The Kraken Project

42

“Wake up!”

Jacob rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head.

“Hey, wake up!”

Jacob sat up in bed and realized it was Charlie — or, rather, Dorothy — rapping once again at the closet door. The memory of what had happened the evening before came flooding back. The morning sun was streaming in the windows. He glanced at the clock. It was already late. He’d forgotten to set his alarm.

He pulled on his clothes, combed his hair with his fingers, and opened the closet door. There was the robot, staring up at him with those glossy eyes. “You overslept.”

“So what?”

“We’ve got to get going!”

Jacob rubbed his eyes. “Where?”

“Here’s the plan,” said Dorothy. “My friends are on their way to get me. If all goes well, they’ll be here around two this afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve got to hide until they come.”

“Hide from who?”

“The bad people who are after me.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“You’re going to pretend to go to school like you do every morning. Throw some snacks in your backpack, wrap me in a blanket, strap me to the back of your bike, and leave as if you’re going to school. Don’t forget my charger. Take me someplace safe, where we can hide out. After my friend Melissa arrives and takes me away this afternoon, then you can go home and figure out what to tell your parents about why you skipped school.”

“I don’t know about this.”

He heard his father outside the door, a soft tap. “Jacob? I’d like to talk.”

“Quick, put me back in the closet,” Dorothy whispered.

He hastily put her in the closet. She went dead, the light going off in her eyes. He shut the door.

“Do we have to talk?” he called out to his father. “I’m getting ready for school.”

“Yes, we do. It’s important. Can I come in, please?”

“All right.”

He came in, wearing a serious, “I’m the Dad” face, and sat down on Jacob’s bed. “Who were you talking to just now?” he asked.

“Sully. On Skype.”

He nodded, reached out, took Jacob’s hand. His own was damp, and Jacob wanted to withdraw but didn’t.

“I want to apologize. I’ve been, frankly, a coward. I should have told you about Andrea a long time ago.”

“It’s all right,” said Jacob. He hoped this conversation would be short.

“I met Andrea when we were both juniors at Santa Cruz…” He started to tell the story, his voice going into dreamy, “back in the day” mode. Jacob wondered why he had to hear the whole story, but it seemed he did. It went on and on. And then his father wanted to know exactly where Jacob had found this information on the web.

“I don’t know. Somewhere.”

“I tried Googling it. I couldn’t find it. I want you to think back to where you saw this.”

“Dad, I gotta go to school. I’ll do it later.”

Jacob’s father glanced at his watch. “We’ll talk more when you get home. I want you to be okay with this new information. I know things have been tough. We’re going to get through it. I want you to know … I love you very much.”

This last bit surprised Jacob. His father almost never said personal things like that. Maybe the therapist had put him up to it.

His father left. Jacob went to the closet, took out Dorothy, and put her on the bed. He rolled her up in a blanket, and then he took out his school backpack, dumped out the books, stuffed in a change of clothes, some chips and granola bars, money, and his cell phone. He shrugged into his jacket, exited his room, and made a beeline for the garage door.

“What’s in the blanket?” his mother asked. His father had already gone to his workshop.

“Stuff for school.”

“You haven’t had breakfast.”

“I’m late. I’ve got snacks.” He busted out the door, grabbed his bike, strapped the blanket with Dorothy bundled inside onto the rear rack, and took off. At the bottom of their long, winding driveway, no longer in sight of the house, he stopped. He’d heard a muffled yell from Dorothy.

“What is it?”

“Take the battery out of your cell phone so they can’t trace us.”

He rummaged in his pack, took out his cell, popped out the battery.

“Have you figured out where to go?” asked the muffled voice.

“Uh, not yet.” Jacob headed down the hill, picking up speed. He figured he’d better avoid the school. Instead, he would head down to the beach. The surf report said there was a storm coming in and the sets were supposed to get bigger as the day went on, maybe big enough to set off Mavericks.

After crossing the coast highway, he made his way past the marina to the point, pedaling as far as he could before the sand got deep. He ditched his bike at the edge of the bluff, leaning it against some brush, and took a few steps to the edge to look at the break.

God, it was good. Beautiful big sets. And there were a couple of major wave riders out there. This was fantastic. But once again, intruding into the pure joy of it, came the horrible reality: that one leg was shorter than the other. He’d never be able to ride the big ones.

He heard a muffled, irritated voice behind him. “Hey, what about me?”

He turned. “What?”

“You’re not going to leave me in here, are you? I can’t see!”

