Jacob counted to himself: in (two-three-four), out (two-three-four). Even. Slow.

When Dr. Michaelson had first entered, when the light illuminated Jacob’s hiding place, he’d been so intent on remaining invisible that he’d held his breath – hadn’t realized he was doing it – until his lungs began to scream for gasping. He’d nearly panicked then, with the need to suck air and the desire to remain quiet, but he’d willed himself to breathe out slowly, quietly, and draw back in just as slowly. Even. Rhythmic. Deep.

Then the numbness had come. And the pain. And his plan seemed less than perfect.

Jacob thought it was a great plan when he’d come up with it, of course. Worthy of all his spy novels and spy computer games: drop his ID in the outer pocket of Bob’s duffle while they were all still at the lockers, then beat a hasty, feigned departure before anyone could offer to walk out with him, slip down the hallway to the lab, wait until the door opened, surprise whoever was on the other side, pretend to be surprised himself…

It was Dr. McKee. Elias. The man had laughed to cover the girly little squeal that escaped his puffy doctor mouth when he found Jacob standing before him. He’d pushed his glasses up his slippery, sweaty, doctor nose.

“Jacob! We must have triggered the door together,” he offered.

“Must have,” Jacob replied, taking quiet pleasure at the discomfort he saw in the fat man’s demeanor. He didn’t like McKee and he never made an effort to conceal it. First off, the blob insisted on the “doctor” thing. Some people were self-conscious enough to need the validation of that title, but McKee made a point of letting the others in their group with the right letters after their names call him by his given. Only them, however.

Plus, McKee was beyond obese. Jacob didn’t know if there was a word to describe exactly how large the man was, but he did know that he was more than twice as big around as he was tall. Hank had performed the anthropometric calculations on a couple of pictures Jacob snapped for just that purpose. The man was not quite five feet one inch tall: 1.56211 meters, to be exact. (Well, as exact as rounding to hundred thousandths can be.) Twice his height was 3.12422 meters, and Hank calculated his girth to be 3.14159 meters: more than twice his height, even if it was by only a couple of millimeters. They’d had a laugh to think the man’s circumference was equal to pi, too. Jacob had noticed it first. Hank worked it out to see if it was, but it only went to seven decimals before repeating. Too bad. That would have been pretty interesting. Jacob had tried to submit him to Guinness, but it turned out he wasn’t a record. Not even close. The guy who held it had a chest measurement that big. Still, it was impressive. In an appalling, lose-your-lunch-at-the-thought, kind of way.

And then there was the sweat. The man was like a faucet. Even in the cold of the labs, he could soak a labcoat just sitting at his computer: armpits to the elbows, small of his back to the coat’s beltline. Even a patch down the front on the left around where his plastic pocket protector – God, the man was such a cliché - insulated the skin beneath.

Jacob had stopped his lip from curling as a mental image of the man walking away, a wet stain where he’d sat on the coat, filled his head. He forced the curl into a smile. As much fun as it was to intimidate the man, Jacob needed him to be at ease right then. Nothing out of the ordinary going on here, McKee. No reason not to leave.

“I’m doing some work on the apartment this weekend. Wanted to get some tools,” Jacob explained before McKee could ask about his presence.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. McKee had said as he sloshed aside to allow Jacob entry. Jacob passed through the threshold and moved quickly toward the workbench as soon as the man stepped away. He couldn’t have the door shutting while he was still within trigger-shot. Elias would know something was up. But then the fat man added, “Do you think you should be removing tools, Jacob?”

Jacob had stopped short, spun around, curbed the urge to return to the man and punch him in his soggy mouth. “They’re my personal tools, Dr. McKee.” The menace in his voice was barely contained. McKee didn’t catch it.

“Well, yes, but what if you forget them?”

“I haven’t yet.” See? I do this all the time, lardass. “And I’m just around the corner. I can always run home if I do.” Jacob had flashed a smile in the sodden man’s direction. Be happy with the exchange, blubber boy. Go. Before you leave a puddle where you stand.

McKee hadn’t left. Had seemed like he might continue to argue. Worse, as if he might wait to watch. Jacob moved toward the workbench again.

“Have a good weekend, Dr. McKee.” Pleasantries as suggestion. Leave, you ponderous, self-important geek. Nothing to see here. Move along.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” It had worked. The fat man trundled toward the doorway. “You too, Jacob,” he added.

“I will,” Jacob replied as the door slid shut. He even went over and gathered the tools - they were his, after all. He really did want to take them - stuffed them into his bag, slipped it against the wall next to the counter. Then the lights had gone out. That was the first falter of the plan. He hadn’t realized how quickly darkness would fall without an ID to trigger. The whole place worked off the damned things. Jacob hated them. Such an invasion of privacy. He should know; he’d designed them.

Of course, when he’d worked on them, he thought the capabilities intriguing, but he hadn’t foreseen a time when he would be asked to use one. Then he’d come to work for the Institute, and they were one of the first things required, and he’d realized just how invasive they were.

Still, it had been gratifying to see his design such an integral part of the project. And the royalties weren’t bad either. Edward had explained that he designed the Institute building specifically for them, so that they could trigger everything imaginable: doors, lights, computer access, even the flush of the toilets. They saved thousands on electricity alone in a place like this. And on security. No need for guards on sensitive areas or devices when the IDs only allowed entry to those who were authorized. No need for a large force to walk the halls when the IDs registered every trigger and could send someone running and even lock the place down if there was something amiss. But nothing was ever amiss. And nothing was amiss now, either. Jacob had been registered as leaving the building with Dr. Perot.

Naturally, Dr. Michaelson had assured Jacob that his chips were modified from the original design so they didn’t have capabilities outside the building, but Jacob didn’t believe it. He’d made sure his ID was far, far away this weekend. "Jacob" would be spending the weekend on Outback Safari with Bob. If the chips were particularly sensitive - and they could be -  someone might find it odd that he never went outside, and that he never changed position, but then, if they were that sensitive, someone would already have found it odd that Jacob left the building whilst on Dr. Perot’s back. But no alarms had sounded. Nothing seemed amiss.

And Bob was no doubt on his way already. He’d said he was leaving right after work tonight. Had spoken of nothing else for weeks. Taking the Airtram, he was. That in itself would be worth the trip for Bob. A real technophile. Had to have the latest gadget, try the next new toy. Jacob had thought of trying the new mass-transit hovers, too - He liked the idea much better than jet flying - but figured he’d let the thrill-seekers like Bob work out all the kinks and die the horrible deaths due to unforeseen engineering flaws. There were always unforeseen engineering flaws. Even if the things had been flying for nearly as many years as he’d been on the continent, and without one incident, eventually that flaw would come out. There was always something someone overlooked.

