free of her grip. The word was that Phyllis was into strength trainingtogo with her image of an Amazonand he knew now it was true. Tears of humiliation pricked his eyes and Sean cursed his own sensitivity. Sean would have been offended at any suggestion he was sexist, but it was one thing to be overpowered by the likes of Jason Fuller or Kyle Green and quite an other tohave his ass publicly kicked by a girl. The average boy wasexpected to be stronger than theaverage girland it wasemasculatingfor the physically averagemaleto be on the receiving end of the not-so-average female.


    "You want my attention, creep? You have it," Phyllis hissed as more students crowded behind her back, "Think you are in myleague?Just cuz we go to the same class... "


    "Let him go, Phyllis," Susan Kaminski placed a hand on her arm. There was steel in the soccer captain''s voice. Phyllis blinked and let go of Sean''s collar abruptly. She lookedstunned at what she''d done. Mei Ling, Kaitlyn and Randallsqueezed inbeside Susan. Sean turned and strode away with his face burning, unable to bear the concern - the pity - in their eyes.


    The sight of Jason''s gloating face was burnt into Sean''s memory as he exited the cafeteria. The urge to lash out and destroy Jason, to crush him, was overwhelming. But how does one crush ajock who was not only physically strongerbutsurroundedby hordesof popular friends inside school and protected by bodyguards outside? How does one safely destroy ascion born into more wealth than the national debt of small countries? Byletting him self-destruct, ofcourse.


    Poor conflicted homo sapiens, too blind to see the incentive vectors that pulled them like puppet strings, too crippled by neural hardware that hadn''t been updated since the human ancestor had walked out of the East African Rift Valley so long ago. From an evolutionary viewpoint, reproduction wasa creature''ssole purpose.Thosecapable ofresisting the urge to breed didn''t pass on their genes. And when there was a conflict between breeding and survival, breeding always won. Sex was a bottle neck that shaped species to their detriment. Salmon died after spawning, utterly spentby thearduous journey upriver. Male peacocks evolved flamboyant tails to attract females and also predators as a sideffect. Football players risked head injuryto signalcourage and toughness, the better to attractwomen. What would Jason do if he found himself losing the things that validated him? What if thepretty girls in his de facto harem suddenlyleft him to seek their own success? What if his football buddies grew smart enough that Jason seemed stupid in comparison?Giving up social dominance would be unthinkable to Jason. He''d be forced topushhimself beyond the limit, to prove himself in a way that would hopefully break him. Sean smiled.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    #


    The text from Tiffany had directed him to the library again. He found a strategic spot that was secluded from prying eyes by book shelvesbut still offered unobstructed view of all approaches. When Carmen found him Sean did his best to appear nonchalant but his breath hitched at the way her short hair framed her olive cheeks.


    "Sorry about what happened in the cafeteria," Carmen dropped into the chair across the table, "Jason can be adicksometimes, you know."


    "Sometimes?" Sean scoffed.


    Carmen gave a small laugh, thenstudiedhim with a quizzical look, "The soccer queens have a nickname for you. The Dream Counselor."


    "Huh?" Seanblinked.


    "A counselor of impossible dreams," Carmen smiled slightly, "like you are a wizard or something. Are you?"


    "If I am, it''s nothing anyone couldn''t do with some effort and a bit of luck," Sean shrugged.


    "I want to get into varsity tennis," Carmen blurted after a brief inner struggle, "Been stuck in junior varsity too long. Can you help me? Without Jason finding out?"


    "Don''t see why not," Sean nodded slowly, "It''s all about matching themost usefulmental model to your situation."


    "I keep losing matches to other girls," Carmen clenched her fist, "The coach says I''m not ready, that I need to practice more, butpractice doesn''t help anymore. It''s like I''ve hit a plateau or something."


    "I know," Sean nodded almost to himself, "I often watch you play."


    "You do?" Carmen raised a brow.


    "Um...onlywhen I walk by the tennis courts," Sean stammered, "Not in a stalkery way or anything...". He trailed off before he dug himself a deeper grave.


    "So what''s the magic bullet, Counselor of Dreams?" Carmen demanded.


    "There''s a price," Seanheld uphis hand, "You must be willing to do what I ask."


    "Do what?"Carmenwas instantly wary, "I won''t make out with you, if that''s what you mean."


    "Why would I wantthat," Sean muttered in disgust, "I want women for validation as much as for anything else. Forcing a girl against her will doesnothing for me."


    "So... what should I do?" Carmen was giving him an odd look.


    "I want you to start thinking for yourself," Sean leaned forward and looked her in the eye, "What I tell you will take your tennis to the next level but that''s only a start. The real gain is through always asking yourself which game you are playing at any pointin your life."


    "What do you mean?" Carmen leaned closer.


    "Right now youarein a Loser''s Game," Sean stated.


    "If you are going to insult me..." Carmen started to get up.


    "Itwasn''t an insult," Sean waved her back into her seat, "It''sa gametheory classification in tenniscoined by Dr. Simon Ramo. After extensive statistical analysis he realized that tennis wasn''t one game but two distinct games depending on whether the player is an expert or an amateur. The rules and everything may be the same but experts win points, amateurs lose points. Experts win by winning more points than the opponent, by using perfect shots their opponent can''t match.And they don''t make mistakes. They are in a Winner''s Game because the outcome is determined by the actions of the winner."


    "But that''s what I''ve been trying..." Carmen protested.


    "Exactly, you are playing the wrong game, don''t you see?" Sean exclaimed, "You are trying to play like an expert when you should be playing like an amateur. Amateur tennis isentirely different. The ball goes into the net or out of bounds all the time. You also get double faults at service. Am I wrong?"


    "No," Carmen nodded slowly.


    "The amateur player isn''t beaten byher opponent, she beats herself," Sean concluded, "Whoeverwins thegame does so only because the opponent is losing even more points than themselves. The outcome is determined by the loser. Andthat''s how you win a Loser''s Game. Not by making brilliant moves or rallies but by not making mistakes and letting your opponents beat themselves."


    "No one taught me to keep score like that..." Carmenlooked stunned.


    "No, but for most things in life it pays to stop and ask yourself if you are in a Winner''s or Loser''s game," Sean nodded, "and until you start professional tennis, that''s how you should keep score."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 40

    Sean filed out of class with the rest of the herd. The crowd spreadoutlike distributaries of some great river as students headed to their respective destinations.


    "Hey dude, wait up," the low deep voice didn''t belong to his tiny circle of acquaintances.


    "Oh... oh," Sean glanced over his shoulder andpicked up his pace when he saw it was Brandon Cox towering a head above other students. Strategic withdrawlwas Sean''singrainedresponse tobeing pursued by one of Jason''s buddies. Oddly enough he was never inclined to flee whenever he ran into Jason himself. The sight of Jason with Tiffany and Carmen brought out the worst in Sean, a primeval rage that drove out any instinct of self-preservation.


    "Why''re you running?" Brandon kept pace effortlessly on longer legs.


    "Don''t want... to get punched," Sean slowed to catch his breath. Even dodging between students hadn''t slowed down thehalfback.


    "Not gonna punch you," Brandon sounded aggreived andheld up abackpack, "Just want to talk... about my studies."


    "What?" Sean stopped.


    "Can we go somewhere quiet?" Brandon looked up and down the corridor uneasily.


    "Um... whatever," Sean started walking, "Stayatleastten feet from me. And no texting your buddies."


    Brandon followed after a moment. Sean led him on a tour of the ground floor and finally chosean empty classroom with two doors.


    "Sit down," Sean pointed a few rows down. There was enough furtniture in between that Brandon couldn''t rush him. Sean could flee througheitherdoor if needed, "Talk."


    "I can''t do it anymore, dude," Brandon emptied his backpack on a table and stared morosely at the heap of textbooks that tumbled out.


    "Start making sense," Sean said testily. His limited patience was reservedfor Jason''s prettygirl friends.


    "It... it''s just too much," Brandon gestured athis books, "Coach says if I don''t meet minimum GPA, I can''t stay on the team. He isn''tgoing to intercede with the principal anymore, like he did in my freshman and sophomore years. Says he''s used up too much goodwillon my behalf."


    "Get a tutor," Sean suggested, "Look up online tutorials. I can recommend some good ones."


    "There''s no way I can catch up on my coursework," Brandon seemed close to tears, "I''ve been neglecting my studies for too long. My folks hired a math tutor, but there''s too many rules to remember. Nothing makes sense."


    "So you came to me?" Sean frowned.


    "Kyle told me what you did for him," Brandon nodded, "Maybe you can help me figure this out?"


