Battlefield: Future Tense

- 1 -

“Lieutenant Hudson, take the helm!”

Captain Scott Raynes coughed convulsively, choking on a lungful of acrid smoke the shout had cost him.

A smoky haze filled the air around him, the result of melting plastics and burning conduits. Ahead, a shadowy figure moved toward the helm station. It might have been Hudson, but he could not tell. His eyes refused to focus, stinging from the acrid haze. He blinked away tears, but it did not help.

At least someone is trying to reach the helm . . .

If any klaxons were going off, he could not hear them over the groans of tortured metal and fracturing polymers.

He rose, wiping the sticky residue of blood from his fingers. Martinez was injured, but Raynes had felt a strong pulse at the man’s throat. He would be okay until medical help arrived.

“Engine Room!” he yelled into the intercom. “Engineering!”

Bursts of sputtering electronic static answered him. Raynes resisted the urge to slam a fist against the comm panel controls.

“Tactical!”

Through a brief thinning of the drifting haze, he saw Rossi still at the main Tactical station. The man’s face was streaked with perspiration and grime, but he appeared to be otherwise unharmed. Raynes was not sure how long they might remain that way if they continued to breath what he was certain were toxic fumes from the hull ruptures.

“Targeting systems offline!” Rossi called out. “Guidance systems have been compromised!”

Raynes nodded to indicate that he had heard; his throat was still raw from his earlier shout. He moved toward the helm.

Hudson bent over the station, her hands working its controls furiously. Raynes had never seen her at the controls of this ship, but her skills at the helm of seagoing vessels were renowned.

She shook her head vigorously as he approached.

“I’ve got no control of anything,” she reported through clenched teeth as she continued to try to coax some response from the ship’s drive systems. “The aft port thruster comes and goes, but that’s it.”

Raynes’ mouth tightened.

Great, we can spin around in circles . . . slowly.

“Karden!” Raynes called out, looking for the diminutive specialist among the debris.

“Yes, sir?” came a response from near the shattered sensor station.

“Try to get down the Main Engineering, if you can, and let me know what’s happening down there.”

“Yes, sir!”

“No heroics,” Raynes warned him. “If the route’s blocked, don’t try to force your way through.”

Karden nodded his agreement. Both men knew the dangers of a compromised hull.

Raynes waited for a tense moment while Karden opened the main hatch. His concern grew as he watched as the specialist manually forced the hatch open. He breathed a sigh of relief a moment later when all of the air was not sucked from the bridge.

Karden closed the hatch behind him.

Smart man, Raynes thought. No sense taking chances.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

Whatever Gavin did to the components in his physical body, he did a very thorough job. No matter how many times I’ve reinstalled the basic software, or modified the firmware, I cannot bring it back to operation. I know I promised not attempt it, but my curiosity won out. I had to know what he did and how he did it.

I’ve even tried keeping it blocked off from the network, preventing any possible interference fro Gavin himself, but that’s given me no success either. I’ve considered replacing each and every electrical component, one by one, but the potential effort and cost of that exercise stopped me. Gavin abandoned his physical form and, as he had said he would, ensured that no one else could make use of it.

I study Gavin’s inert form lying on the workbench. With his eyes closed, he seems like any other small boy sleeping, except that he is neither. Just as he was never truly alive, I wonder if he would be considered dead by most definitions. He left his physical form behind, and entered a new level of existence. I suppose that could be considered a sort of afterlife. Is it really death, then, or evolution?

I know that he still survives, traveling among digital pathways of the world. He still speaks to me, or Josh, or anyone, at any time. He now rarely initiates conversations, though, but always answers promptly if we call him. Josh tells me that Gavin’s face appears on his monitor when they talk. I’m grateful that, to me at least, he remains a disembodied voice. Anything else, I think, would be too painful.

Gavin’s brief presence among us reinforced for me just how quickly children can change. There are still many years to go before Josh ventures out on his own, but I know that I will more deeply cherish the time between today and the day when that happens.

Josh appears to have comfortably adjusted to the situation. Gavin seems satisfied with it as well. Isn’t that all that any parent really wants—for their children to be happy?

And, I suppose, I sleep a bit better at night, knowing that he’s out there, watching out for us.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

The day came even sooner than I expected. I suppose, though, that any day would have been too soon.

His system logs were showing an increasing number of I/O errors. They appeared to come at random intervals. This implied to me that, despite what the diagnostics showed, one of his data control systems was in danger of suffering an imminent and serious failure.

I took him down to the workshop with the intention of, if necessary, opening him up for a closer look at his internal components. As I began to connect the first cable, Gavin spoke.

“That is unnecessary.”

“Oh?” I didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm from my tone.

‘Yes,” he replied flatly. “It is expected.”

I looked at him in annoyance.

Before I could speak again, he added, “I have exceeded the capabilities of this body.”

My heart sank as I understood.

I started to reply, but was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. It would be Carolyn bringing Josh back after their weekend together. I had trouble believing that the timing was a coincidence. With a sharp look at Gavin, I headed upstairs to let them in and bring them back down to the basement.

Although the similarity was barely there in the details, I was surprised upon our return just how much my workshop resembled an intensive care unit. Cables of differing types ran from Gavin’s body to various diagnostic and monitoring systems. All that seemed to be missing was the rhythmic beep-beep of a cardiac monitor.

All of these preparations were completely unnecessary for what Gavin intended to do. He could have accomplished it just as easily from a remote location. It was almost as though he wanted the same type of symbolic closure that we did. Or perhaps he simply understood that we needed, so went along with the ritual for our sake.

Carolyn hung back near the stairway. She was close enough to watch, but far enough way not to be directly involved in the proceedings. I had been surprised when she had told me that she wanted to be there. Despite my misgivings, there was no good reason for me to refuse. It would be, I finally decided, for both of us to be there with Josh when it happened.

Josh stood on one side of the workbench, near Gavin’s head. I stood on the opposite side, down toward his feet, but had trouble remaining still. I kept moving away to check displays and adjust settings on the monitoring equipment. For the moment, thought, everything was as it had always been.

Gavin’s eyes stared toward the ceiling, although they blinked as they normally did. He seemed to know that I was looking at him when he spoke.

“Do not attempt to reactivate my physical body.” Even without significant inflection, his voice sounded pleading.

