Chapter Two: Good Things Come in Small Packages…
Useless… Iben eyed the nylon backpack on the floor with disgust. It probably contained several ancient plagues or even an incurable disease, he thought, perhaps even some outlandish genetic mutation. After hearing the peculiar story told by the girl he had no doubt that whatever he found inside would ultimately end up being very unhealthy for Iben Powned.
He opened the pack cautiously. The first thing he noticed was a label with the words “Property of” printed on it; below were the handwritten initials R. B. The rest of the compartment was filled with file folders stuffed with papers. There were several photographs, a few satellite maps and computer discs inside as well.
A tri-color brochure caught his attention. It was an advertisement for Paik Heavy Industries - Robotics Division in Lotus Valley and their breakthrough nanotechnology. Iben had, of course, read Creighton’s “Prey” years ago yet he certainly did not believe that self-replicating miniature robots would ever be practical or useful. But, he thought, it couldn’t hurt to do a little investigation and find out what, if anything, R.B. had been trying to warn him about, especially in light of the fact that stray bullets had recently been added to the equation. And Lotus Valley was just over the bridge, he reasoned.
Paik Heavy Industries was nestled into the far end of a small industrial park just off the interstate. Like most of the one-story manufacturing plants and businesses in the area Paik Heavy was of early 21st century construction, all corrugated metal and concrete, but as he drove to the visitor’s parking lot, he saw that behind the Paik factory was a small ivy-encrusted building surrounded by massive oak trees that had somehow escaped the recent renovations of the industrial park.
On the drive over, Iben had practiced his “just a humble writer doing research” speech and realized that he had fairly perfected this conversation over the years, which turned out to be more proof of his useless skills since the production plant offered free tours every half-an-hour. It seemed unusual to Iben that Paik Industries would be so frank and open concerning this aspect of their technology and research if they, like all the parties mentioned in R.B’s papers, were villainous.
The little mint-green paper hats and lab coats they gave out prior to the tour were a nice touch, he thought, as he stepped up onto the sightseeing trolley. As the guide began his scripted monologue, Iben quickly realized that all he was going to learn on this tour was the antiseptically canned script about robotics that every tourist received and that it would not help him with his research.
As the trolley neared a lighted exit he stepped off, quickly walked to the door, which, surprisingly, was unlocked, and found himself in an empty stairwell. Even more surprising, no alarms sounded. From the outside the Paik Robotics building had looked like any other one-story manufacturing plant in the industrial park, but the stairwell descended at least four levels from the one on which Iben now stood. He crept down the stairs silently.
As he made his way downward he could hear a faint but continuous buzzing coming from below. Near the bottom of the stairs he saw a stack of wooden archive boxes used for storing outdated paperwork. Each neatly stacked box was stamped with a “Hanso Foundation” logo. From behind the boxes he heard voices. Iben snuck a peek through the handle holes of a box to see two men talking in front of a very modern-looking wall of super-computers.
“Tom, we really need to shut it down and run a diagnostic check on the horde,” said a young man in a mint-green lab coat. His left pocket bore figures from “The Book of Changes” in an octagonal pattern.
“No, no the Sappers and the Shapers are working perfectly. It’s the Cerberus’ that need modification and we can’t afford to shut down the entire swarm for that. We’d have to re-set the whole program and that would affect too many stations.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?”
“We do nothing. We wait. See if they learn. Perhaps they’ll self-correct without any radical adjustments.”
Beyond the wall of boxes Iben witnessed something that scarcely moments ago he would have said could not exist. A large, plate-glass walled cell filled the entire rear sub-basement of the building. Behind the glass a murky dark black cloud of smoke floated ominously, almost cognitively, he thought, and it appeared to be studying his every move. A buzzing, like a great colony of bees, resonated from behind the glass. Iben was looking at millions, no, billions upon billions of microscopic nano-robots and the cloud from which they were composed seemed to be growing as he watched.
Astonishing as the cloud was, Iben also realized that the room outside the cell was filled with antiquated computer tape drives and old monochrome monitors, one of which showed the stairwell he’d just been in. He realized then that it was time to leave and as he quickly climbed the stairs the loudspeakers in the hallway began blaring, “Compound breached!” in a mechanical tone. He hurried up the stairs.
As he turned to exit the stairwell he saw the two men he had overheard talking coming towards him. Both wore mint-green lab coats and both were pointing at him. The longhaired pony-tailed man pointed at Iben, gestured at the young man with him and said, “Get him!” The two men raced up the stairs. Iben exited the stairwell just in time to hear the clunk of a dead bolt lock slam shut in the door behind him. Why would they lock that door now?
