FSF, January-February 2010 (29 page)

"What?” Graeber exclaimed. “When?"

"Today,” Wang said. “We have ourselves injected two hour ago."

"That's crazy!” Graeber said. “You could be committing suicide!"

"Maybe mit drugs, yes,” Sprachmaus said, “but dese are not drugs. Dese are little machines."

"And we design them,” Wang said.

"Ve know exactly vhat dey vill do. Come, ve vill show you."

Mice in hand, they led Graeber to a dimly lit room. There, they handed over the randy rodents to a young woman in a lab coat. Graeber was astounded. She was white.

And not a healthy, glowing, caucasian pink, or any other First-World shade. She was plain white. Pale to the point of translucence, her face unmarked by a single freckle or mole. A hue made all the more white by a hood of coal-black hair swept back from the center of her forehead into a waterfall of night at the nape of her neck. Her eyes and eyebrows were as black as her hair. Her lips were somewhere in between, a grayish tone leeched of color, as though Disney had filmed
Snow White
in black-and-white.

Not that the woman looked anything like Disney's simpering stereotype of budding womanhood. But she wasn't the evil stepmother, either, despite the hair. She was, like her lips, somewhere in between. Beyond pretty. Ageless. Not quite of this world.

He glanced at her name badge. Liliac Sångera. Norwegian? Not with that hair. Greek? Too pale. Some Balkan tribe perhaps.

"Liliac,” Sprachmaus said, “dis is Mr. Graeber."

"Nurse plactitioner for human trials,” Wang said. “Vely good with needle. Painress."

Liliac dropped the mice into a cage, pulled off her surgical gloves, and extended her hand. “Dr. Graeber,” she said. “It is an honor."

"Yes,” Graeber replied, enjoying the sound of his title voiced in her rich, old-world alto. He took her slender, bone-white hand. Her fingers were long and supple. Her grip was firm, and she held it a moment longer than the usual business greeting. Her eyes held his, too, but he couldn't tell if she was being familiar or testing his pulse. Maybe it was a custom from her homeland, an ethnic thing. He cleared his throat, nonplused. “Hem. Very good."

She released his hand, indicated the mice, copulating yet again. “Excuse me, but I'd best deal with these two. Such a drive for life, yes? So universal. The normal extraction, Doctors?"

"Ja,” Sprachmaus replied. “For da scope."

Graeber watched, fascinated, while she separated the sated rodents, neatly slid a slender hypodermic needle into each tiny neck, and drained them of their blood. She dropped the limp corpses back into the cage and emptied the syringe into a vial, which she handed to Wang. With a slight sidewise smile at Graeber, she turned back to her lab bench. Graeber stared. He could have sworn he saw something flash at the corners of her mouth.

"Over here, Mr. Graeber,” Sprachmaus said.

Graeber glanced back for a final look, just in time to see her drop the needle into a special box marked with the biohazard emblem and then raise her finger to her lips, as if offering a prayer for their mousely souls. Or testing a flavor. It was all he could do to tear his eyes away.

A tall, gleaming cylinder stood in the middle of the room. Wang centered the vial on a platform inside. Sprachmaus fired up a console and began tapping little boxes on a touch-screen control. Motors hummed. A golden glow emanated from the interior of the cylinder, bathing the bloody vial in an eerie aura. A wide monitor flickered to life on the wall. Unearthly globules swirled into view, riding the eddies of a dark liquid.

"
Das blut
,” Sprachmaus whispered. “And dere! Look!"

Something else appeared. Something with edges and fins and what appeared for all the world to be jaws.

"Hemobot,” Wang intoned.

"Say what?” Graeber muttered, eyes glued to the monitor.

"Hemobot,” Wang repeated. “Nano device."

And, as Graeber watched, the man-made cell snuck up on the globule and ate it.

There were other hemobots, many, many of them. They ate some cells, stroked others. They protected. They repaired. They created replicas. They even cleaned up their own mess, smiling like little Pac-Men. Graeber watched, mesmerized.

"How do you feel?” he asked. “Wang? Sprachmaus?"

"Chust fine."

"Hunky-dolly!"

"Good. I'll be back in twenty-four hours. If you're still alive, I want some."

He glanced at the bench by the wall, but Liliac Sångera was gone. Stifling a surprising surge of disappointment, he strode from the lab. He would see her again soon. Meanwhile....