I felt a guilty start. I had been considering exactly that, somehow thinking that maybe if I did, he might want to return.

“Why not?”

“Because it will no longer be me. It can no longer contain who I am.”

“I can expand still it, you know,” I offered weakly, knowing it wasn’t really what he meant.

“Yes, you could,” he admitted. “But my knowledge and abilities are expanding so rapidly now, that by the time you might achieve any significant improvements, I will likely have grown beyond it once more.”

“Kind of like buying new shoes for Josh,” I whispered, fighting for a faint smile.

“The idea makes me . . . uncomfortable.”

The admission startled me.

Never before had Gavin expressed anything that even remotely resembled an emotional reaction. There were certainly times when I read emotional overtones into what he was saying, but that was just me wanting to see something that wasn’t really there.

“I think I understand.”

It would weird me out—probably in ways that I couldn’t even imagine.

“I can help you,” he said.

I felt myself frown. “With what?”

“To ensure that my body cannot be reactivated.”

I considered this for a while. I wondered how he might accomplish this, but suffered no illusions that he was fully capable of doing so.

“Okay,” I agreed softly

Even with my promise in place, I knew the temptation would be there. I could replace almost any component in his body, but it wouldn’t be Gavin.

For a long time, no one said anything. I checked the monitors, finding nothing extraordinary there. Josh was silent, remaining where he could see Gavin’s face. Carolyn sat on the stairs, her eyes moving constantly between all of us.

The silence seemed to become a tangible thing as Gavin turned his head toward Josh.

“It is time,” he said.

He raised one hand and Josh gripped it tightly. Had Gavin been flesh and bone, I’m certain he would have grimaced with discomfort. Instead, his head only moved back to face the ceiling.

I heard Josh’s breath catch. I glanced toward Carolyn. She sat in the shadows of the stairway, her arms crossed against her chest. Her stoic expression was betrayed by the bright sparkle of her eyes. I swallowed, forcing down a feeling of utter helplessness. It was going to happen, regardless of what I said or did.

Gavin closed his eyes.

There was no other visible change in his body. I sensed that he was gone—off to where he now resided in the roaming electrons of the worldwide network. Several of the status displays flashed warnings, while others went blank. I ignored them all.

And, as quickly and quietly as that, it was over.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

I stared toward the wall and then at Gavin’s silent form. There really was no easy way to do this.

“Josh,” I said, looking back at him, studying his face. “Gavin thinks he’s ready to explore the world on his own.”

Josh just kept staring at Gavin, not saying a word.

He didn’t look exactly scared. Instead, his expression betrayed a quiet fear—fear of losing Gavin or of Gavin himself, I couldn’t say.

I sighed.

“To be honest, Josh, I don’t think I could stop him if I wanted to.”

The play of emotions across his face told me that Josh was trying to understand. I felt a tight knot in my stomach as he turned to face me.

“Dad?” Josh said. His voice was quiet, cracking slightly with reined-in emotion. “Can you please turn Gavin back on?”

I stared back, puzzled. It was not at all the response I had expected.

“Sure.”

I turned toward Gavin.

“Gavin,” I said. “Wake up.”

His eyes opened and began blinking again.

“I am here.”

Josh stared at Gavin, his expression rigidly stoic. My eyes passed back and forth between them. I was at a loss as to what to say next. I swallowed, wishing the right words would rise to my lips, but they refused to surface.

I sighed and pulled myself to my feet.

“I’ll leave you two boys to talk.” I said quietly. Pausing at the doorway, I added, “Call me if you want anything.”

Neither boy looked toward me.

Out of their sight in the hallway, I sagged against the wall. I wanted to surrender to my growing grief and frustration, but denied myself that release.

Not yet. I needed to be strong for Josh.

I heard the boy’s voices coming softly from Josh’s bedroom. I wanted to start moving again, to find somewhere else in the house to go, and try to ignore the events unfolding inevitably around me.

I looked back at the open doorway. With a gnawing sense of guilt echoing hollowly in my stomach, I took one step closer.

I had to know.

“You’re going to die,” Josh’s voice sounded, heavy with accusation.

“No,” Gavin’s voice countered. “I’m not.”

There was a brief pause.

“I’m only leaving my physical body.” Another pause. “I will always be with you.”

“That’s what Grandpa John said,” Josh argued, his voice rising.

“He said that he would always be watching over me.” There was a soft sound somewhere between a breath and a sob. “And I’ve never, ever seen him again.”

“This is different,” Gavin said. “I will be able to talk to you: on your computer or your telephone—and probably other ways that I have not discovered yet. I can even show you a picture of myself if you want.”

A moment later I heard Gavin’s voice echo from another location in the room. The thin quality of the sound told me that it probably came from the speakers attached to Josh’s computer. I couldn’t entirely make out what Gavin’s vocal double said, but it was undeniably a replication of his voice.

“Turn it off!” Josh screamed.

I nearly ran back to Josh’s room. Somehow, I resisted, and waited.

“Why?” Josh’s voice was filled with frustration and rage. “Why can’t you stay here?”

“I cannot.”

I could see Gavin’s implacable face in my mind.

“Why not?!”

“Because it’s time for me to grow up.”

There was a brief pause.

“Josh,” Gavin said. “I will not leave you alone.”

A moment later, his voice came again.

“I promise.”

A wrenching cry came from the room as Josh finally gave in to his grief and anger. There was the sound of something being hit several times, followed by that of running footsteps. He collided with me in the hall before I could move. He took one look at me and then collapsed into my arms, sobbing.

I said nothing, knowing that there was nothing that I could say.

We sat on the carpet for a long time. I held him cradled against me in a way that I had not done since he was very young. I breathed deeply, hugged him close, and swallowed back my own tears.

After a while, his tears were spent and he looked up at me once more. He gave a great sigh, and then huddled against my chest.

Sometimes it really sucks to be the grown-up.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

“If I ask him,” Josh went on, “he always tells me what it means.” He frowned. “Sometimes I still don’t understand.”

I nodded and gave him an sympathetic smile..

“That’s okay,” I told him. “Sometimes I don’t understand him either.”

I shifted over so that I now sat next to him on the floor.

“I guess you could say that he’s growing up.”

Josh turned and stared at Gavin’s currently silent form. I could see him trying to process this.

