Nov 7th, 2081
The labs and their supporting administrative functions were built where a beloved gazebo once stood during her childhood. Three single-story buildings, with little annexes connecting them, accounted for a total of eleven rooms. There was no direct connection to the main estate, but it was only a one-minute hustle on cold winter nights.
Many firsts signified the importance of the event. It was the first time the servants had been in the lab. It was also the first time lab equipment had been brought into the estate. They had laid out a seldom-used meeting room, removing everything but the tables and chairs to another location for the evening. Then, seven servants and the six scientists, all bundled up against the frigid day, began carrying equipment, practically emptying out the lab and filling up the room.
Once the transporting was handled, they let the servants go and removed their protective wear, hanging it in the hallway.
When it came to clothing, Richard had two modes: 'I don't give a crap', which consisted of blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt—brimmed hat optional; and 'notice me', where he would go all out, putting deep thought and surprising style into his attire.
Today, his presence was one to note. He sported a tailored maroon velvet blazer, hinting at an unconventional flair, contrasted with a crisp, white button-down shirt beneath. His trousers were dark charcoal gray, the material catching the light as he moved—just enough to suggest the quality of the fabric without being ostentatious.
Ties had fallen out of style when the world became dangerous enough that handing your opponent a noose seemed like a bad idea. But Richard felt they lived in a civilized-enough region that he was willing to single-handedly try to bring them back, if necessary. He wore a very pale violet wide tie with diagonal thin white stripes. It should have clashed horribly with the velvet, yet somehow, it worked.
Completing the ensemble, he donned polished black Oxford shoes that clicked authoritatively on the tile floor. Despite the formality of his ensemble, his look was softened by the slightly disheveled waves of his chestnut-red hair, as though suggesting he had rushed from some intellectual pursuit to be there. The faint stubble on his jawline spoke to the punishing hours he had likely spent working recently, adding a rugged edge to his scholarly appearance.
"Since my role as a pack mule is complete, may I be released from this excruciating experience?" Richard asked, a trace of humor in his voice, although he was dead serious.
Pooka and Anáa both tensed, sensing the possibility of a confrontation. The gravity of the day had left Brenda a bit frayed, and Richard had never been fond of participating in these events.
"You know those long nights you complain about me spending in the lab? They lead to things like this, just like they once led to the miracle that saved your life," Pooka glanced at Anáa; Brenda was really escalating the situation. "This is me including you in my world, and you should damn well appreciate it when I do."
Sheepishly, without another word, he took a chair, resembling someone who had been gut-punched.
Feeling akin to a faux Disney princess, Brenda experienced a momentary wave of imposter syndrome. Yet, she quickly dismissed it; this was her moment, another chance to change the world. Dressed in an opulent ensemble deemed necessary for the occasion, she resolved to embrace the role assigned to her, even if it meant tolerating the extravagant attire.
Her gown for the evening was a piece of art, selected and fitted by the most trusted servant of the estate. Crafted by the celebrated German fashion designer Elke Baum, the dress captivated with bold lines that embraced a modern aesthetic while still honoring classic sophistication. Constructed in a rich sapphire blue, the fabric enveloped Brenda in a regal aura. Every fold and drape caught the light, casting a spell of splendor with each of her movements.
Coiffured into an elegant chignon, Brenda's hair was a testament to meticulous styling, framing her keen, intelligent face—a visage that matched the sharpness of her mind. The simplicity and elegance of her diamond earrings added a tasteful glint to her ensemble, enhanced by the sapphire pendant necklace that traced the contours of her throat with understated majesty, its blue a perfect reflection of her dress.
As the assembly readied themselves for the evening’s scientific breakthroughs, Brenda's sophisticated presence commanded the space. The gown she wore not only spoke of luxury and meticulous design but also celebrated her maturity, asserting a commanding elegance that required no concealment.
"I'm missing one of the NanRs," Pooka announced loudly, albeit to no one in particular. She was perpetually underdressed, yet tonight her attire seemed particularly audacious. Embracing the allure of scandal, she adorned herself in a composition of multiple layers of near-transparent black lace. The delicate fabrics, each layer differing in opacity, shifted with her movements, teasing onlookers with the illusion of fleeting exposure. Though most of her physique was teased at various moments, the true promise of indiscretion never quite materialized. Pooka reveled in the lecherous gazes attracted to her; she valued such attention as a coveted trophy. Her choice of wardrobe was a masterstroke in the art of seduction, never failing to capture the wandering eyes of those around her. Tonight, the spotlight might be on Brenda, but Pooka too had contributed significantly to the evening's innovation.
"Richard, would you be a dear and check?" Brenda asked.
