Exogenetic

by Michael S Nuckols

  “During the Collapse, I had to place practicalities over righteousness. If I could’ve done more to save people, I would have. In the end, Fiona got hers”

  He nodded knowingly. The Great Collapse was something that people tended to avoid in conversation. The losses had been painful. Diane knew that he had lost his wife. She changed the subject. “I have a daughter now,” she said cheerfully, pulling up a photo on her phone, “She’s a little over eighteen-months old. Ridley has been wonderful about letting me bring Kelly to work.”

  “Her father doesn’t mind you spending so much time with him?” Weldon asked with sharp inquisitiveness.

  “I’m a widow too.”

  The lines in his face seemed slumped in sadness. “I see.”

  They sat by a wall of glass, tinted blue, that made the sky appear dark, like denim. The vista was filled with saguaro and cholla cactus. Cool air flowed through an air conditioning vent over their heads. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “No. Thanks. I’m not sure why I stopped, honestly.”

  “Remember when we stayed up all night in college?” he said, “I had taken too much mind-crank and you babysat me?”

  “You’re not still taking that stuff, are you?” Diane asked.

  “Only under the direction of a physician,” he said with a grin, “I have an implant that controls it. Micro-doses all day while I’m awake.”

  “You can’t possibly need that stuff anymore.”

  He glanced out the window and then back at Diane. “It’s an enhancement. It keeps me sharp. I need every edge that I can get. We live in a competitive world, you know.”

  “Is it so competitive? All I see are monopolies.”

  “We work within the systems that are out there.”

  Diane leaned forward. “How did your business make it through the Collapse? People were without the Internet for months. I would think that nothing cures addiction better than forced abstinence.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said with a smile, “Addiction is never about the behavior or what it does for you. It’s about filling a vacuum. When you’re alone, when you need human contact but cannot bring yourself to be with another person, you seek alternatives. Things to fill the void. Some people hoard things or animals. Some people like drugs that take them away. Alcohol, methamphetamines… Some people become obsessed with hobbies. Some people go online to places where they can hide, where they pretend to have genuine human interaction. While the Collapse forced a handful of people to finally embrace the world around them, the pain from the Collapse caused others to rush back to old behaviors. Our margins are better today than ever. Addiction treatment is something that will exist as long as there are addicts, and there will always be addicts.”

  “It must be lonely here by yourself,” she said, “So much of your system is automated.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? Chatbots that treat people for addiction caused by a loss of human interaction. We tell our addicts that they would be better off at a twelve steps program, but most aren’t ready to face that. They refuse to talk to a real person, but will readily tell a chatbot anything.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Embarrassment. Fear. Previous rejection. People withdraw when they’ve been stung repeatedly… and they are too afraid to put themselves out there again. Machines are safer.”

  “Does your system really work?”

  “If I’m being honest, only marginally. But, it’s a starting point for many people, a first step. Some of our members go on to complete twelve-step programs.”

  “The irony is deep,” she said.

  “So it is.”

  Diane looked around the room. “How many people work here?”

  “Seven total, if you include the janitor.”

  Diane smiled. “A janitor? I need one of those. Ridley is such a slob. It’s like sharing an office with a hurricane.”

  Weldon studied her reaction as he asked, “What does he have you doing?”

  “I’m working on a diffractive optical processor.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Think about the interaction between multiple light and shadows.”

  His smile enchanted her. “I should have guessed,” he crooned, “Only you would be working with something that esoteric.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “It was most certainly a compliment.”

  Diane shunned her fantasies about Weldon. “I have to be honest. I have an ulterior motive.”

  He crossed his legs and leaned back. “I figured as much,” he said, “I can guess. Ridley’s running out of money, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “The tech world isn’t as big as it used to be. His antics provide the rest of us in the industry a soap opera to follow. I hear he’s building a mansion now?”

  “Unfortunately. Hence the money problems. The truth is that we need to rent a lab. I need a high-temperature printer. I don’t want to use the one at Cerenovo.”

  “Which is why you’re here in Phoenix,” he said, “This isn’t a purely a social visit.”

  “We need an angel investor. My goal is to set up our own lab and manufacturing facility so that we control everything from design to shipment.”

  He gulped down the rest of his drink. “I’ve done well, but not that well. If I’m going to be honest, all of us are in bed with either Ukon or one of their daughter companies. Cerenovo is one of the few independent companies left with enough cash to follow through with your vision. They’re your best bet, though I can understand why you wouldn’t want to go with them.”

  Diane stood. “I’m sorry, Weldon. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

  “Of course not,” he said, “Please… Don’t run off so soon. It’s been a long time.”

  Diane clutched her purse close.

  “It gets lonely here sometimes,” he admitted, “Why don’t we go for a picnic while you’re in town? We can go into the desert. The wildflowers are blooming in the canyon.”

  “I don’t mean to pull you away from your work,” she said.

  “Nonsense. It’s all automated. Remember?”

  Diane returned from Phoenix the next evening with a sunburn. She knocked on the door of Paula’s bungalow and waited impatiently. Rebecca appeared, sporting long pony-tails and denim overalls. “Ms. Kingsolver!”