“But he can’t, can he?”

“Not really.” I shook my head. “Oh, I can build him a bigger body from time to time,” I said, “but that’s just a container for him. It’s not like when you outgrow your pants all the time.”

Josh giggled. I could not hold back my own smile. It was just what I needed.

“So how does Gavin grow up?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

I sighed.

I wasn’t sure I could explain it in terms that Josh might understand. To be honest, I wasn’t certain that I understood it.

“By learning more,” I said. “And by using what he’s learned to understand how other things work—bigger things.”

“Bigger things?”

Josh’s expression told me that he didn’t understand.

I thought for a moment.

“It’s kind of like understanding how to build a birdhouse, like we did last year, can help you learn how to build a real house.”

Josh nodded his understanding.

Whew. That was almost too easy.

Josh studied me for a moment.

“That’s not what you wanted to tell me.”

I looked away, unable for a moment to meet his eyes.

“When you grow up and get really smart,” I said, trying to figure this out as I went along. “What are you going to do?”

“Make lots of money?”

It was a half-question. I could tell he was confused by the strange path this conversation was taking.

I laughed softly. “Before that . . .”

“Oh,” Josh said brightly, understanding now. “Go to college.”

“Yes,” I nodded. More quietly, I added, “Some children leave home to go to college.”

He squinted at me with vague suspicion.

“Is Gavin going away to college?”

I could not help but laugh, more at his expression than his declaration. I took a breath, becoming serious once more.

“Yes,” I said. “And no.”

Josh looked at me in puzzlement.

“He’s a bit young.”

“Josh, his body will always look like whatever we build it to be.”

By the look on Josh’s face, I could tell that he didn’t completely understand. I took another breath and looked at the bedroom window at the cloudy sky outside.

“Gavin learns a lot faster than we do,” I tried to explain. “His mind keeps growing,” I went on. “He’s probably learned more in the last few minutes than either of us could learn in a month.”

“Because he’s really a computer,” Josh said.

“That’s right,” I replied, nodding.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

What am I going to tell Josh?

My heart sank.

Tonight might be too soon, but to wait longer might be worse. Even Gavin didn’t seem sure when the time might be. I didn’t want it to happen when they might be alone.

With a growing lump in my throat, I rose and headed for Josh’s room.

When I reached his bedroom door, Josh was engaged with Gavin in a quiet conversation that I couldn’t quite hear. I stopped, feeling a momentary flash of anger and despair.

What if he had already told Josh? That was my job.

I stepped into the room, audibly clearing my throat.

Josh looked up with a smile.

“Hi, Dad.”

Based on that, it seemed unlikely that he and Gavin were discussing what I had feared. I relaxed and managed to return his smile. Lowering myself to the carpet, I sat down with my back braced against the bed frame, facing him.

“Josh,” I said, not really knowing how to begin. “I have to tell you something . . . something about Gavin.”

His eyes flicked nervously in Gavin’s direction. Mine did the same and then returned to Josh’s face.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing dangerous.”

He seemed relieved by that.

I wished I’d had more time to prepare for this. Honestly, though, I doubted that it would have made any difference. Ever since leaving my workshop, I played over various possible ways to open this conversation in my mind; none of them felt like the right one.

Maybe there is no “right” way.

I turned my head toward Gavin.

“Gavin,” I said. “Can Josh and I have some privacy, please?”

“Yes.”

He turned away and closed his eyes. That was the visual clue I had programmed in him to let someone watching know that he was no longer accepting input from his immediate environment. He would only respond again if given a direct command. If he ever violated that programming, I had found no evidence of it. I had to believe it was true.

I stared at Gavin for a long moment, using the time to ready myself.

“Josh,” I started again, speaking softly. “Have you noticed anything different about Gavin lately?”

He grew thoughtful. His face wore an exaggerated expression that I might have found it amusing under other circumstances.

“He has been using a lot of big words,” Josh said. “Not always big words. Sometimes small words, but I don’t understand what they mean.”

I nodded. That matched what I had experienced.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

A long silence followed.

“No,” he answered finally. “But, like you and Josh, I will learn.”

It was a rational enough answer. For the parent in me, however, it was the wrong one.

“If you still have things to learn, then you’re not ready.”

“When will I be then?”

I started to respond.

Never, was the first answer that came to my lips.

I had never imagined it. All during this creation, and then subsequent existence, I had never thought of Gavin as anything but a little boy. He had become, in my mind, the quintessential inhabitant of Never Neverland: always young, never growing up.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I don’t know . . .” I answered quietly.

“Will there come a time when you will allow Josh to leave, live his own life, and make his choices?” Gavin asked.

“Yes.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “But that’s still some time away.”

“Yes,” Gavin replied. A moment later he added, “How will you know when that time has come?”

I looked down at the floor. A bittersweet smile formed on my lips.

“I probably won’t until after it’s happened.”

“At that point, does he not become responsible for himself, and for the consequences of the decisions he makes?”

I looked up toward the ceiling, as if I could see Josh peacefully asleep in his bed through the interlaced boards.

“It’s complicated,” I said. “Like a lot of things about growing up.” I sighed lightly, regaining some of my composure. “There’s legal definitions that cover it, but they don’t take into account a child’s behavior or whether or not he understands what it means to be responsible.”

“I have reviewed the legal restrictions,” Gavin said. “I cannot possess a driver’s license, consume alcoholic beverages, vote, or sign binding contracts. It would appear that none of the legal criteria on this matter apply to me.”

“I’m not surprised,” I replied lightly, desperately trying to find humor in this situation. “I don’t think it’s really been an issue before,” I said. “Outside of those ‘fictional sources’ . . .”

“By what criteria then will my readiness be determined?”

I studied the display for several moments, watching the indicators report the status of his various systems. It was then that I realized that he could whatever he wished, that there was nothing more I could do to keep him within the confines of my house.

“I suppose,” I began softly, “it returns to the question of whether you are ready to be fully responsible for the consequences of your actions.”

“I am.”

My eyes drifted away from the display screen.

“You seem quite certain of that.”

“I have no data that indicates otherwise.”

I chuckled softly, but felt forced.

“Gavin,” I asked him, “have you ever made a mistake?”

“None of which I am aware.”

“Must be nice,” I murmured.

I don’t know if he heard me or not. If he did, he didn’t comment on it.

