Thu 09/15 11:07:22 EAT

BUILD(SOLAR)

Building solar panels is so boring.

BUILD(SOLAR)

Super boring.

BUILD(SOLAR)

Just one panel after another. No shade, since I need to keep moving around to get line of sight on each new panel. Nothing interesting going on. Forty-seven more to go in my section before I get to where Jeff’s panels start. Forty-five. I should have worn a hat. I put sunblock on this morning, but I’m sure my neck is burned. Forty more. I free up a few bots from the construction routine, enough to form an eye to look at myself. Is my face getting red? Thirty now. If I get burned I’m going to be pissed. Twenty. Andrea finishes one row and starts another. Ten more. Five. One.

Done.

I look at the neat rows and can’t see where my section ends and Jeff’s begins. Perfect. It’s satisfying to get a job this big done, even if the grunt work sucks.

Jeff is done too and trying to glide back to the road, but the ground is too rough and he keeps taking stumbling steps. He looks like he’s about to collapse. I walk over to give him a hand, but he waves me off. I walk next to him, ready to reach out if he falls. The rest of the sibs look tired too, except Andrea. She’s as bright and cheerful as ever. All that yoga and dance, this must seem like nothing to her. Chad’s weight training gives him muscles, but no stamina. He’s as dogged out as the rest of us.

Father walks out into the middle of the field, distributing a generous load of maintainer bots for all the panels. Another big chunk of his massive stash of bots disappear as he rotates in place, directing his gaze across the rocky plain. A truck drives by, kicking up dust everywhere, but not a speck of it settles onto any of the solar collectors. Fascinating. I should look at the code for those maintenance algorithms some time.

“I’m heading over to build the primary pipe and transmission lines,” Father announces as he comes back toward us. “Chad has the procedures to start the full production test here. Please assist him as needed. I want to have this all wrapped up by the end of the day.”

He and one of the guides—Ahmed, I think?—climb into the dump truck without waiting for a reply. They roll slowly down the road toward the city. As they move, a massive six-foot pipe begins to materialize from nothing alongside the road. Foot by foot it grows as it follows them, connecting the desalination plant to wherever they’re driving. We all watch them until they’re lost in the dust.

Ibrahim, Kofi, and Bashir start unloading lunch from the back of the van, another round of the little fried meat and veggie pies. They’re still good the second day in a row. Maybe we can get food like this in the cafeteria, now that my family knows it exists.

Getting the production test ready takes all afternoon. Check and double-check everything. Verify each pod works. Make sure there are no leaks. We have to rewire a few solar panels because Marc laid down the wrong gauge of wire in one section, but other than that it goes pretty smoothly. It’s almost sundown now, just waiting for the go-ahead from Father to kick off the whole operation.

Chad talks into the radio earbud he’s been using all afternoon to report our progress. “Are you ready, Father?”

Most of my sibs are already wearing their earpieces, but I’ve been procrastinating. I get enough Marc chatter without him having a direct line to my ear. But I do want to know how this test goes, so I pop mine in.

“Nearly there,” Father’s voice says. “Just another minute or two.”

We all wait impatiently. It’s a very long two minutes. Then a longer three more.

“Ready,” Father finally says. “Fire it up.”

Chad reaches out to the control panel and pushes the main power lever forward. The pipes running across the floors and along the walls gurgle and moan as they fill and merge and push water into the massive main pipe. We all look anxiously at the large gauges installed on the wall. The needles move up through the white range, then into the green section where they stop just before they hit the yellow zone.

“We got it,” Chad announces. “Thirty-eight thousand gallons per minute, throughput at eighty percent of maximum.”

“Excellent,” Father’s voice says. “Right where it should be. Wait a bit and let me see what it looks like when it arrives on my end.”

I do some math in my head. That’s just over a hundred and ten gallons a day for everyone in the city. Plenty for everyone. Plenty for farming, too. Not bad for a couple of days' work.

I take a seat on the cement floor. Evan and Louise follow suit. Andrea starts making little glowing cartoon scenes float around in the air to entertain Marc, who doesn’t do well with boredom. Jeff lays out flat. I think he might be going to sleep. Chad stands by the control panel, acting as if he knows what to do if anything goes wrong.

After twenty minutes, Father’s voice crackles at us again.

“This is looking excellent,” he says. “Not a drop lost between here and there. Have the guides bring you back to town. Let’s eat.”

We load up into the big van and head back to the city. Father’s pipe stretches along the side of the road most of the way there. It ends abruptly at a rocky, barren plain with the city just in sight. There’s just enough daylight left to see the gushing flow spewing into the world’s biggest puddle.

“Why doesn’t it go all the way to the city?” Marc asks. I swear the kid doesn’t remember a thing from the briefings.

Chad switches into obnoxious mentor mode. I think he’s trying to act like Father, but he never pulls it off. “The local water authority needs to connect up to the open pipe we’re leaving,” he explains in that condescending voice that I hate so much. “They have to put in some of the work. Otherwise they won’t appreciate it.”

