Nanobots Part 1 - Treatment

Tuesday, March 4, 2031

A sharp knock on the door brought the butterflies that had been lurking in my stomach madly to life.  I sat down on the cold examination table.  “Come in,” I said in a trembling croak.  My mouth had gone dry, and I nervously tugged on the permanent cowlick in my snarled red hair.

Doctor Brock walked in with a serious look on his face.  He was a fireplug of a man whose face betrayed a permanent weariness.  He sat at the small desk and reviewed papers attached to a clipboard for a full minute.

“Doc, can you tell me any---”

Brock held up his hand for a moment as he continued to examine the paperwork, then looked up at me.  “I have mixed news.  The good news is that you are finally putting on weight, and the nanobots we injected last month are spread evenly throughout your body.”

“Why is the distribution good news?”

“They are no longer concentrated at the site of your tumor, which means that they have completed their programmed task.  Scans show that your tumor is gone.  However, your blood work also shows unusually high levels of carcinoembryonic antigen, which could indicate the continued presence of cancer.  That’s the bad news.”

My face visibly relaxed.  “In my book that sounds pretty damn good.  It sounds like all we have to do is leave the nanos in for another few weeks to be sure.”

“Ryan, I’m afraid that’s just not possible.  The self-replicating nanobots must be eradicated once they become evenly distributed in the body.  Leaving them in after that point caused dangerous side effects during the clinical trials.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s just say that a high percentage of test subjects that delayed eradication had serious health consequences, including a few deaths.  The protocol expressly prohibits continued nanobot treatment.  No exceptions.”  He smiled at me.  “A nurse will arrive in a few minutes to take you down for nanobot eradication.  We’ll schedule you for another appointment in four weeks, and retest your blood work then.  There’s a decent chance you’re cured, but we won’t know for certain until then.”

* * *

“Please lie down on the table,” said a nurse in a white smock.  She was cute, and I felt distinctly uncomfortable in my open-backed gown.  Little gusts of chilly air seemed to come from nowhere, directly at my backside.  I clamped my hand on the back of the gown to keep it together, and carefully lay down on the table.

I said, “What is this thing?  It looks like a tanning bed.”

“Not quite.  It’s called an NFE machine, which is short for nanobot frequency eradication.  Basically, the tiny carbon-silicon nanobots in your body have a very high natural frequency.  This machine emits that frequency, causing the nanobots to vibrate themselves to pieces inside your body.  It’s like an opera singer breaking a wine glass with just their voice.”

I pushed myself up on my elbows.  “Will it be painful?”

“No, but about ten percent of patients get a slight ringing in their ears for a few hours after eradication.  You’ll be fine, don’t worry.  Now lie back with your hands at your sides.  Keep all parts of your body within the edges of the tray, and stay perfectly still.”

My stomach curled into a knot as I contemplated my chances.  I lay back down as the nurse walked around the partial partition to my right, which separated her operating station from the treatment machine.  While her back was turned, I curled the little finger of my left hand under the edge of the tray.  Save a few of the little guys, I thought, just to finish the job.

The top of the machine came down automatically, and a high pitched humming vibration filled the air around me.  After about ten seconds it stopped, and all was quiet for a full minute.  I was about to yell to the nurse when the top rose back up.  I quickly flicked my little finger back above the tray level as the nurse walked back around the partition.

“All done,” she said.  “How are your ears, any ringing?”

“Nope.”

“Your urine may get a bit cloudy for about two days as your body eliminates the remains of the nanobots from your system.  It’s nothing to worry about.”



Friday Morning, March 7, 2031

I dragged myself down to the breakfast table at six-thirty the next morning to get ready for school.  My sophomore brain seemed to be in a fog as a weird dream about a melting dish of chocolate ice-cream faded from memory.  I had made my usual bathroom stop on the way down, and some part of my consciousness had registered that my urine was clear, but I wasn’t overly concerned.  I poured Toasty-Ohs from a box into a bowl, sloshed in some milk, and slouched down at the table to eat.