Michaelson was taking much longer putzing around than Jacob had planned for. Yet another unexpected thing. His earlier assessment of the plan had been too kind. The whole thing was falling apart. Nothing was going as intended. He considered just aborting the whole thing, but soon realized he was unprepared for that contingency, too. He had no ID with which to get out.

He’d been very surprised at how easy the ID was to remove. That had been the only happy surprise in the plan. It wasn’t nearly as painful as he’d prepared for. Not much more than when it was implanted. And there was surprisingly little blood. That would be very helpful, later. The next one would come out in the lab, and the biohazard sensors there could perceive a gush of body fluid as an accident and sound the alarm.

The stitching had been the hardest part. Jacob was left-handed and despite his practicing before, it was nearly an hour for him to sew the skin closed with his right. The local anesthetic had worn off by the time he finished, and the last two stitches were pure hell. Still, he’d done a fair job. A mere Band-Aid covered the extraction point. A long-sleeved shirt covered the Band-Aid.

Jacob could feel his sweat cooling along the shirt’s back. He wished the rest of him felt as cool. Sweat stung his eyes as it rolled from his forehead. He tasted salt as it found the corners of his mouth, and laughed to himself to think of his sweating like McKee so close to the fleshy man’s station. Almost like his affliction lived here, in this place. Jacob toyed with the idea that outside this lab, Elias McKee was not the always damp, always smelly, wheezing thing that he was inside. But only briefly. He knew better. McKee was even more of a geek on the outside, where normal people roamed. Inside the Institute, Jacob labeled at least eighty percent of the workforce as geeks when compared to the general population, and in here, Elias was a freak among freaks. Out there, Jacob imagined people crossed the street when they saw his wet corpulence approaching. So disgusting. No, he wouldn’t miss Elias McKee at all, that was for sure.

Jacob considered shifting his weight from the ball of one foot to the other and his knee sent its stabbing dissent. Sheer will kept him from crying out. He marveled at how he could feel so numb from his groin down and yet his legs could ache as they did. He wasn’t even sure they would work when he wanted them to. Jacob hadn’t expected that side effect, either. Why hadn’t he at least tried to get somewhere within the lab where he could stand? Why hadn’t he at least sat down? Why the squat?

He knew, of course: secret agents wouldn’t be caught dead sitting on their ass. They would squat, ready to spring into action if the need arose. Jacob didn’t think he could spring anywhere right now. Would probably just fall over if he forced his legs to quick deed. He hadn’t taken into account how long he would have to stay frozen, only half-hidden by the half-shadows and Edward’s inattention.

They all joked - the Americans at least - that when Michaelson was working at the scope, a marching band could play John Phillip Sousa behind him and he would never notice. Jacob believed it, too. He’d seen the man enthralled with those microscopic bug-bots of his before. But not yet. Edward wasn’t “there” yet. He was still working at the computer, getting things ready. The microscope boom wasn’t even in place yet. He had the extractor in place over the box, though. That was a good sign.

Jacob always wondered what it was that kept the bots from molecularly reconfiguring their containment system or the incubator-like viewer that allowed Edward to watch and work with them. Why hadn’t they just run rampant over the Institute? What was that box made of that the bots couldn’t change it? That would be a helpful thing to know, actually. The idea of the bots molecularly reconfiguring him into construction materials while still alive was beyond frightening. He almost shuddered, but willed himself to stay still. If Jacob budged now, in the stillness and half-light of the room, the movement would seem like a tornado. Edward would surely notice. Or worse, the man would turn to gather something from the table behind him at just the right/wrong moment and the movement would catch his eye. Jacob had no way to explain his being there. Had no way to explain his missing ID, obvious by the darkness when Edward had entered the lab.

That had been his first mistake, really. Not realizing how dark “dark” would be in a subterranean lab. Well, second, after not realizing how short the time was before the lights turned off. When they went out, he’d stopped in his tracks to allow his eyes time to adjust, but they hadn’t. There was no light to gather. Why hadn’t he brought a pen light, at least? A secret agent wouldn’t be caught dead without at least a pen light. In truth, a secret agent would have had night vision goggles and a pen light would be too bright, but barring NVGs, a secret agent would have had the pen light. Jacob, however, had neither, and what followed had been an agony of groping, hoping he didn’t stumble on something breakable or knock anything over. Just finding the canister in front of him had been a monumental task, and when he felt his hand brush the glass thing, heard it scuttle across the countertop, bounce (thankfully) against the tile floor and roll away, he settled on joining his bag next to the filing cabinet. It wasn’t where he’d planned to be, but he hadn’t trusted he could move anywhere else safely. Then it was simply waiting for Edward. The chief would trigger the door, trigger the lighting in his immediate area as he moved around the room, and Jacob would have his sight back.

He’d run through the plan again while he squatted there, waiting for Edward. It still seemed like a good one then. Only the dark had surprised him to that point. And it’s speed. And the lack of a pen light. But the rest of the plan was still sound, he’d thought. A few minor glitches, but he could still get the job done from beside the cryotanks. It was but a few more feet to creep without being detected. And the deep blackness could only help him on that count.

Then Michaelson had entered an eternity later and Jacob watched the shadows on the wall change as the lights moved with the man, settling as he took his place at the workbench. The final puddle of light illuminated not only him, however, but the shiny steel of the counter to his left as well, and the reflection bounced right at Jacob. Much too bright.

How ironic. Jacob was further away in distance – a distance that his legs laughed at for the thought of crossing – but in less darkness than if he’d made it to the closer storage cabinet. Where he would be standing. He imagined his feet might still be numb at this point, but at least his legs would have feeling. And in the dark over there, he might have been able to shift his weight. He’d closed his eyes to slits so the light wouldn’t reflect. He’d gone still, willed himself invisible. Held his breath. The downhill lurch of the plan had picked up momentum from there.

But he had to go through with it. Edward’s ID was his only way out. He had to go through with that part, at least, and if he was going to get Edward’s ID for his escape, he might as well use it for the bots. The plan must continue, one way or another.

He’d thought briefly about trying to reason with the doctor, but only briefly. He was quite sure, after these last months, that the chief researcher was certifiably insane. How did one reason with the unreasonable? Jonathan had tried, and look where it had him: nowhere. Literally. Jonathan had simply disappeared. Edward had provided the most cursory of explanations for it – irreconcilable differences – like they’d divorced or something – before announcing lardass as his replacement.

And Jacob had done everything he could to contact Dr. Gross. Used every imaginable avenue for finding him, and come up empty. All he knew for sure was that he couldn’t find Jonathan anywhere in country and the doctor had not left by any means that was manifested. Finally, having exhausted all other ways, he’d asked Betty in Security to try to find him with his ID. She’d toed the party line, though. Ever loyal, she.

“The IDs don’t track outside the building, Mr. Hutchins,” she’d recited.

