The previous day had been a blast for Malcolm: not only he had convinced Kilokahn to grant him superpowers, but he had started to learn how Kilokahn could break the laws of physics, as well as why Kilokahn existed in the first place. He had discovered that fantastic technological achievements had been kept secret, probably to create a new world order, and that his father was part of it all. And finally, his actions in the digital domain had actually nudged the world into a completely new direction which, he hoped, would kickstart a runaway process where logic is embraced and superstition is eschewed.
Reading in a web site about how insurrectionists in Mecca had gone as far as to set up explosives and blow up the Kaaba to the cry of La Allah - There Is No God - felt surreal. On one hand, it had opened the possibility that the Arabs would relearn how to properly practice science and become again the scientific force his History teacher had described. On the other hand, he knew that everything had only happened thanks to him, which made him feel powerful enough to accomplish anything.
That morning, however, one look at Yoli as they entered the computer lab was enough to change his mind. It seemed that there was, indeed, something he could not do.
Oh yes, they would talk... about whatever topic Mrs. Stone would introduce. Then the class would end, and nothing in their relation, or lack thereof, would ever really change, even though it was Yoli who had originally told him she liked him. But how could he cause such a change?
Malcolm compared his interactions with Yoli to his interactions with Elizabeth. The latter would work, but only because all social behaviors that came spontaneously to him were childlike, and Elizabeth was a little girl. With Yoli, and his peers in general, Malcolm knew he needed to "stop being childish", which to him, translated to "stop every attempt at spontaneous social interaction".
Was that the reason? Maybe he needed to unlearn that part of his behavior. Behave with Yoli as he would with Elizabeth, and not care if that irritated someone... including Yoli herself.
As soon as he approached Yoli, he heard Mrs. Stone's voice. "All right, sit down and switch on the computers."
"Damn it! Not enough time!" he thought. But then, doubt assailed him: "Or maybe this is just an excuse, and the truth is... no, there really wasn't enough time."
The topic of the day was the difference between a procedure and a function: a completely artificial distinction that would only ever be useful in real life if someone, for some reason (gluttony for punishment?), decided to choose Pascal, as opposed to any other language, to write a program.
Even Yoli had realized how nonsensical it was, and she spoke up as soon as Mrs. Stone introduced the exercise of the day. "Why does Pascal discriminate between the two? They look pretty similar to me."
As expected, the teacher parroted the textbook: "A function returns a parameter, a procedure doesn't."
Yoli felt confused, her question not really answered.
Malcolm turned toward Yoli. "Don't feel bad" he said. "You're not stupid, Pascal is. You want to know the reason for the distinction: the answer is that there isn't one. You should just memorize this notion long enough to get a good grade, and keep in mind that no other language has it."
Malcolm guided Yoli throughout the exercise, and when the teacher told the students to copy what they had done into their shared directories, he took a big breath and spoke his mind to Yoli.
"Listen" he said, "I can help you with this. There are languages that can teach you to code, without mixing fundamental concepts with idiosyncrasies. If you still want a study date with me, why don't you come to my house? I could show you so much."
Yoli smiled at him. "I thought you'd never ask" she said. "These days I'm pretty busy with the student council: I must organize the charity gift-giving event, which will be on December 18. So, in the afternoon of December 18, I'll be completely free."
Malcolm went wide-eyed. "Do you mean you accept?"
"Yes."
When the class was over, and the students left the lab, Yoli approached Malcolm again. "What made you decide to ask me?" she said.
"These days I've been... reflecting" replied Malcolm. "I can do things with my computer everyone else here can only dream about. Yesterday I've created a program that is, beyond any doubt, my greatest achievement. A masterpiece, a work of art. But then I thought: if I can do all that, why can't I do something as simple as asking a girl to study with me?"
"And the answer is...?"
"The answer is that the question is wrong! Nothing was ever preventing me from doing it, but myself. I was so convinced I couldn't do it, I never even tried! If someone, a year ago, had told me I would have the guts to ask a girl for a study date, I would've laughed at him and called him an idiot. But yesterday it occurred to me, I would've done the same, had they told me my latest program would actually work! So if that was possible, then this is too!"
"What does that program do?" asked Yoli. "Give self-confidence?"
Now it was Malcolm's turn to make a knowing smile. "Well... it certainly has empowered me."
"I like it" concluded Yoli.
