Gemma Keyes, we are six, not five; yet we find no acceptable solution. The choices do not lead to an optimal outcome.
I turned inward and tried to fit the three contradicting pieces together: My body couldn’t survive without the nanomites, but the nanocloud couldn’t “fit” inside me—and the mites couldn’t survive apart from each other. I could see their dilemma now: Pick any two, but not three. The conundrum cut against the grain of their logic and “greater good.”
“I think you should leave me and go back to being five.” I mumbled the words, giving the nanomites the “out” they needed.
Why should we leave you, Gemma Keyes? Do you wish us to? Do you wish to die? This outcome is not acceptable!
They sounded . . . distressed.
“Well, do you have an alternative? You called me for a confab! What data and solutions do you bring?”
The silence was deafening.
“Come on! Stop stalling!”
We have examined the data and have construed but one acceptable alternative, Gemma Keyes.
“Wait a minute. You ‘examined the data.’ You examined the data without me? You held a confab without me?” I was at the end of my rope already; now I was getting angry.
No; I had already arrived.
My shout echoed across the cavern. “I’m a freaking tribe, Nano! How dare you confab without me!” I jumped out of the chair and paced, shouting louder, “And don’t you even think of administering endorphins or serotonins or whatever it is you use to calm people down! I’m a tribe like the rest of you! I have rights!”
The sound of running footsteps slapping on the stone floor jerked me out of my rant. Zander, with Gamble on his heels, stopped yards away.
“Gemma? What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“Stay away, Zander! Go back to Dr. Bickel’s living quarters. You can’t be here.”
“I’ll go if you say you’re okay, Gemma.”
Okay? Apparently, I wasn’t going to be “okay.”
The sweetness of Zander’s earlier declaration brought me to tears. I wouldn’t live long enough to reciprocate his love or satisfy the longing I felt for him. But I wouldn’t put him in danger, either.
The nanocloud, hovering overhead, sparkled, its color flashing from silver to red. They were not happy with the interruption.
“I-I’m okay, Zander. Go on back. Please.”
Zander and Gamble had seen the cloud. They stared and did not obey my injunction.
“What is that, Gemma?” Gamble whispered.
My laugh was harsh. “It’s the nanocloud, Agent Gamble; it’s the ‘new and improved nanocloud.’ All twenty trillion nanomites—and change.”
I turned my back on my friends. “Now go away. Your presence isn’t wanted here.”
I heard them shuffle away. I knew I’d hurt Zander’s feelings, but it couldn’t be helped.
Sighing, I mumbled, “What’s the bottom line, Nano?”
It seems we are continually making mistakes, Gemma Keyes. We did not intend to exclude you from the confab. You were weak, unable to participate. We apologize for our thoughtlessness.
And it seems that I’m continually misjudging you, Nano, I thought to myself.
Well, it isn’t every day you find out you’re going to die.
The idea didn’t frighten me as it had before. Zander was right: Whatever happened, I now belonged to Jesus. He had me, and eternity held terror for me no longer. I would see Aunt Lucy again. I was only saddened that Zander would grieve for me.
As would Abe.
And Emilio.
Emilio?
What? Something . . .
“You think because I can’t see you that I can’t find you? I will find you—but first I’ll find those you love. Don’t sleep, you *blank.* Don’t even blink! Because I will find you, and I will pay you back for this.”
No! He wouldn’t!
A different kind of terror bubbled up in my throat—one that superseded my own interests. I had to live—to protect Emilio, to ensure that Soto’s tentacles did not come near him.
“Nano! What’s the alternative? What alternative did you come up with?”
The alternative, Gemma Keyes, would require further changes to your body—deeply fundamental changes at the molecular level. These changes would be necessary for your body to accept and accommodate the new and improved nanocloud.
I hated that they had appropriated and regurgitated my snarled invective without perceiving the insult behind it.
Sighing, I nodded. “So. It’s either allow you to further mutate my body or I’ll die. Those are my choices, huh? Right?”