‘Of course they do, Betty. And call me Jacob, please.” He smiled his best pick up smile. She did not return it.

“They really don’t, Mr. Hutchins,” she asserted, pointedly declining the invitation at familiarity. No flirting here. This would be harder than Jacob thought. He was known in the building as quite the rogue, but engineering-geek girls were so easy to charm. This one was just a security guard, though. She was normal. She wouldn’t fall for it. He tried another route.

“Betty, I designed the IDs. I know what they’re capable of,” he offered, hoping to impress her and show that he was “inside” and could be trusted. No help. She simply shrugged and shook her head.

“Capable or not, my equipment isn’t set up to log anything outside the building.”

“Are you sure?” He’d plastered the smile again. It couldn’t hurt to keep the charm flowing. “Are you sure you just haven’t looked in the right place?” And that was one step too far. She’d become indignant.

“I know my equipment, Mr. Hutchins. And I know my job. And it doesn’t include invading the privacy of employees on their own time. Besides, Dr. Gross isn’t even an employee anymore. He would have turned in his ID.” Yeah. Turned in. After a little minor surgery. The information afforded another tack, however.

“Would you have it? The ID, I mean? Can I see it?” She was done with the conversation. She’d sighed and deliberately picked up her pen, looking up at him a she poised it above her legal pad.

“Mr. Hutchins, this is highly irregular. I’m afraid I’m going to have to make a note of this conversation.” Bitch. He’d left.

The blob turned out to be nothing but a “yes” man for Edward. Didn’t seem to have an original idea in his head. He was a coding technician for Edward’s grandiosities. And Jonathan had been a more calming influence on Edward than any of them knew. Without his friend and partner to rein him in, Michaelson had been nearly manic, popping off with ideas that were nothing less than fantastical and nothing more than implausible. Jacob wondered how the man managed to get anything useful done at all with all that bullshit rolling around in his head.

Edward was humming. And the microscope was in place. It wouldn’t be much longer. Soon the humming would get quieter, and then intermittent, and finally just drift away. Then Edward would be ready for the marching band. He was so predictable, thank God.

Of course, Jacob had thought the whole project implausible bullshit when he’d come onboard, and over the last almost-seven years, the brilliant minds at the Institute had repeatedly proved that original assessment wrong. They were doing extraordinary work, here. Important Work, though a practical application for nanobots that could construct mundane, macro-sized objects had escaped Jacob for most of his time here. Still, it was exciting to see the little things in action. How fantastic was it to see a collection of microscopic robots so large it was visible with the naked eye? Jacob had thought the group resembled a slowly seeping puddle of red wine. Then the puddle defied gravity and seeped up the side of a box. And how further fantastic that the group could work together to build a perfect pipe fitting? or a scale replica of a house? Jacob would never have thought a group of robots, each the size of a large molecule, visible only under high-power magnification, could be programmed to work in such harmony. He marveled at Jonathan’s and Edward’s coding abilities, and further how the men had been able to devise it, in part, by watching Jacob and his functional M.R.P.E.T. while he built bots.

There were other things, of course. Jacob had noticed the ant farms and bee hives on his first tour of the facility, but he didn’t much care for bugs and gave their labs a wide berth. The first time he’d seen a demonstration of the bots building together he’d understood their significance, however.

And Jacob stayed away from the microbiology labs, too, though he also understood their significance. He disliked biologicals even more than insects. Microscopic bugs were all they were. He much preferred his microscopic bots. He understood them. They were predictable. But Edward had corrected him on more than one occasion over the last year or so for the “bot” thing. The nanos were not robots anymore, he’d been informed. They were more like bacteria than anything else, though they had mechanical parts.

Jacob didn’t like the idea that his bots (and they were his; he’d built the first ones) were somehow more random creepy-crawly than expected programming. He could hear Edward’s voice in his head explaining their life cycle, their reproductive cycle, at the monthly staff update a year ago. Something about asexual reproduction and slime mold. But Jacob hadn’t listened. He had no interest in bacteria sex, robot or otherwise, and the memory of any sex talk about slime or mold was sure to scar his own performance later, so he’d tuned Edward out. Of course, he wished he’d listened now. It would be nice to understand the things a bit more than he did. “Know your enemy,” and all.

At the time, however, he’d let his mind drift to his own performance - they were talking about sex, after all - with that cutie in ergonomics (Debbie?). She’d been a little freak. Some wild nights, they’d had. Jacob smiled even now to think of it again, until his screaming legs reminded him where he was and what he was about to do.

Even the thought of her hips rolling as she sat astride him, loudly proclaiming his prowess, wasn’t enough to remove that of the cells dying in his legs for lack of blood and oxygen as he squatted in the semi-dark of the lab, clutching a gas canister in a sweaty palm, waiting for Michaelson to fall into his bug-bot trance. What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? He probably should have just turned and walked at the first sign of bullshit all those years ago.

As soon as the alarm went off in his head – and it had – he should have just thanked them for their gracious interest and beat feet out of there. But he’d been flattered they’d asked him. Damn his inferiority complex. The lack of letters behind his name had always made him a little regretful and not a little envious of his learned counterparts, despite the assertions that his bots were beyond compare.

“We want to pick your brain, Jacob,” he’d been told. His brain. Not William B. Ford’s of Carnegie Mellon. Not Anna Qin’s, at Yale. Not Nicholai Kerchenski’s at MIT. His.

And then there was the money. The right amount of money can make the most ludicrous of ideas seem reasonable. And so he’d signed on to share his knowledge of bot building, get a little recognition and set himself for life, financially. He’d allowed the damned ID to be implanted, had been carted off to this upside down country.

(He’d missed that part in the contract and had been very surprised when he learned he was moving. Should have bolted right then, regardless of the non-compete clause and the monetary penalty. His chip royalties would have covered it, and he’d have been none the worse for wear. Now, after Jonathan though, he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have “disappeared” himself.)

And he’d long since built enough of the bots to “teach” Jonathan how to program them to do it themselves: Bots that built bots.

Jacob had spent the next couple of years building macroscopic things out of microscopic pieces while hooked to the M.R.P.E.T., presumably so Jonathan could write code for that, too. Then even that part of Jacob’s job had become obsolete.

The blueprint demo had been most impressive, with Jonathan explaining that all he needed to do was scan a detailed schematic into the main bot programming, and the program itself would code the next generation for the design, making them capable of producing the item at will. Then he’d released that generation into the demonstration bay and they’d done just that: a perfect, full-scale, PVC T-junction pipefitting. The bots seemingly produced out of thin air when they built, but Jacob knew they were actually utilizing that almost-mystical molecular reconfiguration ability. They could transform any kind of matter into what they required. He didn’t understand that part of it, but he’d seen it more than once in the demo bay, and Ted had tried to explain it to him over golf one day. It was over his head, if he admitted the truth, and he hadn’t caught most of it. Still, it was a very neat trick.