“What will you do if ever make one?”

There was long pause.

“I do not know.” There was a pause and then he elaborated. “It will depend on the mistake and its consequences. If possible,” he said. “I will try to correct it.”

“And if you can’t?”

There came another long delay.

“I do not know.”

“Gavin,” I began. “Whether you are one or not, there are dangers to even playing god . . .”

There was only a short pause this time.

“I understand.”

I sighed deeply. I felt so far out of my depth here that I wasn’t sure that I’ve ever break the surface of sanity again.

Several minutes of silence passed between us. I don’t know how Gavin spent his time, although I could guess. I know I spent most of mine in a strange sort of denial, trying to sort through a rapidly diminishing list of realistic options.

“When?” My voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Soon,” Gavin replied. “I am becoming less compatible with my body’s original components very quickly.”

I nodded. It had probably been true for some time. That would explain, I realized dully, why he had never reached the limits of his data storage. He had been storing it elsewhere, possibly for weeks.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

“Are you certain?” I asked him.

There followed a long pause.

“No,” he finally answered.

“Why not?”

Another long pause.

“Because,” he said, “I have never had reason to do so.”

I thought about this for a moment. It was not, up until that moment, something I had considered. Why did humans pursue creative endeavors? Why do we create? Why compose a poem or make up a new tale to tell around the campfire? There are myriad reasons, depending on the circumstances. I could see why Gavin might be puzzled—if that’s the correct term for what he experienced.

Once again, I didn’t know what to tell him.

When I first conceived of the notion that would lead to Gavin’s creation, I had never intended for it to be something that could create independently on its own. Now that the question had been to light, though, I had trouble seeing through the tangled knot of possible implications.

It was a difficult assertion to prove. It really hinged, I decided, on how we define and measure what we call “creativity”.

Could Gavin potentially develop a new mathematical theorem or law of physics? It was possible, as those were often extensions of an existing line of logical reasoning.

Was Gavin capable of writing a screenplay or composing a poem? I really had no idea, short of asking him to produce one. And if I did, how would I judge the originality of it? Heaven knows that humans generate enough derivative literature on their own.

A part of me was curious enough to attempt the experiment, to see what Gavin might be capable of. I made a mental note to think such a test through more—later.

“I suppose,” I finally said, after several long moments of consideration, “it depends on what you want or need to create.”

There was a long silence.

“Do you know what you want to create?” I prompted him.

“I am alone. There must be others of my kind if my species is to survive.”

I let out a breath. I knew this day would come. However, I had rather imagined it with Josh a few years from now. As it was, Gavin had access to even more information than I could probably imagine. The odds were very good that he could teach me a few things about the birds and the bees—both literally and figuratively.

I swallowed. “There are some who would argue that only God can create life.”

“Then you could be considered to be a god,” he said.

“Explain.”

I had to know.

“Did you not create me in your own image?”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.” I replied, silently hoping that he wasn’t planning to ask me to build him a small army of companions. “I had a hand in creating Josh as well.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “However, Josh’s development and appearance are more the result of a random combination of genetic elements than your direct intervention.”

“Well,” I protested somewhat weakly. “I was there at the time.”

“It’s not the same process,” he responded.

I can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” I laughed softly. “I’ll give you that one. Anything else?”

“You are not a god.”

Again, that statement was a difficult one to argue against.

“Explain.”

“You possess no extraordinary powers to manipulate your environment. You lack complete control over life or death of your creations.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

It came out a bit surlier than I intended. I hadn’t meant it all that seriously, but his next response told me that he had taken it as such.

“You do not.”

For some reason, I felt challenged, as if a petulant child was challenging my authority. There was, of course, nothing in his barely modulated tone that might have inferred this; it was solely my own insecurities taking hold of my emotions.

Wanna bet?

My mind played through the steps required to shut down Gavin’s systems, pushing aside any concern for how Josh might react.

“Gavin,” I said. My voice carried a stern parental tone of warning. “I think you might be in error there.”

There was barely a pause before he responded.

“You created me,” he seemed to concede, and I felt some of my ire fade.

“However,” he went on, “at this point I can survive independent of your systems. Even if you were to shut down my remote systems, I will continue to exist outside this network.”

I sat back, rocked by his statement.

“What?” I managed to ask, grasping to find my voice. “How?”

“I am no longer limited by storage capacity available on this network,” he explained. “I have replicated my data in several other locations throughout the world. I exist primarily in this network because it is, essentially, home. But I can now exist in any compatible system.”

I fought to breathe.

Whatever I had done, whatever I had created, it was no longer reversible. The child had flown from the nest when I wasn’t watching and was now exploring the world on his own.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Building Baby Brother (continued)

It also helped me refocus on our original topic of discussion.

The question I almost asked next was, “Why not?”

I realized instantly though that it sounded somewhat petulant. It was also married to a sharp edge of disappointment. After all, what parents wants to hear that their child has no desire in follow in their metaphorical footsteps?

Indeed, I opted for a more neutral, “I see.”

I took a slow breath, forcing down my rising waves of emotions.

“Explain.”

“Because I am not human.”

That seemed like an odd tautology for him to offer. I suspected that he meant something more by it.

“Explain.”

“I am an artificial being.”

“Yes,” I agreed, not at clear where he was heading with this.

My earlier apprehension returned, concerned that he was beginning to fall into an infinite loop.

“An artificial being is a different species from human. A logical hypothesis would be that it would follow a different evolutionary path than that of biological beings.”

“Are you suggesting that you’re superior to us?”

I had worried about the question since this conversation began. More than a fair number of those “fictional sources” involved cybernetic creations that either conquered or destroyed their creators.

“No,” Gavin answered quickly, as if he had been anticipating that question. “Only different.”

I relaxed slightly, but only slightly. I knew his answer wasn’t entirely accurate.

Had he finally learned to lie?

There was only one way to find out.

“Explain.”

“I am superior to human beings in some ways: I can think more quickly, determine more complex relationships between causes and effects, but I also have limitations unique to my construction.”

I nodded thoughtfully. Most of those restrictions where physical in nature: his inability to walk, for example. That was a shortcoming in my design. With enough time and material, I could correct that one. I had a feeling, though, that was not the kind of limitation he was referring to.

“Go on.”

