Time to Expire

by Chris Ramos

  LifeSpan was the largest corporation ever formed, renowned as the savior of mankind, bringing order from chaos and structure to citizens’ everyday lives. It was no wonder the Core would be full of optimism for the future.

  “I still can’t believe we are here,” Mary remarked.

  “Uh, yes, me too,” Jon replied absently. His neck was craned to see the tall walls surrounding this inner sanctum. They were easily ten stories tall, the sun reflecting off a ribbon of silver running horizontally across the middle. This gleaming metallic band ran the entire length of every building, with no beginning and no end.

  Sitting inside the imposing walls were massive buildings, each with its own insignia above the doorframe. Jon knew from their previous interview at home, they would be passing every other building today and proceeding to the most important structure at the end of the galley: the Birth and Development Building.

  Set in the middle of the Core, he saw the LifeSpan clock. With its four massive clock faces, visible from any direction, this was the center for all of the timekeeping at LifeSpan.

  Jon stopped and checked his digital wristwatch. He compared the time to the towering clock face in front of him. Exactly correct, minutely in sync. He expected as much, but was still amazed at the level of continuity. While everyone was issued a LifeSpan pocketwatch, there were still normal digital watches to tell the time. This only made him even more aware of the fast approaching appointment.

  “Come,” he said, reaching for Mary’s hand. “We haven’t much time.” And they picked up their pace while still gaping at the structures.

  School was a little boring today except for a visit from some LifeSpan guy. He was talking to us about the little computer bugs in our body. They were placed there to help us when we were babies, and stay there our whole lives. I don’t remember what he called them, but he had a machine that could make them move closer to our skin. I saw them! Moving slowly under my arm and in my hand, like jelly. He told us they were there to help us be healthy and only LifeSpan has the controls for them, for safekeeping. Gotta run now, time to wind mother’s silly clock. She says it’s very old, and I am the only one she would trust to take it down from the fireplace and wind it everyday. The clock was carved from trees. I keep telling her to get a LifeSpan digiclock. At least they never need winding. Being perfect and all. She said not everything needs to be connected.

  SCI

  The plasteel room was cold. Not the temperate cold that tickles your skin, but the cold that sets you on edge. The lack of ambiance in this room was due to its extremely sterile environment. Completely void of any porous surface, the room was outfitted entirely of translucent plastique and solid plasteel. There were no plants hanging, no animals curled under the chairs looking for companionship. There were no elaborate decorations. Infrared light cast a pale orange glow through every plastique surface. Overall, this particular setting was suited for only one purpose: a laboratory.

  The entire room was seamlessly built around an enormous tube—a massive, tilted telescope pointed not at the sky, for there was no gap in the ceiling of this smooth egg, but to a small viewing screen just inches off the floor. The laboratory ceiling, over four stories tall, was a web of wires and connecting scopes, feeding into the next level of even more highly powered magnification; this microscope was built for viewing the extremely small. The eyepiece was actually built into an aerial lift. An elevated chair was connected at this end and held aloft with a series of beams and arms. Although the seat was solidly built, it sagged in protest with the bulky figure filling its bucket. Sci Tym sat hunched over in this room of stillness, completely at home above the high-powered microscope.

  Encircling him were small tables, each attached to elongated snaking arms. There was no need for him to remove his eyes from the goggle helmet of his own design. The tables responded to the subtle waves of his hands and his mental will.

  Sci Tym was wearing another invention of his own, gloves that were outfitted with a connector at each finger, running to the center of the palm and powered by wires running down from the ceiling.

  He stared down into the microscope, trying to calm his nerves as he applied the finishing touches to his latest breakthrough. Not only was Tym one of the greatest scientific minds at LifeSpan, he also received numerous mental downloads, each unlocking another digital subject matter, helping him achieve the esteemed Senior Scientist rank from LifeSpan.

  Sci Tym was on the verge of his next great development. He designed nanotechnology biological robots. They were the true driving force behind the success of LifeSpan and the collective health of the globe. For the past 250 years, generation after generation of mankind had been infused with nano models coursing through their bloodstream.

