Nanobots, Murder, and Other Family Problems

Sun 06/05 15:47:02 PDT

Another day of this down. I wonder if Father is trying to kill me with this thing, maybe see what the upper limits are for human tolerance of nanobot brain infestation. My head throbs.

DIAGNOSTIC MODE

I double check the real-time scan to make sure that I’m not damaged anywhere. My brain activity is high all over, but I don’t have any cerebral hemorrhages or burst aneurysms or anything dangerous. I’m fine. I just need to not have my brain prodded for a while.

On my way to the dorms, I see Evan’s massive frame coming my way from the Learning Center. “Hey, brother.” He gives me his usual broad smile. “He let you out early today?”

“Yeah,” I say as I close the distance between us. “We made good time today, so we’re going to finish up tomorrow.”

“Nice. Want to go hit the rec room then?”

“Thanks, but I’m beat. Maybe tomorrow?” I answer, wishing I felt up for it. I force a smile despite the throbbing pain in my skull.

“Heh, you do look wrecked. I remember my install,” he commiserates. “That was a tough few days.”

“And Father just sits there grinning while he stabs and burns and strangles you,” I add. “I know it isn’t real, but it sure feels like it is. I think he enjoys the whole procedure.”

“Yeah. I wanted to smack the old man when we did mine,” Evan says, glancing around. “That’s probably half the reason he has us strapped down.”

I’m surprised by the vehemence of his reply. The rest of our siblings look at Father like he’s some kind of higher power. I smile a little more. I wonder if I laid out everything I know, could I get Evan on my side? No. I can’t get my hopes up like that.

“Yeah, probably,” I agree.

“Anyway, go get some rest. I’ll catch you later.” He sends me on my way with a friendly slap on the back. Evan’s a good guy. He might be the only other sane one here.

My headache surges, almost dropping me as I walk across the grass. I check the diagnostic again. Contrary to how it feels, I am not literally dying. The implant would notice if I were having a stroke or anything and flash all sorts of alarms. Part of me wants to head back to the lab, talk to Father about it, but I don’t trust him not to probe me to death to make sure this implant works better on his real children. Besides, the evil old man is the last person I want to see right now.

I’m not even sure why I’m having issues. Today wasn’t that bad. This morning was all smells and tastes. I threw up once, but Father said that was normal. The afternoon was auditory hallucinations, which weren’t too bad. The headache only started when he started poking around in the hippocampus and amygdala, and those look fine on the scan. Highly active, but fine.

I’ll just keep an eye on it. If the pain keeps up, I’ll go back and see him.

I head back to my dorm room and lay down in my bunk for a while. Not sleeping, just staring at the ceiling and watching my brain map change colors as my headache gradually dies down. I glance at the tablet on my desk to get the time before I remember that I have a clock in my head now. Dinner has started, but I’m not hungry even though I skipped lunch and hurled my breakfast.

I should go make my weekly call with Grammy and Gramps. I’m sure they’re worried about me. They always are. Gramps is going to push me again to come back home to Colorado and live with them. I can’t do that, and I can’t tell him why. I’ll let them worry for another week. I feel a twinge of guilt, then a stronger pang of sorrow. I miss Mom.

Breathe. Calm. Breathe. Just like Mom used to say. I can handle this. I force myself up from my bunk. I need a change of scenery. I make my way out and down the hall. Halfway across the common room I feel a tap on one arm. I turn, but no one is there. It takes me a minute to see Andrea sitting on one of the couches across the room with her sketchbook on her lap and a pencil in one hand. She waves at me.

“Oh. Hey, Andrea.”

Her large, expressive eyes twinkle as she smiles at me. She points at the seat next to her and waves me over. I guess she wants to hang out. I still feel awkward around Andrea. She’s so tall, fit, and gorgeous, she could be a supermodel. And her looks are always amplified by the tricks she does with her cloud. Her hair is doing its anti-gravity thing again today, making her look like she’s underwater. She’s like the heroine of some magical princess cartoon.

I walk over and take the offered seat. She gets a look of concentration across her impossibly beautiful face. I watch her in awkward silence for a moment as her eyes dart around and she flexes her long, slender fingers. A stylized picture of a brain with gears inside it forms in the air, then fades into a floating question mark.

“How’s the implant coming?” I guess. She nods and smiles.

“Good, I think. Father said there weren’t any problems with the hardware installation, and we just have one more day of calibration.”

She nods and her fingers dance again. The geared-up brain reappears, then angry red lightning bolts appear and start poking into it. The question mark comes back.

“Does it hurt?”

She nods with a concerned look on her face.

“It’s been fine.” She tilts her head and squints one eye. Of course she knows I’m lying. “OK. It sucks, and I got a killer headache at the end of today’s session. It went away though, so I’m good now. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She relaxes her face and gives me a pleased smile. Then she puts one finger up like she just remembered something. She opens her sketchbook and flips through the pages of pencil drawings. She tears one out and hands it to me. It’s a drawing of me, sitting on a floor with one arm draped over a massive black dog. A Newfoundland. The detail on the drawing is amazing. It looks just like me, and amazingly, just like my old dog Zeus.

“You remembered? And you made this for me?” She nods vigorously. “This is beautiful. Can I keep it?” She nods again. “Thank you so much!”

Her face beams. I need to get a frame or something for this, it’s really good work. Maybe I can put it on my desk where the picture of Mom used to be. I still need to ask my grandparents for a new one of those, whenever I get up the nerve to call them again.

“Hey, while I’ve got you here,” I say. “I’ve got a few questions. You know how I’m getting my cloud set up soon?”

She nods.

“Once I get it, could you teach me how you do your light and sound tricks? Like the images that you pop in the air and the music you do for your exercise routines in the mornings?”

Her eyes light up, and she nods vigorously.

“You’re the best,” I tell her. She wags a finger in front of her then points at me. “I’m not sure what that means.” She laughs silently, points at me again, and gives a double thumbs-up. “You mean I’m the best?” She nods. “I don’t think so, but thanks.” It feels weird to get so much attention from someone who looks like her. I would have been way too shy to approach anyone like her back at my old school.

“Anyway, can we start with how your music works? I’ve never heard a sound quite like that before.” She nods again, still smiling. She seems so happy that I’m interested. “My guess is that you do something that forces an air stream through some kind of restricted space, like when you whistle or blow into a bottle, but I don’t understand how you do that with bots. Want to show me how?”

Her cloud swirls into action, spinning out diagrams and images into thin air. I’m amazed at how this silent girl can explain things so clearly without uttering a word.