Angel of Mortality: Defender of Life... Creator of Chaos

By David W Stewart

Dr. Raisa Ilyushkin invents a device, the SANG, that creates xenoborgs; continent-sized organisms

that incorporate nanobots, artificial intelligence, and robotics into an efficient living machine.

Stepan Pavlovich, boss of the Apparat, an international crime syndicate, obtains a copy of the SANG

and uses it for

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960629128

David W Stewart

David Witherington Stewart is a Florida-based author. He graduated in 1959 from the University of Florida with a BS in Physics. During the period 1957-1995, he was lead engineer, supervisor, and manager for the atlas, Titan, Apollo, and Space Shuttle.From 1995 to 2009, he owned L & D Consulting, a company that specialized in grants and proposals. He received certificates in novel writing from Humber College and the Writers' Digest School and started writing in 2006.

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Angel of Mortality

Copyright © 2023 by David Witherington Stewart

Published in the United States of America

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-960629-11-1

ISBN Hardback: 978-1-960629-13-5

ISBN eBook: 978-1-960629-12-8

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of ReadersMagnet, LLC.

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EPIGRAPH

Like the microscopic strands of DNA that predetermine the identity of a macroscopic species and the unique properties of its members, the modern look and feel of the cosmos was writ in the fabric of its earliest moments and carried relentlessly through time and space. We feel it when we look up. We feel it when we look down. We feel it when we look within.

* * *

—Neil DeGrasse Tyson 2014

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It has taken me ten years to write this book. I want to remember my best friend for thirty-seven years, Marsha Becker, who passed away in 2019. She was an amazing person, friend, and travel companion, and I miss her every day. She not only helped me to keep a woman’s perspective for my female protagonists in this book, but also in three of my other novels. I would also like to thank Jennifer Collins, who, as my development editor, helped me refine the story. I want to give a big shoutout to two fellow authors who acted as my critique partners: Gillie Bowen and Jeremy Newman. Thank you to Andrea Vest, a close friend for over twenty years, who is always there to support me when I need it the most.

Journal of Dr. Raisa Lyudmyla Ilyushkin

Entry April 18, 2039

When I was a young girl, I imagined evolution as changes in the physiology of organisms. I have learned more and now realize that social changes and technological advances also decide the development of human species. In the 21st century, we are creating new tools: nanotechnology, artificial intelligence, and robotics that will help solve some of our most critical problems: pollution, clean energy, urban development, reforestation, stabilization of temperatures, cancer elimination, alternative transportation, health care, and more.

Some of these tools are already replacing parts of our bodies, while others can advance as entities capable of physical and mental behavior superior to our own, capable of enduring extreme conditions that our bodies could never survive. They will explore, discover, and occupy worlds that we can only imagine. Distant planets and the unknown space of dark matter and energy.

With these tools, will we become a new species, lose our mortal skin, and rise into the epiphany of immortality? Will these new organisms achieve superiority and live in their own worlds of anti-matter and multi-universes? These are boundaries I want to break with my new creations.

Vasyl and I are having production models of our experimental device made. Raduga Chemicals is offering me a position as Chief Scientist for Makarenko Laboratories in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, so I will soon leave Almaty and move to Bishkek. Vasyl is going on to Kyiv.

Chapter 1

Monday, October 3, 2039

Makarenko Laboratories, Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

Raisa

My footsteps echo in the dimly lit corridor, leading to the shipping depot between Makarenko Laboratories and Raduga Chemicals. The tunnel is cool, antiseptically white and clean, and deserted. As I enter the depot, I spot my long-awaited crates sitting on the floor inside the entrance, where my associate Soslan, the coordination supervisor, Enid, and two muscular workers wait for me.

There are three crates. The large one is eight feet square by twenty feet long, and the two smaller ones are cubic, four feet on a side.

Let’s open the crate and see what my invention looks like, I tell Enid.

Which one? she asks, pointing to the two smaller boxes on my right.

The big one. Those smaller crates are the computer and the accessories. We’ll open them and check them out later. I want to see the generator.

As they remove the top and sides, I marvel at the shininess of the smooth stainless-steel machine that appears. The SANG is the size of a modest MRI machine, weighing twenty-five thousand pounds, and includes its own special purpose computer. It reminds me of a Porsche race car I once saw, so sleek and streamlined, vastly different from the prototypes I experimented with in Moscow and Almaty.

It has been a year since I handed over the detailed design specifications to Nurislam Zhakiyanov, an engineer in Kazakhstan, and moved to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, to work as a chief scientist for Raduga Chemicals.

