The Watch in the Sand: Part 9

July 9, 2027

Nanocules become capable of administering major gene therapy. Nanocules are injected that scan and record the patient’s entire genome. The Banks then instruct the Nanocules how to painstakingly reconstruct the patient’s genes, removing minor flaws and genetic risks. The process is anonymous, non-invasive, and takes one month to perform.

Nicknamed ‘scrubbing,’ the process is prohibitively expensive, except for the richest.

October 1, 2027

Gene therapy prices drop to the point where the majority of Nanocule users can afford the process. The Banks begin tailoring various medications to specific patients with the information gleaned from their genes. The effectiveness of these tailored cures increases drastically, while side effects all but vanish.

December 28, 2027

The Banks open their services to the public. Well regulated access to the Line allows users to receive an automatic physical and upload their Nanocule information to the Bank, creating or supplementing a complete medical record for each user. Automatic warnings, reminders, and wellness tips accompany each automatic physical. This unprecedented access and control over personal health records is lauded among the public.

11:10 am, January 5, 2028

Rory was starving. He had heard stories from some of his friends about when they got out, about eating whole meals so fast that they almost couldn’t taste it. Rory was dead set against it. He was not going to relax his throat and let anything slide past without savoring each and every morsel.

Rory loved scrambled eggs. Being in prison had been hard, but the worst part was breakfast. Every day was the same menu — eggs, toast, cereal, oatmeal. Rory took care of his body, and when there’s only one option for protein in the morning, he took it. Prison eggs were runny, floppy, salty, and smelled of sulfur. It was all he could do to choke it down every day. Today, the day he was let out, he had refused. The first thing he was going to do when he got out, he thought, was to get to his old London apartment and have Leslie cook him up her own special recipe of scrambled eggs for lunch. He was not going to let any foul prison egg mess up his palate today.

Leslie always used strong cheese mixed in with the eggs, and usually some dill or marjoram. She always knew exactly how much pepper to sprinkle on top, and never more than a pinch of salt — just enough to highlight the flavors. A master egg-chief should use salt all the time, Rory reflected, but the consumer should never be able to taste it.

Gingerly, he opened his mouth and placed the first forkful of scrambled eggs on his tongue.

Bliss.

“All right then?” Leslie was sitting across from him at their tiny kitchen table. She looked beautiful, her thick makeup making her look like a rock-star, her long brown hair done back in a pony-tail. Rory’s muscles tensed, stopping himself as he felt his fork shoot back to the plate. Slowly, he forced himself to load his fork again as nodded to his girlfriend.

“Brilliant,” he muttered, desperately trying to not swallow the incredible food playing over his throat. “Absolutely smashing.” His hand shook as another bite of egg moved closer to his mouth. They sat in silence for several minutes, as Rory licked his fork clean, and scraped the plate with his fingers. Gradually, he became aware of a nagging feeling at the back of his neck — an awareness of an imperfection in this blissful moment.

“What?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Leslie muttered. She turned her gaze away, looking at nothing in particular in a futile attempt to look busy. She stood and moved to the sink, starting the dishes.

“Go on then,” Rory pushed his clean plate away, and crossed his arms. Leslie shook her head.

“No, seriously, it’s nothin’ important.” She tried to focus on the sink, but now it was Rory’s turn to stare at her until she couldn’t take it any more. She turned off the water, turned around, and crossed her arms, mirroring Rory’s pose. “Why’d you do it?”

“I got out sooner.” Rory stood up and walked to the fridge, yanking a cold beer from the interior. Leslie snorted.

“Yeah? You sure it’s you that got out? What else did they do to your brain? You don’t know what they did in there.”

“Yes I do. They showed me the codes and process, and I checked with some people on the Boards. It was legit.”

“You don’t know that. Could’ve been faked. It was dumb to let them mess with your brain. Something could have gone wrong.”

“We got three years we didn’t have before. If I didn’t let them do their thing, I’d still be in there. Instead, we’ll be celebrating my three year anniversary of getting out of prison!”

“If we’re still together,” Leslie muttered. A frozen silence settled over the kitchen. For a split second, neither of them spoke.

“Are you sorry I got out, is that it? Would you rather have had three more years Rory free?” Rory’s voice was quiet. Leslie was looking at him with an odd expression on her face as he spoke again, louder. “Is it? Were you getting tired of me when they took me away? Was that a good excuse to shag Bruce or Kit?”