  “Come on in,” Paula called from the kitchen, “Be with you in a second.”

  Diane knelt and hugged the little girl. “How was Kelly?”

  “She was very quiet,” Rebecca said, “I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. She’s just a little different from other babies.”

  “She doesn’t smile,” Rebecca said.

  Paula appeared in the doorway with a towel as she dried her hands. “Now Rebecca… Be nice.”

  They went into the kitchen where Kelly was playing on the floor. Diane scooped the baby into her arms. “There’s my little chunky monkey.”

  Rebecca interrupted. “She ate all of her food and she slept really quiet but she wouldn’t play with me at all.”

  “Rebecca… Now hush.”

  “It’s okay,” Diane said, “Did Kelly give you any trouble.”

  “No. None at all. If anything, she’s an angel, unlike a certain little munchkin that decided to paint her dolls with red fingernail polish this morning.”

  Diane looked at Rebecca. “You didn’t?”

  “I didn’t mean to spill it. But their fingers are pretty now.”

  “They look like extras from a horror movie,” Paula said.

  Diane smiled at the young mother knowingly. “If you need me to babysit sometime, let me know.”

  Church bells tolled in the distance. Kelly had just finished eating and was playing with blocks. Diane poured a cup of coffee, curled up on the sofa, and began reading page one of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. She did not expect a videocall from Weldon. He wore a plain black t-shirt. “I’ve been think
ing about you since you left.”

  “I enjoyed seeing you. It’s a shame we live so far apart.”

  “Any luck on your quest for an investor?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she said, “Ridley warned me. They all want a prototype.”

  “I had the same problem. As they say around here, all talk, no hat… Or is it no cattle? I can’t remember. But I didn’t really call to talk business. I was hoping maybe we could arrange another date. You could hop into the tube again…”

  “The tube?”

  “I mean, the hyperloop. It’s a short trip to Phoenix.”

  Diane smile demurely. “Maybe in a few weeks. I had to get a babysitter as it was.”

  “Bring the baby with you. Or, maybe I can come up and see you up there?”

  Diane stammered nervously. “I’m so busy. This project eats up so much of my time. Between the baby and him… I mean, Ridley is like a baby sometimes.”

  Weldon seemed disappointed. “I still don’t know why you work for him. He’s a cad. You are better than him.”

  Diane picked at a lock of her hair and began curling it around her finger.

  Weldon crooned, “We could have some fun. I can tell you need a break. And, I wonder if you aren’t missing out on some other things. I could help with that.”

  As he said that, Weldon forwarded an x-rated selfie photo.

  Diane had not expected him to be so direct.

  “Weldon… What the hell?”

  “I’d love to see more of you. Like when we were in college.”

  “This is not the way to win me over. Not the way at all.”

  Diane terminated the call and then blocked his number.

  Chapter Five

  Ridley lay in bed restless. He still felt bad about refusing to babysit Kelly. “Can’t you ask your neighbor?” he had asked.

  “I am doing this for the business,” Diane had said, “I’m not asking you to babysit for long.”

  “I don’t know how to care for a baby.”

  Sunlight sifted through the cracks around his bedroom drapes. He sat upright and stretched. “Lights on.”

  The drapes opened and the wall-screen came alive. Good-morning. You have ninety-three unread email messages.

  As the computer read the top news headlines and gave the weather, Ridley waved his hand to scroll through the list of email. With another wave, he deleted all but a message from Samuel inviting him to their annual stockholder’s meeting. “Add to calendar.”

  Sandy nudged his hand with urgency.

  “Sorry, sweetie.”

  Ridley put on his robe and went into the living room. The wall-screen lit as he entered. The email from Samuel displayed. Ridley opened the patio doors and Sandy darted outside. He went into the kitchen and made toast. “Espresso.”

  The machine dispensed his morning libation, which Ridley drank on the patio. A delicate chill filled the air. The leaves were barely tinged in gold. Heavy equipment rumbled in the distance; the vibrations were like an earthquake. Through the trees, a crane poked into the sky. A small team of workers placed plate-glass windows in his future home. The stonemasons had wrestled the first of the boulders into place. He nibbled on the piece of toast and gave Sandy the crust.

  Ridley had resisted Diane’s suggestion of an angel investor. Maybe an investor wasn’t such a bad idea? A third party might offer business insights that Ridley lacked. After all, Weldon had made a fortune treating addiction using the most basic of chatbots. The website certainly had more sizzle than steak. Ridley scanned the web page on his tablet, scrolling through the disclaimers. One sentence at the end of the document leapt out at him. This website is intended for entertainment purposes only. It is not intended to replace or supplement treatment by qualified medical professionals.

  “It’s just another multiplayer game,” he quipped, “Might as well go to a shrink in World of Warcraft.”

  Online addiction, after all, was nothing like addiction to alcohol or drugs. Chatrooms and massive multiplayer games offered a temporary escape, a respite from the mad world without altering the brain’s chemistry. Ridley could log on for hours and spend time amidst people who understood him. Online, he could be something more than real life. He could chat with people from around the world at all hours. Virtual communities were tighter and more supportive than any he had experienced in real life. Why would Weldon want to cure that? Sure, in extreme cases, people might spend too many hours, but that was a rarity.

