Eden Chip

by Scott Cramer

  Tears filled his eyes as he sat before his mindport, swallowing a greasy glob of rejection. She didn't mean that. Her words came from a place of white-hot anger, much of which I stoked through a series of unfortunate events. “I forgive you,” he whispered.

  Producing devourware, Ashminov knew, would be easy. He already had the code. But he had a better idea.

  He grabbed the trans with the Bibleware chip and held it behind his back as he approached Raissa in the bedroom. Once Christ was filling her heart, they would relate to one another on a deeper level. “The devourware is compiling,” he announced, placing his finger on the trans button.

  She turned to him. “That was fast.”

  He lunged, leading with the wand, ready to perform an electronic baptism, but she grabbed his wrist and bent it back until he dropped to his knees, and the trans fell to the floor. She gave a final twist to underscore her displeasure.

  As he was gasping in pain, she picked up the trans and jabbed her finger into his chest. “Next time you try something like that, I’ll really get angry.”

  DESIGN: PHASE 06

  “Dr. Saunders, you have a text message.”

  Caleb shot up straight in his chair and grabbed his messenger, thinking Dr. Aubrey was finally reaching out to him. None too soon. To inform Zoe that her husband had poisoned their child was unimaginable without a functioning chip in his brain. He needed a patch ASAP.

  He discovered the message was a campus-wide alert, instructing all employees to tune into the NanoArtisans briefing channel.

  “Briefing channel.”

  His mindport flickered to life with a strange scene. A bird’s-eye view from a blimp showed a large crowd gathered in Copley Square, downtown Boston. It looked like a riot, except the rioters had beaming smiles and bright eyes. Several paladin emergency vehicles were at the scene.

  Taking control of a camera mounted on the Boston Public Library, at the corner of Boylston and Dartmouth, Caleb panned in on the crowd. People of all ages wore big smiles as they surged toward the International Food Cafetorium; the doors to the massive granite building were open, and they were pushing their way inside.

  Views of two other gatherings appeared on the mindport. These were also happening in Boston: Mary’s Bowladrome in Codman Square and a tourist attraction in the North End.

  Caleb sat back, perplexed. Was he witnessing the results of a mass chip failure? That had happened a decade earlier when Nigerian tomato farmers started watering their plants continuously. After a transmission blimp had beamed a patch to the group, normal farming practices had resumed.

  Lucky for these people, their chips are malfunctioning in NanoArtisans backyard.

  “Dr. Aubrey passed through the southwest gate,” his messenger announced.

  The timing was perfect. Caleb expected notification from his director, Dr. Phillips, any moment, assigning Paladin Research to lend a hand in sorting out the mysterious gatherings. After receiving his patch from Dr. Aubrey, Caleb could contribute to the effort with a clear head, unencumbered by unproductive emotions.

  He closed his eyes. Dr. Aubrey, I’m on my way to Version Control.

  In Version Control’s waiting room, Caleb had a front-row seat to a mad circus as the lab’s scientists hosted impromptu meetings and scurried to their mindports. Dr. Aubrey was also flitting from colleague to colleague. She had told Caleb she’d see him in ten minutes—thirty minutes ago.

  As expected, he received a message from Dr. Phillips. Stunned, Caleb read it twice: “Paladin Research is closing for the rest of today, effective immediately. Take the day off. Enjoy time with your family.”

  Paladin Research never closed, and Dr. Phillips never took a day off. His director had never even asked Caleb about his family or social life because Dr. Phillips didn’t care about either. The only family that the doctor found worthy of discussion was the NanoArtisans family.

  Dr. Aubrey came over. “Sorry about the delay.” She looked harried.

  He held out his messenger. “Can you believe this?”

  After reading the memo, she showed him a similar message from her director. “Submit the final V7 code to Dr. Petrov at 1 p.m. and then go home. Enjoy time with your family.” Her brow pinched. “Caleb, the V7 code is nowhere near ready, but we're supposed to submit the build in three hours. Something's not right about all this.”