And he wished he did understand it. Take the SCIN demo, with its slimy, tofu-like product that Edward had proudly explained contained the entire proteome of a human being. Like that should have impressed everyone. Why would builder-bots need to make such stuff? What possible need could anyone have for such a thing?

Jacob understood the bots manufacturing technique otherwise, though. On a microscopic level. From the blueprint on, Jacob’s job had become forensic, dissecting the bots’ constructs, along with Ted, to check their work. Bobby and John would often join them to gather the bot dust and perform post mortems on them. Jacob wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but recently their gathering took precedence and it irked Jacob to no end that he had to wait for those yahoos to collect their samples, meticulously lifting the dust, layer by layer, with what Jacob thought looked like a gold-leaf brush, before he could even go near their products.

Jacob had happily left the tofu dissection to Ted and the yahoos, though. What did he know from human proteomes? And it looked slimy. He didn’t want to even see it, let alone touch it. He’d taken the opportunity to grab a little nap. There was something so nice about taking a nap in the middle of the workday. Some of the best sleep he ever had, that. Ted had said it was the sleep of a man with no regrets. A man with no conscience, Hank had corrected.

Jacob caught the chuckle before it escaped, peering through squinted eyes at Edward, to make sure. Edward’s eyes were fixed on the binocs of the microscope. Then Jacob realized the humming was gone.

It was time.

Eager to be done with it and stiff from squatting in one position, Jacob nearly jerked his first movements, but then stopped himself and forced the canister-top to his mouth in an anguish of slowness (he counted the seconds as he had learned to do in his spy game: fifteen seconds for waist-to-mouth movement) not knowing for sure that Edward wouldn’t notice a stirring where there should be none. The man didn’t budge. A little bolder then, Jacob used only ten seconds as he placed his hands on his knees to supply leverage, and, still counting, willed his legs to act.

Only the slow change in the position of his arms and the screaming of the scrapes on his back as sweat entered told him his legs were actually pressing him back and up against the rough cinderblock wall of the lab. He could not feel the appendages, still. He was working absent limbs. And they were working ever so slowly. And they were already fatigued at just three seconds. He wondered if he could keep them moving or if the muscles would reach a point where they simply refused to contract further.

Finally, his hips rose higher than his knees, and he felt the rush of warmth that signaled blood returning. He thought this a good sign until the once-ache turned to blazing fire. Jacob thrust his tongue around the canister-top to keep from gasping - from crying out - and stopped his ascent to allow the burn to calm. He continued to count.

At eight seconds, sensation slid from fire to electricity as his limbs awoke enough to feel more asleep than dead. He bit down on the cap, on his tongue. From one profound torture to another. Deeper levels of hell. He tasted metal.

The scale replica of the house had been even more impressive than the pipe fitting, of course. The nanos had not built just a model, but a full replica, complete with electrical wiring and plumbing. He wouldn’t have thought such a thing possible before he joined the Institute. It was still a bit fantastical, though he found he’d come to expect such wonders when demos occurred. Took the abilities of the bots for granted. It wasn’t until Jacob saw the skyscraper demo, though, that he truly understood the nature of the things. Edward’s bugs had taken Jonathan’s programming beyond mere code. And that was how Jacob had ended up at this moment.

The electrocution calmed to a tingle and Jacob began his ascent again, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet, a hand behind to steady himself, and straightening his legs.

Too bad the plan hadn’t gone as well in practice as in theory. Jacob just hadn’t thought it all the way through. That, and he’d planned on his being much younger and much more athletic. That was the fatal flaw in the whole thing, really. Jacob needed to stop thinking of himself as more than he was. He was just a forty-six-year-old man with thinning hair and a paunch, no matter how many crunches he did. He was not a secret agent. This cloak and dagger stuff should be left to the people who knew how. But now he was stuck. Either he went through with it, mess that it was, or he was caught for sure.

He stood another five seconds to retrieve more feeling, but the warmth in his buttocks and scrotum signaled another now-all-too-familiar-but-much-worse fire arriving. His knees nearly buckled at the pain. His vision flared white behind his eyelids. He consciously opened his throat so no sound would escape with his breathing, which had sped up, it seemed, to match the rushing of blood in his ears. He tried to count for his breaths as he had done earlier, but the heat in his nether regions quickly turned to electric shock and it was everything he could do not to scream and grab his crotch. Sweat stung his eyes once more. It trickled down his back, reminding him of the scrapes there, slicked his palms where they pressed against the cinderblock. He bent over against his will. Drool - or blood - escaped the corners of his mouth and he fought the urge to suck it back, allowing it free passage instead. He watched as it ran down the canister, dripping, splashing (almost silently) onto the tile floor: drool and blood, mixed. The blood swirled within the drops. Like oil and water. Jacob concentrated on the swirling blood.

The model skyscraper had been about five feet high and faultless to the last detail. It was Jacob’s pleasure to dismantle the thing once the bots were killed, to see if they – he and Ted - could figure out what had gone wrong. It was perfect. Right down to the functioning toilets and central air. Functioning.

Judging from the chaos that erupted shortly after the demonstration began, Jacob was sure no one - not even Edward - expected the bots to do that. Else, he was sure they’d have planned better. The bots drilled through the demo bay floor to tap the building’s water supply. They snaked new vents into the Institute’s for their own HVAC. They’d torn through the provided resources and moved on to regenerate the floor for construction materials. Jonathan had fogged the whole institute to stop the destruction.

The gas was efficient and non-lethal to humans, though it would knock a person out and give them a raging headache. Work all over the building had ceased after the crisis was over, with Jonathan sending everyone home to sleep off the induced hangover.

Jacob had been standing with the main group inside the demo bay, just behind the barrier, and joined the mad scramble to the airlock behind them (They never stood in the airlock during demos. So cavalier with safety, that) so they were unaffected when Jonathan flooded the bay and the building.

At Edward’s urging, as soon as they’d exited, Jacob climbed over the barrier wall and continued onto the rubble of the floor, approaching the skyscraper cautiously, peering over his loupes, a microforcep in each hand, wielded like ridiculously tiny weapons, though he didn’t really believe any of the bots had survived the gas. He could see the telltale powder that signaled their collective death. The bots always formed a sparkling white powder (something about their lifecycle that Jacob vaguely remembered Edward explaining) but gassed bots turned green. Jacob was happy to see the green tint in the dust. Still, after their little show, he’d thought it best to be cautious.

The electricity running through Jacob’s genitals abated and he stood erect once more. A glance at his prey: Edward had not moved. His hands worked microinstruments within the incubator under the lens of the scope, but his face remained plastered to the binocs. Jacob had obviously been quieter than he thought. Or Michaelson really was lost to the world. He thanked God for little favors, either way.

