The God Organ

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  True, she had discovered a host of characters in her interviews with protesters from the secular and religious fronts who’d had choice words regarding the LyfeGen technology, but her investigations into their connections seemed more of a rabbit hole. There were other outspoken groups calling for action. A rowdy crowd at St. Gemma’s Church had drawn her focus for a while. But so far, none of these groups appeared to have the scientific acumen to pull off such a feat.

  Besides her own investigations, messages filled her comm card from anonymous sources with their own tips and scoops. Most of these individuals were cranks with too much time on their hands or conspiracy aficionados offering their personal theories up as legitimate news. She wondered if she was any better than them.

  Occasionally, there was a diamond amongst the slag that she saved for later. One recent message, vague and cautious, hinted at connecting a fatal car accident to the chain of stroke victims. Audrey had been intrigued enough to file the message away. Generally, the conspiracy theorists gave lengthy, over-detailed accounts and were overeager to provide a wealth of made-up information. This message had been direct and concise.

  Maybe, if she was lucky, it would be worth pursuing. A last resort if she could find nothing else in her interviews.

  “What is it you want from me, then, while you tinker with that little vial of yours?”

  “Keep doing what you’re doing,” Preston said. “But keep me in the loop. I want to know everything that’s going on as it happens, and I’ll do likewise.”

  Audrey was careful not to shed her poker face. “And how can I trust that you’re not trying to use me to get your job back?”

  He laughed. “Frankly, I’m not interested in it. If you must know, I’m tired of the politics that come with the business side of running a company. Granted, politics are unavoidable, but I preferred focusing on research. Concrete data and results are things I could—and can—wrap my mind around. I’ve never been one to butter up a board of directors or appease shareholders. I don’t want my job back.”

  “That’s a pretty clichéd reason.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll give you a story or two you can use. Take a gamble on them, and when they hold up and you realize I’d be jeopardizing any career I could possibly have with LyfeGen, you’ll tell me everything you know.”

  Audrey peered out the window, over toward Navy Pier. The Ferris wheel lumbered slowly around its axis, the sun glinting off its network of white steel beams and pastel-colored carriages. A flock of gulls descended toward the pier, becoming lost to her as they disappeared into the distance.

  “Okay,” she said. “What have you got for me?”

  Chapter 28

  Preston Carter

  November 27, 2063

  Preston hummed along with Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 as the sounds of string instruments filled the stone-walled room. The buzz of fluorescent lights and the constant purr of the miniature laminar flow hood for his cellular work completed the ambience.

  The small but perfectly adequate PCR machine was installed and ready for use on the benchtop next to a confocal microscope. A small incubator, appearing very much like a mini-refrigerator, was nestled in a corner at the foot of the bench. In one of the controlled-environment drawers of the bench, he had stored several lab-chips that contained microfluidic channels and cell populations that could simulate various organ structures. The availability of desktop biology equipment had enabled him to transform the finished basement room into a pseudolaboratory.

  A couple of easels with half-finished oil paintings and an experimental 3D projection sculpting system cluttered the opposite side of the room.

  Preston admired the way that Erik’s hands could mold a human form from the virtual clay and create a photorealistic texture for the sculpture by tinkering with settings that were essentially magic to Preston. Erik made the system look easy, but Preston never had the same luck rendering anything with his hands from the holographic projections. At best, his sculptures looked like a sloppy mess of Play-Doh.

  Working in the converted basement reminded him of his early garage experiments as a kid with a cheap microscope and an at-home cell-growing kit. He remembered the thrill and discovery of watching an amoeba swallow up jittering bacteria oozing across the microscope slide. He’d filled an entire notebook with amateur observations of single-celled-organism behavior. Eventually, his curiosity had inspired him to take a small needle to his fingertip and examine the microscopic contents of his own blood.

  He figured he’d been a strange kid, but he was proud that his scientific hobbies had turned into a flourishing career. That flourishing career had taken a recent detour, though.

  At least it had enabled him to work alongside Erik. Besides, money wasn’t really a concern anymore. He still had his shares in LyfeGen and a diverse portfolio invested in a number of other companies. Unlike many of his colleagues, he wasn’t arrogant enough to assume that he should only invest in his own company. And if his work in this basement lab proved fruitful, that early foresight could save his family’s financial security in the uncertain times ahead.

  “Good morning,” Erik said, opening the door to their workspace. “I still haven’t decided if I like having you down here beside me when I’m working or if I want all my space back.”

  Preston laughed as Erik kissed him on the cheek.

  “If all goes well, I won’t be in your hair too long.”

  Erik shook his head. “There you are—always underestimating things. ‘I promise I won’t be at work too long.’ ‘I’ll just do this for a couple of years and then move to a less stressful position, you’ll see.’”

  “You know me too well.”

  “That’s for sure,” Erik said, waving his hand to open up his last sculpting project on the holodisplay. “At least I can appreciate your taste in music.”

  The concerto swallowed up the comfortable silence that settled over the two as they continued their separate endeavors. Each was content to share a momentary glance with the other without saying a word.

