Synth

By Alex Durkin

Many grand undertakings begin as good intentions. Most miraculous works transform under the pressures of interest. Some saviors become devils. After the revolution the order returns, wiser for its privation. What will it mean to exist in the coming age?

Doctor Doug Stone has mastered the microbiome to aid criminal investigations. Hersh Clayton has developed an artificially intelligent social service. General Clay has ambition second only to that of the being that Hersh and Doug unwittingly create. Humanity may finally give way to the technology we’ve wrought. Along the way you will experience the minds of digital beings, witness the unraveling of eternal space and time, and feel the singularity first-hand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Durkin
• Release date: Nov 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311247513

Alex Durkin

I'm a surveyor with a degree in philosophy. I enjoy using fiction to explore philosophical and social issues while building exciting sequences in my writing. I hope to create thoughtful and exciting stories that invite readers to adjust their expectations and suspend their disbelief. I hope to depart, along with the reader, from reality in order to look back upon reality and find deeper meaning. And I hope we have fun. Thanks for coming to my Author Page.

Book preview

FOREWORD

It is an age of new facts, new pursuits, and new knowledge informing new practices. It is a new age that stands firm in its convictions while it scoffs at the backwardness of ages past. This age cares not for the railroad nor the electrification of rural homes, nor the cure for cancer. The world lurks somewhere in the midst of this new age’s rapture, trembling with anticipation—or is that dread—of what this new age will bring.

CHAPTER ONE

Adrenaline, joy, and dread crackled through his spine as the young student, his fingers perched like spiders upon the covers, his lips pursed to blow the dust from the gold-leafed page edges, prepared to discover the secrets of a forbidden knowledge. The cover was brown like the color of dried blood. He detected a rotten fragrance. Life eats itself and this book was no different, being, as it was, consumed by mold. As he finally, reverently opened the cover of the volume he felt an unexpected arousal. It was sexual and he blushed. But he also ran his fingers across the embossed first page, devouring the contours and relishing their fragile firmness. He liked that they stood up to him, so long as he was gentle. He wanted to crush them—not yet. Slowly and deliberately his face sank into the crease. He inhaled through his nose and drank the filthy damp essence deep into his soul.

He read nothing that night, and not just because the book was in Turkish. All of his preparations were still ready the next morning when he went to school. All of his plans were intact and waiting for his obligations to be met. But all of his intentions and desires had died. In that quickening they were reborn, but as what he was unsure.

#

"As the teaming forest conquers the hillside so do swarms of microscopic beings conquer every square micrometer of you. Some grow upon your skin like grass while others forage among the grasses like deer or hunt like wolves or giant boas. Bacteria, archaea, fungi, protozoa, algae, viruses, and even parasites make up such a critical part of who you are that in many cases we can’t tell where you end and they begin. The flora and fauna in and on you, your microbiome, are similar to other peoples’ but are also wholly unique to you. Your microbiome is influenced by the environmental factors of your life as well as by the environmental factor of you, which is to say your personal composition. In the lining of your gut, upon your skin, in your organs and tissues, fighting for and against your immune system, microbes are performing vital functions that make you who you are.

"Some of you read paper books. When you do, don’t you smell the book? I mean intentionally. With intention. For pleasure. The pulp and glue of the book enter your nose and while their constituents are literally teaching your olfactory bulb a new and unique fragrance, your constituents, micro flora and fauna, are prospering from the influx of new energy. They have a mess to clean up for you, but to them it’s food. If I conduct an autopsy, I may scrape your nasal passages and discover an abundance of microbes that eat wood fiber and glue. These are similar to some of the cellulose processing species that occupy the guts of termites. Ah ha! You’re a reader of traditional books! That’s how biotic profiling works.

"Of course most of you read on screens. People who read on screens, which are people who spend proportionately more time on screens that are within half a meter of their face, blink less than those who read on paper. Blinking redistributes oxygen throughout the surface of the eye. Oxygen keeps the microbes on the rim of your eyelid healthy. If I found oxygen starved microbes on the rim of your eye I would know at least that you possibly spend a fair amount of time looking at screens that are close to your face. That combined with a few other tests should tell me not just upon which media you rely for information and entertainment, but whether you seek mainly information or mainly entertainment, how you physically interact with your media, and a startling array of personal information about what specific media has influenced you lately. Your microbiome will change in important and revealing ways throughout the course of one day. But it will also bear evidence of yesterday, last month, and your upbringing.

"Biotics can easily narrow down significant factors such as communities of origin, diet, age, health, wealth, et cetera. Biotic profiling is criticized primarily for being overly speculative. That is where the art meets the science and I do not deny that criticism. That is where it gets fun! Some of you are studying biology or pre-med. Others are studying criminal justice or law. And yet others are just curious. I hope to satisfy you all. We will get into some biology but not too much. We will get into some philosophy as well."

