Nanobots, Murder, and Other Family Problems

Father is already in the Research Center when I arrive.

“Good morning, Noah,” he greets me with his crooked smile. “Please, get comfortable. This shouldn’t take too long. Your implant is already current at the latest version and fully calibrated, so we just need to pair it to your new processing hardware and remove the limiters. Then we’ll make sure that you can access your cloud. We should have you functional by the end of the day.”

“Really? Chad was in and out of here for the last couple of weeks.”

“Yes,” Father says, pulling out a paperback book sized device like the one Chad’s been carrying around. “He had been running the second generation of the implant hardware. It’s similar to the first generation that I’m still running. Custom built high grade medical technology, but not nanotech. His new one is the same as yours, and uses an entirely new technique that I’ve pioneered. Much safer and more reliable, and tremendously easier to install. The brain is permeated with its own cloud of customized medical nanobots, much smaller than the standard worker bots and made from a corrosion-proof alloy developed especially for long-term implants. They are powered by the ambient heat you produce. You could live to be a thousand years old and never have issues with them.”

“But my calibration didn’t take two weeks either,” I protest. “We knocked it all out in a few days.”

Father gives me one of his proud looks.

“I try not to compare my children to each other, Noah, but you seem to be truly gifted. If you had been working with the previous generation of the implant hardware with its fewer connections, I believe that you would have been in and out in a matter of hours. Your brain is exceptionally responsive and adaptable, while Chad’s is more typical.”

“Oh,” I say, not sure how to respond. He doesn’t seem to notice, as his attention is absorbed with getting the new oversized phone ready for me. He’s got it hooked up to his server rack with a thick cable. As one of the screens on his desk shows what looks like a boot sequence, he turns his attention back to me.

“Did you have any more questions before we proceed?”

“What happens to my old setup? Can I keep the projects I’ve been working on there? And my journals?”

“Oh, my consummate journal keeper!” he says with a smile. “Of course you may. All the data from the old phone will transfer over, though it will only occupy a tiny fraction of the hardware resources the new appliance provides. The encryption on your journals will still be based on the same biometrics, so you should be able to access them seamlessly once the changeover is complete. I don’t suppose you’ll have much use for the old software, with the new controls you’ll have access to. You won’t miss it though. The new system will take care of everything. You won’t need to write much code yourself anymore, unless you’re developing something truly new, like the research project you’ve been working on.”

“But all the work we did—” I start, then stop myself. “Why did you have us create all those control systems, if we’re not going to use them?”

“I know, I know,” he says, his mouth twisting into an amused smirk. “You worked hard, as did your siblings. But the time has come to put away your toys and pick up some real tools.”

He looks at me for a moment and takes a seat, gesturing for me to take the rolling stool next to it.

“Noah, let me tell you a story. A short one this time.” He pauses for a moment as I sit down. “When I was a young man, my friends and I built go-karts one summer. Simple motorless cars that we would push up to the top of a hill and race down. We each had different control schemes. One of my friends steered just by leaning his weight to one side or the other, another had a pair of ropes that he would pull to change the direction of the wheels. I was more ambitious and built a complex mechanism using an old steering wheel I salvaged from the junkyard. It was a wonderful way to pass the summer days, and an invigorating intellectual exercise. But for all the value that doing the work provided my friends and me, it would have been foolish to carry that kind of diversity into the following years when we started driving real cars. A standardized control scheme, carefully developed and fully tested, was required once we were moving tons of steel at freeway speeds.”

“I think I understand.”

“Good. This upgrade will be a tremendous improvement for you.” He gives me his most reassuring smile. “You won’t miss using the code you have written once you get a feel for the new controls.”

I nod. Go-karts. I’ve been hoarding the secrets of the other kids’ go-karts when there’s been a high-end sports car waiting here for me all along. I am an idiot.

“Any more questions?” he asks, picking up the second cable and reaching out a hand. “Or should we begin the transfer?”

“No, I’m good,” I say, handing him my old phone.

“Excellent. Go ahead and put your implant in sleep mode while I get you connected, and we’ll get started.”