  Tym was the current scientific mind constantly working to upgrade the most recent series of nanos. In fact, the previous four versions of nanotechnology improvements had been due to Sci Tym’s hard work.

  Tym was finishing another improvement on the motors of the nanobots. After all these years, he was still amazed at the effective little machines. Tym worked on the medicinal end of the advancement of nanotechnology, more commonly referred to as Nanomedicine.

  There were many types of the tiny robotic workers flowing through the bloodstream of every citizen of the world, effectively all citizens of LifeSpan.

  Sci Tym lived within the nano world, which consisted of the manipulation of molecules, on a nanometer scale. This was his world, the world of the very small. Tym helped build tiny nanomachines that consisted of groups of atoms, each aligned and manipulated into gears, bodies and arms to build a nanobot.

  Each of these nanobots was created for a specific purpose. Some were able to harness infrared light and destroy cancerous cells. Many extracted and delivered valuable nutrients to the body. Others were simply repair bots, used to transport nanotubes and repair broken bones or degenerating marrow.

  Sci Tym also excelled in molecular manufacturing, with his inventions redefining how the replicators built these complex machines. LifeSpan created the first fully functioning nanobot for the human body. Each nanobot colony consisted of thousands of nanobots and was no larger than a single grain of sand.

  Just a few more modifications were needed today. Tym worked well under this pressure, completely focusing on the job at hand. Through his movements, the giant mechanized arms minimized each of his muscle reactions down through the four stories across various gears and into the nano world. So, if Tym were to pull his arms out to the side while holding the machine arms, that movement would follow a series of connecting arms and follow a series of smaller arms, allowing the nanobots to place a single atom for fusion.

  Finally, the last carbon atom was connected to the propulsion end of the nanobot. Tym blinked rapidly to adjust to the wider world within this room. Each blink refocused the goggle lens, pulling back each magnifying disc, refocusing every slide to bring Tym’s vision back to his base spectrum. He moved the closest tables away from him, sending them back along the wall, each cascading into a neat holder like horses in a stable, their mechanical arms still attached. He dismissively waved away hundreds of digital projections and holographic screens, and tech readouts blinked away. He began unbuckling his gloves and stepped out of the seated chamber for the first time in over ten hours.

  Sci Tym rose slowly, his short arms settling onto the rolling folds of bulk on his sides. He was built like a roiling water balloon, his body shifting and resettling with every movement. It was hard to distinguish if the shifting was caused from his bulk or by the many trinkets and tools he insisted on keeping attached to his person. Indeed, Tym was a walking tool chest, carrying many assorted gears and techy devices whose purposes were known only to him. Each was connected by a series of buckles and pouches to a many-pocketed vest he always wore. Now that his day’s work was finished, it was time to check in at the Holowall, the digital link to LifeSpan.

  He stood in front of the electrified wall. Light spectrums shifted along the su
rface. Occasionally, a figure would appear or a room would come into focus as the Holowall searched for communication requests. Sci Tym stood at the designated spot, crossed his arms behind his back and announced to the wall, “2774.85 Sci Tym reporting from Sky Post Nine. Accounting for work completed on special project Mech Seventeen.”

  Tym waited for the response. He knew they could hear him, he knew they could even see him, but he waited to be polite. Some days Tym felt like yelling at the wall, but that wouldn’t be very polite at all.

  “Sci Tym, have you completed another breakthrough?” The wall color faded away and was replaced with a clear image of another scientist in LifeSpan’s employ. Tym knew her well, and he smiled. Tym hoped he wasn’t blushing; she did that to him.

  “Yes, Trina, I have.” She was too beautiful to sit behind a screen all day long. She needed to be out under the sun; she needed to be here with Tym and laughing at his jokes. Or so Tym thought.

  “I have added an extra propulsion engine,” Tym updated.

  Trina was shocked, her expression clearly impressed. Tym bowed his head and blushed.

