Double Digit Read online

  “I’m not worthy. But I like your T-shirt.”

  “We’ve all got them. Even Scott’s giving the black turtleneck a rest. We had three thousand of them made, and everyone on campus is wearing them. There’s a Free Digit Facebook group and #freedigit has been trending on Twitter for days.” I looked around and saw it: Everyone was wearing that T-shirt. FREE DIGIT was everywhere.

  I looked at Bass to see if this was a joke. He shrugged I told you so back to me and said, “Listen, everybody is pretty caught up in all this. If you want my advice, I say let’s call a meeting in the common room and you can tell the story and answer questions all at once. Otherwise you’re going to be repeating yourself for the next two weeks. We’ll set a time limit.”

  I wanted to say: I feel like you are the only person in the world who knows how I feel right now. Instead I said, “Thank you,” to his shoes.

  I made it up to my room and had a text from Danny.

  The T-shirts are classic. They let me bring ten home.

  The big debriefing had to be moved from my dorm to the Engineering Department’s auditorium because the crowd was going to be so big. I’ll spare you the recap of the recap of the story of my recent life, but I pretty much started at the beginning with the code on the bottom of my TV screen back in the spring. I was relieved that people were a lot more interested in the way the cipher text code worked and how Jonas Furnis managed to run so much equipment completely off the grid than they were about my personal experiences underground.

  And of course they wanted to know how I hacked into the DOD. I’d become a hero to the hacking community, simultaneously showing how flawed the system is and how smart hackers are. There was a lull in Digit-love when I failed to explain how I got into the DOD. It wasn’t like I really blacked out when I did it, but maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to offer a tutorial.

  When the one-hour discussion was over, ninety minutes had passed. I was exhausted and hungry and a little overwhelmed. Tiki led me by the hand out the back door of the auditorium and leaned against the closed door as if to keep a wild mob from chasing us. “Those people are obsessed!”

  We ran back to our room, laughing with relief, and ordered a pizza. Tiki caught me up on everything non-Digit-related that had been happening on campus. She’d changed her major and then changed it back again. Howard had been dumped by the brunette, and Tiki had sworn off beer and men—though she was interested in a guy in her studio art class who kind of reminded her of Howard. These sorts of problems washed over me like water in a warm bath. Normal people, normal problems.

  At bedtime, when I went to set the alarm on my phone, I saw:

  John Bennett 8 Missed Calls. John Bennett 4 Voice Mail Messages. John Bennett 1 Text:

  I just need to know that you’re okay.

  I texted back:

  I’m fine. Wait. Am I allowed to call you?

  Why not?

  Waiting?

  We can talk when we need to.

  Must be fun to make all the rules.

  My phone rang. “I know I seem a little obsessed, but you always pick up your phone. I just wanted to know that you made it back.”

  “We had a big meeting here so I could debrief everyone about what’s happened, mainly to save me the pain of telling the story a hundred times.”

  “That was a great idea.”

  “Yeah, Bass thought of it. People are a little over the top about this—I’m like the hacker’s messiah. Plus now it’s out about what happened in the spring and everything.”

  “The RA?”

  “What?”

  “Bass. Is that the RA I met when I was there?”

  “Yes. So what happened at work?”

  “It’s hard to say. I was in meetings all day, answering a lot of questions. They reminded me repeatedly that I don’t work for the CIA. They reminded me that it’s not in my best interest to be the guy at the FBI with a convicted felon for a girlfriend. I told them that my personal life has no impact on my ability to perform as an agent. Not even I believe that. They reminded me that I left to go deal with my personal life in an FBI vehicle and did not return for a week. I sorta walked into that one.” He laughed at the hopelessness of the whole thing.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, I know. Stop saying it.”

  “So am I going to see you before I go into lockdown?”

  “Of course. I’m working on a couple of things that may take me to D.C. this week. But I’ll be at the trial. Listen, the waiting is on, but I’m not completely out of your life.”

  DON’T RUB THE LAMP UNLESS YOU’RE READY FOR THE GENIE

  BESIDES THE FEELING OF IMPENDING DOOM, the next week was my best week at MIT yet. I was so happy to be back in class and even happier to have tons of work to make up. I felt like I was binging on my class work. The weather had turned colder, and people were wearing their FREE DIGIT T-shirts over their hoodies. It’s crazy what you can get used to.

  When I got back from class on Wednesday, Tiki hopped off her bed and pulled a huge flat box out of her closet. “This came for you. It’s from California.”

  I opened the box to find a framed Adam Ranks print. There was no note, but the design was unmistakable. It was a large oak tree, deliberately symmetrical, with a 3-D overlay of a gold peace sign. It was the most tranquil piece of art I had ever seen. In the left corner it was signed Adam Ranks 1/1, meaning this was the first of a set of only one that would be printed. In the right corner was the title: Peace for Digit.

  I just stared at it. I couldn’t believe that it was mine, for me.

  “We’ve got to hang it right now! I’m going to go see if your boyfriend has a hammer and a nail. Are we allowed to do that?”