“Mornin’ Mom,” I mumbled, as she came in.

My mother, an elegant woman under normal circumstances, looked like she hadn’t slept well for a long time.  Deep worry lines filled the spaces under her eyes, and her long brown hair was a tangled mess.  When standing side-by-side with her, no one would guess that we were related.  My father, on the other hand, was a red haired man of Irish descent.  While they made a good match, I apparently came from the bottom of both gene pools.

My mother squinted at me and said, “Ryan, look at me.”  When I did she continued, “Something’s different.  Go look at yourself in the mirror.”

When it came to my health my mother had become a bit of a hypochondriac, but now probably wasn’t a good time to call her on it.  I stood up and dragged my feet to the front hall mirror.  “What are you talking about, Mom?  I look the same as I always do at this ungodly hour.”

She came up behind me and turned on the overhead light.  At first I saw just my usual features, but as I categorized the oddities I came up one short.  Where the heck had the big mole in my left eyebrow gone?  I used my fingers to pull back the eyebrow hair, but it was as if the mole had never even existed.  I was ambivalent; ecstatic to see it gone, but also uneasy.  As nonchalant as I could manage I said, “Cool, must be a side effect of the treatment.  Too bad that’s all I got though.  I still look like a circus clown.”



Saturday Evening – Sunday Morning, March 8-9, 2031

Saturday evening I ate enough dinner to feed a family of six for a week, or so said my mother.  It was weird, I had to admit.  All through the meal I felt hungry, and no amount of food seemed to satisfy me.  Fortunately my mother took it as a sign of my recovery, and just kept it coming.  When everything was eaten, I was still hungry and had a bowl of cereal.

Since I had all my homework done, my mother let me stay up late and watch television.  It was a rare treat since I had been on a strict sleep schedule during the treatments.  All that was on was an ancient Schwarzenegger Commando movie, and while the plot was lame and predictable, it was nevertheless entertaining from a guy’s point of view.  At eleven the movie ended and I dragged myself to bed.

I awoke at two on Sunday morning to find myself drenched with sweat.  The bedding clung to my slick skin and I felt queasy, like I had eaten something that didn’t agree with me.  I toweled off, stripped the bed, and laid two fresh towels on the mattress.  I wasn’t terribly comfortable, but exhaustion eventually put me back to sleep.

A startled gasp awoke me around nine.  At first I thought my father was gawking at my bed and my nearly naked frame.  The edges of a weird dream about rising bread dough flitted from my consciousness.

“Ryan, what--- what happened here?”

“Oh, hi Dad. I must’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with me.  I woke up drenched.  Sorry about the extra laundry.  Tell Mom that I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s not what I mean.  You look, well, different.”

I stood, adjusted my boxers, and walked to my room’s small mirror.  “Looks the same to me,” I said with a disappointed frown.

“That not what I mean.  Look down.”

I did, and gasped at what I saw.  My little gut was gone, replaced with rippling abs.  My formerly sunken chest was gone too.  Powerfully defined muscles girded my chest, arms, and legs.  I experimentally did a full body flex, and stared in amazement at my new physique.

The small voice of my mother broke my reverie as she entered the room.  “Ryan, what’s going on in here?”

I turned to look at both my parents, who stared slack -jawed at me.

“I have no idea.”  But of course, I did.

* * *

An hour later I sat at the breakfast table in my bathrobe.  I wolfed down an entire box of cereal and I was still hungry.  Never had I eaten that much in one sitting before, except of course the previous night.  My parents came in from the den and sat opposite me, holding each other’s hands.

“Ryan, these changes in your body are scary.  We tried to reach your doctor, but his service says he won’t be back in the office until Tuesday.  Your father and I will schedule an appointment for you as soon as we can.”

My Dad said, “I’m sure when he hears what’s been happening, he’ll get you in immediately.”

I looked down at my cereal bowl.  “Okay, maybe that’s a good idea.”  And that means I have at least two days to see what else I can do, I thought.