    Why should I? Sean stared resentfully at Brandon''s broad muscled shoulders, his dark curly hair thatwomen loved, even hisexcessflabthatthey described as''snuggly''. Pretty girls came up to Brandon all the time to have long chats, to laugh with him and give him a hug. Why should Sean keephelping guys like Brandon and Kyle who had hit the genetic lottery? Sean suddenly felt ashamed at the turn of his thoughts. His own academic position would be precarious if not for the whim of an alien God trapped in dead cosmos. How often had Sean felt guilt at the unfair advantage that his power gave him over other students. Besides Brandon was part of Jason¡¯s circle that Sean was drivinga wedge into, one person at a time. Tiffanywould have nudged Brandon towards Sean sooner or later.


    "Tellme the parts that you do understand,¡± Sean nodded, ¡°and we¡¯ll go from there.¡±


    Sean paced before the whiteboard as Brandon talked, his dismay growing as he realizedhow far behindthe other boy was. Sean continued to pace in silence after Brandon stopped talking.


    "Since we are short on time,¡± Sean picked up adry-erasemarker, "I''m going try something drastic. Your problem is that youlook atmath as a bunch of rules to be memorized instead of seeing the big picture. Like missing the forest for the trees."Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "What big picture?" Brandon looked skeptical.Sean drew a square on the whiteboard, markingit with sides one unit long. Then he connected two corners with a diagonal.


    "How long is the diagonal of a unit square?" Sean tapped the board.


    "Square root of 2, of course," Brandon frowned, "I''m not stupid, you know."


    "I know you aren''t," Sean nodded, "Now why is it root 2?"


    "The Pythagorean Theorem states that..." Brandon began.


    "I''m not asking you to quote the theorem," Sean held up a hand, "I''m asking you why it is so."


    "You expect me toprove the fucking Pythagorean Theorem?" Brandon demanded.


    "I am asking you to see it," Seansketched three more unit squares touching the first square in a 2x2 grid, then drew diagonals for each such thatevery diagonal was a mirror of the diagonal of the adjacent squares.The four diagonals together formed another square standing on its tiplike a diamond, "See these diagonals? They are connected together like a diamond, right? If these diagonals are d-units long what''s the area of the diamond?"


    SKETCH:https://www.cut-the-knot.org/do_you_know/SqRtOf2.shtml</a>


    "d-squared," Brandon was looking bored.


    "Right," Sean nodded briskly, tracing the biggest square formed by the 2x2 grid, "what''s the total area of all four unit squares?"


    "Four," Brandon shrugged.


    "Each diagonalsplitsits own square into two halves, right?" Sean tapped thediamond that the diagonals formed, "So this diamond is really made up of four triangles that are each half of theirunit squares. So thediamondmust be half the total area of all the unit squares. Half of four is two. Do you see now?"


    "So... the diamond is two square units in area," Brandon nodded slowly, "which also equals d-squared. That''s why the diagonal length is root-2 ! Fuck... never knew it was that simple... that''s really cool, dude."


    "It is that simple," Sean grinned as he erased thesketch and drew a slightly more complex mosaic involving right trangles, "and we canextend the same reasoning..."


    Understandingdawned onBrandon''s face as he watched, "Shit... that''s whythe Pythagorean Theorem is true."


    "Yes," Sean nodded earnestly, "Math isn''t about numbers or formulas. It''s the language of thought itself... a mosaic of reason that you cansee for yourself. A theorem is true because it can''t be any other way, anymore than a diagonal of a unit square can be anything other than root-2. Once I''m done with you, you''ll no longer see courseworkas boringcrap to slog through, but as mathematical structures you can hold and play with in your mind."


    "You... you can do that?" Brandon blinked, "For all of them?"


    Sean nodded, "If you are willing to put your mind to it."


    "Bullshit," Brandon snorted, flipingthrougha book, "drawing squares and triangles is one thing, but you''re saying everything can be boiled down to pretty pictures? What about this... this calculus stuff? This chapter goes on and on about integral of something dx and dy/dx and crap like that. What does any of it mean?"


    "What about it?" Sean laughed, "dx is just another way of saying a tiny piece of ''x''. Integral is justa fancy way of saying "add it all up". What do you get if add up all the tiny pieces of ''x''."


    "x, probably," Brandon raised a brow.


    "Correct," Sean smiled, "and if you split the area under a curve into tinyslivers and add it all up again?"


    "The total area under the curve?" Brandonventured hesitantly.


    "Correct again," Sean nodded, "If a tiny change in ''x'' causes another tiny change in a function, lets call the function ''y''. Then what is the ratio of their changes?"


    "dy/dx, I think," Brandon said after a moment''s thought.


    "Bingo," Sean raised his arms, "dy/dx is simply the ratio of tiny changes on the ouput and input of a function. It''s basically algebra dressed up to look fancier. The language of thought."


    "It can''t be that simple" Brandon stared, "You are shitting me."


    "Brandon," Sean sighed, "None of this is supposed to be hard. Isacc Newton invented calculus just to figure out some other problem he was trying to solve. Granted,most of us aren''t Newton, but we don''t need to be. The reason all this seems intimidating and boring is because the school curriculum hasn''t been updated since the dark ages. In the days before computers the only way to do calculus was by complicated analytical methods on toy problems. With computers none of that shit is necessary, but the school still expects us to go through the motions. It sucks, but once you start thinking in terms of higher dimensional structures, it''ll get easier, I promise. "


    "Higher dimensional?" Brandon gaped.


    "Some problems require N-dimensions to describe properly.," Sean nodded, "but there are tricks to visualize them as 3-D. And once you do, no problem in your textbook will be beyond your reach. Here, I''ll show anexample..."


    As Sean sketched,Brandon acquired a far away look,"A thousand-fold thought."


    "Huh?" Sean raised a brow.


    "They say a picture is worth a thousand words," Brandon barked a laugh, "but, dude, your sketches are worth a thousand thoughts all connected to each another. It just clicks."


    "Many-fold thought," Sean smiled, "I like it."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 41

    "What is it, Agent Murphy?" Colonel Griffin sighed as his reverie was interrupted by Meganwalking into his office unannounced. Really, was it too much to expect the woman to knock on his door? Hewas the freaking head of theOffice of Advance Technology. Female agents grew jaded just as quickly as the men, he thought moodily.


    "Review meeting for Omega-Delphi, sir," Megan said brightly.


    "So it is," Griffin nodded grudgingly, "Let''s give Dr.West a couple of minutes."


    Griffin wondered if the bad guys had endless review meetings too. Atleast Megan''s attire was flawless, he noted approvingly as she took her seat, not a strand of her red hair was out of place.When Jonathan arrived several minutes later he seemed subdued and Megan missed his usual brilliant smile.


    "Update on the South Caucasus incident, Dr.West?" Griffin gave a nod.


    "Right," Jonathan linked his laptop to the wall projector, bringing up an aerial shotof mountainous terrain harshly backlit by two coalescing mushroom clouds, "As you know, two weeks ago, the State Department borrowed our Nuclear Emergency Support Team for an extraction mission into the South Caucasus Republic. The local regime was supposed to hand over a prisoner with sensitive intel on GORGON. In exchange for nuclear capable drones from the Gibbs Consortium. But the deal blew up - literally - before the transfer could take place. NEST personnel have successfully recovered the prisonerwith the intel on site."


    "I take it we didn''t trust the regime to give usthe full picture?" Griffin asked dryly, "We needed the prisoner to vouch for the intel?"


    "Exactly," Jonathan nodded, "Given that this incident has exposed their decade-long collaboration with GORGON, our suspicion was justified. It seems the SCR regime has been selectively breeding child prodigies tousea few as drone pilots and supply the rest to GORGON ."


    "So Sibylline can crack open their skulls and consume their brains?" Griffin asked thoughtfully.


    "Yes," Jonathan winced, "Assumingshe wantsto transcend into a weak super-intelligence, absorbingthesmartest minds is one possible path.The recombinant technology to target the right genes was most likely supplied by Sibylline herself."


    "Can''t she get all the guinea pigs she wants within GORGON territory?" Griffin frowned, "Why risk going beyond?"


    "She has already used up all suitable subjects within her own territory," Jonathan''s voice was flat, the display changed to a video loop of a little girl pouting at the camera with the name Mariam stitched on her shirt, "Our resident geneticist tells me that Sibylline is looking for a rare gene cocktail. This is footage from inside the base shortly before the nuclear incident. That child was a product of selective breeding with intelligence estimated in the 99th percentile for her age group. Note the odd spasms in her limbs. She''s suffering from early onset torsion dystonia. A crippling genetic condition historicallyseen in theAshkenaziJewishpopulation where child prodigies were prevelant at the turn of the 20thcentury."


    "You mean whatever''s making these kids super smartalso cripples their nervous system?" Griffin looked like he tasted something unpleasant, "And Sibylline was breeding them specifically for it. So she could harvest them with minimum lead time, I suppose."