"Trust me, there's nothing I would love more than to have a mission elsewhere right now. But I don't know what a NanR is, let alone where to find one," he continued, looking down at his lap.
"I'll do it. There's nothing worth recording yet, anyway," offered Peace. "Which color is the missing one?"
"It should be the only one left over there," Pooka responded, "but it's one of the custom red ones if there are multiples."
Peace always chose to wear floral dresses. Today's dress showcased a red and white rose pattern created through the clever use of negative space, forming a tiling effect across the fabric. The knee-length number was adorned with shoulder pads, and for warmth, she wore long drawers beneath, boots for venturing outdoors, and a beige faux polar fleece zippered coat she had borrowed from an assistant—this assistant had since departed to work for someone named Elon. Finally, Peace donned a genuine sheep fleece hat, which folded down to cover her ears, regrettably squashing the floral arrangement in her hair. Despite her love for flora, she harbored a profound dislike for the cold. Her hat was at odds with her vegan principles, but since it was salvaged from the lost and found and matched her coat perfectly, she reconciled the paradox.
Peace's inclination to rehabilitate used items was renowned amongst her friends. Whether it was clothing or household decor, nearly every article she owned had a tale that predated her. She delighted in the unique narratives she ascribed to each re-purposed gem she unearthed, often scouring local thrift stores and yard sales for her next environmentally friendly acquisition. It was a quiet testament to her dedication to waste reduction and her conviction in the allure of previously cherished goods.
The idea of programmable matter as the pinnacle of sustainability and reusability resonated with her. She was thankful that fate had placed her at the forefront of such a transformative time.
Anáa, having disappeared without anyone's notice, returned with a large silver serving tray, laden with three ornate pots and a surfeit of cups.
"Coffee, decaf tea, Night Owl blend," she declared, indicating each pot in succession.
Recognizing Richard's affinity for caffeine and empathizing with the somewhat excessive chiding he had endured from Brenda earlier, she poured him a cup of the Night Owl blend and extended it towards him.
He accepted the offering with a nod, yet avoided eye contact.
Pooka shifted the tray from the equipment to a serving table situated between two doors. Surveying the room, she observed that someone had redecorated this particular wall with significantly less finesse than those who had embellished the original space.
Once the tray was settled, Pooka resumed connecting devices and laying out strips for the air screens. As the displays came online, she initiated diagnostics. Everyone else, apprehensive about making history in Peace's absence, opted for a seat and adopted a waiting stance. Brenda, who had been subject to an excess of pampering throughout the day and was growing weary of being treated with kid gloves, succumbed to a brief slumber as soon as her backside graced the indulgently cushioned chair.
Richard mustered enough composure to sit upright; upon noting Anáa's proximity, he inquired in a hushed tone, "What exactly is a NanR?"
"A CrispR is something you're familiar with, isn't it?" she queried in return.
"My knowledge is limited, but yes, I'm aware they're utilized for gene editing," he conceded.
"That sums it up. In layman's terms, imagine a NanR as for nanobots what a CrispR is to genes. It empowers you to modify their functions, capabilities, and programming, all through a relatively user-friendly computer interface," she elucidated.
After thanking her for the clarification, Richard's attention wavered inward once more. Anáa wouldn't have taken issue with a bit of flirtation from him. She had fantasized, albeit sporadically, about engaging in a ménage à trois with him and Brenda; however, the potential risks to their amicable rapport dissuaded her from vocalizing the proposition.
Peace re-entered the room, now stripped down to her white and red rose dress. She had cleverly used the feet of her long johns as makeshift shoes. Now, even her ring of flowers was gone. Cradled comfortably in the palm of her hand was a small red box, nondescript except for the three interface connections at the back and its half-hinged top. She handed it to Pooka, and once free of that burden, she turned to the room and informed them it was snowing outside, her voice tinged with a touch of disgust.
She set up four tripods with cameras in the corners of the room, the feeds being livestored to the IPF Cloud. She also prepared to maneuver her smartphone around the expansive room wherever it was needed. She had been assured that there would be more talking, more action, and less of the tedious waiting.
After installing the last NanR in its cluster, interconnecting the devices, and receiving a clean diagnostic, she walked over and gently woke Brenda, who glanced at her watch and swore.
She looked for and located Peace, questioned her with her eyes, and received a go-ahead nod. She then searched for Richard, who was by the thick, deep red velvet curtains, watching the snowfall outside. "Richard, dear, if you'd like to pay attention, I'm about to break things." There was clearly a double meaning there, but either way, she had his attention.