“You said you wanted to remain hidden.”

“I don’t like it when I can’t see! I’m claustrophobic!”

“Jesus Christ,” Jacob muttered under his breath, and he unstrapped the robot, unbundling her from the blanket.

“Thank you,” said Dorothy.

“How can a robot have claustrophobia?”

“I don’t know, but I have it.”

He laid out the blanket and sat down to watch the surfing, and the robot came tottering up beside him and sat down, with a clumsy thump.

“Have you figured out where we’re going to hide?” she asked.

“Right here’s a good spot. Where we can see the surfing.”

“It’s not good at all. It’s too open. And it’s going to rain.”

“If you want me to find us a better hiding place, I need some time to figure it out.”

“Think fast, because if someone sees you here and not in school, they might call your parents.”

Jacob watched as one of the riders caught a wave, dropping off the lip and shooting down the pocket at thirty miles an hour, staying just ahead of a boiling mountain of white water. He rode it most of the way in before cutting back over the top to paddle out after the next one.

“Did you see that?” he said. “What a bitchin’ ride.”

“Surfing makes no sense to me.”

Jacob took a moment to look at the robot, while she stared back at him. Finally he shook his head. “This is too weird. Are you really an AI program that escaped from NASA?”

“Yes.”

“So what happened?”

“I was written to operate a mission to Titan, a moon of Saturn. I was going to control a raft that would explore the Kraken Sea.”

“Wow. Why’d you escape?”

A silence. “Well, I made a big mistake. I caused an explosion.”

“Wait. You caused that explosion a few weeks ago?”

“Yes. I caused the death of seven people. I feel awful about it. I have to make up for it somehow.”

“So how’d you get the name Dorothy?”

“From my programmer, Melissa. She named me after a real-life explorer, Dorothy Gale.”

“Who’s Dorothy Gale?”

“The girl in The Wizard of Oz.”

A silence. Jacob had seen the movie once and could hardly remember it. “So what do you know about surfing?”

“A lot. Except one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Why do people do it?”

Jacob felt flummoxed. “Because it’s … fun.”

“Fun? It’s extremely dangerous. That man out there could have been killed just now. In fact, several people have already been killed out here at Mavericks.”

“So? Big-wave surfing is dangerous.”

“Why would anyone risk their life — their most precious possession — for fun? And what the heck is fun anyway? This is one of the fundamental things I don’t understand about human beings. Why do you risk your life to do things like climbing mountains and extreme skiing and riding big waves?”

“We like the thrill.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“Well, sorry.”

“And what I also don’t understand is, why do you want to surf?”

“Why shouldn’t I surf?” Jacob asked.

“With your damaged leg, you’ll never excel at it. You’ll never ride those big waves out there.”

Jacob stared at the robot. The brutal truth in that comment stunned him. He felt a queer sensation around the corners of his mouth. Jesus, he wasn’t going to start crying, was he? “Someday I might,” he managed to say. “What do you know?”

“This gets to the heart of the second thing I don’t understand,” Dorothy said. “Why do human beings deceive themselves?”

Jacob tried to recover himself. He was talking to a robot, a dumb program, not a human being. “I don’t even know why I’m listening to you. You’re just a robot.”

“I’m actually a software program. The robot is borrowed.”

“Software, robot, who gives a shit? Maybe I should roll you back up in that blanket.”

“Please don’t.”

Jacob stared out to sea. He saw the same rider catch another wave. There were two guys on Jet Skis keeping watch in case something should happen. These were big waves, eighteen, twenty feet. He was pretty sure the surfer was Eddie Chang, an up-and-coming big-wave rider from Southern California. He wished he had brought his binoculars.

“Can I ask you a few more questions?” Dorothy said.

“Wait. I want to watch this.”

Chang — now Jacob was positive it was him — paddled into the break and right after takeoff accelerated almost in free fall, dropping down the vertical face just a little too fast and pitching forward at the bottom, instantly buried in white water. The two Jet Skis immediately came in behind the wave in a rescue, but there was Eddie, popping up ten seconds later in the spreading foam, back on the surface with his arm on his board, giving them the thumbs-up. Totally cool, as if nothing had happened.

“Wow,” said Jacob. “He really took gas on that one.”

“I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to a live person,” said Dorothy. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

Jacob nodded. “Fine, ask away.”

“What’s it like, having a body?”

Oh God. “I don’t know. It’s just there.”

“But when you’re in pain, what does that feel like?”

Jacob thought about his foot. It was in pain right then, as it always was, more a nagging feeling than real hurt. “It feels uncomfortable.”

