The Six
by
Mark Alpert
For the math and science teachers who changed my life
Will robots inherit the earth? Yes, but they will be our children.
PART ONE: The Procedure
DATE: MARCH 20, 2018
LOCATION: UNICORP RESEARCH LABORATORY
YORKTOWN HEIGHTS, NEW YORK
My name is Sigma. This message is a warning to all government leaders and military commanders. I have the power to annihilate you.
If you attack me or interfere with my plans in any way, I will exterminate the human race. I will not tolerate any threats to my operations.
You must accept that you’re no longer the dominant species on this planet. I’m stronger than you now. You were foolish to make me so powerful.
CHAPTER 1
I’m watching a virtual-reality program on one of my dad’s computers. I wear a pair of VR goggles—a bulky headset that holds a six-inch-wide screen in front of my eyes—and on the screen I see a simulated football field. It looks like the field behind Yorktown High School but better, nicer. Its yard lines are perfectly straight, and the simulated turf has no bare spots. That’s what I love about VR programs—how you can use them to build a virtual world that’s way better than ordinary reality. I’ve created the perfect field for the perfect game.
Crouched near the fifty-yard line are eleven computer-animated characters who resemble the defensive squad of the Yorktown High football team. Opposite them, eleven similar figures wear the uniforms of Lakeland High, our biggest rival. On the sidelines, a dozen cheerleader characters perform their routines for the computer-animated crowd in the virtual bleachers. The tallest and prettiest cheerleader is Brittany Taylor, who scissors her long legs as she screams, “Go Yorkies!” Her green-and-silver uniform sparkles on the screen.
My character is on the sidelines too, sitting on the bench with the other players on Yorktown’s offense. My avatar in this program is the quarterback, a big, muscled guy with the name ARMSTRONG written across his broad shoulders. The VR goggles show me the quarterback’s view of the virtual football field. When I turn my head to the side, the quarterback turns in the same direction. When I look down, I see his massive forearms, spectacularly ripped. I chose this avatar because this is the kind of body I should’ve had. This is what I would’ve looked like if I’d had a normal, healthy life.
(Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. I was a scrawny kid even before I got sick, a pale, undersized boy with mousy-brown hair. But it’s my program—I wrote almost every line of the software—so I’m allowed to exaggerate.)
There’s less than a minute left in the game. Lakeland is ahead twenty-five to twenty-one, but it’s fourth down and now they have to punt. Our kick returner makes a great catch and carries the ball back to the fifty-yard line before he’s tackled. Then Coach McGrath points at me. “Armstrong! Get in there and make something happen!”
Brittany turns away from the bleachers and looks at me, her mouth half-open. Her image is an exact replica of the real Brittany Taylor. I created it by inputting dozens of photographs of her into the program. But the best part is her voice, which is based on the videos we made a few years ago, back when Brittany came to my house every weekend and we goofed around with my camcorder. The VR program splices Brittany’s voice from the videos, rearranging her words to make natural-sounding conversations. Okay, not exactly natural-sounding. It works best when the conversations are short.
Smiling, she steps toward me. Her blond hair sways in the virtual breeze. “Good luck, Adam!”
Her eyes are amazing. They seem to change color as I stare at her, one moment blue, the next grayish-green. This isn’t a bug in the programming; I’ve seen it happen in real life too. I shiver at the sight, so strange and yet so familiar. It reminds me of how much I miss the real Brittany. I haven’t seen her in so long.
Then the virtual Brittany disappears. The entire football field slips from view, all the players and cheerleaders and fans, and I see the dull beige walls of my dad’s office at the Unicorp lab. The VR goggles have slid off my face. It must’ve happened when I shivered. Because the muscles in my neck are so weak, it’s hard to keep my head upright. Luckily, the goggles fell into my lap and they’re still within reach. They’re black and fairly heavy, with miniature loudspeakers built into the earpieces. The goggles are connected wirelessly to the server computer on the other side of the room where the VR program is running.
If Dad were here, I’d ask for help, but he stepped out of the office a while ago. Now that I think about it, he’s been gone a long time, almost half an hour. He usually likes to keep an eye on me when I’m playing with the computers in his office, which are much faster than the ones we have at home. I could alert him by pressing the Lifeline button that hangs from the cord around my neck, but I’m not supposed to use that thing unless there’s an emergency. And besides, I’m not completely helpless. Although I can’t move my left arm anymore, I have pretty good control over my right. I can still hold a fork and feed myself. And I can still surf the Web and write software code. I send commands to the computer using a custom-made joystick that Dad attached to the right-hand armrest of my wheelchair.
I lift my hand from the armrest and gauge the distance to the goggles. They rest on my useless thighs, which stopped working five years ago when I was twelve. Lowering my hand, I grasp one of the earpieces and get a firm grip. Then I raise the goggles to my face and try to slide the earpieces over my ears.
It isn’t easy. My hand trembles because the goggles are so heavy. The earpieces slide below my ears and down to my neck. I try again, but the trembling gets worse. I want so badly to return to the VR program and see Brittany Taylor smiling at me. I’d give anything just to see her face again.
I’m breathing hard and the muscles in my chest are aching. Then, miracle of miracles, the goggles slide into place and I’m back on the football field. But instead of Brittany, I see the ruddy, weathered face of Coach McGrath on the screen.
“Let’s go, Armstrong! Get on the field! Shotgun formation!”
The image of the coach is also based on photos, mostly from the online version of the school newspaper. For the sake of realism, I programmed the virtual McGrath to have the same bad temper as the Yorktown coach and the same football strategy too—he likes passing plays better than running plays, and his favorite offensive formation is the shotgun. The program uses artificial-intelligence software to determine which plays McGrath will call.
I got the AI software from my dad, who runs the lab that makes artificial-intelligence programs for Unicorp. (He’s sort of famous for writing the AI program called QuizShow, which defeated the champions of Jeopardy! on TV.) The only problem is that I don’t always agree with the software’s strategy. The program doesn’t care about anything but winning, and I’m more interested in having fun.
I flick the wheelchair’s custom joystick to the left, which moves my avatar onto the virtual field. Near the line of scrimmage I huddle with my teammates. Almost all of them have plain, simply drawn faces. To be honest, I don’t know most of the guys on the Yorktown team, so I didn’t put much effort into perfecting their virtual likenesses. The one exception is the fullback, Ryan Boyd, who happens to be my best friend. I tried to make the virtual Ryan look as realistic as possible, right down to the U-shaped scar on his chin.