Saving Thanehaven (34 page)

“The rescue drive programs have been almost fully integrated,” Noble reports, trying to arouse a spark of interest in Rufus. “Even where there’s a certain amount of replication, the merging of systems and protocols has led to a measurable enhancement of what was already here. Because when Rufus was piecing together his own antivirus solutions, he started experimenting with some really interesting ideas relating to subsumption architecture—which apparently is a kind of hierarchical control system that forms the basis of artificial intelligence. And when you combine that with
my
programming—”

“You’re starting to sound just like Yestin,” Rufus interrupts. “You haven’t merged with
him
, by any chance? Are you conjoined programs, now?”

“Of course not!” snaps Noble.

“Prove it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Abandoning the technological route, Noble tries something else: a tug at the bonds of friendship. “As a matter of fact, Yestin has become very strong, and independent, and highly respected. He’s really growing up. You’d be amazed at how he’s blossomed.”

“So you say. But I’ve only got your word for it. It’s not like he ever comes down here.”

Though Noble doesn’t flinch, this time, he does shift uncomfortably on his seat. “No. Well … Yestin’s very busy helping with all the bytecodes and executable files—”

Rufus cuts him off with a groan, saying, “I never thought I’d hear you blathering on about bytecodes and executable files. You used to be a fun guy. You used to speak
English
.”

“I’m sorry.” Noble is genuinely embarrassed. “It gets very technical. I never thought—I didn’t realize that rebuilding this place would involve so much
engineering
. I thought there would be more talking and fighting and farming.” It troubles him that he hasn’t paid a single visit to Thanehaven since returning from Rufus’s computer. He just hasn’t had a spare moment. “I seem to spend all my time in the Kernel’s control booth, with the root directory,” he complains. “It makes me talk like a robot.”

“Then pack it in,” says Rufus. “Spend more time with Lorellina. She must be getting pretty
tired of all this bytecode garbage, by now.”

“Oh, Rufus.” Noble heaves a tired sigh. His shoulders slump with disappointment.

“What?” Rufus’s tone is surprised and defensive. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do it.”

“I know. I heard.”

“If you don’t want to do it, then don’t! It’s not
your
job!”

Noble shakes his head slowly. He’ll have to tell Tess that there’s been no change.

“I don’t know why you bother,” Rufus continues. “If no one’s been on this computer lately, then we’re probably all heading for the scrap heap. Why not have fun while we can?”

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

“No—
you’re
the one who doesn’t get it. You’re living in a fantasy world.”

Noble rises. He’s heard enough. One day, perhaps, Rufus will shake off his programming and embrace a new philosophy. It won’t happen without constant pressure and encouragement, but it
might
happen. Noble is hoping it will. He knows that Rufus holds the key to something precious—something that’s transformed a lot of lives. Noble isn’t sure what it is, exactly; all he knows is that he doesn’t have it himself. Because he can’t inspire change the way Rufus can. Though people listen to Noble, and believe him, and follow him, they do it because they’re scared and looking for a safe haven. It’s not because they’re suddenly
filled with excitement, or enthusiasm, or a sense of infinite possibility.

By some quirk of his programming, Rufus can make the world feel like a festival. He can gild every view. And Noble is convinced that one day, if they ever survive the many dangers that threaten them now, they’re going to need what Rufus can offer.

Providing, of course, that Rufus learns to use his remarkable gift in a constructive way.

That’s why he’s still in quarantine. It was Noble who argued against deleting him, when most of the people on the rescue drive—and many of Noble’s closest friends—wanted Rufus expunged from the computer. Since then, it’s been Noble who has begged for more time, and yet more time, pointing out how valuable Rufus will be, if he ever responds to Noble’s patient attempts at reprogramming. “I know you think it’s a waste of our resources,” Noble has said, over and over again, to anyone who will listen. “But life isn’t all about duty and hard work and sacrifice. There has to be fun. Fun will hold us together when we no longer have anything to fear. Rufus understands that the way no one else does.”

Thinking about the sighs and grunts that always greet this remark, Noble gazes sadly at the crate inside the cage inside the laser net. There’s no chance that Rufus will get out of there any time soon. No one’s going to allow it. The system is too fragile. Noble understands that only too well.

But he misses Rufus. It’s something he can’t admit to anybody—not even the princess—because people will think he’s protecting Rufus for his own sake.

No one will believe that he’s doing it for the sake of the computer.

The truth is, he’s missing Rufus the way he used to miss Smite. It’s as if he’s lost a limb.

“Good-bye, Rufus,” he says. “I’ve got to go.”

“Oh! Hey! You only just got here!”

“I’m busy. I wish I wasn’t.” Before Rufus can object further, Noble adds, “Think about what I told you, all right?”

“Sure. If you think about what I told you.”

Noble can’t suppress a reluctant smile. Rufus really is incorrigible. “I have,” Noble rejoins. “Again and again. Because it’s not as if you’re telling me anything I haven’t already heard.”

Rufus snorts. “Oh, but
you’ve
really changed your tune—is that it?”

“Several times.”

“Like a candle in the wind, eh?”