  The sound of cannons boomed from his phone. If he dawdled, Ridley would be late for work.

  Sandy wagged her tail and beckoned for a game of catch or a tug-of-war. A smile crept onto Ridley’s face. Diane was in Phoenix. Who would know if he skipped a day? “Sandy! Let’s play hooky today.”

  The dog seemed to understand. She wagged her tail and danced at his feet. He thought about going online but hesitated. A rare blue sky called. He gathered his fishing gear, dug worms from the compost pile, piled lunch into a cooler, and walked to the harbor with Sandy running ahead. She hopped onto the boat before him, her tail wagging.

  The water was silky. Ridley maneuvered the boat away from the shore and into open water. He then turned off the engine. The world slipped away from him, the silence of the water like a new beginning. Ridley baited a hook and dropped a line into the deep. Within a minute, he pulled up his first fish of the day. Sandy hopped up on a chair to inspect the writhing flounder as he stuffed it into the cooler. Ridley marveled at how quickly fish had returned to the waters of Puget Sound. With commercial trawlers a distant memory, line-fishing was no longer a game of waiting.

  As he fished, Ridley studied his new home from a distance. The transplanted trees and growing concrete wall would block the view of town. As Sven had promised, the structure appeared as if it had erupted from the earth itself. A ragged roof-line floated above a craggy carapace. Once planted, the green roof would further recede into the background. For twenty minutes, Ridley watched as the glaziers struggled to place thick slabs of glass onto the cantilevered frame of his bedroom. Once the glass was secured, reflections of sky and water, cool blue and green, made the walls all but disappear. The building was organic yet defiant of the landscape. The growing stone tower was a sentinel, a dragon guarding the pillaged riches of a long-lost kingdom

  Ridley’s small cooler filled within a few hours. He tossed ice on top of the fish. After returning home, he skillfully gutted the fish and froze them, reserving two filets for his and Sandy’s dinner.

  That evening, Ridley biked up the hill to the now quiet construction site. Sven was busily inspecting the window installation.

  Ridley hopped off his bike. “It’s starting to take shape.”

  Sven was taking notes on a tablet. “Yes, it is.”

  “I was afraid the windows wouldn’t make it in before winter.”

  “The masons will probably have to wrap up soon,” Sven said, “What they have completed so far is breathtaking. Don’t you think?”

  Ridley complained, “I thought they’d be further along. Why is it taking so long?”

  “Is that a serious question?” Sven asked, “Because I cannot tell if you kid sometimes.”

  Ridley waited for an answer.

  “This project is enormous. It is complex,” Sven said, “Qualified trades-people are hard to find right now.”

  Ridley ran his hand along a portion of a stone wall that had been completed. “I don’t see where this work is all that difficult.”

  “You underestimate the complexity of a project like this. This is like building Machu Picchu. You cannot simply pull someone from the street. Many skilled craftsmen died and the younger ones have to be watched like a hawk. As it is, Drake is using bots to do finishing work on the concrete, something that I would have discouraged before the Collapse. There is much construction in the city. Materials are hard to get. China has stopped shipping steel entirely. Believe it or not, the beams from the roof…”

  “You told me. They were recycled from
the Ukon tower…”

  “…just as they were removed. They add to the organic shape.” Sven motioned towards the undulating roof. “I worked with Drake to place them so that they complemented the unusual… well, the organic shape of this structure.”

  “I was hoping the entire building would be done by the New Year but I’ll settle for the lab. Is it possible that I could move into it soon?”

  Sven cut his hands through the air. “When I said completion by January, I meant next year. What you ask is impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible. I just need the lab finished.”

  They walked towards the main entrance. The concrete walls, twelve inches thick, were capped by a structural concrete roof that had only just been covered with its membrane. Sven argued, “You don’t rush projects like this if you want them done right.”

  “Are the power and fiber optic lines buried yet?” Ridley asked.

  “Only the conduits. They still have to run the lines.”

  “Please do that before winter. What about the solar panels?”

  “The green roof must be installed first.”

  Ridley folded his arms. “Why is that taking so long?”

  “You’d waste your money planting the roof now. It’s best to wait until spring.”

  “Can’t you speed things up?”

  Sven wagged his finger at Ridley. “We’re trying to create something new. New takes time. Besides, many people are still recovering. Many cannot keep their lights on. Patience is needed.”

  Ridley demanded, “I’m paying you handsomely. I need my laboratory.”

  “I can’t just snap my fingers.”

  “Find a way.”

  Sven put his hands on his hips and walked in a slow circle. “Tearing the old neighborhood down was easy. Building things back up again, building something this complicated, this organic… All of these curves and the complicated roofline. Giant boulders and rooms cantilevered over cliffs. Even the bunker, as simple as that is, is not so simple. The steel reinforcement was unlike anything I have ever supervised. All of this takes time. For you to work in that laboratory while the crews are still working... You would not enjoy it. It will be loud. Messy. Unpleasant. I do not recommend it.”