“Oh fuck off!” Leslie’s finger was in his face. “I wasn’t the one who got tired last time, and god knows why I took you back!”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Mags again?” Rory slammed his fist on the table. “I was fucking drugged out of my head! I told you I’d never see her again, and I haven’t! I haven’t even bloody talked to her!”

“Yeah, and now you’re all cured of fucking everything, right? They fucking ground your brain and what’s to stop you from fucking off with her now?”

“I still feel the goddamn same about — Christ, are you jealous? You think I’ll run off with someone better? Is that why you don’t like that they fixed me?”

“Oh, fix! That’s lovely, that is. Like neutering a dog, right? Is that all you were?”

“No, I was a bloody murderer!”

For a moment, Rory thought he was about to hit her. He could tell she knew; her hands were hovering around her stomach, ready to guard her face. Her eyes flicked to the bottle in his hands, already half empty and ever so sharp when broken…

For a split second, neither of them moved, waiting for something to happen. Then, Rory’s cellphone rang, snapping the tension in the room like a rubber band. Both Rory and Leslie exhaled, turning away from each other as he reached out to grab his phone from off the table. The small screen displayed proudly: Prison Governor Ken Rickkles.

His breathing came slower as he answered the call.

“Hello?” He glanced at Leslie. She held her head in her hands, leaning against the counter. Rory set his bottle down next to her, and she took a swig.

“What’s going on?” The Governor sounded exactly like in prison, when he would stand directly next to Rory to demand an explanation. Rory fought the urge to stand up straighter.

“The fuck to you care? I’m bloody out, right?” Rory could feel his heart still beating hard. The Governor sounded amused.

“Right, you’re out. Only you’re registering one hell of an adrenaline spike, yeah? So what’s going on?”

“What, you’ve got my pulse?”

“Among other things. All those papers you signed gave us access to your Nanocules. You going to tell me what happened so I can call off the car that’s about to head over?”

“Call off the… what the bloody hell is —”

“You just got out, Rory. You think we haven’t done this before? You’re a convicted felon who was diagnosed with a chemical imbalance in the brain. You damn well know exactly what is going on.”

Rory closed his eyes, and ran his hands through his hair.

“Call off the car,” he muttered. “Just an argument, is all.”

“With who?”

“My bloody goldfish!” Rory shouted. “None of your goddamn business!”

“She doesn’t trust you, does she?” Governor Rickkles voice was calm and quiet. Rory didn’t say anything for a moment, looking at Leslie out of the corner of his eye. She was staring off into the distance, her hand clutched the beer bottle while her other hand slowly and aimlessly twisted her hair in a small ring around her finger. They could see his pulse… could they tell if he lied?

“What are you, my counselor?” Rory turned away from Leslie and walked out of the kitchen. “Fuck off.”

The Governor grunted. “Look, Rory,” he almost sounded concerned. “People are going to be weird about this, you knew that when you signed the papers, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’re going to be weird about it too. We’ve only been trying this therapy for six months. We don’t know exactly how well it works. Here’s what we do know. No one is going to know exactly how to deal with this, and that includes you too, okay? The press is going to hound you for a while, your friends and family are going to look at you sideways, and you’re going to wonder sometimes if you made the right choice. You’re going to go through a lot of stressful situations in the future, and you might even doubt you’re still the same person you were before you went to jail. I want you to get used to the idea that I’m going to be calling you out of nowhere to check up on you. Day or night. And I need you to answer, because if you don’t, we’re going to start getting nosy. And I want you to call me too, okay? Check in if things are bad.”

“What do you care?” Rory tried to sound indifferent.

“You think I’m here to give you a hard time, Rory? You agreed to let the doc mess with your brain chemistry to keep you from hurting anyone. I’m here to make sure nothing goes wrong, but I need your help with that. Right? Stop thinking of me as a guard, or even a parole officer, and start thinking of me as a social worker.”

“You’re my sponsor then? For Convicts Anonymous?”

The Governor laughed loudly into the phone. Rory grinned too — he couldn’t help it. It felt good to smile again, even with old ‘Rutting Rickles.’

“Actually, that’s not a bad way of looking at it. Oh, and go easy on your girl, okay? Remember, this is new for all of us.”

“Right,” Rory took a deep breath.

“Steady does it,” the Governor said, and hung up. Rory turned back to the kitchen and stared at Leslie for a few moments, before he closed his eyes, sighed, and walked back in.