We study her further, Thorne said immediately. Comprehensive testing over an extended period, multiple examinations by different researchers, documentation of her development over time. This is too significant to be resolved in a single day. You want to turn her into a permanent research subject. Webb said, "I want to pursue proper scientific investigation.
Surely you understand that this case demands thorough study. What I understand is that you want to lock a 13-year-old girl in a laboratory and test her until you either explain away her abilities or she breaks under the pressure. Don't be dramatic. We're not discussing anything harmful. Simple observation and testing.
Simple observation that would require removing her from her home, separating her from her mother, making her entire existence about satisfying your scientific curiosity. The argument escalated, voices rising, the five men talking over each other, and in the middle of it all, Lydia stood silently, listening to them debate her future, as if she weren't present, as if she had no say in what happened to her own life. Finally, she spoke, her voice cutting through the argument with unexpected force. Excuse me, sir. They fell silent, surprised that she'd spoken without being addressed. I have a question.
This is not the time, Thorne began. When is the time, sir? You've been examining me for 7 hours. You've tested my mathematics, measured my head, discussed what it means that I can do what I can do, but nobody's asked me what I want. What you want is irrelevant, Thorne said.
You're a minor, and more importantly, you're in no position to understand the scientific significance of your own case. I'm in no position, sir. I understand mathematics that you had to study for years to grasp. I can see patterns and relationships that took humanity thousands of years to discover. I taught myself to read and write because I knew I needed language to make sense of the mathematics in my head.
I may be 13 and Black and female, but I'm not stupid about my own life. So, I'll ask again. Does anyone care what I want? Hamilton cleared his throat. What do you want, Miss Johnson?
I want to learn. I want access to books and teachers and problems I haven't seen before. I want to understand all the mathematics I can see but don't have names for yet. I want to use what I can do to build things, to solve real problems, to make something that matters. I don't want to be locked in a room being measured and tested and studied like I'm some kind of animal that learned a trick.
That's not what scientific research, Thorne started. That's exactly what it is, sir. You don't see me as a person. You see me as evidence for or against your theories. And I understand why.
If I'm real, if I'm genuinely this intelligent, then everything you've written about racial inferiority is wrong. All those measurements you've done, all those conclusions you've published, all the laws and policies that rely on your research, it's all built on lies. That's why you're so angry. Not because you don't believe I can do what I've proven I can do, but because you can't afford to believe it. The silence that followed was absolute.
A 13-year-old Black girl had just articulated the unspoken heart of the matter with crystalline clarity, and no one in the room had a response ready. Thorne's face was purple now, his hands shaking slightly. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet. You have no idea what you're talking about. I understand more than you think, sir.
I understand that you're scared. I understand that admitting I'm right means destroying your reputation. I understand that powerful men don't like being proved wrong by powerless girls. But I also understand mathematics. And mathematics teaches you that truth doesn't care about your feelings.
Either my proof is correct or it isn't. Either my answers are right or they're wrong. You can't change the mathematics to make yourself more comfortable. You can only accept it or lie about it. Webb watched Thorne's expression and recognized the look of a man who had just decided something.
This wasn't the face of someone admitting defeat. This was the face of someone planning how to eliminate a threat. "Gentlemen," Thorne said, his voice now perfectly controlled. "I move that we conclude this examination. We have sufficient data to write our preliminary reports.
I suggest we reconvene in one month to discuss our findings and recommendations. It was a tactical retreat, a way to exit the situation without admitting anything. The panel agreed, everyone relieved to escape the tension. As they gathered their materials, Thorne approached Webb with a thin smile. Professor Webb, I'm sure you understand that further security measures will be necessary.
The girl's location needs to remain confidential while we complete our assessment. Security from what? From exploitation, from premature publicity, from those who might seek to use her for political purposes before we've established scientific consensus about what she represents. I'll be writing to MIT's board recommending that access to her be carefully restricted. It sounded reasonable.
It sounded like protection. But Webb heard the real message. Thorne wanted to control access to Lydia to ensure that only researchers who shared his agenda could examine her to manage the narrative about what her abilities meant.