by Adams, M. L.
I flushed. I knew she meant it like my parents and sisters meant it. But I never got tired of hearing those words.
“Well guess what,” Megan said as she stood and placed her hands on her hips. “It’s your lucky day. I have a presentation tomorrow to a group of investors. And I need to practice. So you get to hear how your system works.”
I groaned and briefly debated arguing about it. From experience, I also knew that would be a waste of time. More often than not, Megan got her way.
She cleared her throat. “Up until a few years ago, options available to lower limb amputees were extremely limited. They had a choice between an advanced prosthetic limb with a microprocessor that could adapt to individual walking styles and different environments, or a slightly more advanced version that would do the same, only by detecting signals sent from the brain. Both solutions worked, but had their limitations.”
This was one part I knew about. Before meeting Dr. Merrick, I’d been fitted with a standard microprocessor-controlled prosthetic. Megan was right, it had worked. But not nearly as well as my new one.
I looked around the lab and found a chair to sit on. This is going to take a while, I thought to myself.
“Enjoying this?” Megan asked.
I laughed. “Can we order a pizza or something?”
“You’re funny,” she said, scowling. With a deep breath, she continued. “CyberLife Industries has taken lower limb prosthetics to the next level. The next ten levels, in fact. We’ve developed and fully tested a state-of-the-art cybernetic limb that is controlled directly by the human brain via a neural augment.”
I zoned out and thought back to the first time Dr. Merrick had given me his sales pitch for the neural augment. My parents (and even me to a certain extent) had been hesitant, to say the least. It was one thing to replace a missing limb, something else entirely to undergo experimental brain surgery. Dr. Merrick and his team had been insistent and assured me and my family that I’d enjoy a significant quality of life increase. My parents ultimately left the decision to me, saying they supported what I wanted. After more than a month (and a lot of nudging from Dr. Merrick) I had agreed.
“When the patient thinks about wiggling a toe or bending a knee, it does,” Megan said. “Instantaneously. There is no discernible difference between how quickly a normal human leg responds to the brain and our cybernetic version.”
I stuck my leg out and pointed at my foot.
“Hey, speaking of that. I can’t move my foot,” I said. “Is there something wrong with this thing?”
“Of course, the trouble is,” she continued, not missing a beat, “the person actually has to have a brain to make it work right.”
She tilted her head and smiled smartly.
I laughed.
“In addition,” she continued. “There is no visual difference between our cybernetic limb and a real one. We’ve developed a proprietary synthetic skin that uses 3D printing technology to create an exact duplicate of the patient’s real limb. Shape, skin tone, and even hair.”
I rubbed my hand up and down my leg and shifted my eyebrows up and down. “Sexy, huh?”
“You’re not taking this seriously, Benjamin.”
I grabbed my stomach. “I’m . . . so . . . hungry,” I moaned.
Megan shook her head and sighed. “What was I thinking? Trying to get a teenage boy to pay attention to something for more than two minutes. I suppose if I were a teenage girl, you’d pay attention?”
I smiled and nodded. “Or pizza.”
Megan threw her hands up and headed for the exit door. “Come on, let’s go eat. You’re buying.”
My eyes popped open. I was still seated at my desk, the unfinished PB&J in my hand. Through the window blinds I could see the moon high in the night sky. The clock on my phone read one-thirty.
The fond memory of Megan caused an ache to form in my belly. It also helped me make a decision. I flipped open the lid on my laptop and navigated to the Endo Valley school website. A quick search of the student directory revealed there were dozens and dozens of girls named Sarah at the school. Not a big surprise, when you considered Endo Valley has over 2,500 students.
I clicked through each profile. Some I recognized, most I didn’t. After ten minutes, I went back to the one profile that seemed to fit best.
Sarah Evans, Sophomore, 16
Likes: Programming, Technology, Video Games, Coffee, Books
Dislikes: Slow Internet, Mean People, Boy Bands
Unfortunately, there was no photo. Not that I needed one.
Glasses.
Braces.
Pasty white skin.
Dungeons & Dragons t-shirt.
I wondered if sixteen-year-old Sarah Evans was the hacker Jessica knew. The hacker who exchanged money for illegal services.
I lingered on the profile for a full minute, then slammed my laptop lid shut and dropped my face into my hands. No matter how many memories of Megan I dug up, I always went back to the floor of her apartment. I missed her. More than anyone or anything I had ever missed before. I knew the pain wasn’t going to go away. The images weren’t going away. The words . . . weren’t going away.
You never had cancer.
I opened my eyes and went back to the profile for Sarah Evans. Hiring her would mean taking a serious risk. But my entire life had been about taking serious risks. Starting with voluntarily becoming a cyborg. And then, of course, the experimental brain surgery.
It’s not like I want to steal someone else’s medical record, I convinced myself. Only mine.
What harm could it possibly do?
13
Wednesday at noon, I joined the flow of students heading toward the lunchroom. Planning to make my visit short, I went directly to the quick-service counter and bought a turkey sandwich, an apple, and two sodas. In less than two minutes, I was out the door and heading across school to the library.