During the following days, Malcolm found himself thinking about Yoli more often than usual, even when not at school. He used to think about those moments as moderately enjoyable, until one day, while writing a program, he started to imagine various possible outcomes of Yoli's promise, including some he might not want.
In reaction, his smile turned into a snarl. He clenched his fists, inhaled deeply, tensed his arms and yelled "STOP!" while slamming his fists on his armrests.
"It might not go the way I wish" he said. He repeated it, and his tension eased somewhat.
"No need to despair, but I must keep hope under control" he added.
He finished the routine he was writing, saved it and quit the text editor.
At school, Malcolm's dialogues with Yoli were still mostly limited to helping her with technical subjects, noticing how well she responded to a practical method like his own.
Only once, he approached Yoli during a break and asked: "So, uhm... what will this gift-giving event be like?"
Yoli answered enthusiastically: "Oh, we printed flyers that we distributed to the students, and posters that we hung in the atrium. Now we're placing decorations and sending lots of emails. If you want to participate, you'll need to get something you would like a child to have, wrap it and deposit it into one of the bins we'll place around the cafeteria. Are you interested?"
"In your description, yes" Malcolm replied. "In participating, no. I have nothing a child would like, unless they are extremely gifted."
Yoli smiled. "Like you?"
Malcolm nodded and smiled as welll. "Like me. Also, as modest as me."
Yoli laughed.
On December 18, the day of the charity event, the atrium and cafeteria in the school were all decorated with ornaments and lights.
One of the classes was a theoretical lecture about artificial intelligence given by Mrs. Stone, set up to emphasize its apparent lack of progress, compared to other fields of information technology like data transmission and graphical visualization. Several times, Malcolm had raised his hand to voice his opinion, but Mrs. Stone just ignored him.
The teacher concluded her speech with a sentence she probably found majestic and authoritative, but which, to Malcolm, sounded presumptuous, pompous and ignorant : "So this is why there has never been, and there will never be, any progress in artificial intelligence: because there's no point to it!"
That was too much. Malcolm stood up and said: "Excuse me!"
"No toilet breaks before the class is over!" Mrs. Stone dismissed him.
Malcolm insisted. "No, this is not about a toilet break. It's just that what you said about AI being pointless... is not exactly true."
"Explain."
"Facial and speech recognition in mobile devices use AI. Forensic science uses AI to identify suspects. Non-player characters in video games use AI to move believably."
Mrs. Stone attempted to interrupt Malcolm and say that was not what she was talking about, but he continued: "And the whole reason I moved to North Valley is that my father was hired by the Navy to develop an AI at the China Lake base."
"That's great to hear" said the teacher, "Would you care to ask him to come here? I'd like to have a word with him."
"I can do better" answered Malcolm. "He'll come home for the holidays, so I'll ask him to talk to Principal Pratchert. They could organize a conference on the practical applications of artificial intelligence!"
"What do you mean, he'll come home for the holidays?"
"His project is classified, so he lives at the base 24/7."
"Then, I need to talk to your mother."
"Not possible. She's dead."
Professor Stone found herself at a loss for words. Taking advantage of it, Malcolm continued: "And I was only trying to help. I genuinely believe it would benefit the class to hear an actual AI expert talk about his field of research, so I'm asking you not to dismiss every word I say as 'Malcolm Frink's discipline problem'."
"Yes, well... we'll talk about it one day or another" concluded the teacher.
The school day ended early, to let the organizers of the charity event prepare themselves. Malcolm, instead, took the opportunity to go to the principal's office and ask him a question.
"What is it, Frink?" asked the principal.
"Mister Pratchert" said Malcolm, "I need to know if you did anything about... what we discussed last time."
"Come in" said the principal.
As Malcolm approached him, the principal explained: "I know you have been a victim of bullying. Placing you in a position of authority over students your age or older would expose you to the same risk again, so your requests to become a laboratory assistant or a recovery course teacher have been declined."
Malcolm sighed, turned around and walked toward the exit. "I knew it. Thank you for not ignoring me, anyway."
"Wait!" said the principal. "I still haven't told you the good news!"
Malcolm stopped and turned back. "What would they be?" he asked. "That I can still attend Professor Stone's classes, together with all my... friends?" He emphasized the last word, to make the sarcasm obvious.