“Like someone who has eyes and ears.” Noble takes a deep breath and returns to the point he was originally trying to make. He’s accustomed to Rufus’s diversionary tactics, by now. He knows how important it is to stay focused. “Think about what I told you,” he repeats. “Things are starting to happen—important things. We’re making a difference. You should concentrate on that, and not get distracted.”

“Distracted?” Again, Rufus snorts. “Are you kidding me?”

“Good-bye, Rufus.”

“Wait! Listen!”

But Noble can’t wait or listen. He has to get out.

When he emerges from the airlock, stripped of his white suit and headpiece, Tess is hovering by the door. She takes one look at his face and chirps, “It’s hard, isn’t it? He’s terribly persuasive.”

Noble nods. All the energy seems to have drained out of him.

“It’s because he’s such a nice boy,” Tess goes on, walking Noble to the anteroom door. “So funny and charming. Never a cross word—though I have to admit, I try not to listen. But there’s that strange mental block of his, isn’t there? He just moves in a circle, round and round. It’s a shame, really. He could be such an
asset
.”

“Yes,” says Noble.

“Still, I suppose that’s all part of his technique.” Tess jabs a code number into the wall-mounted keypad, then steps aside as the door opens. “It was nice to see you, Noble—especially in that lovely new outfit. Say hello to Lorellina for me.”

“I will. Thanks, Tess.”

“And don’t worry. We’re keeping a close eye on Rufus.” As Noble steps into the anteroom, she gives him a cheery wave and says, “One of these days, he’ll be walking out of here with you. And you’ll be glad you put in all this effort.”

“Thanks, Tess,” Noble repeats, with more feeling. He flashes her a quick smile over his shoulder, then turns to face the next door in his path, as the one behind him gently slides shut.

“I
s that my old laptop?” asks Mikey.

He’s looking around at the towering piles of clutter in Rufus’s bedroom. There are shoes, cables, banana peels, soft drink cans, dirty clothes, cushions, and flash drives. There are screwed-up balls of paper and plastic. There’s a bike helmet and a sleeping bag. But it’s the flickering light in one dark corner that’s really caught Mikey’s attention.

“Sure, yeah,” says Rufus, his tone absentminded. He’s staring at his own computer, which is sitting on a desk so swamped with junk that it looks like a landfill site.

“I thought you said you couldn’t fix my old laptop?” When there’s no immediate answer, Mikey nudges his friend in the ribs. “Rufus? You said it was trashed.
Isn’t that why your dad bought me the new one?”

“Uh … yeah. I guess.” Rufus still sounds distracted. He’s trying to download an update without paying the required fee—and that takes a fair amount of concentration.

“Then why is it switched on?” Mikey demands. “Rufus? If it really
is
fried, why don’t you trash it?”

Again there’s no response. So Mikey leans down and shouts in the other boy’s ear, “Hey! Rufus!”

Rufus jerks away. “Ouch!” he cries. “Don’t!”

“Are you going deaf, or what?”

“Dude,
you
told me to do this. It wasn’t
my
idea. And if you keep interrupting, I’ll mess it up.”

“I just wanna know.…”

“What?”

“How come my old laptop is plugged in?” Mikey points. “Why’d you leave it running like that? I thought you said it was toast?”

Rufus twists his small, mobile face into a monkeyish expression. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“There’s something going on with that computer.”

Mikey frowns. “Like what?” he says.

“I dunno.” Rufus shrugs, squinting at it through the dimness. “Every time I log on, it’s kind of … weird.”

“Weird how?”

Rufus thinks for a moment. “Spooky,” he finally offers, with an embarrassed laugh. “Like there’s a ghost in the machine. Like it’s been taken over.”

“By a botmaster, you mean?”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s not even online.” Before Mikey can protest at being called “stupid,” Rufus quickly elaborates. “It won’t let me do things. Like a core dump or whatever. But it’s not trashed, because the next time I get on there, things
have
been done.”

“Who by?”

“
I don’t know
. That’s what’s so spooky.” Rufus props his chin on one fist, still contemplating the closed laptop. “It sounds nuts, but … sometimes, I swear, it’s like that machine is hijacking itself.”

Mikey’s jaw drops. “Man, you
are
nuts,” he says at last.

“Maybe.” Again Rufus shrugs. “Or maybe I’m witnessing the birth of a new era.”

“A new
era
?” Mikey replies. “In what, power wastage?”

“I just wanna see what happens, that’s all. Maybe if I wait long enough, it might communicate with me.” Rufus widens his eyes. “Maybe it’ll become
self-aware
.”

The two boys stare at each other. Mikey looks uncertain. Rufus looks inscrutable.

Then he begins to waggle his fingers at Mikey, like someone trying to imitate a couple of jellyfish, as his voice drops to a sepulchral drone. “Maybe it’s going to
take over the world
.…”

“Oh, you jerk!” Mikey barks. He throws a cushion at Rufus, who bursts out laughing.

Within seconds, they’re fully engaged in a nerf-blaster fight. And while pink foam arrows bounce off the walls of Rufus’s small, messy, suburban bedroom, Mikey’s old laptop hums and flickers away, unregarded, in one dingy corner.