Chapter 3

Jeremy opened the door to his dorm room and then closed it softly behind him. With an external calm he was far from feeling, he took the vial of microchip dust out of his jeans pocket. Turning his fingers up, he looked each tip, bringing each one up to his eye to peer at it for long seconds. There were no specks of blood or pinpricks. With a deep breath, he dipped his finger into the vial and touched the microchips.
Across the room, he heard a buzzing against the window. Distracted, his head swung in that direction. When he looked back at his finger a drop of blood was already falling onto the chips. Still holding the vial and watching his finger, he walked to the window.  The loud buzzing sounded again.

He took his finger out of the vial and craned his neck to look behind the partially open venetian blinds. A black wasp with yellow striped legs charged out of its hiding place to dive bomb his head in quick, furious movements. Jeremy jerked away and dropped the vial. White powder spilled on the floor as it rolled away.

“I am going to get something to kill you,” Jeremy declared, turning aside from the wasp to reach for a magazine. He kept one eye on the circling insect.

The wasp hovered over the room, buzzing Jeremy when it flew near. Then, it dove out of sight.

Magazine rolled up in his hand, Jeremy inched forward. His eyes swung back and forth, looking for the stinging insect. Step by step he searched the room. Where had the wasp gone? He looked behind the window blinds. He looked around the table. He skirted the beds.

He spotted it under the bed. The wasp flexed its wings in the microchip dust next to the vial. Jeremy lifted his arm fraction by fraction.

It saw Jeremy lift his arm and rose in a storm from its hiding place. Hanging in mid-air just out of reach, it seemed to stare straight at Jeremy. Its eyes flashed lime green, and then they turned bright orange.  The wasp’s eyes flashed the colors twice more.

Jeremy gasped for breath. “Synmites,” He whispered, his jaw dropping slack. He fell heavily into a chair, staring at the wasp. Once more, its eyes changed lime green to orange.  It wasn’t possible. How could it be possible? Jeremy scrambled under the bed to look at the microchips – they were gone, only a few flecks of dust remained. Had the synmites attached themselves to the wasp in some way? Were they hitching a ride on the outside of the insect? Surely they couldn’t be inside the wasp. The bacteria they had used for the synmites weren’t infective - except, Rachel had added common cold and chicken pox DNA. What if the synmites were infective?

The black wasp, its yellow legs held close to its body, buzzed his head again as if to remind him of its presence. He swatted at it mid-air and missed. It had to die – he needed to see if the synmintes were on it or in it. It flew once around the room and bumped against the window and then its buzz began to oscillate wildly, hitting random notes like a madman playing a whining guitar. “Zayyyyyy zaaaaa zeeee zouuuuu tet,” It buzzed over and over again, adding new clicks and sounds as it flew through the room like a kamikaze pilot, bumping the window harder each time it moved past. Jeremy leaped around the room, trying to swat it, but the wasp moved faster. It kept up its refrain, now refined to, “Zeee Zouuuuu tet.“  

Exhausted, Jeremy plopped into a chair and waited for the insect to calm down so he could kill it more easily. His mind was in overdrive. No bugs talked, not even synmite bugs. It would be ridiculous to think it was saying, “Me out”. How could it have gotten the synmites much less learned to talk English?

 His gaze wandered around the dorm room. It had white walls and blind covered windows, with stackable furniture and stand alone desks. Empty, crumpled up soda pop cans were on the floor, paper plates and food wrappers overflowed the corner trash can. When he got to MIT two years earlier, his mother had made sure his college room matched – mostly in shades of deep brown and lime green. There were dirty clothes that had fallen off the chair onto the beige, institutional tile floor and there, crumpled up in a corner, was the jacket he had worn yesterday when he visited Tristan, the same jacket which had held the vial from the failed experiment where the synmites had escaped.

“Zzzouuuu tet,” the wasp sang again, each time it sounded the buzzed word became more insistent and clearer in its intent.

“No way,” Jeremy replied, “You have the synmites. I won’t let you out.”

