I sniffled. “I know that now ... but it happened so gradually I didn’t realize what was going on until it was too late. At first, we all limited ourselves to the one doughnut our MNMs allowed us to eat. But later I saw my friend sneak a second doughnut out of the box. Yes, she paid for it later that evening. I saw her turn pale and sweaty before rushing to the bathroom and emptying her stomach. But she survived and didn’t seem remorseful. She told me that second doughnut was so delicious it was worth getting sick to eat it.
“For days afterward I couldn’t get the taste of that doughnut I’d eaten out of my mouth. It’d been so flaky and sweet! I kept fantasizing about eating another. Later that week I bought a packaged doughnut at a grocery store. I took it home—planning to just nibble at it to stretch it out over the entire evening. But seconds later there were only crumbs on my plate.”
My eyes moistened. “Before long I was starting every morning with a doughnut. I visited websites that told what else you could do with one and tried every perversion possible. Sometimes I licked the powdered sugar off first before devouring the doughnut’s naked crust. Others I dunked in coffee. I even broke the doughnut into bite-size pieces and gorged myself on those chewy chunks.
“As long as I was careful about what I ate the rest of the day, I felt fine. No—the ‘sugar rush’ they talk about made me feel great. But after a while a single doughnut a day wasn’t enough. I tried to buy more than one doughnut at a time, but I couldn’t—at least not legally. Every store I went to obeyed the ‘one to a customer per twenty-four hours’ rule. And since all stores’ computer systems are connected to the national financial network, going to a different store the same day to buy another doughnut didn’t work. When I tried, the second store flagged me as being over my recommended daily allowance.”
The doctor said, “Let me guess how you got around that. You bought a doughnut one day—but didn’t eat it until you could buy a second one the next day. Then you had a ‘twofer’ orgy.”
“Yes. But then my MNM made me pay for my sin.”
Schuller grunted. “A Metabolic NanoMonitor is programmed to react when a person’s diet deviates from his or her optimal nutritional profile. The reaction you had to eating two doughnuts at once was caused by your MNM detecting excess carbohydrate absorption and a surge in your serum glucose. It also analyzed levels of trans fats and other dangerous substances in your blood, then ‘reconstructed’ what kind and amount of food you’d ingested.
“After determining that what you ate was above healthy limits, the MNM activated chemoreceptors and mechanoreceptors in your stomach and other areas of the gastrointestinal tract. That in turn stimulated parts of your central and peripheral nervous systems to cause the smooth muscle contractions, reverse peristalsis, and other effects you experienced.”
My eyes widened. “That sounds so complicated, doctor. All I know is I felt sick and threw up.”
The physician explained, “Although what the MNM does makes you feel bad at the time, ultimately it’s for your own good. First, it expels those harmful materials from your body. Second, it helps condition you to avoid performing that unhealthy behavior again. It’s similar to the effects of an obsolete medication, disulfiram, which was once used to treat alcoholics. People taking disulfiram experienced symptoms similar to yours if they drank alcohol—and would thus be motivated to not drink it again.
“But the MNM does more than that. When working properly, it also monitors your body continuously to make sure it’s ‘tuned up’ for optimal health. The MNM checks and regulates your entire body chemistry—electrolytes, hormones, et cetera—to keep all your organ systems working well. It even initiates first aid when it detects malignant cells or other life-threatening problems. When it can’t repair a particular problem, such as if someone were injured in a serious accident, its transceiver automatically notifies the local healthcare system so a person can receive definitive help.”
I lowered my head. “I found out about that the day I discovered how serious my addiction was—and did something that nearly killed me.
“I hoarded two extra doughnuts and ate three at once!”
The doctor’s face showed slight sympathy. “After the initial ‘high’ you must’ve been very ill.”
“Yes. But besides making me feel miserable my MNM also notified Emergency Medical Services. I was rushed to the nearest hospital and treated for my overdose. Then I was admitted to an intensive care unit and evaluated by a psychiatrist. After she determined I wasn’t suicidal I was released. Of course, the emergency room doctor had to report what I’d done to the authorities. But since this was my first offense they decided not to prosecute.”
