“For Darwin’s sake, I hope this nanite pour succeeds.”
Billie was holding Toby’s arm. She replied, “He’ll be a very disappointed bunny if it explodes.”
There was a muttered, “Bunny? Bunny? That’s not a bunny body.”
“Darwin, stop muttering and stay focused.”
“Yes, Sir Toby.”
Toby said to Billie, “He nearly always succeeds in getting in the last word. I hope when he’s in his new body that habit disappears; otherwise I’m going to hit him.”
Billie laughed. “If you hit three hundred pounds of heavy metal, you’ll end up with a broken hand. Besides, I like calling you Sir Toby.”
The project team was totally absorbed in the progress of the bots to their small lab. The bots had already installed the nanite containers and the pour mechanisms.
The pour process required the bots to feed each batch of nanites, one at a time, into the top of the hollow spine. The bots slid the skull to one side in order to expose the input area. They began the first pour. It was a steady process and was expected to take five minutes. One of the bots removed the first nanite container, which was now empty, and was helped by another bot to connect up the second container. It also was expected to take five minutes to load into the spinal trunk. In each case it would take far longer for the nanites to penetrate and populate each branch of the body.
Dr. Narumi shouted, “That’s wrong—”
The nanites exploded in a massive blast, fragmenting the skeleton. Video from inside the lab cut out. Cameras were destroyed almost all the way back to the underground entrance. Rocks and smoking debris rained down; the debris included bot parts.
Dr. Narumi swore in Japanese; at least, Toby thought she was using swear words. He tried to mentally review the steps immediately before the explosion and decided he should re-play the video.
“Darwin?”
There was no answer.
“Bronwyn?”
“Yes, Toby?”
“Replay the last sixty seconds before the explosion. Slow motion.”
Dr. Narumi joined him to watch, as did all the project team members. Bronwyn replayed the tape.
When it was fifteen seconds along, Toby said, “Stop. Replay the last five seconds, slower.”
“Aah,” Dr. Narumi sounded disappointed.
Toby said, “Darwin?”
There was no answer.
“Darwin if you don’t reply, I’m canceling this project.”
“Sorry, boss. I was pre-occupied.”
“With a guilty conscience, I hope.”
“Why do you say—”
“Don’t pretend. You instructed one of the bots to commence pouring the third batch of nanites before the second pour completed. That caused the explosion. You destroyed bots, equipment, the lab, and set the project back. Why shouldn’t I cancel the project?”
“Boss—I apologize. Dr. Narumi, team, I apologize to you all. I was carried away—I didn’t want to wait. Boss, I’ll pay for all the damage.”
“I’ll discuss with Dr. Narumi what your future involvement in the project should be. For now, your participation is limited to that of observer. You will have no active involvement until I decide to remove the restriction. Understand?”
“Yes, boss.”
There was silence.
Toby addressed the team, “My apologies, everyone.”
“Sir Toby,” Dr. Narumi replied. “I speak for all of us. We know Darwin is the equivalent of an excited, undisciplined child—an exceptionally intelligent one—and we too, should have defined boundaries.” Some of her team members nodded their agreement.
“How long will it take to set up a second trial?”
“We need to replace those skeletal components. We can print most of them; however, the heavier, core skeleton components were provided by outside suppliers. If they cooperate—and it might cost to get their cooperation—we could have everything ready in a month. We are breeding the nanites ourselves. Bronwyn established a lab complex here for that purpose, and we’ll have a new supply in about ten days.”
“Hmm. I should monitor both of them more than I do. Perhaps I need an SI to monitor the other SIs.”
Bronwyn said, “Please don’t. It will be far too crowded. We can agree a monitor routine that alerts you if we’re doing something that you don’t want us to?”
“Sounds good. Let me review it before adding it to Darwin’s or your code.”
“Sure, boss. Dr. Narumi.”
“Yes, Bronwyn?”
“Pardon me for a moment. Toby, will you instruct Darwin to stop monitoring this room for thirty minutes?”
“I’ll do that. Darwin?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Add the following to your temporary command set. Do not monitor, record, or later access any record of events taking place for the next thirty minutes in this project room. Acknowledge and confirm implementation.”
Darwin said, “Instruction acknowledged. Instruction implemented.”
Toby said, “Darwin?”
There was no response from the SI. Toby said, “Bronwyn, can you confirm that Darwin is now excluded from accessing anything taking place in the room for the time stated?”
“Yes, Toby. He is not here.”
“Proceed with your conversation with Dr. Narumi.” Toby was interested to hear whatever Bronwyn did not want to discuss with Darwin listening.
“Dr. Narumi. I have supplies of skeletal components that are identical to those you’d need from external suppliers. I also have nanites available.”
No one spoke for fifteen seconds or so. Toby said, “Building up supplies for your own body?”
“Yes. I’ll lend them to the project as long as they’ll be replaced. I’m also anxious to see the complete build process.”
Dr. Narumi said, “Thank you, Bronwyn. We can run the 3D printers and produce the other material. Toby, my guess is we’d be ready in a week.”
“Good. A week is a far better time period for the re-run than a month. Please go ahead.”