  It was enough, Preston thought. Those moments, however insignificant and fleeting, were moments he never shared while at work in an office or a lab far from home. His occasional holocalls home were never an adequate substitute for looking into Erik’s hazel eyes.

  “I love you,” Preston said.

  “I know,” Erik said, his hands moving rapidly around the shoulders now taking place in his sculpture.

  Smiling, Preston pipetted another sample of the Sustain update contents into a plate for PCR analysis.

  A cacophony of echoing footsteps announced Kyle’s arrival.

  “They’re talking about you on the news!” Kyle gasped as he caught his breath.

  Frowning, Preston put down the plastic pipette. “What do you mean?”

  “Why would you do that to Dad?” Kyle motioned to Erik.

  Preston inhaled, taking a moment to calm himself. “What are they saying?”

  “You cheated on Dad! That’s why Joel promoted you before he died!”

  Preston’s eyes widened, though he tried to restrain the surprise. “I would never do that.”

  Kyle backed up toward Erik, who wrapped his arms around the boy.

  “I promise you,” Preston said. “I would never do something to hurt either of you.”

  “Then why are they saying those things?” Kyle scowled.

  “Because lies earn them money. People are more interested in ridiculous gossip than actual news. Help me out here, Erik.”

  But instead of understanding, a glint of skepticism appeared in Erik’s eyes. He cocked his head at Preston, who shook his head in return.

  “If your father says those people are lying, then that’s just what it is.”

  Kyle huffed, his cheeks pulsing red. “But—but they said they had witnesses.”

  Erik knelt down and held on to Kyle’s shoulders. “You can’t believe everything that you see on the Net. You know that. You’re
smarter than that.”

  Kyle’s breathing slowed and his cheeks returned to their normal hue. “They say they have evidence, though.” His pitch rose at the end of the statement, as if he was asking a question.

  Erik said nothing but raised an eyebrow at Kyle.

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle said, turning to Preston. He offered Preston a consolatory but insincere hug and dashed up the stairs.

  After their son left, Erik turned back to Preston. “Is this true?”

  “Are you serious?” Preston said. The hum of the home PCR machine droned on, emphasizing the uncomfortably long time it took for Erik to respond.

  “Honestly? I don’t know. You’ve always worked long hours.” Erik glanced away. “I know Joel always had a soft spot for you.”

  “Joel was straight as a goddamn rocket.”

  Erik half-smirked. “Fair enough. But I can’t deny that the thought crossed my mind.”

  “I would never do that to you,” Preston told him. “If I ever cheated on you, it was with my career. I know I spent a lot of time at my work—but that’s all it ever was. Work.”

  “Yeah,” Erik said, slumping onto the stool next to his holosculpture. “Even though you worked with some interesting characters, I know I should trust you. But I can’t say the same for Anil. I never liked him.”

  “Join the club.” Preston pulled his hands through his hair. For a moment, he massaged his knuckles and collected his thoughts. He exhaled loudly as the gears began to click into place. “I can’t believe it. I refuse to believe it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The news. LyfeGen, my alleged ‘cheating.’ It’s got to be him.”

  “Talk to me,” Erik said. “You’re frightening me. You’ve got that look in your eyes...”

  Preston moved to Erik and pulled him close, kissing his cheek. “I want you to believe me. I love you and Kyle more than anything. You’ve never shown me any resentment for the time I spent at work. I’m thankful for that, Erik. I really am. And, I would never do anything to hurt you. Never.”

  Erik pressed his face into Preston’s chest. “I know. It’s silly for me to have thought otherwise. I know.”

  “I don’t blame you. This has been a stressful couple of months.”

  “So what does Anil have to do with all of this?”

  Preston’s mind flashed back to when he’d first met Audrey Cook, posing as Beth Childs. The rumors she had relayed to him. Rumors also reported by Anil. Stories with sensitive information hitting the news streams. Anil’s dealings with the Board of Directors behind Preston’s back. There was no doubt in Preston’s mind who Audrey’s anonymous source had been. “He wanted it all.”

  Chapter 29

  Cody Warren

  November 27, 2063

  Oil and grease covered Cody’s arms. The smell of musty air intermingled with a pungent petroleum odor. Squirts of evaporating acetone from his attempts to clean grime from a bot laid out on the table pierced both scents, leaving him with eyes that fluctuated between a gritty dryness and an overcompensating saturation of wetness.

  He worked on one of the repair bots that were supposed to automatically fix the floor-maintenance bots around the building. The damned things were barely functioning prototypes.

  “Screw Harold,” Cody muttered under his breath. “Man needs a goddamn pair of balls.” He spat on the exposed electronic innards of the repair bot. “Piece of shit.” He soldered a splayed wire on the supposedly high-tech Arduino board.

  The automated service elevator roared to life as it lifted a couple of maintenance bots above ground. He looked up at the elevator and jerked the hand holding the soldering iron. The tip of the device burned his left forearm, right above his work gloves.

  He yelped in pain.

  The elevator’s din shrank to a small, echoing growl.

  Harold peeked out of his office down the hall. “Did you say something?”

  “Nope, nothing, Harold.” Cody gritted his teeth.

  “Oh,” Harold said. “Sorry. I, uh, thought I heard you call me, you know.”

