Jovan's Gaze

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

Where did one learn about nanobots? These tiny machines, if I recalled correctly, had been around for a great many years, perhaps centuries. Where did such information reside? In my world, one would go to the palace tower where the mages maintained a special library. It was separate from the great palace library, and one learned of all things strange and powerful. One sought their wisdom in such matters. Here though, there were no mages, and knowledge was not guarded in towers.

Still hidden in my alley corner, with the refuse bin to shield me, I sat down and began searching. I was hungry and in need of water, but that would all have to wait. I lay my pistol in my lap, and it hummed ever so slightly. It was set to kill, for fear that I would not get a second shot, should a police officer or soldier come upon me suddenly and unnoticed.

I sought out the information on my compad. My fingers danced upon the compad's screen, each gentle tap urging the machine onward. The information moved by as I gained confidence with the device. The lights flickered as text and images appeared, moved about, and were replaced by others. With the help of the very nanobots I sought to learn about, I quickly grew accustomed to the device and its operation. For the first time since walking out of the desert, I felt normal, in control. It seemed so natural, and even the knowledge that it was the machines within me that made it so, did not make the feeling any less satisfying.

A library function on the device was happy to offer a history of nanobot technology, from its early beginnings as a way to eliminate terrible diseases, through its uses in mending the bodies of those terribly injured, or felled by strokes. There was no mention of their use on the shores of Theris, as was done to me. I found the omission odd, though perhaps it was simply that the compad provided only the basics. At the bottom of the article on nanobots, there was an option to seek more information.

I tapped the screen there, and was taken to a list which included sources of information from Aekra's sole nanobot maker, medical sources on their usage, and discussion rooms that existed in something called the "Network." When I sought the location of this Network, I found myself more confused than ever, and retreated to the reference pages of the compad. It turned out that the Network was not a place at all, but an ethereal spiderweb of computers connected together, sharing information. Discussion "rooms" were simply ethereal gathering points where people could discuss what ever they desired, from anywhere in the world.

When the various official information sources for nanobot technology proved useless, and often less informative than the compad's own knowledge, I turned to the discussion rooms. There were several such 'rooms' on the subject, each with their own specific topics. One room was a place for stroke sufferers to discuss their rehabilitation. Another hosted a discussion by doctors, and still another was dedicated to the technical intricacies of the tiny devices. It was one of the last of the rooms which caught my attention. It was entitled simply "nanotech - big questions", and was filled with discussions ranging from the meaningless to the bizarre.

One of the most popular discussions, which had managed more than a few comments, was entitled "Nanobots are behind the plague!" I began reading through the discussion. The so-called discussion, one message after the other, was barely coherent. The first statement was a rambling, crazed screed. It blamed everyone for the whatever was occurring on Fisher's Island. Government figures, military leaders, prominent civic and merchant representatives, all were caught in the net of this diatribe. All were to blame, and the nanobot was their collective weapon. The seemingly endless rant barely held to its purpose, wavering like a drunkard on uneven terrain.

I was immediately reminded of Old Gover, a sad old man who wandered the streets of our fair capitol. Every day, just before midday, he would make his way to the square across from the palace, to a spot called Petitioner's Point. In his tattered clothing, filthy from his nights spent sleeping in alleyways and street corners, he slowly found his way to the square, a small wooden box in his hands. He would stand upon his box, and just as the palace bells were struck midday, Old Gover would begin. He would rant and rave, and cry out for answers from the King for things that more often than not, nobody could truly discern. He would ramble on for an hour, sometimes two. Then he would step down from his rickety podium, and simply walk away.