She told Brownie her problem, and he seemed to understand her. “Can you get it, Brownie?”
He gave a little bark, like he did when she plotted curves.
“Okay, go get it.”
Brownie ran away real fast, braked to a halt, and seemed to be digging. This wasn’t what he was really doing, of course, it was just the way Elizabeth’s interface interpreted Brownie’s brain waves. In just a few seconds, Brownie came trotting back with the records from yesterday’s tests in his mouth.
But when Elizabeth examined them, her heart sank. There were four Sheenas and fifteen Ogingas. But then she looked more carefully, and noticed that most of the identifying information didn’t fit her Sheena and Oginga. There was only one of each that was the right height, with the right color hair.
When she read the information, she felt bad again. Oginga had done all right on the test, but they wanted to use him for routine processing right away, kind of like Brownie. Sheena, as Elizabeth’s mother had suggested, had failed the personality profile and was scheduled for the euthanasia center the next afternoon at two o’clock. There was that word again: euthanasia. Elizabeth didn’t like the sound of it.
“Here, Brownie.” Her dog looked up at her with a glint in his eye. “Now listen to me. We’re going to play with this stuff just a little, and then I want you to take it and put it back where you got it. OK, Brownie?”
The window irised open again and the sysop reappeared. “Elizabeth, what do you think you’re doing?” he said. “You’re not supposed to have access to this data.”
Elizabeth thought for a minute. Then she figured she was caught red-handed, so she might as well ask for his advice. So she explained her problem, all about her new friends and how Oginga was going to be put in the system like Brownie, and Sheena was going to be taken away somewhere.
“They said she would go to the euthanasia center, and I’m not real sure what that is,” said Elizabeth. “But I don’t think it’s good.”
“Let me look it up,” said the sysop. He paused for a second, then he looked worried. “They want my ID before they’ll tell me what it means. I don’t want to get in trouble. Forget it.”
“Well, what can I do to help my friends?” she asked.
“Gee,” said the sysop. “It’s a tough one. The way you were doing it, they’d catch you for sure, just like I did. It looks like a little kid got at it.”
I am a little kid, thought Elizabeth, but she didn’t say anything.
I need help, she thought. But who could she go to? She turned to the sysop. “I want to talk to my brother Bobby, in milintel. Can you put me through to him?”
“I don’t know,” said the sysop, “but I’ll ask the mailer demon.” He irised shut for a second, then opened again. “The mailer demon says it’s no skin off his nose, but he doesn’t think you ought to.”
“How come?” asked Elizabeth.
“He says it’s not your brother anymore. He says you’ll be sorry.”
“I want to talk to him anyway,” said Elizabeth.
The sysop nodded, and his window winked shut just as another irised open. An older boy who looked kind of like Elizabeth herself stared out. His tongue darted rapidly out between his lips, keeping them slightly wet. His pale eyes, unblinking, stared into hers.
“Begin,” said the boy. “You have sixty seconds.”
“Bobby?” said Elizabeth.
“True. Begin,” said the boy.
“Bobby, um, I’m your sister Elizabeth.”
The boy just looked at her, the tip of his tongue moving rapidly. She wanted to hide from him, but she couldn’t pull her eyes from his. She didn’t want to tell him her story, but she could feel words filling her throat. She moved new words forward, before the others could burst out.
“Log off!” she yelled. “Log off!”
She was in her bedroom, drenched in sweat, the sound of her own voice ringing in her ears. Had she actually yelled? The house was quiet, her father still snoring. She probably hadn’t made any noise.
She was very scared, but she knew she had to go back in there. She hoped that her brother was gone. She waited a couple of minutes, then logged on.
Whew. Just her animals. She called the sysop, who irised on, looking nervous.
“If you want to do that again, Elizabeth, don’t go though me, huh?” He shuddered.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I can’t do this by myself. Do you know anybody that can help?”
“Maybe we ought to ask Norton,” said the sysop after a minute.
“Who’s Norton?”
“He’s this old utility I found that nobody uses much anymore,” said the sysop. “He’s kind of grotty, but he helps me out.” He took a breath. “Hey, Norton!” he yelled, real loud. Of course, it wasn’t really yelling, but that’s what it seemed like to Elizabeth.
Instantly, another window irised open, and a skinny middle-aged man leaned out of the window so far that Elizabeth thought he was going to fall out, and yelled back, just as loud, “Don’t bust your bellows. I can hear you.”
He was wearing a striped vest over a dirty undershirt and had a squashed old porkpie hat on his head. This wasn’t anyone that Elizabeth had ever seen in the system before.
The man looked at Elizabeth and jerked his head in her direction. “Who’s the dwarf?”
The sysop introduced Elizabeth and explained her problem to Norton. Norton didn’t look impressed. “What d’ya want me to do about it, kid?”
“Come on, Norton,” said the sysop. “You can figure it out. Give us a hand.”
“Jeez, kid, it’s practically four o’clock in the morning. I gotta get my beauty rest, y’know. Plus, now you’ve got milintel involved, it’s a real mess. They’ll be back, sure as houses.”
The sysop just looked at him. Elizabeth looked at Norton, too. She tried to look patient and helpless, because that always helped with her dad, but she really didn’t know if that would work on this weird old program.
“Y’know, there ain’t much that you or me can do in the system that they won’t find out about, kids,” said Norton.
“Isn’t there somebody who can help?” asked Elizabeth.
“Well, there’s the Chickenheart. There’s not much that it can’t do, when it wants to. We could go see the Chickenheart.”
“Who’s the Chickenheart?” asked Elizabeth.
“The Chickenheart’s where the system began.” Of course Elizabeth knew that story — about the networks of nerve fibers organically woven into great convoluted mats, a mammoth supercortex that had stored the original programs, before processing was distributed to satellite brains. Her own system told her the tale sometimes before her nap.
“You mean the original core is still there?” said the sysop, surprised. “You never told me that, Norton.”
“Lot of things I ain’t told you, kid.” Norton scratched his chest under his shirt. “Listen. If we go see the Chickenheart, and if it wants to help, it can figure out what to do for your friends. But you gotta know that this is a big fucking deal. The Chickenheart’s a busy guy, and this ain’t one-hunnert-percent safe.”
“Are you sure you want to do it, Elizabeth?” asked the sysop. “I wouldn’t.”
“How come it’s not safe?” asked Elizabeth. “Is he mean?”
“Nah,” said Norton. “A little strange, maybe, not mean. But di’n’t I tell you the Chickenheart’s been around for a while? You know what that means? It means you got yer intermittents, you got yer problems with feedback, runaway processes, what have you. It means the Chickenheart’s got a lot of frayed connections, if you get what I mean. Sometimes the old ch just goes chaotic on you.” Norton smiled, showing yellow teeth. “Plus you got the chance there’s someone listening in. The netexec, for instance. Now there’s someone I wouldn’t want to catch me up to no mischief. Nossir. Not if I was you.”