We submit that only one tolerable choice exists, Gemma Keyes. We cannot accept the death of a tribe. The loss of Gemma Tribe would . . . grieve us.
I sank again onto the dusty chair, covered my face with my hands, and sobbed. Why? Why was I always stuck between a rock and a hard place, between two irreconcilable options? Why?
Oh, Zander! I wanted to return your love. I wanted a happy ending for us. But Emilio? He’s only a child and, against every broken promise he’s suffered, he has elected to trust me. For Emilio’s sake, I must choose life—even if it is life without you.
But my heart hurt so bad!
I moaned. As I rocked back and forth, my anguish grew to a keening wail. Tears rained onto my hands as I sorrowed, but I could also feel the nanomites’ distress. The floating haze hovered near me; its flickering and shimmering turning a deep, troubled blue.
The nanomites truly did not want to harm me. Still, as much as I appreciated their concern, it changed nothing.
My life, as I wanted it, was over. My hopes for a future with Zander were finished.
Then . . . that weird, that inexplicable thing? When a fragment of something vital but long forgotten floated to the top of my mind and shouted to me?
It happened again.
Greater love has no one than this:
to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
“To lay down one’s life,” I whispered. “Jesus said that! That’s what he did.” I blinked back tears. “So, does laying down your life mean more than being willing to die? In my case, does it also mean . . . surrendering what I want, letting go of my dreams, my own desires?”
Yes, Gemma, that is what it means.
Not the nanomites! Not the nanomites speaking to me!
It had been such a long time—years—since I had allowed him to reach me, to touch me. I had erected high, thick walls between us. I had built impenetrable barriers to keep him out—and had only succeeded in imprisoning myself.
Jesus had breached those barricades. He had kept after me until I gave in. In an instant, when I surrendered to him, he had swept away our estrangement. From out of my distant childhood, the familiar sweetness of his voice soothed me.
In an unearthly habitation, a spiritual dwelling deep within me, a place where the nanomites could never go . . .
He was there.
“Oh, Jesus! Please help me! I don’t know what to do.”
Gemma, I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep. Follow my example.
“But . . .”
The nanomites’ proposed alterations terrified me, and there could be no future for Zander and me after they finished. I sobbed again for the loss of Zander’s love.
Listen to me, little one. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid to take this step. I am with you always, even to the end of this age. My plans and purposes are at work in you.
I wasn’t able to let go right away. Another hour crept by, and I still hadn’t made my choice. I knew what I had to do, what I must do, but I couldn’t bring myself to voice it.
I was weaker now. The nanomites weren’t pressuring me. Although time was running short, they waited in patient silence.
Well, Jesus had struggled, hadn’t he? He had prayed for his Father to spare him. He had wanted to run from what he’d been sent to do.
But he hadn’t run.
<
br /> I sniffled. Sighed. “All right. If . . . if you say so, Jesus, I guess I can do this. Like Emilio chose to trust me, despite everything in his past, I-I, too, can choose to trust. To trust you.”
My shoulders shuddered as relief, release, and serene respite flowed over me. Into me. I inhaled deep, freeing breaths.
“Thank you.”
More minutes passed before I wiped my face and scrubbed my eyes dry. I climbed to my feet, dusted my scraped, torn clothes, and settled my heart.
“Okay, Nano. I’m ready. I accept your offer.”
Above me, along the curve of the cavern’s ceiling, the cloud flickered, swelled, and brightened. A soft hum rose and strengthened until . . . the low, melodious harmonies of the nanomites’ song split into resplendent chords that washed over me.
They were singing!
For joy!
For me!
I smiled and, as the cloud descended, I closed my eyes.
***
Gamble’s head snapped up. “What is that?”
The three men stood and trained their eyes on the edge of the cavern where they had last seen Gemma, from where a gentle, haunting melody echoed and resounded.
“It’s the nanomites,” Dr. Bickel breathed. “They are singing! I heard them when Gemma found me. Gemma hugged me, and I was overcome with emotion. They sang—just like this!”