  Bumbling fool.

  “Nope.”

  Harold stared silently for a moment. He shook his head, his second chin shaking slightly, reminiscent of a turkey’s wattle. Cody wanted to laugh, but was too unnerved by Harold’s concerned appearance.

  The last time Harold had appeared so unsettled, he had told Cody that his hours and pay were being cut. But there was something else in Harold’s eyes. Not just a fear of Cody’s reaction to whatever news he might be hiding, but a genuine sadness.

  “What’s up?”

  “You should, I mean, could you please come and sit down in my office?”

  Cody prepared himself for the worst. Another pay cut. Maybe reduced hours. He was already working half-time and looking for a position pretty much anywhere else. He competed with robots, automated systems, and other desperate human job-seekers. His search, as of yet, had been even more disappointing than the one that led him to his current sinking ship of a job.

  Harold sat first and motioned for Cody to do the same. The man’s forehead glistened with sweat despite the air conditioning in the small office.

  All the familiar posters and model planes just made Cody more pissed. Here was a useless man who somehow had the money to buy a bunch of toys and hang them about his office.

  “I, uh, found out some news,” Harold said. His hands fidgeted wildly, his eyes focused on his cluttered desk.

  “What’s that?”

  “I mean, I’m in a bind, too, you know?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Harold’s eyes welled up. The man was as easy to frighten as a malnourished mouse, but he never openly cried.

  Curiosity replaced anger.

  “What’s wrong?” Cody tried to feign concern, but it wasn’t an emotion that he had felt much lately. Well, there’d been the woman at the bar, her son and her story, but that had been the only time he’d truly felt a deep sympathy for any other human in Chicago since his mother’s death.

  And maybe it was just because he’d been drunk at the time.

  “We’re all fired.” Harold sobbed.

  Cody raised an eyebrow. “Say again?”

  “They’re—they’re cutting the whole maintenance—the whole maintenance department.”

  “Calm down,” Cody said. “Take a deep breath and relax.”

  But Harold persisted with blubbering. Tears streamed down his face and between his fingers as he cried into his hands.

  “You’ll be fine,” Cody told him.

  “I won’t,” Harold said. “I’m in my fifties. I’ve got kids and child support to pay. And—and—who’s going to hire me now? I’ve given my entire life to this company. I’ve been around since the beginning, cleaning up their messes, starting as a janitor, and now I’m all the way here.” He pounded his desk, leaving behind a wet mark where his fist had been on the faux-wood laminate. “I don’t even have an education like you. If you can’t get a job, what can I do?”

  Cody exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.

  Without saying a word, he stood. He escaped the huffing sobs and followed the pipework and cool cement walls back to the humid workshop room. He opened the door. Heat blasted past him.

  A heap of canvas bags for carting around tools and various maintenance supplies was lying in one corner of the room, beneath an enormous red tool chest.

  He picked up one of the bags and threw in scrap wires. He slid his arm across the work table and scooped a junked maintenance bot and a repair bot into the bag. His cargo weighed a solid fifty pounds, but he swung the straps over his shoulders and lugged the bag back out of the workshop.

  The cool hallway air greeted him again, tickling the beads of sweat dripping down his face. He wiped away the sweat and left black grease from his hands in its place.

  Harold’s blubbering sobs grew quieter as Cody passed a series of rooms and caverns containing all the innards of the NanoTech facility. Pipes and wate
r mains, furnaces and heat ducts. He wanted to destroy it all, tear the pipes from the walls, take a sledgehammer to the furnaces.

  As he climbed the stairs to a service exit, he started to lose his breath, almost toppling backward down the steps as the canvas bag’s weight shifted. He caught the railing, gripping it with sweaty palms, and righted himself.

  Screw them all. Screw them like they had screwed him.

  ***

  No one bothered to stop Cody or question him on his way home. Most likely, he looked like just another homeless beggar wandering the streets with bags full of junk and trinkets gathered from dumpster incinerators.

  He dumped the bag at his apartment. Its contents spilled across the scratched wooden card table that served as his kitchen table as he clicked on the lone bulb that hung overhead. He pulled apart the plastic casing holding the CPU of the repair bot, and then wirelessly tethered the unit to his computer. A quick download enabled him to crack the protected software of the repair bot and access the source code.

  The bot’s program wasn’t his main focus. He carefully separated wires from the motor and the various visual sensors in the bot’s shell.

  With the deftness of a tailor, he picked apart circuit boards. He felt a certain satisfaction as he rewired his device, the evening hours passing into night and then morning.

  Periodically, he would check the Net to ensure he was making no mistakes. As a college student, he had tinkered with electronic devices for fun. Prank holograms to scare the janitorial staff and reprogrammed sweeper bots that would chase security guards helped lighten the mood after long hours of studying.

  That fun stopped when one of Cody’s friends, Jake, decided to make a small roving explosive out of one of the sweeper bots. His subsequent expulsion was warning enough, but the loss of functionality in Jake’s left hand convinced Cody to refocus on more benevolent academic pursuits.

  His thoughts wandered as he worked. He remembered the woman at Kingsley’s. LyfeGen had let her son die, despite her dedication to the company.