  “Call him my boyfriend? No.”

  “Put nails in the walls. And there is something up with you two. He never wants to walk that dog with me.”

  “That’s because you don’t care about nanoscience . . .” I called after her as she left.

  We hung the print so that I was looking directly at it as I lay in bed. Peace for Digit. It was a long time coming.

  But probably the high point of my week was on Thursday morning when Bass arranged for a redo of my missed meeting with Professor Halsey. The meeting was a five-minute walk from our dorm and was scheduled for eight a.m. At seven fifteen I was knocking on Bass’s door. “Are you ready?”

  “Are you kidding?” He opened the door in pajama bottoms and, well, that’s all. Mercifully, Buddy leaped up at me and gave me someplace else to put my eyes.

  “Yeah, it’s a little early, but we should get going soon,” I said to the dog. “I’ve been up awhile and thought maybe we could grab a little coffee first?”

  “Fine. Could you maybe wait in the hall so I can get dressed?”

  Buddy followed me out and we paced the hall together. Bass came out in jeans and a T-shirt that said DIG IT.

  “Get it?”

  “What?”

  “I had my own made up. I’m all for solidarity, but I’m not exactly the kind of guy who wants to wear the same T-shirt as everyone else on campus.” He walked down the hall to the bathroom, and I got it. Dig it. Digit.

  Bass was still waking up when we sat down for coffee, and I started firing questions at him. “Is he still considering me for the job? Has he read anything I’ve sent him? Is he up to speed on everything that’s happened? If he wants me, will he wait till I get out of jail, if I go to jail?”

  He sat massaging his forehead as I spoke. “You are too intense for before eight o’clock.”

  “Sorry. How about you talk?”

  “Okay, he knows everything that’s happened. From the news and what I’ve told him. Like the whole administration, he’s completely behind you. He wants you to return after you’ve . . . whatever you do. And he might hire you. He’s worried you’re a bit impulsive, a loose cannon.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “So he just wants to get to know you. My advice—calm down.” We sipped our coffee in
silence. Bass looked up over his mug. “And it’s hilarious what you’ve done with your hair.”

  “What?” I put my hand up to touch my freshly blown-out hair. I’d woken up with a little nervous energy; what else was I going to do?

  “You didn’t do that the night your boyfriend came to visit. But you did it for old Professor Halsey?”

  “Again, I’m not normal.”

  My meeting with Halsey started with a bit of a scolding. It felt totally appropriate. The three of us sat around a small table in his office. A fire was lit in the corner, like he’d been there for hours.

  “Miss Higgins, may I remind you what nanoscience is all about? We strive to alter something at the smallest level to create change in a larger organism, structure, or process. You are one person, maybe not even a hundred and ten pounds, and every minute you are faced with choices that shape the larger structure of your character and your life. Everyone does. But for you, with your abilities, the choices that you make for yourself are going to impact the larger organism more quickly than mine or Sebastian’s or anyone’s. I need to know that you fully appreciate that.”

  “I do.”

  “You were used as a weapon. If I hire you, after your incarceration, you will have to be more prudent in your decision making.”

  “If she’s incarcerated, sir. We still have a trial to get through.”

  “Son, she’s going to jail. She broke the law and humiliated the Defense Department. This has turned into the United States versus the students of this university. The government will win. But when you are released, I will hire you. Sebastian can take you through some of our current research before then if you’d like, and you can start in earnest upon your return.” He stood up to indicate that we were done and added, “And the pay’s terrible. Be warned.”

  “That’s why I have four other jobs, sir.” Bass led me out into the cool morning. I buttoned up my jacket and strapped on my backpack and turned to look back into the office where Halsey was sitting at his desk.

  I gave Bass a little shove and then a really big hug. “Can you believe this?! I’m hired! I mean, after jail or whatever, but I’m hired. By him.”

  Bass was smiling, eyes mostly. “Congratulations.”

  “When can we start? He said you could tell me stuff. Can you? When? Do you have class right now?”

  “I need to walk Buddy. Come with me.” We went back to the dorm to get Buddy and warmer jackets. We walked for about a half hour and then sat and looked at the Charles River for an hour. Buddy ran around with the other dogs, and I learned a thing or two about the practical applications of nanotechnology. Namely (are you sitting down?): Scientists are using silver nanoclusters as catalysts to reduce the pollution generated from manufacturing plastics, paint, and detergents. Nanowires are being developed for use in solar panels that generate more electricity at a lower cost. They’re making an epoxy that contains carbon nanotubes to make stronger and lighter windmill blades. There are iron nanoparticles that can clean up pollution in our groundwater. And, hello, there’s a nanotechnology that lets scientists capture carbon dioxide in the exhaust stacks of power plants before it’s released into the air.

  “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

  “Yeah. It’s very cool.”

  “But does everything you’re working on have to do with the environment? I never knew that he specialized like that.”