  “Most of the Sci Community worked for years just to move one molecule into a slightly better spot, usually with hardly a noticeable difference at all. You are reporting an entirely extra engine construction? That doesn’t seem possible. For over a hundred years, the current schematics showed there was no room for another engine without making the entire molecular machine too large. This will have to be checked and—”

  “It works, Trina! I’m telling you, it works, and it will increase the speed of any nano by over thirty percent. This is it; finally the public will be able to take—”

  “Nimbus will decide how we will use this development,” Trina interrupted him.

  It was a response all too familiar to Tym. He had expected the same phrase from anyone at the wall; it just sounded ever more disheartening to hear it from Trina. Every instance of success Tym had achieved, every breakthrough invention, every minute change to molecular theory, nano development and scientific gadgetry met with the same response. Nimbus will decide how we will use this.

  It was at this moment Tym decided to make a stand.

  “No, Trina, this one belongs to the populace. It is too significant of a change, too important to our growth as a species.” Tym could hardly believe the words as he spoke them. Even now, with the room dead silent, he could hear them repeating in his head, over and over. Trina stared at him, mouth agape.

  Trina looked as if she were encased in ice, unable to move. Slowly, she became more animated, shaking her head furiously in disbelief, looking over her shoulder for any passersby that may have heard this blasphemous statement. She was at a loss for the proper protocol in situations such as this.

  “Sci Tym,” she whispered, leaning closer to the screen in front of her. Although the vocal sensor wasn’t near the Holowall, she felt that if she inched closer, they would somehow be isolated from her laboratory. “You know that kind of talk can find you trouble.”

  Tym did indeed realize this. In one ridiculous statement, with his guard down, he could have thrown away his entire career. He would probably be monitoring the automatic street cleaners after this. But Tym knew he was right; he felt it in his heart. This advancement was for the betterment of the globe. Everyone alive had nanobots coursing through their bodies at this very moment. They had to.

  The Great Pestilence, over ten generations ago, had ravaged the population. It was an unknown disease, carried on the wind, circling the globe in less than forty-eight hours. Clouds were poisoned, and when the rain fell it poisoned humanity. LifeSpan stepped forth and became the savior of mankind once again. After decades of nano research, LifeSpan had figured out how nanobots could prevent any disease particle, including that which caused the Great Pestilence, from attacking healthy cells. Following this, they required nanobot integration into every living human being. Millions chose to receive the infusions, and many who decided to turn their back on LifeSpan eventually perished. Humanity was thinned very quickly, and those who remained knew they owed their lives to LifeSpan. The nanos remained to defend against other diseases that everyone feared.

  As technology improved, the nanos decoded humanity at the molecular level and discovered a digital revelation. Through a series of genetic testing, a point of maximum development was revealed. This point differed for every person. For some, it could be at age 5 years. For others, it could be at 97 years. LifeSpan decided any time spent beyond this genetic summit was wasted. Thus, the expiration date was revealed.

  Order was restored; progress followed. The Scientific Community was established for increased developments.

  “We should be able to share our discoveries; they are, after all, our discovery.” Tym was already losing heart, mumbling the response, his shoulders sinking a little further.

  “Thank you for the contribution to LifeSpan, Sci Tym, and your digiscreen upload will be expected before the end of your shift. Nimbus is proud of you and your work. The future of LifeSpan will be forever recorded in . . .” Trina recited the same response she had given to Tym over a hundred times.

  Tym wondered if she even realized what she was saying; it was such a quick monotone reply. So much protocol—why couldn’t she just talk with him as a friend? He waited for her to cease the endless bureaucratic congratulations.

  When she stopped, Trina stood silent, waiting for the proper sound off from Tym before ending the transmission.

  “Human nature was flawed. LifeSpan is the cure,” Tym halfheartedly mumbled.

  The wall video faded away. The last image was Trina smiling. Tym imagined she was smiling at him and not about the tech innovation. Tym shuffled back to his workstation, replacing his glove and powering the fingers to respond to the eight wall screens before him. He was uploading his day’s work. If anything, he was diligent in his research and loyal to LifeSpan.

