Hawke keeps staring at us, letting the silence stretch. Then he yells, “Okay, move out!” and we follow the soldiers.
We file into an empty cinder-block building that’s the fake headquarters for the fake prison camp. General Hawke wants us to run the obstacle course one at a time, starting with Pioneer 6 (DeShawn) and ending with Pioneer 1 (me). But the competition wouldn’t be fair if some of us saw the course in advance and others didn’t, so Hawke won’t let us watch each other run. While DeShawn heads for the course’s starting line, the soldiers herd the rest of us into a windowless room inside the fake headquarters. The room’s walls are lined with aluminum siding, which will block anyone from radioing DeShawn to find out what obstacles are waiting for us.
DeShawn starts the course at 12:23 p.m. Fifteen minutes later, one of Hawke’s soldiers—a tall, brawny sergeant with a buzz cut—comes to the windowless room to get Marshall. Then, after only nine minutes, the brawny sergeant comes back for Shannon. I find it hard to believe that Marshall finished the course six minutes faster than DeShawn did. Something strange is going on.
Feeling antsy, I start pacing. Jenny and Zia are still in the room, but neither of them is good company. Zia turns her turret away from me in disdain while Jenny withdraws to the far corner of the room. After eighteen long minutes the sergeant comes for Zia, and after another twenty minutes of silence it’s Jenny’s turn. Then I’m alone, but after just a minute the door to the room opens again. This time it’s not the sergeant. My father steps into the room and shuts the door behind him.
Dad looks terrible. His face is still pale and his eyes are bloodshot. For a moment I think he’s here to do something underhanded, like tell me how to beat the obstacle course. “No fair, Dad,” I say, trying to make a joke of it. “You’re not allowed to give me any tips.”
He doesn’t smile. “Hawke showed me the surveillance video from the gym,” he says. “I saw what happened between you and Zia.”
I’m confused. He’s worried about that? “Oh, that was nothing. She was just acting tough.”
“Acting? She has a welding torch on her arm! That thing could do catastrophic damage to another Pioneer.”
“But she didn’t use it. And I was ready to defend myself.”
“She has a history of violence, Adam. She belonged to a gang in Los Angeles. And she knifed another gang member. I still don’t understand why Hawke recruited her for the project.” He shakes his head. “I want you to stay away from her.”
“I can handle her, Dad. I’m not helpless anymore.” I raise one of my mechanical hands and slap it against my torso. The clang echoes against the walls. “I’m a Pioneer. I’m built to last.”
“But you’re not invulnerable. If she cuts through your armor with that torch, it’ll melt your circuits. You’d lose half your memory files in an instant.”
I feel a familiar frustration. Dad’s always been too anxious, always on the lookout for disaster. He used to be obsessed with all the health problems that came with my muscular dystrophy, problems with my breathing and swallowing and circulation. And now he’s still obsessed, still looking for disaster, even though I don’t have lungs or a throat or a heart anymore. It drives me crazy. I need to change the subject.
“What about the rest of the surveillance video?” I ask. “Did you also see the part where we argued about Hawke’s tactics?”
He nods. “Yes, I saw.”
“Well, is it true? Has Hawke dropped the idea of communicating with Sigma?”
Dad scans the room before answering. It looks like he’s searching for hidden cameras or microphones. Hawke had the gym under surveillance, so maybe he bugged this room too. “I can’t talk about that. When the general’s ready to discuss his plans, he’ll give the Pioneers a briefing.”
I lower the volume of my speakers. “Come on, Dad. I thought the whole point of the Pioneer Project was to make contact with Sigma. Has something changed?”
He steps closer and lifts his chin toward my acoustic sensors. “Yes,” he whispers. “Things in Russia have gotten worse.”
“What happened?”
“There was a battle on the outskirts of Tatishchevo last night. Between Sigma’s automated tanks and the Russians soldiers surrounding the missile base.”
“A battle? Who started it?”
“We don’t have all the facts yet. General Hawke is expecting a report from the National Security Adviser this afternoon. But whatever the details, we know time’s running out. We have to accelerate our plans. And we have to make choices.”
“But communicating with Sigma might be the best choice! If we could just get inside its circuits, we could—”
“No.” Dad shakes his head again. “Sigma’s too good at erasing other programs. It deleted all the Russian AIs at the Tatishchevo lab, remember? And it’ll do the same thing to the Pioneers if you transfer yourselves to its circuits. You wouldn’t last a second.”
“Well, maybe we’d do better if we had some practice. We could set up training exercises to prepare ourselves. One Pioneer could transfer to another’s circuits and they could fight for control. Sort of like a wrestling match.”
He frowns. “I’ve gone over all the options. If we had more time, maybe things would be different. But right now Hawke’s strategy has the best chance of success.”
“And what’s his strategy? He’s going to transfer us to the electronics of his fighter jets? So we can bomb Tatishchevo?”
“If you think the general’s going down the wrong road, you don’t have to follow him. I wouldn’t think any less of you.”
For the second time in less than an hour, someone is asking me if I want to quit. But I understand why Dad has repeated the question. I can see it in his pale face. He’s terrified of losing me. Saving my life has been his goal for the past ten years, driving him to accomplish all his scientific miracles. And now that he’s saved my life, he doesn’t want me to risk it. He wants me to stay safe while the others fight Sigma.
I’m not angry at him. I see where he’s coming from. So again I say nothing. Instead, I extend my arm and grasp Dad’s shoulder. I squeeze gently, relying on the sensors in my fingers to tell me how much pressure to apply. And when the sergeant comes back to the room half a minute later, I walk out the door with him and head for the obstacle course.
General Hawke stands in the middle of a big, empty yard. If this were a real prison camp, it would be the exercise yard. As I stride toward him I rotate my turret and survey the area. Two hundred feet to my right is a twenty-foot-high fence. A parallel fence runs on the other side of the camp. Looming over each fence is a guard tower, and standing sentry on each tower is a soldier with an assault rifle.
Hawke stands midway between the towers. About two hundred feet behind him are the camp’s fake barracks, nine Quonset huts laid out in three rows. The huts are made of corrugated steel and painted dull green, the Army’s favorite color. I see splotches of green paint on the ground too. Beyond the barracks, about five hundred feet away, is a large, boxy building with gray concrete walls.
What I don’t see is an obstacle course. Are the obstacles hidden behind the Quonset huts? Or maybe inside the huts? I can’t figure it out. I get the feeling, though, that this uncertainty is part of the challenge.
Hawke grins as I approach. “Well, look who’s here. Last but not least.”
I halt two yards in front of him. There’s no point in saying anything. The general already knows how I feel.