head. The room swirled around him, a whirlpool of colors, shapes, and objects. His mind
formed a single thought before he fell asleep: Nanotechnology is the cause of Ignotus.
Nanotechnology is the cause of Ignotus. Nanotechnology is the cause of Ig--
************************************************************************
When Winston awoke, a wonted, raw pain throbbed on his head.
“You’re going to crush all those brain cells of yours one day,” spoke a voice
behind him.
“And when I do, I’ll have a brain transplant,” replied Winston feebly, still trying to
ward off the pain.
“I’m sure someone could provide you with Somnus,” suggested the voice. A
stickish, towering, maggot-complected man came into view.
“G-get me a stretcher band and some mediglue, James,” groaned Winston. James
tossed a small, oval-shaped band and a bottle labeled Mediglue to Winston.
“Thanks,” said Winston, already unscrewing the lid of the glue. Nanotechnology.
What was it? He took a fingertip-sized glob of glue, spreading it slowly over the stretcher
band. Nanotechnology is . . . something. Effect of? Cause! He took another gob of
mediglue, applying a second layer. Nanotechnology is the cause of what? Winston slapped
on the stretcher band, catching the nutrition syringe that James had thrown. He stabbed it
into his left forearm, imagining he could feel the nutrients coursing through his
hemoglobin. Nanotechnology is the cause of ignorance? No. A stack of palate strips gently
hit Winston. He looked up and saw James already placing two palate strips on his tongue.
“What’re you tasting?” asked Winston, looking down on his own pile of palate
strips.
“Biscuits and gravy!” replied James, closing his mouth contentedly. Winston was
torn between Cinnamon Roll and Bacon with Eggs. He shrugged and took all three,
saving Bacon with Eggs until the flavor had been leached out of the Cinnamon Roll
palate strip. Nanotechnology is the cause of . . . cause of . . . Ignotus!
“I’ve got to go,” declared Winston hurriedly, standing up shakily and grabbing a
few palate strips without looking.
“Eh?” replied James absentmindedly, staring vacuously. Winston hurried out of the
room, turning right in the direction of his office on the third floor. After walking several
paces, he slowed his gait. After all, there was really no rush. His mind wandered to the
spectacular event taking place that night. A banquet! With real food! No syringes, no
palate strips! Though Winston could hardly remember, non-synthetic food had been quite
plentiful at one point. Before the Global Warming Crop Migration and the Corn Blight, of
course. But now, in 2064, a single chicken wing cost $1,200! A banquet must’ve cost ten
million, if not more! Being Head of the Experimental Department does have its perks,
thought Winston. He arrived at the entrance of his office, pausing for his retina to be
scanned.
“Access granted,” said a female computerized voice. The door swung open for
Winston. He touched the neurogram, feeling the hum that signified it was on. Autopsy
results on Ignotus victims, thought Winston. The neurogram projected a picture of an
autopsied body and broadcast the gruff voice of the coroner. Winston listened, absorbing
the information.
“Here lies the body of Dylan O’Hare, age ten, death presumably from the
mysterious Ignotus Disease or tenebrarius pestilentia. Lining of the small intestine seems
to have been completely ruptured, same goes for the kidney. Parents have reported a
healthy diet: five to six syringes a day. Hemorrhages and internal bleeding are no doubt a
major cause of death. Oddly, no adults have suffered from Ignotus; perhaps it’s a matter of
immune systems.”
Last edited, thought-published Winston. The neurogram projected the same
document, entitled “Potential Harms Regarding Nanotechnological Syringe
Implementations.” Winston scanned the document with glazed eyes, hunting for the one
line. Aha! He found it: The tiny drones bioaccumulate over time in biomolecular areas,
especially in the lining of the rat's small intestine, causing internal bleeding and
hemorrhages, which lead to the rat's death. He tapped the neurogram again, and the
audio of Dylan O’Hare’s autopsy displayed in a separate window to the left of the
research. The circular onyx-colored replay arrow twisted as Winston tapped it. He listened
intently, ears alert for the coroner’s one sentence.
“Lining of the small intestine seems to have been completely ruptured, same goes
for kidney. Parents have reported a healthy diet: five to six syringes a day.”
Nano-particles were stored in all nutritional syringes used for synthetic
nourishment. Their primary purpose was to direct the nutrients to the stomach. It had
never been a problem before: adult immune systems and stomach acids were strong
enough to fight off and discard the infinitesimal bots. In children, however . . . perhaps
not. Nanotechnology causes Ignotus. Winston now knew this to be true.
Nanotechnological bots included in the syringes had caused the deaths of millions of
children globally! The company was definitely going to be shut down . . . uncountable
lawsuits would be filed . . . to whom should he go first? The police? His lawyer? The
hospital? The public, generally? The public seemed to be the best choice. Yet . . . Winston
looked over at the displayed memories of Martha and Thomas . . . smiling, content with
their lives at the moment, not really struggling since Winston received a high salary as
Head of the Experimental Department. If the company were to be shut down, where would
Winston go? If he revealed the cause of Ignotus, a fulmination of controversy would erupt
around the company! Synthiosis wouldn’t be known for saving America from a famine: it
would be known as the company that killed millions of children with its products!
Winston wasn’t sure if other companies would hire him once they learned he had worked
at such a controversial company. Without a job, Winston wouldn’t be able to provide for
Martha and Thomas! But still, humane choices were always the right way. Weren’t they?
His conscience would berate him forever if he didn’t tell the police! Winston made up his
mind in an instant. Special options bar, thought Winston, tapping his research paper.
There were several options on the tab, but Winston had eyes for only two. One option,
which read Share, and another option which read Delete. Winston inhaled deeply, eyes
staring at the miniscule space between the options. He ignored all doubts, focusing only on
his decision. Winston thought-published the option, and the machine finished the process.
He drew back, sure that he had made the right decision. Martha and Thomas, thought
Winston. Behind him, the memory-display of Martha and Thomas didn’t change one pixel
but continued smiling