As it turned out, he didn’t need my help during the next transfer. The third Pioneer, Zia Allawi, came through in record time. Less than a minute after Dad downloaded her memory files to the robot, she was in full control of the machine. She tested it by raising one of her steel hands to her turret and saluting General Hawke. He returned the salute and said, “Welcome to the team, soldier. Your father would’ve been proud.” I was struck by how softly he spoke, so different from his usual strident tone. For the first time Hawke seemed to show an emotion other than irritation or impatience. I remembered what Marshall Baxley had told me, how Zia’s father had served under Hawke in the Army. They must’ve known each other well.
The fourth Pioneer was Shannon, who also came through without any trouble. I stood beside Dad at one of the computer terminals and watched her calmly take command of her circuits. I was a little jealous, actually. Shannon made it look so easy. Marshall, who was number five, had a tougher time of it. He panicked at first, and the random noise of fear filled his circuits. But after a couple of minutes, he managed to claw through it.
We got our biggest scare at the end. The doctors kept postponing DeShawn’s procedure because they thought he’d have a better chance of survival once they stabilized his breathing problems and got him out of his semi-comatose state. But instead of getting better, he took a turn for the worse. His lungs filled with fluid and his heart began to fail. The medical team rushed him to the scanning room, but his heart stopped beating before they got there.
I was in the corridor when the doctors ran past, pushing DeShawn’s gurney at full speed while his mom trailed behind, screaming hysterically. When I caught up with Dad in the laboratory, he looked nervous. He was worried that DeShawn’s memories might’ve been lost when his blood stopped flowing to his brain. But almost immediately after Dad downloaded DeShawn’s memory files to his Pioneer, a synthesized whoop came out of the robot’s speakers. “Yeah!” DeShawn yelled. “I’m here!” His mom sank to her knees, weeping with relief, and everyone else in the lab applauded.
I’ve thought about that moment a lot in the two days since then. I’ve retrieved the memory a dozen times and replayed the scene in my mind, recalling everything with perfect clarity. And each time, I think the same thing: Why did everyone applaud? Why were we so happy? It’s not just that we were relieved that DeShawn didn’t die. In that moment we all felt a powerful burst of pride. The Pioneers had cheated death. We’d become nearly immortal.
I say “nearly immortal” because a Pioneer can still die. At first I assumed I could make a backup copy of my intelligence and keep it stored in a safe place, like a hard drive or an optical disk with tons of memory. Then, if my robot malfunctioned or was blasted to smithereens, someone could simply download the backup copy to a new robot and I would live again. But it turns out that the human mind is too complex and dynamic to be stored in an ordinary drive or disk. It can be transferred only to active neuromorphic circuitry, which means that any copy I make of myself would be a “live” copy. It would immediately start thinking its own thoughts and living its own life. In other words, the copy would be like an identical twin. If my robot is destroyed and my memory files obliterated, my twin would survive me, but I’d still be dead.
I’m not complaining, though. All in all, I’m starting to enjoy life as a Pioneer. Yesterday, General Hawke held an induction ceremony for the six of us, and we officially joined the U.S. Army. The parents of the Pioneers attended the ceremony, but afterward they had to leave the base. For their protection, the Army sent them to several undisclosed locations, where they’re going to hide until the Sigma crisis is over. Jenny’s dad made a fuss about it, but the general stood firm. The only one allowed to stay at Pioneer Base is my dad, who’s going to be Hawke’s technical adviser.
And today the Pioneers are going to pass another important milestone. Hawke has ordered us to gather in the base’s gymnasium at twelve hundred hours. For the first time, we’re going to train together as a team.
I arrive at the gym an hour early. I want to test my new sensors before the training session starts. Earlier this morning I connected to Pioneer Base’s computers and downloaded a file describing how to add tactile sensors to my robot and link them to my neuromorphic circuits. Then I got some welding equipment from the supply room and attached several dime-size sensors to the bottom of my footpads. For good measure, I added a few pressure sensors to my hip and knee and ankle joints. I didn’t want to bother with stringing wires up and down my steel legs, so I used sensors that send their data wirelessly to my circuits. Once all the electronics were in place, I grabbed my official Super Bowl football and headed for the gym.
Actually, the room looks more like an aircraft hangar than a gymnasium. It has a concrete floor and a high, vaulted ceiling. The space is a hundred yards long and fifty yards wide, and it’s in the most secure section of Pioneer Base, a quarter-mile underground. But what I like best about it is the fact that it’s the same size as a football field, and right now it’s empty. I stand at one end of the gym and turn on the newly installed sensors in my legs. Then I bend my robotic arm at the elbow joint, cradling the football against my torso, and charge down the field.
The sensations in my legs are amazing. I can feel my footpads lifting off the concrete and crashing down, my hip joints swinging with each long stride, my knee joints bending and straining and straightening. Thanks to the new sensors, my legs aren’t numb anymore—they’re springing, flexing, pounding the floor.
I race to the far end of the gym, then spin in the air and sprint back the other way. I haven’t felt this good since I was an eight-year-old playing touch football in my backyard. I want to run to Dad and show him what I’ve done, how I made my steel legs come alive. I want to tell him, “Look, it’s not just the mind. The body’s important too. Now I’m better, more complete. I’m more like Adam Armstrong.”
I dash back and forth three more times before taking a break. I’m not tired—if you don’t breathe, you don’t get winded—but I have an idea that’ll make this workout even better. I turn on my wireless data link and connect to the base’s computers again. Although there’s no access to the Internet at Pioneer Base, a whole library of information is stored on the computers here, and we’re free to download any of the files to our neuromorphic circuits.
Over the past few days I’ve already downloaded the complete digital archive of Sports Illustrated and every song recorded by Kanye West. Now I scroll through the Pioneer library until I locate a folder marked “NFL Video” and a subfolder labeled “Super Bowl XLVI.” Then I find the video clip showing my favorite play from that game, quarterback Eli Manning’s pass to wide receiver Mario Manningham.
I download the clip and run it in my circuits. At the same time, I reenact the play, crouching at the Giants’ twelve-yard line just like Manning did on that crucial first down. As the video shows Eli backing away from the Patriots linemen, I back away too. Then I throw my football in a long, perfect arc, sending it forty yards downfield. But at the very moment when the video shows Mario Manningham leaping into the air to catch the ball, another Pioneer charges into the gym. Running full speed on clanging footpads, it extends its telescoping arms and snags my Super Bowl football. Then it runs toward me, and I notice the big, white 4 stamped on its torso. It’s Shannon.
“Interception!” Her voice—tinny but recognizable—booms out of her Pioneer’s speakers. “Shannon Gibbs makes the catch and changes history. The Patriots beat the Giants and win the forty-sixth Super Bowl!” With a swoop of her robotic arm, she spikes the ball on the floor. “Sorry, Eli.”