Iben had a moment to consider the conversation he had just heard. He leaned his back against the locked door.
Did I hear that right? he wondered. Sappers and Shapers? He knew that sappers were tunnel diggers and shapers seemed obvious but what in the world was a Cerberus? And what did that mean anyway? Nano-robots were usually used for medical purposes and molecular manufacturing but these, these were another breed altogether and there appeared to be three different types: One for tunneling, one for shaping and one for, what, barking? It just doesn’t make any sense. What are they tunneling into and what are they shaping? More importantly what are these guys really using nanobots for?
There were very few moments in Iben Powned’s life when he was truly and entirely frightened. Most recently when the brakes on his car failed, for instance, but when he heard the whispering buzz that appeared to be rapidly gaining on his position he realized a whole new realm of terror. The term frightened shitless came to mind. There was nothing for it but to run. So, he ran. A massive horde of nanobots appeared out of the air conditioning vents in the warehouse in a cloud and descended towards him. Iben ran to the nearest exit, fumbled his way through the door and quickly slammed it shut behind him. The buzzing gained in intensity but then disappeared completely behind the closed door.
He shuddered uncontrollably thinking about what he had just evaded and panic started to invade his reason. A sudden pain startled him out of the fear that was beginning to build up inside him. How did I scratch myself there? But it wasn’t a scratch at all. It was one of those miniature metallic nanobots trying to tunnel its way into the flesh of his arm. He picked it from his skin between two fingers and crushed it on the pavement under his shoe. Now that’s a satisfying sound, he thought.
Iben started walking quickly to his car but noticed that his race through the warehouse to safety brought him not out near the parking lot but into a cemetery near the ivy-covered building behind Paik Heavy Industries. Iben took cover among the ancient oaks that surrounded the graveyard, a small plot of grass with nine headstones in a three by three array. As he passed the headstones he had to do a double take. The bottom headstone read:
Thomas Werner Mittelwerk
April 15, 1842
August 16, 2004
One hundred and sixty-two years old! Iben could hardly believe what he was seeing. How could anyone live that long? Examining the headstone more closely he noticed that the number 42 in the birth year “1842” seemed different then the rest of the numbers. He traced it lightly with his fingers and… it clicked! The headstone slid forward and up revealing a hatch with metal stairs that descended into absolute darkness…
He opened the pack cautiously. The first thing he noticed was a label with the words “Property of” printed on it; below were the handwritten initials R. B. The rest of the compartment was filled with file folders stuffed with papers. There were several photographs, a few satellite maps and computer discs inside as well.
A tri-color brochure caught his attention. It was an advertisement for Paik Heavy Industries - Robotics Division in Lotus Valley and their breakthrough nanotechnology. Iben had, of course, read Creighton’s “Prey” years ago yet he certainly did not believe that self-replicating miniature robots would ever be practical or useful. But, he thought, it couldn’t hurt to do a little investigation and find out what, if anything, R.B. had been trying to warn him about, especially in light of the fact that stray bullets had recently been added to the equation. And Lotus Valley was just over the bridge, he reasoned.
Paik Heavy Industries was nestled into the far end of a small industrial park just off the interstate. Like most of the one-story manufacturing plants and businesses in the area Paik Heavy was of early 21st century construction, all corrugated metal and concrete, but as he drove to the visitor’s parking lot, he saw that behind the Paik factory was a small ivy-encrusted building surrounded by massive oak trees that had somehow escaped the recent renovations of the industrial park.
On the drive over, Iben had practiced his “just a humble writer doing research” speech and realized that he had fairly perfected this conversation over the years, which turned out to be more proof of his useless skills since the production plant offered free tours every half-an-hour. It seemed unusual to Iben that Paik Industries would be so frank and open concerning this aspect of their technology and research if they, like all the parties mentioned in R.B’s papers, were villainous.
The little mint-green paper hats and lab coats they gave out prior to the tour were a nice touch, he thought, as he stepped up onto the sightseeing trolley. As the guide began his scripted monologue, Iben quickly realized that all he was going to learn on this tour was the antiseptically canned script about robotics that every tourist received and that it would not help him with his research.
As the trolley neared a lighted exit he stepped off, quickly walked to the door, which, surprisingly, was unlocked, and found himself in an empty stairwell. Even more surprising, no alarms sounded. From the outside the Paik Robotics building had looked like any other one-story manufacturing plant in the industrial park, but the stairwell descended at least four levels from the one on which Iben now stood. He crept down the stairs silently.