The agitated wasp flew in erratic zigzags. With seeming intent, it turned on Jeremy charging him with its full inch of aggressive, stinging fury. At the last moment, it veered off, circling the room once more.

Brian, Jeremy’s roommate, opened the door and walked in. As usual, his nose was stuck in a book. As soon as the door opened, the wasp made a straight-away swoop toward it, buzzing Brian as it flew past. “What was that?” Brian asked ducking as the madly buzzing insect flew past him.

“Don’t let it get away!” Jeremy yelled, racing after the wasp. The rolled up magazine was still in his hand.

As if programed, the wasp flew down the hall toward the light from the student common area. Several students stopped to watch as it flew once around the room, gasping and moving aside as it buzzed them.

“It’s only a wasp,” a pretty blonde with long hair said and walked to door. She opened it wide, ignoring Jeremy’s yells.

The wasp doubled its speed and flew out the opening. Jeremy ran out to door, watching helplessly as it flew up into the bright blue sky. Shaky, he plopped on a nearby park bench, panting from exertion and the cold, hard knot of fear which had lodged in his chest. It had gotten away.

His brain ran the probabilities – what would happen, would the synmites spread it to other wasps? What would the consequences be? There was no good scenario for this and he berated himself for not thinking about consequences before today. Now, it might be too late.

Fear hurled through his body, nauseating him. How was he going to keep this hidden? A film of sweat covered his face and ran in rivulets down his cheek. He looked at his finger tips. He could never admit to anyone that he knew what was going on. As if in slow motion, he raised his gaze to stare at the still open door through which the wasp had flown. The pretty blonde was staring at him. Concern wrinkled her brow and darkened her bright blue eyes. What was going to happen to him?

When had the synmites escaped? How much had they infected? Had the synmites been there all along? Had they been invisible? Had they only escaped when he opened the vial or had they escaped through the metal? He needed to talk to Tristan.

“Are you OK?” the blonde asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Jeremy said walking back into the dorm. On the big screen TV, the news announcer reported, “Today, the DOW plunged nearly 3000 points, but trading rallied and gained back 997 points before closing. Investors are hoping for a rally early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s bad,” one student shouted at the TV, “Stop messing with my college fund.”

Another student threw a pillow at him. “It’s not just your college fund it’s a lot of people who can’t afford to live as well when our dollar is devalued.”

“Then they should have gone to college, like me”

“What if they couldn’t? Don’t be a snob,” the blonde student inserted herself between the two young men.

“Bring it if you think you’re so smart.” The first student offered.

Jeremy tuned out the conversation. He needed to find Tristan.

Chapter 2

Rachel Jackson was beautiful, kind, sweet, and gentle. She had a fragrance all her own. Jeremy thought he could smell it wafting toward him as she walked along the sidewalk that crossed the lawn toward him. He knew he sometimes caught her scent across the classroom and maybe he could even smell it in his sleep, like a dream one could never quite catch. It was a soft, subtle scent that was clean, but at the same time it titillated his senses. Her pulled back golden brown hair glowed in the sunlight as she walked from beneath the overhang close to the building across from him. Some times he thought of pulling that hair down from its ubiquitous band and burying his nose in it.

A white lab coat flapped against her jean clad legs as she strode with purpose to her next class.  She was a senior and he was a junior, but he had heard she had been young when she came to MIT too, and although they were on the same synthetic bio team, he had never spoken to her about anything except synmites. What would it be like to take her out? Would she go with him?

Jeremy fingered the empty vial in his pocket. He had still not decided how to tell his professor or Rachel that the synmites were gone. What would she think of him then? Could he lie and say he lost the vial? It would be better to be irresponsible than for everyone to know the truth.

On the far side of the parking lot men shouted and hammered, and a large machine roared. Somewhere, a big truck sounded beep, beep, beep as it backed up to the construction site of a new building. As Rachel neared him, a car horn blared on Ames Street, drowning out his low pitched greeting and she walked right by him. He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. His gaze lifted past the flat, windowed face of the Ralph Landau building to the glassed face of the tall, square Green building. He watched the pigeons fly around the eaves for a moment and then after he was sure she had entered, he took a deep breath and followed her to class in the Koch Biology building.