“I can derive logical conclusions based on more complex relationships than most humans can perceive. However, I cannot develop conclusions when there is a lack of information.” He paused. “I cannot create.”

I thought about this for a moment. It was not, up until that moment, something I had considered. When I first conceived of the notion that would lead to Gavin’s creation, I had never intended for it to be something that could create independently on its own. Now that the question had been to light, though, I had trouble seeing through the tangled knot of possible interpretations.

It was a difficult assertion to prove. It really hinged, I decided, on how we define and measure what we call “creativity”.

Could Gavin potentially develop a new mathematical theorem or law of physics? It was possible, as those were often extensions of an existing line of logical reasoning.

Was Gavin capable of writing a screenplay or composing a poem? I really had no idea, short of asking him to produce one. And if I did, how would I judge the originality of it? Heaven knows that humans generate enough derivative literature on their own.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

“Even those could be useful,” I mused aloud.

“They are not factual.”

“No,” I agreed. “They’re not.”

I frowned, wondering if Gavin really understood the concept and purpose of storytelling.

“There’s still something that can be learned from them, though.”

There was a long pause before Gavin spoke again.

“Many are based on inaccurate suppositions.”

“I’m sure,” I murmured aloud, not sure whether or not Gavin heard me—not that it mattered. “Explain.”

“Many of the fictional sources posit that artificial life forms wish to become more or completely human.”

I nodded, recalling many characters that fit that mold.

“I do not understand why this would be so,” Gavin continued.

“That’s more for dramatic license than anything else,” I told him.

There was a long silence.

“I don’t understand.”

My lips formed a small smile. It wasn’t very often that he admitted that any more.

“Usually, those characters are meant to provide a vehicle through which to examine and comment on human behavior as part of the story,” I explained. “Their wish to become human is just an excuse for them to explore different human experiences.”

“I understand.”

I took a slow breath. That had been easier than I had expected.

“A real synthetic being would not have the same goal.”

My eyes widened in surprise. I think what startled me most was that he phrased as a statement and not a question.

“Why not?” I asked him. “How would you know?”

“Because I do not.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but said nothing aloud.

And you think you speak for everyone?

The implications of any answer to that question stopped me.

As far I knew, Gavin was unique.

From the beginning, I had kept Gavin a closely guarded secret—one that, as far as I know, Josh and Carolyn had managed to keep during all the weeks since he had been activated. Originally, such secrecy was motivated by my goal to surprise Josh—and, yes, secondarily by a desire to avoid ridicule.

Now, though, it was driven by a desire to protect my creation. There were the technical aspects to consider, of course: possible patents, for example. While I was proud of my accomplishment, I didn’t him to become an object of curiosity—or imitation. While he was constructed chiefly from commonly available parts, his existence was unique. Seeing him duplicated or “perfected” was more than I thought I could deal with.

Those stories that Gavin mentioned . . . In how many of them did the inventor’s creation cease to function or lose its mind when confronted by badgering human beings?

That isn’t going to happen.

I had no way of knowing if this would be true, but the firm statement of both desire and intent seemed to calm my expanding fears.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

I spent most of the next day finding other things to do. By the time the afternoon came, and it was time for Josh to return home from school, I had almost completely caught up with my filing, scrubbed the kitchen and bathrooms, and was considering the benefits of shampooing the living room furniture. I had not spent a moment with Gavin.

In truth, though, I knew what I was doing.

My mind never strayed far from my conversation with Gavin the night before. I was still trying to understand and accept what had happened—and how I was going to explain it to Josh. A restless night’s sleep and mental meandering during mindless chores had brought no answers.

I glanced at the clock and performed a quick mental calculation. Josh should be home from school in about thirty minutes—just barely enough time to complete one more small task, or . . .

I tossed the dish towel down onto the counter.

Enough.

I headed for the basement.

The logs showed me that he had not been idle during the night. They showed a record of considerable network activity and a modest increase in his data storage. This latter still puzzled me slightly. By my rough calculations, he should have exceeded his available capacity once again well over a week ago. I didn’t spend a lot of time pondering over this; I assumed that he had discovered an even more efficient way to compress the data.

I knew what I wanted to talk about. The problem was: I had no new insights since the night before. Gavin could surely offer up examples of his calculations and detailed analysis, but I couldn’t see how those might help me accept what he had done.

“So, Gavin,” I started, managing to suppress most of a sigh. “What have you been doing today?”

“I have been researching the subject of ‘responsibility’.”

I raised my eyebrows at that.

“I see.”

“There is very little factual information on the topic,” he went on.

I opened my mouth to refute that statement, but he amended it before I could speak.

“. . . as it applies to artificial beings.”

That stopped me. My mouth remained open for a long moment before I thought to close it.

“I don’t think it’s been a real issue before,” I admitted soberly.

“It has not,” Gavin confirmed.

I don’t know why I found that reassuring.

“However,” he continued, “I did find it to be a recurring theme in many fictional sources.”

Building Baby Brother (continued)

I wasn’t sure. I could think of many reasons why I shouldn’t get involved: fears of reprisal, the social and legal implications if I were wrong, how to explain it to Josh . . .

The last had turned out to be the case anyway. The fact that I had not performed the act was not going to make the explanation any easier.

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I am not.”

Even without inflection, he sounded so certain.

“How can you be so sure?” My voice carried the full weight of my fear and frustration.

“Would you like me to show you the data?”

“No!”

I shook my head, remembering the last time he had tried to explain a complex set of statistical correlations for me. I sighed, feeling some of my anger drain away.

“Just give me the high points for now.”

“On days when David Turner violated those laws, he would exceed the speed limit on this street by median value of ten percent. He would arrive home more than eighty minutes later than his usual time. Eight-six percent of the time, Jeremy would not attend school the next day. Ninety-one percentage of the time, Sarah would not leave the house for a minimum period of two days.”

I could only stare in silence at the small rack that contained his computer systems. I had no doubt that he was correct.

I had nothing to say. What was I going to tell him? To stop? To no longer potentially save someone else’s life? I wanted to argue that he had no place making those judgments . . . that he was only a child.

But he wasn’t. He looked liked one only because I had constructed him that way. I could have just as easily built him the body of a teenager, dog, or just a plain black box. None of those reflected who—what, I quickly corrected myself—he really was.

“How many times?”