"Carlos,” he said, climbing back into the limo, “let's take a side trip to the spa."

"Yes, sir,” Arturo replied. That was another reason he got the job: no questions asked.

There was a real spa; Mr. Graeber and his wife were both members. There was a yacht club and a country club, too, and Mr. Graeber actually went to them. The spa, no. Spa was code; Arturo learned that on his first day. Mr. Graeber was in good shape, but he got his exercise in other ways.

Mr. Graeber was already on the cell phone. “Vanessa? Glad I caught you in, I'm on my way. No, not a long one, I'm afraid. Just dropping in to say hi and bye. I'll be there in...."

"Fifteen minutes,” Arturo said.

"Fifteen minutes. What? Oh, nothing special. Surprise me."

He put down the phone. “Fifteen minutes, that's just right."

Arturo was already slipping the pill case out of his coat pocket. He passed it over the back of the seat. Mr. Graeber poured two of the pink knob-headed pills onto his palm and handed back the case. Another condition of the job: Arturo carried the Vaunturplex.

"Good old Vitamin V,” Graeber said, as usual. He downed them with a gulp from a bottle of tonic water, always on hand in the limo's mini bar. “What would we do without it, eh, Carlos? There's a big market for this stuff in Mexico, you know?"

"Yes, sir.” Arturo had learned all this on day one also.

"Goes with that Latino machismo, I suppose. Aycarumba, I wish we'd announced Vaunturplex first."

Fifteen minutes later, Arturo pulled the limo up to the curb in front of a row of brownstone town houses on an upscale tree-lined street. He hopped out quickly to open the door for Mr. Graeber.

"We're going to be late for dinner, Carlos,” Graeber said. “Pick up the usual for the wife."

"Yes, sir."

Arturo waited while Mr. Graeber rang the bell and the door opened. Vanessa, Mr. Graeber's
gringa
, greeted him this time in a fireman's hat and nothing else. No, wait, she had some kind of hose in her hand. No, wait, it was strapped to her waist. She waggled it at Graeber, then grabbed his tie and pulled him through the doorway. As she closed the door, she waved to Arturo and gave him a friendly waggle, too.

Ay, Arturo thought. To be rich in America!

Half an hour later, he was back at the curb. A bouquet of cut flowers lay on the back seat, ready for Mr. Graeber to present to his wife. A single rose lay hidden beneath the front seat, carefully slipped from the bouquet. For Esperanza, Arturo's wife. Not to make up for peeking at Vanessa. Not at all. He loved Esperanza with all his heart. Vanessa was nothing to him. Although he did feel a little guilty about enjoying the peek so much.

Mr. Graeber came out, still adjusting his comb-over. “Let's get moving, Carlos,” he said.

"Yes, sir.” Carlos shut the door and hurried around to get behind the wheel.

"Right in the middle of the big moment,” Graeber complained, as Carlos steered the big car away from the curb. “Wham-bam and
dee-dee-dee-dee-deedley-dee
.” His ring tone was
Stayin’ Alive
. “Don't you hate it when that happens, Carlos? It breaks your rhythm. I should have let it go to voicemail, but it was Proctor. Business before pleasure, Carlos, you know what I mean?"

"Yes, sir,” Arturo replied, because Mr. Graeber appreciated replies. He expected you to be listening. Arturo wondered how Vanessa felt about it.

Diana Graeber sipped her second martini and watched her husband arrive home. He came bearing flowers, a sure sign he'd been to see his doxie. She relaxed and downed her martini. Good. He would fall asleep early, without a single mention of conjugal rights.

"For me?” she said, accepting the flowers and offering her cheek for the usual peck.

Instead, he took her by the chin, turned her face toward him, and gave her a healthy kiss. She was so startled she almost started to kiss him back.

"My, aren't we romantic tonight,” she said, with some trepidation. “Did you buy someone today?"

"Pfizer,” he said, loosening his tie and heading for the bar.

"Pfiz—? You're kidding.” More likely they'd buy you, she thought, very careful not to think it aloud.

"Yes,” he replied, “but only by half."

He poured himself two fingers of his most expensive single malt, toasted his reflection in the crystal tumbler, and took what was obviously a celebratory sip.

"All right,” she said, as he meandered smugly around the perimeter of the room, “I'll ask. What went right?"