When he arrived in the lab, Rachel was already working on one of the complex problems that Dr. Rutenschroder, their professor, had written on the white board. She made little noises as she worked - sounds of distress, her eraser flying as fast as her mechanical pencil lead. Jeremy moved closer and dropped his backpack below the stool next to her.

“I just can’t seem to make this work,” she smiled in his direction, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. Her eyes did not meet his.

Jeremy smiled back, relieved that she was not upset with him, just unaware he existed outside of class. “Bifurcation Analysis? Are we expected to know the answer?” He laughed, delighted that she nodded and laughed, too.

His gaze trailed to the problems they were given for a warm up. As he looked at the board, the numbers began to flow and shift in his mind. Awed, he watched them rearrange into perfect order. “There are random combinations in the order of 10 to the 6^th power. Look!” he blurted, walking to the board and writing out what he saw in his head.

After a few moments, Rachel peered at him, her gaze narrowed, and said, “Really? Did you already do this problem?”

“No, I…I…” Jeremy stuttered, not sure how to answer.

“I’d heard you were smart. Can you do the next one?” Rachel’s gaze met his, her expression speculative.

She had looked at him! In a rush of euphoria, Jeremy worked the remaining problems in seconds, even flipping over the board and writing out the answers. For some reason, writing them down seemed so slow, though he wrote as fast as he could.

Rachel checked his math. “That looks right. You know, you seem different,” she said, peering at him again. “I don’t remember you doing this last week. What happened?”

Jeremy blanched, sweat popped out on his upper lip. “Nothing happened,” he stammered. “Nothing at all, except, well, the synmites I borrowed from the lab fell out of a hole in my pocket yesterday.”

Rachel’s eyes got huge, and then closed in pain. “You lost them?”

“I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find them.” Jeremy gulped, sweat now trickled down the side of his face and he brushed it away. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

“Did you offer a reward? Can I help you look?”

“I didn’t offer a reward, but who would think twice about a vial of what looks like gunk? It is all thick and gooey, if someone did find it, they would probably throw it away,” Jeremy frowned, discouraging more discussion.

Professor Rutenschroder announced his arrival in a loud, booming voice.  “You two are early again! Are you working my pet problems? I know they are difficult today, but I wanted to stretch your skills.”

“We’re finished,” Rachel said, smiling at Jeremy, “but we have a little problem, our snymites were lost.”

“Finished?” Dr. Rutenschroder strode from the door like an attack dog scenting an intruder. His sandy hair stuck out at angles, his rumpled suit with tie askew matched his brown, scraggly beard. For comfort, he wore tennis shoes. “Finished? Who worked these?” He motioned to the problems on the white board. Jeremy raised his hand. “No, you couldn’t have. That’s not possible. Why put this here?” He turned, his eyes lit with excitement. “Do you know what you have done? This problem has no answer and this one I always thought was incorrect the way it was solved by Dr. Bergstrom.”

Jeremy was touched Rachel included herself in his problem. She could have blamed him and done her own project. A small tinge of guilt pinched his conscience. Well, he did deserve that. He had lied to her, but not only had she accepted his lie, she had made it her own without knowing it.

“So professor, can we build more synmites?” Rachel asked softly.

“Humm, humm, what? This is amazing. Oh, yes, build some more,” Dr. Rutenschroder nodded still trying to work out the logic of the mathematics Jeremy had written.

                Rachel and Jeremy got the supplies and started the long process needed to build more synmites. It would take hours today and many days afterward to rebuild them. “You’re wonderful,” Jeremy whispered as he leaned past her soft, golden brown hair, inhaling her scent. “Thank you.” 

                “We’ll start today’s lab after we finish this. To make it faster, we are going to use more of the standard building block proteins than we did last time.” Rachel whispered, trying not to disturb the class which was starting in the front portion of the large lab. Twenty stationary lab stations with sinks filled the room. They had black, stone table tops and high, black, open shelves. Lab instruments were placed in rows across the back of the table tops with some on the shelves. Electrical plugs were placed at intervals along the table top and at some stations machines hummed as students performed today’s lab.   

