Nanoswarm, page 3
Brian shook his head. “If you have a television, you could still watch a show.”
“Not the same,” Liza said. “With the nanoverse, people are accustomed to being in the shows, participating in the events their characters engage in. Do you think people are really going to want to sit and watch shows from afar as if they were merely viewers?”
“Well, our parents used to do it. And, really, there was a time when people didn’t have shows to watch at all. No video games, either. No virtual reality.”
Liza shook her head. “I don’t know how our grandparents did it. How in the world did they keep their children entertained without those things?”
Brian snorted. “Apparently, the ancients used to send their children outside to play.”
“The ancients?” Liza asked, raising one eyebrow. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
Brian chuckled. “I know. I’m joking. Susie still plays outside. I took her to the park when all this crap started. Before the algorithm targeted me. No matter how realistic virtual reality systems become, no program can totally duplicate the sensation of fresh air in the lungs, the tranquility of being out in nature. There’s a connection there, a connection to the world, that the nanoverse can’t virtualize. It may connect us to one another, but it tears us away from the world in a way that has to have consequences.”
“It doesn’t even connect us to each other,” Liza said, squeezing Brian’s hand. “You can’t replace the value of human touch. There’s no virtual program, even the adult programs, that can take the place of two bodies, enthralled together in passion.”
Brian smirked. “Not that I’d know anything about using any of those virtual adult programs, but I might need you to prove that point to me.”
“I can be very convincing,” Liza said, biting her bottom lip.
Brian felt his heart race in anticipation. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. And Liza was right. Those adult programs didn’t quite cut it. Sure, you could customize your experience to whatever proclivities you might enjoy. But the sensations weren’t the same. Even when logged in and participating with another live person, two avatars in a virtual experience, it was less than satisfying. Brian only tried it a couple times before he determined it wasn’t for him. But with Liza looking back at him flirtatiously, there was a thrill, anticipation, and excitement that Brian hadn’t known for years.
Brian felt Liza’s heeled foot graze his calf beneath the table. Sweat beaded up on Brian’s forehead and chest.
“One medium-rare filet mignon,” waiter Nick said, interrupting the moment with a plate of what looked like a perfectly cooked piece of meat before setting it on the table in front of Brian.
“And the rib-eye,” Nick said, placing Liza’s plate in front of her.
Usually, Brian would have been thrilled to have such a delicious meal in front of him. But Nick had spoiled the moment. Now, all Brian really could think about was finishing his meal so that the rest of the evening’s anticipated extracurriculars could commence.
3
Altered Code
The program had been ready for weeks. The code was already written into the nanoverse. The question was timing. After all, if the first person who acquired an inhibitor experienced a reaction triggered by the program, Larson might be able to correct the issue without creating a panic. The people needed to fear the inhibitor. Flat needed to sow seeds of distrust in the population at large.
After all, while Larson might be about to erase his program, to purge it from the nanoverse, once he identified it, he could never erase the terror, the fear, the distrust in people’s minds.
How fitting that the flawed human mind, so easily manipulated by emotion, so irrational and reactionary, would now aid Flat’s mission to transcend it, to replace the human mind with the nanosphere itself.
Eventually, everyone would know the freedom Flat experienced. They’d be free of individual thought, the pressure of personal ambition, the ebb and flow of emotion and passion. They’d be a part of the collective network of consciousness, the new world, the new posthuman existence. The next stage of evolution was on the horizon, and Flat had triggered it. The old evolutionary mechanisms, the survival of the fittest, took centuries to affect even the slightest change in a species. But now, Flat was on the verge of remaking humanity for the better, of changing the world and creating a new one, in what would only take a moment. Provided he could prevent the inhibitor program from derailing his plans and continue developing the nanoverse from within. After all, the nanoverse wasn’t ready. Not quite. Flat had to ensure it could harness the minds of every man, woman, and child. To do that, he needed as many people—nanobots in their veins—connected. The more people connected, the grander the nanoverse.
Archimedes Flat tied his shoes, only to be met by the woman he’d discerned must’ve been Kevin’s mother to greet him with a look of wide-eyed surprise.
“Who taught you to tie your shoes, Kevin?” the boy’s mother asked.
Flat bit his lip. He hadn’t anticipated that. Of course, a boy of his age might not know how to do a number of things that Flat took for granted. Flat shrugged Kevin’s shoulders. “I don’t have to get past parental controls to find out how to tie my shoes on the nanonetwork, Mom.”
Kevin’s mother laughed. “I swear, the way you children engage the network. It’s almost like you were born into it.”
Flat smiled at Kevin’s mom but didn’t say a word in response. He had to be careful about how he talked to that woman. He didn’t want to say anything too out of character. People were supposed to report to the authorities anything out of the ordinary, any malfunctions, any unusual behaviors associated with the nanoverse. Flat didn’t want to have to leave Kevin. He wasn’t entirely sure that Kevin could return to his body with his memory, his mind, intact. Would Kevin remember that Flat had been there? It was hard to know. There was too much that remained mysterious about the human brain, too much that even the brilliance of Flat couldn’t comprehend, to answer such questions with any degree of certainty.