As he made his way downward he could hear a faint but continuous buzzing coming from below. Near the bottom of the stairs he saw a stack of wooden archive boxes used for storing outdated paperwork. Each neatly stacked box was stamped with a “Hanso Foundation” logo. From behind the boxes he heard voices. Iben snuck a peek through the handle holes of a box to see two men talking in front of a very modern-looking wall of super-computers.
“Tom, we really need to shut it down and run a diagnostic check on the horde,” said a young man in a mint-green lab coat. His left pocket bore figures from “The Book of Changes” in an octagonal pattern.
“No, no the Sappers and the Shapers are working perfectly. It’s the Cerberus’ that need modification and we can’t afford to shut down the entire swarm for that. We’d have to re-set the whole program and that would affect too many stations.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?”
“We do nothing. We wait. See if they learn. Perhaps they’ll self-correct without any radical adjustments.”
Beyond the wall of boxes Iben witnessed something that scarcely moments ago he would have said could not exist. A large, plate-glass walled cell filled the entire rear sub-basement of the building. Behind the glass a murky dark black cloud of smoke floated ominously, almost cognitively, he thought, and it appeared to be studying his every move. A buzzing, like a great colony of bees, resonated from behind the glass. Iben was looking at millions, no, billions upon billions of microscopic nano-robots and the cloud from which they were composed seemed to be growing as he watched.
Astonishing as the cloud was, Iben also realized that the room outside the cell was filled with antiquated computer tape drives and old monochrome monitors, one of which showed the stairwell he’d just been in. He realized then that it was time to leave and as he quickly climbed the stairs the loudspeakers in the hallway began blaring, “Compound breached!” in a mechanical tone. He hurried up the stairs.
As he turned to exit the stairwell he saw the two men he had overheard talking coming towards him. Both wore mint-green lab coats and both were pointing at him. The longhaired pony-tailed man pointed at Iben, gestured at the young man with him and said, “Get him!” The two men raced up the stairs. Iben exited the stairwell just in time to hear the clunk of a dead bolt lock slam shut in the door behind him. Why would they lock that door now?
Iben had a moment to consider the conversation he had just heard. He leaned his back against the locked door.
Did I hear that right? he wondered. Sappers and Shapers? He knew that sappers were tunnel diggers and shapers seemed obvious but what in the world was a Cerberus? And what did that mean anyway? Nano-robots were usually used for medical purposes and molecular manufacturing but these, these were another breed altogether and there appeared to be three different types: One for tunneling, one for shaping and one for, what, barking? It just doesn’t make any sense. What are they tunneling into and what are they shaping? More importantly what are these guys really using nanobots for?
There were very few moments in Iben Powned’s life when he was truly and entirely frightened. Most recently when the brakes on his car failed, for instance, but when he heard the whispering buzz that appeared to be rapidly gaining on his position he realized a whole new realm of terror. The term frightened shitless came to mind. There was nothing for it but to run. So, he ran. A massive horde of nanobots appeared out of the air conditioning vents in the warehouse in a cloud and descended towards him. Iben ran to the nearest exit, fumbled his way through the door and quickly slammed it shut behind him. The buzzing gained in intensity but then disappeared completely behind the closed door.
He shuddered uncontrollably thinking about what he had just evaded and panic started to invade his reason. A sudden pain startled him out of the fear that was beginning to build up inside him. How did I scratch myself there? But it wasn’t a scratch at all. It was one of those miniature metallic nanobots trying to tunnel its way into the flesh of his arm. He picked it from his skin between two fingers and crushed it on the pavement under his shoe. Now that’s a satisfying sound, he thought.
Iben started walking quickly to his car but noticed that his race through the warehouse to safety brought him not out near the parking lot but into a cemetery near the ivy-covered building behind Paik Heavy Industries. Iben took cover among the ancient oaks that surrounded the graveyard, a small plot of grass with nine headstones in a three by three array. As he passed the headstones he had to do a double take. The bottom headstone read:
Thomas Werner Mittelwerk
April 15, 1842
August 16, 2004
One hundred and sixty-two years old! Iben could hardly believe what he was seeing. How could anyone live that long? Examining the headstone more closely he noticed that the number 42 in the birth year “1842” seemed different then the rest of the numbers. He traced it lightly with his fingers and… it clicked! The headstone slid forward and up revealing a hatch with metal stairs that descended into absolute darkness…
posted by The Alternative One at 9:28 PM
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