                “I thought we used standard biological parts for the microbes last time,” Jeremy said, using a long, narrow, glass pipette to measure out small portions of liquid into a plastic plate formed with holes that made deep wells.

                “I added something,” Rachel murmured, shrugging.

                “What did you add?” Jeremy’s voice rose and almost cracked. Several other students turned to look at them.

                Rachel acted as if she had not heard until the students turned back to their labs. “I added some viral DNA which makes the bacteria capable of continuous self-replication. I hoped they would not only etch the silicone chips we added as substrate, but they would actually be able to take silicon atoms from the surrounding environment and use it to build and etch a molecular microchip of their own.”

                “What DNA?” Jeremy gasped, trying hard to hide the cold lump of fear which filled his chest.

                “Common cold and Chicken pox,” Rachel replied. “I checked the synmites often for mutations, but I think as long as their environment is stable, they will be OK.”

                “What…What if their environment isn’t stable?”

                “Well, those two portions of DNA were added just so they would reproduce and spread quickly.” Rachel whispered her tone defensive. “It should be OK.”

                “Sure. No problem, Rachel. It was a good idea,” Jeremy smiled, wondering if his smile looked as false as it felt. “Where do you think the synmites would get the silicon if they could acquire and etch their own chips?”

                “I didn’t think that far, I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Did you get the silicone chips from storage?” Rachel asked, changing the subject. “We might as well get everything we need for the synmites before we have to start today’s lab.”

                Jeremy entered the storage room. There was a triple beam balance for measuring mass in one corner.  Bottles of chemicals and other science supplies filled the shelves. He took down the container of silicone microchips and waved off help from the Lab Teaching Assistant who checked the store room. The silicon chips had to be sorted under a microscope to eliminate flaws. That was his job. Although the lab to grow the synmites was tedious, its end product was exciting.

He measured out what he needed and paused, his hand still holding the open glass petri dish with the microscopic chips. His index finger hovered over the chips as he lifted to put the larger container with the microchips back on the shelf.

A sudden pinch on his finger brought a swift frown to his face. A drop of blood reddened the dust-like chips in the flat glass dish with low sides, called a petri dish. “What the..?” Jeremy turned his finger over. A tiny red dot of a pinprick was surrounded and filled with white silicon chip dust. As he watched his body seemed to draw in the dust and then the pinprick disappeared. Jeremy gasped, doubting what he had seen. That must have been a trick of the light.

How had he been cut? Hesitating unless a snag on the petri dish had cut him, he moved a finger around the glass petri dish. There were no sharp edges.  It wasn’t the dish.

The drop of blood in the petri dish flattened and pulsed. It seemed to clump and then spread back out. The color went from blood red to pink and finally to a clear substance tinged with the palest shade of pink. Jeremy used a funnel to put the contents of the petri dish into a vial, which he shoved into his pocket. He put more silicon chips into another petri dish and went to join Rachel.

“Trade with me,” Jeremy said, his voice cracking.

Rachel looked questioningly at him as she prepared the DNA and the bacteria phages, tiny microbes that could splice it DNA.

“Last time I did the chips,” Jeremy said, his eyes rounder than usual. He worked to control his breathing.

“You can trust me, Jeremy, I didn’t mean to not tell you about the viral DNA,” Rachel whispered, color reddening her cheeks.

“It’s not that,” Jeremy forced a smile. “I just felt like trading. I didn’t mean anything by it. If you don’t want to, it’s ok.”

Rachel looked deep into his eyes, seeming to measure his intents and then, she nodded and let Jeremy have the broth.

