AZU-1: Lifehack Read online

  LIFEHACK

  Joseph Picard

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2008 Joseph Picard

  2nd edition source

  Also from Joseph Picard, Lifehack's follow up, 'Watching Yute', available at Smashwords.com or in printed formats through the author's site, ozero.ca

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

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  Foreword

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  Special thanks go to my volunteer editing force: Dolores (my mum) Adam Zilliax, Meggin Dueckman, and Carrie Shannon who has also been a great supporter in the launch of the first edition.

  ~~~~~

  Chapter 0: Nanites

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  Want a programmable molecule? Build a machine. Build the smallest machine you can, then make it build things so small that you yourself could not have made it. Make this tiny new machine build something even smaller.

  If you continue along this path until you can’t even see your machines without a microscope, even smaller than one millionth of a meter, you’ve entered the realm of nanotechnology.

  In 2008, these machines are already being used to create new materials for every day use, such as clothing, packaging, various chemicals, and incredibly small circuitry, but research is striving towards much more ambitious ends.

  In effect the science is about manipulating microscopic particles, perhaps down to atoms, using these microscopic robots, called nanites. Essentially these would be programmable molecules. And, to make things easier, a few could build more, making construction of nanite fleets nearly self-automated.

  Construction could one day be as easy as leaving raw materials out for well programmed and directed nanites and watching what you want built, molecule by molecule. It would seemingly grow, and the speed of this would be related closely to the size of your nanite fleet. But of course you build many nanites, because it would be easy to once you taught nanites to do it for you.

  Curing a disease would only be a matter of teaching a fleet of nanites what to destroy, injecting them into a patient, and having the nanites work faster than the cells of the disease could grow. They could be programmed to hunt any number of harmful elements in a body; a virus, bacteria, and cancers. Theoretically they would all fall with similar ease, regardless of their resistance to medications as we know them. A new immunization could be as easy as downloading the latest patch and updating your nanites. Poof. Suddenly they also attack the dreaded bird flu, mad cow, or any other new scary thing they discover.

  Food could be created on a molecular level as well. Who needs an actual plant when an armada of microscopic robots could be given dirt, water, and sunlight, and continuously produce endless identical, perfect fruit, until one of the base ingredients were used up?

  The potential applications seem limitless. Nanite clothing might change to whim and continuously clean themselves, or clean the wearer. Buildings or furniture laden with nanites might change to suit purpose or just melt away temporarily when unwanted. Airborne nanites that avoid being inhaled, and spend their time cleaning the air, or waiting for other commands.

  And you could do it all without anyone even noticing the nanites themselves.

  Of course, any technology goes through difficult spots in its infancy. What would you do with a programmable molecule?

  ~~~~~

  Chapter 1: Little Spats

  ~~~~~

  Regan threw a second high heel shoe at her newly ex-girlfriend Kris with every ounce of strength she could. The shoe missed its target and struck the bedroom doorframe. “It’s fucking over, you slut! Strike goddam three! That I know about!” Regan’s wavy black hair tossed across her face, but her enraged brown eyes glared clearly though at Kris.

  Kris calmly took another cautious step forward with a gentle smile and a sympathetic look from behind her thin rimmed glasses. “Honey, I said I was sorry! You’re not going to throw it all away just-“

  Regan launched a blouse at Kris that she had borrowed. It didn’t fly as well as the shoe. Why couldn’t it have been another shoe, or a harpoon? “Throw what away? Eight months of trying to make this work while you screw anything that catches your eye? I’m really gonna miss that!” She mashed down on the lid of her suitcase. Its contents, that of her duffle bag, and the outfit she had on, were the sum of her worldly possessions. That and the bus ticket waiting for her at the terminal that cost her the remainder of her liquid assets.

  “Honey, I-“ Kris was cut short, and had to make a hasty side-step to evade the suitcase as Regan barged out of the bedroom. “Regan, do you know how silly you look, running away from home like this?”

  Regan growled as she stomped on. She stopped and spun on her heel to glare back at Kris. Past Kris lay the bed in which Kris had once again betrayed Regan. The first time was painfully forgiven. The second time was forgiven with disgust at herself for allowing Kris to get away with it. This third time had driven Regan into boiling rage. There was likely more which she had never learned about.

  “Running away from home? Home is where the heart is, Kris.” Regan stormed to the front door, duffle bag swinging from her shoulder, suitcase hitting walls heedlessly as she dragged it. She grabbed the black leather jacket hanging by the door and threw it on over her tank top and the strap of the duffle.

  She pushed herself and her luggage through the door, and turned to close it. Pity the door swung into the apartment instead of out. It would have been very satisfying to kick it shut with her punk-ish boots. Nah, fuck it. If she couldn’t close it her way, let Kris close it. No, to hell with that, she needed the satisfaction of the slam. She reached in for the doorknob with one final glower at Kris, and yanked it shut. The impact resonated through the walls.

  Regan stood in the hall and took a deep cleansing breath. Was she crying? No? Good. Kris was only allowed to see the hate. Save the tears for the day when the pain is far behind.

