Wired (5 page)

The mayor reached out and put his hand on Graham's shoulder. “I couldn't run this thing without you, Peck. You're my key man.
You're the brains in this group. You know that, don't you?”

Graham grinned. “I'm the best you've got?”

“Absolutely.”

“
And you
don't ever quit being the politician. Right?”

Bridges shrugged. “What can I say?” Bridges walked away and Graham left the room.

What bothered Peck was Bridges's fascination with this Carson character and his oil fiefdom. Royal Arab Petroleum Company
could backfire on the whole campaign. He wanted the mayor to stay away from these people.

“Your wife is on the phone,” his secretary said when he walked by. “Want me to send the call into your office?”

“Please. Thank you, Sarah.”

Graham kept his relationship with the women in the office on a fairly formal basis. The distance kept him on safe turf and
prevented misunderstanding. He picked up the phone.

“Jackie! Is everything okay?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I thought maybe something had happened.”

“No. No. I realized I'm going to be at a library study club meeting this afternoon, not far from your office. I thought maybe
we could have a little romantic supper together.”

Graham laughed. “Oh, you still like me?”

“The question is do
you love me
?” Jackie had a coy sound in her voice.

“No question about it. Sure. We can have a great time this evening. The only problem could be if I run into an unexpected
issue and run late.”

“Call me on my cell phone if you get into a quagmire.”

Graham smiled. “What about the children?”

“You are about to discover another value of your mother. Nothing like having a built-in baby sister in the guest room.”

“Looks like everything is set. How about Zio's Italian a couple of blocks from here?”

“One of my favorites. If six o'clock works, I'll be there.”

“Good. Love you.”

“Love you, Graham.”

Peck hung up the telephone and looked out the window. Nothing like a delightful surprise to give one a new boost on a demanding
day. Jackie was good at coming up with these wonderful little escapades. They would have a great evening.

For the next hour Graham developed several ways Bridge's idea might be presented. On the noon news, the mayor made a dramatic
statement, presenting to the city of Chicago an alternative as well as challenging the entire country to respond in a new
way to terrorist attacks.

Graham sat in the conference room with the rest of the staff, evaluating the television appearance.

“What do you think?” Jake Pemrose turned around to Graham. “Did we make it?”

“What do
you
think?” Peck answered.

“Looked good to me.” Pemrose tapped his cigar in a wastepaper basket. “I'd say Frank's show was as good as the president's
earlier statement. Ought to buy more than a few votes.”

Peck's cellular phone rang. “Hello.”

“Graham, how did I sound?” the mayor asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Good, Frank. Excellent.”

“Okay. Glad to hear it. Graham, can you take my statement and expand what I said on the health care issues? That's really
your turf anyway.”

“Sure, but it will take a good chunk of the afternoon.”

“Put the other issues aside and work only on that one. I believe we may need it by the six o'clock news.”

“Six o'clock news? Frank, you're really moving on.”

“Got to.” Bridges said. “My opposition is going to be out there chasing me.” He hung up.

Graham looked at his watch. He'd have to move fast to get this assignment done by five o'clock. Excusing himself, he returned
to his office to pound out the words that would come bouncing out of the mayor's mouth later in the day.

At four-thirty the phone rang. Graham glanced at his watch and then reached for the receiver, thinking it must be Jackie.
Maybe something had come up.

“Hello.”

“Peck?” the male voice said. “Graham Peck?”

“Yes?” Graham said.

“This is the Peck who lives on Crown Point in Arlington Heights?”

“Sure. There's a problem?”

“Yes. I'm Detective Bevins with the police department. Your secretary said to call before I came in. Are you sitting down?”

“Sitting down?” Graham grimaced. “Of course. I'm working.”

“Stay there. I'm outside with your secretary. I'll be right in.”

“What's going on?” Graham protested. “What's happened?”

“I'll explain to you in a moment when I come in your office,” Bevins said. “We need you to come home at once… and please stay
seated.”

T
HE DIRECTOR
of the University of Illinois Microfabrication Research Laboratories finished studying the proposal for the funding of the
facilities. Hidden underground, the nanotechnology projects remained secret and far out of the public eye. A tall man, the
gray-haired scientist had been a pioneering researcher for more than five decades. He was a natural to both run an extensive
program and struggle with the politicians to get the money at the same time.

