by Paul Anlee
He returned to work and shouldered both the sincere condolences and the whispered conversations that ended abruptly when he entered a room. He somehow managed to wade through the daily meetings and reports. He felt as though his life had ended, but so long as Sharon’s body was being kept alive, he was not permitted any release. Limbo was not a comfortable place to be.
On the appointed birth/death date, Paul snuck off to the hospital without a word to his sister. He spent the morning holding Sharon’s limp hand, lamenting how unfair it was that she would never see her son or experience the joy of motherhood, how desperately he missed her company, and how afraid he was to do this on his own.
He knew he should be excited by the prospects of a healthy new son but, instead, he only felt a surge of anger whenever he contemplated the impending birth. I know the anger is misplaced and unfair, but I can’t help it.
Nobody knew why Sharon had fallen, but the baby was not responsible for the accident. Paul could accept that. Yet, seeing Sharon’s belly swelling as the baby grew, offended something deep within him. He couldn’t help but be repulsed by the image of his beloved wife reduced to nothing more than an incubator. And he couldn’t keep that image from his mind. It would come as a tremendous relief when they finally allowed her to join her Maker in Heaven.
When the doctors arrived to tell him they were ready to deliver the baby, he stood silently for a moment, clinging to Sharon's hand. He couldn’t bring himself to stay, to welcome his new son as he simultaneously said goodbye to the love of his life. He mustered what little stamina he had left into one long, deep breath, and nodded to the team. He gave his wife’s hand a final gentle squeeze, let go, and left the hospital.
* * *
Darian Leigh was delivered by C-section at 3:20 pm, August 14th, 2026. Following a routine examination, he was placed tenderly but unceremoniously in a neonatal intensive care unit. Although small, he appeared to be healthy and normal.
With her son delivered, Sharon was removed from life support and given over to eternal rest. Her second and final death occurred with the last beat of her heart at 3:52 pm.
Over dinner that evening, Paul revealed to his sister that the operation to deliver the baby and his permission to remove Sharon from life support had taken place earlier that afternoon.
The pepper Skizzits had been about to liberally shake over her mashed potatoes never hit its target. She stared at her brother, confused but silent. As hard as she tried, she could not fathom why he would keep the birth of his son, her only nephew, a secret. In a rare act of restraint, she resisted questioning or berating her brother and studiously examined the food on her plate.
Darian’s aunt went to the hospital early the next day and every day after to visit. She talked to him about his mother and his father, and the amazing life she imagined for him. A week later, on her seventh visit, she was accompanied by the boy’s father for the first time.
Dr. Holden was relieved to see Paul join his sister at Darian's side. "I have some good news for you. The x-rays and scans don’t show any signs of those bright specks, the dendies, that we observed in his mother’s brain. We can't say for sure yet that Darian is entirely free of them, just that we don't see any sign of them right now. I’d like to follow up with you and Sharon’s associates. Could you please arrange a meeting with my office?”
Sharon’s memorial service was held the following day. The week after, Paul returned to the hospital with Nick and David reluctantly in tow, and they filed into Dr. Holden’s office.
She closed the door behind them. “Gentlemen, I want you to understand that we’re not done here yet. The boy needs to be monitored every few months for the next couple of years to ensure his x-rays remain clear. As a concerned professional, I would strongly suggest that the Neuro Nano board hire an outside medical consultant to continue ongoing testing for him, and to assist with any future evaluations of human test subjects. I still haven’t decided whether to report this whole affair to the FDA or the Medical Board for their determination. I’ll have to sleep on it.”
Dr. Holden watched their reaction carefully. Okay, let’s see what they do with that. They know they should have reported Dr. Leigh’s breach of ethics immediately and they didn’t. Let them sweat it out for a bit. Serves them right. God only knows what else they’d try to get away with if they thought nobody was watching. Governing bodies like the FDA and the Neuro Nano board aren’t hands-on enough for research like this. They need an objective observer, an insider who’s not afraid to blow the whistle.