The workers have finished exposing the machine, and I marvel at my own invention as I glide my hand over the plastic protector of the shiny metal. Under the protective cover, there are seam lines through which we insert chemical containers. These creases conceal egg carton drawers, which will hold the chemicals that produce atom-sized building blocks for complex nanobot clusters with specialized functions.

Under a grant from a private foundation, I developed this device, which I call SANG, for Serial Artificial Intelligence Nanobot Generator, and evaluated the prototype in collaboration with an associate, Dr. Vasyl Kozlov. This device will fulfill the dream of my life. Since I was a little girl in 2015 and growing up in Avdiivka, Ukraine, tiny things have fascinated me. The ants in our backyard, the mold on bread, how did these diminutive organisms grow and live?

Russians occupied the Donbass, and life in Avdiivka was rarely peaceful. In 2029, I went to Kyiv to study biology and chemistry, eventually moving to Moscow and earning a doctorate in biophysics there. I left Russia in 2034 to conduct private research and consultancy in Almaty, Kazakhstan.

Before the SANG is operational, more research is needed, but this does not detract from the thrill of seeing and touching this beautiful machine in front of me.

Soslan comes over to me. He is the little brother I have never had, with his clean-shaven Cherubic face and curly light hair. Soslan followed me from Almaty to Bishkek, giving up a well-paid job there. Raduga Fine Chemicals gave me permission to hire two people, a lab assistant, and an associate chief scientist, so I hired Soslan as my lab assistant. He is faithful and knows the struggles Vasyl and I had with perfecting this device.

Those were dark days in the laboratory, when we connected hoses, filled beakers with chemicals, and evaluated a mechanical contrivance built in a machine shop on Great Georgian Street in Moscow. We stayed long nights to publish technical papers that would convince others about the value of our work.

Other investigators followed our efforts just as we tracked their progress. Experiments often ended up being vats of inert glop we threw into the biohazard bin, and we both amassed trips and presentations to convince funders to support our research. Now, thanks to Nurislam and the Mikhailov Foundation, which supports our research, we have two working prototypes. I have one here, and Vasyl owns the other in Kyiv, Ukraine. Nobody else has anything like it.

Every shape, every part, has its purpose. The box-shaped part on the end has all containers, tanks, and chambers to provide the chemicals, liquids and gases needed to produce specially designed nanobot clusters. Gas inlets and outlets are at the extreme end. The computer, including keyboard and screen, attaches to it on the side and controls internal processes.

The cylindrical part in the middle is where all activities take place: separation of the atoms, production of the compounds, assembly of nanobot components, production of nanobots, formation of nanobot clusters, which scientists call xenobots, and activation of xenobots. The chute-shaped mechanism at the other end separates the xenobots by classification, keeps them, and then dispenses them individually or in bulk.

Beautiful, isn’t it? I remark.

Soslan nods. What’s the next step?

Move it into the N-Lab. I arranged to rent a heavy-duty forklift and hired a half-a-dozen helpers. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, so monitor, but stay out of their way.

My associate chief scientist, Nancy, meanders into the depot. I asked her to participate in the morning staff meeting in my place. Shortly after I moved to Bishkek, I hired Nancy. Nancy’s true name is Dr. Jiang Ai-mei, but like other Asians, she took a more common, familiar name. She earned her PhD at Fudan University in Shanghai, China, and has excellent references in organic chemistry.

I have news, she says. That drug you recommended manufacturing, Efadepynec, well, our president talked to the president of Texparq in Kazakhstan and his brother in Uzbekistan, who owns Saryagach Chemicals, and they will form a three-way merger with Efadepynec as their first joint product.

What does Efadepynec do? Soslan asks.

It’s an antibody that prevents the accumulation of certain amino acids, I reply. The Kazakhstan Medicine Review Agency evaluated it and found it is fifty percent effective in delaying Alzheimer’s symptoms. I turn to Nancy. Did he say how this will affect our positions?

She gives me a thumb up. We are part of the deal, you, me, Soslan, Makarenko Labs and the SANG. Texparq’s president knows everything about you and your investigations. He believes that AI nanobots are the future of biophysics.

That’s good. Texparq is bigger and more diversified than Raduga. I’m pleased. Texparq can handle the research costs.

Nancy ambles to the SANG and examines it carefully. I’m ready, she says. I want to begin experimenting.

I nod. Me too, but we’ll have to wait until the N-Lab is ready.

