A Byte-Sized Friend (Hackers #1)

By J. R. Rada

Chris Alten was a 13-year-old star athlete until an accident kills his father and leaves him confined to a wheelchair. His world has suddenly shrunk in size and he cannot adjust to the changes. He takes his frustration out on his mother and his friends.

Then he meets a new, mysterious friend. This friend has no name and seems to know everything about Chris. Chris's friend expands his world through the use of virtual reality and teaches Chris to reach out and make new friends. One of the new friends he makes is Ashlyn Jacobsen, a cheerleader who is anxious to prove she has more than just a surface beauty.

Chris is surprised when he and Ashlyn discover that his mysterious friend is a computer program created by his father. The program was a pioneering experiment in artificial intelligence that has grown beyond its programming since the death of Chris’s father.The program, which Chris names Harvey, now needs Chris’s and Ashlyn’s help to survive or it may be crippled in much the same way that Chris has been. Having learned the value of friendship, Chris and Ashlyn must now come to Harvey’s aid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Rada, Jr
• Release date: Dec 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370072743

J. R. Rada

J. R. Rada is the author of seven novels, a non-fiction book and a non-fiction collection. These include the historical novels Canawlers, October Mourning, Between Rail and River and The Rain Man. His other novels are Logan’s Fire, Beast and My Little Angel. His non-fiction books are Battlefield Angels: The Daughters of Charity Work as Civil War Nurses and Looking Back: True Stories of Mountain Maryland.He lives in Gettysburg, Pa., where he works as a freelance writer. Jim has received numerous awards from the Maryland-Delaware-DC Press Association, Associated Press, Maryland State Teachers Association and Community Newspapers Holdings, Inc. for his newspaper writing.If you would like to be kept up to date on new books being published by J. R. Rada or ask him questions, he can be reached by e-mail at [e-mail] see J. R. Rada's other books or to order copies on-line, go to jamesrada.com.

Book preview

A Byte-Size Friend

A Hackers Novel

by

J. R. Rada

AIM

Publishing Group

Other books by J. R. Rada

Kachina

Kuskurza

The Man Who Killed Edgar Allan Poe

Welcome to Peaceful Journey

For Sam,

the creative genius in the family.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

A BYTE-SIZE FRIEND

Published by AIM Publishing.

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

Copyright © 2014 by James Rada, Jr.

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

First Print Edition: June 2016.

ISBN 978-0692727577

Cover design by Kate Shepherd.

AIM

Publishing Group

315 Oak Lane  Gettysburg, Pennsylvania 17325

CHAPTER 1

Chris Alten’s thirteenth birthday started out with the promise of a surprise, and it ended with a surprise.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the same surprise.

As Chris rounded third base and headed for home plate, he could see his father standing in the bleachers among the other parents. His dad clapped and cheered loudly, pausing only long enough to push his glasses up off of the tip of his nose because his bouncing up and down caused the heavy lenses to slide down quicker than the drop on many roller coasters.

Behind him, Chris was vaguely aware that the outfielder had thrown Tyler McGuiness’s deep right field hit to the second baseman. The smack of the ball into the second baseman’s glove spurred Chris with an extra blast of speed to his legs. He didn’t have much time; a few seconds at best.

It would be close.

Chris concentrated on reaching home plate. The catcher stood over the plate calling for the ball. His attention darted back and forth between the second baseman and Chris who was bearing down on him like a Mack truck.

Chris pumped his legs harder. He imagined himself as a cheetah. He was the fastest animal alive. A cheetah could run at speeds up to seventy miles per hour so the few yards between third base and home plate would take only moments to cover. He ran on his toes and he imagined they only barely touched the dirt lane.

The ball flew through the air to his left. The second baseman had thrown it to the catcher. Chris thought that he could almost see it flying alongside him. He and the baseball raced to the plate to see which one would reach it first.

The catcher leaned forward, stretching out to meet the ball.

Chris kicked his feet out, and for a moment, he was airborne and flying. He was a hawk diving for its kill that cowered on the ground. Then he landed on his side and slid; dust and dirt sprayed up alongside him.

Never surrender! he yelled. It was a phrase he had picked up from a speech he had heard in his social studies class. Winston Churchill, the prime minister of Great Britain during World War II, had said it to rally England against the Nazis. Chris had adopted the phrase as his own battle cry.

Chris’s shout startled the catcher enough to throw off his concentration long enough for Chris’s foot to hit the base. The umpire standing above the catcher swung his arms out wide.

Either the crowd had been silent until that moment or Chris’s concentration broke, and he heard the people around him yelling and cheering.

