Johnny Winger and the Great Rift Zone

by Philip Bosshardt

  ***Config patterns are stable, Dr. Falkland. Injector guns are primed and ready to trigger on first alarm…feed valve is closed, but powered up. Memory field at state one, ready to transmit…all parameters within normal tolerances, Doctor…it appears that everything is ready. How do you feel about the experiment today?***

  Falkland sniffed. Nice of you to ask, Doc, he thought. He’d programmed that into the angel’s core routines just last week…a new sympathy module he’d swiped from the Net. At least, the cloud of bugs had the smarts to know when to invoke it.

  “I’m feeling confident, today, Doc…one last check of all systems and we’re ready to go.”

  A quick look around the containment controls assured Falkland that nothing had been overlooked.

  “Okay, Doc…here goes--“ He pressed a button, opening a port inside the cell. Instantly a swarm of nanobotic disassemblers flooded the compartment, enveloping Simon in a faint mist that flickered with pinpricks of light. The Shih Tzu stared out longingly, tail still wagging. Soon enough, his face was lost in the fog.