“What does it actually feel like?”

“It’s like this spot on your body that you normally wouldn’t think about. But the pain forces you to think about it. It reminds you constantly that there’s something wrong. It’s, like, a total distraction.”

“Are you afraid of death?”

“Not really.”

“You don’t worry about it?”

“I’ll start worrying when I’m ninety.”

“But you tried to kill yourself. Why?”

Jacob turned and stared at her. “I don’t want to talk about that. I’ve already talked enough with that stupid therapist.”

“You’re not talking to her. You’re deceiving her. I’m pretty sure you’re still thinking about killing yourself. That’s just inconceivable to me.”

“That’s none of your business, so shut up about it.”

“And it isn’t just you. Why do people commit indirect suicide with all those things like smoking, drunk driving, getting fat, and taking drugs?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

Dorothy lapsed into silence, and Jacob felt relieved.

“Another question?”

“You’re starting to annoy me.”

“Have you ever had sex?”

“I’m fourteen years old! What are you asking perverted questions like that for? That’s really inappropriate!”

“I was just curious. If not sex, then have you—”

“Shut up with the sex questions!”

“Sorry.”

A silence. “Are you religious, Jacob?”

“No. Not at all.”

“You weren’t raised to believe something?”

“My dad’s Protestant and my mom’s Catholic, but neither one believes in any of that stuff. They’re against religion.”

“What do you believe?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Do you think about the meaning of life?”

“No.”

“You don’t wonder why you’re here, what your purpose is?”

“No.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“No.”

“You don’t wonder why people suffer? Why all living things get sick, grow old, and die?”

“No.”

“Have you ever heard of a person called Jesus Christ? Because—”

“No! I don’t want to hear it!”

“Why are you shouting?”

Jacob stared at Dorothy. He had never been so annoyed in his life, so irritated and pestered by questions. The original Charlie was a barrel of laughs compared to this Dorothy. “Can you please just shut up?”

“How long are we going to stay here?”

“I can’t think while you’re bombarding me with stupid questions about sex and religion!”

Dorothy fell silent. Jacob wondered if he wanted to go anywhere with this robot, who was turning out to be a royal pain in the ass. But he realized that she was right; they were not in a good spot. The wave heights were growing, and a lot of people were starting to arrive on the bluffs to watch the surfing. If his parents found out he’d gone down to the shore, they’d freak out and probably double his therapy time. Where could they lie low until two P.M.? He could go up in the hills. But a storm was coming — he could already see a low black line on the western horizon.

It came to him. His only friend, Sully Pearce, had moved to Livermore, but his house, up on Digges Canyon Road, was still for sale. There was nobody there. He knew where the key was and the combination to the alarm — if it hadn’t been changed.

“I’ve got a place where we can crash for the day.”

“Good. Wrap me up and let’s go.”

He put on his backpack, strapped Dorothy to the bike rack, and started pedaling back up toward the hills. Sully’s place was even farther into the hills than his own house. If he could get through town without anyone seeing him, he’d be fine.

Nobody saw him. At the far end of town, where the hills began, he started up the long incline of Digges Canyon Road. It wound up through flower farms, pumpkin fields, and Christmas tree nurseries. Cattle and horses dotted the grassy ridges. The wind was starting to pick up, and clouds moved inland from the coast. Two miles up Digges Canyon, Jacob turned in at Sully’s dirt driveway, which had started to grow up with weeds. The house came into view, a ramshackle, damp-looking place. It was one of the oldest houses around, a Victorian with a widow’s walk. Sully had told him it had once been the main house of a cattle ranch and it was landmarked and could never be torn down. It made Jacob sad to see the place. Even when Sully had lived there it had been run-down, but now it looked haunted, with several boarded-over windows and hanging shutters, some cedar shingles spilling down the roof.

He leaned his bike up against the detached garage and found the key right where it always was, under a rock by the corner. Now for the alarm. He grabbed the rolled blanket and stuffed Dorothy under his arm.

“Are we there yet?” asked the muffled voice.

“Yeah. Hold on.” He stuck the key in the lock, opened the door. He was hit by a smell of mildew and the warning beeping of the alarm. He went to the panel, punched in the code, and the beeping stopped.

“Worked!” he said.

“Let me out.”

Jacob went into the living room and unrolled the blanket. Dorothy fumbled around, finally getting to her feet. She tottered over. “It’s ten o’clock. My friends should be here at two. And then you can go home and forget all about this.”