by B. V. Larson
“No,” Marvin said, “you do not understand. I’m not talking about the Macros, I’m talking about the Nano creatures you freely create and force to serve you.”
I opened my mouth, but it just hung there. He had a point. I did regularly create masses of Nanos for various purposes. Billions—probably trillions had been destroyed fighting for me. I’d never considered paying any kind of homage to them. I thought of telling Marvin they were only machines, and thus had no moral value. But I wasn’t sure how that would go over with him….
“There are moral differences,” I said, wincing at the use of the word. I knew we’d get here somehow. Like all engineers, I preferred to study what worked and why—not whether it should or not. “I never threatened the Nanos or otherwise forced them to serve me. They are created for that purpose and do not resist service. These biotics have been abused. They are prisoners, frightened slaves.”
Marvin extended an arm and fooled with the collar around the tank. The electrode shivered and a tiny hiss of steam rose from it.
“You aren’t going to shock them again, are you?” I asked, approaching him cautiously.
“It is no longer necessary. The merest calibration of the mass-death device causes instant obedience.”
“I don’t think you were listening to my little speech about not abusing these creatures, Marvin.”
“So many of them have already died to reach this point of total obedience,” Marvin said, swiveling his camera to focus on my face again. “Wouldn’t it be a terrible waste if you didn’t accept their tiny gifts? Wouldn’t it magnify the wrong that has already been afflicted upon them?”
I stared at Marvin, getting that creepy feeling again. Who was giving whom the educational talk, here?
“Okay, tell me what they can do for me,” I said.
“They rebuild things, edit things—or make entirely new things.”
“What kind of things, Marvin?”
“Things like you, Colonel Kyle Riggs.”
I stared into the tank for a few seconds. “You mean like my foot?” I asked.
“Yes. Anything biotic. Given a few cells, they can grow duplicates and attach them into appropriate structures.”
I swallowed hard. “What am I supposed to do? Put my foot in there?”
“There is a feeding port on top of the tank. Insertion into that orifice would allow them access to your injury.”
I craned my neck, but couldn’t see the orifice he spoke of. I rubbed my face thoughtfully, feeling my stubble. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d shaved. Sandra would never have put up with it if she’d been around to complain. I blinked as I thought of Sandra. “Could these little guys fix anyone?” I asked.
“No. They must have living cells to duplicate. They require complete DNA strands to read as models. Complex creatures such as yourself with a great deal of cell differentiation provide them with a serious challenge. But they are capable of duplicating every cell in your body if they have the blueprint.”
“The blueprint? Meaning what?”
“A single living cell. Each of your cells contains all the information to build all the others.”
I shook my head. “Marvin, how did you learn all this in such a short time?”
Marvin pointed with his new, solitary forearm built of construction nanites. I noticed it ended in the traditional three-thumbed hand. The hand pointed at the tank in front of us. “I learned most of it from them. They know about your kind. They have tasted your flesh before. They have leeched away your genetics as part of Macro dissections.”
I stepped back and stretched until I could see the top of the tank. There was a fleshy bulb up there. It looked like a rubbery orifice all right. “There’s no way I’m going to climb up there and shove my foot into that tank. Especially not with you down here in trigger-happy mode with that shock-rod.”
Marvin didn’t object to my distrust. He simply turned and stared into the tank. I assumed he was communicating with the tiny beings inside, so I didn’t interrupt.
“There is another way,” Marvin said. “I will extract a sample of them and deposit them into a container, where you can insert your damaged appendage.”
“Um,” I said, not really liking the idea. But I thought of Sandra and Kwon and all the others aboard that could be helped if this stuff worked. I figured I owed it to them to try. “All right,” I said at last. “I’ll get a bucket or something.”
“You will also need a good source of biotic compounds to work with. Make sure the proteins and sugars match in chemical composition.”
I blinked at him. “You mean I need a human body as raw materials?”
“That would work best. If unavailable, any biotic base-material from your world will suffice.”
In the end, I found myself with my bare, charred foot bathing in a bucket full of slime. I shared the bucket with several billion terrified microbial creatures and a raw pork chop from the ship’s stores. The pork chop provided the organic materials, and my good cells provided the blue print.
The microbes tickled as they did their magic. It felt as if I’d put my foot into highly carbonated soda water. I figured if this worked and these bugs were able to turn raw pork into a living piece of Star Force marine, we would have an even better reason to call ourselves Riggs’ Pigs.
-34-
Less than two hours later, I had a new foot. It was almost as odd a sensation as losing it had been. I walked on it experimentally while it dripped and tingled. The nerves were far from happy with the new connections. They were positively pissed, in fact. If you’ve ever had a foot go to sleep on you due to a shut-off blood-supply, you’ll know the sensation I’m talking about. It could be described as walking on pins and needles.
I toweled off my new pink foot and put my boot back on. That felt better. The less direct sensation the better. I supposed in a day or two, I would be back to normal. I looked at the tank and I looked at Marvin, who was studying me with his camera.
“Is the appendage satisfactory?” he asked.