“It’s beautiful,” Zander said, shutting his eyes to soak it in.
A scream of agony ripped the air.
“Gemma!”
Zander turned to run to her, but Dr. Bickel caught the edge of his shirt and held him fast.
“No, Reverend Cruz, no! This is what the mites warned us about: Do not interfere.”
“Let go of me!” Zander tore his shirt from Dr. Bickel’s hands—only to find himself pinioned by Gamble’s arms.
“Let go, Gamble! Let go! She needs me!”
“I’m sorry, Cruz, but the doc is right. The mites warned us to stay away. We must believe that they won’t hurt her. We have to.”
Zander spat a slang Spanish phrase over his shoulder.
Gamble chuckled. “Why, Pastor Cruz! Did you just curse at me?”
Defeated, Zander sagged in Gamble’s arms. “I’m forgiven, but I didn’t say I was perfect—or stupid.”
The moment Gamble relaxed his hold, Zander brought his cast up and swung it against Gamble’s jaw. Stunned, Gamble staggered and barely kept his feet. Zander bolted; he sprinted toward Gemma.
He was within a few yards of her when he collided with a pulsing wall that repelled him. He skidded on his back across the smooth rock floor, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Minutes went by before he could catch his breath, before he could sit up.
He was dizzy, still dazed, when he spied Gemma: Her skin gleamed with an iridescent glow; the glow brightened and shimmered with silver flecks that danced about her. He tried to get to his feet, but was pushed down and prevented from standing. He tried to crawl toward her, but could make no headway.
For thirty minutes, he watched the lights pulsating over and through Gemma. Then she folded in on herself and slowly, very slowly collapsed to the floor—as though she was being gently lowered rather than dropped.
She lay crumpled in a heap. The glow about her seemed to intensify, to thicken and press in. She shuddered and groaned—and Zander’s heart squeezed with her every utterance of pain.
An hour went by.
Two hours passed. Gemma did not move, and Zander could get no closer to her.
Gamble and Dr. Bickel, prevented as Zander was from moving toward Gemma, joined him. They sat beside Zander and waited.
The minutes of another hour trickled by.
“Sorry about . . . before,” Zander murmured.
Gamble shrugged “Whatever.”
No one said anything for another fifteen minutes, then Gamble huffed. “Can’t believe you sucker-punched me.”
“Can’t believe you fell for it, Special Agent Gamble.”
At the end of the fifth hour, Gemma stirred. She sat up. Got to her knees.
Stood.
***
I rose from the cold stone floor . . . blinked, and stared around me. I was still at the far edge of the cavern, but everything I looked at seemed strange. Different. Kind of 3D-movie different.
I performed an internal inventory. I felt okay, no longer shaky or weak.
Okay? Yeah. I felt good. Strong, even.
I inhaled, and a warmth poured through my body until I seemed to burn.
Tingle.
Vibrate.
Whoa.
The burn intensified, and I shook with restrained power. I swallowed hard and—
Gemma Keyes. We have a question.
“Um?” I was preoccupied, trying to assess what the mites had done to me. What was different. What had changed.
Gemma Keyes, who is with us?
“Huh?”
Someone is with us.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand the question.”
We are six. Who is with us?
It hit me.
Oh, wow.
“Uh, Nano, it . . . it’s Jesus.”
Who is Jesus, Gemma Keyes? Why is he with us? How did he come to be with us? We are six, not seven.
Were they . . . ? Did they sound peeved?
“Um . . .” I grasped for an answer. “Well, do you remember when you asked who made me?”
Yes. Dr. Bickel made us. Who made you?
“Jesus made me, Nano, and . . . Jesus made Dr. Bickel, too.”
My reply threw them. A long, charged moment elapsed—with soft nano-hissing and chittering passing back and forth before they responded.
How did Jesus come to be with us? He was not with us before.