"Hemobots,” he murmured. “Hemobots.” He rolled it around his tongue like he did the whiskey. It reminded her of a seagull swallowing fish innards. She squelched a rising gorge.

"Some sort of new drug, I take it?"

"Better,” he replied. “A completely engineered and man-made medical device that acts like a drug. A cross between medication and surgery. We can patent it in so many ways they'll have to erase the word ‘generic’ from the dictionary.” He took another sip. “Hemobots,” he murmured again. “Nanomeds.” A pause. “Roboglobin?"

"And what does it do?"

"Everything, my dear. Maybe. We're not sure yet...Nanogra. Na-
noh
-gra. That has a catchy ring."

Diana didn't like the sound of it. She waved the flowers. “Well, congratulations. I'll have Maria warm up dinner so we can celebrate.” She pressed the button behind the bar. “Speaking of which,” she continued, rummaging in the breakfront for a vase, “we have a little problem."

"Nublood. No, sounds like a shoe. Hmm? What?"

"We have a problem, dear. I'm afraid we're going to have to find a new Maria."

"What for? I thought you adored her."

"Well, I do, but I'm afraid she may have gotten herself pregnant."

"Kee-rist. That Carlos!"

"Exactly. You know it won't do to have a maid serving at table with a loaded oven. Oh, there it is.” She spotted the Stuben vase, already on the mantle, filled with the drying remains of the last post-dalliance offering. She swapped the bouquets, wished briefly that Hugh would think to include some roses in the arrangement, and dumped the old ones into the bin behind the bar. “Besides, who knows how long she'll be able to vacuum and carry groceries and all that once the little zygote starts to swell?” She had been a bio major when they met in college. Pre-med, just like him. And got better grades. She liked to remind him of that from time to time. “She's already starting to show."

"Really?"

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed."

"Hardly my type, my dear."

They smiled at each other. Both knew his type: human, female, young, willing, pretty, in that order. This Maria was pretty enough, but not at all willing; Diana had no doubt of that.

"You know,” Graeber said, “these farm girls are pretty sturdy. Give birth right in the field. We don't have to shop for a replacement tonight."

"Of course not. Let's just not wait too long, all right?"

He downed a slug of whisky. “Damn. She and Carlos were a package deal. I was just getting him broken in."

"Maybe he'll stay. Give him a little raise, enough to support her while she's preggers."

He snorted. “Now there's a concept. Next you'll be offering health insurance."

"Don't be silly. But if you like him.... They don't need much to get by, these people.” She grabbed the whiskey bottle and filled his glass. “Come on, let's go in to dinner, and you can tell me all about this hemonano stuff."

I'll even listen, she thought. As long as it takes to fill you up with whiskey and put you to sleep. And then a little call to Vanessa, the slacker. I thought we had an understanding.

Arturo waited until they were alone to present the rose to Esperanza. It was very late.
Señora
Graeber kept talking and talking, long after the usual bedtime. Arturo helped Esperanza in the kitchen, then waited while she went upstairs to fold back the bedspread and turn on the electric blanket. He was not allowed upstairs, only her. And then they waited in the kitchen together until they could clean up. But finally they were able to go to their little room in the basement, and he gave her the rose. She kissed him and they hugged for a long time. She took the old one out of the bottle and put it with the others in the paper bag, where the petals dried and she could put them in the drawer with her underthings to make them smell so nice when she put them on. He liked better how they smelled when he took them off.

They lay in the bed together, too tired to make love, but not ready to sleep. Esperanza held him tightly, and he realized something worried her.

"What is it, my heart?” he asked.

She took a long time to answer. “I spoke to the midwife today on the phone,” she said finally.

"About the baby?"

"About our baby.” Again she hesitated.

"What did she say, dear heart?” he asked, though he was already afraid of the answer.

"I told her we still didn't feel it moving. I told her there had been blood on my panties.” Her voice broke, and he held her more tightly. “She said there were many things that could cause that. She said not to worry. I should come see her."

"But you are worried.” He was worried.

"She said not to worry, but she was worried. I heard it in her voice. I felt it here.” She took his hand and pulled it between her beautiful breasts. He could feel her heart beating under his palm. He could feel her tears on his chest.

He kissed the top of her head, rubbed his cheek on her thick, smooth hair. “We will go see her together."

"You will come?"

"Yes."