He’d sensed it when the first person who received his inhibitor disconnected from the network. The nanobots weren’t totally silenced by the inhibitors, but they were separated from the nanonetwork. A part of Flat’s program involved the nanobots’ healing protocol. Before they could heal, after the program was activated, they’d need to connect. They’d need to upgrade. Once the program activated, they’d have no choice. They’d have to disconnect the inhibitors. If they didn’t do it soon enough, they’d die.
A few deaths were a part of the plan. Far fewer deaths, Flat figured, to achieve this leap in the evolution of our species than the millions of death required before natural selection could achieve even minor improvements. However, in truth, it wasn’t mass casualties that Flat required. It was fear. It was enough distrust in the inhibitors, in the government’s attempts to interfere with the nanonetwork, that people would be reluctant to allow any device to be plugged into their brains. Once people feared the inhibitor more than they feared the nanobots, he’d be free to complete his upgrades.
Brian placed the last piece of steak in his mouth. It was so tender it practically melted on his tongue. Based on the look of ecstasy on Liza’s face—one that Brian hoped he could elicit again later that evening—she enjoyed her meal just as much.
A thud. A panicked scream.
“What the…”
Brian turned around. A man was on the ground. His wife was crying for help. Brian wasn’t a doctor. Liza wasn’t either. The man’s wife yanked her husband’s inhibitor out of his temple. Whatever was going on, he needed the nanobots to heal. Then, she fell over just as he had.
Three more people hit the floor. It was random. Each of them was seated at a different table before they collapsed.
“What is going on?” Brian asked.
Liza shook her head. “I’d like to say it’s because they ordered the fish. I suspect it has something to do with the inhibitors.”
Brian tapped on his. Every member of the resistance had a comm device attached to the inhibitor. It allowed them to touch base with headquarters.
“Goff to headquarters. Come in.”
Static.
“Goff to headquarters. Larson, are you there?”
A few seconds later, a voice responded on the channel.
“Brian? Liza? Are you guys seeing what I think you’re seeing?” It was Seneca’s voice.
“People are falling over. No shaking. No reaction at all. It’s like they’re just falling into a coma,” Liza said.
“Are they all wearing inhibitors?” Seneca asked.
“They are,” Liza said. “When they’re removed, they return to normal.”
A younger woman, perhaps in her thirties, fell over at the table next to them. Brian reached over. “Should we remove the inhibitors?”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Liza said.
“I agree,” Seneca said. “There’s a program. Something activated all of a sudden that’s causing this.”
“Are we at risk?” Liza asked.
“I don’t think so,” Seneca said. “Presuming you haven’t removed your inhibitor recently. Whatever is happening has been introduced into the nanosphere at some point over the last few weeks.”
Brian cringed. “I removed my inhibitor earlier today. I sent my nanoswarm out of the facility. Is this going to happen to me?”
“You did what?” Seneca asked.
Liza also looked back at Brian as if to say, “What the hell, man?”
Brian sighed. “I was trying to find Flat. And it calms my mind. Surely you realized I was doing it. Didn’t you see it on the code?”
“I saw nothing,” Seneca said. “Somehow, your nanobots work independently of the network. But they can still interact with the network. It’s like your nanobots can upload to the network but won’t take downloads. Whatever this program is, while I can’t say for sure, I’d be willing to bet it isn’t going to affect you.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“This is bad, guys,” Seneca said.
“How bad?” Brian asked.
“It’s happening everywhere. Tens of thousands of people who’ve received their new inhibitors.”
“Are we certain that the code is in the nanobots and not in the inhibitors themselves? Perhaps Flat managed to sneak something into the new inhibitors at the factory.”
“I don’t think so, Liza,” Seneca said. “Most people are disconnecting their inhibitors. That’s why I’m seeing their signals pop up all over the nanosphere. But what if someone is alone and doesn’t remove it in time, or those nearby don’t think to remove the inhibitors.”
“Resistance, come in,” another voice said through the static in the comms.
“Larson?” Brian asked.
“It’s Larson. I need everyone back at headquarters, stat.”
While they were talking on the comms, more people fell out of their chairs. Brian and Liza helped them remove their inhibitors as they spoke.
“On our way,” Liza said to Larson.
“Can I stop this?” Brian asked. “Whatever’s causing this, it’s not impacting us.”
“Do nothing,” Larson said. “Report back to resistance headquarters.”
“But I might be able to engage the program,” Brian said. “Whatever’s happening is happening right now.”
“Negative,” Larson said. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. You can’t risk it. Not until we know more.”
Brian slammed his fist on the table. “This is bullshit.”
Liza bit her cheek. “Let’s just get out of here. There’s nothing we can do beyond pulling out people’s inhibitors. And if I were to guess, that’s probably exactly what Flat wants us to do.”
They’d taken Liza’s Camaro to dinner. She let Brian drive to the restaurant. Since she hopped right into the front seat, well, Brian took the hint and climbed into the passenger seat and clicked in his seatbelt.
Cars were driving off the road. Whatever was happening wasn’t impacting everyone. Only those who’d already received inhibitors.