He stood up and dusted himself off, coughing at the cloud of dirt he raised. It didn’t matter. Chris had just scored the tie-breaking run. It was his second run scored in the game. Now if his team could just hold onto the lead for another inning, they would win the game!

He smiled broadly and looked for his dad in the bleachers. Bryan Alten was standing and clapping.

Coach Washington slapped Chris on the back as he passed by the large man. It was only a tap, but it felt like a twenty-five-pound weight had dropped on his back.

Good job, Chris, but you took a risk stretching two bases out to three, the coach said.

Chris nodded. You never know when the next out will come, Coach, and we needed the run if we want to win.

Coach Washington fixed Chris with a hard stare. You also could have been the last out of the inning. Then where would we be?

Tied.

And they both knew that was no better off than how the team had begun the inning. Coach Washington still thought Chris shouldn’t take risks.

The coach grinned. Just don’t try and hot dog it so much that you hurt yourself, Chris. It’s just a game.

It wasn’t just a game for Chris. It was something he was great at playing. When he was on the field, it was his time to shine. He never felt more alive than when he was running, hitting, and throwing. Coach Washington didn’t see it that way, though. The coach was just another father helping out so his own son could enjoy the game.

I’ll try, Coach. It’s just the way I play.

The coach nodded. I know, and so do the teams that we play.

Chris walked over to the visitor’s bench. His team, the Clippers, was playing the best baseball team in Montgomery County, the Bombers. The winner of this regional game would go to the state tournament in Baltimore City.

As Chris sat down amid the congratulations of his teammates, his father walked over behind him and clapped him on the shoulders. It felt nowhere near as hard as Coach Washington’s slap, but then his father was nowhere near as large as the coach. He was a tall, thin man who looked like a typical computer nerd, which he was. Chris loved his father, but he hoped he didn’t inherit his father’s build.

That was great, Chris. Just great! I wish your mother could have seen it, his father said.

His mother was working against a deadline so she had had to stay home to work. If you could call it work. She reviewed new computer games and software for a variety of different computer magazines. His mother had the kind of job that Chris wanted to do when he grew up.

That is, if he wasn’t able to play professional baseball or basketball.

Thanks, Dad, Chris said. Do you think we’ll win?

I think the chances are good now that you’re in the lead, and I would certainly never bet against a team that you were playing on, his father said.

Chris smiled at the compliment. His dad always seemed to know the right thing to say.

His father worked with computers, but Chris wasn’t exactly sure what his father did with them. His work was all very hush-hush. He was some sort of computer consultant with the government and that was about as much as Chris had figured out.

When Chris was younger, he had thought his father was a James-Bond-type spy because of all the secrecy involved in his work. Chris had asked his father about it one time. His father had laughed and said, Your mother would skin me alive if she caught me with a Bond girl.

Now that Chris thought about it, his father really hadn’t answered the question about being a spy, had he?

His father certainly looked nothing like James Bond. He looked more like a basketball player with glasses. His father wasn’t athletic, though, unless you considered fishing a sport.

His mother could pass for a Bond girl, though. Chris thought she was as pretty as any movie actress with her long, blond hair and big, blue eyes. She was also a smart woman who liked to rollerblade and swim. She usually did those things with Chris while his father would watch them, smiling and cheering at their tricks.

So do you think you’ll get to bat again? his father asked.

Chris shrugged. Probably not.

His father patted him on the shoulder. Well, at least you’ve done your part. Maybe we’ll stop off on the way home.

For what?

To celebrate the team’s win with ice cream and I’ve got a surprise to show you for your birthday when we get home.

What surprise?

He wondered if his father had gotten him tickets to see the Baltimore Orioles playing a home game. Maybe he had gotten Chris one of the new computer games that his mother had reviewed. No, that would be something that his mother would get him. She had let Chris try some of them out to get a kid’s opinion about how fun the games were. Some of them had been a lot of fun. He especially liked the ones that were part of a multi-player world where he could work with other players to beat the challenges that popped up.

His father chuckled. If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see, his father said.

On the field, Jeff Honeycutt got tossed out at first base and Chris had to take his position on the field as shortstop. His father waved to him and headed back to his seat in the bleachers.

Good luck, his father called.

Chris snatched up his glove and ran onto the field. He was so excited about his father’s promise of a surprise that he had trouble concentrating on the game. A line drive hit right at him by the second Bomber batter almost knocked him flat on his backside. He managed to catch it by instinct only, but he wasn’t able to keep the runner at first base from getting to second. Luckily, the third batter hit into a double play that ended the game.

Amid all of the cheering and waving parents, Chris saw his father. Bryan Alten wasn’t waving or jumping up and down like everyone else, but he was standing and smiling broadly. Chris could tell that his father was proud of him, and that made winning the game worth it.