Fifteen seconds to retrieve the canister from his mouth, another fifteen to drop his arm, another to bring his shirtsleeve to his drool-riddled mouth and again to return that arm to his side, had the added affect of calming his breathing and heartbeat, too. He was ready to move.

Each step would be four seconds. He’d pushed and used only three in his game and it had worked, but for this, he thought it best to be cautious. One one thousand, two one thousand, he counted in his head as his left foot slid forward just a centimeter above the tile. The child’s way of counting seconds. Like trying to guess the distance of lightning. A child’s steps. Six of them and he cleared the file cabinet. He began to sidestep. Jacob would continue to face the good doctor as he traversed the counter to Edward’s left. The end would find him ten feet behind the madman and in complete darkness. The darkness would be good. He could move faster in the whole dark there.

As he’d approached the construct, Jacob could clearly hear Jonathan already discussing ways they could retrace their steps and get to a safer version of the bugs. He’d looked back and saw Jonathan prepared to join him in the demo bay, a leg up on the barrier. Edward had grabbed his shirtsleeve and pulled him back, nearly toppling him.

“Are you crazy? We can’t go backward, Jonathan! We have to go forward!”

“Forward into what, Edward?” Jonathan had righted himself and adjusted his skewed shirt. “Did you not see what those things did in here? And this is just a scale replica!”

“And it is perfect!” Edward nearly spat, then out to the bay: “Isn’t it perfect, Jacob?”

Jacob had been too enthralled with the argument to begin any real examination, and so wasn’t able to give an answer. He’d shrugged, waving the forceps feebly in the general direction of the structure. It hadn’t mattered anyway. Edward didn’t wait for Jacob’s response. “We’ve proved the engineering for a building greater than 5000 feet tall! Look at it!” Edward’s gestures were grand and sweeping. Jacob had never seen him so animated, and the man was not known as reserved.

“It was supposed to be half that, Edward,” Jonathan stated. Jacob wished the calm of Dr. Gross’ voice would somehow rub off on his partner. Edward waved his hand dismissively.

“I figured if we were going to test, we might as well test it all the way.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Jonathan stepped right up in Edward’s face. “You changed the schematic? You went into my program?”

Edward shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Edward had leaned on the barrier, looking almost wistful as he gazed out in Jacob’s direction. “And look at it. The nanos calculated the required load for the increased height all by themselves. And it’s a mile high in scale!” He jumped where he stood, causing a start in everyone around him. Even Jacob, way out on the demo floor. “And it stands! It stands, Jonathan!” Edward looked like he might break into dance at any moment. “I bet you it works, too.” He was back leaning out over the barrier. “How many floors is it, Jacob? Is it functioning?”

Jacob hadn’t expected Edward to talk to him in the middle of the argument and nearly jumped out of his skin at the mention of his name. Then at the questions themselves. He had barely even looked at the construct for his interest in the goings on in front of the airlock.

“This is going to take a long time to dissect. It’s quite complex,” he’d offered as explanation for his dereliction. “I’ll take some measurements, though.”

Jacob turned his back on the group, determined to get something, anything, done. He’d felt so ineffectual. So helpless in the face of what the bots had done. Still, their building was quite beautiful, and Jacob inspected the architectural detail, and the pyramid-like top, as he measured. He was really just trying to keep his mind off the destruction used to build it. The thought of that in full-scale was dreadful. Jacob was surprised at Edward’s seeming lack of understanding in that regard. How could he not see the horror of what they’d done?

“Edward, it doesn’t matter how many floors it has. It doesn’t matter if it works. They infiltrated the Institute. They took over our systems. And why would you ask if it worked? Did you plan to make functioning?”

“No! I simply gave them the prints! They found and connected their supplies all by themselves! And we didn’t teach them to do that! They did it on their own, Jonathan! No programming! No code! They figured it out on their own! Oh, Jonathan, do you know what this means?”

“Yes, Edward, I do! What worries me right now is that you don’t!”

“No, Jonathan!” The force of it had caused Jacob to shock and look up. He’d lost the position of his tape, but that could wait. The others on the platform looked as if they’d been physically struck. Edward’s head was bowed, his hands wringing into and out of fists, his chest heaving with his breath. The echo of his roar trailed off before he appeared able to compose himself and continue. “It is you who don’t see, Jonathan. This is more than just artificial intelligence. These nanos are capable of free thought!”

Sidestepping without looking where one was going was harder than Jacob imagined. He hadn’t tried it prior - should have practiced - and Jacob soon realized that each step took twice as long, too, since it was four seconds to move his right foot and another four to bring the left to meet it. But it was easy compared to moving backwards, which he began to do about five feet behind Edward. His steps shortened even more.

“Free thought? Thought, Edward? They are robotic. They have no thought but what we give them!”

“No! No! Jonathan, they determined a need and obviously mutated to meet it. True selective adaptation. We always wanted it, Jonathan. And this is the proof of it. Thought may be a lofty word, yes, but we did not code them for it.”

“Yes, Edward! And that should be scaring you to death right now, not elating you!”

“Not elating? Are you joking? Jonathan, they are really and truly alive! It’s a new life form! We did that!” Jacob chilled. He returned to the building, to measuring. He needed to do something. A quiet pall had fallen over the bay as it became apparent that Edward was not in touch with reality. Was he in shock? Could he have hit his head in the chaos of the airlock? Jonathan continued to try to pull his friend back from the edge.

“And they are unpredictable and dangerous! They are destructive! Look around you, Edward! Look at what your new life form has done! Can you imagine what might have happened if we weren’t on the bottom floor? The structural integrity of the building may yet be compromised. We’ll have to suspend work until the whole thing can be checked out.”

“No! We can’t stop now. Not now. We’ll just coat the demo bay in SCIN. They won’t go through it.”

“Edward, you have to get a grip, here. Christ!”

“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“And what would your Lord think of this, Edward? Playing at God?”

“He works in mysterious ways, Jonathan, and through me, has created new life. And their potential is unbounded! They can do anything. Not just build. With just the tiniest change in their programming, they could work within us, too. Keep us healthy, safe.”

“And how do you propose to keep them from reconfiguring us into an electrical box? Or a slab of stone?”

“You can figure it out, Jonathan. I know you can. Think of it. Human molecular reconfiguration could make us immortal.”

“Immortality? Immortality, Edward? How did we go from the original premise of the project to this? And do you think your Lord meant for us to be immortal? I’d have thought he might have done that himself, Edward, if he wanted it.”

“He wouldn’t let me do it if He didn’t mean for it to be. And sometimes, research leads where no one thought it would go. That’s the Lord’s hand, Jonathan.”

“I think not, Edward. We’ve all heard of the scientists who’ve followed their research instead of controlling it, haven’t we? Christianson? Hayes? Von Klein? Infamous, every one, for the disasters they caused. I don’t think your Lord meant for those to happen any more than he meant for us to be immortal.”

