yelped—but softly.
“Sug Solomon. Ssep a lissle sloser.”
Step a little closer?
I turned slowly and eyed the fridge-thing. The snakeskin was coated with what looked like barnacles.
“Yes, here.” The barnacles opened and closed, making the eerie whispering. “San you hear? There is no visual abilisy.”
I kept my distance. “Um, who are you?”
“Lise the soffeemaser.”
“The coffeemaker?”
“Yes. Lissen, Sug—”
“First a coffeemaker, and now I’m talking to a snake fridge?” I said. “With barnacles?”
“Lissen! You muss fin—”
“I lost the Protocol cube.”
“I know. We muss—”
Well, let me translate. A little of that snake fridge accent goes a long way.
Fridge: We must fight Roach.
Me: You and me? Against
them?
You’re a big snakeskin box.
Fridge: I am not this structure. I am a new function of the Center’s AI. This “snakeskin box” is merely a storage container I am using to communicate. We need the Protocol.
Me: I lost the Protocol.
Fridge: There is another copy, one Roach doesn’t know about. We can only beat him if we have our own Protocol. Otherwise, he will scan in millions of innocent people and—
Me: So stop whispering and get the Protocol! Oh, and they’re setting off a bomb. A nuke.
Fridge: The copy is not yet encoded into wetware.
Me: A nuke, a nuke! They’re setting off a
nuke!
Fridge: Then you must hurry.
A SHORT BREAK FOR A BRIEF MELTDOWN
Instead of hurrying, I panicked. My breath grew shallow, and my knees turned to applesauce.
And I suddenly, desperately wished I’d known my mombetter—because I wanted to pray for her to help me. If ever I needed someone watching from above, that time was now.
I knew that Auntie M would watch over me if she could, but I couldn’t accept that she was dead. I still expected her to walk through the door and make everything all right—even though I knew that wasn’t possible.
I started to hyperventilate, my mind spinning in crazy circles.
Then a thought struck me: maybe Auntie M wasn’t gonna walk through the door, but she’d made me who I was. And maybe I’d never known my mom, but that didn’t matter. Not at all. Because if she was watching,
she
knew
me
.
I took a few deep breaths.
This one’s for you, Auntie M. And for you, Mom
.
CHILLING LIKE A VILLAIN
Fridge: Better now?
Me: Tell me what I need to do.
Fridge: I will download a copy of the Protocol into a biodigital format—three test skunks currently in a digitized state.
Me: You’re gonna download the Protocol into
skunks?
Fridge: Yes. Inside this “snakeskin box,” you will find modified stem-cell self-extraction media.
Me: Are you kidding? I’ll find
what
?
Fridge: Objects the approximate size and texture of T-bone steaks. Take them to workshop seven.
Me: Where’s that?
Fridge: I will print a map. Inside workshop seven, you will find the HostLink prototype, and—
Me: Would you stop with the crazy names? The GhostLink?
Fridge: HostLink. The next generation of uplinks. The only way to transfer millions of minds into data files at once. Advanced beyond anything—
Me: Fine, a HostLink. What does it look like?
Fridge: The word
HostLink
is printed on the side. Insert the “steaks,” and initiate six thousand iterations—
Me: Wait! Stop! Gimme the kiddie version.
Fridge: Plug the steaks into the HostLink. They will adapt to any port. I will transfer the Protocol, and the HostLink will output the steaks as the skunks’ bodies. Then you will take the animals home and find a way to extract the Protocol.
Me: So I take some steaks from inside this snake fridge and plug them into a machine in workshop seven? They’ll turn into skunks. Then I take the skunks home?
Fridge: Yes.
Me: Why didn’t you just say
“Sug Solomon. Ssep a lissle sloser.”
Step a little closer?
I turned slowly and eyed the fridge-thing. The snakeskin was coated with what looked like barnacles.
“Yes, here.” The barnacles opened and closed, making the eerie whispering. “San you hear? There is no visual abilisy.”
I kept my distance. “Um, who are you?”
“Lise the soffeemaser.”
“The coffeemaker?”
“Yes. Lissen, Sug—”
“First a coffeemaker, and now I’m talking to a snake fridge?” I said. “With barnacles?”
“Lissen! You muss fin—”
“I lost the Protocol cube.”
“I know. We muss—”
Well, let me translate. A little of that snake fridge accent goes a long way.
Fridge: We must fight Roach.
Me: You and me? Against
them?
You’re a big snakeskin box.
Fridge: I am not this structure. I am a new function of the Center’s AI. This “snakeskin box” is merely a storage container I am using to communicate. We need the Protocol.
Me: I lost the Protocol.
Fridge: There is another copy, one Roach doesn’t know about. We can only beat him if we have our own Protocol. Otherwise, he will scan in millions of innocent people and—
Me: So stop whispering and get the Protocol! Oh, and they’re setting off a bomb. A nuke.
Fridge: The copy is not yet encoded into wetware.
Me: A nuke, a nuke! They’re setting off a
nuke!
Fridge: Then you must hurry.
A SHORT BREAK FOR A BRIEF MELTDOWN
Instead of hurrying, I panicked. My breath grew shallow, and my knees turned to applesauce.
And I suddenly, desperately wished I’d known my mombetter—because I wanted to pray for her to help me. If ever I needed someone watching from above, that time was now.
I knew that Auntie M would watch over me if she could, but I couldn’t accept that she was dead. I still expected her to walk through the door and make everything all right—even though I knew that wasn’t possible.
I started to hyperventilate, my mind spinning in crazy circles.
Then a thought struck me: maybe Auntie M wasn’t gonna walk through the door, but she’d made me who I was. And maybe I’d never known my mom, but that didn’t matter. Not at all. Because if she was watching,
she
knew
me
.
I took a few deep breaths.
This one’s for you, Auntie M. And for you, Mom
.
CHILLING LIKE A VILLAIN
Fridge: Better now?
Me: Tell me what I need to do.
Fridge: I will download a copy of the Protocol into a biodigital format—three test skunks currently in a digitized state.
Me: You’re gonna download the Protocol into
skunks?
Fridge: Yes. Inside this “snakeskin box,” you will find modified stem-cell self-extraction media.
Me: Are you kidding? I’ll find
what
?
Fridge: Objects the approximate size and texture of T-bone steaks. Take them to workshop seven.
Me: Where’s that?
Fridge: I will print a map. Inside workshop seven, you will find the HostLink prototype, and—
Me: Would you stop with the crazy names? The GhostLink?
Fridge: HostLink. The next generation of uplinks. The only way to transfer millions of minds into data files at once. Advanced beyond anything—
Me: Fine, a HostLink. What does it look like?
Fridge: The word
HostLink
is printed on the side. Insert the “steaks,” and initiate six thousand iterations—
Me: Wait! Stop! Gimme the kiddie version.
Fridge: Plug the steaks into the HostLink. They will adapt to any port. I will transfer the Protocol, and the HostLink will output the steaks as the skunks’ bodies. Then you will take the animals home and find a way to extract the Protocol.
Me: So I take some steaks from inside this snake fridge and plug them into a machine in workshop seven? They’ll turn into skunks. Then I take the skunks home?
Fridge: Yes.
Me: Why didn’t you just say
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