  Dejection darkened his tone as he said, “Dr. Petrov knows what he’s doing.” Because of Dr. Aubrey’s impossible deadline, he could not ask her for a patch.

  Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind, born out of desperation, but one that would provide him with relief. He would visit the Union Square Injection Center and ask for a production-level nanochip to be implanted in his frontal lobe.

  “Dr. Aubrey, I’d like to run something by you.” He told her his plan, adding, “Later today, I’ll receive the V7 update with the rest of the population.”

  She took a step back. “You’ll no longer be part of my V7 beta program.”

  His stomach twisted. “That’s true, but your program is winding down.”

  “Dr. Saunders, if you want to put your personal needs above scientific inquiry, be my guest.”

  He considered Dr. Aubrey to be his friend. Nobody else in his life had been privy to his strange thoughts and dark secrets. He didn’t want to end on a sour note. “Are you going home after your team submits the V7 code?” he asked in a bright tone.

  “My lab is my home,” she replied curtly and walked away.

  DESIGN: PHASE 07

  Wary of Ashminov pulling another trick, Raissa held in her palm the tiny devourware chip which he had just printed. “Does it work as we discussed?”

  “It eliminates all rules from a nanochip,” Ashminov replied.

  “It won’t turn people into Christians?”

  He shook his head.

  “Any religion?”

  “No.”

  “Prove it,” she said.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  She eyed him with suspicion. “Why should I?”

  Ashminov asked for the chip back. After inserting it into the trans, he pressed the wand against his forehead and closed his eyes, but he didn't push the button. He lowered the trans. “I can’t kill Jesus. You do it.”

  Raissa took the trans. “I’m not killing anyone. I’m making sure you’re telling me the truth.” She pressed the wand against Ashminov’s forehead and engaged the button. Following the beep, the color drained from his cheeks.

  “Satisfied?” he said.

  Raissa had the evidence she needed and retrieved the devourware chip from the trans.

  “May I have the trans? I want to download the Bibleware onto my chip. I felt happy for the first time. Life had a purpose.”

  “Download whatever you want.”

  Soon, Ashminov’s cheeks were aglow again, and his eyes sparkled.

  “It's time to arrange a meeting with Caleb Saunders. He needs to deliver the chip inside the firewall.” Raissa punched in the rebel’s number.

  The rebel answered with silence.

  “I need the target’s chip ID,” Raissa said.

  The rebel gave her the ID in the same low, quiet voice, and they ended the call.

  “What if Caleb Saunders doesn’t want to meet you?” Ashminov asked.

  Raissa patted her joule. “One way or another, he’s taking the devourware to NanoArtisans.”

  Using Caleb’s ID, she sent him a text message. Do you remember me? Raissa. From the concert last night.

  Caleb responded at once. Yes!

  “An exclamation point,” Ashminov noted. “He remembers you fondly.”

  Would you like to practice the viola with me today?

  Today?

  Raissa, not wanting to appear too eager, counted to five before replying. Yes, in two hours! That’s the only time I have available.

  Sure, meet me at the Cambridge Public Library at noon. They have practice rooms.

  “A library has too many variabl
es,” she said and replied, Let’s meet at your apartment.

  “That’s bold,” Ashminov said.

  After a tense pause, Raissa wondered if she had been too bold.

  Okay, came his reply.

  Caleb, what’s your address? She already knew about the address.

  He gave it to her, then added, How did you know my ID?

  Raissa ended the session. She had two hours to come up with an answer.

  * * *

  Caleb stood frozen in the van Rossum lobby. Fortunately, Raissa was better at finding me than I was at finding her. He’d better get going; she’d be at his place in two hours.

  After sending his eButler a command to infuse his apartment with a light scent of eucalyptus to mask any odors emanating from the pile of dirty laundry, he hurried outside.

  A fluttering of butterflies in his chest lifted his feet off the pavement, and he floated toward the northwest security gate. Suddenly, he stopped, flooding with fear. I’ll subject her to auditory torture. He told himself to calm down, breathe, think. He had enough time to visit the injection center, get a new chip, then race home to prepare something to play before she arrived—not that practicing would make a big difference now.