* * *

Monday, October 3, 2039

Holy Resurrection Cathedral

After leaving the lab, I attend the evening service at the Holy Resurrection Cathedral, stand with the local people, and listen to the ten-person adult choir sing beautiful and liturgical music throughout most of the service. Sometimes the priest or cantor interrupts, but the soprano part from the choir is especially lyrical.

The interior of the cathedral has a vaulted barrel ceiling and smooth stone floors. There are paintings on the columns that line the main wall. No one sits in a Russian Orthodox church. The entire service takes place with everyone standing. I’m used to it, so I relax my legs and concentrate on the proceedings.

Children attend the service and group together near the front, taking peeks between the priests and the audience to view what is going on. It takes me back to 2032, my first month in Moscow. A Russian artillery shell killed my parents in July of the previous year, and the Russian bear finally split Ukraine, consuming my homeland in the Donbass and pushing Western Ukraine out of the fold into the European Union. I went home to Avdiivka to settle my estate, and mourned not only the loss of my parents, but also my country. The church became my sanctuary, the only way I could deal with my loss.

Russians looked down on me because I was Ukrainian, and we had been at war, but standing with the crowd inside a place of worship, I blended in. Seven years ago, I was twenty and grieving. Now, as then, I believe, as a confirmed Christian, that God loves us all. Here, in Bishkek, I am an outsider again, but inside the cathedral, merely one of the worshipers. I left Ukraine, Russia, and Kazakhstan to move to a new home in Kyrgyzstan. Once again, the church is my sanctuary.

Chapter 2

Thursday, October 13, 2039

A Warehouse in Pecherskyi-District, Kyiv, Ukraine

Vasyl

Vasyl Kozlov paces the floor of the warehouse where Rustam said they should meet. The building stores SANG II, his copy of the SANG. It is in a container on a truck parked inside the warehouse, and the driver has gone outside to smoke a cigarette. Vasyl does not know Rustam, other than by sight, but he gave Vasyl one hundred thousand euros to meet with his boss, a name everyone in Russia recognizes, Stepan Pavlovich, former boss of the Russian Mafia, Bratva, and the big boss of the Apparat, the Transnational Crime Syndicate.

Exactly on time, at 14:00, Rustam appears at the entrance to the warehouse with two other men, one of whom Vasyl reckons is Stepan Pavlovich. Rustam and one of the men stay at the warehouse door, on guard duty, and the other man approaches Vasyl. He is six and a half feet tall, over two hundred pounds, with a full beard and a bowl cut, dressed all in black.

I’m Stepan Pavlovich. His face is set in a permanent scowl. Tell me about your machine.

Vasyl notices the bulge of a blaster under Stepan’s jacket, and his voice quivers when he answers. It forms tiny organisms that will do what you program them to do.

Could they create a disease, a pandemic, which would kill many people?

I’ve never thought of that. It’s something to avoid. Yes, I suppose I could program them to do that. Why would you want to create such a disease?

Stepan finds an empty cable spool to sit on and pulls it over. He motions for Vasyl to sit. Sit, and I’ll tell you why.

Vasyl grabs a small box and sits on that.

Stepan continues. You’re a scientist, so you realize the earth is overcrowded. Overpopulation, global warming, and pollution are killing us off, and I plan to stop it. Stepan ceases talking and stares at Vasyl.

By creating a plague? That’s madness, and it’s dangerous. A plague could be dangerous. It could kill indiscriminately. Do you want to cull humans as a herdsman discards sheep, keeping only the best and strongest?

Stepan smiles, an evil smile with slit eyes and a slight nod of the head. Precisely. Can your miniature demons do that?

I’d have to think about how to do that. My nanos will not read minds, and human physiological differences are subtle, not at once obvious through DNA analysis or any such mechanism. People aren’t sheep.

Stepan appears not to react. What exactly does he want? I don’t see any value to the mob in reducing the population. You don’t appear to be the type who would do that for altruistic reasons, says Vasyl. What would you like to do?

Stepan seems to welcome the question and leans forward on both elbows. If everyone left alive is loyal to me, I will control everything.

That is madness, but also means power and money for me. I will need help, scientists who understand my research.

I’ve been talking to scientists in North Korea who have closely followed your experiments. They tell me with your device, and potential improvements, it may be possible to create superior intelligent machines that can perform all the tasks people need without artificial energy sources, strictly using sunlight and physiological consumption. These machines would be subservient to their master, and could guarantee me a long life, and even immortality. Can you create a structure like this?