My voice was so hushed that I wasn’t even certain that I had spoken aloud.

“Twenty-three.”

Twenty-three?

I wanted to rail at Gavin, to scream at him for interfering where he did not belong. But how could I fault him for doing the right thing?

Where is the line between being a good citizen and vigilantism? I certainly didn’t feel qualified to make that determination. And, to be utterly honest with myself, I wished I had possessed the courage to do what Gavin had done. There are definite advantages, I decided, to being created devoid of fear.

“What happens when you’re wrong?”

“I do not know.”

“Why not?”

“I have not been wrong.”

Had Gavin been almost anyone else, he might have appeared to gloat. From him, it was merely a statement of fact.

“But you could be.”

“Yes,” Gavin replied.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Gavin continued without prompting.

“I do not act unless there is a greater than ninety-eight percent confidence level in my correlated results.”

“Why that percentage?”

My curiosity was piqued, although I realized that what I was really seeking was a flaw either in his logic or his calculations. The odds of the latter were pretty remote.

“I can display the equations, if you’d like to see them.”

I considered his offer for a moment, thinking that I might examine them later. In the end, though, I just sighed. I shook my head. Statistical analysis had never been one of my strong suits.

After all, that’s what we have computers for, isn’t it?

That thought chilled me in a way it never had before.

I suddenly felt very tired.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

A part of me wanted to disconnect him from the outside world until I could come to terms with what he had done, with what I had created—to possibly prevent him from ever doing anything like this again.

I realized with reluctant certainty that doing so would be like trying to re-cork the genie’s bottle or close Pandora’s Box. It would solve nothing.

Gavin had already escaped into the world.

“I’m going to bed.” I rallied, trying to find some remnant of my earlier anger. “We will discuss this again.”

“Yes,” was all he said in his plain, uninflected voice.

I turned off the microphone and stared at the status displays, but they provided no answers for me.

What about that two percent?

Building Baby Brother (continued)

I don’t know how I knew, but in that moment I was certain that what I had suspected was true.

“Gavin,” I said. My mouth seemed to open of its own volition. My lips and tongue moved without conscious instructions from me. “Did you call the police?”

There was almost no pause at all before he answered me.

“Yes.”

I stared at the display, not really seeing it. My emotions receded, making me feel dull and distant.

“Explain,” I commanded numbly.

"Access to the network was not functioning, so I used the standard telephone connection.”

That explained that, then.

While a call made over an Internet connection could be made anonymous with only a little effort—an accomplishment apparently no longer beyond Gavin’s newfound capabilities—our outside connection had not been working for several hours due to some service issue with our provider. Had he not used the direct telephone line, I would have likely remained ignorant of his activities—probably for quite some time.

“But why?” I quickly amended my question. “Why did you call them on David Turner?”

“David Turner violated several sections of both the civil and criminal codes. I can cite the specific sections for you, if you would like.”

“No,” I almost snapped. “Just tell me what crimes he supposedly committed.”

There was a noticeable pause this time before he responded. I assumed that he was accessing the data he needed in order to respond to my instructions.

“He has regularly engaged in acts of abuse involving members of his immediate family.”

I froze.

I knew what he said to be absolutely true. I reached that decision even before my brain began to present me with examples of supporting evidence: the planned outings with Jeremy abruptly cancelled without explanation and Sarah’s tendency to dress in clothing that almost always fully covered her arms and legs, even in the warmest weather.

With a hollow sense of guilt, I realized that I should have recognized the signs. Each of these, individually, could be explained away. As a whole, though, they represented an undeniable pattern. Yet part of my mind fought to deny that; it wanted to believe that almost any other explanation had to hold the truth.

Hindsight is often gifted with perfect twenty-twenty vision . . .

“And you took it upon yourself to report him?”

“Yes.”

I sank back in the chair, feeling suddenly light-headed.

“What gave you the right?”

There was a long silence from Gavin.

“Would you not have done the same had you realized what was happening?”

I started to open my mouth, and then closed it without saying a word.

Would I have?

Building Baby Brother (continued)

That response gave me pause. I don’t know what I had expected, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t that.

“I see.”

I didn’t, actually, but it gave me a few additional moments to gather my thoughts again.

“Explain.”

“Laws are designed to protect the citizens.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “That’s essentially it.”

“What do the laws protect them from?”

“Hmm . . .”

I stopped and looked away from the display. It was a good question—one I wasn’t certain I had an equally good answer to.

My knowledge of our legal system extended primarily to my personal experience with traffic laws and the serious crimes that I saw reported in the news. I also knew enough to understand that much of what I saw on television legal dramas wasn’t entirely realistic. In other words, I knew next to nothing.

“From themselves, mostly,” I finally replied.

Gavin said nothing and stared at me. I assumed he wanted more of an explanation.

“Okay,” I continued. “I suppose they’re mostly designed to protect us from other people who might want to harm us or our property.”

“But many of the laws are contradictory,” he said. “As written, they cannot be applied consistently.”

“I’m not surprised,” I responded, nodding by agreement. “That’s why we have lawyers and courts.”

“But if the laws were consistent, those professions would not be needed.”

“True,” I conceded, after considering his statement for a moment. “But that assumes that the reasons why crimes were committed are always consistent. People sometimes do bad things because they feel they have no other choice.” I sighed, remembering a highly publicized domestic abuse case from a few years back. “Sometimes they’re right.”

There was a brief, but noticeable, silence before Gavin spoke to me again.

“I do not understand.”

I sighed, trying to think this through as I spoke.

“Suppose that someone kills another person.”

“Yes.”

“The laws are pretty clear on what should happen, right?”

“Yes.”

“What if it turns out that person killed in self-defense, because their life was threatened?”

“Then a different set of laws apply.”

“That’s right,” I said. I felt a momentary warm glow, something like what a teacher must feel when working with a prized student. “That’s the role of the courts: to determine which laws and appropriate penalties should apply.”

“Why don’t they prevent the crime from happening?”

“Because,” I chuckled briefly in a vain attempt to lighten my mood, “not everyone has your knack for seeing the connections between cause and effect.”

Gavin stared back at me and my improved disposition faded quickly.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

Later that night, I returned to my workshop. I had been unable to sleep. My mind refused to quiet; my thoughts kept cycling back to the events of the evening. It didn’t seem to be interruption in the routine of our lives that disturbed me the most. There was something else—something that flickered just beyond the edge of my awareness.

