Boston, an hour later
Borya answered her cell phone as soon as it started to ring.
“Daddy?”
“Borya? This is Chelsea Goodman, from Smart Metal.”
“Oh. . . . Hello.”
“I was wondering if you’d like to continue your tour today.”
“Of your labs? Sure.” Borya glanced at Mary Martyak, who was sitting across from her at the kitchen table, finishing her lunch.
Always eating, the fat slob.
“Great,” said Chelsea. “I’m just driving up your block.”
“You are?”
“Can you come now?”
“Um . . .” Borya searched her mind for an excuse to give Martyak. “Wait a minute.”
“What’s going on?” asked the babysitter.
“A friend, um . . .”
Martyak looked at her. Borya couldn’t find the right words for a plausible lie.
Tell her the truth. Why not?
“A friend of mine wants to give me a tour of this cool lab where they make robots.” The words gushed from Borya’s mouth.
“Oh?”
“Want to come?” Borya asked.
“Where is it?”
“It’s here in Boston.”
“We were going to that movie.”
“This is way cooler. Let me ask her.”
Chelsea’s plan hadn’t included a “friend,” but it was obvious that she was more babysitter than friend. As soon as Chelsea determined that Borya’s father wasn’t around, she decided the babysitter would do, at least temporarily.
Chelsea led them to the SUV. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in Underground Arena One at Smart Metal, watching as Peter selected one of the dogs—Dusty, a collie-shepherd mix—to go for a walk. The dog pulled eagerly at its leash, venturing around the massive work area in search of interesting smells.
“You don’t have to control it?” asked Martyak.
“Only in the most general sense,” said Chelsea, trying to keep her explanation to the simplest terms. “It’s the same as if I asked a person to take the dog for a walk.”
“But you programmed it to do that,” said Borya.
“No, we programmed it to learn. It picked up the routine on its own. And it has taught itself how to deal with dogs based on trial and error.”
It might not sound like much to a layman, Chelsea continued, but for a computer system, it was extremely advanced. It wouldn’t be long before commercial versions of “home assistants” would be available, and capable of much more complicated tasks. A robotic home assistant could stay with a bedridden patient, fetching medicine and common items, even making the bed and cooking a simple meal.
“It’s kind of creepy,” said Martyak.
“I think it’s cool,” insisted Borya.
Chelsea let the robot run through its paces for a while longer, then suggested they go upstairs to her lab to look at some of the coding. When they got there, she asked if either of them wanted something to drink.
“I’ll take a root beer,” said Borya.
“Me, too,” said Martyak. “But uh, first—can I use the restroom?”
“It’s right down the hall on the left,” said Chelsea. She waited until Martyak was out of the room, then tapped her computer screen. “Take a look at this, Borya,” she said as a page of coding filled the screen.
The girl leaned in and began examining the program. She squinted, then began to pale.
“I know what you did,” said Chelsea. “With the ATM machines? I got the coding off the dark net myself, just as you did.”
“I . . .”
“You’re going to get in a lot of trouble. But I have a way out for you. We need to talk to your dad.”
“You’re going to tell him?”
“You should tell him. Can you give the money back?”
Borya didn’t say anything.
“You’ve stolen quite a lot,” said Chelsea. “This is very serious. The FBI—”
“I can give it back,” blurted Borya. “But my dad—he’s missing! He was supposed to call me and he hasn’t. And he hasn’t answered our code. He must be in big trouble.”
She started to cry.