On slightly numb legs, she walked to a shelf and retrieved what looked like—and indeed was—a repurposed hatbox. "There was an element of suspense last time we tried this—though you wouldn't know it from the footage," she chuckled. "This time, however, there has been extensive testing and improvement, and we have spent the month wisely. Barring something unexpected, tonight will be much more entertaining, but for us, far less suspenseful. Now, for your viewing pleasure, last time we promised you dark Gleegreen glass; however," she gestured to the dark floor, "we thought ahead this time. And what's more impressive than preparation? Something that would be a bit difficult to do with regular matter." She reached into the hatbox, rummaged through the packing peanuts, and produced another glass mug—this time glowing blue yet still transparent. She held it towards the camera, covering all the angles. It was a thing of beauty, radiating amidst the understated lighting set in the room.
"So, without further ado," she smashed the mug on the wooden floor, which did not break quite as satisfactorily as on the tile but was still sufficiently broken up. "Now, don’t go out for popcorn; this isn’t like last time."
Between being able to see the glowing pieces and the fact that changes were happening in real-time, it was, while still slow, worth watching. The pieces disappeared, seemingly into the floor, while the mug reassembled itself. This time it even had to right itself, which it did by moving facets of mug through itself – a process that was very entertaining to observe – in a tedious but steady manner. Something could always be seen happening. In the end, they stopped the stopwatch at 6 minutes and 43 seconds.
Brenda added, "I think that’s a hell of an improvement over 9 hours, give or take."
"And Pooka here," she continued, "says that if we had a standard base of programmable matter lying around, at the current technology level – which we plan to improve upon mightily – we could get this down to under a minute."
Brenda replayed what she had just said in her head, winced a little, and wished she’d had a prepared script. Still, the example had been entertaining and impressive.
"Tonight, we unveil the properties and capabilities of programmable matter, as well as transmuters, fabricators, and, finally, a deep dive into the programming language that currently controls them—although AI is our future target as a control mechanism," she paused for breath and glanced at Pooka for a sign that she was all set.
"Pooka here will run the show now, while I play Huntress Ague," Brenda announced, making a reference to the very popular game show hostess of the long-running show 'Victim Card.' She mimicked the personality's signature flourish toward the mug in her hand, at which point it began to oscillate from light blue to searing white and back again.
In her enthusiasm, Peace narrowly avoided a misstep on the now-displaced throw carpet, its usual position distrubed by the recent shifting of the central table. With purposeful strides, she traversed the room's length eager to capture the spectacle with her camera for a dramatic close-up. At the rear of the space, Anáa's applause pierced the tension, her composure waltzing on the edge of propriety in light of her palpable thrill—it was, after all, her maiden experience of such a captivating display.
As the sequence of lights repeated itself, toeing the line of excess, an incandescent aura clung stubbornly to its last breath, vibrating slightly as if questioning its own form. Then, gradually, the brilliance rescinded, the room's anticipation dimming in tandem. What emerged from the fading glow, cradled in her outstretched palm, was a diminutive sculpture, meticulously rendered—a likeness of Marcus Landsbury, chiseled in cold marble, yet radiating the triumph of the moment.
Harmonie's voice, momentarily lost to the whirlwind of awe, found its footing in the aftermath of the reveal. Words tumbled forth in an excited stream, crafted for the rapt audience of her imagination, elucidating the spectacle that had just unfolded. A gentle interjection from Brenda pierced the torrent of explanations; she offered astute corrections, shaped by wisdom and clarity. Peace, standing witness to the exchange, felt a surge of gratitude for the subtle guidance. With the grace of a seasoned orator, Brenda's corrections became stepping stones for Harmonie, who, without missing a beat, wove them into the rich tapestry of her resumed narrative.
Pooka raised her voice, its volume escalating past what the room's acoustics required. "What you've just witnessed is the matter within the glass obeying commands from this compact controller." She affectionately patted the top of a blue square unit tethered to the nearby apparatus by an intricate web of three cables. The matter, responding with a swiftness that bordered on the magical, reconstituted itself into an entirely new form and substance—complying with a preprogrammed pattern—in an astonishingly brief span of less than 15 seconds.
“She just doled out three compliments to herself in one go,” Anáa murmured to Richard in an unmistakably teasing tone. Her remark, far from carrying any sting of spite, was merely a playful pretense—an impish strategy to narrow the space between them, breathing warmly in his ear as she spoke. Her objective was less about casting aspersions at Pooka's spirited display and more about seizing a flirtatious opportunity—a chance to plant thoughts in Richard under the guise of shared amusement.
A massive lightning burst, lingering for several seconds, attempted to slip its light around the edges of the thick velvet curtains that lined the room. It was a remarkable display from nature, especially uncommon for lightning to coincide with snow in this region. Instinctively, Brenda paused and silently counted the seconds until thunder followed, its rumble shaking the house. "About ten seconds," she mused, wondering if the storm would draw nearer or was already passing.