“Ah, Mom, there’s something else.  Can you take me shopping today?  I need some new clothes.  Nothing in my closet fits me anymore.”



Sunday Evening, March 9, 2031

Although I had spent quite a bit of time researching nano treatments when it was proposed as a cure for my disease, I now redoubled my efforts.  This time I focused on side effects.  The odd thing was that very little information on side effects was listed on the medical sites.  The only hint I could pick up was on the blog of a woman who claimed to have been a test subject in the clinical trials.  She had reported a high frequency of bizarre dreams that seemed oddly related to changes in her body.  In one instance she reported dreaming about getting sunburned, and the next day she swore that all her body hair had fallen out.

It couldn’t be, could it?  It sounded reminiscent of my melting chocolate ice cream dream and the missing eyebrow mole.  And for that matter, the rising bread dough and my new physique.  Or was that stretching it too far?  If it were true, then what?  Did I dare play with fire?  What if I had a nightmare, or I dreamed of rabbits.  Would I end up with huge furry ears and a tail?  One way or another I would have to sleep tonight, so I figured that I might as well make the best of it.

I went on-line looking for men’s clothing catalogs.  I wasn’t looking for clothes, just the appearance of the male models, especially their perfect noses, ears, and hair.  There was quite a variety of features, but after careful consideration I printed out one of the best looking ones and taped it to my room’s mirror.  Looking between it and my own face I tried to image myself with new features, but I just couldn’t.  In disgust I ripped the picture down and stuffed it in the garbage can.



Monday Morning, March 10, 2031

(Cycle complete, awaiting instructions)

I awoke with a start, the memory of a weird voice echoing in my head.  Cripes now what?  Maybe I’m going schizophrenic I thought, hearing voices in my head.  Hallucinations weren’t listed in any of the nano side effects, but I now seriously doubted that the information I had was anywhere near complete.

My face.  Oh god, my face.  I felt it with my fingers, and at least it still felt like a face.  Only--- I stood and scrambled over to my mirror.  The face that greeted me was still recognizable as my face, but somehow different.  My nose was the same shape as before, only smaller.  And my ears looked the same, only they didn’t stick out any more.  My permanent cowlick was laying flat with the rest of my hair.  Relief washed over me.  I hadn’t even realized that I was worried about waking to a completely different face.  OK, I can work with that.

* * *

“Do I have a volunteer to work this algebra problem at the board?”  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick scanned the room, ignoring the usual raised hands.  Her hawk-like face and black hair instilled fear in the unprepared, myself included.  I slid lower in my seat, hoping to avoid detection.  It was obvious that she was looking to make an example of a slacker.

She zeroed in on my position.  “Ryan Franklin, please show us how to work this problem.”  She pressed a few keys on her computer and my workspace filled the screen at the front of the class.

I groaned, feeling like a trapped animal.  This was not going to be pretty.  She had shown us the method on Friday, and now she expected me to be proficient after the weekend I had?  I stared at the equation with incomprehension for a moment, but the answer suddenly flashed into my mind.  I grabbed my stylus and raced to keep up with the solution appearing in my head.  I filled the entire screen in less than thirty seconds.  I sat back and surveyed my handiwork in awe, then looked over at Mrs.  Kirkpatrick.  She was staring opened mouthed at me.

“Mr. Franklin, that was – an amazing performance.  Well done.”  She turned to the class and said, “Now if everyone studied as Mr. Franklin has obviously done, you’d all have much better grades.”  She turned back to me.  “Thank you, Mr. Franklin.”

One of my slacker buddies who sat directly behind me muttered, “Dickhead”.  I chuckled and gazed at Mrs. Kirkpatrick with a big smile on my face.

(Synaptic linking complete.  Awaiting instructions.)

The soft, vaguely feminine voice in my head caused me a moment of panic before it was washed away in a sudden moment of unexpected euphoria.