I drew my knees up and hugged my legs. “I should’ve learned my lesson and sworn off illicit amounts of sweets—and for a while I did. But then my craving got the better of me again. My doctors had cautioned me to avoid doughnuts and anything with above-average amounts of sugar or other carbs, because they were afraid I couldn’t eat just one.
“They were right. Maybe I would’ve stayed sober if I hadn’t convinced myself it was all right for me to read about and see pictures of doughnuts and pastries. I found websites that—for a fee—let you download images and information about them. You’re a doctor and have to study such things, but most people my age have probably never heard of some of the names I learned. Cream puffs and crullers. Cobblers and éclairs. Baklava and Napoleons—shall I go on?”
The doctor licked his lips. “Some basic bakery goods are available licitly, with strict limits on how much a person can buy.”
I shook my head. “That wasn’t good enough for someone as addicted to them as I was. And the few pastries sold legally are so healthy they’re nearly tasteless—like putting a dab of frosting on the plastic they’re sealed in.
“So I did some checking. The ‘double-dipping’ friend whose party had started me on my road to ruin told me she knew a dealer—a former baker who’d worked for Gooey Glaze Doughnuts before the government outlawed them. She told me he gave the first one for free....”
I turned my face away from the doctor. “I’m ashamed to admit I’d become so depraved I would’ve sold my body for a Long John with white frosting and rainbow sprinkles. What that dealer offered me was more alluring—a genuine Gooey Glaze! It wasn’t that I’d be doing something illegal or immoral that held me back. I knew how my MNM would react if I became addicted to those delicacies. So I did the only thing I could to let me feed my doughnut habit without fear of exposure—at least not right away.”
Schuller glanced at the computer screen. “It’s all here in the data I downloaded from your MNM. You committed the most serious sin against your health imaginable. You had an illegal MNM operation performed—reprogramming your device so it could still analyze what you were eating but not respond appropriately to the harmful substances you ingested. That way you could gorge yourself without fear of sickness or detection—until your fat-filled body itself exposed your crime.
“Fortunately you didn’t have your MNM explanted. Everyone is warned of the danger of doing that when the device is inserted. Yet each year, thousands die at the hands of back-street butchers who claim they can safely remove it—for a price. Those illegal operations are uniformly fatal because the MNM, like the CPU in a computer, is only the coordinating component of a vast data processing and control system within a person’s body.”
The doctor continued, “Some people forget that when their MNMs were implanted they were also injected with nanoscale replicators. Those tiny machines produce fibrils and other materials that infiltrate a person’s nerves and major organ systems—acting like the wires in an electrical system to feed information back to the MNM and carry out its commands. That network the replicators create can’t be removed. It’s like a spider web pervading a person’s body. And if its connection with the MNM is suddenly disrupted when someone cuts out that device, the effects on the brain and other vital organs are catastrophic.”
He shuddered. “M
aybe, instead of just telling people what happens when an MNM is removed, they should be shown the look of indescribable agony on a dead victim’s face. Perhaps then fewer would inadvertently commit suicide by having that illegal procedure.”
As Schuller finished his cautionary tale, the two nurses returned. One of them held a pistol-like injector. The doctor said, “I’m glad you didn’t make the mistake of having your MNM removed, Ms. Thompson. But now we must correct the mistakes you did make. Don’t worry, the injection won’t be too painful....”
I cringed as the injector’s cold metal tip pressed against my arm. There was a snap and hiss—followed by a sensation like cobra venom coursing through my body.
“What are you in for?”
I glanced at the elderly man speaking near my right elbow. He was walking on a moving treadmill beside me, identical to the one where I struggled to maintain a brisk pace. My partner in the large exercise room wore the same style of fluorescent-orange jumpsuit I did. His white hair and fluffy beard were damp with sweat. A smile beamed from his rosy face.