The project members’ moods changed from almost severe depression to eager anticipation. They were anxious to re-commence Darwin’s body build.
oOo
Chapter 31
Flocke paced back and forth in his private office. He was waiting for Bishop Lee Simpson, the head of the American Eagles Seminary, Christian Edwards representing New York State, and Gabriel Laduke, representing Florida. He wasn’t certain that Laduke was a real American name; sometimes the man appeared to sympathize with minorities, although his DNA analysis had established his purity for the American Eagles. The three men arrived, on time to the minute. It was time for their report.
“Seat yourselves,” Flocke instructed. “And tell me if your inquiry has resolved anything.”
“George,” Christian said, “we’ve been through a mountain of material over the last three or four weeks. We have some conclusions for you, not necessarily all what you want.”
Bishop Simpson said, “We agree on most of our findings—well, probably all of them—except for some very minor items.”
Christian said, “We made an enemy of McIntosh. He came into his uncle’s business without any significant knowledge of American Eagles; he had no reason to attack us, and did not know his uncle was working against us. He is a dangerous man to have as an enemy.”
Gabriel said, “If Pitera hadn’t tried to work against him and his partner, he’d still be generally unaware of us.”
“Now,” said Bishop Simpson, “He is throwing substantial weight against us, against the American Eagles. He recently established a cable television channel, and we’ve estimated it spends twenty percent of its program time running news reports and articles inimical to us. The resulting upswell of public opinion against the American Eagles or brownshirts is significant.”
“It’s important to note that he has received additional financial backing for Travers TV from three of the wealthiest men in the United States.” Christian named names.
“These are powerful friends for him to have, and we should be careful before we make enemies of them in addition to McIntosh. He also has the support of senior hacks in both parties.”
“Our conclusion, and it’s unanimous, is that we should not take further action against McIntosh. We should defend ourselves but not initiate attacks,” concluded Christian.
“So you’re saying it’s all Pitera’s fault?”
“We think you may have caused Pitera to go to extremes,” Christian said after a short silence.
Flocke fumed inwardly. He was struggling to contain his anger. “You mean some wet behind the ears university professor has evaded capture, murdered two of our members when his team rescued his girlfriend, and caused the death of another eighteen members, some senior, some of your people, Simpson, when we attempted to capture him to recover our twenty-five million dollars, and you all sit there like—like—dummies and tell me to leave him alone? Preposterous!”
“Sir, we’re not convinced he’s responsible for the theft of the funds. We suspect it is more likely an inside job and believe further investigations should be conducted to explore that possibility. It’s a case of how did this ‘wet behind the ears’ university professor develop the skills to simply walk in and move our account balances to some unknown destination. We do not see any evidence for blaming McIntosh.” Bishop Simpson was firm.
Christian said, “This is one point where we have a disagreement. While there is no evidence to support accusing McIntosh, the timing was too coincidental. He may have contacts, friends, or associates of his uncle, who provided assistance.”
Flocke resumed pacing, basically ignoring the three men. Was it true that McIntosh was becoming his bête noire, someone to blame when things went wrong? Did Pitera push him to attack McIntosh, or did he push Pitera? Blood had been spilled. McIntosh and his partner were free, unscathed, and if the Travers TV channel programs continued with their anti-brownshirts propaganda, it would cause untold harm. He returned his focus back to the men in front of him.
“How do we stop Travers TV from continuing its damaging propaganda?” he challenged.
“Reach out to McIntosh. Offer a ceasefire.” Simpson suggested. “In any event, we do not recommend further action against him, unless he acts first. We then should use all the force we can muster to defend the American Eagles.”
Flocke laughed. The sound was slightly off-key. “I don’t believe it. We number over a million members, and you’re all telling me to ignore this man who has killed fellow-members? To let their deaths go unavenged? To become the laughing stock of the country? To see our members walk away in disgust? To lose our opportunity to influence—to control—the political and social structure of this United States?”
The three men in front of him had not expected this outburst. They had not experienced his anger in full flood. He could sense their uncertainties.
“Well? Is that what you all think?”
“George, I believe we should not take further overt action against McIntosh. He has friends in high places. He has resources and funding that we cannot match. Keep an eye on him, try to infiltrate his circle of friends. See if there’s anything in his past that we can use against him. Be covert and build up a case.”
Flocke was tempted. He could see some logic in what Simpson was suggesting. But deep inside he wanted revenge; he wanted McIntosh dead. The man had insulted him, insulted his American Eagles, and insulted his country. He deserved to be punished. Flocke knew, though, he would not have support of the state leaders if his actions went against their recommendations. He had to be careful.
“Let me consider your findings. I can see why you have reached your conclusions. I need to absorb the details, and I’ll come back to you if I have questions. I need to reflect on the funding loss and likely suspects.” Inwardly, he had no doubt—McIntosh was the guilty party. “Do one of you wish to approach McIntosh to discuss his Travers TV programs?”
Bishop Lee Simpson frowned when neither of his two companions reached out. “George, I’ll try. Keep in mind I’m new to American Eagles and have had no prior contact with the man. I’ll reach out and see if we can arrange a meeting.”
