Nanobots, Murder, and Other Family Problems

BUILD(SOLAR)

Building solar panels is so boring.

BUILD(SOLAR)

Super boring.

BUILD(SOLAR)

Just one panel after another. No shade, since I need to keep moving around to get line of sight on each new panel. Nothing interesting going on. Forty-seven more to go in my section before I get to where Jeff’s panels start. Forty-five. I should have worn a hat. I put sunblock on this morning, but I’m sure my neck is burned. Forty more. I free up a few bots from the construction routine, enough to form an eye to look at myself. Is my face getting red? Thirty now. If I get burned I’m going to be pissed. Twenty. Andrea finishes one row and starts another. Ten more. Five. One.

Done.

I look at the neat rows and can’t see where my section ends and Jeff’s begins. Perfect. It’s satisfying to get a job this big done, even if the grunt work sucks.

Jeff is done too and trying to glide back to the road, but the ground is too rough and he keeps taking stumbling steps. He looks like he’s about to collapse. I walk over to give him a hand, but he waves me off. I walk next to him, ready to reach out if he falls. The rest of the sibs look tired too, except Andrea. She’s as bright and cheerful as ever. All that yoga and dance, this must seem like nothing to her. Chad’s weight training gives him muscles, but no stamina. He’s as dogged out as the rest of us.

Father walks out into the middle of the field, distributing a generous load of maintainer bots for all the panels. Another big chunk of his massive stash of bots disappear as he rotates in place, directing his gaze across the rocky plain. A truck drives by, kicking up dust everywhere, but not a speck of it settles onto any of the solar collectors. Fascinating. I should look at the code for those maintenance algorithms some time.

“I’m heading over to build the primary pipe and transmission lines,” Father announces as he comes back toward us. “Chad has the procedures to start the full production test here. Please assist him as needed. I want to have this all wrapped up by the end of the day.”

He and one of the guides—Ahmed, I think?—climb into the dump truck without waiting for a reply. They roll slowly down the road toward the city. As they move, a massive six-foot pipe begins to materialize from nothing alongside the road. Foot by foot it grows as it follows them, connecting the desalination plant to wherever they’re driving. We all watch them until they’re lost in the dust.

Ibrahim, Kofi, and Bashir start unloading lunch from the back of the van, another round of the little fried meat and veggie pies. They’re still good the second day in a row. Maybe we can get food like this in the cafeteria, now that my family knows it exists.

Getting the production test ready takes all afternoon. Check and double-check everything. Verify each pod works. Make sure there are no leaks. We have to rewire a few solar panels because Marc laid down the wrong gauge of wire in one section, but other than that it goes pretty smoothly. It’s almost sundown now, just waiting for the go-ahead from Father to kick off the whole operation.

Chad talks into the radio earbud he’s been using all afternoon to report our progress. “Are you ready, Father?”

Most of my sibs are already wearing their earpieces, but I’ve been procrastinating. I get enough Marc chatter without him having a direct line to my ear. But I do want to know how this test goes, so I pop mine in.

“Nearly there,” Father’s voice says. “Just another minute or two.”

We all wait impatiently. It’s a very long two minutes. Then a longer three more.

“Ready,” Father finally says. “Fire it up.”

Chad reaches out to the control panel and pushes the main power lever forward. The pipes running across the floors and along the walls gurgle and moan as they fill and merge and push water into the massive main pipe. We all look anxiously at the large gauges installed on the wall. The needles move up through the white range, then into the green section where they stop just before they hit the yellow zone.

“We got it,” Chad announces. “Thirty-eight thousand gallons per minute, throughput at eighty percent of maximum.”

“Excellent,” Father’s voice says. “Right where it should be. Wait a bit and let me see what it looks like when it arrives on my end.”

I do some math in my head. That’s just over a hundred and ten gallons a day for everyone in the city. Plenty for everyone. Plenty for farming, too. Not bad for a couple of days’ work.

I take a seat on the cement floor. Evan and Louise follow suit. Andrea starts making little glowing cartoon scenes float around in the air to entertain Marc, who doesn’t do well with boredom. Jeff lays out flat. I think he might be going to sleep. Chad stands by the control panel, acting as if he knows what to do if anything goes wrong.

After twenty minutes, Father’s voice crackles at us again.

“This is looking excellent,” he says. “Not a drop lost between here and there. Have the guides bring you back to town. Let’s eat.”

We load up into the big van and head back to the city. Father’s pipe stretches along the side of the road most of the way there. It ends abruptly at a rocky, barren plain with the city just in sight. There’s just enough daylight left to see the gushing flow spewing into the world’s biggest puddle.

“Why doesn’t it go all the way to the city?” Marc asks. I swear the kid doesn’t remember a thing from the briefings.

Chad switches into obnoxious mentor mode. I think he’s trying to act like Father, but he never pulls it off. “The local water authority needs to connect up to the open pipe we’re leaving,” he explains in that condescending voice that I hate so much. “They have to put in some of the work. Otherwise they won’t appreciate it.”