David and Nick were so relieved to hear that Dr. Holden had not already filed reports or charges, and might never, that they held an emergency meeting of the Neuro Nano Board, unanimously accepted her “suggestion” to hire an external consultant, and immediately offered her the position. Dr. Holden accepted.
Maybe I can help instill some long overdue ethics into their practice—she thought. One can always hope.
8
Excerpt from Connect to the World, Neuro Nano marketing brochure, November 2030:
Thanks to SafeLink©, Neuro Nano’s complete neural lattice security system, you can experience the Internet as never before. Connect directly to all of your senses with confidence. Within just 6-8 months of receiving your Neuro Nano inoculation, you will be ready for direct neural-to-net connection. Make and receive calls, listen to live stream music, and watch videos through DirectVR©. Control all of your devices remotely through DirectLink© and, best of all, experience FullDef© movies with all of your senses as if you are living the moment. For business, for entertainment, for life: Neuro Nano.
Technical Overview:
As described in The Neuro Nanotechnology Revolution (Neuro Nano technical overview, July 2033), a small, painless injection introduces hybrid semiconductor-RNA nanoparticles into your bloodstream. We call them Dynamic Neural Nano Dots; you might know them as dendies.
Each particle contains computational and communication mechanisms as well as a simple holographic memory. The RNA coating on the nanoparticles safely encodes protein complexes that manage particle repair, growth, replication, and other activities of the growing lattice. These nanoparticles are carried to your brain by your natural blood flow. The layer of endothelial cells that defines the blood-brain barrier recognizes specific peptide sequences on the encapsulating surface and actively transports the nanoparticles to the neural side while removing them from their protective shells.
Once across the blood-brain barrier and situated among active neurons, the nanoparticle RNA dissociates from the semiconductor and enters nearby glial cells, where it uses their molecular mechanisms to produce the accessory proteins needed to construct a complete neural lattice.
The separation of the RNA coating exposes underlying molecules that recognize and bind the semiconductor nanodots to neurotransmitter receptors at the synapses. These newly synthesized protein complexes can then begin increasing the total number of semiconductor nanoparticles using the existing set as templates for replication.
Other proteins initiate the polymerization of interconnecting silicene filaments from the special supplements provided. The filaments then feel their way along existing axons and connect the semiconductor particles in a high-speed network that parallels, supplements, and complements your existing biological one. Powered by an external battery, a compact near-field induction headband or cap provides the interface for communication between the internet and the internal lattice.
Neuro Nano: Communications. Entertainment. Control.
Welcome to a whole new world of experience.
For the first several years of his life, Darian gave every appearance of being a perfectly normal boy.
Under the watchful eyes of various nannies, each of whom loved him in turn, a healthy infant blossomed into a robust toddler. He exhibited neither special talents nor delays in his abilities. He walked, talked, learned, and played like any other bright child.
At first, after bringing his wee son home from the hospit
al, Paul found it nearly impossible to spend time with him, especially once Skizzits returned to her own home, leaving them without a buffer. Some days, he had to will himself to lay eyes on the boy. Every moment, every glimpse, was a heart wrenching reminder of his wife’s untimely death.
While the nannies attended to the everyday tasks of rearing the boy through his infancy and kindergarten years, Paul concentrated on finding new goals for his shattered life.
As he labored through the stages of his grief and anger, he began to accept and finally embrace the fleeting wisps of Sharon he found in Darian. The boy had inherited her curiosity, intelligence, and courage, along with her beautiful blue-gray eyes.
One sunny Sunday afternoon, Paul settled into his favorite reading chair with a good book. He glanced over at Darian playing on the carpet and was intrigued to see the boy trying to build interconnected skyscrapers out of boxes, toy train tracks, and wooden blocks.
An unexpected wave of emotion caught Paul off guard, and he set his book down. When did that happen?—he wondered. Without realizing it, he had slowly grown to love his son as much as he’d loved Sharon. He vowed right then to be a better father, and to make up for the time he’d so foolishly wasted.