Now that it was mid-week, I figured it was only a matter of time before I ran into one or more of my former teammates. The good news was, a trip to the library was a great way to lessen the odds. I didn’t know anybody who visited the place.
Or so I thought.
“Hey, Ben!”
Wondering how Mason found the library, I turned around and saw him walking toward me. He was holding hands with a redhead I didn’t recognize. Above her right temple, a small black data port protruded through her skin.
Have to give him credit, I thought, recalling lunch the day before. He sure works fast.
And then suddenly, it hit me. I did recognize the girl.
“Holly?”
“Hi, Ben,” Holly Brennan replied, grinning from ear to ear. It was the first time I’d seen her smile. If you don’t count buttering up Mrs. Bradley.
“Holly and I are heading to the mall for lunch,” Mason said. “You wanna come?”
I was too stunned to reply.
“Dude, you okay?” Mason asked.
“Nah, I’m good,” I finally said. “Need to catch up on some studying.”
Mason looked over my shoulder at the library entrance, and laughed. “Study? What’s that?”
Holly turned to him, eyes narrowed.
Now that’s a facial expression I do recognize on her, I thought.
“Just kidding, babe,” he chuckled. “I meant . . . way to go, Ben! That’s great!”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. You two have fun.”
They turned and walked back down the hall.
Holly Brennan? Really?
I quickly decided that, with Mason, it didn’t matter. Holly was a girl, after all.
I turned back around and finished my journey to the Endo Valley school library, a place I had only visited twice before. Of course, most students in school could say that. Just about everyone used their own computer or tablet and all class materials—including textbooks—were electronic.
At three stories tall and almost a quarter of the length of the entire school, the library was a good three times lar
ger than the school’s gym. It featured an open atrium that ran from the ground floor all the way up to a glass-enclosed roof. As expected, it was also stocked wall to wall with books, tables, chairs, and ancient computers. It was an impressive, albeit seldom seen, sight.
Behind the checkout desk, a librarian peered at me over a pair of gold, wire-framed glasses. A name tag on her gray sweater read: MRS. WATSON.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I opened my mouth to say no, but then realized I didn’t know where to go. “Do you know a girl named Sarah?” I asked. “Sarah Evans maybe? Sophomore I think.”
The librarian beamed.
“Of course I know Sarah. She’s my best customer.”
“Know where I can find her?”
Mrs. Watson pointed at the stairs. “She’s usually on the second floor, near the back. At the top of the stairs, take your first aisle about half way down. Turn right, then left, then right again at the back wall. Follow that until you find a desk tucked away in the corner. You can’t miss it.”
I followed the librarian’s gaze and looked up at the second floor terrace. She had lost me at turn right. “Thank you,” I said as I started toward the stairs.
“Just so you know,” she called after me. “I haven’t seen her yet today. But she usually comes by at lunch.”
“Thanks again.”
Following the librarian’s directions, I climbed the stairs and entered the maze. After winding my way through the various aisles and open work areas for a good ten minutes, I stumbled upon a small, dark alcove in the back corner of the second floor. The natural light from the atrium didn’t make it this far in, and somebody had turned off the ceiling lights. The walls were lined with bookshelves. In the corner sat a small desk. On it were a lamp, a stack of books, and a set of computer cables.
Can’t miss it, huh?
I checked the time on my phone and frowned. Thirty minutes into the lunch hour and no sign of Sarah. I had no way of knowing whether or not she would even show up. Or if I even had the right Sarah.
I sat down, pulled the sandwich out of my bag, and flipped through the stack of old, beat-up books. Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by JK Rowling, and Paranoia by Joseph Finder. I had read all three of these classics while living on the research campus. I always preferred to be outside running around. But when the weather didn’t allow it, I passed the time playing video games—and reading.
After finishing lunch, I grew bored and stood. I walked up and down several of the nearby aisles. One held books on medicine and anatomy. I scanned the row until I found something interesting. A book titled: Cancer—An Overview by the American Cancer Society.
I pulled the large, heavy book off the shelf and walked back to the alcove. It took reading several pages about the cancer I had, most of which I could barely understand, before I stumbled across two interesting facts. The first was that synovial sarcoma was incredibly rare.
“Only two-three out one hundred thousand cases annually?” I read aloud. “Lucky me.”
But it was the second fact that caused me to sit up straight: “Because the tumor grows slowly, symptoms may be present for a long time before the diagnosis is made. This may delay diagnosis.”
I reread the words several times. My memory, at least with regards to being diagnosed, was crystal clear. While in the fifth grade, I had been playing soccer with some friends one afternoon during recess. I collided knee-to-knee with another player and landed on the ground in agony. By chance, a teacher saw the collision and hauled me off to see the nurse. A week later I had simple arthroscopic surgery, but the doctors hadn’t found anything. Everything was clear. A week after that, a large lump formed on my knee. A subsequent biopsy showed the cancerous tumor.
It had been anything but slow growing, I thought. One week it wasn’t there, the next it was.
Curious, I continued reading.
“You’re in my spot,” said a female voice.
