Immortality (68 page)

“I’m okay. I’m better than okay. I’ve used psilocybin six or seven times. I needed a way of boosting the effect of the drug. I tried increasing the dosage but it was never enough. In the end I needed something stronger than psilocybin. I got my hands on some liquid LSD and took a large amount of it.”

“Psilocybin and LSD,” said Kathy. “Mark, you need help.”

“Please, just listen… Until today, I was unable to control the information flowing across the interface. Mostly I just got random pieces of data that came in the form of implanted memories. Today, after an overdose of LSD, I was able to force a restructuring of the interface into something that I can consciously control. I know for a fact this technology was not made by man. It was made by an ancient race that’s been gone for millions of years. This god-machine has been part of the human experience since before there were humans. For some people, getting the thought-interface to work is easier. I don’t know why, but I suspect their brains are structured in subtle ways that makes it more sensitive or easier to adapt.”

“Like Sarah?” asked Kathy.

“Like Sarah, like me, and, I’m sure, like many others,” said Mark. “The god-machine views the human race as a threat to ourselves and to the whole ecosystem of the planet. It’s preemptively trying to stop us from killing ourselves and taking the world with us.”

“It’s saving us by murdering us? That’s a contradiction,” said Kathy.

“Maybe; maybe not. I’m convinced its strategy is that to keep a dangerous species like ours alive and keep the ecosystem in one piece, it needs to take away our power to have large impacts on the planet and each other. If it culls our population and with it most of our technology, then we’ll be forced into a harmless role. We’ll no longer be the top predator. It’s driving us into a dark age out of which will emerge the next step up the evolutionary ladder.”

“It won’t work,” said Kathy.

“It doesn’t matter if it works or not,” said Mark. “We’ll still all be dead. The thing’s trying to replace us with human version 2.0 – or 3.0 – which is why it’s wiping us out. The older version has to be uninstalled to make room for the upgrade. It’s decided we’re a dead end but its calculations are wrong. I know it. The machine’s got to be missing some vital data and, as a result, is ending up with garbage in, garbage out. I’m hoping that by understanding its motivations we may be able to stop it. What if we took away our behaviors that triggered this killing spree? The kill zone program might stop. To halt the god-machine, we have to stop acting like a threat. If we stop the massive plundering of our resources and begin to destroy our war-toys, it might just stop killing us.”

“That’s a lot to swallow,” said Kathy. “I’m having hard time believing it and I sleep with you. What will other people believe? You have no proof except a healed shoulder. How can you be sure the drugs aren’t affecting your mind?”

“I know I sound like a mad prophet who just wandered in from the desert. But nobody can deny that the end is here and we’re running out of time.”

“Humor me,” said Kathy. “I need to know how much LSD and psilocybin you took.”

“Earlier today, I took enough LSD to seriously fry my brain,” said Mark. “Twelve drops of undiluted liquid LSD which is equivalent to about six hundred doses. Based on the most conservative research I found, right now I should be in a rubber room drooling on myself, but I’m not. I’m fine. The nanotech inside me has repaired better than new any brain damage that occurred; and that by itself proves something.”

“I’m scheduling a full medical and psych work up on you,” said Kathy. “No objections. Just do it for me. And I want to run a chemical analysis on the LSD and psilocybin you took.”

Mark woke up in the darkened room. The clock read 2:50 a.m. in glowing digits. Suddenly, he felt like a giant nail was being driven through his brain from ear to ear. He squeezed his fists against his temples. His breathing was rapid and short. He felt beads of sweat crawling down his face. It hurt!

Kathy stirred in bed next to him but didn’t wake. He tried to remain silent. He recognized the pain was the same as when he’d used the restructured thought-interface. Had he used the interface in his sleep? Slowly the pain subsided. As Mark came back to himself, he realized he was staring at Kathy’s sleeping face. The room was greyly lit from outside. She was so beautiful in the shadowy light. Thick hair framed her face with tussled strands. Her shoulders were bare. The covers were pulled up high.

