Watch

separately after playing it.”

“Ah, okay, then I’ve got a question for you, Mom. What would you wish for if you knew that your worst enemy would get double what you got?”

“Hmmm. A million—no. Um, I don’t know.”

“To be blind in one eye,” Caitlin replied.

“God!” said her mother. “But, um, yes, that’s an example of what I’m trying to get at: it’s possible for people to value outcomes differently. Do you remember when your father taught you how to play chess?”

They had a special chessboard with Braille characters on the heads of each piece. “Sure.”

“And remember how he used to let you win?”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “Say what?”

“Um, dear, he—”

“I’m just kidding, Mom.”

She smiled. “Well, why did he let you win?”

“I dunno. I guess, ’cause if he didn’t, I wouldn’t have wanted to play anymore. I wouldn’t have come back for another game.”

“That’s right. What he valued most was not him winning, but rather you winning. In other words, you both wanted the same thing, and even though it cost him—in the sense of losing the game—to let you win, he was happy when you did.”

“I get it,” Caitlin said. “But, in the dollar auction, people don’t want to play anymore after a certain point, too, right? And I bet it’s not just that it’s ridiculous that causes them to finally stop bidding. It’s also boredom: I mean, even if you were bidding in ten-cent increments, instead of penny increments, it would still take thirty-four bids to get the $3.40 you mentioned. But if I was writing a pair of computer programs to play that game, they’d keep playing forever—because the only way you lose money is if you stop bidding.”

She paused, and then a big smile came to her face. “Or, to put it in terms like in that movie Dad and I watched, the only losing move is not to go on playing.”

“Good point,” her mom said. “Now, can you think of any real-life examples of things like the dollar game?”

Caitlin was trying to do just that when Schrodinger crossed her field of view, moving absolutely silently. “Evolution,” she said.

“Yes, exactly!” said her mom. “But why?”

“Evolution is an arms race, right?” said Caitlin. They’d talked about this in biology class. “Predators keep getting faster and stronger, so prey keeps getting faster and better able to defend itself. Gazelles evolved the ability to run fast in response to lions doing the same thing. The game goes on and on forever—because whoever stops upping the ante dies. Again, the only losing move in evolution is not to play.”

“Bingo,” said her mom.

Caitlin nodded. “Mr. Lockery—my biology teacher—says if dinosaurs were magically brought forward in time today, we’d have nothing to worry about. Dogs, wolves, and bears would make short work of tyrannosaurs.” She nodded at Schrodinger, who was now padding across the floor in the opposite direction. “Big cats, too. They’re faster, tougher, and brighter than anything that existed seventy million years ago. Everything is always ramping up, always escalating.”

“Exactly,” said her mom. Caitlin saw her glance out toward the living room, at—ah, she was looking at the staircase, the one that led up to the bedrooms, up to where Caitlin’s computer was, up to where they’d been talking to Webmind. His powers were growing, too, and not just generation by generation, as in biological evolution, but moment by moment. Caitlin turned back to her mom and saw something else for the first time: she saw a person shudder.

When Harl Marcuse had found the property that now housed his institute, it had seemed like an ideal location: twenty-five acres of rolling grassland, with a dome-shaped man-made island in the middle of a pond. But that had been based on the assumption that Hobo was going to be a cooperative ape. Hobo’s island wasn’t large, but he could easily keep his distance from anyone who set foot upon it. Of course, if two people went onto the island, one could go left and the other right, but a cornered, angry ape was not a pretty sight.

Shoshana, Dillon, and Dr. Marcuse were discussing the problem in the main room of the bungalow. Dillon was leaning against the wall, Sho was seated in front of a computer, and Marcuse was in the easy chair.

An idea suddenly occurred to her. “If he won’t talk to us,” she said, “maybe he’ll talk to another ape.”

Marcuse’s shaggy eyebrows went up. “Virgil, you mean?”

Virgil was an orangutan; Hobo and Virgil had made history the previous month with the first interspecies webcam call.

“He might indeed speak to Virgil,” Dillon said. “But do we dare risk bringing Hobo into the house now?” He spread his arms, indicating all the breakables.

“Good point,” Marcuse said. “Plus, I doubt he’d come willingly, and I don’t want to drug him. Let’s set up a webcam chat system for him out in the gazebo.” He turned to Shoshana. “I’m still not talking to that shithead at the Feehan. You work out the details.” And the Silverback headed out of the room.

Shoshana exchanged a look with Dillon, then picked up the phone and dialed the number in Miami.

“Feehan Primate Center,” said a male voice with a slight Hispanic accent.

“Hi, Juan. It’s Shoshana Glick, at the Marcuse.”

“Shoshana! Is the old man still pissed at me?” Juan had leaked word of the initial webcam call between Hobo and Virgil to a stringer for New Scientist, and that had triggered the chain of events that had led to the Georgia Zoo filing its custody lawsuit.

She swiveled her chair and looked out the window. “Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing you’re two thousand miles away.”

“I’m so sorry,” Juan said.

It had been a year or so since she’d last seen Juan in the flesh. He was about thirty, had a thin face, high cheekbones, and lustrous long black hair that Sho envied. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not mad at you—and I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“Yes?”

“We’re having lots of trouble with Hobo. He’s become violent and antisocial.”

“Chimps,” said Juan in a “Whatcha gonna do?” tone of voice.

“If it’s just that he’s reaching maturity, there may be nothing that we can do—but he is young for that, and, of course, he is a very special ape, and, well, maybe it’s foolish, but we’re hoping we can get him to cooperate again, at least for a bit. We need him to stand up for himself if we’re going to keep him from… well, you know.”

“Georgia wants to castrate him, right?” said Juan.

“Yes. Barbarians.”

“Well, if they did, Hobo might become a lot more docile.”

“We don’t want him docile, for God’s sake.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry,” Juan said. “Um, what can we do for you?”

“We thought if we could get Hobo talking again to someone, we might be able to get him back to talking to us.”

“His old pal Virgil?”

“Exactly. We can’t even get Hobo to come when we call to him anymore, but we thought if we established an open, ongoing webcam link between his hut here and Virgil’s room, maybe they’d start chatting again.”

“Virgil would love that. He was asking about Hobo just today. ‘Where that banana ape?’ he said. ‘Where that talking ape?’ ”

“Good, good,” said Shoshana. “So, can we get this set up?”

“Sure, no problem,” said Juan. “Just tell the old man I helped, okay?”