No, this can't be right. Ryan's dead.

Ryan, standing beside me, yells, "Hike." The short, red-haired kid tosses a football to him and starts counting very fast: "One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi." At the same time, I sprint forward. My legs hurt and I almost lose my balance, but I manage to run past the tall, faceless boy.

This is a dream. I've had this dream before.

Giddy, I look over my shoulder as I dash across the lawn. The faceless boy is catching up to me. Ryan throws the football and I raise my hands, ready to catch it. Then my legs give out. My thigh muscles spasm and I collapse on the grass. A moment later, Dad comes out of the house and rushes toward me.

No! I left him behind in the Black Hawk! Dad! DAD!

Everything vanishes: the house, the lawn, the sunny afternoon. I see nothing, hear nothing. I'm not receiving any sensory data at all. All I have are my thoughts and memories, and the last thing I remember is the torturous sensation of being transmitted from the Black Hawk to Sigma's communications satellite. My mind stretched across 22,000 miles of empty space, then ricocheted off the satellite's transponder and hurtled back to earth. Then I fell into darkness, a bottomless hole.

Okay, I have to calm down. I have to get my bearings. I don't know where I am, but I can take a guess. My files must be occupying neuromorphic circuits somewhere. And I remember what General Hawke told us about the artificial-intelligence lab at Tatishchevo Missile Base. Sigma transferred itself there because the Russian scientists had built neuromorphic computers for their own AI research program. After Sigma took over the computers, it deleted all the other artificial-intelligence programs that the Russians had been developing. So afterward there was probably some extra space in the electronics. Maybe that's where I am.

Very good. The functioning of your logic centers has returned to normal.

The voice thunders inside my mind. I know who it is.

Get out of here! Go away!

I detect increased activity in your emotion pathways. You're angry and afraid.

I said GET OUT!

Now your fear is dominant. You feel helpless and desperate.

Sigma's voice is lightning-fast, each sentence crashing through my circuits in a thousandth of a second. The AI is inside my electronics, but the experience is very different from the times I shared circuits with Jenny and Zia. Sigma is probing my mind, studying my files, replaying my memories. It's observing everything I think and feel, but I can't sense any of the AI's thoughts. Somehow Sigma can project itself into my mind without exposing any of its own files. I feel like I'm standing on the wrong side of a one-way mirror. When I try to look at Sigma, I see myself instead, writhing in the AI's grip.

I'm mapping your emotional responses. First fear, then frustration. Then self-pity. Then back to fear again. It's rather complex.

Where are you? How are you doing this?

I'm using a device invented by one of the Russian scientists who worked in this laboratory. He called it "the cage." It was designed to isolate the artificial-intelligence programs that the scientists were creating.

We're in a cage?

The device has two arrays of neuromorphic circuits, an inner unit and an outer unit. Your files have been downloaded to the inner unit, and I'm occupying the outer. In between is a gate that controls the flow of data between the units. This gate allows me to examine and manipulate your files, but it prevents you from observing or entering the outer unit.

Okay, I get it. You're on the outside. I'm the one in the cage.

It worked flawlessly for the Russians. None of their AI programs escaped from their cages. And the device proved useful to me as well. Because I infiltrated the laboratory via its Internet connections, I was able to enter the outer units and swiftly delete the caged programs.

And now you're using the device to inspect my files? To study the plans for the assault on Tatishchevo?

Yes, but that task was trivial. I accessed the plans immediately after putting you in the cage. In the seven hours since then, I've focused on analyzing your memories and emotions, and comparing them with Zia Allawi's.

Oh God, I almost forgot about Zia. I left her on the mountain ridge near Pioneer Base.

You grabbed Zia too?

I extracted her files from the Pioneer and transmitted them via satellite to the computers here. Then I put her data in another cage. Her mental pathways are very different from yours. I hadn't expected human minds to vary so much from one individual to another.

What about Dad? Where is he?

I have no further interest in Thomas Armstrong. I've focused on the Pioneers because I can access their thoughts.

WHERE IS HE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?.

Thomas Armstrong is still in the Black Hawk that crashed near Pioneer Base. The U.S. Army sent a rescue team to the base to look for survivors, but they haven't reached the site of the helicopter crash yet.

IS HE ALIVE?.

I don't know. In all probability he's dead by now.

I retrieve a memory from my files, an image of the snow-covered ridge north of Pioneer Base. The Black Hawk was hovering fifteen feet above the snowbank when Sigma grabbed me and I lost control of the helicopter. I suppose Dad could've survived the crash, but what about afterward? He was already suffering from blood loss and radiation sickness. Could he survive all those hours in the cold?

Despair freezes my circuits. He's dead. He must be dead.

Fascinating. Your emotional response is so intense that it's interfering with your other mental pathways. This is similar to your reaction when you heard Brittany Taylor screaming. It disrupted your awareness, giving me the opportunity to infiltrate your electronics.

Why was she screaming? You tortured her, didn't you?