As they walked to the car, his father put his arm around Chris’s shoulders and said, I guess you gave yourself the best birthday present by winning that game. You probably don’t want to see my surprise.

Chris’s eyes widened. Are you kidding? It was great to win, but it’s no birthday present. What did you get me? Chris asked excitedly.

His father grinned. I told you you’d find out when we get home. I don’t think we’re there yet.

Chris rolled his eyes. You’re not going to make me wait until we get home, are you? That’s forty-five minutes away!

Waiting’s the best part of the surprise. His father chuckled to himself.

They climbed into his father’s compact car. It wasn’t a flashy sports car like James Bond’s Aston Martin, but with the high cost of gasoline and all of the miles that his father traveled between Frederick and Washington D.C., he preferred driving a car that got a lot of miles per gallon. So much for his father being a spy. James Bond would never have driven a Honda Civic…unless, of course, it could turn into a mini-sub or shoot bullets out of hidden machine guns. It also couldn’t change into a giant robot like Bumblebee in the Transformer movies.

While his father drove south on Connecticut Avenue to the Washington Beltway, Chris turned the radio on to find a good music station. It wasn’t easy. All of the radio presets were tuned to talk radio stations.

Don’t you like music? Chris griped.

I love it, but it’s a long drive when I have to come into Washington to work and music gets old after awhile, his father replied.

I would think a lot of people complaining and yelling would, too.

Chris found a station he liked and settled back into the seat. He took off his cleats and propped his feet up on the dash.

Ugh, his father said.

What? Chris asked.

His father waved a hand in front of his face. I think the stink is going to make me pass out.

Ha ha, Chris said sarcastically.

They merged onto the interstate and headed north toward Frederick.

Chris tried to imagine what his father’s birthday present for him was. He hoped it wasn’t a surprise party with a cake and streamers hanging from the ceiling. He was thirteen years old now. He was too old for such a kid thing.

What’s he doing? Chris’s father said.

Chris looked over at his father and saw immediately what his father meant. A large tractor-trailer was crossing out of its lane. His father moved into the furthest right lane as the truck moved into the lane where their car had been.

He acted like he didn’t even see us, Chris said.

He’s careless.

His father slowed down, but then the truck slowed down to stay even with them. After a few miles, Chris’s father sped up again to try and get ahead of the truck. Surprisingly, the tractor-trailer sped up to keep pace with them.

Are you buckled in? his father asked.

Chris tugged on the shoulder strap of his seatbelt. Yes, Chris answered, noted the seriousness of his father’s tone. What’s wrong?

The truck driver is going to play games.

Can we take another way home?

His father’s grip tightened on the steering wheel and his knuckles turned white. The next exit’s a couple miles ahead. I’m going to pull over as soon as we get past this bridge. Hopefully, he’ll leave us alone if we stop.

As they neared the bridge, the truck suddenly swerved hard into the front end of their car. Metal squealed and sparks flew up between the car and the truck. Chris’s father instinctively swerved the car away from the tractor-trailer.

Chris yelled as the small car went off the road. The wheels on the driver’s side hit the guard rail at the side of the road and the car popped up on two wheels, but kept moving forward. For a moment, Chris thought the car would drop back down on all its wheels. It didn’t. It rolled over once and rocked back and forth on the roof. Then it began rolling over and over down the hill.

Chris yelled as he was bounced around within his seatbelt. He alternately felt the seatbelt cut into his chest or the headrest smack him in the back of the head. The world spun in front of him with flashes of sky above ground and the both of them beside each other and then ground above sky.

Chris wasn’t sure what was happening. He saw his father’s head slam into the steering wheel so hard that the wheel cracked.

The car finally came to a rest on its roof. Chris hung from his seatbelt. His body ached, but he wasn’t sure if he had broken any bones or was just badly banged up. He looked over at his father. He was unconscious. Blood was dripping from a cut on his forehead.

Dad?

Beyond his father, Chris saw another large-tractor trailer coming right at them. This one slammed on its brakes. Chris could see smoke coming from the front tires and hear the screech of the brakes. The front of the truck filled the window.

Chris screamed.

Chris woke up in a bed and wondered for a moment if the accident had all been a bad dream. Then he opened his eyes and saw that he was in a hospital room. The walls were white and the only thing he seemed to be able to smell was antiseptic. He could hear a machine beeping somewhere behind him. He saw the metal railings on the side of the bed and the curtain that could be pulled around the bed to give a patient privacy.

The first thing he thought was: It really happened.

He looked to the side and saw his mother. She was slumped sideways in the chair next to the