Mark slipped his arms around her. She curled into him and murmured something. His breathing was almost normal. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. His neck had been sore where radiological dye had been injected, but the bruise had since faded. Every inch of his body had been examined in every imaginable way. He wondered if any differences would show up. The medical reports were due in the morning. He could wait.

Mark woke and Kathy wasn’t beside him. Sunlight was spilling through the window. He propped himself up in the convertible couch. The springs squeaked. Kathy was at her desk working at her computer. She looked over at him. Her expression was troubled. She looked away, as if seeing him was painful. He had a strong suspicion about what she was reading.

“Morning, baby,” said Mark. “So what’s in my report that’s scaring you so much?”

Without a word, Kathy came over and sat down beside him. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back into a thick ponytail. The mannerism was a subconscious thing Mark noticed she did when she was in a place she didn’t want to be. Her eyes wandered over his face as if she were looking for a hint of something wrong or dangerous.

“I don’t know how to explain this,” said Kathy. “I’ve gone over the results several times. I’ve never seen anything like it; nobody has. By every measure, you’re as healthy as you’ve ever been.”

She paused and looked down as if trying to put words to it.

“And,” said Mark.

“I don’t know how to say this. You shouldn’t be healthy with what’s inside your brain. The Microscopic-MRI showed five to ten percent of the cells of your cerebral cortex have been infested with nanotech seeds. They’ve migrated from the bacteria into the cells of your brain and I have no idea how to remove them or stop them from spreading.”

Mark should have been worried but he wasn’t. So this is what ‘restructuring the interface’ had meant. Though he hadn’t thought about it in specifics until this moment, he’d sensed that physical changes had occurred within him. For a very long time, maybe even since his birth, large quantities of COBIC had been circulating inside him. How surprising was it that some of the seeds had finally shed their bacterial hosts and taken up residence in the familiar cells of his body? Some of this migration or restructuring or whatever it was called, could have been occurring since his first dose of psilocybin.

“I’m okay,” said Mark. “The seeds are running a program that enhances the thought-interface.”

“What!” said Kathy. “You’re scaring me. What program?”

Mark barely heard Kathy’s reply. He was thinking about what this meant. He was trying to understand how seeds could function inside the cells of his brain. Without any conscious command on his part, his vision was filled with a three-dimensional medical schematic of his internal biology. The semitransparent life-size projection was floating in the center of the room like a ghost. The projection stayed in its place when he looked away as if it were a real object in space. The image was slowly rotating, partially obscuring things that were behind it as it revolved. He got up and walked over to it so he could look more closely. The inner structures of his brain and spinal column were rendered in greater detail than the rest of his body. He noticed the large orange mass in his brainstem was missing from the schematic. In its place was a small orange smudge identical to what he’d seen on Carl and Kathy. He knew this orange smudge was a school of free-swimming COBIC bacteria. There were dim orange blotches visible over some of his cerebral cortex. He knew the blotches marked where seeds had taken up residency. He knew the blotches were spreading.

He turned and saw Kathy staring at him. After a few seconds, a superimposed medical schematic of her body appeared. There was a faint orange smudge in the region of her brainstem. He wanted to explain what he knew and what he saw. An implanted memory resurfaced; and with it, his focus shifted from Kathy and the medical schematics faded. This implanted memory shed light on the beautiful simplicity of the nanotech’s design. COBIC bacteria were an ideal delivery system for seeds. Just as doctors used retrovirus to deliver DNA for gene therapy, the god-machine used bacterium to deliver seeds. Once the goal was achieved, the delivery vehicle was abandoned. He wondered how long this implanted memory had been inside him: had it been seconds or hours or even days?

“Mark!” shouted Kathy. “Mark, are you listening to me?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I just recalled more information about the seeds. They’re engineered primarily for residence in brain cells. There are several kinds of seeds. COBIC bacterium is an insertion tool for neuron seeds. Other types of seeds remain in COBIC because they need mobility to reach areas of the body which need repair.”