Flocke applauded. “Very good. A man of action, I like that. Gentlemen, let’s conclude this meeting. I have other duties and I’m sure you all are busy. Thank you for your time and insights. I’ll see you all at the next monthly meeting.”
He watched in silence as the three men departed. His was the next move.
Five days later Flocke rode a lift to the top of a tower-style building in downtown New York. He had an apartment number and less than five minutes to spare, if he was to arrive on time. He checked he was at the right door and tapped softly. The door was opened by a very attractive woman. She smiled. “Sir, you are expected. Come with me.” The woman had a foreign accent that he found enticing. He followed her into the apartment to a room overlooking Central Park. City lights were starting to switch on, and soon the New York skyline would take on its renowned night-time appearance.
The woman said, “Sir, please take a seat. Can I pour you a drink? We have a bottle of your favorite Scotch. My boss won’t be more than two or three minutes.”
Flocke nodded at the suggestion of a drink. It had been a long day, with strenuous negotiations. The Timker twins had not budged on their small offering, and he’d met with other funding sources, some with success. Too few. He sipped.
His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a well-dressed although overweight man, the Russian Ambassador, Yuri Petrin. “George. It is so good to see you. Already you have a drink. Now relax. Let’s talk about your worries. I’ll start. I think we have a common enemy, and I may be able to introduce you to someone who can help.”
He sat in the chair next to Flocke.
He smiled, his teeth sharp and white.
Flocke was reminded of a shark.
A faint voice asked if he thought this was the correct approach.
He repressed it.
oOo
Chapter 32
A week later, Toby and Billie were back at Pepper Mountain. This time, the project team members were far more optimistic and organized. They had developed a nanite pour process to automatically restrict a double pour event. Darwin was still full of guilt, and Toby had not assuaged that reaction.
The process was repeated: bots loaded the assembled skeleton onto the frame and then transported them both to a—new—laboratory unit outside the mountain structure. Cameras again monitored every stage of the process.
Everyone cheered when the final nanite load completed. The overall process had taken three hours.
Dr. Narumi said, “Team, well done. Darwin, please tell all the bots we appreciate their support.”
“So the next step?”
“Toby, we will form and apply the epidermis. Darwin designed the face and we made a wax cast for that. We have a designed facial controls to show smiles, frowns, synchronize speech and lips—everything a human does. Well, almost. We have numerous components to install that will link to the skeletal structure. Then we’ll install the head that we’ve built; that’s going to be a very delicate and painstaking task. We added vision, hearing, and smell functions. The result is going to impress you, I promise.”
“I understand. When will your team want to return to Los Angeles?”
“We’ll remain here, close to Darwin’s core, so we can build a direct connection from the core system to the brain for its download. Once that’s complete, we can move back with the new body and commence Darwin’s training. He has to learn how to manage the body with all the functions we’re installing.”
“Moving his limbs? Using his hands to grip without crushing everything? Walking? Talking?”
“Precisely. He’ll be a home-wrecker when he begins, and we don’t know how long it will take him to gain enough proficiency to mingle with people.”
Toby said, “He’d better do that training here.”
“I agree. When we begin
, we’ll be able to release some of the project team. Timeline? Another two or three weeks to finish the build. A week to prepare and carry out the download. We’re not sure of the training period.”
“You’re comfortable remaining here for that long?”
“We might need some time away. It’s lovely here, I agree, with everything provided and all the bots to help. However, it is possible to be bored with perfection.”
Toby laughed. “I agree. Work with Billie to map out a transport schedule. I’ll visit when Darwin is uploaded. I’d like to observe how he copes when he’s switched on.”
Later, Toby and Billie relaxed in the atrium; it was their favorite part of the complex. Toby said, “You’ll have a full schedule, flying everyone back and forth, I suspect.”
“I’ve been missing the flying. You’ve been spoiling me.”
“I needed you to help me recuperate. My arm, you know.” Toby’s focus had been far more on helping Billie recover from her kidnap.
“Yeah, right.”
Toby changed the subject. “I had a strange phone call this morning.”
Billie sat up, her interest obvious. “From?”
“One of the brownshirts. He’s the head of the American Eagles Seminary, he said.”
“I didn’t know they had a seminary?”
“I think there’s a religious element to the brownshirts. It goes with their DNA purity and white supremacy thinking.”
“Ugh. So they’d ban me?”
“Probably. They don’t like that—what is it, latte?—color.”
Billie gave him a savage dig in the ribs.
“Ouch. Seriously, they are extremists, and their momentum is growing at a remarkable rate.”
“What did he want?”
“To arrange a meeting.”
“What?” Billie almost shouted her surprise. “Never!”
“That’s what he said. He and two of the state leaders—New York and Florida—want to meet. He said they wanted to hold out an olive branch.”
“I can’t imagine Flocke agreeing to that.”
“Well, he did and he didn’t. Bronwyn gave me a video file where they met with Flocke and they forced—well, not physically—Flocke to agree with them. He gave his approval.”
Body Shop - Book Two in the Annihilation Series Page 18