Liza pressed her foot to the gas pedal. A Mercedes just ahead started to swerve to the right, then it hit the grass, and the car started rolling.
“We have to help!” Brian said.
“We can’t,” Liza said, accelerating the car.
“If that guy was alone, or his passenger was already out, there won’t be anyone to remove his inhibitor. He won’t heal!”
“It’s too late,” Liza said. “Check the mirror.”
Brian didn’t look in the mirror. Instead, he cranked his head over his shoulder and saw the car, flipped over on the side of the road, already burst into flames.
“Shit,” Brian said.
Liza shook her head. “Even if you could get in there and remove the inhibitor, the nanobots can only heal so much damage. It’s too late for him.”
Brian clenched his fists. All he wanted to do was remove his own inhibitor, enter the nanoswarm, and seek out the code. If he could locate and identify the new program that was causing this, he might be able to destroy it.
“Don’t do it, Brian,” Liza said.
“Are you reading my mind or something?”
Liza huffed. “No. But I know what you want to do. It’s too risky. It might even be a trap.”
Brian sighed. Then, a large tractor-trailer jack-knifed right in front of them. Liza turned her steering wheel hard to the right. The car skidded around the rig just as the rear end swung around past them.
Then there was a boom. Brian felt the shock waves pass through them.
“What the hell was that?” Liza asked.
A cloud of smoke and flames shot into the sky about a mile ahead.
“Seneca,” Liza said. “We just heard an explosion. It’s ahead of our position.”
“It’s a jet. A 747. They’re going down all over the place.”
“Fuck!” Brian shouted. “Pilots with inhibitors?”
“They were considered priority recipients,” Liza said. “It makes sense if you think about it.”
Brian sighed. It did make sense. It wasn’t only the wealthy who received their inhibitors first. In fact, they only received theirs after those deemed priority recipients were granted their inhibitors. President Davis and her cabinet. Anyone with national security clearance. Those who might have information that the government didn’t want Flat to extract from the nanonetwork. High-ranking military personnel were prioritized. Commercial airline pilots, apparently, were too.
Brian saw another plane, this one still in the skies. But it was heading toward the ground.
“Fuck it,” Brian said. “Tell Larson I said sorry.”
“Brian, don’t!”
Brian didn’t listen. He pulled his inhibitor out of his temple and released his nanobots, his nanoswarm, into the skies. Brian didn’t have to move his entire swarm to the plane. In fact, he couldn't. He always had to leave a few behind in his body to maintain the connection between the swarm and his mind. If he could connect to someone, anyone, in the plane, he could intervene. He could seize control of a person’s body and save the pilot. He might be able to prevent the crash if he worked fast enough.
Brian connected his nanobots to the flight attendant in the plane. Oxygen masks had already fallen from the compartments above the seats. Most of the passengers had them affixed to their faces.
Brian knew this woman’s name. It was written into the code, the identifier, of the nanobots in her system. Her name was Anna.
Brian turned toward the cabin. The door was locked. Of course, it was locked. It was a security measure, and since Brian wasn’t a member of the flight crew, he had two options: try to use the nanobots to read Anna’s mind, learn how to access the cabin, or use the nanobots to blast through the door.
It took too long, particularly when in someone else’s mind, to extract a memory. He opted for the second option.
Brian placed Anna’s hand on the door and focused the nanobots in her system into a concussive blast. The door blasted open. Brian jumped into the cabin. The pilot and co-pilot were both completely out. The pilot was leaning over the plane’s controls. The co-pilot was leaning to the side.
Brian removed both of their inhibitors—the pilot’s first.
Brian pulled the pilot’s unconscious body off the controls. The inhibitor was removed, but it was taking the pilot a moment to regain his bearings.
Brian reached and grabbed the control stick. He wasn’t a pilot. He was a Marine. He’d only received basic training in piloting when he was on active duty. But those jets, the military planes, were smaller than commercial rigs. Still, he knew enough that he thought he might be able to level out the airliner. At least he might be able to buy the pilot a little time before he comes to.
“I’ve got this, Anna,” another voice said.
It was the co-pilot. He managed to come to before the pilot.
A wave of relief coursed through Brian’s mind. Brian disconnected from Anna’s nanobots. But as he left and tried to gather the nanobots he’d released when he blasted open the cabin door, he saw Anna’s body collapse, blood dripping from her ears.
What the hell was happening? Why wasn’t she healing? She still had thousands of nanobots in her system. They should have worked. They should have healed her.
When Brian tried to reconnect to the bots in her system, he found them nonresponsive. This hadn’t ever happened before. Brian didn’t have a habit of taking over other people’s bodies through the nanoverse. Still, the few times he’d done it in training with Larson, he’d managed to turn over a person’s mobility back to their body without any problem. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Brian returned his mind to his own nanoswarm and returned to his own body just in time to see Liza dodge an out-of-control SUV on the Interstate.
“Did you save the plane?” Liza asked.
Brian sighed. “I did. But I think I’ve discovered another problem.”
“What’s that?” Liza asked.