If North Korea provides the proper talent, we can do it together. I did the mechanical design, but my partner, Raisa Ilyushkin, did the biochemical analysis. Neither of us has the ability in systems engineering or computer analysis to do all you suggest. I will need assistance.

North Korea will provide any expertise you need. I will buy your device for four million euros and hire you to supervise the development of this plague. I am having a laboratory constructed for you to use in Mong-la, Myanmar. Rustam will arrange to have your device shipped there and for you to travel to Mong-la, without any trace of where you or your machine have gone. You will leave tonight.

Mong-la? I’ve never heard of it. What else is in Mong-la? Why should I go there?

Mong-la is the Sin City of the Orient, and the armies of the Shan State are my allies. You may have anything you wish, women, tasty food, or entertainment. Be careful no one knows who you are or what you are there for. My enemies are your enemies, and my friends are your friends.

I’ll be a criminal, and a murderer. Vasyl contemplates the holstered blaster under Stepan’s jacket, and the two confederates at the door of the warehouse. I will not get a better offer, and what would be the consequences if I said no to this one? Okay, it’s a deal.

Stepan holds out his hand. Shake on it, I’ll tell Rustam.

After shaking hands, Stepan goes to the door and talks to the two men. The man Vasyl does not know comes inside, and the other two leave. I’m Emil, the man says. I’ll help you pack, and then we’re taking a private flight to Myanmar.

As they walk out of the warehouse, Vasyl perceives the truck driver come in with another man and watches the truck with SANG II on its trailer leave the warehouse and drive out of sight. Am I four million euros richer, or one unique machine poorer?

Chapter 3

Sunday, October 23, 2039

Raisa’s Apartment, Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

Raisa

Raduga Fine Chemicals offers me a spacious apartment in its executive apartment building. Executive accommodations are like a hotel, including a restaurant and room service. My fifth-floor apartment is large enough for two people, so I decide to use the second bedroom as an office. I order a meal from the executive dining room and work on a computer program to produce our first nanobot organisms. The production program is primarily an instruction set that provides step-by-step commands to formulate, assemble and activate individual nanobot groups.

These individual groups perform tasks such as producing and distributing energy, replicating and conditioning new and replacement nanobots, visualizing and sending images, and more than a hundred similar tasks. I see them as organs in the body. Each nanobot acts as a cell and responds to commands from a master command structure connected to the computer.

The artificial intelligence software dwells within the same computer and learns from the nanobot interactions with different environments. For example, in actual use, it can learn to recognize and identify a form of cancer cell so that other xenobots can destroy it. In my vision, xenobots form the organic components within a robotic structure designed to manufacture equipment or facilities, check and adjust environmental factors, or perform surgical operations. These robots, I call xenoborgs.

It is lonely work, and I miss Vasyl’s companionship, even though we argued constantly. We first started working together as graduate student lab partners in the physical chemistry laboratory course. Intellectually, we worked well together. He has a better grasp of physical principles and instrumentation than I do, and I have the knowledge of chemistry and computer interfaces.

He has always been interested primarily in the money our invention might bring, more an entrepreneur than a scientist. His impatience annoyed me, but I tolerated it because he is brilliant.

My interest is in the benefits we can give humanity. Improvements in medicine, manufacturing, even space exploration. These microscopic organisms will go where humans, ordinary robots, and even unintelligent nanobots cannot go. Before I can realize any of my dreams, there are dozens of hurdles to overcome.

Vasyl and I worked together after graduation, but struggled for funding. I finally got a grant approved by the Mikhailov Foundation, which recognizes the potential benefits of the SANG, and recommended my appointment to the World Health Organization technical advisory commission. This appointment gives me the opportunity to associate with research partners worldwide, colleagues investigating disease, medicine, environmental concerns, and community infrastructure. The chair of the commission is Dr. Claude Durant, a brilliant epidemiologist.

After we completed the design with Nurislam, Vasyl and I gave the specifications to a manufacturer. We ended our collaboration and agreed to go our separate ways. Following a lengthy court battle with Vasyl, I kept the grant funding from the Mikhailov Foundation. They are committed to the humanitarian applications of our device. Vasyl went off to find his own funding.

After dinner, I began drinking aquavit and snacking on pickled herring. The alcohol is going to my head, so I cannot concentrate anymore. It is time to go to bed.

* * *

Makarenko Laboratory in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

* * *

Journal of Dr. Raisa Lyudmyla Ilyushkin

Entry Monday, October 24, 2039

The SANG has arrived, and it’s beautiful. We’ll move it today, so we can get it working. I won’t know if it was damaged in shipping until I power it up and run the self-test program.

