Excavation

The sound of tumbled bolts announced his acceptance by the computerized monitoring station. He removed his palm and pulled the handle. The vacuum seal cracked with a slight whoosh of air, like a short inhaled breath. The middle-aged scientist had to tug harder to pull the door open against the slight negative pressure of the neighboring rooms, a built-in safeguard to keep biologic contaminants from possibly escaping the lab. No expense had been spared on this project. A government think tank, backed by the Pentagon, had invested close to a billion dollars in this project. A good portion of which, he thought with a wry smile, went directly into his personal salary.

His shoulder protested with a sharp twinge as he pulled the door fully open. Wincing, he entered the lab and let the door reseal behind him. He rubbed the tender spot alongside his rotator cuff. The bullet wound he had suffered in the halls of Johns Hopkins had required four surgeries to repair. Though he still had occasional pain, he could hardly complain-not only had he survived the attack, he had come away with a small quantity of Substance Z, the test samples used in the electron microscope assay.

Once word of his find reached the right circles, Dr. Kirkpatrick was allowed to vanish. His death was reported, and he was whisked to the West Coast, to the Institute of Genetic Studies at Stanford. He was granted the lab, and a staff of fourteen with the highest government clearance.

Dale continued down to his office, past the rows of laboratories. As he passed the computer suite, he heard the whir of the four in-line Cray computers as they crunched the day’s data collected by the gene sequencer. The Human Genome Project was a child’s puzzle compared to what his lab was attempting. He estimated it would take four more years to figure out the exact code, but he had the time. Whistling to break the silence of the empty lab, Dale used a keycard to unlock the door and enter his personal office.

Shrugging out of his lab coat, he hooked the garment on a coat rack, then loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He crossed to his desk and settled into the leather chair with a sigh.

He wanted to dictate the last of his annual review, so Marcy could type it up tomorrow for his inspection. He opened a drawer and removed his personal dictation device. Thumbing it on, he brought the microphone to his lips.

“Status Report. Conclusions and Assessments,” he dictated, then cleared his throat. “Nanotechnology has always been a theoretical science, more a field of conjecture than hard science. But with the discovery of Substance Z, we are now prepared to bring the manipulation of atoms into the practical sphere of science and manufacturing. For the past two years, we have studied the effects of the ‘nanobiotic’ units found in Substance Z on early embryonic tissue. We have discovered the manipulation has proven most effective at the blastula stage of the human zygote, during which time the cells are the most undifferentiated and pliable. By observing these nanobots at work, and through a process of reverse engineering, we hope to be able to construct the first prototypes in the near future. But for now, we have made a significant discovery of our own, the first step in making nanotechnology a reality: We now know the programmed goal of the nanobots found in Substance Z.”

Frowning, Dale switched off the recorder and stretched a kink from his neck. He was proud of his research, but a nagging doubt still itched at his conscience. Carrying the dictation device, he crossed to the sealed window.

Once there, he pressed a button and louvered blinds swung open, revealing the contents of the incubation chamber in the next lab. A yellowish broth bubbled and swirled. Small sparks of gilt floated like fireflies in the mix. Flakes of nanobot colonies. Substance Z.

But it was not the special nutrient broth that had drawn Dale here.

Hanging from two racks were the twelve developing human fetuses. He leaned slightly forward studying them. The pair in the second trimester were already developing their wing buds. Heads, bulbous and too large for the tiny frames, seemed to swing in his direction. Large black eyes stared back at him, lidless for now. Small arms, doubly jointed, slowly moved. One of the fetuses sucked its tiny thumb. Dale spotted the glint of sharp teeth.