“No, he wasn’t. He has to be asked . . . to come in, and I, um, I asked him.” My threadbare theology was starting to shred, to wear through.
Is he to be a tribe with us?
“No; that is, I don’t think so. He is his own tribe. A very powerful tribe—I think it’s more that we join his tribe than the other way around.”
The mites were quiet, probably trying to figure out how to react to the “new guy.” While they chewed on their problem, it was time for me to ask them a question.
“Nano? Did you finish with the, er, alterations?”
Yes, Gemma Keyes. After the initial destruction and discomfort, you tolerated the changes well—although we worked diligently to mitigate as many unpleasant side effects as possible.
Destruction? Yeah, I supposed they had to destroy many of my cellular structures and then remake them.
We are six again, Gemma Keyes. We are now optimal.
Optimal? With your humongous numbers? I’ll bet you are.
I was filled with wonder.
And then I snapped to what they’d said: not you, but we. They said, “We are now optimal.”
I lifted my hands to examine them. As I did, the light fixtures banding the cavern flickered. Current jetted from the wavering lights and slammed into my chest. The drawn energy coursed through me and reverberated in my bones. It swelled and spread down my arms until it reached my fingertips, ready to burst forth.
I swallowed. “Wow.”
I let my eyes fall shut as I absorbed what was happening. Electricity crackled around me, infusing me with might. As my body drew power to it, I sensed the effects of the nanomites’ alterations everywhere—in every pore of my being—and began to catalogue them.
What else?
I slipped into the warehouse. A wide, bright expanse devoid of shadows and hallways greeted me. With no effort on my part, the mites’ vast knowledge and insights came to me.
The scope and magnitude of the nanomites’ alterations were making themselves known. As I tallied the recognized changes, I nodded my approval and looked beyond the cavern’s walls, past the mountain.
It was time to return Dr. Bickel to the land of the living. To deal with Cushing and Soto. To set things right.
<
br /> I envisioned the battles ahead, where the war would be fought and won. I wasn’t naïve about the coming conflict, but I smiled, even laughed a little inside.
“Okay. Well, so I imagine that this—all this—is going to shift the balance of power in our favor just a teensy bit.”
I giggled. “Right, Nano?”
My question was a little joke. The nanomites’ answer was not.
The odds have shifted significantly, Gemma Keyes. We are six, and we are optimal.
We shall prevail.
~~**~~
Postscript
It was early morning in Georgetown, Washington, D.C., but only 3 a.m. in New Mexico—the dead of night for people on Mountain Standard Time.
Imogene Cushing was expecting the call and answered it on its first ring. “Yes, sir.”
The voice on the other end, usually so silky and controlled, raged at her. Cushing pulled the receiver an inch from her ear.
“Yes, sir. We’ve received the full cooperation of every agency as we requested. No, sir; we have not located them. We discovered an abandoned truck we believe was theirs. Yes, sir; we are certain she had help. No, we do not yet know who aided them; however, I am tearing apart Miss Keyes’ every relationship. I am confident we will find the link.”
She listened to the ranting caller. “Sir, I have four witnesses who can confirm what I had come to suspect: Miss Keyes was invisible.”
More angry word blistered her ear.
“I absolutely do recognize the tactical significance of her, er, condition. I assure you that capturing her is my only priority.”
The caller calmed from rage to a terse staccato. Cushing nodded. “Yes; I will give the order to have the facility purged; evidence that Bickel was held there will be expunged. Yes. The contractor personnel, also.”
She absorbed a loud and lengthy reprimand without moving a muscle. When it ended on a threat, she ground her teeth but replied, “Yes, sir. I understand.”
When the caller slammed down the receiver on the other end, Cushing remained motionless, the phone to her ear.
Everything was falling apart. No, that wasn’t quite right. It had fallen apart the moment she’d realized that she had blown up the AMEMS lab with her own man inside and not Bickel. The moment she’d realized that Bickel had duped and eluded her—had taken his research out from under her nose. All her efforts since then had been an exercise in futile catch-up.
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