  “No, he works on lots of different applications. Some of that isn’t even our research. I just thought you’d be interested in that part since, well, what you just went through. And your interest in trees.”

  “Thanks.” We stared at the water for a while. I loved being in a place where my mind was occupied enough so that I didn’t have to babble. “You know what’s kind of sad? There’s one person I’d like to be able to talk to about all this.”

  “The boyfriend?”

  “Jonas Furnis.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Half of what he says makes so much sense that you almost want to run off and join his merry band of thugs. He crosses the line into murderous violence because he’s crazy but also because he thinks it’s all so hopeless. I wonder what he’d think if he knew there was this kind of hope.”

  “Maybe that’s your next step. Getting it out there.”

  “That’s what I’ve always dreamed of doing. Taking the stuff that’s in my head and then applying it to real problems and delivering it to the world in a way that helps. It seems so simple. Like I’ve always imagined a conversation with the president about all this. And this was even before I got here and before I understood what a difference science can make to our survival. Like the butterflies. The president should know about the butterflies made of tiny solar panels on Jonas Furnis’s roof. They were beautiful—people would pay for that. There should be an infestation of butterflies on top of the White House. People should know about this stuff, not just hippies and activists. It should start at the top. I became immediately aware of the urgent pitch of my voice. It sounded like begging, and I knew I’d gone too deep. People don’t need to hear about your wildest dreams. I’m sure Bass was waiting for me to tell him I also wanted to be a ballerina. “Or not. I mean, it would just be cool to talk to the president.”

  “I bet you ten bucks that conversation with the president is going to happen.”

  “I’ll take your ten bucks. I’m just not up for going after it anymore. You know how after an adrenaline rush, you just get kind of sleepy? I’ve been on an adrenaline rush for half a year. I’m really sleepy. Maybe that’s why I like it here so much: I can read and think, but I don’t have to be part of the bigger world.”

  “I get that. You deserve to hunker down a little. But eventually you are going to have to move your ideas out into the world. And meet people with influence to make change happen. Professor Halsey can’t change the world from behind his desk. We’re going to have to get out there. At least I am.”

  That sort of felt like a dare. “Don’t make me feel bad if I decide not to be Wonder Woman. I can be a perfectly productive member of society staying right on this campus forever, thinking about stuff. I’ll get a dog to walk.”

  “Sure. If that’s what you want to do. But don’t think there’s something noble about it. Being small doesn’t make more room for other people.”

  “You’re smart.”

  “Everyone here is, remember? And at some point you have to decide if you’re a thinker or a doer, or both.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like running . . . you can think about running, you can read about it, but . . .”

  “I’m not a runner. New example, please.”

  “Okay, kissing.”

  “Haven’t been doing much of that lately either.”

  “Let’s say I wanted to kiss you right now.”

  My hands flew up to protect my face. I was suddenly so embarrassed, and that crazy red heat was all over my cheeks.

  “I’m not going to. Would you get over yourself, Digit?”

  “Okay. Sorry.” I replaced my hands in my pockets where they belonged.

  “I could think about kissing you all day. I could even talk about it with my friends and watch great first kisses in a hundred movies. But at some point I’m going to have to just bust out and do it. That’s using a totally different part of yourself.”

  “Your lips?”

  “Your courage.”

  We walked back to the dorm in complete silence. I was starting to see the possibility of me coming out of college as two different people: one who read research and maybe wrote research and had a normal boyfriend who liked to share popcorn at the movies on Friday nights, and one who used what she had and what she’d learned to create something.

  When we got back to the dorm, he asked me, “Walk tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Seven fifteen? We can bring our coffee.”

  “Just let me sleep till eight. I’ll come get you.”

  TAKE MY ADVICE–I’M NOT USING IT
r />   THE NEXT TEN DAYS PASSED IN much the same way. I caught up with my schoolwork and became an avid dog walker. Even in the rain. (Who knew you still have to walk a dog when it rains?) The leaves covered the park and made the pathways slippery as we walked. Once a week they were blown into huge piles by crews of maintenance guys. By the next day, the wind had scattered them back around, where they were meant to be. Mother Earth is a living organism, I thought. And she’ll have her own way.

  I usually came away from these walks with more questions than answers, so Halsey let me stop by in the afternoons to talk. He seemed to understand that I was a person who needed to be contained, so he set a timer for fifteen minutes every time I set foot in his office.

  On the Saturday before the Monday when my trial was scheduled to begin, Bass and I were on our regular nano-walk.

  “You scared?”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “I bet. Maybe we should get everybody together and go out for dinner tonight. Like to celebrate? That’s probably not the right word.”

  “Everybody?”

  “Just Tiki and the hackers.” It was starting to sound like a garage band. “There’s a pretty good bistro in town. They said they’d give us the booth in the corner that they usually reserve for people having political meetings or affairs.”

  “How do you even know that? Are you into politics or old ladies?”

  “I work there on Thursday nights.”

  “Honestly, how many jobs do you have?” I was trying to remember all of them: RA, research assistant, band member, now waiter?