* * *

My usual path to my third period study hall took me past Gabrielle’s locker.  She was the Ying to my Yang, my soul mate, my--- oh, who was I kidding.  She was the smart beauty that never got a date because she scared off the guys with her intelligence.  I stole glances at her whenever I saw her at her locker, but she never looked at me.  She was at her locker as I walked by, and by some miracle I caught her eye. 

“Hi Gabby,” I said.  I marveled at the deep sound of my voice and the confidence with which it came out.  I’d not been able to do more than squeak at her in the past, and that was on a good day.

“Ryan?  Ryan Franklin?  Is that you?”  She looked me up and down.  “What on earth happened to you?”

(Pheromones released.  Awaiting instructions.)

I swallowed hard at the soft voice in my head, and said, “It’s just me.  Say Gabby, I could use some help in Spanish.  I know you’re a year ahead of me in that class, but do you think you could tutor me?  If you don’t want---“

“No, no, that’s OK.  I’d be happy to.”  Her smile lit up her face, and she flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder.  “How about at lunch period on Wednesday?  Does that work?”

* * *

Third period I sat by myself in the corner of the study hall classroom.  My teenage hormones were raging after the encounter with Gabby, but there was something I needed to do.  An interior dialog with whoever or whatever kept talking to me in my head.  Assuming I was hearing the nanos, I decided to approach it as though I were typing commands into a computer.  I concentrated on thinking commands at them.

System status?

(All systems nominal.  Primary task complete.  Architecture rebuilt after incomplete eradication.  Secondary programs enabled.)

A bubble of excitement ran through me.  Contact!  I could speak with them.  But what were these secondary programs?  I concentrated again.

List secondary programs.

My head seemed to explode in pain.  My vision was filled with lines of encrypted computer code scrolling rapidly past my tightly shut eyes.

Cancel!

It mercifully stopped, and I took a moment to recover.

Secondary program summaries.

(1.  Establish nanobot neural network.  Task complete.)

(2.  Integrate nanobot neural network with synaptic pathways.  Task complete.)

(3.  Perform host modification tasks on demand.  Task on standby.)

List secondary program authors.

(1.  Establish nanobot neural network.  Author classified.)

(2.  Integrate nanobot neural network with synaptic pathways.  Author classified.)

(3.  Perform host modification tasks on demand.  Author classified.)

Classified?  The color drained from my face as realization hit me.  Oh shit, that could only mean one thing.  Military.  How the hell did military code get into a disease treatment program?

Deactivate all nanobots.

(No such protocol, please restate request.)

Shut down all secondary programs.

(Unable to comply.  Shut down may damage host.)

I am so screwed.



Monday Afternoon, March 10, 2031

Fourth period was gym class, and like most gangly teenagers I hated it.  The worst of the worst was wrestling and today was the finale of the past two weeks, a competition with random student pairings within weight classes.

In the locker room I quickly put on a big sweatshirt to hide the changes my body had gone through, and walked into the gym.

“All right listen up,” screamed Mr. Tallman, followed by a shrill screech on his whistle.  “Everybody line up to weigh in at the scale, and then move to the area designated for your weight class.”  I looked around, and saw hand lettered poster board signs on the walls for the different weight classes.  I was 135 pounds and weight class six last week.

When it was my turn I stepped on the scale, and the assistant read off my weight.  “171 pounds, class eleven.”  He started to jot the number on his pad as I got off the scale, but then he held up his hand and said, “Wait, that can’t be right.  Step back on the scale.”

I did, and the digital readout climbed back to 171.  He said, “Geez, kid, what did you eat this weekend, half a cow?”

I grinned and shrugged.  “Something like that.”

I looked over at the group standing at the weight class eleven sign and groaned.  Every one of them was a brute, and two of them frequently took great pleasure in shoving me into lockers.  I walked over slowly.

“Get a load of this,” said the biggest one.  “It’s redmeat deadmeat.  This should be fun.”  One of them tried to shove me into the retracted wall of bleacher seats, but my quick reflexes easily kept me out of reach.