  Tym sat and gathered every screen of data, the video recordings of his time in front of the microscope, his notes, journal and loggings. He literally plucked the digifiles out, stacking them in a holographic image, floating in front of him. Each file stacked on top of the digital grouping, compiling his research. This was a great breakthrough, and he wanted to present it to Nimbus in a perfect package, worthy of all his praise. Tym was finishing the task, his hand moving through the screens of data, while his mind was wandering back to the conversation with Trina.

  It didn’t seem that bad to Tym, to want to share. That was the driving force behind all of his work. Nanotechnology was a global engine, with the entire population thriving from the nanobots in their systems. Tym considered any information about the machines a global issue. Therein lay his dilemma.

  Did Tym’s genius belong to LifeSpan, or did it belong to the people?

  He stopped gathering the digifiles and looked around the room. For so many years, he was allowed to work in his laboratory without interruption. The globe probably didn’t even know he existed.

  Uncharacteristically for Tym, he stared at the finalized report files hovering before him, held aloft by his glowing glove. The package was awaiting upload to LifeSpan. He could easily send it off, go home, and resume his life as a successfully unknown scientist, somehow working for the people but going through LifeSpan to do it. Tym placed his glove over the upload screen, but did not complete the transfer. He pulled his hand back, removed the glove and laid it on the counter. The digifiles absorbed into the glove.

  He needed some air and a little time to think. He knew LifeSpan was the same as the people, and eventually they would receive the improvement. Or would they?

  Tym exited the facility, squinting in the bright sun. He leaned his bulk against the outside wall, high atop his hillside, looking at the lights below, the weather towers dotting the countryside, millions of people bustling around in the city far below. This was where he was at peace. Alone to contemplate.

  The outpost was a Sci Laboratory, inhabited by Tym, and no one ever came up here. Wel
l, nobody except that man walking up the road.

  “Hello, friend. You must be lost. Can I direct you to the right path?” Tym greeted.

  The man stopped walking, his hands at his side, obscured by the loose fabric of his sleeves. His jacket was dark charcoal gray, cut at seemingly random angles to meet across his chest with buckles and straps holding it firmly to his body. A hood was pulled over his head, hiding his face in shadow. He stooped in his posture, which Tym found odd, for his personal nanobots would have compensated for any muscle fatigue.

  “Just walking home, thank you,” the man replied peacefully.

  Tym laughed, hugging his belly. “You are a long way from any home. I can assure you that much.” He moved his bulk, extending his arm in a comical sweep to emphasize the vast empty lands around them.

  “Home is with those who share your dreams and desires,” the man responded, and lowered his hood. His hair glistened in the sun, silvery white, with a matching beard and mustache that was trimmed under a nose too large for his face. His skin was weathered, with every contour accented by clusters of wrinkles. His eyes were full of stories from a lifetime of events. Tym was confused. The man was old; that was evident. However, he seemed much older than his outward appearance let on.

  “I understand your riddle. Very clever, in context, but I do not understand why you are spouting your prose to me. I have a home. I upload my dreams. Ha ha!”

  Your dreams fall on deaf ears, the elderly man thought.

  The old man looked at Tym very closely. He walked a few more steps, so he was within arm’s reach of Tym.

  “Home is with those who understand your . . . frustrations,” the old man said, carefully emphasizing the last word after easily reading Tym’s body language.

  The stressed word wasn’t lost on Tym, and he carefully backed away from this stranger. His first reactive thought was that the old man could be a LifeSpan employee. Quite possibly a new division started to check up on scientists like Tym. But that was too convenient. Tym had always been a perfect employee, a Sci of the highest ranking. Today was his only lapse in judgment, ever. Besides, he didn’t really do anything wrong. He had only backed away from his update, but as soon as he returned to the lab, he would send the transmission. It wasn’t worth the risk to throw it all away now.