    "The same genecluster is implicated," Jonathan nodded sadly, "Their increased intelligence comes at a terrible cost. We are beginning to understand the components of Sybilline''s omniscience. An ensemble of child prodigies among others. I fear I must revise thethreat analysis on GORGON, again."


    "I''m surprised the State Department isn''t milking this on the diplomatic front," Megan wondered, "The evidence..."


    "... is mostly vaporized," Jonathan finished wearily, "The hospital building at Kazbuk gestating the child prodigies was vaporized in GORGON''s double cross. It seems Sibylline didn''t appreciate the SCR making deals with the State Department. The child you see in the footage had beenrecruited to carry out the attack."


    "But why would this... prodigy blow up her own residence before taking out the prisoner?" Griffin looked puzzled, "Did she have troublecontrollingthe missile?"


    "She didn''t know where the prisoner was being held," Jonathan explained, "She had three missiles and was systematically destroying the other buildings on base. Patient Zero thwarted her plan by remotely diverting one of the missiles."


    "Wait... what the heck does Patient Zero have to do with this mess?" Griffinspluttered.


    "You will recall, sir, that we were steering Patient Zero into an internship at the Zero Sum Institute," Megan interjected, "Given Zero Sum''s leverage in international affairs, it''s an idealspot for Patient Zero''s actions to start messing with Sibylline''s omniscience. Since his ownhypothetical powers - whatever they may be - originate from outside our universe... anyway, his physics teacher who isan OATasset was able to arrange an interview with Julia Thorton ahead of schedule. Following the bullying incident at Cardiff High, Patient Zero..."


    "Bullying incident?" Griffin seemed lost.


    "Patient Zero seems to have been thebrunt ofa particularly nasty bullying incident involving drugs in the chemistry lab..." Megan began.


    Griffin growled, "Why wasn''t I informed of this sooner, Agent Murphy?"


    "Well, sir, you emphatically said you didn''t want me pestering youwith every little..." Megan lookedfaintly embarrassed.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Dammit, Murphy," Griffin threw up his hands, "that boy represents a shit ton of tax payer dollars poured into the Brookhaven supercollider grant.Money for which we have nothing to show, unless we can use Patient Zero to bring down GORGON."


    "I''ve expanded the survellience net in Cardiff High to blanket the entire school, sir," Megan assured him, "Next time we''ll step in if Sean... Patient Zero appears to be in real danger."


    "See that you do," Griffin jabbed a finger, "Not sure I like the idea of that Thornton woman getting her claws into the boy. She''s too well connected in Washingtonand hasher own agenda."


    "A minor risk, sir," Megan nodded, "But Julia Thornton''s goals are roughly aligned with our own, at least where GORGON is concerned."


    "Maybe," Griffin grunted, "Now about that new intel..."


    "The prisonerrescued is a US permanent resident," Jonathan clicked through his presentation, "whosefather,a neuroscientistby the name of Leonidas, wascommissioned by the SCR regimeto develop mind-reading MRI technology for covert survellience..."


    Griffin made a rude noise. Jonathan continued, "...which isn''tentirelyfar fetched.He apparently got the technology working but only between subjects with near identical brain structures such as twins. A hard limitation thatLeonidas was able toestablish mathematically."


    "So effectively useless," Griffin chuckled.


    "The SCR regimetakes a dim view of things like mathematical constraints," Jonathan nodded, "and Professor Leonidas found himself in a precariousspot politically. That''s when he disappeared into GORGON territory."


    "GORGON made him an offer?" Griffin raised a brow.


    "Apparently," Jonathan frowned, "butLeonidas failed to keep his appointmentwhich did not please Sibylline, as you can imagine. Turns out the good professor wasn''t thrilled about GORGON interference in his country and instead defected to a resistance group fighting GORGON. He was hunted and eventuallycaptured, but the recruitment video from the resistance - whichhinted attactics effective against GORGON - was stashed in his residence back home. Which explains why Sibylline was keen on destroying it."


    "Resistance group?" Griffin stared, "How the heck do you resistan all-seeing hyper intelligence like Sibylline within her own domain? Even wecouldn''t do that. That''s the whole point of funding Omega-Delphi."


    "Someone found a way," Jonathan hesitatedthenpulled up a photo of a manina labcoat, peering at the camera with asickly smile that did not seem tobelong on the lean gaunt face framed by thick glasses and close-cropped hair, "The group calls itself Krankenhaus-13. It''s headed by a Dr. Johann Braun, a former rising star inexperimental neuroscience at the University of Munich before he was fired for performing procedures not approved by the medical ethicsboard."


    "Let me guess," Griffin said dryly, "GORGON made him an offer he couldn''t pass up."


    "Right," Jonathan clicked to bring up a video, "We know Sibylline has been exploring alternate paths to creategeniuses for her consumption. Dr. Braun - now assigned OAT codename ''Cognito'' - was tasked by Sibylline with creating such hyper intelligent fodder."


    The video on the screenshowed a large indoor swimming pool of the type found ina school or university. Armed guardspatrolled in the background.Jonathan translated the caption on the screen as denoting ahighschoolin northern Poland. A squad of labcoated personnel surrounded by empty gurneys worked hastily on medicalequipment mounted on trolleys. Ducts and cables snaked from the equipment and disappeared into the deep end of the pool where the camera zoomed in. Something large floated underwater backlit by pool lights, shaped like a giant sea urchin with enormousfleshy spines. Megan frowned and leaned toward the screen. What she''d taken to be ''spines'' were actually limbs... human limbs terminating in feet and hands. The perspective flipped and Megan realized she was looking at people... students in school uniform all surgically fused together at the skull, facescoveredby oxygen maks and what looked like VR goggles. Their torsos stuck out radially in all directions, swaying gently like seaweed. Megan turned away abruptly, fighting her rising gorge.


    "What the heck... " Griffin exclaimed.


    "Cognito has perfected a process for directlyjoining human brains in a ring topology," Jonathan sounded heartbroken, "The resulting...hybrid is not viable for more than a few minutes, but in that time is capable of functioning as a weak superintelligence devoid of intrinsic motivation."


    "It can take orders," Griffin guessed.


    "Cognito uses them to formulate superhumanstrategiesagainst Sibylline," Jonathan shuddered, "which would explain howKrankenhaus-13 was able to evade and fightGORGON for so long. That''s his modus operandi. Hetargetsa high schoolon the edges of GORGON territory and camps there until the students have been... processed. He needs brains that are almost fully developed butflexible enough for his purpose. "


    "Whydidn''tSibylline cosume these... hybrids like sheplanned?" Griffin demanded.


    "Apparently she tried and almost died in the process," a ghost of a smile appeared on Jonathan''s face, "The hybridmindwas too alien for her to assimilate. Cognito didn''t take it well when Sibylline shut down his pet experiment."


    "Well, that''s a doozy," Griffinmuttered at the monstrosity on the screen, "Not something you see everyday."


    "Still doesn''t explain why Sibylline didn''t want this to get out," Megan avoided looking at the screen, "I mean, why woud she care?"


    There was silence for almost a minute.


    "It''s speculation at this stage," Jonathan roused himself from his thoughts, "but Sibylline might fear that we will collaborate with Cognito in the Balkan Offensive. The US Army has bogged down in Serbia, and we still do not have air superiority needed to knock out her Doomsday supercollider. Coordinating withKrankenhaus-13 just might allow our Army Group to break the stalemate."


    "Assistingrebel groups in enemy territory is practically US doctrine," Griffin nodded, "But you seem ratherblas¨¦ about this Dr. West. I thought you were Mister Sensitive."


    "Colonel," Jonathan drew himself up, "If you instruct OATto make contact withKrankenhaus-13, I assure you I will turn in my ID badge and walk out of here. But I''m afraid it may be too late for that." He clicked through his laptop to pull up a file photo of a man in uniform. "Master-Sergeant Todd Bryson, ex-Air Force. Employed by Gibbs Consortium to market their drones. He was part of the sales delegation to the South Caucasus.Presumed to have died in the blast until the NEST team excavated a hardened bunker under the rubble at Kazbuk base. Basically a tiny spherical room at the bottom of a mine shaft. Bryson was found holed-up there alone."


    "Alone?" Griffin raised a brow, "How did he know the location of the bunker, I wonder."


    "Exactly," Jonathan agreed, "It was a cold-war eraconstruct which could not have been openedwithout detailed knowledge of the old Soviet vaultcombinations. Not something a random veteran of the US Air Force is likely to know. He was working for another organization, someone who wanted to make contact withKrankenhaus-13. Another enemy of GORGON."


