Coming of Age: Volume 2: Endless Conflict by Thomas T. Thomas Page B

programmer, that his software was more than a collection of canned responses, that it was truly intelligent and could reason, plan, and learn. She also concluded that Rover must have been assembled with a few engrams traced from feline neural systems.
    Because Rover could not both spot a new piece of data when it appeared in any of a number of random databases and then trace it when it immediately disappeared, he quickly figured out a way to bait a trap. Working from the partial data structures and code fragments he retained from his nano-second captures of the disappearing objects, he fashioned a bogus entry of the same shape and size from one of Callista Praxis’s old expense reports. Penny hoped Rover would have the good sense to track down and kill the false data later, or else it was going to play hob with the company’s monthly and annual accounting rollups.
    Rover dropped the bogus entry into one of the databases that seemed to be compromised. Then, like a cat at a mouse hole, he watched that database. Whole seconds passed—a lifetime on the time scale at which the system worked, and long even at the speed shift built into Penny’s goggles. But after almost a minute of waiting, a retrieval order came and took the prize. Rover was paying full attention, tagged the order, and followed it back to the originating application.
    When he identified the culprit for Penny, she sat up in surprise. That piece of software was operating way outside its parameters, entering databases that had nothing to do with its original function. And she knew for a fact, seconded by Rover’s appraisal, that it was not supposed to be intelligent—not by five sigmas.
    Penny did not want to take the news to Callista or John Praxis, or not just yet. For one thing, she wasn’t sure about her position with them: both the president and the chief executive officer—older people who were set in their ways—seemed to have taken a dislike to her manner or her style or something. Maybe they just weren’t comfortable around creative people. For another, Penny understood that they shared some secret about the origins of the malfunctioning piece of software—it actually met her definition of malware —and she wasn’t sure how an accusation in that corner would sit with them.
    But she did trust Brandon Praxis. Despite his seriousness and his bad-boy aura—ex-military, extra-legal, and with the hint of death and danger about him—she had felt a bond growing between them. They also shared a secret, one that made them both vulnerable. Brandon wouldn’t turn on her, even in a family matter.
    She called him on his smartphone and suggested they have lunch again.
    “Is this like, our second date?” he asked. She could sense him grinning.
    “If you want …” she said coyly. Then she sobered. “No, really, it’s follow-up to the problem we discussed the last time. I think I have a target now.”
    “Oh, good. What is it?”
    “I don’t like to say over the phone.”
    “Is somebody there with you? Somebody listening?”
    “No, but voice packets go through the system. And this has to be verbal—sound waves only and through the air.”
    “Lunch in the same place?” he suggested. “Say about an hour?”
    “Let’s do barbecue instead.”
    * * *
    Brandon Praxis watched in fascination as Penny licked sauce off each fingertip, sucked the pad of her thumb, wiped them on a paper napkin, and picked up another rib. She waved it in the air before she started speaking again.
    “So Rover followed the fetch order back to its send point,” she said. “And what do you think he found?”
    “Nothing good, I imagine,” Brandon said.
    “Bingo! The order came from a fifth-generation version of the Stochastic Design and Development package, installed by Tallyman Systems.” She bit a chunk of fat meat out of the rib and chewed it, waiting for his response. “Ring any bells?” she finally prompted him.
    “Vaguely. It has something to do with building