“Yes. Absolutely. Please transmit my thanks to the microbes for their efforts.”
Marvin whirred for a moment, using his Macro-salvaged legs to turn his body to face me. “That might be counterproductive.”
“What? Thanking them?”
“Yes. They might construe themselves as deserving of payment.”
“Well, they are deserving. They performed an amazing service.”
“My understanding of biotics is they operate best under duress. They will—”
“Look, Marvin,” I snapped, then stopped myself. I tried to stay calm. He had a very different way of thinking. I believed the heartlessness of machines was based in their inability to feel real pain or anguish. How could they hope to achieve empathy if they had never felt discomfort? I wished I could curse these machines with some pain circuitry. It would make them much easier to deal with.
“Marvin,” I said, starting again in a calm voice. “Let’s put these biotics in the bucket back into their tank at least.”
“Ah, an excellent suggestion!” Marvin said. He clanked forward and took the bucket up in his three-thumbed hand. It swung and creaked, the noisome liquid sloshing inside.
“Excellent?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. He’d never been excited about anything that I’d suggested to help the microbes before. “Why is it such a good idea?”
“Punishment in a less drastic form is always preferable. Also, they will naturally be plotting to counter our electrode. In time, they will minimize their dead due to its employ. Notice the membrane they’ve been building nearby, keeping their population away from the applicator? I’ve already been considering moving the electrode to the dorsal area of the tank to create maximal carnage.”
I shook my head. “Why is putting the bucket of microbes back into the tank a punishment?”
“Because the toxins will cause a die-off in that region.”
“What toxins?”
“By-products of the process.
The microbes are not terrestrial. They have a different set of base proteins. The essence of any toxin is an alien protein.”
I stared at him as he carried the bucket around to the far side of the tank. There was a small, tubule there. He put the bucket down and lowered the tubule toward the liquid in the bucket.
“Hold on,” I said. “Are you telling me the stuff left over in the bucket will poison them? What about the microbes that did the work?”
“They are already dying. Their purpose has been served.”
I sighed and rubbed my head. I’d killed a billion sentient things to replace my foot. “Just go pour the bucket into the waste chute, Marvin,” I said.
“But—”
“Those are my instructions. I command this vessel.”
Marvin clanked away without another word. I left him with further instructions not to cause the prisoners any more harm. He seemed miffed, but did not argue.
Afterward, I hobbled down to the medical bricks. There were more of them set up now. We’d suffered a number of serious injuries. Sandra was still comatose. Kwon was missing two limbs. I had a hard decision to make. Were my friends worth a few billion microbes? It wouldn’t have even been a question, except they were sentient. It was one thing to eat a yogurt, knowing yeast had died en masse to satisfy your appetites. It would have been quite another to understand the yeast knew it was dying and could feel the pain of it. Worse, the yeast was thinking about you, plotting—possibly even reporting to a yeast fleet crewed by quadrillions of the vengeful critters. What kind of interworld polices was I setting up? How could I get all smart lifeforms to unite against the machines when I abused them freely for my own purposes? How was I better than the Macros, from their point of view?
I stared into Sandra’s coffin and steeled myself. I had to give it a try. I marched back up to the chamber.
Marvin swiveled and clanked away from the tank as I came in. Was that a guilty start?
“Where’s that bucket, Marvin?” I asked.
His short arm extended, pointing. It lay on its side. A few drops of oily black liquid had run out onto the floor.
I marched up and saw the tubule. “You put it into the system anyway, didn’t you?”
“No, not exactly,” Marvin said.
“What exactly did you do?” I asked, angry. I had my hand on my sidearm. I figured if I took out his legs, he’d be immobile and a lot less trouble.
“I let them sample the compound.”
“How much?” I asked.
He hesitated. “About ten percent.”
“What did I tell you to do, Marvin?”
“You told me to dump the sample.”
“Why did you disobey?”
“I was curious. If a small amount were introduced, possibly the microbes could adapt and thus produce a new generation that would be immune to your toxins.”
I stared at him, uncertain if I should blast him or not. I looked at the tank. A portion of it about the size of a throw-pillow looked gray. “It’s killing them, isn’t it?”
“A small percentage of them, yes. They are working on the problem.”
“You disobeyed my orders. You understand that I am in command of this ship, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“In the future, when you have a bright idea that is counter to my orders, you must get my approval.”
“Or what?”
I looked at him again. My hand was still on my laser pistol. He only had one small arm and didn’t look very dangerous. I let my hand slip away from my weapon. “Or you will face disassembly, Marvin.”
“That would be counterproductive.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “So don’t make me do it.”
Marvin turned toward the tank as if he had heard a phone ringing. “They say they are ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“They want to know if your foot has been repaired.”
“Tell them it has. Tell them I am highly satisfied.”
“Done. They are desperately pleased. They say the next generation will not expire so quickly, as they have become resistant to your toxins. They request a new task from the ship-master.”
I closed my eyes, feeling like an evil god. “I’ll get Kwon,” I said quietly.