  The northwest exit was the closest one to the Union Square Injection Center, and he took his place in a long line of scientists waiting to leave, all going home, per Dr. Petrov's edict, to spend quality time with their families. Employees trickled from every campus building, the mass exodus pressing the entire scooter fleet into service. Finally, it was his turn at the retinal scanner, and after the green flash, the paladin guard waved him on. Caleb took long strides through the tunnel.

  What? Zoe stood on the other side. Caleb swallowed past a lump in his throat. She never visited NanoArtisans. Something must be wrong. He ran up to her.

  She grinned ear-to-ear. “Caleb, I'm going to the genetarium. We have an attribute booth reserved for 9:30. The taxi is waiting.”

  A disastrous timeline unfolded in his mind. Zoe and Jack would start the design process for a child, then Jack would have his memory scrubbed, leaving Zoe with a partially designed child.

  “Zoe, it’s too soon to design a child.”

  She frowned. “Julian has been a carbon tab for over a day.”

  His sister had a point. “I have something to tell you about Jack.”

  “Jack already told me.”

  The air rushed out of Caleb’s lungs. “What did he say?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.” Zoe headed for the waiting taxi.

  Caleb checked the time. Plan B. Skip the injection center, dissuade Zoe from designing a child today before they reach the genetarium, then go straight home to practice the viola.

  Standing next to the open door of the cab, she drilled him with her bossy-sister stare. “I don’t have all day.”

  “Coming.”

  On the way to the Newbury Street Genetarium, Caleb estimated they would arrive there in seven minutes. “What did Jack tell you?” he asked, bracing for the words of the terrible deed to roll off Zoe's tongue.

  . “Jack used to think you were arrogant. You never question the work you’re doing. You think technology is the answer to everything and that Doctor Petrov is always right.”

  “Dr. Petrov is always right,” he replied reflexively.

  She rolled her eyes. “Jack has had a change of heart. I guess losing Julian must have made him reflect on family. He told me he loves you for who you are, Caleb. He wants to start fresh and be your friend.”

  No surprise. A chip reboot worked wonders. Caleb was only sorry he hadn’t done it sooner. Julian might still be alive.

  “Caleb? Will you be Jack’s friend?” Zoe sent him a pleading look.

  He looked out the window, pondering his options. Was there a way to spare Jack’s memory and save Zoe's marriage? He could make another appeal to Dr. Joyce. He had new data to present: Jack liked him now.

  “You've arrived at your destination,” the taxi announced.

  He needed time to sort things out with Dr. Joyce. “Zoe, I want to be Jack's friend, but I think you and Jack should wait until after the V7 transmission.”

  “Why?”

  He had to stall. “Do you want me to join you?”

  “I insist. You are part of the family.”

  He grinned. “I have a date, and I can’t be late.”

  Zoe’s jaw dropped. “Say that again?”

  “You heard me.”

  She wagged a finger. “When were you going to mention this?”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “So who is she?”

  “I met her last night at the concert.”

  “And…?”

  He shot her an indignant look. “And what?”

  Zoe narrowed her eyes. “Tell me about her. It'll be over quicker if you come clean, instead of making me drag it out of you.”

  “Fine. Her name is Raissa. She's a viola player visiting from Jerusalem. She was sitting beside me.”

  “You mean that girl with the scar?”

  “I guess she has a small scar.”

  “What time are you meeting her?”

  “Noon.”

  “We have plenty of time.” Zoe grabbed his hand, opened the door, and pulled him onto the sidewalk. “I want to meet this Raissa someday to see if she’s good enough for my brother.”

  * * *

  Raissa tucked the joule behind her back and flipped her blouse over to conceal it. “Ashminov, can you see anything?” She raised her arms and turned around.

  He gave her the once-over. “Caleb will never suspect you’re a rebel.”