Chapter 1

“Is this your friend?” asked the tall, lanky professor, bald except for wispy tufts of grey hair above each ear. He peered sharply over the rims of his thick, wire glasses at the two young men. Ryan Tristan, the older of the two had blue eyes and straight blond hair, shaved neatly up his head to his crown, where much longer hair was moussed to stand upright adding an inch or so to his slight frame. The other lad was much younger and dark where his friend was light. His tall, lanky form was like a colt, all legs and sharp angles, knobby knees and ungainly movement. His dark, over-long, soft corkscrew curls flopped close to his sable eyes. He had a habit of blowing them up out of his eyes or using his hand to scoop them to the side.

            Ryan Tristan nodded, pulling his friend forward. “This is Jeremy Garrett, Boy Genius. Jeremy, this is Dr. Petroski,” Ryan said, shooting a cheeky grin at Jeremy. Ryan never missed a chance to poke fun at Jeremy’s youth, and some of his teasing had sharp edges.

            “I’m not really a boy genius, Sir, I just look young,” Jeremy said, offering his hand. He blew aside the floppy curls obscuring his eyes so he could see the Doctor through his curls.

            “If you’re older than 16, I’ll eat my hat.” Dr. Petroski guffawed, peering at him, “I was like that once, young and going to college with the older kids…” He trailed off, caught for a moment by a memory, “Ryan said you went to MIT? Yes, that is impressive. Well, what miracle of science have you brought to show us today?”

            Jeremy fished a vial with a black metal lid out of his pocket.  It was full of a thick, foggy, amber-colored liquid. “We have been splicing genes and growing bacteria on silicon chips. I call them smart synmites – synthetic micro-organisms. They combine the best of life and robotics.” He took a plastic box out of his pocket and clicked a switch. After a moment, he touched the two wires to the vial’s metallic lid.  All of the synmites flashed bright orange. He changed the voltage and touched the wires to the lid again, all of the synmites flashed lime green. “Glass is a poor conductor, so you can’t get a full effect from these charges. We can do all sorts of things in a lab. We started making standard synthetic biology, but we are moving a step further.”

            Dr. Petroski’s eyebrows launched up his smooth forehead, “Those are nice, yes, very nice indeed. They are alive?”

                        “Partly, the bacteria are alive, but the silicon chips are like computer chips with very small layers of etchings in stacks for the electrons to travel on. Those give it the computing power; the more layers of etchings, the more power it has. Now, we are searching for ways for the bacteria to lay down their own etchings in stacks that will allow one electron to move at a time. That would make them really fast. Who knows, someday they might grow their own crystal lattice, already etched. Imagine, a living computer that grows its own circuits.”

“Most fascinating,” Dr. Petroski said, watching the colors change again with the change in voltage. “Follow me. It is our turn now.” He smiled and motioned the two friends forward.

He led them down a tunnel, into an elevator, and through another tunnel. They came to a room with stools in front of an instrument console. A full plate glass window separated the smaller control room from another, larger room with an impressive, pewter metallic and black device that looked like a short, glassed-over cannon about a foot in diameter and three feet deep. It was mounted on a movable structure with large rotating cylinders that could be used to position it. The instrument extended to the right and circled around the room. A long, connecting metal bench was attached, bearing a two-foot square, window-like sample case. The case was located 10 or so feet in front of the cannon. Inside the case was an inner glass vise, used to hold the test sample. It was mounted to the bottom of the window-like sample case, where there were several other cut pieces of metal littering the see-through square structure. A second light wave source was located to the left of the cannon. It was a large cylinder with a small opening at the end

 “Is that it?” Jeremy asked rushing through the door Dr. Petroski held open.

“This is our pride and joy. It is a super laser, a soft X-ray FLASH laser that can knock subatomic particles out of atoms to change their structure and perhaps change the way they combine with one another. We know it can change the state of matter.” Dr. Petroski’s chest swelled as he touched the black metal casing of the short cannon, softly blowing imagined dust off the shiny, smooth dark glass that filled the cannon’s mouth.

“So far, we have made aluminum transparent to extreme ultraviolet radiation and we are trying to change the structure of an alkali metal, like lithium.”  Ryan chimed in, rubbing a soft cloth over the already shiny glass of the complex machine. “Come and see,” he said walking to the metallic, window-like box that held the glass vise and several random samples. He placed the cloth beside one of the samples and used tongs to take a used sample out of the glass vise. Ryan moved to a closet on the other side of the room to choose a sliced sample of aluminum.

