“It’s not a superior attitude,” Astrid teased back. “It’s actual superiority.”
“So, what’s the crazy suggestion?”
“Negotiate.”
“What?”
“They’re too smart to be worms. They’re predatory and they shouldn’t be. They’re territorial and they couldn’t possibly be. They move and act as one, at least some of the time, and there’s no way. They were looking at you, but they don’t have eyes. I have no proof, obviously, but I have a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“I don’t think they’re zekes. I think they’re Zeke.”
“Talk to the superworm?” Sam said. He shook his head and looked down at the ground. “No offense, but the SUV tractor thing is why you’re the smartest person in the FAYZ. The other part? That’s why even though you’re smart, you’re not the one in charge.”
Astrid resisted the urge to say something cutting in response to his condescension. “You need to keep your mind open, Sam.”
“Negotiate with a killer worm brain? I don’t think so, babe. I think maybe your brain is overheating. I have to go.”
He tried to kiss her, but she dodged it. “Good night. Let’s hope Petey doesn’t have any interesting nightmares tonight, huh? Oh wait, nothing to worry about there, it’s probably just my overheated brain.”
•••
Computer Jack clicked through a dizzying number of windows at an amazing speed. The mouse cursor flew across the virtual page, opening, closing, pushing aside.
It wouldn’t work.
It could work. Maybe. But not without more gear. A serious server. A serious router.
He’d found one server with nowhere near the capacity he wanted. It was old, not exactly state-of-the art, but it was functional. And there were certainly enough PCs and Macs in town that could be strung together, and enough for everyone to have his own ’puter, with plenty of spares that could be cannibalized for parts.
But he did not have a serious router. A router was the difference between a true internet and just being able to share a computer between several people.
A large-capacity router. That was the Holy Grail.
Jack could see a day when all of Perdido Beach had WiFi. Then kids would start blogs, and they’d start databases, and post pictures, and maybe he would set up some version of MySpace or Facebook, a social networking site. And maybe a YouTube, and maybe even a Wiki. WikiFAYZ.
It could be done. But not without more and better gear.
He pushed back from his desk. Which turned out to be a mistake. The chair, and him in it, went flying, slid, caught on a dropped sweater, tipped over, and luckily twisted sideways just before his head would have slammed into a closed door.
He was still getting used to his strength. So far it had been of no practical use to him. In fact, it was more dangerous than helpful.
Jack picked himself up and righted the chair.
There was a knock at the door. At least, maybe it was a knock. It sounded more like a woodpecker.
“Who is it?”
“The Breeze.”
“What?”
“Brianna.”
Jack opened the door and there she was. She was wearing a dress. It was blue and short and had thin straps. He blurted the first thing that popped into his head. “How can you run in that?”
“What?”
“Um—”
“I can run—”
“I didn’t—”
“No biggie—”
“I need a router,” he said.
That put an end to the confusing cross-talk.
“A what? A router?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “I can’t, uh, you know, make it all work without a serious router.”
Brianna considered that for a moment, then, “Do I look stupid in this dress?”
“No. You don’t look stupid.”
“Thanks,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “I’m so glad to know I don’t look stupid.”
“Okay,” he said, and felt stupid himself.
“Well, I was just going to the club. I have some batteries. That’s all.”
“Oh. Good.”
“And?”
Jack shrugged, mystified. “And . . . so . . . have fun?”
Brianna stared at him for a very long five seconds without looking away. And then she was a blur. Gone.
He closed the door and went back to the computer he was using to run an analysis of the antique server.
About five minutes later he began to wonder if he had missed something in his brief conversation with Brianna.
Why had she come by?
Even six months ago Jack never thought about girls. Now they tended to show up more and more often in his thoughts. Not to mention some very embarrassing dreams.
In the good old days he might have Googled up an explanation. Not now. His parents had never really talked to him about puberty, about the fact that as his body changed, so did his thoughts. He knew enough to know things were changing for him, but he didn’t know whether or not it was something he could stop.
He needed a router.
Or he needed to find Brianna and . . . and talk to her. Maybe about the router.
An idea hit him with such force, he felt as if it had stopped his heart for a second: Had Brianna been asking him to go with her to the club? Where people danced?
No. That was crazy. She wouldn’t have come to ask him to go to a dance. Would she?
No.