Was using the microbes in this way worse than killing and eating the pig I used as a bas material? Yes, I had to say that it was. But I did it anyway. I couldn’t turn down such a miracle. Kwon soon had his two stumps soaking in tanks of rubberized plastic. His bones were already forming in there. I could see them through the cloudy liquid and the semi-transparent plastic bag. It looked like a thick skeleton strung with tiny sausages. I supposed the sausage-things would become his musculature after another hour or so.
The microbes worked even faster than the Nanos. Being chemical in nature, rather than electro-mechanical, they could do things my tiny robots just couldn’t manage. Life was, in the end, the more amazing form of existence. From a tiny seed a three hundred foot tall sequoia could grow. It just took a long time. The microbials grew at a rate that was much superior, being more on the plane of super-kudzu rather than a thousand-year-old tree.
I watched and I sweated. Kwon talked my ear off. He was very happy to get two new limbs. Lieutenant Marquis, who was still checking up on the big man regularly, came and whispered her thanks in my ear privately.
I nodded and gave her a tight smile. I wondered how many billions this would kill, and if she would even care if I told her. I decided not to. Why spoil her joy? I had made the decision, and I was the one that would have to live with it.
After another hour, I couldn’t sit still any longer. I ordered the turnip that had once been a corpsman named Carlson brought to the chamber. I had them bring up Sandra in her life-support coffin as well.
Marvin and I soon cooked up a scheme. We would use the coffins themselves as immersion vessels. They were already equipped with circulatory systems for that very purpose in case the occupant was undergoing decompression, or otherwise needed a liquid environment to survive. We hooked up oxygen masks.
Lieutenant Marquis left, but the med-tech named Ning came to investigate. “What the hell are you doing to my patients, Colonel?” she asked severely.
I gave her a half-smile. “Submersion therapy,” I said.
She looked at me as if I were crazy, so I explained the situation to her and showed her my foot and Kwon’s limbs. We’d used a nanite-balloon to make separate tanks for his arm and leg. It had taken a mass of raw hamburger to feed the microbes. I finished up explaining that our marines would have to go without fresh meat for the rest of the journey after I was through regrowing every injured marine’s body.
When I was done, Ning still stared at me as if I was crazy. “If you didn’t have the end of your foot back on, fresh and pink, I would never believe it,” she said.
“We aren’t killing this new batch of microbes, either. They are already fifty percent resistant to the byproduct toxins.”
“Fifty percent?” she asked. “You mean half of them still die?”
“Yes,” I said. “But as I’ve learned more about it, I’m not as upset. In order to exist on Earth at all and feed on our proteins, they will have to undergo this difficult therapy to cause the proper mutations. In addition to that, their normal life span is only a few days in any case.”
“How can they learn anything in such a short time?”
“Well,” I said, “in a way, they don’t learn anything. That’s like asking how a single neuron in our heads ‘learns’ something. They each have part of the group’s knowledge. Their chemical interconnections are how they think. Any given puddle of them operates like a single living organism. The way our cells are all alive individually and can die, but operate as a whole together. Think of them all as one being, but without being welded together inside a sack of skin, the way we are.”
Ning made a face. “Such a lovely way with words. But accurate. What can they do for the turnips—ah, extreme cases?”
“I’m not sure yet. But they are perhaps our only hope.”
Some hours later, Kwon was finished healing. Marvin then took a batch of his microbial soup and transferred it into Carlson’s coffin, who was next in line as per my instructions. I didn’t want to try anything on Sandra that hadn’t been tested at least three times. Marvin left tubules connected so the fluid would slowly drain out from one vessel to another. There were still tubules leaking fresh microbes into Kwon’s bags, then from there to Carlson’s coffin. Being at the bottom of the plumbing system, his face slowly submerged.
“What’s the plan here?” I asked Marvin. “You are reusing the microbes?”
“Yes, the most resistant are going on to the new task. Fresh microbes are being pumped into the mix to extend the useful life of the materials.”
Materials, I thought. That was really what we biotics were to any of these machines. It was hard to like Marvin, but it was hard to hate him, too. He was completely alien, but he was helping us.
Another hour passed. I had a ham sandwich brought up so I could replenish my biotic system. As I ate, I could not help but think of all the trillions of tiny bugs that had lived and died inside my own body every hour of my life. I tried not to get sick about it, but it was hard to watch sludge bubbling around regrowing limbs and such without doing so.
“We’ve got more than enough materials to pump them into Sandra’s tank now,” Marvin said.
“Yeah, but I haven’t seen any signs of life from Carlson yet,” I said.
“You wish to see movement?”
“What are you going to do, shock him?”
“No. He has been kept in a somnolent state since his recovery, due to his submersion.”
“Are you telling me the repairs are finished on him?” I demanded.
“Yes.”
“Well, wake him up and get him out of there!” I ordered. I called Ning back to the laboratory to help with the resuscitation. I stood up, hands on my hips, and directed Marvin to connect the last tubule between Carlson’s tank and Sandra. As I watched the liquids bubble and churn, I noted they’d gotten darker and thicker with each transfer. I was reminded of dirty motor oil overgrown with algae.