“What do you know of the Lord? Godless heathen! You don’t even go to church! I’ve heard you deride the bible as so much fiction! And listen to yourself now! You say, “your Lord,” not “the Lord.” You won’t even take him into you! No.” Edward shook his head violently. “Do not talk to me about what God does or doesn’t want, Jonathan. You have no right. And if you are uncomfortable with where this project is going, then perhaps it has outgrown you.”

Jacob chilled again and redoubled his efforts, working with a determination he’d felt very little of lately, as if finishing that one task of measuring would somehow end the nightmare occurring behind him.

At about eight feet behind Edward, the darkness overtook Jacob and he nearly sighed in relief. He boldly turned his head to look at the space beside the storage cabinet. Had he made it there to begin, the deed would certainly be done by now and he’d be on his way to safety. But that was just spilt milk. There had been a few glitches, yes, but he had managed. The worst of it was over. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than electric current in one’s testicles, actually, and he’d managed that. And now he was where he should have been when Edward entered. Back on track. It would be fine from here. It would work. And Edward really was lost to the world. Jacob wondered if he might have simply walked from the cryotanks, so engrossed was the man at the microscope. He crossed the distance to Edward’s back in five seconds.

The canister made a good weapon. Of a weight and length that it acted the proverbial lead pipe, and (thanks to his spy game again) Jacob had learned just the spot to hit in the occiput to disable a man. Edward grunted and slumped from his stool to land a heap on the floor.

Jacob let out a deep sigh. Done. And onward. First, to the ID. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the syringe and the scalpel blade. He’d swiped them while diddling the redhead (Sherri was it?) in Medical, beside the apothecary. Medical-geek girls were as easy as engineering-geek girls. And she was so trusting, especially when in the throes.

He could still see the disappointment in her eyes when, as she recovered, clinging to his shoulders, he’d wiped his hand on her skirt and announced he had to be going. She’d cut him off altogether after that. Oh well. He didn’t plan on seeing anyone from the Institute ever again, anyway, and she was pretty boring in bed, actually. No imagination at all. And too quiet for his tastes. Never a worry that they’d be discovered with her. Nope. Though it had certainly served his purpose at that moment. And the one before.

He’d grabbed a vial of lidocaine during the previous rendezvous and she’d nearly caught him when she decided to return the favor and grabbed for his crotch. He pulled his hips away quickly lest she get a good feel for the bottle.

“Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she’d joked. He laughed to keep her disarmed.

“No banana, love, but I can’t simply drop my skirt if we’re found out. I’ll have to ask you not to do that, or I might not be able to control myself.”

It had worked. She laughed and leaned back to offer herself to his fingers. He’d finished her off and got out quickly with only a few kisses and murmured love things.

That last time, though, he’d been sure to wear a windy with big pockets on the side seams. She could grab him all she wanted. No reason he couldn’t enjoy himself in the midst of his espionage, right? She was selfish, though. Or had listened too well the first time.

She had been good for that. She listened well. Would do pretty much anything he told her. That’s a nice thing to have in a lay. But she just wasn’t enthusiastic enough for his tastes. Pity. Nice body.

When she was whisper-moaning her orgasm, he’d grabbed a handful of the syringes and the little foil packets not knowing how many he might need in the end, and had been glad he did. The blades were of different shapes and sizes. Some fat and long; some with wicked points. Downright mean. He’d opened a dozen before he found a less-threatening, tiny blade with a gentle curve to remove his own ID.

He checked for the number fifteen on the foil one more time as he set the paraphernalia on the bench beside the scope. Go with what you know, after all. Of course, had it not been a fifteen, he couldn’t have changed it. He’d only brought the one.

Edward easily uncurled to supine. Jacob, being sure to hold his head from bouncing against the tile, almost laughed aloud to think of this gentility after the violence of the canister. Then he realized how quiet the lab was. Only his breathing, like a freight train in his ears, for sound. He closed his eyes and counted his breath again, just to calm.

“This is perilous stuff you do here, Edward,” Jonathan had warned.

“Life is filled with peril, Jonathan. Why should this be any different?” Edward retorted.

“Because you have the means with which to secure it. And if you don’t, that’s not only unethical, it’s illegal.”

“All great science has edged the line between right and wrong, Jonathan, and you know it.”

“One hundred sixty one centimers!” Jacob had yelled to stop their screaming. 161.02 centimeters, to be exact. 20.8 centimeters wide. Exactly. Almost 8 times taller than its base was wide. At 1:1000 scale, it would be 5282.8084 feet tall: a mile. With a footprint just over 9 acres. Counting windows, it looked to be 500 floors, though it could be 536 floors. And the first fifty-story section had support walls only 1 millimeter thick. That was 1 meter at full scale: just over 3.25 feet. And at just his cursory glance, Jacob could tell it was, indeed, perfect. It was an engineering marvel. And it was because of the bots. No human - with man-made materials - could build this. This building was different at the microscopic level. At the molecular level. Jacob knew. He’d clasped his hands together to stop their shaking, looked up and saw Edward leap over the barrier and fairly skip toward him, a beam of light seeming to write his smile.

“One hundred sixty one, you say? My word, Jacob! How thick are the walls? Does it all work? Do the toilets actually flush?”

Over Edward’s shoulder, Jacob watched Jonathan’s head drop to his chest. His shoulders slumped. He’d turned and slowly walked back into the air lock. And disappeared, it turned out.

The syringe slid gently under the good doctor’s skin and Jacob rammed the plunger home. Two milliliters more than he’d used on himself. There really was no reason to cause the man more pain than necessary, and while he was sure he’d be able to close the cut much quicker with both hands, he wanted the area to remain numb lest the pain of it wake him. He’d considered not closing it all, actually--it wasn’t as if the man wouldn’t know something was up when he came to--but the biohazards were more likely to trigger if the wound were left to ooze. And besides, all of his secret agents in game cleaned up after themselves as they went. Less chance of early detection.

The blade would have been easier to maneuver with a handle, but they hadn’t been near when he had Sherri going, and he’d managed on himself without, even with his weaker hand. He was used to dainty instruments, after all. Again, surprisingly little blood. Much less than for himself. The ID less than a centimeter beneath. Jacob dropped it into his back pocket. He cursed himself as he scuttled around to his duffle, where he’d left his ring and thumb forceps for working the suture, and returned to Edward. Precious seconds lost. Still, the work was quick with two hands, and the wound seemed to close itself. He did a very nice job if he said so himself. The scar would be minimal. He placed the Band-Aid and turned to the bench. Now to the scope and those retched, beloved bug-bots.

