"What do you mean?" She was interested now, reached out and broke off a corner of his sandwich. He noticed that her teeth were very white and neat, her lips red-and that was without lipstick. He pushed the remains of the sandwich over to her.

"He's always going off on tangents, getting sidetracked into explanations that have nothing to do with the material he should be teaching, things like that. I always stay a chapter ahead of him in the text so he won't confuse me when he starts to explain something."

"Amazing!" Kim said, meaning the thought of reading a text you didn't have to when there were so many other wonderful things to do. "Can you do better than him, Mr. Smartass?"

"Run circles around him, Miss Birdbrain. Using the heretofore totally secret Brian Delaney lightning instruction system all will be made clear! In the first place, it's not really so important to know exactly how to solve each problem."

"That sounds stupid. How can you solve a problem if you don't know how to solve it?"

"By doing just the opposite. You can learn a lot of ways not to solve it. A lot of wrong methods not to try.

Then, once you find the most common mistakes, you can hardly help doing the right thing without even trying."

He remembered exactly where she had gone wrong and knew at once what her misunderstanding was. He explained it patiently, two or three ways, until she finally caught on.

"Is that what my trouble was! Why didn't Beastly Betser explain it like that? It's obvious."

"Everything is obvious once you understand it. Why don't you work through the rest of those examples while this is clear in your head?"

"Maybe tomorrow. Got things to do, gotta run."

Run she did, or at least trotted out of the dining room, and he shook his head as he watched her go. Girls! They were a strange breed. He opened his book and winced at the red tomato stains. Sloppy. Sloppy thinking too, she should have worked this thing out while it was fresh in her head. Five will get you ten she would forget the whole thing by tomorrow.

She did. "You were right! It was gone, zip. I thought I remembered, but not exactly."

He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes heavenward. Kim giggled.

"Look," he said, "there's really not much use spending the time to learn something unless you spend a little more time making sure that it stays learnt. First, you can't really understand anything if you only understand it one way. You have to think a little about each new idea-which old ones it is like, and which are really different. If you don't connect it to a few other things, it will evaporate the moment anything changes. That's what I meant yesterday, about the solution not being important. It's the differences and similarities." He could see that this was having no effect, so he played his ace. "Anyway, I worked out an auto-tutor program that simplifies the subject of successive approximations. I'll give you a copy. Then you can run it whenever the curtain starts to fall in your brain and all will be made instantly clear. At least it will get you through this part of the course."

"You really have a program like that?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"I don't know. I really don't know anything about you at all, Mister I.Q. Kid."

"Why did you call me that?" He was angry, hurt, both feelings mixed together. He had overheard the other students calling him that behind his back. Laughing.

"I'm sorry-I didn't mean it, I just never thought. Any moron that calls you that must be a moron. I apologized so you can't be angry."

"I'm not," he said, and realized mat he meant it. "Give me your log-on ID and I'll zap a copy of that program to your modem."

"I always forget the ID, but I've written it down someplace."

Brian groaned. "You simply can't forget your ID. That's like forgetting your blood type."

"But I don't know my blood type!"

They both laughed at that and he found the only solution. "You better come over to my place and I'll give you a copy."

"You will? You're a great guy, Brian Delaney."

She shook his hand in gratitude. Her fingers were very, very warm.

8

March 25, 2023

There were muttered complaints from people waiting in the line, but not from Benicoff. Not only didn't he mind-he enjoyed the security. When he finally reached the two M.P.s they coldly asked him for his ID-although they knew him very well. They examined this closely, then his hospital pass, before they let him approach the front door of the hospital. Another guard inside unlocked it for him.

"Any troubles, Sergeant?"

"None other than the usual with you-know-who."

Benicoff nodded in understanding. He had been present when General Schorcht had chewed the Sergeant out, him with hash marks up to his elbows, a Master Sergeant, not that the General cared. "I got my troubles with him too- which is why I'm here."

"It's a tough life," the Sergeant said with marked lack of sympathy. Benicoff found the internal phone and called Snaresbrook's secretary, discovered that the surgeon was in the library, got instructions how to find it.

Leather-bound medical books lined the walls; but all of them were years out of date and just there for decorat ion. The library was completely computerized, since all technical books were published in digital form. This had only become possible when conventions and standards were set for illustrations and graphics which were animated most of the time. So any medical book or journal was entered into the library's data base the instant that it was published. Erin Snaresbrook sat in front of a terminal speaking instructions.

"Can I interrupt?" Benicoff asked.