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 42

    "...last item on my agenda," Principal Stewartglanced at the teachers seated around the long conference table, "I''ve received a formidable-looking approval notice from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission in the mail. Anyone know what that''s about?"


    "Ah... must be for the application I submitted forPaige Patterson''s physics project," Mr. Turner looked pleased, then continued at the Principal''s raised brow, "As you may recall the Pattersons moved here from California very recently. They chose Cardiff High for its excellent STEMprogram. Specifically because I assured them I could secure approval for Miss Pattersonthrough my contacts at the NRC."


    "I remember, the parents are scientists," Stewart pursed his lips, "The girl has a gift for physics. You are sure this is quite safe?"


    "The radiation dose is well within safe limits even at maximum output," Turner nodded, "No more than what an airline crew is exposed to in terms ofequivalent neutronpenetration. The unit is designed to fail safely with no possibility of leakage. I have reviewed the design extensively."


    "You didn''t exactly answer the question, did you, eh Turner?" chuckleda cantankerous old man who was the biology teacher, "That school trip you chaperonedto Brookhaven wasn''t supposed to run into a subatomic wormhole either."


    "Are you seriously blaming me for what happened there?" Turner asked coldly, "Weren''t you mentoring Judith Fuller before herhorrificaccident at her father''s biotech lab? At least sub atomic particles don''t mutate..."


    "I had absolutely no control over that lab..."


    "Enough," Stewart snapped, wearily passing his hand over his face, "If Mr. Turner says it''s safe, I''m inclined to take the risk, given his credentials."


    "I still don''t like it," Mrs. Holt, the chemistry teacher, muttered, "I am all for pushing the envelope withscience projects, but this is stretching it..."


    "It''s more than just a science project, Amanda," Turner retorted, "Need I remind anyone what this potentially means for the school?Julia Thornton has convinced her venture capitalist buddies at Dragon''s Egg - the startup incubator - to accept applications from Portsmouth school seniors this year. Only the very best have a chance atfunding and Paige Patterson certainly qualifies as such."


    "I hear you, Mrs. Holt,"Principal Stewart sighed, "but I can''t pass up an opportunity to put Cardiff High on the map."


    "I''m surprised the superintendent is backing this," one of the teachers remarked, triggering spasms of distaste around the table at the mention of the name. The superintendent was loathed with a passion, given his penny-pinching stance onteachers''compensationin stark contrast to his own lavish salary.


    "Not exactly," the Principal''s lips twitched, "but I do haveMrs. Thornton''s backing to pull out all the stopsfor the Dragon''s Egg competition. She is as keen as I am to show what top-notch public school education looks like. Well, that''s all I have for today. Any walk-ins?"


    Thesilence was punctuated by the dying whine of the overhead projector. Stewart cleared his throat and adopted an encouraging tone, "Um... how about personal stories, anecdotes, that sort of thing?"


    Thesilenceturned incredulous. Mrs. Holt coughed, "Personal stories, Mr. Stewart?"


    "Of course," the Principal beamed, "I was reading the other day that encouraging my staff to share their challenges and experiences in the classroom builds rapport. Your stories from the trenches, so to speak. Come on now, don''t be shocked. I too was a teacher once, you know."


    "Well...I could use a second opinion," Mr. Emerson, the math teacher, coughed nervously, "It''s about Brandon Cox in junior grade."


    "The varsity quarterback?" the Principal frowned, "Has he failed his math test again?"


    "No, that''s the thing,"Emerson shook his head distractedly, "He''s doing fine on his tests."


    "Well, good then!"the Principal looked relieved, "I was getting rather tired of giving him a free pass academically."


    "He''s doing too well," Emerson spread his hands, "He''s gone from a failing grade to one of my top performers in short order. I mean, how is that possible?"


    "You suspect cheating?" Mrs. Holt scowled.


    "I did at first,"Emerson barked an hysterical laugh, "But then I askedBrandon to go overthe testproblems with me. He correctly derivedanswersusing higher dimensional geometry and otherconcepts I''d expect from a grad student."


    "Is this your idea of a joke?" Principal Stewartasked curtly, "Are we talking about the same Brandon?"


    "No joke,"Emerson shivered in reverence, "There was one problemhe solved by deriving Euler''s Formula for complex numbers from first principles. All the way from number theory! When I pressed him Brandon saidhe''d found a special tutor but wouldn''t say who it was."


    MissEvans, assistant coach for varsity girls tennis, broke thestartled silence, "That reminds me of this girl in my team... Carmen Jones. Plays a decent game, but noinnate talent for tennis.Then suddenly wins every game. I thought it was a hot hand, a streak of luck. But I just moved her from junior varisty to play against the senior girls. Still keeps winning."


    Two more teachers chimed in with examples of students whohad shown recent startling spikesin academic oratheletic performance.


    "It can''t be illegal nootropics unless all these late bloomers have figured out ways to fool the drug tests," Stewart looked around the table at his staff who faces mirrored his own puzzlement, "But there was one other student who showed remarkable improvement in academics at the start of the school year. After that incident at Brookhaven."


    "Sean Cook," Turner nodded. If he was annoyed at Brookhaven being mentioned again, he didn''t show it.


    "Are you suggesting these recent cases are related to Sean?" Mrs. Holt looked skeptical, "Like a mysterious contagion, but in a good way?"


    "I have a simpler explanation," Turner laughed suddenly, "I think Sean is coaching these... late bloomers."


    "One student is able to coach them inall theseareas?" Miss Evans scoffed,"You got to be shitting me.Are they all his friends?"


    "Not exactly," Turner smiled, "But they are all close to Jason Fuller. Anyone whofollows the social scene at Cardiff High is aware of the feud between the Fuller heir and Sean Cook."


    "I''m not following," Stewart frowned, "Why would Sean lift a finger to help out Jason''s friends."


    "One knows the lion by it''s claws, Principal Stewart," Turner chuckled, "Perhaps we shouldn''t look a gift horse in the mouth."


    #


    Sean filed into AP Physics, pausing involuntarily when he caught the eye of Phyllis Gibbs. The heiress looked away quickly. It rankled Sean that Phyllis hadn''t apologized forroughing him up over whathad been a misunderstanding. Someone pushed into his back making him stumble. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "Hey, watch it," Sean turned in annoyance. His expression darkened when he spotted Jason Fullerfour places behind him.


    "Keep it moving, punk," Jason grinned unpleasantly, "Can''t have the low-life slowing us down."


    Seanslid into his seat next to Mei-Ling who flashed a sympathetic smile. Jason turned away from the aisle towards his chosen spot, Tiffany and Carmen shadowing him like royal maids-of-honor. Tiffany heldSean''s gaze for a moment in unspoken solidarity. Carmen''s lips turned up in a slight smile without malice. The slow process of turning Jason''s clique was well under way. While nothing had changed inside class, Sean had noticed that the girls who usually hung around Jason outside class were now in short supply. Each suddenly busy pursuingher passion with newfound confidence, like satellites in orbitgetting a boost from Sean to break away from Jason.


    The girl behind Sean in the queue took her seat across the aisle, politely nodding to Sean.


    "Cool glasses, Andrea," Sean nodded back, "How are the musiclessons coming along?"


    "Mu... music lessons?" Andrea froze.


    "Yeah, isn''t that like your hobby?" Sean raised a brow, "Acoustic instruments?"


    "I like guitar," Andrea nodded slowly, "but how did you know? Have you beensnoopingon me?"


    To perform on stage was Andrea''s fondest dream, but one she hadn''t shared with even her close friends for fear of being laughed at. Private guitarlessons andwriting her own songs in the privacy of her home hadn''t been enough to break her out of her shell. She wassure she hadn''t mentioned it in school unless ithad been a slip of tongue.


    "Of course not," Sean laughed, "I just have an eye for talent, you know."


    Andrea stared at him, hope blossoming, "You... you do?"


    No stranger to high school drama, she automatically discountedrumors, but perhaps there was something to what her friends insisted about Sean enabling impossible dreams.


    "Sure, knock yourself out," Sean smiled encouragingly and turned away to watch Tiffany''s profile. But his smile lingered. Bingo, Trawling through student social media with a simple script looked promising. While people weren''t all alike, theytended to cluster based on developmental and cultural histories.Could you figure outa student''s inner most drives if they shared the same socio-economic markers with others whose drives were mapped? Take the conflicting utility functions thatdescribed humanbehavior andnormalizethem numerically or logically. Then plot them on higher-dimensionalvectorspace, all thatindividuality collapsing to a single point. Now the cosine-distance between any two vectors, any two people,was an indication of how similar those two people where. There was enough Big Data floating around in public that Sean was hoping to gain insight aboutanyone he wanted to. Onegirlin particular. Tiffany Brooks.