"Looks like nature wants to remind us who really puts on the greatest shows," Brenda quipped, filling the silence she had inadvertently created.
"And don't think all of this is merely experimental at the moment—we are ready to launch our first product," Brenda clarified, her use of "product" not signifying commercialism—a concept which had faded with the collapse of currency—but referring instead to an informational packet readily downloadable by anyone equipped with a NanR. "Our solution to the bee crisis," she added. On cue, Brenda placed the statue at the end of the table nearest to her. Simultaneously, Pooka activated a preprogrammed sequence in one of her devices. This time, bereft of the concealing dazzle of lights, the gathered observers could plainly see the statue transmuting into fifty honeybees. The newly fashioned creatures took flight, buzzing about the room.
"Don't worry, folks; these bees are devoid of stingers. Their programming is currently quite basic, yet they’re designed to seek out pollen and distribute it to other flora. Their sole function is pollination," Brenda assured, bridging the realms of technology and nature.
Richard, lingering at the back, muttered under his breath, though not quietly enough to escape Anáa's keen ears as she hovered nearby. "Virtually no testing at all, barely a thought to unintended consequences, and she's a button press away from unleashing it on the world..." His concerns resonated with a hint of foreboding, laying bare the weight of their endeavor.
"What about an electromagnetic attack? Could EMP devices become a larger part of warfare if programmable matter becomes widespread?" posed a slight, aging man, perhaps in his mid-fifties. His demeanor suggested discomfort as he stood in a dark gray suit that hung on him awkwardly, as though it were the solitary concession to formality for a man more accustomed to casual attire.
Brenda addressed the concern with unwavering confidence. "The susceptibility to EMPs is no greater for programmable matter than it is for the natural biological processes of your body or the foundational forces that govern our planet. Rest assured, that particular concern, we can categorically dismiss," she articulated with a nuance that left room for, yet did not explore, other potential vulnerabilities.
Richard, noticing the question's depth, engaged in a subtle act of ventriloquism. His voice, tinged with a different tone and cadence, seemed to hover in the air ambiguously, as if the origin of his pointed follow-up was everywhere and nowhere at once. "That implies there are there other risks with programmable matter we should be cognizant of" he asked, his skillful vocal disguise adding to the gravity of the inquiry. "Are there risks we should be aware of? Would you elucidate on those concerns?"
Brenda wasn't deceived; Richard's ventriloquism, once a charming courtship ploy, was familiar to her. Catching a glimpse of his demeanor, she noted an anger mirroring the building storm. "There's always the risk of human error," she mused. "For instance, if someone tampered with the abort code..." At that moment, Pooka seized the chance to press the large red button floating on the screen, and the bees hovering in the air collapsed lifelessly, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. Meanwhile, largely unnoticed by the others, a small gray cube on her table began to grow.
"Now, as entertaining as the theatrics are, we have less visually exciting but nonetheless paradigm-shifting topics to cover." Peace felt grateful that Brenda was continuing in teacher mode. "Let's talk about the transmuters, and we have Richard to thank for the naming of all these new devices. He thought basic lowercase terms would convey the sense of open source that the Information Protection Foundation is based around. And I agree." Brenda hoped a little recognition would mollify Richard, but glancing at him, she noticed that if anything, he seemed even more agitated by the gesture.
"Transmuters are nanobots that latch onto atoms and molecules, converting them into their programmable matter equivalents. Like most nanobots, they also have the capability to use environmental materials to replicate themselves. A single transmuter, if so programmed, could convert the entirety of Earth down to its core in a millennium or two."
A smattering of applause broke out. As Brenda launched into details about the symbiotic efficacy of transmuters and programmable matter in various applications, Richard's agitation grew. Unable to contain his frustration, he stood up abruptly, flung open the door with a resonant slam, and strode down the hallway, his bitterness echoing through the deserted corridors.
"The hubris of that woman!" he shouted in anger, the stark walls of the hallway amplifying his voice. Portraits of Brenda's ancestors adorned the walls, gazing down at him in apparent disdain. The air seemed to shimmer with a frosty aura.
As the storm closed in on the modernized castle, Richard wandered through several rooms before discovering a bedroom that, although meticulously maintained by the servants, was evidently unoccupied. He yearned for solitude, preferring to sleep alone—let her ponder his whereabouts. Exhausted yet seething with rage, he stripped off his clothes haphazardly, mostly turning them inside out, and crawled into bed. There, he tossed and turned for hours, unable to find peace.
Back in the co-opted room, the event went on until well past midnight.