The principal shook his head. "Of course not, this isn't a Winnie the Pooh cartoon. I've examined your IT grades, and they've always been excellent, so Mrs. Stone and I have started writing the specifications for a project that will take you the rest of the school year to complete. You will work on it during the IT classes, and Mrs. Stone will evaluate your progress regularly. The specifications should be ready by next January."
"Well, that's certainly unexpected" Malcolm started. "But it's great to hear. Thank you, mister Pratchert."
After Malcolm had left, the principal got out of his office and reached the cafeteria, where the charity event had begun.
Four empty metal barrels had been taken into the cafeteria and sprayed with gold paint and fake snow. Next to each was a sign that read: "PRESENTS FOR POOR CHILDREN". Each barrel was tended by two girls dressed as elves, among whom was Yoli.
The students started bringing in the presents they had prepared. Principal Pratchert, reaching the middle of the room, smiled at them and wished merry Christmas to all of them.
Mrs. Starkey was there as well, dressed as Santa Claus. She was lazily reading a copy of Vanity Fair, exclaiming "Ho!" every time she turned a page.
Princpial Pratchert noticed it and approached her. "Excuse me, isn't Santa's laugh supposed to be 'Ho ho ho'?"
Mrs. Starkey showed him the magazine. "Who's laughing? I'm calling these models for what they really are!"
Out of a corridor came Malcolm's classmate Daniel Miller, holding a tennnis racket that was wrapped very tightly, making it obvious what it was. Before he could place it into a bin, the principal approached him with a wide smile and exclaimed: "Merry Christmas, Miller! What did you bring this year?"
Daniel smiled as well, and replied: "As you can tell from the shape, it's obviously a remote-controlled car!"
"Oh, I like your spirit" the principal laughed. "Always happy and witty. Why don't you sing us a Christmas carol? We need some of your exuberance!"
Daniel made a mischievous grin and started singing a lively melody:
It's Christmas at ground zero, the button has been pressed
The radio just let us know that this is not a test
Everywhere the atom bombs are dropping
It's the end of all humanity...
"Oh, okay" the principal interrupted him. "That's enough singing. Merry Christmas everyone!"
When Malcolm reached the cafeteria, he froze as soon as he saw Yoli dressed as an elf. "Oh no, not you too!" he exclaimed.
Yoli turned toward him. "Not me... what?" she asked.
Malcolm approached her and whispered: "Yoli, you're intelligent! I understand this is for a good cause, but how can you possibly contribute to the greatest lie ever told?"
"Christmas is not a lie!" she whispered back.
"You are making children believe that a Turkish bishop, whose corpse was dismembered and partially moved to Italy, is actually an immortal, white-bearded fat man, clad in red, who lives at the North Pole with elves and flying reindeer, sees whatever you do and delivers presents to all 'nice' kids in the world in one night."
Yoli slumped her shoulders. "Oh, come on. What's wrong with a little Christmas magic?"
"Tell me, Yoli" answered Malcolm, "what's more magical for a child? Believing that all their presents come from a stranger who sees them when they're sleeping, like a pedophile, and breaks into their house once a year, like a burglar? Or rather, believing that all their presents come from the people who love them the most? Real people they can count on, who will be always there for them? Nobody is making them believe that Snow White, or Cinderella, or Little Red Riding Hood are real, and they still enjoy fairy tales. Why is this different?"
Yoli sighed. "Malcolm, did you ever believe in Santa?"
"I... eh, I used to." said Malcolm, a little embarrassed. "But when I was seven, I performed an experiment that falsified the Santa Claus hypothesis."
Yoli widened her eyes. "What did you do?"
"Up to that year" Malcolm explained, "I would write a letter to Santa Claus. My father used to let me mail it. But that year I decided that I would never talk about one of the presents I wanted, and I would write two letters. I kept one in my drawer, open and unsealed so my father could read it. I wrote the other at the last moment, and only there I mentioned the secret present. I mailed that one and destroyed the other. Receiving the secret present would prove the existence of Santa Claus, but I never received it, which proved instead that Santa Claus does not exist, and the letter was a red herring."
"So you were willing to give up a present you wanted for... what?" asked Yoli, confused.
"A better insight into reality." replied Malcolm. "An invaluable net gain."
"But... but..." was all Yoli could say, that kind of reasoning being completely unfamiliar to her.
"Did my behavior surprise you?" Malcolm said. Yoli just nodded, so Malcolm added: "Because you're still not used to a constant application of rationalism. I hope I can teach you more... this afternoon."