Nichols had spent the past twenty years developing the technology to upload the human brain into software form and download it into an operational silicon substrate. It was his crowning achievement, the fulfillment of his stated life goal “to end human death and make possible the transmission of our human-machine civilization to all parts of the universe.”

“But how could Nichols’s activities threaten life on earth?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know. The only thing I can figure is the danger of gray goo.”

“Gray goo?”

“That’s the name given to a doomsday scenario in which artificial manufacturing cells self-replicate out of control and consume the entire planet’s resources within a few days.”

“So…what does that have to do with Bryson Nichols?”

“Much of NTI’s work requires the use of nanites.”

Abby looked stunned. “Nanites? Did you say nanites?”

“Yes. That’s what the manufacturing cells are called. Why?”

“Creighton, my village was poisoned with nanites.”

Abby’s revelation immediately transformed the paradigm under which I was operating. “How do you know it was nanites?”

“Because that’s what the lab in Papua New Guinea said.”

“They told you that?”

“They told my doctor friend, Kate Sampson. She was the one who went back with me to the village.”

“Did the lab establish the source of the nanites?”

“I think Kate sent a sample to the States to find that out.”

“And what did they find?”

“I don’t know. Why? What are you thinking?” Abby looked unnerved.

I got up from the table and started pacing. “Abby, if the village died of nanites, someone had to infect them. That means they were murdered.”

She looked down at the table and spoke in a whisper. “I know.”

“So let’s review. Your grandfather sends a dire warning message to three people, possibly implicating Bryson Nichols. Ray was going to communicate with them further, but he unexpectedly dies. Within two weeks my father, one of the three recipients, is dead. So is your village, where another message was sent. That leaves Lauren Caldwell.”

“Who is tied to Nichols.”

I stopped pacing and pivoted toward Abby. “She is? How?”

“Nichols funds her political career.”

“According to whom?”

“Sabin.”

I walked slowly back to the table and sat. I stared past her, lost in thought. This was growing more ominous by the minute.

“Creighton, are you…” She could barely get the words out. “Are you thinking that my grandfather and your father were murdered?”

I nodded. “I think it’s very possible. And if they were…” I looked at her. “Abby, who might know you’re here?”

22

The wind on the outdoor porch at Sal’s Seaside Café had whipped up. It matched Lauren’s unsettled feeling as she walked to her mentor’s table. She put on her best scowl as she sat. “We’re down another three percentage points in two weeks, Hutch.”