Mad Professor Read Free Page A

all night.
    Much as I hated it, I was prepared to wear the cap again. “What if I throw a shit-fit and Nurse Amara sedates me?” I said. “I’ll sleep all day and double my score.”
    â€œI have a better idea,” said Jack. “Look here.”
    He showed me another Web site on his little screen: Lifels-SciFi.com .
    â€œSci-fi? I hate that crap.”
    â€œWho doesn’t?” said Jack. “But this site’s gonna kick your skull cap into overdrive. The site’s run by a computer science student at a cow college in San Jose.”
    â€œComputers in Mexico? I hate computers.”
    â€œSan Jose, California,” said Jack. “Silicon Valley. Computers are your friends. This ultranerd has hacked into Stanford’sfully coherent nuclear-magnetic-resonant dark-matter-powered Accelerandodrome. An outlaw link to a quantum computer! If we link your cap to that tonight, you’ll climb so far above that monk that he’ll be eating your positronic dust for the rest of his life.”
    â€œWhat about my brain?” I asked, remembering the headache I’d gotten from counting to twelve million.
    â€œDo you want to be immortal?” he asked. “Or not?”
    To make a long story short, and isn’t that what old age is all about, I pulled on the magic beanie and lay down on my bed. I closed my eyes and started counting sheep again. They were jumping the fence faster and faster, flowing up the mountainside, scaling the cliffs, frisking into the white fluffy clouds. I picked up my dream-colored staff and followed them.
    +   +   +
    â€œWake up.”
    I woke up. I sat up.
    â€œSay the first thing that comes into your mind,” Jack said.
    I did like the day before, only more so, spewing out a jaw-breaking number name that went like this (and I’m sure you don’t mind if I leave out the middle): “Twelve duotrigintillion, three hundred forty-five unotrigintillion, six hundred seventy-eight trigintillion, . . . , three hundred forty-five million, six hundred seventy-eight thousand, nine hundred one.”
    Whew. The inside of my skull was cold. I felt a faint, steady wind in my face, the air so very thin. Toothed, inhuman peaks of ice towered above me like the jaws of Death.
    â€œMy head,” I whimpered. “I hope I haven’t had a stroke.”
    â€œNever mind that,” said Jack. “You’re at base camp Googol!”
    I blinked away the mountains and saw my familiar room.Jack was smiling, no, grinning. There were even more lines in his face than usual.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œBase camp Googol,” he repeated. “On the Matterhorn of math, high above the workaday timberline. The land of perpetual snow.”
    â€œGoogle? The search engine? What?”
    â€œI’m not talking business, I’m talking math. ‘Googol’ is an old-school math name that a math prof’s nephew invented in 1938. It stands for the number that you write as a 1 followed by a hundred 0s. Ten duotrigintillion sounds pompous compared to that. You’ll notice that the number you just said is a hundred and one digits long: 12, 345, 678, 901, 234, 567, 890, 123, 456, 789, 012, 345, 678, 901, 234, 567, 890, 123, 456, 789, 012, 345, 678, 901, 234, 567, 890, 123, 456, 789, 012, 345, 678, 901. That’s why I say you’re at base camp Googol. By the way, Bert, I’m impressed you knew how to put all those digits into words.”
    â€œDon’t forget, I’m an insurance adjuster.”
    â€œWere,” said Jack. “Now you’re an immortal. I’ve got a hunch you’ll be ready for my secret pretty soon.”
    He logged in and authenticated me on the Winners Web site, and all day we were riding high. Just before bedtime, right after Philosophical Psycho, we checked into the Winners Web site one more time.
    I was still the champ. The mad monk was history. Or was he?
    â€œHe can count day and night for