"In two seconds. I went to make a copy of this in my computer. There." She hit return and the item was instantly transferred to the data base in her own computer upstairs. The surgeon nodded and spun about in her chair. "I was talking to a friend in Russia this a.m. , he told me about this. It's in St. Petersburg, a student of Luria. Some very original work on nerve regeneration. What can I do for you?"

"General Schorcht keeps bugging me for more detailed reports. So I bug you."

"Niet prahblem, as our Russian friends say. But what about your end? Progress there?"

"An absolute dead end. If there is a trail, and I doubt it, it gets colder every day. No hints, no clues, no idea of who did it or how they did it. I'm not supposed to know this, but the FBI has managed to get undercover data taps into every AI lab or department of every university, every major industry in the country, to report any sudden changes or input of new information. They are looking out for the AI data stolen from Brian. Of course the trouble is that they don't exactly know what to look for."

"Sounds sort of illegal, snooping like that."

"It is. But I'll put up with it for a short time before I blow the whistle on them. But that's not what worries me. The real question is whether the security agencies have enough experts to interpret any or all of that data.

We must get a lead. Which of course is why the General is bugging me."

"Because the possibility that Brian may remember something, recover, respond in any way-is the only chance we have? Fascinating. I've read in bad novels 'he nodded gloomily' Now I know what it looks like because you just did it."

"Gloomily, depressingly, suicidally-take your pick. And Brian?"

"Our progress has been good, but we are running out of time."

"He's getting worse, regressing!"

"Not that, you misunderstood. Modern medicine can stabilize a body, keep it alive for years when the mind is not in control. Physically, I could leave Brian in the recovery unit until he died of old age. I don't think we want to do that. What I mean is that I have traced and reconnected nearly a million nerve fibers. I've tracked and accessed Brian's earliest memories, from birth right up until about age twelve. The film connectors and computer are in place and in the very near future they should have hopefully made all of the possible connections. I have gone about as far as I can go with this technique."

"Why are you working on his childhood-when it is the adult we need to answer our questions?"

"Because the old expression about the child being the father of the man is quite true. There is no way we can restore the higher level brain connections until the lower levels begin to operate. This means that the enormous structure of the human mind can be rebuilt only from the bottom up-in much the same way it was built in the first place..."

"When you say building a mind-built of what?"

"The mind is made of many small parts, each mindless by itself. We call these basic parts agents. Each agent by itself can only do some simple thing that needs no mind or thought at all. But when the agents get connected up, in certain very social ways, they work together as societies--that's how intelligence emerges from non- intelligence.

"Fortunately, most of the agents themselves are okay, because their brain cells are located in the uninjured gray matter. But most of the connections between the agents thread their way through the brain's white matter-and too many of those connections have been severed. That is where I am now. Locating and reconnecting large numbers of the simplest agents, at the sensory and motor levels. If I can reconstruct enough of the society of agents formed during each stage of Brian's development, that will give me a foundation for repairing the structures that were formed in his next period. Stage after stage. Layer after layer. And the different kinds of cross- connections between them. While at the same time I have to restore the feedback loops between the agents at each level, as well as the systems in other parts of the brain that control reasoning and learning. These different kinds of loops and rings are crucial because they are what supports the thoughtful and reflective activity that distinguishes human from animal thinking. At the present time I am almost at the end of this first period of rebuilding. In a few days I will know if I have succeeded or not."

Benicoff shook his head in wonderment. "You are getting me used to thinking the unthinkable as a daily habit.

What you are doing is so new, so different, that I find it basically-I'm sorry to say this- incomprehensible. That you can enter Brian's head, listen to his thoughts and repair the damage done! Better you than me. Does he feel anything while you are doing this?"

Snaresbrook shrugged. "There is really no way to tell. I suppose the experience will be indescribable because it is happening to a mind that is not yet human. My personal belief, however, is that while his brain is being reconstructed his mind might very well be retracing and reliving the important early events of his life."

Dolly could hear the clatter of computer keys as she came down the hall; she smiled. Brian was usually alone so much, it was nice to see him with a school friend.

"Anyone for a fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookie?" she said, holding out the plate. Kim squeaked with pleasure.

"Me for one, Mrs. Delaney. Thanks!"

"Brian?"

"Finish this first," he muttered. "Come on, Kim. It would be a lot better if you did this before you take a break. You are just beginning to understand what basis vectors are."

"We can finish it later. Take one."

Brian sighed and pushed one of the still-warm cookies into his mouth. "Good," he spluttered.

"I'll get some cold milk to go with that."

