The Cipher by John C. Ford Page B

velvet. He must have been up over $5,000 with the ridiculous string of blackjacks he’d had. Any other day, it would have been cause for major celebration. The only thing he could think about now, though, was Ben’s discovery.
    â€œBlackjack
again
,” the dealer said, and shoved more chips across. He tossed a black hundred-dollar chip back to her for a tip. She was definitely more excited about all this than he was.
    Of course, she didn’t know that a genius kid had just discovered a way to destabilize her whole way of life. To see all her banking records. To steal money from her casino. To find out any electronic secret that she’d ever had. Not that anyone would care about her little secrets, when they could cause floods and wars and who knew what else.
    There’d be panic if people knew. Those people collected at the rail, they’d be rushing home, stocking up on powdered milk and canned goods and duct tape. Or whatever you were supposed to buy in, like, a code-red situation.
    Smiles couldn’t blame Ben for being scared. His algorithm might have been an amazing discovery, but he’d have to keep it under wraps forever—never getting any credit, never getting any reward. It was too dangerous to share with anyone. Even telling the NSA guys would be taking a huge chance. It made Smiles think of those sci-fi movies where a friendly alien comes to Earth and all the government wants to do is hold it captive and stick it with needles. Smiles wondered how long Ben could take the strain of holding on to such explosive knowledge.
    The kicker, of course, was that it could take down Alyce Systems, too.
    â€œDealer busts.” More chips for Smiles.
    â€œLucky boy,” said a voice behind him.
    It was Erin, the pixie from the registration desk. Showered and fresh, in a white sundress that showed off her tan. The tension in Smiles’s neck melted away at the sight of her.
    He shrugged at his tower of chips. “Guess so.”
    The Asian woman harrumphed at the interruption. Smiles rolled his eyes for Erin’s benefit. He liked the way hers twinkled back at him while the dealer patted the felt, asking for his bet.
    â€œI’m sorry,” the dealer said to Erin, “if you’re not playing, you can’t be in this area.”
    She plunked down a wad of hundreds. “Will that do?”
    â€œOh, yes, of course, ma’am,” the dealer said, recovering quickly. She slid the crisp bills through her hands and onto the velvet. “Changing two thousand!” she yelled.
    â€œWell well well,” Smiles said.
    Erin smiled at her chips as they came her way. “Blowing my savings,” she said. “I just got this for finding a number on GIMPS.”
    â€œYou what?”
    Erin looked at him funny. “You’re here for CRYPTCON and you don’t know what GIMPS is?”
    â€œMy friend’s the one at the conference. I’m just along for the ride.”
    â€œWell, you were quite the entertainment this morning.”
    So she was there after all. Smiles pushed away the thought of his mother, right there on the stage in front of him. “Yeah, well, my friend’s a little eccentric,” he said.
    They played out a hand—Smiles busted, Erin won—and then the dealer got busy shuffling a tower of cards. The Asian woman didn’t have the patience for it; she stowed her winnings in her purse, bound for another table.
    â€œSo what’s a gimp, anyway?” Smiles said.
    Erin smiled. “GIMPS. It’s an acronym—the Great Internet Mersenne Prime Search. Lots of the people at the conference do it. It’s just this software you put on your computer to make it search for a special kind of prime number with its spare capacity. They have rewards if your computer finds one big enough. Mine was 445 bits long.”
    â€œBits?”
    â€œDigits. Digits, bits, same thing.”
    â€œHold on. They paid you for