In grade school, Darian proved himself to be a consistently good student, always in the top ten percent. He was active but not athletic. Though somewhat introverted, he seemed happy both in class and at home.
Near the start of second grade, there was an incident that would come to make more sense in hindsight, many years later. A teacher on playground supervision discovered Darian eating clay by the mouthful. She took the child’s hand and made a joke of it, as she gently wiped his mouth, brushed him off, and sent him to play with his classmates. At the end of recess, she discreetly reported the behavior to his teacher, who relayed the news to his father.
Thinking the odd behavior likely stemmed from dietary issues, Paul took his son to visit Dr. Holden. In keeping with her role as medical consultant for Neuro Nano, the doctor had continued to monitor the boy through annual checkups. They had stopped taking x-rays of his head after the eighth consecutive clear image, shortly after his second birthday. She ran a few blood tests and referred Darian to an experienced dietitian who recommended some vitamin and mineral supplements.
To everyone’s relief, following a few reassuring consultations between parent, doctor, and school psychologist, the child never repeated the odd and mildly worrisome episode. Not where anyone could see.
By the time Darian turned ten and no longer needed nannies to care for him, he was taking five supplements a day and secretly satisfying his more unusual dietary cravings after school. Like most parents, his slightly distracted father never noticed anything out of the ordinary about his son’s behavior.
The combination of extra minerals and silica in Darian’s hidden diet worked wonders for the starved dendies in his brain. Dormant for so many years, the tiny and sparsely scattered nanodots were revitalized by the nutrient boost.
Semiconductor replicases and silicene synthetases sprang into action, producing building blocks for the dendies so they could reproduce and connect. Glial cells, infected with the dendy virus, secreted signaling molecules to help guide the new silicene filaments to form an interconnected lattice.
The headaches began shortly after Darian turned twelve.
Paul wrote off the symptoms as pre-adolescent growing pains or possibly a flu bug. He meted out the normal over-the-counter remedies and mandated extra water and sleep. The painkillers brought little relief. After a string of restless nights, Darian grew tired of bothering his father. A strong-willed child, he prided himself on tolerating the migraines stoically. He became good at functioning normally despite the chronic pain.
It was at about the same time that Darian started to find his classes and homework getting easier than ever, and his newfound competence was reflected in his grades. To stave off boredom with school, Darian perused more advanced subject matter on the web.
One wet and windy October evening, Darian was concentrating on his tablet, deeply engaged in reading about cognitive algorithms from an MIT course on artificial intelligence, when his father pulled into the unlit driveway, late, exhausted, and hungry.
Paul reached over to the passenger seat to grab the takeout bag sitting there. He turned off the ignition and sat looking at the house. Aside from the garage lights, it was dark. That’s odd; no kitchen light, none in Darian’s room, no flicker from the TV.
He pulled his coat a little closer, and pushed the car door open against a sudden gust. He kicked the door shut behind him. Leaning into the wind, he climbed the small set of stairs to the front porch and let himself in.
“I’ve got Chinese for dinner,” he called. He could make out Darian’s face, reflecting the eerie glow from the display screen of his tablet. “Hellooo! Let’s put some lights on in here.” Darian ignored him. Kids!
“Hey, I brought your favorite,” he tried, a little louder. He might as well have been talking to the cat.
Paul slipped off his shoes, hung up his damp coat, and loosened his tie. He supposed he ought to feel grateful that Darian was so intent on whatever he was reading.
The boy’s grades had been good and getting better; and outside of his classes, he was diving into wide and avid interests in science and technology. Still, it would be nice just to talk baseball sometimes—he thought. Clearly, Darian had inherited his mother’s passion and intensity when it came to learning about the natural world.
Paul flicked on the living room lights. Darian didn’t even look up from his tablet. “Hey, bud, what are you reading?” he asked as he sauntered over to the sofa and plunked down heavily beside his son. He leaned over and looked at the screen. Pages of technical articles, symbols, and diagrams he didn’t recognize flew by, too fast for Paul to absorb.