  ~~~

  “Inky or Pinky?” Jonathan Coll leaned over the table-top arena walled by clear plastic, and stared down at the two quivering, blood matted rats.

  ”Doctor Coll, you know I’m not really into that.” Across the lab, Jonathan’s pet intern tended to the most recently assigned task of tedium.

  Jonathan chortled, and brushed a raven bang out of his eyes. “Oh come on Scott. Scotty, Scotterino. Inky or Pinky?”

  Without pulling his attention away from his work, Scott sighed in mild exasperation. “Oh, I don’t know. Which has the series fourteen nanites, and which has the fifteen series?”

  “Ha ha!” Jonathan gleamed, proud of his work. Both rats were teeming with microscopic machines which could one day allow a person to continue to go on despite considerable injury and get medical attention later. Eventually the nanites would be at the command of the person they’re injected into, but for the rats, a computer took more direct control. “Pinky is series fifteen, but Inky is now sixteen!”

  Scott raised an eyebrow “Sixteen? When did that happen?”

  “When my brilliance made providence for it to happen!”

  “Right.” Scott sighed.

  “Sixteen is a bit better at maintaining its own numbers in a living immune system, but I had to sacrifice a bit of tissue repair for the host. As you can see, Inky kinda lo
oks like shit.” An understatement.

  Scott couldn’t see, as he was still on the other side of the room. “I don’t know. Whichever rat’s been in the least fights.” Scott simply wasn’t playing along. Jonathan couldn’t remember which had been in more fights anyway.

  “Fine. I’ll take Inky.” Jonathan stood up straight, gazing down at the rats as were he a god. He positioned his finger over a button on a nearby terminal and announced sternly, “Round ninety four! Fight!”

  He pressed the button and the nanites in the rats took control, acting as a nervous system, ignoring the hosts’ weaker wills. The two rats looked around stiffly while the software did its best to identify the relevant items in the hosts’ surroundings.

  Wall, wall, wall, unreachable opening, wall, target! Inky’s nanites were the first to come to terms with the tactical situation, and launched Inky at Pinky with no further hesitation. Inky’s small but unnaturally strong jaw clamped onto Pinky’s midsection, squeezing out an involuntary pained squeak.

  Across the room, Scott winced to hear yet another such battle.

  Jonathan grimaced. “Man, I have to get the object recognition routines polished up. At this rate, it’s almost always just a matter of who sees who first.” Jonathan fiddled the terminal interface and switched the nanite colonies into repair mode. Now in control of their own bodies again, the rats were free to whimper and cry out in pain.

  But Inky didn’t. Jonathan flipped a couple screens around on his terminal. “Oh damn! Inky died! The second I put them into fight mode! Inky won, and was dead the whole time! Awesome!”

  “I’m sure Inky will find that to be a great consolation.” Scott mumbled. Scott’s dad wanted him to be an accountant, but no! Why waste his mind on work for calculators, when he could go into research sciences, and watch his egocentric boss mutilate innocent rats? Anyone need their taxes done?

  ~~~~~

  Chapter 2: Hello Autar

  ~~~~~

  Regan awoke. Her head leaning against the window, the first thing she saw was the side of the road whizzing by, a parade of dry vegetation. Since she left Kris’, the view out this window had changed from lush greens, to this.

  Yellowish brown bushes blended into the parched terrain, all the way to the horizon. This was the edge of the Yute desert. A half day’s drive farther in would surround you with sand.

  What a stupid place to build a city. Autar was looming ahead, the much hyped jewel of the future. The most recognizable feature of Autar was its four cornerstone towers.

  The beige cornerstones were obscene engineering marvels, each tower being two hundred floors high with a footprint of three by three blocks. Between the cornerstones spanned four enormous bridges that connected the mid-sections of each cornerstone. The bridges were three blocks wide each and acted as a second layer of streets to develop on, a hundred feet above the ground. The bridges and the ground below bristled with monolithic buildings, each glistening with corporate pride.

  Regan found it impressive but idiotic, and she wasn’t the only one. Autar had its share of critics. The cornerstones were compared to towers of babil, and the bridges had gained the nickname of ‘the square halo’. All of it seemed so unnecessary with all the open space around Autar. Defenders of the idea seemed clearly smitten with the difficulty of its construction, and sheer spectacle.

  It was the kind of thing Regan’s brother Harold loved. Just his luck that his company transferred him here. It did make it more difficult for Regan to go visit him though. Why did he have to move clear across Ayguola? And no where near a beach. An island nation, and Harold had to work in a landlocked wasteland.

  Well, to be honest, this was less of a ‘visit’, and more of a ‘unemployed-newly-single-broke-no-other-place-to-go’ thing. It wasn’t a new occurrence for Regan to go crash with Harold, but having to bus this far was new.