“That’s not the reason, Chad,” I retort. I know this might pick a fight, but Marc has enough trouble keeping up without being misinformed. “It has nothing to do with appreciation for our work. Father wants to force them to kickstart the infrastructure effort to connect to the pipe and the power lines. If they have to set up their own utilities to get the benefit from the water spilling onto the ground within sight of town, they’ll end up with the organization and equipment they need to update the water and power systems for the whole city.”

Chad, in the seat ahead of me, probably thinks I don’t see the look of rage twisting his face. He doesn’t realize that I’ve taken up Louise’s habit of keeping watch in every direction with my six floating bot eyes. Maybe I should have just let him have this one, but I feel vindicated as Marc thanks me effusively for an answer that actually makes sense. Then he goes on about how glad he is that I joined the family. I don’t mind the praise, but I wish he’d shut up. Chad’s face gets redder with anger as he goes on.

Fortunately, Marc gets distracted by the lights of the city’s skyline. It’s still so weird that something as normal as that is still new to these guys. It’s not even a very big city. Chad gets himself under control by the time we get back to the hotel and only gives me a dirty look as we pile out of the van. I shrug it off. I stopped caring about what Chad thinks a long time ago.

Father is waiting for us in the lobby. We trudge wearily into the dining room for another fantastic meal. Today, I’m glad they have chairs. My body is sore and I’m grateful for the backrest. Chad seems to be tolerating the local food better today. At least he’s not picking at it with that disgusted look on his face this time.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll head to Somalia for the next leg of our trip,” Father announces once the initial feeding frenzy subsides. “Some reminders: we’re going to have significant differences from what we’ve been doing here in Djibouti. We’ll be sticking to rural areas, so nothing as large-scale as the project here. The Somalis have a water problem, but they also have a very significant food problem. We’re going to create a dramatic increase in their available arable land with a series of small desalination plants along the coast that will pipe water to inland deserts. We’ll be on the move a lot more, and we’ll be building our own housing each night.”

We all mumble acknowledgements, except for Andrea who just nods. It’s all stuff from the briefings, but obviously some of us need the reminders. Between the food and the fatigue, Father seems to be the only one of us able to put more than a couple of words together. Even Marc’s chatty mouth is quiet.

“The area is also substantially more dangerous than here in Djibouti. In addition to rogue groups, there are significant disagreements between the Somali government which regards the area as a part of its holdings and the de facto Somaliland leadership. I have negotiated agreements with all parties involved for us to do our work here, but you must all remember our rule about discussing politics. Marc, what is that rule?”

“To not to,” he says with his mouth half-full of something green.

“Correct. Excellent. Now, to deal with the foreseeable potential threats, those rogue groups that I mentioned, we’ll designate sentries each day,” Father continues. “Whoever is assigned will run the sentry function all day, keeping watch for armed groups or other trouble. The worst of the problems with violence are in the eastern part of the country, which we will avoid, but we’re not taking any chances. Please remember to keep your earpieces in and turned on at all times starting tomorrow morning. We’ll be in constant contact for all of next week.”

Father looks around at all of us, and then lets his gaze settle on Marc. He gives him a paternal smile. ”Marc,” he says gently, “I need you to exercise some self control so that we can remain a loving family.”

I laugh. So do most of the others. I’m not the praying type, but I implore whatever gods may exist that Marc is capable of that. Mom, you’re an angel or something now, right? Or whatever good people end up as? Maybe you can help with that.

“If the sentry calls out a warning, what do you all do?” Father quizzes, breaking my reverie.

“Get to the shelter or shield up.” Chad and Louise answer in unison.

“Good. And you stay sheltered or shielded until I call the all-clear. Chad will take sentry duty tomorrow. Any questions?”

“Um, yeah.” Marc says. “If this place is so dangerous, why are we doing our first mission here?”

Father regards him silently for a moment before answering. “A very good question, though rather late for you to finally be considering it. The reasons are many, but among them are these: first, this is one of the areas of the world most in need of our services. Second, as we demonstrate the value of our assistance here, we can induce governments and corporations in more affluent areas of the world to model our efforts. Third, we will be operating with essentially no restrictions and no support from anyone. Which means that our outcomes are entirely dependent on our own efforts. I want each of you to see firsthand that you are capable of saving the world, even in the face of adverse circumstances, so that you will have no doubts of your capacity to continue the Institute’s efforts in the decades to come.”

I’m not sure how much of that Marc actually digests, but it seems to satisfy him.

“Any other questions?” Father looks around the table.

“Will our same guides be coming with us?” Louise asks.

“Ah, a more immediate concern. Indeed they will. Ibrahim, Ahmed, Kofi, and Bashir will be joining us for the whole trip. They’ll handle navigating local authorities as well as food, driving, and other logistics for us.”

That’s fine by me. They’ve been helpful so far, and they all seem like good guys.

“If there is nothing else, let’s all turn in after dinner.”

No one puts up any arguments. After I finish my banana fritter dessert, I head up to bed. I don’t even brush my teeth, I’m that tired. I just let the pillowy mattress cradle me as my mind drifts away.