“Does it do anything to the metal in these other samples? What about the vice?” Jeremy asked, sliding his vial behind one of the samples and drawing the cloth over it.

“We think there might be some effects, but not like those we see in the tested sample. We leave these here as a second test to see if there is residual effect, but the beam is very tight and the laser is pointed sharply at the sample we are testing, still stray X-ray pulses can escape occasionally.” Ryan placed the test sample into the glass vise. “Watch this. You are going to freak.”

Ryan and Jeremy joined Dr. Petroski in the control room and put on their safety eyewear. A loud humming filled the air, the laser was gearing up. “Each of these soft X-ray bursts creates an energy pulse that could power a small city,” Dr. Petroski shouted, “We also shine an ultraviolet beam at the sample so we can determine when it becomes transparent.” A bright flash of light was followed by a pop and buzz. The solid beam of red light lit up the sample and reflected off Ryan’s white rag.

“The rag,” Ryan gasped, alerting Dr. Petroski to the forgotten rag. Jeremy held his breath too, but for a different reason.

“Not to worry, Ryan, if it catches fire, we will stop and put it out,” Dr. Petroski said waving his hand like he was swatting a fly. He watched his sample, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed as it began to fade in the ultraviolet light. “Look, its structure is changing. Jeremy, are you watching?”

“I can’t believe it is disappearing. It’s still there, right? It is only invisible to the short wavelengths of ultraviolet radiation, but not visible light?”

“Yes, it’s there, but it’s transparent under ultraviolet light and it will stay that way for a while. Turn the lights on Ryan, so your friend can see it’s still there.” As the last of the sample disappeared, Dr. Petroski turned off the laser.

Ryan turned on the lights and opened the door, but Dr. Petroski called him back. Jeremy flew into the room to look at the sample. When he reached it, his hand cupped the cloth and he pocketed the now hot vial, and then pulled the cloth back out. 

Ryan moved up behind Jeremy, leaning down to peer at the sample. Startled, Jeremy spun, his elbow cracking Ryan’s nose.

“What the …!” Ryan moaned, blood spurting from his nose. Without thinking, Jeremy handed Ryan the cloth. Ryan said several unsavory things which were muffled by the cloth as he pointed his nose toward the ceiling and stemmed the blood. He sneered and waved off Jeremy’s apologies. “Clutz,” Ryan said, past the bloody rag.

Abashed, Jeremy thanked Dr. Petroski and Ryan for showing him the laser. He grinned good-naturedly as both men teased him about his clumsiness. The entire time, Jeremy kept his fingers around the vial, curiosity and excitement spurred him out the door to find a place to be alone with his synmites.

            Several minutes later, he stopped at a burger joint and ordered. Finding a table out of direct sight of most of the customers, he snagged a few fries. What would he find when he took out the vial? How had his synmites changed? Lost in thought, he munched his fries and ate his hamburger. Would the synmites be dead? Would they still change colors? He had taken a huge risk to preform this experiment and he hoped if it failed that no one ever found out what he had done. He might be forgiven his lapse of ethics because of his age, but he did not want to tell his advisor why his synmites were all dead.

He shoved his finished meal to the side. His heart flew to his mouth and a pain filled his chest as he realized what he had risked to do this unauthorized experiment. If anyone found out, he could lose everything, all his dreams, his future, his career. He drew three deep, calming breaths and then closed his eyes. Nervous energy filled him. Crossing his fingers and holding his breath, he withdrew the vial.

He opened one eye. Then he opened both eyes into wide round circles. Tingles washed over him like a cold, panicky wave. His neck prickled and his breath caught. He looked at his hands. He looked in his pocket. He got out the black box and put the charged wires to the top of the metal lid. Nothing happened. The vial was empty. With slow, measured movements, he opened the lid. The contents were not transparent, they were gone. All of his synmites had escaped.