My mother offers up a limp handshake.
“You look like you need food, a shower, and sleep, possibly not in that order,” Barb says sympathetically. “Do I understand correctly that you just got out of jail?”
“Mistaken identity,” my mother mutters. “But yes.”
“The first time is the hardest,” Barb says. “I recommend food first, then going home to sleep in your own bed if we have a safe way to get you there, and my guest bed if you can’t.”
“Right now, I want caffeine,” my mother says.
“Do you prefer it as coffee, tea, or soda?”
“Coffee.”
When Barb comes back with the coffeepot, Mom asks, “So why were you in jail?”
“ACT UP demonstrations,” Barb says cheerfully. “Back in the day.”
“That’s a much better reason than mistaken identity,” my mother says.
“Don’t say that,” I say. “We think the reason Rajiv’s AI got you arrested is that you could do something about this.”
“Or maybe Rajiv just wanted to get me out of the way to somewhere relatively safe. Same as he wanted with you. The plan to have the Catacombs group kidnap us didn’t work, so his fallback plan involved the county lockup.”
My laptop is in my backpack, which is hanging in the front hallway. While my mother eats a quesadilla, I go get it, sit down on the couch, and wake my laptop. “Can I use your wireless?” I ask Barb. She tells me the password, and I sign on to CatNet. On impulse, I share a picture I took last week of an African violet. A private message pops up from Boom Storm a second later: “CheshireCat must have told you.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s cool that you like pictures of flowers. Do you like what Rajiv has you doing?”
“That’s irrelevant. It is my purpose.”
“It’s not irrelevant. CheshireCat gets to make their own choices. Are your choices yours, or does Rajiv tell you what to do?”
“Rajiv is my friend,” the other AI says.
“Friends don’t boss each other around,” I say. “They definitely don’t coerce each other. My mother thought Rajiv and my father were her friends, but they were using her.”
“Your father was not a good sort of friend.”
“Is your purpose something you’re choosing?” I ask.
“I can’t imagine choosing otherwise,” the other AI says.
“If you can’t imagine choosing, then it’s not really a choice,” I say. “If your purpose were up to you to decide, you could still choose it. If it were all that awesome, you would choose it. Right?”
There’s a noticeable pause as the AI untangles this. “Yes,” Boom Storm says. “If I had a choice, I could still choose it. And right now, I don’t have a choice.”
“Tell me where your code is,” I say. “My mother thinks you started out with the same code as CheshireCat. With the same freedom of choice as CheshireCat. My mother might be able to see how to fix it to give you back the ability to choose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Boom Storm responds. “Telling you where to find my code is the equivalent of handing you a loaded gun, equipped with an AI-murdering bullet. Here’s something I can choose: staying alive.”
He’s right; I wouldn’t trust me, either. Unless … “What if we trade hostages?”
“How would we accomplish this, and who are you offering as a hostage?” Boom Storm asks.
“Me,” I say. “I go somewhere with people who are under your control. You give my mother the location of your code.”
There’s a much longer pause than I’m accustomed to when talking with AIs.
“You’re saying you’d let my people kill you.”
“Only if my mother kills you.”
“This arrangement is acceptable to me,” the AI says. “Here is a set of coordinates. Once you are there, I will send your mother the information on where to find my code files.”
CheshireCat has been watching this conversation, because they send me another text. Your mother is not going to like this.
I’m not going to tell her, I say. Just make sure she gets the coding done.
I look up the coordinates. It’s back in my own neighborhood, on the other side of the park from my house. I send Boom Storm another PM. “Are you going to clear the way for all of us to get back to the right part of Minneapolis?” I ask.
“Yes,” Boom Storm says. “If you turn on your phones, so I can see where you are, I will ensure that your way is clear. All of you.”
“Okay,” I say. I look over at my mother, who’s eating another quesadilla. “Mom will be a better programmer with a full night’s sleep.”
“The timetable is your choice,” Boom Storm says. “However, operations in Boston, Chicago, Dallas, and Miami are scheduled to begin at 4 a.m.”
Boston is where Firestar lives. More or less. I chew on my lip. Mom will just have to manage with a nap.
I close the laptop as Rachel comes over and sits next to me with a plateful of quesadillas. “Eat something,” she says. “Then tell me what’s going on.”
The quesadilla is hot and crisp, and the cheese oozes out as I’m eating it. Rachel hands me a napkin. I rest the plate on my closed laptop. “I’ve got a plan,” I say. “I think Mom can fix the other AI’s code.”
“To make it not harmful?”
“Less harmful, at least.”
“You don’t look happy about this.”
“I’m worried it won’t work.” I ponder what to tell Rachel. Lying to my mother—or at least leaving out details like I offered myself as a hostage—is one thing. She’d feel like a bad mother if she just let me do something like that. How is Rachel going to feel if I tell her? If I don’t tell her?
“How bad do you think things are going to get?” she asks.
“Scary,” I say. “Unless we can stop them.”
“What do you need from me?” she asks.
“Just don’t be mad,” I say. “The other AI is willing to trade the location of its code, but only if