The whistle shrilled again and Mr. Tallman yelled for everyone to take a seat on the floor.  Then he went through each weight class in order starting with the lightest, pairing off the students, and setting matches in motion.  Each match was composed of three, two minute periods, unless one player was pinned which ended the match immediately.  Points were scored for knocking your opponent out of the ring. When a weight class had on odd number of students, he paired the odd guy with someone from the nearest weight class.  Fifty minutes into class and he had yet to get to my group.  My hope of escape was quickly extinguished though when Mr. Tallman yelled, “Franklin, Kowalski, front and center.”

My stomach went sour as we stood up.  Kowalski, or “the Wall” as his friends called him, lived up to his nickname.  He was big for his age, and it looked like he needed to shave every day.  One of the others stage whispered, “Hey Wall, see if his red hair has red roots.”

(Combat mode on standby.  Adrenaline boost on standby.)

The sour feeling in my stomach was instantly gone, to be replaced with a slight feeling of euphoria and eagerness.  It felt very strange given the circumstances, but also reassuring.  The nanos were on my side.

According to Tallman, the best strategy was to know your individual strengths.  I had no strengths.  At least I didn’t last week, but that gave me an idea.  I closed my eyes and formed a command to the nanos: 

Review wrestling moves.

Every move that had been demonstrated to me in the past two weeks, including the training videos shot past my closed eyelids.  My confidence swelled as I realized that I knew them all by heart.  Not as one who had tried them once or twice in a class, but as one who had been doing them for years.

I opened my eyes and looked across the ring at Kowalski.  I grinned at him with a tight smile and a determined gleam in my eyes.  He seemed to flinch for a moment before he recovered himself.

I stood on one side of the inner ring, and Kowalski stood on the other.  Tallman stood next to us and blew his whistle to start the match.  We grappled, and I aggressively dropped one knee to the mat, leveraging my weight against his.  Kowalski was unprepared for the balance shift, and he fell hard onto his back.  A perfect takedown.  I surged in over his chest and put all my weight on it.  He arched to keep his shoulders off the mat, but he couldn’t hold it with my full weight atop him.  He collapsed under me and Tallman slapped the mat and blew his whistle.  The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds.  Holy crap, I had defeated the Wall.

The gym was dead silent for a moment as the class realized that something unexpected had happened.  I looked over at Kowalski as he stood up and saw blood in his eyes.  Tallman saw it too, and he put a hand on his Kowalski’s chest.  “Sit down Kowalski.  He beat you fair and square.  Wilson, step up.”

Kowalski shot me a murderous glance and sat down.  Wilson, a linebacker on the football squad, stood up and walked to the opposite side of the inner ring.  I looked at Tallman and said, “Sir, I already went.  No one else had to go twice.”  He looked at me and said, “He’s the last one, and you won the previous match by pin.  Think you can handle it?”

A little squirt of adrenaline from my nanos and my confidence was back.  “Sure, why not.”

Again the setup across the ring and Tallman blew his whistle.  We grappled face to face for a moment, each of us trying to gain a dominant position.  Then I shot down to the mat and locked onto his meaty left thigh.  To protect his balance Wilson dropped to all fours, but he couldn’t dislodge my grip on his leg.

More adrenaline from my nanos and I felt like King Kong.  I got my right shoulder under his chest, and still holding his thigh I lifted him completely off the mat.  He was now draped across my right shoulder so I tipped in that direction, turning his body as I slammed him down on the mat on his back.  He lay there, stunned and unmoving, staring at the ceiling.

Tallman blew his whistle and I backed away.  Wilson was just stunned, but Kowalski didn’t see it that way.  He charged at me, his face a red mask of rage.

(Combat mode engaged)

My vision filled with a dizzying array of data, reminiscent of a heads-up display I’d seen in movies.  It was hard to make sense of it at first, but an instant later I understood.  Vectors showing likely moves of my opponent as well as potential weak points showed up in brilliant colors.  I stood passively, making it appear that I was about to get mowed down.  Tallman yelled for Kowalski to stop, but he’d committed himself to the charge.