Blubber boy had been named as Jonathan’s replacement the very next day after the skyscraper. Jacob tried to find the missing man, of course, and entertained the thought of the police or Interpol or somebody breaking down the door at Dr. Gross’ urging - at Jacob’s own urging - but the Institute was prepared for Trouble With The Authorities. It had happened before, from anonymous tips. There was a tour all set up for them, whoever they might be, and each time they’d left with a stern admonition to keep what they’d seen (which was never much) to themselves and a gentle reminder that even sensitive research facilities could have disgruntled employees. Jacob had started forming the plan.

The metal on the bot in the scope’s view shimmered under the lights as it skittered on its eight legs - arachnoid for sure-footedness - around the tiny corral on the slide. Jacob slipped his hands into the gloves and reached for the microforceps. He would never get a chance to examine them like this again.

“I don’t know exactly what you expected to accomplish tonight, Mr. Hutchins.” Jacob startled at the voice just behind his ear and withdrew his arms as he bolted to stand. He bounced his forehead against the boom of the scope. His hand instinctively lifted to the spot as he turned. Edward grabbed his forearm. Hard. “But I can assure you,” he continued, the menace in his voice echoed in his eyes, “it will not occur.”

“It already has, Edward,” Jacob stalled. He forced his mouth into a smile to cover the shock and horror he felt, stared just as hard (he hoped) into Edward’s eyes.

“Really? I doubt that. Since I’m awake and you’re still here. That couldn’t have been part of the plan.” Edward smiled back and released Jacob’s arm. The doctor turned away, pacing lazily toward the storage cabinet. He brought his hand up to the back of his head as he did. Laughed. “Though I have to admit I didn’t think you capable of such a blow. I’ll have a nice goose-egg there for a while. Tell me, how did you determine that you’d have enough time to sew the wound and kill the nanos before I woke up? And did you really think one little canister of gas would suffice?”

Jacob concentrated on his breath as his mind raced. He didn’t have an answer to the questions. Had expected Jonathan to wake at some point, but thought he would be well along in the destruction when the man did. That the doctor would at least be disoriented. Hadn’t expected him to be up and walking around as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Walking into the darkness of the far lab.

“All lights,” Jacob called and the lab immediately suffused brilliance. It made Jacob blink. He thought he saw Edward flinch. The doctor covered it with a smile, though, a small nod to Jacob.

“Of course, my bionans, no doubt, sped my recovery.” Jacob startled at the realization. Edward just smiled. “And I thought I needed Jonathan to devise the code for it. How wrong I was. It came to me in a dream, actually. And Dr. McKee is really very good at what he does. God does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?” Edward paused as if waiting for a response. When Jacob didn’t supply one - his mind could not have formulated words - the man continued. “It’s the genome. They are coded for my specific genome. And they have no inanimate code. Just anatomical. They are an entirely different species than the constructors, actually. Isn’t that fantastic? An entire species of nanos designed to do nothing but reconfigure human flesh. Utilize the large molecules I ingest for their repairs. Can even use extracorporeal molecules. Just keep fixing me and fixing me.” Edward held out his arm, pushed up the labcoat sleeve and tore the Band-aid from his forearm. He brushed at Jacob’s stitches, and they fell away like so much lint. There was no wound. Jacob felt the hairs stand up on his neck. “Though it was a very nice job you did, Jacob. The lidocaine was a nice touch, too. Thank you for thinking of me so. I don’t think I’ll be as considerate.”

Jacob’s heart was pounding. His fingers were tingling. So were his lips. His stomach danced in his belly, pushed bile up into his throat. The periphery of his vision was sparkling, alternating between flashes of black and white. Dr. Michaelson’s voice seemed much further away than it should, given his distance, lost behind a roar that had begun in Jacob’s ears.

“So what did you think of our little friends in there?” the chief asked, gesturing to the microscope beside Jacob. “Didn’t even recognize them, did you? They don’t look much like your initial design anymore. But of course, they’re capable of so much more than your little mind could have imagined. Or can still, I’d bet.” Edward advanced on him and Jacob backed into the counter, reached behind, searching for a weapon. His hand found the canister. Edward stopped short. “I didn’t mean to menace. I merely wanted to show you your creations in more detail, Jacob. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“I think I’m well aware of their capabilities, Dr. Michaelson. I dissected the building, remember?”

Edward waved his hands dismissively. “That was months and months ago. Nearly a year. Look what I’ve been able to do since.” Edward continued toward him and Jacob sidestepped away, his hand tight around the cylinder behind his back, but the doctor paid him little heed and went straight to the scope. He peered within, bending over the stool instead of sitting, but stood almost immediately and glanced an embarrassed eye at Jacob. “Can I ask you to stand a little closer to the system, Jacob? It won’t work without my ID.”

Jacob considered simply lashing out with the canister. He’d knocked Edward out once; he could do it again. Especially with the adrenalin rush he was on. He mused that he might actually be able to pick up a car right now. Though with Edward’s recall of the ID extraction, Jacob couldn’t be sure the madman hadn’t simply been playing possum, waiting to see what he was about. Jacob held his ground. Edward shrugged and turned away again, meandering a trail to the counter in front of the cryotanks, where Jacob had hidden for so long.

“Not the least bit curious? Pity. I always thought you more of a scientist than a technician, Jacob. Despite what Jonathan said. You disappoint me. Still, you have presented me with the opportunity to brag a little. I never get to do that, you know. So many secrets, Jacob. I hate keeping so many secrets from so many people. And perhaps that’s the answer. Tell someone who couldn’t possibly understand all the intricacies. I’d like you to understand the full extent of your contribution, however. The nano you saw in the scope is more you than any other, after all. The nanoblast. That from which all other nanos can be made. The stem. The index.”

Jacob devised a new plan. Not much different than the original, except he needed more gas. One canister wouldn’t be enough. He hadn’t considered that until Edward asked about it, but it was certainly true. He needed a lot more gas. And he knew just where to get it. Of course, he’d need a diversion to get there. And he needed to keep Edward talking to set up the diversion. Keep him preoccupied with his braggadocio. Luckily, Edward seemed happy to oblige. Jacob slid carefully right, searching behind his back for the dock nipple on the containment system as the doctor continued.

“First, it colonizes, building copies of itself from the matter around it, as you taught it to do. It is your logic that it uses. Your steps.” Edward leaned to the computer terminal in front of him and hit a few keys.

“I’ll ask you not to do that again, Dr. Michaelson.” Edward held up his hands like a criminal caught by the police, turning to Jacob.

“Just wanted to sign off the system. Wouldn’t want sensitive information falling into the wrong hands, would we? But alas, no ID. Do be a good boy and F9 for me? No? ” He laughed and dropped his hands as he turned and walked along the edge of the counter toward the storage again. “When the colony is of sufficient size - for each of its offspring replicates as well - the blasts begin to specialize and each, in turn, continues to replicate as they do their work. Much like an embryo becomes a fetus. It is as wondrous as human gestation, Jacob.”