* * *

The N-Lab is a Class 4 Biosafety Laboratory (BSL-4), suitable for managing dangerous pathogens including Ebola, SARS, or COVID-19. Five days earlier, I supervised the opening of the lab so that workers can roll the SANG on the forklift into place, level it, and bolt it down. We need two weeks after that, while they rebuild the lab and purge it, before we can have it operational again.

It is 9:00 when I stride into the depot where the SANG is still sitting. The depot is large, containing worktables and shelves. The SANG is located near the entrance to the main tunnel, which goes from the depot to the Raduga manufacturing complex to the left, and to Makarenko Laboratories to the right. The main door for receiving shipments is at the other end of the depot main area.

Soslan is talking to a workman. Is the forklift here yet? I ask. Are the laborers ready?

The forklift is sitting outside, and the operator is here, says Soslan. The movers are on their way and will be here in half-an-hour. Nancy’s in the N-Lab, making sure everything is clear and stowed. The depot tunnel goes straight to the N-Lab, and we will have enough clearance.

Is there a safety inspector here?

Soslan nods. Upstairs. He’ll come down when we call.

In the laboratory or at the computer, I can be patient, but hanging around the depot, waiting for things to happen, pulling at my inner demons, I find myself praying, seeking forbearance for my greater purpose. Images of my childhood in Avdiivka, Ukraine, fill my thoughts, and I am again that young girl, fascinated by butterflies, dandelions, and ants.

Our house in Avdiivka is no more, destroyed by the war. I have put Ukraine, Russia, and Kazakhstan behind me, and a new adventure awaits in Kyrgyzstan.

If I hoist it up in the middle, the man says, I can slide it back farther on the forks and it’ll ride more smoothly down the tunnel. He is talking to me, and I realize he must be the forklift operator.

I shake my head. The weight isn’t distributed evenly. Let me show you. I lead him to the back of the SANG and bend down. Check these? I point to two flip outs on the bottom. We designed these so the forks go between them, and most of the weight will go to the back on the fork. You can drive straight into the N-Lab and align to the tie-downs where the gas panel will go. We can shim it level before you drop it into place.

I’ll bring in Old Horse, and we’ll give’er a go, says the driver and walks away. Nancy comes out of the tunnel and strides toward me. She is wearing dark blue coveralls with a red collar, with her hair pulled in a tight ponytail. Soslan is in the N-Lab giving the workmen their instructions, she tells me.

I hear the depot main service door rolling open and a diesel engine revving from the outside. Old Horse rolls down the main aisle and pulls in behind the SANG. Line me up, says the driver. Nancy gets on one side, I direct from the other, and we motion instructions with our hands. I never knew a forklift could move its forks independently, and soon, the driver has the forks aligned exactly between the guides.

I motion him to move forward, and the forks slide neatly under the SANG. After a minute, the forklift is tightly against the rear protective plate, and the driver lifts the SANG six inches off the ground. He tilts the forks backward about five degrees, and the SANG settles firmly into place. He raises the forks another foot, and we begin the slow procession toward the tunnel. We move through the tunnel at two feet per second, come into the laboratory building, and I signal the driver to stop. I need to find out if Soslan is ready in the N-Lab.

I leave the tunnel and walk down the corridor toward the N-Lab. Soslan stands in the opening through which we will drive the forklift. A contractor removed the airlock and widened the passage through the locker room and suit-room to allow the forklift to move into the main laboratory. Lag-bolts in the floor mark where the SANG will go, and the six workers station themselves around the perimeter.

We’re ready, says Soslan. Bring it in.

I wave the forklift operator to come in, and he rolls the machine slowly down the corridor and into the room. The workers’ supervisor and another laborer check clearance as he creeps through the opening into the lab. The forklift operator aligns the SANG with the tie-downs, and the supervisor motions him to stop and raise the SANG. A worker brings a wrench and loosens the footing on the left front of the SANG. The supervisor taps it forwards and to the left, and the worker tightens the fastening with a torque wrench.

The forklift driver lowers the SANG onto the lag-bolts. The workers install shims at three attach-points until the supervisor is satisfied it is level, and then a worker torques down the lag-nuts. The SANG now sits in its new home.

At the moment, the N-Lab is stark. We removed the sensitive lab equipment and opened the walls to allow access to install the SANG. In two weeks, the N-Lab will be operational again, with its work cabinets, lab equipment, and life support systems reinstalled. Then, we can power up the SANG and connect the gas hoses.