My gaze flitted to the front of the room, where two dozen of our morbidly obese compatriots walked silently in side-by-side pairs on their own individual treadmills. The three brawny physical therapists seated far away, supervising this session, weren’t looking toward us. I took a chance they wouldn’t hear my reply above the rumbling motors powering our treadmills and direct their attention my way.
I whispered, “Doughnuts. They’re so scrumptious I couldn’t get enough of them!”
The man’s round belly shook like a bowlful of jelly. “I’m too fond of cookies and milk.”
His eyes twinkled as he gripped the horizontal iron bar in front of him. “The name’s Nick. I’d shake your hand, but this treadmill’s moving so fast if I let go I’ll fly off the end!”
The therapists guarding us were suddenly preoccupied hoisting up a rotund wheezing woman who’d fallen face-down on her own machine’s moving belt.
“I’m Esther. Been here long?”
Nick groaned. “They nabbed me three weeks ago—the night before Christmas. I should’ve stayed in my house, but the snow falling outside my window that evening looked so beautiful I went out to enjoy it. Just my luck a patrol car spotted me giving toys I’d made to the neighborhood children playing outside. I told the police I looked so round because I was wearing extra layers of clothing under my coat to keep warm. They knew better.
“Then the cops raided my house and found my secret stash of goodies. They booked me, then brought me here.”
He glanced down at his jiggling midsection. “You should’ve seen me before they injected their fat-munching nanobots into me and put me on a strict regimen of diet and exercise. Dr. Schuller says it’ll be at another ten weeks of treatment before I’m ‘normal.’ And before we leave he’ll make sure our MNMs are working again—unless we do something about it.”
I sighed. “What can we do? Everyone here is guilty of the same crime—having our MNMs illegally modified so we could eat what we want. A nurse told me that when we’re released we’ll always be on a ‘convicted overeater’ registry. Each of us will also get a small reader to place over the MNM every week. It’ll transmit a summary of everything we’ve eaten to a central monitoring station. If we don’t do it, we’ll wind up back here!”
Nick’s snowy beard shuddered. “And if we have our MNMs illegally disabled again and get caught, they’ll put us someplace worse. There’s a special Limbic System Aversion Therapy ward here for repeat offenders. They use techniques that will definitely ‘cure’ us—if we can stand the pain and survive the treatment. Afterward we’ll never be naughty again ... or good for anything either!”
I looked up and saw attendants wheel the fallen woman at the front of the room out on a stretcher. Soon the therapists would be focusing their attention back on us. I murmured, “I guess we have no choice but to be nice and let our MNMs alone when we leave here.”
Nick shook his head. “That won’t work either. Our MNMs are supposed to keep us healthy and help us live longer. But that’s not all they do.
“They’re also programmed to kill us!”
I didn’t learn what he meant—at least not then. Before I could ask him, the therapists announced our exercise session was over and herded us all out to a gray room with concrete walls for our communal lunch. There guards marched us to several rows of long rectangular steel tables. Each of us was directed to a preassigned seat where scowling orderlies placed a meal individualized for our nutritional needs.
Nick was ordered to a chair well away from mine. I could only exchange glances with him as I chewed the chalky chicken-flavored protein patty, soggy squash, and wilted lettuce leaves on my aluminum plate. Sipping my vegetable juice from a tin cup, I wondered what he knew.
I didn’t find out at our next destination either. The guards were more laissez-faire about where each of their charges sat in that lecture room. But although Nick was able to squeeze into the hard wooden seat on my left, we couldn’t share any private words due to the unremitting attention of our lecturer. She was a prim matron with hair stretched taut like barbed wires. A white lab coat buttoned in front like a cassock reached down to her ankles, sheathing an ectomorphic figure. Her face resembled a grinning skull dabbed with cyanotic eye shadow and blood-red lipstick.
Her enthusiasm for the subject matter didn’t spread to her captive audience. Ms. Natural’s encomium to a healthy diet and exercise induced head nodding and snores in the warm room. Hard nudges from our guards terminated those naps.