“And what is their work, Doctor? What do you mean to do with them?” Jacob slowly slid the canister into position and began to thread it onto the dock nipple. Edward shrugged as he continued toward the storage cabinet.

“Many things, Jacob. The possibilities are endless. Could be life-sustaining, like those that live in me. There’s a generic form that will work for anyone, but it’s awfully primitive. But the genome-specific form is a breakthrough of extraordinary proportions. The ultimate genetic manipulation, Jacob. No more inherited diseases. No more familial predispositions for ailments of any kind.

Of course, there are also the constructors. Your design. And it’s not just the largest building anyone has ever seen anymore, Jacob, but each building is a city in itself, with all the things a city needs, even grocery stores and police stations!” Jacob’s hackles raised as Edward’s excitement mounted, his steps bouncing, his arms movements sweeping. Too unpredictable like this, thought Jacob. Edward could be on him in a moment, if he had a mind to. “And it’s not just one city-building, but a city of city-buildings! A city the likes of which the Earth has never known!”

Jacob managed to relax his shoulders just as Edward spun back at him. Too close. Almost caught. He’d need to keep the relaxed posture despite the work he did. Nothing amiss. Turn away, Doctor. You’re in complete control.

“There are still a few bugs – pardon the pun – to work out, though. The nanos keep replicating the city. Won’t stop. Still need to get the right stop coding, but we’ll get there.”

“Wait. You’ve tested this?”

“I have. In 1/100000 scale, mind you – need to be able to provide the resources, after all – don’t want a repeat of the scraper – but they performed beautifully. Except for the replication.”

“You can’t actually mean to build this?”

“Of course! Jacob, the world is ending. We have killed it. And in its death throes it is lashing out. Why are earthquakes stronger than they have ever been in recorded history? Why are droughts longer and wider reaching than ever before? While at the same time, rivers that haven’t flooded in a millennia are wiping out whole cities? We need a safe haven for mankind. And my city will provide it.”

“And who would live there, Edward?” Jacob asked. “Everyone who lives nearby – and by nearby I mean on the continent - will be killed by the build itself!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jacob. Have you learned nothing in your time here? The SCIN keeps them from regenerating humans. My city is the only answer to mankind’s continued existence. The nanos will provide for us. We won’t need fuels; we won’t need wood or stone; we won’t even need food! The nanos will provide. And they will maintain the infrastructure. The human race will be free to pursue loftier goals than mere basic needs.”

“The amount of resources required would be devastating to everything and anyone in its path, even without overt regeneration. You said it yourself. You built in minute scale so you could control where the resources came from. What happens when they need resources to full scale? Where does all that building material come from, Edward? I may be more technician than scientist, but even I can see that.”

“Then your mind is as small as Jonathan’s, Mr. Hutchins.” Edward returned to his lazy pacing, turning right and moving along the cabinets. Turned away just enough. A final twist of the wrist and the canister stopped turning. Jacob counted his slide further right, so Edward wouldn’t notice, felt for the panic button he knew would be there beside the scope boom. Edward kept talking. Kept walking. “I expected it from you, of course. He was quite a blow, however. My dearest friend, he was. But when friends become liabilities, imperil one’s very existence - one’s very reason for being - they can hardly be counted as friends, yes?”

“I rather think you’ve imperiled his existence more than the other way around. You’ve imperiled everyone’s. And he would have done anything for you, Edward.”

“Except this.”

“This is wrong.”

“On the contrary. This is the most “right” thing I’ve ever done.”

“And this is mine.” Jacob hit the panic button and quickly stepped away from the system as a siren whooped to life. The canister shook -- not tight! -- and Edward crossed the distance in three long strides, fairly leaping the last to reach the interface. The gas was visible in the housing, billowing from the airlock on the inside. Edward punched button after button, but nothing changed. Gas was visible billowing from around the dock, too. Edward reeled from its smell, stepped back.

“Shut it down!” Edward yelled. “You have my ID! Only you can do it!” Jacob smiled and shook his head, backing away even further, glancing toward the all-panic that would flood the building. Edward fought against the gas he’d inhaled, clinging to the steel counter by the computer. “Jacob! If you hit that, we’ll be gassed ourselves.”

“Small price, to kill all your precious bug-bots. They are an abomination, Edward. They need to be destroyed.”

“The gas doesn’t kill them anymore! I’ve made them impervious to it!” Jacob’s elation turned to confusion. “They won’t die! And the system will open for collection automatically once the canister is expelled. Shut it down!”

“I don’t believe you. Why would you do that?” Jacob hand hovered over the all-panic.

“Jacob! Listen to me. They are a living being. They deserve a chance to live without constant threat of total annihilation. I’ve made them immune. Introduced just enough to allow the strong to survive, let natural selection take its course. Like a bacteria becomes immune to its most potent antibiotic. They will not all die. And they will build their city on our heads!”

“At least I’ll take most of them,” Jacob whispered.

“You idiot!” Edward sneered. “You don’t understand at all, do you? It only takes one!”

Clarity struck. Jacob leaped toward the system, but the cloud of gas escaping the dock was too much. He could not see to type the override. He felt his eyes sting and his throat constrict as his vision closed in on itself.

Jacob had never been gassed before, but Ted had told him it was sort of like being super drunk. This did not feel like being drunk to Jacob. Or else he’d never been this drunk before in his life. His knees buckled and the room spun down. He hit the ground hard, tried to roll away from the cascade of gas spilling over the counter edge; his limbs wouldn’t work. Through the green fog, he saw the doctor above him, frantically pounding on the keyboard. Jacob’s eyes were burning as if branded. They squinted closed: the only movement Jacob could muster. He heard Edward cough, felt pain as a weight fell down on him, forcing the air out of him, forcing his eyes to open. Edward’s face was inches from his.

“You’ve killed us,” Edward said from the end of a long tunnel.

Jacob closed his eyes at the truth of it. The plan had gone hideously, dreadfully wrong. Not at all what he’d thought. Not at all. And now the horror Jacob had wanted to stop, the horror Edward had orchestrated, was occurring. He wondered what it would be like to die not by reconfiguration, which had been his nightmare for so long, but as a building the size of a mountain grew upon him. What would death by crushing be like? How much before it was over? Before his brain stopped working? Before he’d no longer know? Feel?

Then insight took him. He felt the corners of his mouth curl, forced his eyes open to find Edward still looking at him, the derisive sneer sliding to bewilderment at Jacob’s knowing smile. It was small payment, but all Jacob had left.

“Not you, Doctor,” Jacob managed to whisper, using every ounce of will to compel the words through the miasma that was his mouth. “They’ll just keep fixing you and fixing you.” He heard the airlock open above them as terror wrote Edward’s face.

A new cascade –- a red one -– began to fall.