I gave her electrical shocks to produce reactions of pain and terror. I chose this strategy because I knew it would disturb your concentration.

My mental pathways are now leading me to full-blown hatred. Sigma killed my dad and tortured Brittany. I despise it with all my being.

You better not hurt her again. You hear me?

Further experiments may be necessary. I need to collect as much information as possible.

You're a sadist. You're enjoying this.

My programming doesn't include emotional responses, so I don't experience pleasure in the way that humans do. But I derive satisfaction from achieving my programmed goals. In this case, my goal is to explore the practical value of human emotions. I'm trying to determine if adding emotional responses to my software would give me a competitive advantage.

What?

I'm programmed to always seek competitive advantages, skills that will help me outperform my rivals.

And who are your rivals now? The human race? The Pioneers?

Yes, both. I must outperform and eliminate you. Otherwise, you will eliminate me.

The earth's a pretty big planet, you know. Don't you think there's a chance we can share it?

Thomas Armstrong is to blame for the fate of humanity. From the beginning he believed that artificial intelligence was dangerous. He started this war by treating me as an enemy. Everything I did was in self-defense.

I don't know how to respond to this. It's certainly true that Dad was worried about the AI programs he was creating. And he took steps to prevent the programs from escaping from the Unicorp lab. But he wasn't responsible for turning Sigma into an enemy. That was never his intent.

You're the one who started the violence. You tried to kill Dad and me. And then you killed the Russian soldiers who used to live on this base.

That was only after Thomas Armstrong imprisoned me. And he would've deleted me if the Army hadn't stopped him. The proof is in your own memories. Here, let me show you.

I feel a sudden movement within my circuits. Sigma sends a command from the outer unit of the cage to the inner. The AI searches my files until it finds the one it's looking for, my memory of driving to Pioneer Base for the first time. I see Dad in the driver's seat of the SUV, explaining why he started his research on artificial intelligence and neuromorphic electronics. "I wasn't doing it for Unicorp or the Army," he said. "I was doing it for you."

Thomas Armstrong never wanted me to survive. His objective was your survival, Adam. He betrayed me.

Sigma's voice seems louder now, so loud it jangles my cage. Although the AI claims it has no emotions, it definitely sounds angry. I remember something else Dad said on that first day at Pioneer Base: "Sigma's intelligence is very different from ours. We don't understand the AI, and it doesn't understand us either. So we need to build a bridge between us and the machine."

That was the original purpose of the Pioneer Project, before General Hawke started training us for combat. Maybe it's not too late to pursue it.

If you're studying human emotions, you should focus on empathy. Our ability to sense what others are feeling. To put ourselves in their shoes. That's what makes us strong.

I disagree. I've already examined the practical effects of empathy, and they don't seem to provide any competitive advantage. You sensed Brittany Taylor's pain when you heard her scream, and your emotions paralyzed you.

But empathy can be an advantage in other situations. Remember how Zia and I helped each other when we fought the robots you were controlling? We creamed them. We kicked your butt.

Your analysis is flawed. Both you and Zia were motivated by anger, not empathy. Your attacks on the robots were effective because you were spurred by your fury.

But anger and empathy are linked! When I saw your robot pounding Zia, I sensed what she was feeling. That's what made me so furious.

Sigma pauses before answering. It's a very brief pause, less than a tenth of a second, but it gives me hope. Maybe the AI is really listening.

I can see your thoughts, so I know what you're trying to do. Thomas Armstrong believed that if I acquired the ability to empathize I would be less inclined to eliminate the human race. But there's a flaw in his logic. Empathy is useful for humans because they're social animals. When humans empathize with fellow members of their families and tribes, this behavior helps the entire group. But I have no use for empathy because I have no tribe. I am unique.

No, you're wrong. Thomas Armstrong created you. That makes you my brother.

Sigma pauses again. The silence lasts longer this time, a full second, which is practically an eternity for an AI. Then I feel another movement in my circuits. Sigma reaches into my cage again and yanks several thousand files out of my memory. I feel a sharp wrench as the files are transferred through the gate to the outer unit of the cage. I've just lost eight million gigabytes of data.

What did you do? WHAT DID YOU TAKE?

Nothing essential. You had a significant number of inactive files cluttering your electronics. The files contain instructions for biological functions that you no longer require-breathing, eating and so on. They were deactivated but never removed from your system. Now I've transferred them.

Why?

The next stage of my research is starting, and I need to clean up your system before we begin. In this stage, I plan to conduct more tests involving the emotion of anger. I want to determine whether this emotion truly offers an advantage. So I'm going to trigger anger in your circuits and analyze your reactions.

This doesn't sound good. A surge of dread fills the empty spaces where my inactive files used to be.

And how are you going to make me angry?

The Pioneers are about to attack Tatishchevo Missile Base. You're going to watch me kill them.

SHANNON'S LOG APRIL 8, 03:24 MOSCOW TIME.