When Dolly brought the tray with the filled glasses she had her purse with her. "I've got to go to the market and it is going to be crowded. Which means I'll be late and your father will be upset if he gets in before I do. Tell him that dinner will be at six like always and it's ready for the microwave now. You won't forget?"

Brian shook his head and drained the glass as Dolly left. He put it down and turned back to the computer. "Now to pick up where we left off."

"No!" Kim said. "We're taking a break, remember?" She pushed the books aside and dropped onto the bed, punched his pillow into a mound and settled it behind her back. "A break is a break-and you have to learn that."

"Work is work and you have to learn that. Just look at your term paper, for instance." He spun his revolving chair about and punched the scroll button. The copy flipped by in the screen, most of it white letters against red blocks. "Do you see all the red copy? You know what it means?"

"You had a nosebleed?"

"You ought to take this seriously, Kim. You know that I've been helping you with this paper for Bastard Betser, adding bits and straightening it out when you get it wrong. Just for the heck of it I wanted to check up on my input and started marking off the blocks of what I was doing in red, all the corrections and changes that I had made. There is sure a lot more red than white here."

"There is a lot more to the world than AI. Since you are standing up, bring me over a cookie."

"You're going to flunk this course." He got up and passed her the plate.

"Big deal. So maybe I flunk out of school altogether and marry a millionaire and travel around the world on my own yacht."

"You talk big for a Redneck from the Rigs. I bet you've never even been ashore."

"I have been around, leetle man, I have been around." She licked the chocolate from her fingertips and half closed her eyes, spoke huskily in a fake French accent. "I have zeen zee world, have driven ziz prince mad with passion."

"Mad with boredom! You've got a good mind, Kim. You just don't like to use it."

"Mind! Enough zee mind. What about zee body?"

She pulled at the top of her blouse to disclose her cleavage. Pulled a little too enthusiastically and the blouse opened wide disclosing one bare breast, a sweet pink nipple. She giggled as she buttoned the blouse.

"I drive zee men mad..."

Her voice died away as she saw the effect the accident had had on Brian. His skin had gone pale, his eyes wide.

"Relax," she said. "You've seen lots of bare skin before down on flesh beach where all the kooks hang out."

"I've never been there," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Well I don't blame you. Some pretty ugly guys and gals are naturists." She looked up at him and arched her eyebrows. "Hey, how old are you?"

"Thirteen."

She bounced up onto her knees and looked him in the eye. "You're as tall as I am and not too bad looking.

Ever kissed a girl?"

"Let's go to work," he said uncomfortably as he turned away. She took him by the shoulder and pulled him back. "That's no answer-and I know you know about girls because I found some old Playboys under your bed-with scorch tracks that your eyes had left on all the centerfold nudes. Maybe you know what they look like-but I'll bet dollars to dongles that you are sweet thirteen and have never been kissed-so you're going to learn now."

Brian did not pull away when she took his head gently in her hands and pulled his mouth down to hers. She made a happy humming sound and let her tongue drift inside his lips, felt his hands harden on her back. She moved her hand down; that wasn't the only thing that was hard.

She opened his belt.

What Brian could not understand was why everyone didn't know what had happened just by looking at him.

It was so momentous, earth-shattering, that it must show on his face. Whenever he thought about it he could feel his skin glow with the strength of his memories. Kim was gone by the time Dolly came home; he heard his father arrive a few minutes later. He stayed in his room as long as he could, waiting until he was called a second time for dinner.

But neither of them noticed a thing. Brian ate in silence, face lowered over his plate. They were discussing a barbecue they had been invited to next weekend; neither wanted to go. But it was business not pleasure and in the end they made the obvious decision. They were barely aware that he had left the table and was back in his room.

The thing that bothered Brian most was that what had happened did not seem to have affected Kim in the slightest. The next morning she passed him in the hall with a "Hi!" and nothing else. He thought about it all day in school, muttered some incorrect answers which shocked his teachers, then cut all of his afternoon classes and went out on the rigs. Alone above the sea.

If he felt so strongly about what had happened-why didn't she? The answer was pretty obvious when he asked the question that way. Because she had done it before. She was eighteen, five years older man him, had had five years to get interested in boys. He was jealous of them-but who were they? He couldn't dare ask her. In the end he said the hell with it and tried to put it from his mind. And sought for an excuse to see her alone as soon as possible.

Brian was waiting in the hall next morning, caught her before class. "I stayed up late last night, finished your term paper."

"My hearing is going. Did you just say what I thought I heard you say?"