He spent the rest of the session going over the course expectations, the university’s code of conduct, grading criteria, and the rest of the first day fare. In his estimation, the students would become terrified of his formidable mind, awe-struck by his projection of thought, and utterly incapable of mounting a word, let alone an approach. He forgave them for their timidity and knew from experience that a few of them would eventually muster the heart to speak to him. Below them at a dim podium the students observed a stumpy, awkwardly dressed, balding man with a sharp pointed mustache and a healthy dose of weird. He closed class by assigning chapter one of his own book.

As the students left he made a show of packing his things (a notepad) into his bag. He didn’t want to walk out ahead of or among the students. He adjusted the straps and then pulled out his phone, looked at it cock-eyed, then put it back, and tossed a redundant look at the clock on the wall. Finally he just stood there, watching the last students file out. When they had all left he followed. He walked slowly down the hall so as to not catch up to any of them. Anyone who was watching may have been concerned that the clean-cut pasty man who was dressed so abundantly may have, upon emerging from the Engineering Building into the broad, early September midday, burst into flames or evaporated or done whatever creepy, undead things do when confronted with direct sunlight. He walked to his car, a small, vague sedan, and drove home.

On his way he picked up his lunch, the same sandwich from the same sandwich shop as any other day. Sitting in his driveway he finished the last big bite. He entered his house still chewing. Just about the time he gulped down the last remnants of his sandwich he was crossing the threshold into his basement lab.

Doug Stone’s basement was like many others. It was partially finished with floor joists and studs exposed in some places and covered in others. There were light fixtures as well as naked bulbs with pull strings. He understood the matrix of electrical circuitry well enough to know which combinations of switches, strings, and outlets would trip his breakers. There was a floor drain in the corner. He had things piled up in the dark section. It was damp and cold.

This basement, however, also featured a lab. It wasn’t fancy. It was made of filing cabinets that held up plywood sheets and recycled counters. There was a computer. The cabinet counter desks encircled a table with a giant microscope, some processing equipment, and an airtight glass case in which Doug ran most of his experiments. Underneath the central island was a cupboard containing his glassware and other tools. There were several small refrigerators and freezers.

His sample for the police was almost completely rendered. He thought of his contact at the local police department, Deb Cornan, while his computer booted. She had helped Doug start his career. He had been trying to market biotic profiling to investigators for several years when Deb gave him his first real assignment. She had wanted him to collect and analyze biotic information from an entire motel room. Since they were pioneering the field together neither understood the amount of work that job would require. Doug wasn’t yet experienced enough to target his samples and limit the scope of his work without detracting from his findings. The job took him five weeks working around the clock. He estimated that his hourly rate ended up being well below minimum wage for that first real biotics job. But all those days and nights with Deb, eating pizza together, getting to know each other, and commencing a long term business relationship were payment enough. His monitor went black for a moment during the process of starting up and he caught in his dull, muted reflection a soft smile.

He checked his email and, sure enough, there was a message from Detective Deb Cornan:

Dr. Stone:

Just checking on the sample. Have you had time to run it? If so what have you found? We have some exciting but time-sensitive leads to work on. Please let me know as soon as you get this.

Deb

After analyzing the results of his tests he replied:

Detective Cornan:

I have attached my findings to this email in a report. As usual, there is an abundance of alcohol resistant biota, as well as more than typical anaerobic and tar-digesting microbes indicating both alcohol and combustive substance use.

Most interestingly, this saliva sample contains a horse biofilm microbe. Could this be due to a cosmetic product? To the consumption of horse, in France, perhaps? To an equestrian love affair?! Alas, answering these questions is your job, Detective. I would love to hear what the horse connection is, if you ever find it.

Dr. Stone

Doug read over the email a few times making minor changes. He kept coming back to the last line. Should he say sincerely or yours? Should he sign as Doug for familiarity sake? He opted for safety and sent it.

Finally Doug settled in to his real work. He removed from a freezer Subject 1302. It was a grey squirrel killed by a car strike. It was partially disemboweled, its rear appendages were a total loss, but its heart, brain, and lungs were mostly intact. He had found this one in his own neighborhood. It was still alive when he had salvaged it causing him to thrust it into a plastic gallon bag with a bit more care than usual. Then he sealed the bag, terminating the squirrel’s air supply. He placed the dead and now frozen thing into a drawer and slid it into the airtight glass chamber. The airlock operation made small, comfortable noises. Using gloves attached to a wall of the glass chamber he manipulated the squirrel into position. Then he pulled the drawer out and into the drawer he placed a syringe. He pushed the drawer back into the glass chamber. There the syringe was in the chamber with the squirrel. He picked up the syringe and squirted some fluid onto the squirrel. He brought the syringe back out and dumped bleach into the drawer, soaking the syringe. Then he washed his hands, shut down his computer, and went upstairs to have dinner.

Overnight the squirrel would thaw and the parasite he had administered to its surface would slowly take hold of it. Tomorrow the squirrel would still be dead—and perhaps more.

#

The chicken breasts he had taken from the freezer this morning were now ready for the grill. Doug checked that his supplies were in order. He had a sample wipe, a pre-labeled plastic bag, and a pre-treated beer glass laid out on the counter. He checked over a notepad that was also on the counter. He practiced a few questions and then put the notepad away under the junk in a drawer. He did some general pick up and then, when he was ready, set the chicken on the grill. The trap was baited. Shortly after he fired up the grill there was the most predictable knock of all time at his door.