    Although Sean was tormented by her image, the dopamine surge stopped him from tearing his gaze away from her. For all that he was heir to all human knowledge Sean couldn''t help being human, a rope stretched over the abyss betweenanimal and superman as Nietzsche had described.Being human sucked. Seanhad a growing suspicion that Tiffany wasusinghim just so there wouldn''t be so many girls competing for Jason''s attention. Even if Jason was abusing her, Stockholm Syndrome was a thing. But two could play that game. Sean intended tomake Tiffany likehim whether her hate for Jason was real or feigned. Butthe girl was an enigma, defying easy categorization as cheerleader or nerd.Tell me everything about your life, Tiffany, so I may solvethe shape of your utility functions...


    Movementat the door caught his attention. Turner walked in wheeling what looked like a large fan, followed by a girl Seanhadn''t seen before. He stared. Rich dark hair tumbled around a face that might have belonged on Teen Vogue. But it was her smile that caught his attention. It was a warm, unassuming, girl-next-door kind of smile without a hint of reserve or awareness of her own... perfection. The smile triggered memories of Judith Fuller which was like a punch to his gut, even if this girl didn''t look anything like her. Sean missed Jason''s sister, missed her smile, and hoped she was adjusting well to her new school.


    "Who is that?" Sean muttered.


    "Oh, that''s Paige Patterson," Randallsupplied helpfully from behind, "New girl from California. Joined here the week you were... suspended. She''s a senior, but Jason has already made a move on her. The senior boys are pissed."


    "What," Seanscowled as Jason waved to the new girl and got a dimpled grin in return. Why did Jason get all the best looking girls, Seanyelled to himself, wasn''t it enough that he got all the best looking stuff? Isolating Jason from his social circle was likeisolating a tumor from its blood supply. Each time a connection was severed a new one took its place. But if Jason was the tumor, then Sean was the surgeon who wouldn''trest until it was excised.


    "Class, may I have your attentionplease," Turner smiled and gestured to Paige, "I''d like to introduce a talented youngwoman who has recently joined us from the West Coast. Paige Patterson has a raregenius for practical physics that makes her a prime candidate for the Dragon''s Egg Tech Competition."


    Sean had seen posters for the competition around the school, but hadn''tgiven it much thought.


    "...so thrilled with her creation," Turner continued, "that I''ve asked her to give a demonstration to each grade. Without further ado, I''ll let Paige take over."Turnerwalked back to stand behind his desk, leaving the industrial grade blower he''d dragged to one side.


    "Thank you, Mr. Turner," Paige smiled and nodded. She slipped off the backpack she''d been wearinganddropped it on Turner''s desk. She pulled out a water-filled glass cylinder the size of asoda-can capped at both ends and held it out vertically, the shiny metal base resting on her palm. The liquid inside was packed with metal rods. Withthe other hand she lifted the thick cables trailing from the industrial blower and snapped the alligator clips onto leads poking out the upper and lower rims of the cannister. She then grabbed the upper cap and pulled, the inch-thick metal parting in two and lifting the rods suspended in water. The water began to glow a brilliant blue, backlighting the radiation trefoil stencilled on the glass.


    "Fucking shit," Sean muttered. For a moment he was back in the South Caucasus mountains fighting for control of nuclear-tipped cruise missiles. The moment passed. The blower was turning now, picking up speed.


    "The Patterson Pocket Reactoruses less thanan ounce of fissile uranium," Paige continued with her obviously practiced speech, shouting above the roar of the blower, "and is capable of powering this entire school at full output." Hair and books were flapping around in the gale. Paigepusheddown the controlrodsand thegale shut down. The blue glow faded.


    "That was awesome!" yells and claps echoed around the room. Sean smiled.


    "Question time," Turner clapped and stepped forward, "Can anyone tell me what the blue glow was? No, not you Sean. Yes, Mei Ling?"


    "Cherenkov radiation," Mei Ling grinned maniacally, "when charged particles in a reactor travel faster than the speed of light in water."


    "Correct," Turner smiled and looked around, "How was Paige able to power the fan without using a steam turbine for energy conversion?"


    "Some kind of thermoelectric generator?" ventured Phyllis.


    "Very good, Miss Gibbs," Turner looked pleased, "A bright bunch, aren''t we. I''ll open up the floor for questions."


    "Is it dangerous...what about the radiation... what if it breaks..." the questions tumbled.


    "The leaded glass is tough enough to survive a drop from a skyscraper. A composite material mymother invented," Paige beamed, "It filtersall of the gamma and most of the neutron radiation, apart from being a perfect thermal insulator. You''d have to hold and run the reactor for a really really long time to absorb anything like an unsafe dose."


    "What if it goes super critical or something?"


    "The light water moderator provides a negative feedback loop upto a point," Paige nodded, "as the water getshotter it loses density which means less number of thermal neutrons to power the reaction. But as an ultimate failsafeI''ve specially designedthe fuel core to melt and lose its neutron cross-section if the water reaches boiling."


    If Sean hadn''t been smitten with Tiffany Brooks, he''d have probably fallen in love with Paige Patterson right there. There was no way he was letting Jason have her.


    He raised his hand, "Are you still exploiting the nuclear resonance of U-235 to achieve room-temperature fission?"


    "Yes," Paige blinked and then smiled, "Although you are the first to ask me that in my demos."


    "Aren''t you concerned about ambient neutron reflectors bringing your core to super-criticality?" Sean frowned.


    "That is a theoretical concern, correct," Paige nodded slowly,lifting the reactor andwaving her hand around it, "but extremely unlikely in the real world. The reflector would have to be shaped with the right focal length to be a risk."


    Sean nodded satisfied. Paige bowed to thunderous applause and left the classroom smiling. She gave a special wave to Jason, but her eyes flickered to Sean as she passed the doorway.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 43

    Sean leaned against the viewing glass and watched the swimmers slice through water, each onedetermined to outraceall others in the 50-yard freestyle sprint. On the other side of the glass, bleachers sloped down to the pool. Loitering outsidethe pool during girls varsityswim practice was not hisnormal pastime after school. His eyes tracked one girl in particular.


    "Checking out the swim team?"a familiar voicegiggled behind him, "Can''t fault your taste, I guess."


    Sean turned as Carmen walked up to the glass, smiling slightly.


    "My interest is strictly scientific," Seananswered loftily, his hand reaching up instinctivelytobrushhis hair. His breathing subconsciously quickened a notchin the presence of a pretty girl.


    "Sure dude, whatever," Carmen rolled her eyes, and then more seriously, "Thanks for seeing me again. Your advice really boosted my A-game on court. I''m ready to move to the next..."


    Wouldn''t miss a chance to see you, Sean thought as he held up his hand, "Let''s wait a minute for the others."


    "What others?" Carmen frowned, just as Brandon rounded the corneralong the long curving corridor thatterminated atlocker rooms at either end, "Hey Sean, thanks for... wait what''s she doing here? I knew the girls'' locker roomwas a bad spot to meet..."


    "Nice to see you too, Brandon," Sean nodded, "Relax, Jason has gone home. There''s no football practice tonight."


    "That''s not the point, dude," Brandon hissed, "This was supposed to be a private..."


    "Hold up... what''s going on?" Kyle showed up then, his eyes narrowing," Are these two giving you grief, Sean? Knock it off, Brandon.You too Carmen." His tone brooked no argument as he strolled up to the glass.


    "We aren''t giving him grief," Carmen huffed making air quotes around the last three words, "Sean turned a private session into a public one without telling me... us. That''s a dick move. I didn''t even know he was tutoring anyone else."


    "Wait," Kyle said thoughtfully, "You''ve been helping others... other friends of Jason."


    "That''s what I wanted to talk about," Kyle caught on fast, noted Sean as he nodded,"I''m happy to help you all out with strategic advice when you need it. But I needa favor in return."


    "Time to pay the piper, I knew it," Carmen nodded knowingly, "Well... what do you want? It better not be a date to the homecoming dance or something."


    "I want you to be my friends," Sean smiled. The three stared at him incredulously.


    "What," spluttered Carmen.


    "I just need you to publicly acknowledge me as a friend," Sean clarified, "Hang out with me at the cafeteria once in a while, that sort of thing."


    "Sorry, not gonna happen, dude," Brandon shook his head, "Jason will kill us."


    "I see what you are doing," there was sadness in Kyle''s tone, "If you are trying to turn us against Jason, it''s not going to work."


    "I''m not asking you to choose between me and Jason," Sean protested, Not yet.


    "No can do, bruh," Carmen scoffed, "And I don''t need your help anymore. I can take it from here."


    "I''m not so sure you can," Sean countered, "if you really want to play pro-tennis someday. You see, there''s a pattern to the type of friends Jason usually takes on. You are all verygifted losers."