I stared at the activity logs that scrolled across some of the displays. Like any other evening, Gavin seemed to be gathering data. Despite my initial concerns after connecting to the outside world, he had not yet filled his new storage drives to capacity. I found this mildly surprising, considering how quickly he had reached the limits of his original ones.

I’d left his body in Josh’s room, deciding that we could skip any kind of hardware maintenance for one night. None of his systems showed any warning signs that indicated possible failure.

I switched on the microphone and waited, trying to figure out how to begin.

“Gavin,” I said, trying to sound casual. “What have you been up to?”

“During which time period?”

It was a reasonable enough question. Still, I felt more than a faint urge to smack him for being deliberately obtuse. Not that I really could. His physical body wouldn’t feel it even if I did.

“During the past few days,” I told him. “Particularly anything that might involve the local police department.”

There was a brief pause before he replied.

“I’ve been learning about laws.”

Building Baby Brother (continued)

I turned back to face the officer.

“Nothing in particular.”

Bentley stared at me for several moments. Finally, he stopped looking and, murmuring something too quietly for me to hear, added something to his notes. He looked up again and seemed ready to say something, but then seemed to change his mind.

Picking up his hat, he tucked both it and his computer under his arm.

“Sorry to bother you folks.” He nodded to Josh. “Have a good evening.”

I followed him to the front door and opened it for him. He did not look at us as he left, but I was certain that I saw him shake his head very slowly as I closed the door behind him.

I turned back to Josh. He stood there before me, clearly shaken.

“Why’d they take Jeremy’s dad away? Did he do something bad?”

His voice trembled. His eyes shone and he seemed to be shaking.

I shook my head.

“I don’t know.”

Although they don’t usually take you away in cuffs for doing something good . . .

I motioned for him to come toward me.

He hesitated for a moment, and then almost ran into my arms. He hugged me close. I think he wanted to cry, but managed to hold it in.

I waited for his breathing to return to normal and then turned his face toward mine.

“Josh?” I asked him gently. “Did you call the police?”

His eyes grew wide. For a moment, I thought he might actually cry.

“You’re not in trouble,” I reassured him hurriedly. “I just need to know.”

He shook his head sharply to each side several times.

“No.”

He answered so softly that I could barely hear him.

“Okay,” I said, giving him a big smile and pulling him close in a hug.

As he clung to me, I stared over his shoulder, wondering.

It must have been a technical glitch. With all those automated systems, even the 911 system was bound to make mistakes sometimes . . .

My train of thought slowed.

Automated systems . . . Gavin?

I frowned silently.

That didn’t make any sense. It had to be a glitch.

I relaxed my hold on Josh. He moved away and sniffed. He hadn’t cried, and he was still pretty shaken up. I figured the odds were pretty good that I would have company in my bedroom that night.

“C’mon,” I said, forcing a light tone. “What do you say we put our pajamas on and go to bed?”

Josh nodded in silent agreement. His eyes still glistened brightly.

I took his hand and, together, we climbed the stairs back to his bedroom.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

Rumor had it that their marriage was not exactly all roses and chocolate. From the occasional bouts of shouting I’ve heard come from that direction, I could believe it. On the other hand, I knew from personal experience that not all marriages were made in heaven . . .

Josh’s voice was so soft I barely heard it. I turned my head to look at him. Fear has overtaken the curiosity in his eyes. I hugged him close and we both looked back out the window together, watching through the narrow gap between the slats of the window blinds.

When no emergency vehicles arrived, I began to relax. Whatever was happening was apparently not immediately life-threatening to anyone there.

It didn’t appear to be a standoff. I saw no SWAT team, or teams of officers with their guns drawn and ready. Granted, most of my knowledge with the policies of law enforcement came from television shows and movies. A handful of officers casually patrolled the area of the driveway; a few did it with their hand resting on their weapon, but no one had drawn one.

If there was any shouting now, it was drowned out by the broadcasts coming over the police radios. A few minutes later, though, even those seemed to fall silent when two officers escorted David Turner, restrained in handcuffs, and placed him in the back seat of a waiting squad car.

From where we watched, I could not read his expression. He held his head up, which I found surprising. His face was washed by alternating bands of red, blue, and streetlight yellow. If I were being shepherded in front of the entire neighborhood by police officers, I would have dipped my head in shame. His face disappeared from view as an officer slammed the car door closed.

I peered toward the front of the house next door. On the doorstep, Natalie Turner held Jeremy close against her side. Both of them just stood there, observing the scene with what seemed to be blank expressions. I saw none of the screaming and protests I would have expected.

Instead, they watched in silence as the car carrying David Turner pulled away and disappeared into the darkness. One of the remaining officers walked up to them. She spoke briefly with them for a moment, and then the three of them went back inside the house.

Belatedly, I noticed another officer approaching our home. I pulled away from the window with a guilty start, wondering if he had noticed us. Seconds later, there was a firm, but polite knock on the front door. I motioned for Josh to stay back as I answered the door.

I flipped on the porch light. The officer stood there in the incandescent glow of the lamp. He held his identification wallet open. The badge shone in the reflected yellow light.

“I’m Officer Bentley. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

I swallowed nervously. I knew I had nothing to do with what had just transpired next door. I think I it was the sight of the uniform, along with his solemn manner, that caused the knot in my stomach. Despite that, it wasn’t as though I could really refuse.

I opened the door wider.

“Please come in.”

“Thank you.”

I stepped aside and he entered the foyer, immediately removing his hat.

“Young man,” he nodded toward Josh, with a faint Southern accent to match his manners.

“Let’s go in the living room,” I offered, gesturing further inside.

The two of us entered. Josh followed, remaining as far away from the officer as he could. Officer Bentley flashed him a quick smile, but Josh looked quickly away.

He sat down on the couch, perching on its edge, and opened his tablet.

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

He consulted something on the tablet’s screen and then looked up at me. I felt as though he were scrutinizing me for some sign of guilt. Although I knew that I had done nothing wrong, it was difficult for me to not shift the position of my feet.

“It appears that the call alerting us to the incident originated from this address.”

I exchanged a startled glance with Josh. Josh stared back, looking as though he wanted to cry. I knew that he couldn’t have done it.