  “Stay here until I come back, okay?”

  “Where would I go?”

  “Promise me you won’t leave the safe house.”

  “I promise.”

  Can I trust him? No. But she couldn't think of any place he’d go. “I need to get inside the Citadel. Come up with some ideas.” She’d keep him occupied.

  “There’s no need to enter the Citadel.”

  “How else am I going to kill Petrov?”

  He sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “Kill him?”

  “Is that news to you?”

  The look of confusion in his eyes answered her question. “Ashminov, weren’t you curious about my weapons and explosives?”

  He swallowed hard. “There’s no reason to harm Petrov.”

  “After chips stop working around the world, you expect him to sit back and do nothing?”

  “Everyone can repent.”

  “You repent. After I plant the new chip on Caleb Saunders, I’m assassinating Petrov.”

  “What about the Collective?”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you plan to kill them, too?”

  “Do I need to?”

  He shook his head. “Politicians are clueless; the technologist always has the upper hand.”

  “So you agree that I only have to kill Petrov?”

  Ashminov’s jaw dropped. “I never said that!”

  Raissa pocketed the devourware chip and checked the time. She had to be at Caleb's front door in ninety minutes. “There’s a lot I don’t get about you, and I’m sure there’s a lot about me you don’t understand. Let’s continue the discussion when I get back.”

  “Stay put,” she added on her way out the door. “Please.”

  * * *

  Ashminov looked out the safe house window at Raissa heading down the sidewalk, off to meet Caleb Saunders with her viola, her joule, and the devourware chip. Her weapons of death—a semi-automatic Glock pistol and a belt of high explosives—were on the bed. She had failed to arm herself with the potent weapon: the love of Jesus.

  He rehearsed the appeal he would make upon her return. “Petrov has sinned, but salvation for him is around the corner. The Bible counsels us to turn the other cheek.”

  That sounded reasonable enough to his ears, but he wasn’t sure she would buy it. The more he thought about it, the more he became convin
ced she would reject his plea.

  He focused on his needs, instead, estimating he had ninety minutes before Raissa returned. Is that enough time? A powerful sensation rumbled deep in his soul, and he ached to visit a former church where the faithful had once sung hymns and uttered the Lord's name in full-throated glory. He had experienced this spiritual longing the first time he'd hosted the Bibleware on his chip, but he had not told her for obvious reasons. She would have taken extreme measures to keep him confined. Yes, he had time. He believed he could make it to a former church and back within an hour.

  Beyond the requirement of a speedy round trip, another challenge stood in his way: Could he live with himself after breaking the promise he had made to her? Reasoning that only Christ was perfect and therefore he didn’t have to be, Ashminov looked for former churches on his messenger. He discovered that two were nearby. In Copley Square, four blocks away, an Episcopal Church was now functioning as the International Food Cafetorium, and in Codman Square, six blocks away, the Catholic St. Mary's Cathedral was now a bowladrome. Church-to-bowling-alley conversions were common.

  Ashminov headed for the door, but, as he was reaching for the doorknob, he stopped. Corrosive guilt bathed his insides. Deciding to keep his promise to Raissa and stay inside, he made a U-turn, determined to remain on a righteous path.

  A moment later, that path led him through the door and down the elevator.

  DESIGN: PHASE 08

  Inside the genetarium lobby, Caleb kept his eyes glued to the knowledge wall while Zoe was checking in with the receptionist. The screen featured a time-lapse animation of the birthing process. First, Child Builder created a basic profile with DNA from the future parents. Next, the parents enhanced the profile by selecting attributes from a menu. Child Builder then compiled the code egg. In the final step, the genetarium staff implanted the fertilized egg into a human womb where the fetus developed the old-fashioned way. Nine months later, the made-to-order baby saw the light of day.

  Zoe stepped away from the receptionist and said, “Booth fifteen.”

  They followed the green arrows on the floor to an atrium where twenty-five attribute booths lined the perimeter. A red light indicated if one was in service. Number fifteen had the only green light.