    "You take that back, punk," growled Brandon stepping forward, then paused confused, "wait... what kind of lame insult is that?"


    "Let me explain," Seanrummaged in his backpack till he found a marker, "Take someone like... Mei-Ling for instance..."


    Your girlfriend?" Brandon looked puzzled, "what about her?"


    "She''s my bestie, not my girlfriend," Sean sighed wearily, "Where do you think she''ll be in ten... twenty years?"


    "Miss goody two shoes?" Carmen gave a snort, "Straight A''s'', teachers'' pet, on track to be valedictorian. She''ll do fine."


    "Sounds about right," Sean nodded, "Now what do you think her chances are of being the next Steve Jobs or Bill Gates?"


    "Um... how would I know,"Carmenshrugged testily, "Is there a point to this rambling riddle?"


    "The point is thatvaledictorians do well because they follow the rules," Sean turned and started sketching a Gaussian bell curve on the viewing glass, "Obedience and self-discipline are their key traits. School is designed to reward such students,as well asfilter out failures." He crossed out an area under the tailend of the curve on theleft. "But there''s also anothertype of student that school filters out... the obsessive genius who excels in one field buthasno interest in other subjects. People who might go on to revolutionize their field but get labeled as failures because they flunked history." Sean crossed out a corresponding area on the right end of the bell curve, "Whatdoyour grades look like, Carmen?"


    Carmen scowled. Brandonbroke the startled silence, "You''re saying that... we..."


    "You are thetype whose passion is entirely one dimensional. Tennis, football, coding, music, mathematics, whatever," Sean nodded,"There''s no guarantee you will be stars in your field. The odds are against you. But you''ll never find out without me tofill in what you lack. School is a multi-dimensional filter in the vector space of human endeavour, which makes it an excellent mechanism to throttle progress."


    They left after agreeing to think it over. They''ll come around, thought Sean as he watched them leave. Flattery and self-interestwere stronger than loyalty, after all. Hejust had to convince them that the only possible path to theirdreams was throughSean and not Jason. Carmen paused and looked back pensively at Sean, "So what are your bestie''s chances of becoming the next Bill Gates?"


    "Generalists likeMei Ling... and myselfusually don''t become super stars,"A spasm of pain passed over Sean, "Weget nice stable boring jobs."


    Sean left to his own thoughts, gazed at the pool through the viewing glass. The swimmers had finished their practice and were headed towards the girls'' locker room. He waited patiently, contemplating the age old question of why he wasn''t rich if he was so smart. The Phreak Club was trying, with no sucess yet, to make contact with the artificial intelligence that powered Susan Fuller''s hedge fund. He had nothing to show for breaking into the Fuller householdexcept a recently healed fracture. Accepting Julia Thornton''s internship to protect himself from Richard Fuller had been a mistake. Sean could still taste the ashes ofthatdebacle in the South Caucasus. Gloomily he wondered if it was wise to devote so much effort into destroying Jason. Surely there wereother projectshe should be pursuing towards financial freedom. But he couldn''t let it go.Someonehad contracted the Collection Agency to trash the chemistry lab and frame Sean. There was no hard proof, but Sean had no doubt it was Jason. Who else could it be? Thoughts about the Fullers invariably led to Jason''s sister. Sean hoped Judith was doing well in her new school. He missed her already,as ludicrous as that was. But Judith''s cheerful altruism made it hard to forget her. His thoughts were interrupted when the locker room door opened to discharge the girls from the swim team. They were chatting animatedly despite lookingexhausted.


    Sean straightened and nearly lost his courage at addressing a group offemale athletes he wasn''t acquainted with, "Lillian ...Winters?"Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The girl at the center of the group - a tallskinny redhead -paused and turned in surprise, "Yes?"


    Sean pulled out his phone, "Can I have an autograph of your picture, please?"


    Lillian reared in surprise, "You want... my autograph?"


    Sean nodded.Lillian narrowed her eyes, "Why?"


    Ineed to useyour social network, thought Sean. Aloud he said, "So I can sell it for a lot of money after you winyourOlympics medal."


    The other girls whispered laughing. Lillian glared at Sean, "If this is a prank..."


    "It''s not," Sean assured her, "I have an eye for promising athletes. If you step over therefacing the glass, the light is just right..."


    Lillian sighed in exasperation, and turned to her friends, "You lot carry on. I''ll catch up later."


    "You sure, Lill?" One of the girls giggled, "What if you can''t resist his charms?"


    "I''ll let her down gently, ladies," Sean gave a mock bow. Lillian''s friends laughed and left.


    "So, I was looking at your social media page," Sean said causually, as Lillianstood awkwardly against the wall, "In your freshman yearyou wrote so much about your dream ofmaking it to the Olympics. But you hardly mention that anymore. Can I ask why?"


    "Are you a cyber stalker or what?" Lillian frowned, then continued grumpily, "If you must know, my dream died after Ifinishedconsistentlysecond or third on the school team. I don''t have what it takes." Her face twisted with an old pain.


    "I think you have exactly what it takes," Sean put his phone away after a few shots, "Have you tried a swim club outside school?"


    "Didn''t you hear what I said," Lillian spat, her lips quivering with emotion, "What chance doI have in a club when I''m only second on the varsity team? Even after squeezing every hour I can into practice."


    "I think you are operating under afalse assumption," Sean said quietly.


    "What do you know about championship swimming?" Lillian voice rose in indignation, "Who the heck are you anyway?"


    "My name is Sean Cook," Sean took a step back realizing he''d touched a nerve.


    "Wait... I''ve heard of you," Lillian paused, "You are the one they call Dream Counseller. Stupid nickname by the way."


    Sean tilted his headin acknowledgement, "In terms of what it takes to win in high schoolversus college varisty versus club swimming versustheOlympics, whatdo thinkthe fitness landscape look like?"


    "Fitness landscape?" Lillian rolled her eyes.


    "I mean, do you see it as an upward sloping hierarchy like a ladder?" Sean pointed to the bleachers behind the viewing glass.


    "Duh," Lillian nodded, "obviously".


    "Seems intuitive, doesn''t it," Sean sighed, "Except it''s dead wrong. Like the early biologists who thought of evolution as an upward ladder that produces ever moresuperior life forms. A virus or acockroach or a human are all equally evolved for the niche they occupy. Notions of superiority are value judgements, objectively meaningless. It''s more accurate to think of each as a different niche on a circle instead of a hierarchy. And so it is with championship swimming.What you think of as different levels ofswimming are simply different niches. Olympic or club swimmers don''t win by doing more of whatever they tried in high school but byusing different techniques."


    "That''s... that''s bullshit," Lillian blurted, but there was doubt in her eyes.


    "The fitness landscape is not asingle upward slope, but a bunch of different hills," Sean continued patiently, "There''s no reason for you to get to the top of onepeak before climbing another peak. Pick the hill you want and go for it. Your performance will get worse at first, as you descend into the fitness valleys, but with the correct technique for that hill winning an Olympic silver requires no more sacrifices than finishing second on theschool team. Do youhonestly think a Olympic medalist puts in fiveto ten times the effort you do? Is that humanly possible? For the best in any field, winningis mundane. Besides you have the right body type."


    "Hmm?" Lillian asked with a far away look.


    "You are tall as a giraffe and skinny, with large hands and short legs," Sean noted.


    "Are you body shaming me?" Lillian growled.


    "No," Sean shook his head hastily, "I''m simply saying you havethe perfect form for swimming."


    "Sorry," Lillian relented, "I''m a bit touchy about my height. I''ll think about what you said. But... why are you trying to help me? You don''t even know me."


    "I''d like to change that," Sean suggested tentatively, "perhaps we can hang out at lunch?"


    "You can joinme and my friends during lunch," Lillian nodded. She turned to smile before she left.


    "So, why are you really helping Lillian?" a girl''s voice drawled behind him, "and don''t give me thatcrap about wanting to be her friend."


    Sean whirled around to find Tiffany leaningagainst the locker room door,eyeing him with a sardonic smile. Her tresses, still damp from the shower,gleamed like the fabled golden fleeceunderthe lightof the viewing glass. Sean swallowed. No matter how much heconspired with Tiffany, her physical proximity never failed to switch off his frontal cortex like a charm. With an effort he brought his breathing under control and tried to jump start rational thought.


    "What if I told you I have a crush on Lillian?" Sean raised a brow in challenge.


    "Gimme a break... she isn''t your type," Tiffany gave a snort.


    "Oh, now you know what my type is?" Seansounded amused.


    "I have a pretty good guess," Tiffany smiled and crossed her arms, leaning on one hip in what had to be a practised pose. Sean flushed and rummaged through his backpack to hide how flustered he was.