  As the bus passed directly from wasteland to corporate obscenity, the shadow of the south bridge swallowed them up. Regan figured it wouldn’t be long before they got to the bus terminal. She noticed a lack of anything that looked old. Not just that, but a lack of anything that wasn’t founded by some huge company. Looking for a Ma & Pa pizzeria? Sorry, you’ll have to make due with the nearest franchise outlet.

  The bus pulled into its bay and the passengers sluggishly collected themselves, then poured out to wait for their luggage to be unloaded. Regan checked herself before disembarking. Her wardrobe had a habit of riding up in impolite ways when she was sleeping in public. A short miniskirt and a short tanktop made poor pajamas. After getting off, most of the passengers were still mobbed about the luggage hatch of the bus as the driver pulled things out and matched them to their owners.

  Regan took this time to pull her portable terminal out of her carry-on duffle bag, and load up the city map. An ad that knew where she stood and that it was nearing dinner time, started playing to promote a restaurant half a block away. She muted it but had to let it finish before she could access the free map of the city.

  ‘You are here’ popped up with a red dot on the map. Ok, ok, now point to the note she had entered earlier of Harold’s address. ‘Plot a route?’ Duh. ‘Route options: Driving, Walking.’ What, the ingenious little handheld multimedia ad-pumping device didn’t notice she just got off a bus? Walking. A cute dotted line animated its way from her location over to the nearest cornerstone building. Harold didn’t mention he lived in one of those behemoths. ‘Estimated walking time: 30m:15s.’

  She spotted her suitcase being hauled out of the bottom storage of the bus. She stepped up and gave the worker her baggage check tag. Yanking out the top handle, she was again grateful for the little wheels on the bottom. About half an hour worth of grateful, even if it would be a half hour that she’d be listening to the little wheels rattle against every little bump and dip on the sidewalk.

  She started walking, terminal in one hand, luggage dragged with the other. She considered pulling the ear buds out of the terminal and listening to some music while she walked, but decided to take in the sights and sounds of Autar.

  The sights and sounds of Autar were uninspiring on the whole. The city was populated almost entirely by nerds and suits. The vehicles on the street ranged in variety from ‘sensible’ to ‘conservative’. Blue car, black car, silver car, black car, white delivery van, black car, grey car. Oh yeah. This was a party town to be reckoned with.

  Looking at the businesses that lined the streets, she felt like she had walked into a movie with too many product placements. Well too bad for them. They’d get none of Regan’s cash, as she had none! Haha! Outsmarting the big boys yet again!

  Still, it might have been nice to have a bit of change to throw at one of the city trains that whizzed around. Look on the bright side. Regan didn’t get her gams by taking public transit, and flabby thighs just wouldn’t do these stockings justice. And her boots were made for walking after all. Walking, or kicking people. Multifunctional.

  Darn, these were clean sidewalks. Maybe nerds and suits don’t believe in chewing gum. Certainly they’d dispose of it properly if they did. Heaven forbid that the mighty Autar be defiled. It kind of made her want to spit on the sidewalk just to see if some tidiness cop would spring out of nowhere and give her a ticket. Probably not. They hadn’t ticketed her for her dirty boots yet.

  Speaking of tidiness, the tidy nerds and suits in the streets sure seemed to be checking her out a lot. Was she that much of a misfit here? Did she stink from being packed on a bus for so long? Heavens no. Regan looked at it more realistically. They all wanted to get her in the sack. Too bad fellas. Ladies? Fill out the application. Done right, the nerd look and the suit look could be pretty darn hot.

  The southwest cornerstone got closer and closer. For some reason, Regan had expected it to be one huge three block wide wall with one door in the middle. There were three significant entries, with pompous staircases, and required ramps, as well as several smaller doors, and a smattering of storefront shops.

  Regan cons
ulted the all-knowing terminal, and entered the middle staircase. Inside felt a little like a shopping mall, but with less shops. A cluster of benches broke the middle of the space, and overhead hung an array of signs giving directions. ‘Residential elevators: 5, 6’

  Over in the back right corner she could see them. She dragged her suitcase over to number five, and looked at the directory sign. “Alright, what the hell floor is he on…”

  The terminal spoke back in a chipper female voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you. Please restate the name of your desired destination.” They didn’t miss a beat with this place, did they?

  “Harold Grier.” She considered also mouthing off at the thing, but the sentiment would go unappreciated.

  “Floor forty-seven, apartment five.” The corresponding entry on the directory throbbed with a soft glow. “Would you like an elevator to the forty seventh floor?”

  Regan looked at the terminal. 4705. She knew that. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

  “Yes!” she spoke as clearly as she could, then muttered, “you silly bink.”

  “Thank you!” The elevator door opened.

  Regan stepped in and the door closed behind her. Another directory was waiting inside for her. “Next stop, forty-seven.”

  “Super.” Regan replied, ignored. “So, you come here often? Wanna go grab a few drinks? Maybe a movie?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t under-“

  “Shut up.” It did. The nerd responsible for this thing at least predicted the need for it to understand that phrase. A steady feeling of acceleration pushed down on Regan gently for twenty-three floors before changing to deceleration. The doors opened, and Regan stepped out.