Lab 6 Read Online Free PDF Page B

flat.
    GRRRRONNNNG!
    The feeling rushed back.
    Like an injection of hot air into Sam’s head.
    “IT HURTS, DAD! DON’T DO THAT!” Sam pleaded.
    “John …” said Mrs. Hughes anxiously.
    But Sam’s dad was placing the cap on him.
    They’re my parents.
    They love me.
    The graphs on the monitor instantly sprang to life — jagged, pulsating, and violent-looking.
    Sam felt his eyes bulge. He felt warm spots of perspiration on his upper lip.
    “WHY … ARE … YOU DOING … THIS?”
    This isn’t HELPING me. It’s making everything worse, and it’s DAD — Dad’s idea, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, THAT’S why he was fired from those other jobs.
    Sam reached up to pull off the cap. But he was losing balance, losing consciousness, and his fingers felt dead.
    He looked desperately at his mom. “Can … you … ?”
    Swallowing hard, she glanced at her husband, confusion playing across her tight, inscrutable features.
    Then she reached out to Sam.
    And held the cap down.
    At that moment, Sam knew. He knew that he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to see.
    He had witnessed the secret.
    The government secret.

Do they know the risk they’re taking?
    They’re his parents. Few risks are too big.

10
    G ONE.
    It was gone.
    The feeling had left him as suddenly as it had come.
    The graphs were still jumping, but Sam was calm again.
    Clear-eyed.
    Mom was a mess. Wet-faced and haggard.
    Dad didn’t look too terrific, either. He was wide-eyed and pale, as if he’d just seen a purple horn sprout from Sam’s forehead.
    “I thought — you didn’t — ” Sam was giddy with relief. He flopped back onto his bed. “Whoa, that’s some machine.”
    Normal.
    My fingers — my eyes — my head — they feel totally normal.
    Mom’s jaw dropped open. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “Oh my god.”
    Sam reached upward to remove the cap. “Can I?”
    “It … works,” his dad murmured.
    Sam took that for a yes. He pulled the cap from his head. “Thanks. What’s this thing called?”
    “A transpatheter,” his mom said, her face slowly brightening.
    Dad was carefully examining the screen. He was rocking from foot to foot, practically dancing. “The neurotransmitters functioned. The circuitry was flawless.”
    “What does that mean?” Sam tried.
    His mom ignored him. “Dendritic action?”
    “Point five nanoseconds average,” his dad answered.
    “Storage?”
    “Four million megagigs with cache to spare!”
    They fell into each other’s arms, giggling.
    Giggling!
    “What? Are we going to get rich now?” Sam asked.
    They both turned to face him, as if just noticing he was in the room. Then, with big smiles, they pulled him into a three-way hug. “Richer than you can imagine,” his mom said.
    Sam wrapped his arms around them and squeezed.
    He was strong again, clearheaded. His parents were happy.
    It felt good to be together. Really good.
    But something wasn’t right. They were happy about the machine. They were happy about being rich.
    He would have liked a little more concern for himself.
    Don’t be greedy, Sam. Take what you can get.
    They’ve been working on this forever. Give them some credit.
    “So it’s some kind of medical thing?” Sam asked. “Like, stronger than aspirin without the side effects?”
    Dad threw back his head, laughing. “More than that. Sam, you know what we’ve said all along about the human brain — ”
    “It’s all switches,” Sam said, repeating the mantra he’d heard almost as often as Watch for traffic when you cross the street. “Like, little electrical circuits between the nerves.”
    “Billions of them,” his mom explained. “Every moment — every tiny feeling you experience, every thought you have — is a certain sequence of those switches, turning on and off.”
    “This machine,” his dad said, “in essence, has those switches — ”
    “You mean, you’ve done it!” Sam asked. “You’ve created a real brain?”
    “No,” Mrs. Hughes replied.