Martin, you’re back again?

Hi, Doug. I brought over a beer for you to try. You’ll like this; it’s actually made from one plant. The plant secretes the beer and they process it a little further and, cheers!

A likely story.

What was that?

I’ll like it, I’m sure! Thanks.

Yeah it’s a new microbrewery. Actually the founder is that one scientist, Hersh Clayton. He does that bioengineering of plants to make things like chairs and lamps and buildings. Oh, it looks like I’m interrupting dinner. What are you having?

Chicken on the grill. You must have smelled it.

Doug took the beer to the kitchen and immediately wiped it for a sample of Martin’s hand biofilm, which is the network of living things on the surface of animals. Doug sampled Martin’s hand most nights and compared the results with the contents of their conversations, which he noted after one evening’s encounter in his notebook and then referred to just before the next evening’s encounter. Martin was, of course, unaware. Through this method with Martin and others Doug had learned much about what the presence or absence of certain microbes could mean. He put the wipe in the plastic bag and put the bag in the freezer. He then filled the beer glass he had prepared for Martin’s visit. Inside the glass were some alcohol resistant microbes that would enhance Martin’s appetite. Tomorrow Martin should be unusually hungry as a result.

So, Martin began from the family room, my son is over in Greece, you know, and he’s doing great. He’s working for this French chef at a French restaurant in Athens.

Doug ventured his first interview question, Martin, are your eyes bothering you at all?

What? No. They’re fine. Anyways, he meets this beautiful girl, she comes into the restaurant and likes her meal so much that she wants to speak to the chef. The chef doesn’t like people so he sends out Orthogonal. Ort sweeps her off her feet. She turns out to be the Princess of Greece! The Greek Monarchy was abolished in the seventies but she would have been heiress to the throne!

Wow. Say, what about your taste buds? Are foods tasting normal lately?

Yeah, pal, I’m fine. Are you Ok? What’s with the—

Oh, nothing. I think I’m coming down with something.

So, anyways, she’s still a pretty big deal over there. Now they’re vacationing in the Greek islands. I think he quit his job, which is too bad, but there’s a lot of turnover in restaurants, anyhow.

Martin went on throughout the preparation, consumption, and cleanup of dinner. Doug snuck in certain questions relating to both last night’s hand sample and microbial plant. Martin would answer and then return to whatever he had been talking about. He finally went home and Doug unmuted the TV and fell asleep twenty minutes later in his chair.

#

Doug awoke in the middle of the night to an unusual commercial advertising a laxative. He began the grueling trek to bed but by the time he got up he was awake enough to check on 1302. As he reached for the basement door he imagined what he wanted to see when he got down to his lab. He held the cold knob with his eyes closed and saw the wall along the staircase on the other side of the door. The studs panned by him while the stairs creaked. He approached the corner, beyond which the yellowish glow of the light shining on his glass case seemed like the gates of heaven itself. It was storming outside and the small window near the ceiling flashed with lightening. Oh, Death! Where is thy sting? And he saw in his glass case that there stood, or halfway knelt/slimed, 1302, triumphant! A champion of life, a rebuke of the frailty of flesh as constructed by nature! Improved by the mind of a man brought to bear upon nature! He was smiling, now, basking in this victory. But uhg! It wasn’t real. He was at the door, still. He knew that the squirrel hadn’t had enough time to thaw and become saturated. Going downstairs was pointless. He went to bed.

#

The morning light through the partially drawn shade and the sound of birds awoke Doug. He walked to the kitchen and made his usual breakfast: an egg and a mix up of bell peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, onion, sausage and, today, chimichurri. He made an espresso and walked downstairs while his breakfast cooked.

No matter how hard he tried to foster a scientific environment in his lab Doug just could not get enough light into the basement. What little bit muddled through his small basement windows was just enough to offset the yellowish bask of his glass chamber light. Logic and subtle observation told him that when he flipped the switch the space got brighter, but his heart couldn’t sense it.

1302 lay still in the center of the plate inside the glass chamber. It was not, after all, improved. If anything the thawed out squirrel looked a little worse for the wear. Doug extracted 1302 and placed it in his crematorium along with the rest of formula 1302. He recorded his nil result and set up his data sheet for 1303. After retrieving breakfast he checked his email. There was nothing from Deb yet. She wouldn’t respond until after eight AM. Time to prep his students’ samples.

Doug wanted to isolate a microbe that feeds on human hair. First he would thoroughly clean the desks right before class. Then he would place a drop of his sample on each surface. The students’ immune systems should make short work of these bugs but in the meantime they would feel itchy. Tomorrow they will work on some kind of group orientation project, or something. He would watch and record their squirms. After class he would collect samples from the desktops of those who had stopped sooner and those who had never stopped. He would compare their biofilm samples to see, or at least speculate, why they were different.

As for Martin, he didn’t want to do anything to confound that night’s results so he had no test planned. This was a big deal.