As he arrived I dropped down onto one knee and left the other straight.  His right foot caught on my leg, and as he started to go over I spun my left arm onto his back.  He slammed face first onto the mat with a sickening crunch.  I walked over and turned him over with my foot.  He was unconscious.

The gymnasium was again filled with a shocked silence.  I turned towards Tallman but completed only half the turn when I saw Doctor Brock pointing something at me.  I yelled, “Wait,” but a light flashed across my vision and I was falling.



Wednesday, March 12, 2031

My eyelids felt like they were glued shut.  I cracked them open but quickly closed them again when the bright light cut a painful swath across my consciousness.

A female voice, “He’s awake.  I’ll get Doctor Brock.”

I put a hand over my eyes and slowly opened them.  My parents smiled down at me.  A tear rolled down my mother’s cheek as she said, “Ryan, thank God.”  She bent down and hugged me.

My Father put a hand on my shoulder and said, “You gave us quite a scare there Ryan.  Do you remember what happened?”

I thought back.  “It’s all a bit fuzzy, but I remember some of it.  I remember wrestling in gym class and beating two of my past tormentors.  But that’s about it.  What happened?  How did I end up in the hospital?”

My father looked at my mother then back at me. “That was two days ago.  Doctor Brock called back on Monday while you were at school, and when we explained what had been going on he said to meet us at the school.  He arrived there first, got your class schedule from the office, and was led by the school nurse to your gym class.  When he saw what was happening he tased you.”

I couldn’t remember that last part.  “He tased me?  Since when do doctors carry tasers? And why the hell would he do that?”

At the room’s door I heard Doctor Brock say, “Because I had to shut down your nanobots.  It’s not as neat and clean as the eradication machine, but it works.”

“But they told me that shutting them down could damage me.”

Doctor Brock looked confused.  “Who told you that?”

“The nanos.  Who else?”

Doctor Brock turned to my parents.  “Can I have a word with Ryan in private?” My parents looked at each other, and after a moment’s hesitation my mother said, “We’ll be right outside.”  Together they left the room and closed the door behind them.

Once they were gone Doctor Brock said, “Do you mean to tell me that you were talking with your nanobots?”

“Yeah.  You wouldn’t believe what those little guys can do.”

“Not another word, Ryan.  What you know, or think you know, is dangerous.  There were certain strings attached to getting the treatment for you, so unless you want a permanent life in a military facility you’d best keep your mouth shut.  Never speak to anyone about this again.  Do you understand?”

“No, well yes, but---“

“No ‘buts’ Ryan.  Just be glad your cancer is gone and forget about it.”

“It’s gone then?”

“Yes, both the tumor and the nanobot population are gone, and your level of carcinoembryonic antigen is undetectable.”

“Am I okay otherwise?  I mean, did the nanos do any damage to me?”

“Not that we’ve been able to discover so far.  Now that you’re awake we’ll be able to run a few neurological tests to be sure, but we think you’re fine.”

“What about my folks?  They know some of what’s been going on.”

“I’ve already spoken with them.  They don’t know everything, but they’ve agreed to keep quiet.”



One month later, Saturday Morning, April 8, 2031

(Reconstruction complete, awaiting instructions)

I jolted instantly awake, not sure if I had heard what I thought I’d heard, or if it was the leftover of a dream.  A moment of panic seized me.  One way to know for sure.

System status?

(All systems nominal.  Architecture rebuilt.  Secondary programs enabled.)

Oh, good lord.  A sour sensation took up residence in my stomach, but was quickly gone.  The nanos were back.  But how?  I framed a question in my mind.

List architecture milestones

(Trans-dermal introduction)

(Previous architecture artifacts identified)

(Initiated self-replication)

(Primary directive invalid, secondary programs enabled)

(Neural network established)

(Synaptic pathway integration complete)

(Host modification tasks enabled, on standby)

What the?  How the hell? But as I looked around my room I saw my hairbrush, my toothbrush, and my smelly sweat socks.  And I knew.



This story continues!  See Nanobots Part 2, Terminal State