Startled, I almost fell to the floor. I turned around, ready to introduce myself to Sarah. Instead, my tongue caught in my throat. I had spent all semester under the illusion Katherine Nickel was the best looking girl at Endo Valley.
I was wrong.
The girl standing in front of me was beyond cute. She had long brown hair, a friendly smile, and a hint of freckles on her nose and under her dark brown eyes. She wore jeans and a gray Endo Valley hoodie.
I swallowed hard, and smoothly said, “Um, what?”
“You’re in my spot,” the girl repeated.
I looked down at the chair and then at the desk. “Oh, sorry.”
“I’m just kidding,” she said with a laugh. “It’s a joke.”
I frowned.
“Never mind,” she said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No problem. I was just waiting for someone I thought might show up here.”
The girl’s eyes darted around the small alcove. “Well, if it’s not me, you might be waiting a while. I’ve been coming to this exact spot every day for two months, and I haven’t seen anyone else yet. Other than you of course.”
A realization dawned on me. “Sarah?”
She sat down in the guest chair next to the desk. “That’s me.”
I exhaled, more than a little surprised how wrong I’d been. Still assuming, of course, I had the correct Sarah. This one wasn’t wearing glasses, didn’t have acne, and was the last person I would have picked to be a computer hacker.
“You’re Ben Raine, right?” she asked. “The football player?”
I groaned.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Well, ex-football player.”
“Right,” she said, the hint of a grin on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned my head and I wondered if she noticed the same thing Jessica had.
No data port.
Instead of asking, she looked past me at the desk. “Reading medical journals a hobby of yours?”
“Oh yeah, my favorite topic.”
She continued staring at the book, then slowly nodded her head. “Right,” she said again. “So, Ben, why are you looking for me?”
I took a deep breath, still not certain I knew what I was doing.
You never had cancer.
Megan’s words helped steel my resolve. “I was wondering if you could help me with a computer problem I’m having,” I said. “I was told you could . . .”
Sarah’s face hardened. She whispered, “What makes you think I’m good with computers?”
“Well, th–that’s what I heard,” I said tentatively, startled by her sudden mood change.
“Just a rumor. I can’t help you.”
“So you’re not a hack—”
Before I could finish, she punched me hard in the arm.
“Hey, what the—” I said.
Sarah raised her voice. “Real nice job getting kicked off the team. That was awesome. You better hope we don’t have to forfeit the game.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Jerk,” she added.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement. Mrs. Watson, the librarian, walked into the small alcove.
“Sarah, everything okay?” she asked.
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Watson,” Sarah replied with a smile. “Sorry, I was just telling Ben here that I’m not going out with him this weekend.” She glared at me. “Or ever.”
Mrs. Watson looked back and forth between us. A nervous smile formed on her lips. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know that district IT will be here after school to work on the network. So the library will be closed.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Sarah replied. “I can just study at the coffee shop before work. Thanks for telling me though.”
Mrs. Watson smiled again and then glanced nervously at me. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Actually, could you show Ben out?” Sarah said. “I’m not sure he knows the way. And he’s ready to leave.”
I sat fr
ozen, my mouth incapable of moving. After a moment, I gathered my things and followed Mrs. Watson out of the small alcove. While we walked, I made a mental note to tell Jessica she needed to reevaluate her idea of nice.
14
Sarah Evans? I hit SEND. A few seconds later, Jessica texted back.
Who?
The hacker.
Wait, what? You contacted her?
Yeah. Is Evans her last name?
Sounds right.
Damn, I thought. That was the right Sarah.
Why didn’t you tell me she’s so hot? And evil.
LOL.
Not funny Jess.
It’s kinda funny. And yes, she is hot. I hate her.
Not helping.
Sorry, she texted. A long pause. I still can’t believe you contacted her.
Me either.
Gotta run, Jessica typed. I’ll text you later.
K.
I dropped the phone on my bed and went back to staring at my history e-book. Most midterm exams were over, but I still had an assignment due Friday. Why Mrs. Bradley assigned homework during midterm week, I didn’t know. Just as I finished a chapter on Fifteenth Century Scottish architecture, my phone buzzed again. I glanced at the message.
U home?
I read the text several times. I didn’t recognize the number, so I replied:
Who is this?
A moment later, a response:
Sarah
Sarah?
I sat up straight and thought back to our earlier conversation and its abrupt end. Like Katherine the day before, Sarah was the last person I expected to hear from. Ever.
After a pause, I replied:
Yeah, I’m home. Need somebody to hit?
Funny. Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.
It took my brain several seconds to put two and two together. And then it hit me.
Sarah is at my house!
With shaky fingers, I typed:
One sec
I shot out of bed and ran to my bathroom. I looked a bit more disheveled than I would have liked. Sure, the last time we’d met she called me a jerk and punched me in the arm. But she was still cute.
Really cute.
I splashed water on my face, half-swished and half-swallowed a capful of mouthwash, and then pulled on a clean t-shirt. I ran down the stairs and stopped at the front door to give my heart a chance to slow down. A million questions flowed through my mind.