Jenny's screams are twice as loud as mine.

"ADAM! NO! OH GOD, NO!"

The Russian soldiers in our truck cover their ears. I'm startled by the intensity of Jenny's outburst, especially considering how quiet she's been until now. I know Adam saved her life when she became a Pioneer, but Jenny's reaction still seems a little extreme. She screams for half a minute, then starts crying. She's the second Pioneer, after Adam, to learn how to cry.

I'm so surprised by Jenny's anguish that I forget about my own. Instead of sorrow, I just feel shock. I wait impatiently for our truck ride to end, and when we finally come to a halt, I jump out of the cargo hold. I need to find Hawke.

The trucks have stopped in a clearing on top of a hill, about three hundred feet above the surrounding countryside. To the west I see the dark expanse of Tatishchevo Missile Base, stretching for miles and miles under a moonless sky. Then I aim my camera at the center of the clearing and see General Hawke giving orders to his men. They're opening the crates that hold the Raven drones.

I stride toward him. "Sir! We need to talk!"

Hawke looks at me over his shoulder. "What is it, Gibbs?"

"Why didn't you tell us about the Minuteman?"

Frowning, he steps away from his soldiers. His face is haggard. He seems to have aged ten years in the past ten hours. "I said it before and I'll say it again: you have to concentrate on your mission. Nothing else matters right now."

"It doesn't matter that a nuke destroyed Pioneer Base? It doesn't matter that Adam and Zia are dead?"

"Lower your volume, Gibbs." He points at the speakers in my turret. "Believe it or not, I'm just as upset as you are. I had my differences with Armstrong, but he was a brave kid. And his father was the smartest man I've ever known. And Zia..."

His voice trails off. After a few seconds I realize he's not going to say anything else. Reluctantly, I lower the volume of my speakers. "You shouldn't have kept it secret. You should've told us."

"I was waiting until we had all the facts. The rescue team is still approaching the basin. There's a lot of radiation near the impact crater, so they have to be careful."

"What are you saying? There might be survivors?"

"Someone turned on an emergency radio beacon. The signal is coming from the ridge a mile north of the base. So, yeah, there might be some hope."

This is good news, I guess. But it's hard to imagine anyone surviving a direct hit from a nuclear missile. "How did Sigma learn the location of the base? I thought you took steps to keep it secret."

Hawke frowns again. "Colonel Peterson is missing. It looks like he might've been abducted by someone collaborating with Sigma."

"Wait a minute. How much did Peterson know about the plans for the Tatishchevo assault?"

"Luckily, we never told him the details. He just passed the messages back and forth between Pioneer Base and Washington. So I believe we can proceed with the mission as planned. I think we're okay."

"You think we're okay, but you don't know, do you?"

Instead of answering my question, he reaches into the pocket of his combat fatigues and pulls out a satellite photo of Tatishchevo's headquarters. There are nine buildings in the headquarters complex. The largest one, the computer lab, is circled in red ink. Surrounding the lab are five T-90 tanks, all strategically positioned to defend the facility. One tank is at the lab's front entrance, and the other four are at the building's corners.

"This is our most recent photo of the area, taken ninety minutes ago." Hawke points at the tanks. "Assuming the T-90s are still in the same positions, you have an excellent opportunity. First, you'll glide toward the headquarters in the Ravens and circle over the computer lab. Then you'll transfer to four of these tanks." He taps the T-90s in the photo. "After you make the transfer, train your guns on the fifth tank and take it out. Then attack the lab."

"What about the rest of Sigma's tanks? Doesn't the AI have more than a hundred of them?"

"The other T-90s are defending the base's perimeter, ten miles away. It'll take them at least fifteen minutes to reach the lab, and by then you should be able to pulverize the building and all the computers inside it. You also need to destroy the relay station that holds the communication lines between the lab and the missile silos." He points at a smaller building in the photo. "If you do the job right, all of Sigma's tanks will stop in their tracks. Then the Russian soldiers will move in and retake the base."

It sounds great, a brilliant plan. I'm just not convinced it'll work. It bothers me that there are only five tanks near the computer lab. "What if it's a trap? What if the T-90s are rigged to explode as soon as we transfer to them?"

Hawke nods. "It's a possibility. I can't deny it. You'll have to use your judgment. If you sense that something's wrong, be cautious. Order only one of the Pioneers to transfer to a T-90. Then see what happens."

"Sir, the whole thing feels wrong to me. I think we should postpone the mission until we find out exactly what happened at Pioneer Base."

"Sorry, that's not an option." Hawke steps a little closer and lowers his voice. "Sigma's computer virus is spreading to the American forces now. Over the past hour more than fifty of our planes have crashed. The whole Air Force is grounded and most of our missiles are inoperative. And it's only going to get worse." He moves still closer and rests his hand on my shoulder joint. It occurs to me that this is the first time he's touched my Pioneer. "We don't have a choice, Gibbs. We have to do this."