Our instructor made holographic calorie charts, nutritional information, and anatomical models float before us. She contrasted the gigantic 3-D image of a ruddy, healthy kidney cheerfully filtering blood, to its shriveled, waste-clogged twin. A green gallbladder, steaming intestines, and juglike stomach introduced us to the mysteries of digestion. A rotating life-sized overweight body showed disgusting yellowish fat globules foaming up under the skin of its trunk, buttocks, and thighs—just like those, our lecturer explained, we reprobates had created in our own bodies.
She concluded today’s reeducation session with a sobering suggestion. “I suspect many of you don’t realize how ugly and misshapen your bodies are. Perhaps, standing unclothed in front of a full-length mirror after a shower, you mentally filter out what your reflection shows and don’t see yourself as obese.
“So I want each of you to picture how the rest of your comrades in this room would look naked. Imagine how unappetizing those mounds of fat, sagging skin, and bloated bellies are! And as you visualize how repulsive your neighbors look, remember—you look just as repellent to them!”
As we ruminated on that disturbing vision, our instructor continued, “What you’ve done to your bodies shows what happens when an MNM is prevented from doing its work. Modern medicine can stabilize or cure cardiovascular disease, cancer, and other major killers of the past using high-tech methods like nanomedicine, genetic engineering, and stem cell therapy. Average life expectancy is now nearly one hundred years.
“But it’s much more effective and less expensive to prevent people from becoming ill than to treat them when they do. Without MNMs helping people stay healthy, the cost of medical care might still be as outrageously high as it was decades ago. In the 2010s, our country spent several trillion dollars annually for healthcare, mainly to treat chronic diseases, provide end-of-life care for the elderly and terminally ill—and deal with illnesses caused by poor lifestyle choices, such as tobacco use and overeating.”
She looked at us accusingly. “All of you have a responsibility to keep healthcare costs as low as possible. Medical treatments are now more effective than they were decades ago—but like then, they’re still expensive. Because millions of your civic-minded fellow citizens have let their MNMs help them stay healthy, society now spends far less money to treat preventable health problems.
“MNMs are so cost-effective that the number of dollar-draining clinics and hospitals required to t
reat the seriously ill has also fallen dramatically. Far fewer medical professionals like physicians, nurses, and technologists are needed, saving billions more in salaries. Hospitals like this one keep only several surgeons, trained in using robotic tools to perform operations like reattaching a severed limb. A handful of internists manage medical problems more complex than your MNMs can treat. And because you made bad health choices, we still need specialists in rehabilitation medicine like Dr. Schuller.”
Nick’s voice boomed beside me. “So if we all lived healthy lifestyles and let our MNMs regulate what we eat and do, there’d be even less need for doctors and nurses than there is now?”
The instructor nodded. “Precisely!”
My companion gave a jolly smile. “Thank you for enlightening us. If we all followed your advice, there wouldn’t even be a need to pay people to deliver lectures on the virtues of healthy living!”
Our instructor focused a toxic gaze on Nick as our corpulent comrades laughed. It seemed they too had a hard time swallowing the ideas she’d fed us.
I didn’t get to speak with Nick until the next morning. Fortunately, we were assigned to chairs next to each other in the dining room for breakfast. As my fork poked at the clay-colored tofu links and ersatz eggs lumped on my plate, Nick nudged me. “Look who walked in.”
Dr. Schuller strutted through the parallel lines of seated patients in a majestic one-man parade. He paused occasionally to reassure one of his charges that the glistening gelatinous globs on her plate were indeed edible, or to praise another for looking less cetaceous than yesterday. With the sleeves of his white coat gesticulating like flapping wings, he resembled a hungry hawk hovering over a family of field mice reassuring them of his benign intentions.
As the physician strolled near us, Nick bellowed, “We appreciate what you and your staff are doing for us, doctor. That talk yesterday about how doing everything we can to stay healthy is good for us and saves money was fascinating.”
Analog Science Fiction and Fact 12/01/10 Page 10