“What you’re saying makes no sense,” said Kathy. “Think about it, Mark. If infestation of brain cells was the goal, then everyone would have a brain full of seeds. We don’t; and that means what’s happening inside your head is unique and potentially very dangerous. It could be invading your thoughts.”

“Show me the test results,” said Mark.

Kathy retrieved the Microscopic-MRI images. She was visibly rattled by his behavior. The bulge caused by seeds inside his neurons appeared to be much larger than those present in COBIC. The bulge should have been smaller, given the size difference between bacteria and brain cells. Did this mean that the seeds were manufacturing external structures inside his cells? Comparing Microscopic-MRI images of infected COBIC with his infected neurons showed similarities and differences. Because of the low resolution of Microsopic-MRI images, he couldn’t be sure; but judging from the shape, the nanotech configuration inside his neurons did look much more complex. He thought about how fine roots threaded out from seeds into the cytoplasm of their bacterial hosts. What was it doing inside his brain? Were nanotech roots snaking out throughout his neurons and nerve fiber? Were his brain and nervous system being converted from organic to electronic? He focused on the MRI image of his cortex, trying to bring up projections of medical schematics. Nothing appeared. He tried harder; still nothing materialized. In the end, it didn’t matter. Any mental projections could not be fully trusted. The only way to be sure was biopsies, and he had no intention of allowing a surgeon to crack his skull just to take samples. There was nothing medical science could do anyway. He was on a journey with an unknown destination, but his goals remained the same: he had to find a way to change the god-machine’s plans, and these medical tests had just handed him something he might be able to use.

“This MRI could be the proof I need to convince people to listen to me when I tell them what I know,” said Mark. “This shows that I’m not some nut that’s taken one trip too many. Look at it. This fusion of nanotech with my neurons is the restructuring of the thought-interface. This is proof that I’m in contact with the god-machine.”

“Or deluded by it ransacking your brain,” said Kathy. “I’m sorry, Mark; we’re talking about your brain, a brain I love. This infestation could be killing you, one neuron at a time.”

“I don’t think so,” said Mark. “More likely it’ll save me than kill me.”

Alexander’s militia had grown. He seemed to exude a gravity-like force which drew fighters to him. He’d won victory after victory. His fighters were ferocious. His small army now numbered four hundred men and sixty military vehicles. He’d attacked and destroyed all Traitor strongholds along his path – police, National Guard, Pagans – they were all pillaged for equipment of war and cleansed of Traitors. Word spread about his invincibility and his use of kill zones as tools of war. Some people said that god was on his side. Alexander smiled to himself. Let the fools believe what they wanted, as long as their superstitions fed his war machine and his plans.

Alexander climbed up onto the roof of his Humvee and looked out through his binoculars. Thirty miles away, obscured by haze, was his target. Soon, maybe today, they would begin their advance from this staging area. He’d sensed for days that a kill zone was forming in the Charleston area; and he knew this staging area was far outside the zone of death. He’d seen this kill zone in reoccurring dreams, just as he’d seen the last several. He didn’t understand how or why he had this sixth sense. Some of the greatest military leaders had premonitions. Maybe this was similar to what they’d experienced? Alexander knew it would be a huge kill zone; and when it hit, the factory he’d selected as his target would be in the thick of it. The factory was on a deserted expanse of land near the Charleston Naval Weapon Station. Alexander had done his homework using informants. He knew this factory held what he needed. The factory had an innocuous name of Level-5 Industrials, but what it manufactured was anything but innocuous. Behind the guards at the gate and the blast-proof structures were automated assembly lines which turned out the high explosive warheads used by the Navy and Air Force. After the kill zone did its work, Alexander would go in and exterminate what remained alive and willing to fight. He would take what he needed, and what he needed were those warheads. The idea had come to him like most of his ideas recently did, in his dreams. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the diagram in his mind. Tractor-trailers could be rigged to carry twenty of these warheads, forty thousand pounds of high explosives with shrapnel packed around it. The blast would be awesome. The weapon was capable of flattening anything within hundreds of yards of the epicenter. All he needed were radio detonators and fools willing to drive the trucks. In this brave new world there was no shortage of either.