“Paul Gillette!” Dr. Allan Newton said as the older man walked in to the lab. “Extremely good to see you, sir. I trust you
are well.”

“Quite fine.” Paul shook hands. “How's the research going?”

“More than interesting,” Newton answered. “I'm turning up new possibilities all the time.”

“Good. Good.” Dr. Gillette paused and stroked his goatee. “This is totally off the subject, but you're such an extensive research
man, Allan.” Gillette forced a smile. “And my area certainly isn't astronomy, but I noticed again last night that the moon
had… a, well, how should I say it? A strange look.”

“A most distracting color!” Dr. Newton grinned. “Sure does. Never saw a crimson moon in my life.”

“Do you know why?” Gillette pushed.

“I'm sorry, Paul. My work is at the other end of the scale. What worries me is that it seems like Mother Nature had an unexpected
nervous breakdown. Reports say that the tides aren't coming in on schedule, as they should. That's more than a little disconcerting.
Unfortunately, I can't make any sense out of these bizarre changes. My work frightens me enough as it is. Your guess is as
good as mine.”

“It's all certainly strange!” Dr. Gillette adjusted his glasses. “Well, let's get back to the subject at hand. I need you
to update me on how nanotechnology is progressing. I'm working on the budget today.”

Newton pointed to his electron microscope. “Sit down, Paul.” Allan scooted closer to instrument. “Take a look for yourself.
Down there in that solution are some of my latest creations. Tell me what you think.”

Dr. Gillette stared into the dual lens. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. The microscopic world appeared
predictably filled with amorphous microzoan creatures. Strange irregular shapes floated by. Suddenly an unexpectedly rigid
form shot past and disappeared. Gillette adjusted the machine and looked again. Objects smaller than a speck of dust zoomed
by as if traveling on prescribed missions. Abruptly one of the gizmos stopped, turned around, and appeared to be surveying
the area. At the tip of the cylindrical tube-shaped objects a singular eye seemed to study the microbic scene. The circulatory
eye moved upward and seemed to be looking straight at Gillette. He felt a cold, frightening dread surge through his body.

“Grostesque,” Dr. Gillette said. “Allan, I hate to say it, but these gadgets of yours operate almost as if they have a mind
of their own. Scary little devils indeed!”

“Yes, Paul, they can put one on edge.”

Gillette looked back in the microscope. New shapes worked their way into view. The tiny computers had long extension legs
with hooks guided missiles or robots with wheels and gun turrets prepared to assault any blood platelets floating by. The
nanoid devices moved with a precision edginess that resembled a rattlesnake preparing to strike.

“I… I… I can see their potential. Frightening. I had no idea your research was moving so rapidly.”

“You have no idea,” Dr. Newton said softly.

“These nanorobots act like they have a brain. Surely something must direct them.”

“We have been able to equip the nanorobots with onboard computers. Of course, that's what the world of computational nanotechnology
is about. We work on an atomic and subatomic level. Actually some of the relays and internal guidance systems in those machines
are the width of several hydrogen atoms.”

“Those nanorobots are absolutely monstrous!” Gillette gasped. “They move at frightening speed. You've certainly done an extraordinary
job in creating those gadgets.”

“Though microscopic, notice how detailed they are, Paul.” Gillette looked again. Nanorobots with wheels looked like moon landing
craft with fully functional bodies the size of rockets. Other nanorobots appeared to be bombs with highly developed shafts
and tail pieces. The edges were pointed and sharp like creatures crawling out of a crypt.

“Astonishing!” Gillette said.

“I've been giving some attention to swarm intelligence. We have other people doing research with both micromotives and macrobehaviors.
The work is progressing on schedule.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. As you're aware, the government has been pumping around six hundred million dollars a year into our
research and the funding will be coming up before Congress soon.” Dr. Gillette smiled. “Of course, it's always hidden in the
budget so no one could ferret out what we are doing.”

“Certainly.” Newton pointed to a small container. “I've got enough of these computerized machines in that flask to affect
a thousand people. They are small but mighty.”

“In my office I was studying pictures of your dental nanorobots. Seem to be guided missiles with a torture chamber attacked
at the base on each side. Frightening appearance, old man!”