“How can you even read that?” he asked, trying to catch his son’s attention. Darian just stared at the display without acknowledging.
“Darian?” No response. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the blinking display.
“Hey!” he hollered, poking the boy’s shoulder to break the trance. “Darian!” He nudged a little harder.
The boy’s body absorbed and adjusted to the jarring motions. His eyes did not move from the screen.
Paul shifted from genuinely interested, to mildly annoyed, to angry. He grabbed the tablet away from his son, and turned it upside down to hide the screen. Darian's hand darted out to retrieve it, but Paul blocked and held his arms. The boy thrashed and screeched like a spoiled five-year-old deprived of his favorite toy.
“What the hell? Darian!”
Just as abruptly, mid-tantrum, his son went completely limp.
Paul’s anger vanished. What in God's name….? Paul cradled the boy's head against his chest. "Darian! It's okay, son. Everything's okay."
The inactivity didn’t last long. Darian's muscles grew rigid, making it hard to hold onto him. Paul tilted the boy’s face upward in time to see his eyes roll back and the lids squeeze shut. The image of Sharon’s face, seconds before she toppled into his car, superimposed itself onto his son’s blank visage. “Oh, no! Don’t you dare! Darian!”
Seizures. What do I know about seizures? Make them comfortable. Loosen clothing around the neck. Tip them sideways. Don’t put anything in their mouth.
He waited for it to pass. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. No change. I have to get him to a hospital! Somehow he managed to stand up, letting Darian’s head fall back onto a cushion. He threw on his shoes, and grabbed his coat and car keys. He picked up Darian and the fleece sofa blanket, and carried him to the car.
He’s so light—he couldn’t help but notice. Paul laid him awkwardly across the back seat, and tucked the thin blanket tightly around him, fastening him in as best he could so he wouldn't roll. His hands shook uncontrollably, as he slammed the car into reverse and sped to the nearest hospital.
It was a quiet night in Emerg. The cold, wet weather had kept all but the
most ill inside their homes. Paul carried his son past the gawking smokers in hospital gowns and through the sliding glass doors.
“Help me!” he called out as he crossed the floor.
The Admissions nurse assessed the approaching paralyzed boy with barely a look and got up from her station. “Follow me,” she instructed, and led Paul to the nearest available bed.
“What happened?” she asked as she pulled the curtain around them.
“He was just reading his tablet,” Paul said, a horrible feeling of déjà vu washing over him. “I couldn’t get his attention and then, all of a sudden, he started having some kind of seizure.”
“How long has he been like this?”
“About twenty minutes, I think. What’s happening?”
“Any history of epilepsy?”
“No, not that I know of. But…,” Paul hesitated.
“But what?” the nurse asked as she took Darian’s pulse and blood pressure and tested his pupillary response.
“His mother….My wife…” Paul fought to retain his composure. Where to begin?
“What about her?” the nurse prompted.
Paul tried again. “She died in an accident after a seizure that looked similar to this. But she never showed any signs of epilepsy before that. None. Ever. Neither has Darian. And besides, her case would have to be different, anyway. She had dendies in her head.”
The words tumbled out of Paul’s lips of their own accord. The nurse stared at him, uncomprehending.
Paul realized he was staring back. I must sound crazy.
Fortunately, a doctor arrived before he could make things worse by trying to explain. The physician consulted briefly with the nurse as he examined Darian for himself and began quizzing Paul on the boy’s medical history. This time, Paul’s answers were better organized and he didn’t mention the dendies.
The physician ordered an x-ray and EEG, and promised to return when they were ready.
Paul picked up the waiting clipboard and started filling out insurance forms. He couldn't afford to indulge the painful memories flooding his mind, memories of the last time he sat in a hard plastic hospital chair, completing forms. He forced his concentration to attend to the task at hand, watching the pen spread ink across each box, one answer at a time.