    "What are you doing here anyway?" he muttered without looking up.


    "I should be asking you that," Tiffany retorted, "This is the girls'' locker room, remember? I had cheerleading practice."


    Sean carefully pulled out an lopsided wire-frame object the size of a bowling ball. A closer look showed themany-faceted polyhedronto be an intricate network of tetrahedrons built fromcopper wirethreaded through muticolored beads. Tiffany gave Sean a questioning look.


    "It''s asubset of Cardiff High''s social network," Sean explained, pointing out various nodes, "this cluster is Jason''s clique...this one is the girls'' soccer team..."


    "Ooh... that''s cool," Tiffany whistled, "But how did you make it? And why?"


    "Randall wrote a script that trawls through student social media and graphs the network based on who is friends or enemies with who," Sean smiled, "Nodes are students. Links indicate friendship status.The links paintedred indicateenemity. Unpainted links are friends. As to why... I''ve realized simplynudging Jason''scliqueaway from him isn''t enough. Jason can simply make new friends by flaunting his wealth and social status.You saw how quickly he befriended that new girl from California." Sean paused, momentarilychoked withrage fueled by resentment, "No... I need to apply enough pressure on hissocial network until it cracks. That''s why I''m befriending Lillian."


    "What are you talking about?" demanded Tiffany, "Lillian doesn''t even know Jason. She isn''t his type either."


    "True. But suppose you take two students who are friends," Seanpointed to two nodes of a link on the wireframe, "and suppose you were also good friends with both of them," He picked a third node that formed a triangle with the other two, "Now what happens if the two friends have a falling out and can''t stand each other anymore? How does that impact your friendship with them?" He pulled out a marker and painted the first link red.


    "Oh, that can get awkward," Tiffany shrugged, "I might just pick the one I like better and ditch the other."


    "Right, so wehada socialtrianglethatbecameunstable, " Sean picked anotherside of the triangle and marked it red, "Now it''s stable again. To express that mathematically, we assign a value of negative one (-1) to the unfriendly links and a value of +1 to the friendly links. So the condition for a social triangle to be stable is this: the product of all three link variables must be +1. If all three are friends, the product is +1. And if one link switches to -1, then another link must also switch to -1 to stablize the traingle."


    "I see," Tiffany nodded slowly, "And with more than three friends, every triangle borders other triangles in the network. So when one triangle turns unstable..." She trailed-off in thought.


    "Go on..." Sean nodded encouragement.


    "...other triangles turn unstable too," Tiffany concluded, "the instability spreads through the network until a new stable state is reached."


    "Correct," Sean smiled at how sharp she was, "there aren''t many stable configurations. Thestudents splitting into two large camps is one equilibrium."


    "But Sean," Tiffany shook her head, "this is all theoritical. Social dynamics isn''tsorigid in real life ..."


    "Of course, people aren''t that simple to model," Sean conceded, "It''s better toassignprobabilitiesto link variables. But once enough social pressure buils up, link variables approach values of plus or minus 1. There are cliques I can befriend that are unaffiliated with Jason.The girls'' soccer team is one. Remember how they came to my defence when Phyllis roughed me up in the cafeteria. And Lillian''s clique is another one I can cultivate."


    Tiffanylooked at thepoints on the wireframe Sean indicated, and then itclicked. For a moment she grasped the entirety of the social network in her mind, saw instabilities propagating like ripples in a pond, multiple waves crashing against Jason''s clique. It could work. Tiffany blinked as the moment passed. Brandon had called it the thousand-fold thought. He''d bragged in private - not in Jason''s presence - about what he''d learned from Sean, the ability to hold a complex cascade of reason as a single structure in one''s mind. Until now Tiffany hadn''t quite understood. She looked at Sean with ashiverof dread, wondering if that was how he always saw the world.


    END OF CHAPTER

 Chapter 44

    They resumed their leisurely stroll along the glass-walled corridor that ringed the natatorium.


    "You really are making a difference to their school life, you know," Tiffany observed queitly, "Brandon and Carmen and the others."


    "I''m not doing it for them," Sean scoffed.


    "Dream Counselor," Tiffany laughed a tinkling note, "The nerd who humiliatesthe jock by leveling up the rest of the class."


    "That''ll cut him down to size," Sean nodded, ""but thatisn''t the point. Leveling up the class makes them easier to predict anduse against Jason."


    "What do you mean?" Tiffany quirked her lip.


    "The smarter you are, fewer your choices," Sean smiled coldly, "When I''m done molding them, they''ll see only optimum solutions... only the ideal response for a given circumstance. No longer any illusion of choice from ignorance. Then I can time their reactions to suit me. "


    "You''re so full of yourself, Sherlock," Tiffany retorted, "Smarter people are harder to manipulate. Believe me, I''ve tried."


    Sean contemplated Cardiff High''s social dynamic in his mind''s eye, trying to articulate the phase transition he was setting in motion, "Tell me... those students who are seeing other students, how stable are their relationships? Do they trust each other? Have spats? Cheat on their girlfriend or boyfriend?"


    "You bet your ass they do," laughed Tiffany, "Cardiff High is drama central."


    Sean nodded, not really surprised. After years of observing his parents fighting, he''d concluded that romantic relationships were mutually exploitative by nature. Other types of relationships were simpler. Parents and kids both wanted the best for their kids, enemies wanted the worst for each other, uncoupled linear systems with incentive vectors either reinforcing or opposing each other. But romantic partners wanted the best for each other so they may better exploit each other. It was a non-linear coupled system ripe with instabilities. Successful partners managed to achieve stable orbits around each other like binary stars in phase space. Sean had searched for a Nash equilibrium that he might nudge his own parents towards, but had found none. Just two antagonists facing off as they circled each other down the drain...


    "What happens if, say, a girl finds out her boyfriend is cheating?" Sean asked, "Does she dump him?"


    "Usually, " Tiffany agreed, "although they are the last to know. Even their friends don''t want to butt in, sometimes."


    "Let''s say there''s a clique of girls, all with boyfriends," Sean gestured apology, "It''s sort of contrived, but I''m just making a point. Suppose one of those girls has a cheating boyfriend. Everyone else in the clique knows about it, except that girl, because her friends don''t want to hurt her feelings or whatever. Now if there''s a trusted source of gossip that everyone listens to..."


    "Like Molly''s blog," Tiffany exclaimed, "You know Molly Morrison in senior year? She runs this online gossip rag called Dumpster Fire, that dishes the dirt on who is fooling around with whom. She''s never wrong,even ifshe avoids naming the culprits. Doesn''t want to get harrassed, I suppose."


    "Good example," Sean nodded, "Now what happens in this hypothetical clique when Molly''s blogannounces that atleast one of their boyfriends is cheating, but doesn''t say which one?"


    "Nothing... I guess," Tiffany shrugged, "Molly isn''t saying anything they don''t already know."


    "Seems that way, right?" Sean smiled, "but what if I can wave a wand and make every girl in that clique a little bit smarter. Smart enough to reflexively model each other''s thoughts. The girl who is being cheated on knows that she usually hears about it from her friends when any other girl is being cheated on. But she has heard nothing, which strongly implies she herself is the one being cheated on. Even low-information signals can be exploited, if they are public and trusted."


    "I guess..." Tiffany frowned.


    "Now if two girls in that clique are being cheated on, each of them knows only about the other girl," Sean continued, "Unlike the earlier case, nothing happens immediately, because each of the two girls is expecting the other girl to dump her boyfriend. Remember they can model each others'' thoughts perfectly, so the lack of immediate reaction warns them that there is more than one girl being cheated on - themselves. Both girls now dump their boyfriends. The rest of the clique, already aware of both girls, does not react. This can be extended to any number of girls, who after recursively modeling each others'' thoughts, simultaneously dump their cheating boyfriends."


    "I see..." Tiffany seemed a little dazed, "Like mirrors reflecting each other to infinity."


    "Exactly," Sean looked pleased, "Very poetic. Once I implement this... cognitive restructuring, I can make a clique dump their cheating boyfriends all at once. Like a tree shedding leaves in the fall. How''s that for poetry? All those freshly dumped boys looking for new girlfriends. And who is the one person in school with a surplus of girlfriends? Fucking Jason."


    "Y...you think you can do this?" Tiffany asked slowly. It sounded ridiculously impractical, like something a nerd would think of. But Sean kept surprising her. She hadn''t expected him to successfully poach Jason''s inner circle either, but he had. Sean''s knack for getting his peers to grasp abstract thought, was unsurpassed by anyone Tiffany had met, teachers included. She shivered slightly at the recursive depth of his scheming. Sean wasn''t simply meddling with the school''s social hierarchy, he was going to implode it like a singularity. Jason would go apeshit.