“Yes. Some of the robots look like ballistic missiles; others appear to be fully armed landing craft from outer space. Quite
startling.”

Gillette adjusted the lens for great amplification. To his consternation some of the robots had turned around and assembled
into what looked to be an attack formation. Moving through the liquid like a line of army tanks preparing to descend on a
target, the surfaces of these circular machines were dotted with strange objects, almost like tiny missiles hooked to the
infinitesimal slaughter machines.

“Those devices function like a cross between machines and deadly locusts,” Gillette said. “I can see appendages like multiple
legs thrashing around at incredible speeds.” Gillette caught his breath. “Hey! Here comes a long missile-like nanorobot with
a mouth filled with serrated teeth!” He felt his stomach knot. “It's chomping away like a butchering machine!”

“You can see what could be done with these gizmos. Right now I'm trying to reproduce devices to be used only for security
purpose, but nanorobots obviously could chew their way through anything in the world.”

Gillette watched a dental nanorobot zoom up to a particle of food. It paused and appeared to assess the substance before tearing
into it. “Your nanorobots function almost as if they are savages taken out of some jungle.”

Dr. Allan Newton nodded soberly. “Well put. When you realize some of these gadgets are a thousand times smaller than the diameter
of a human hair, it takes your breath away when you observe them operating as if they had a brain.”

“A brain
but no conscience
!” Gillette shivered. “They're actually miniature computers, aren't they?” Dr. Gillette asked. “I mean, if I spoke of the
nanorobots in that manner to the president of the United States would I be correct?”

“Close enough,” Dr. Newton said. “That term tells most lay people what these gizmos are capable of. They can crawl through
arteries and make your teeth self-repairing… or destroy them. Watch this.”

Dr. Newton picked up a pipette with liquid in the stem and slowly lowered it over the nanorobots Gillette had been observing.
“I'm going to release an extremely small amount of serum holding amoebas in suspension. Observe what follows when I place
these amoeboid protozoan in with the nanorobots.” He lifted his thumb off the pipette.

Paul Gillette watched silently for several moments. Suddenly the robots marshaled together in an attack formation. Almost
as if a signal had been sounded, they hit the amoebas, slicing through their membrane exteriors and hacking away at the nuclei.

“Good gracious!” Paul exploded. “The nanorobots struck the protozoans like army tanks fighting a battle. They tore them up
like cannons blowing holes in the side of a building!”

“You can see the potential of these gadgets.”

“Are you certain the first models are ready for release and usage?”

Dr. Newton thought for a moment. “Well,” he said slowly. “Y-e-s. They are functional, but not entirely predictable.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“They work well on simple tasks, but more complicated procedures tend to develop glitches. We are still studying why variations
occur.”

Dr Gillette leaned back in his chair and stroked his thin gray goatee. “These issues are highly sensitive, Allan. We won't
be able to maintain our funding if we don't have a product the government can use immediately.” He rubbed his head thoughtfully.
“Of course, we don't want to unleash a microscopic device that could kill someone. We cannot afford a problem or a scandal
that would discredit the program.”

Dr. Newton took a deep breath. “As of this moment, I cannot guarantee these devices won't attack.”

“
Attack?
” Gillette's eye's widened. “You mean like… say… human tissue?”

“Yes.” Allan Newton raised an eyebrow.

Paul Gillette felt his heart skip a beat.

“If one of the advanced models were in the bloodstream, an erratic out-of-control nanorobots might just disintegrate
your brain
.”

M
ARIA PECK
walked out into the garage with some hesitancy in her step. The task was formidable. Boxes were stacked along the side of
the wall and a pile of junk had settled into a far too familiar lodging. Along the back wall a tool bench stood littered with
assorted tools and pieces of unfinished projects. The walls of the three-car garage had taken on a dingy, stained cast. The
entire area needed paint after the mess was straightened up. Maria glanced at her watch and realized it was already 3:30.
That meant George ought to be strolling in the front door at any moment. Jeff had already gone over to his friend Max's house
for the rest of the afternoon. The time was perfect to get some serious work done. She pushed the button on the wall near
the back door and garage door opened instantaneously. New cry-o-lite plastic allowed manufacturers to build a door weighing
only twenty pounds that a runaway truck couldn't knock down and the door was even bulletproof. She switched off the house's
security system.