I thank the workers and the forklift operator, and stand and stare at my creation. Well, I say to Nancy and Soslan, it’s all desk work until they get the N-Lab functional.

Chapter 4

Friday October 28, 2039

Promzona Club

Raisa

Friday evening, Nancy and I go to the Promzona Club together for a light dinner, drinks, dancing, and the music. Bishkek’s men are well-behaved, and Nancy and I look out for one another. I am nursing a glass of vodka when a tall man with wavy brown hair approaches our table. The muscles bulging under his dark blue polo suggest ample gym time.

Would you like to dance? he asks. He glances over to Nancy and asks, Do you mind?

Nancy gives a cursory giggle. No, of course not. I’ll circulate, talk to some friends. Nancy gets up from the table, offers the man her chair, but he remains standing.

Do you want to dance or talk? I ask. Let me finish my drink, and we’ll dance.

The owner said you were new in town. His clear blue eyes dart meaningfully around the night club, and then come back to me. He thinks you are Russian and suggested I meet you.

I’m Ukrainian. I could tell him that I’m not interested, but he seems friendly and has a Slovenian accent. Where are you from? You’re not local and you’re not Russian.

The world. I’m a security consultant, but was born in Sarajevo.

A soldier of fortune?

Hush, with a finger to his lips. That’s passé. I work for the United Nations.

I frown. Really? That’s hard to believe.

The man reaches inside his vest, pulls out a blue booklet, and hands it to me. I read the front, United Nations laissez-passer. I open it and check the photo. It is his face with the same rugged features and heavy eyebrows. Damir Palamachuk. Impressive. These don’t come in a cereal box. I hand the booklet back to him.

Now that you know who I am, who are you?

The waiter brings us fresh drinks, and the man sits down. Younger people crowd the club around us, moving to the beat of a live rock band on stage. Sometimes, lights flash around us in a laser show, but we can’t see it through the dancers. It’s loud, but we can keep talking.

He has planned this out. I should be suspicious. I’m Raisa Ilyushkin, chief scientist for Raduga Fine Chemicals.

You’re attractive for a scientist.

Why, for a scientist? Aren’t scientists allowed to be pretty? It must be the light.

No, Damir says. It’s not too dark. My eyes are not lying to me. Maybe, we could be friends.

Tempting. One can use a friend in a strange place, but it is too soon to think about that. You wanted to dance? The music beckons.

He takes my hand, and we go on the floor just as the band starts up something with a heavy one-two beat and synthesizer artistry. The younger people are jumping up and down and swaying, but Damir is smooth, and we dance as a couple, jazz dance steps I remember from my nights out in Moscow. I enjoy myself, putting thoughts of the laboratory aside for a time.

When we return to our table, I am a trifle out of breath. Nancy is talking to a young man with a short haircut and dark eyes. This is Sukhrab, she says. Raduga Chemicals employs him as well.

I nod as Damir helps me take my seat. Damir is a United Nations security consultant, I volunteer. Do you travel a great deal? I ask him.

Regularly, he answers. I just came back from Yemen, in the Middle East.

What did you do there? Nancy asks.

I installed a border protection and security system for their national security forces.

We continue our conversation. Nancy and Sukhrab leave the table, and later the crowd begins to thin out. I have to prepare for work tomorrow, I say, so I have to leave.

Any chance I’ll see you again? asks Damir.

I eat lunch at Shokoladnitsa almost daily.

I’ll look for you, he says, as he stands up, puts three one thousand SOM notes on the table, and leaves.

The waiter comes, picks up the money, smiles, and says, He’s a fine man. The owner thought you two would hit it off.

I am not sure I like that, other people getting into my personal life.

I go looking for Nancy, so I can drive her home before I return to my apartment.

* * *

Makarenko Laboratories in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

Wednesday, November 2, 2039

The merger of Texparq, Raduga and Saryagach continues without incident, and Erasyl Nabiyev, chief executive officer, wants to meet with me and Nancy at the Texparq headquarters in Almaty, Kazakhstan. No one tells me what the meeting is about or what I need, so I don’t know. He wants Nancy there, so we both have to go. How do we prepare?

I lived in Almaty for three years and was associated with executives at Texparq. In particular, the legal counsel, Melana Beshimov, became a friend of mine.

I call Melana, and her administrative assistant connects us.

Melana, I say, Erasyl wants to meet with me and my associate. What will he want to know?

I’m not a mind reader, but I’ve been listening to him. There was a moment of silence. "He asked me if I would move