    "A school full of impressionable teen minds, why not," Sean shrugged, "A clique that can model each other that well is effectively reading each others'' minds. The biggest obstacle to augmented group-intelligence is the low bandwidth of human speech. If I can bypass that, I might be able to create a new... intellect-net, greater than the sum of its parts. Something slightly but genuinely superhuman. How will Jason like it if his harem can intellectually run circles around him."


    "He won''t take it lying down," Tiffany gaped at Sean, "He''s been making the moves on other girls already. Now that Carmen is too busy winning tennis matches, thanks to you. And my internship and cheerleading practice keeps me out of his clutches for now..."


    "The fucking cad," Sean sighed, "He''s like a hydra. Cut off one girlfriend and two more appear. I just don''t understand why so many girls are willing to... to..." Sean trailed off, not sure how to phrase it.


    "To share him with other girls?" Tiffany raised a brow in challenge, "Degrade ourselves? Go ahead. We''ve been called worse."


    "All I''m saying is, given all the progress to protect women against polygyny..." Sean began.


    "To protect women?" Tiffanyspun around angrily, "You think monogamy is for the benefit of women?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "I... let me think..." Sean froze, working out the implications of evolutionary psychology.


    "You do that," Tiffany snorted, "If you were a dirt-poor medieval peasant girl, would you rather be the third wife of the local baron or the first wife of the dirt-poor farm boy?"


    "Never mind," Sean muttered, feeling a twinge of shame. Why should he resent women choosing rational self-interest? Didn''t Sean himself want exactly what Jason had? To be desired by "hot" girls was a constant corrosive hunger in his psyche.


    Now that he thought about it, the archaeogenetic record did show a drastic drop in the ratio of men-to-women who successfully reproduced 8000 years ago. The exact reason was unclear. Perhaps the men had been killed off in war and genocide. But that was also around the time that the transition from hunter-gatherer lifestyles to agriculture caused wealth and power to be concentrated in the hands of a tiny fraction of men. Kings naturally monopolized young women in huge harems. For every 17 women who passed on their genes, only one man did. The modern age with its opportunities had reduced that imbalance. Which meant that the kings of today, the Jason Fullers of the world, had far less a monopoly on women willing to be in a harem. But if history was any lesson, Sean needed to build vast wealth if he was to have a chance at his impossible dream. And if he could add value to the world along the way, that was a bonus. Step One: become Elon Musk...


    "Monogamy is enforced tomake sure that every man gets a wife, to deny women their choice of the best men, " Tiffany sniffed, "Sort of like marital communism. All themoviesthat show a woman spurning a rich suitor to choose a poor husbandare just romantic nonsense to pander to the male audience. Jason is a top athelete and heir to a vast fortune. And he knows to turn on the charm when it suits him. That''s why he gets thegirls... which is a problem for your master plan."


    "I get it, no need to paint a picture," growled Sean.


    "It pisses me off when women are shamed for their choices," Tiffany huffed, "when most men don''t measure up. Men are scum."


    "Wow," Sean barked a bitter laugh, "I didn''t realizeJason being loaded and a jock makes the rest of us scum."


    "That''s not what I meant," Tiffany snapped.


    "Are you sure you hate Jason and not in love with him?" Sean taunted, "It sure sounds like it."


    "I am not in love with Jason, you knucklehead," Tiffany hissed, her pale featurescompletely whitewith rage, "Jason is a richentitled prick, just like... like all the other richentitledpricks in Portsmouth. Just like the one who spawned me."


    "What?" Sean blinked.


    "My biological father," whispered Tiffany, "was a rich asshole who had a fling with his secretary - my biological mother. Dumb cliche, right? When my mother asked him toput his name on my birth certificate he refused and denied paternity. She tried to get him to pay child support. But his army of rich lawyers managed tohavethe paternity test thrown out of court. Claimed my mother had slept around with other men with similar genetic profiles or whatever."


    "Oh Tiffany, I''m sorry," Sean felt like shit now.


    "My biological mother took her anger out on me whenever I pestered her about my father," tearstrickled down Tiffany''s face that she wiped away angrily, "Eventually Igot her to blurtout my father''s identitywhen she was drunk. Turns out the prickwas already married when I was conceived. That''s why mylife was a living hell. Every single abuse Iendured from my mother and her string of boyfriends is becausethesperm-dispenser who spawned me didn''t want his wife finding out he''d been banging his secretaty. That''s why I am a foster kid in poverty."


    "I understand now," Sean said softly, "why you hate Jason. He is a symbol of what your biological dad did to your mom... what he didn''t do for you."


    "Like I said, men are scum," Tiffanywaved her hands distractedly. Shelookeda little shocked aboutblurting outdetails of her personal agony.


    "So, the girls that Jason is making a move on," drawled Sean thoughtfully, "how well do you know them?"


    "I hang out with them," Tiffany turned, "Why?"


    "Given that they all like Jason well enough to consider dating him," Sean made a face, "we canplot that preference in multi-dimensional vector space. Attributes like intelligence, kindness, wealth, status, social skills, etc. that women all over the world value in men."


    "So?" Tiffany stepped closer, frowning. Sean tried not to be distracted by her perfection,likestaringat a goddess without being blinded by her radiance.


    "Um... would you sayJason is their perfect dream boy?" Sean fidgeted.


    "No, probably not," Tiffany shook her head as she lightly twisted her hair to wring out residual dampness, "They think he''s their best option though."


    "The shortest Euclidean distance to their ideal date," Sean nodded.


    "You are figuring out the distance between Jason and their ideal man in preference-space?" Tiffany giggled, "You come up with the wierdest shit."


    "A simple model of mate preference," Sean nodded, "Do you think there are other boys who are closer to their ideal choice? In this school, I mean."


    "Probably," Tiffany thought about it and nodded, "Definitely. Reginald Gibbs is one, off the top of my head. There''s a reason Judith likes him. He''s rich, hot, kind and generous. Reg certainly measures up." And you don''t, Tiffany didn''t say it. But the mention of Jason''s sister felt like a light punch to his gut. Tiffany and Sean walked out of school chatting amicably, their earlier misunderstanding forgotten, as if laughing at the absurdity of the nerd and the cheerleader conspiring against the jock.


    #


    Earlier...


    Sean dreamed of nothingness, of quantum noise that buzzed like static. A seed universe expanded, splitting into copies that forked again and again for every quantum event. Trillions of cosmic bubbles budding from the branches of the multiverse - Yggdrasil, Tree of Worlds. The fruit of Yggdrasil ripened and cooled, swelling beyond the light cones of civilizations within. Civilizations that guttered out like campfires in the long night, except where it flared in a conflagration of superintelligence that consumed its Hubble volume like maggot out-growing ripe fruit. No matter if the universe that birthed It ran out of exergy, Yggdrasil was bountiful with infant civilizations chittering the location of young universes early in their history. Each virgin universe that was consumed extended the maggot''s mind-body like a string of pearls on a necklace, a cosmic wyrm older than any one cosmos. It had no use for names, but to Sean It was Nidhoggr of Norse myth - the dragon serpent that gnawed the roots of Yggdrasil.


    Sean tried to flee Nidhoggr''s pitiless gaze through the labyrinth of choices before him. But no matter what he did, he always ended up where Nidhoggr had foreseen, with no more free will than a rock rolling downhill. Sean had no hope of outthinking a pan-cosmic entity, a mind so vast that it was more a force of nature than intelligence. But as luck would have it this time, this universe that Nidhoggr bit into was already bitten by another such as It. Another Nidhoggr from elsewhere on the World Tree. A dominance struggle between superintelligences inevitably ended in mutually assured destruction. Why fight a war when the outcome could be simulated within a much smaller scale. Nidhoggr selected a Pawn as Its rival did the same...


    Sean sat up on his couch and surfaced from the nightmare. Except he knew it wasn''t just a nightmare but information percolating through his subconscious back from when Nidhoggr had reached through the subatomic wormhole to tweak him. There was another like him, another Pawn. Sean digested this bit of information, making a note to look up particle-collider candidates. CERN was an obvious one, but there might be others. It was Saturday afternoon and his mom was moving about in the kitchen.


    "Sean, there''s a package at the door," she yelled, "Check it out."


    Sean walked over to pick up a box with Zero Sum''s logo and unwrapped it with some confusion. There were a dozen pairs of SculptSight lenses and accompanying WiFi wearables inside their original packing , along with a brief note.


    Hi Sean,


    I like what you''ve done with the SculptSight prototype. So here''s a dozen more.


    Julia Thornton


    Sean stared at it for a minute. Mrs. Thornton had been spying on his school activities through SculptSight? He sighed. Ofcourse she had. Why was he even surprised. He looked back at the new toys thoughfully.


    END OF CHAPTER