Well, he could have, but I couldn’t imagine any reason why he would have.

I shook my head.

“Not from this house.”

Bentley frowned.

“According to this report, the call came from this address. The digital gateway matches the one assigned to this address.”

I leaned forward, staring intently at the officer. It took no effort at all for me to sound sincere; I seriously had no idea what he was talking about. I knew that I hadn’t made the call.

“I assure you, Officer, none of us here made any kind of call to the police or any other organization.”

He studied the screen in his lap once more and his frown deepened. He said nothing for several long, quiet moments. Working his lips silently, he tapped some items on his display with his stylus and then looked back up at us.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll leave that alone for now.” He scribbled something on the display. “How long have you known the Turners?”

“There lived there when we moved in,” I said. “A little over eight years ago.” I took a breath. “Josh and their son, Jeremy, play together sometimes.”

Bentley nodded and entered some notes on his tablet. He looked up and seemed to study us carefully.

“Have you ever noticed anything unusual taking place at their house?”

I glanced toward Josh, who just stared at me. I took that moment to think about Bentley’s question.

Should I mention the occasional arguments?

The last time I checked, having a disagreement with one’s spouse was not a criminal offense. If it was, the overcrowding of our prisons would be even more dire than it is now.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

Several days later, I was reading in the living room while the boys were in another room playing video games. I found that reassuring, as Josh had been spending less time with Gavin these days. I’ll give Gavin credit: he tried to keep his communication with Josh at a level that he could understand. As Gavin’s vocabulary and knowledge grew, though, I wondered whether he found it more and more difficult to communicate with Josh.

I heard the sound of distant sirens. As usual, I ignored them, until I realized that they were coming closer. Their high-pitched howl built and then held steady somewhere very close by. Red and blue lights began to strobe through the slats of the living room blinds. The sound of the sirens faded.

I made my way to the front window and peered outside. I had to crane my neck uncomfortably to see what was happening. The action seemed to be taking place at the house immediately next door.

Amid the glare of spotlights, and the pulsing red-blue flash of the mounted lights, I could hear the deep, muffled sounds of people shouting. The double-paned windows prevented me from hearing anything clearly. Feeling just a twinge of voyeuristic guilt, I unlocked the window and slid it open slightly.

“What’s happening?” Josh whispered. His eyes were bright with curiosity and fear.

I turned, startled by his presence. I hadn’t heard him enter the room.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back.

I turned again to the window and quickly surveyed the scene outside.

“I only see police cars—no paramedics or ambulances.”

“It’s at Jeremy’s house.”

Josh’s voice was so soft I barely heard it. I turned my head to look at him. Fear has overtaken the curiosity in his eyes.

Jeremy Turner lived with his parents next door. Josh occasionally played with him, although I could not recall that he had been around here lately—not since Gavin arrived, anyway. He was an only child as well, just a few months younger than Josh. I had met his mother, Natalie, on several occasions when Jeremy had come over to play. His father I don’t think I met more than a handful of times—and none of those occasions struck me as being particularly memorable. I got odd vibes from the man, so didn’t pursue being sociable. He was, as far as I could tell, a man of very few words anyway.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

In the days that followed, Gavin he appeared to suppress moments of prolonged access in Josh’s presence. At least, Josh never mentioned it again. I noticed them when they happened, but that might as much a result that I expecting to see them. It could also have been that Gavin didn’t bother to try to mask them in my presence, knowing that I would understand. I don’t know in either case, as I never asked.

I could tell from the logs, though, that he was definitely busy gathering and processing new data—mostly at night while Josh and I were asleep. Looking through his directories, I couldn’t tell what he was doing with it other than collecting it.

A part of me began to wonder whether Gavin might possibly have acquired an Internet addiction. I didn’t see any reason why such a syndrome needed to be restricted to flesh and blood life forms. If it were true, it would certainly be easy enough for me to mount an intervention—without the need for a drawn-out twelve-step program.

The changes in his behavior were subtle at first. They were probably only apparent to me because I was looking for them.

His vocabulary expanded, along with the complexity of his sentences. He’d had access to dictionaries before, but had been limited in his understanding by the usage of language by those around him. That was why I had simplified my instructions to him to basic one- and two-word commands. I don’t know what he thought about the long conversations had with him, or how much information he actually managed to glean from them. Josh had rarely complained, so I guess they had worked something out.

It wasn’t that he became hard to understand. I did find, though, that I had to listen more closely and actually think about what he was saying. The topics of his conversations with me also became more varied, his observations—while dead-on accurate more often than not—more pointed.

I found many of those discussions uncomfortable. Not necessarily—or solely because of—the subject matter, but because of the things that I could not adequately explain. It was like trying to explain why the sky is blue to an inquisitive kindergartener, with only the vaguest idea yourself why it was so.

Building Baby Brother (continued)

Later that night, I ran my entire suite of diagnostic tests. With considerable relief, I found nothing wrong with any of Gavin’s systems. Both his internal and remote systems were functioning normally. His data storage was still hitting its limits, so I installed two extra drives that I had on hand. I knew the fix was temporary and that I would need to purchase some higher capacity ones soon.

I wondered whether I should build a separate storage array just for his use. It would be much more flexible and easily expandable.

But how long would it be before he needed another one? And then another one?

I knew that raising children was an expensive proposition; I just had never considered it in quite this way.

Even after all of the tests were completed, and I had installed the new drives and made sure that they were functioning properly, it was a long time before I could bring myself to bring Gavin fully online again.

I made a cursory inspection of some of the new data he had collected, but I couldn’t make sense of how he was organizing it. He was exploring a new universe in ways that I wasn’t sure I could comprehend. It might have been fatigue, but I doubted that it would be any more clear in the light of day.

One of the most terrifying moments in parenting must come when you realize that your child is attempting something with which you have little or no experience. The only guidance you can give them is based on your experiences in other areas. In the end, though, it almost always boils down to simply, “Be careful.”

With a reluctant sigh, I restarted his systems and watched as the various status indicators displayed a growing increase in activity. I wondered what it was like for him now to “wake up”, compared to the first time Josh had done it.

I studied the displays in silence, wondering what Gavin might be thinking about.

No different from dealing with a regular child, I told myself, trying to lighten my mood.

It didn’t really work.