Six by Mark Alpert Page B

it, so I point at the croissants. “Those look delicious. Where did you get them?”
    â€œI went to that new bakery in Peekskill yesterday. While you and your father were away.” She picks up one of the croissants and slips it into my good hand. “Go ahead, try it.”
    I feel an odd surge of delight. I’m remembering all the times my mother gave me treats when I was little. She loved to bake cookies and slip them into my hand while they were still warm. I miss those cookies. And I miss the woman who made them.
    I bite into the croissant. It’s nothing special, but I put a big smile on my face. “Hey, that’s fantastic.”
    â€œI’m glad you like it.” She leans against the edge of my desk. There’s nowhere to sit in my room except the wheelchair, and I know she won’t sit there. She hates to even look at the thing. “You deserve something nice after everything you’ve been through. Dad says you were very brave out there in Colorado.”
    I shrug and take another bite of the croissant. “I don’t know about that. All I did was sit there and listen.”
    Mom looks me in the eye. “And what did you think about what they said? What the general said, I mean.”
    She’s determined to talk about it. And I can understand why. I have to make my decision by tomorrow morning. She wants to know which way I’m leaning.
    I lower my hand, resting the half-eaten croissant on my lap. “It’s definitely creepy. And there’s no guarantee that the procedure will work. It failed when they tried it on adults.”
    She nods vigorously. “That’s right. The Army killed those men.”
    â€œNo, not really. I asked Dad about it on the flight home, and he said those volunteers also had terminal illnesses. The Army won’t consider you for the procedure unless you have less than six months to live.”
    â€œIt’s still murder, Adam. Whatever time they had left, those men should’ve lived it. They should’ve lived to the natural end of their days instead of being sacrificed in some unholy experiment.”
    Mom’s voice rises. Now she’s speaking in what I call her “God voice.” She wasn’t very religious when I was younger, but when I was thirteen she discovered a website called Comfort of the Blessed Hope. She started ordering inspirational books from the site and making large donations to the minister who ran it. Although Dad wasn’t happy about this, he noticed that the religious books seemed to ease Mom’s depression, so he didn’t object.
    But I couldn’t stand those books. Whenever I found one lying on the coffee table, I’d pick it up and hide it somewhere. It wasn’t that I hated the content of the books; I never read any of them, so I have no idea what they said. I hated them because they seemed to be taking my mother away from me.
    With some effort, I force myself to speak calmly. “Okay, maybe it’s unholy. But there’s a reason for it. Did Dad tell you about Sigma?”
    She nods again. “Your father’s a brilliant man, but he doesn’t know when to stop. He should’ve never built that computer in the first place.”
    â€œHe wanted to delete the program, but the Defense Department wouldn’t—”
    â€œHe was playing God, that’s what he was doing. I warned him about it many times.” She tilts her head back and casts a rueful look toward the bedroom on the second floor where Dad is sleeping. “But the Pioneer Project is worse. Sacrificing children? I can’t believe he’d even consider it.”
    â€œIt’s a desperate situation, Mom. Sigma is out of control. It’s threatening to kill millions of people.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but nothing can justify this. The Army needs to figure out another way to fight this computer. Maybe the soldiers can cut off its power. Or infect it with a