“That’s not the reason, Chad,” I retort. I know this might pick a fight, but Marc has enough trouble keeping up without being misinformed. “It has nothing to do with appreciation for our work. Father wants to force them to kickstart the infrastructure effort to connect to the pipe and the power lines. If they have to set up their own utilities to get the benefit from the water spilling onto the ground within sight of town, they’ll end up with the organization and equipment they need to update the water and power systems for the whole city.”

Chad, in the seat ahead of me, probably thinks I don’t see the look of rage twisting his face. He doesn’t realize that I’ve taken up Louise’s habit of keeping watch in every direction with my six floating bot eyes. Maybe I should have just let him have this one, but I feel vindicated as Marc thanks me effusively for an answer that actually makes sense. Then he goes on about how glad he is that I joined the family. I don’t mind the praise, but I wish he’d shut up. Chad’s face gets redder with anger as he goes on.

Fortunately, Marc gets distracted by the lights of the city’s skyline. It’s still so weird that something as normal as that is still new to these guys. It’s not even a very big city. Chad gets himself under control by the time we get back to the hotel and only gives me a dirty look as we pile out of the van. I shrug it off. I stopped caring about what Chad thinks a long time ago.

Father is waiting for us in the lobby. We trudge wearily into the dining room for another fantastic meal. Today, I’m glad they have chairs. My body is sore and I’m grateful for the backrest. Chad seems to be tolerating the local food better today. At least he’s not picking at it with that disgusted look on his face this time.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll head to Somalia for the next leg of our trip,” Father announces once the initial feeding frenzy subsides. “Some reminders: we’re going to have significant differences from what we’ve been doing here in Djibouti. We’ll be sticking to rural areas, so nothing as large-scale as the project here. The Somalis have a water problem, but they also have a very significant food problem. We’re going to create a dramatic increase in their available arable land with a series of small desalination plants along the coast that will pipe water to inland deserts. We’ll be on the move a lot more, and we’ll be building our own housing each night.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

We all mumble acknowledgements, except for Andrea who just nods. It’s all stuff from the briefings, but obviously some of us need the reminders. Between the food and the fatigue, Father seems to be the only one of us able to put more than a couple of words together. Even Marc’s chatty mouth is quiet.

“The area is also substantially more dangerous than here in Djibouti. In addition to rogue groups, there are significant disagreements between the Somali government which regards the area as a part of its holdings and the de facto Somaliland leadership. I have negotiated agreements with all parties involved for us to do our work here, but you must all remember our rule about discussing politics. Marc, what is that rule?”

“To not to,” he says with his mouth half-full of something green.

“Correct. Excellent. Now, to deal with the foreseeable potential threats, those rogue groups that I mentioned, we’ll designate sentries each day,” Father continues. “Whoever is assigned will run the sentry function all day, keeping watch for armed groups or other trouble. The worst of the problems with violence are in the eastern part of the country, which we will avoid, but we’re not taking any chances. Please remember to keep your earpieces in and turned on at all times starting tomorrow morning. We’ll be in constant contact for all of next week.”

Father looks around at all of us, and then lets his gaze settle on Marc. He gives him a paternal smile. ”Marc,” he says gently, “I need you to exercise some self control so that we can remain a loving family.”

I laugh. So do most of the others. I’m not the praying type, but I implore whatever gods may exist that Marc is capable of that. Mom, you’re an angel or something now, right? Or whatever good people end up as? Maybe you can help with that.

“If the sentry calls out a warning, what do you all do?” Father quizzes, breaking my reverie.

“Get to the shelter or shield up.” Chad and Louise answer in unison.

“Good. And you stay sheltered or shielded until I call the all-clear. Chad will take sentry duty tomorrow. Any questions?”

“Um, yeah.” Marc says. “If this place is so dangerous, why are we doing our first mission here?”

Father regards him silently for a moment before answering. “A very good question, though rather late for you to finally be considering it. The reasons are many, but among them are these: first, this is one of the areas of the world most in need of our services. Second, as we demonstrate the value of our assistance here, we can induce governments and corporations in more affluent areas of the world to model our efforts. Third, we will be operating with essentially no restrictions and no support from anyone. Which means that our outcomes are entirely dependent on our own efforts. I want each of you to see firsthand that you are capable of saving the world, even in the face of adverse circumstances, so that you will have no doubts of your capacity to continue the Institute’s efforts in the decades to come.”

I’m not sure how much of that Marc actually digests, but it seems to satisfy him.

“Any other questions?” Father looks around the table.

“Will our same guides be coming with us?” Louise asks.

“Ah, a more immediate concern. Indeed they will. Ibrahim, Ahmed, Kofi, and Bashir will be joining us for the whole trip. They’ll handle navigating local authorities as well as food, driving, and other logistics for us.”

That’s fine by me. They’ve been helpful so far, and they all seem like good guys.

“If there is nothing else, let’s all turn in after dinner.”

No one puts up any arguments. After I finish my banana fritter dessert, I head up to bed. I don’t even brush my teeth, I’m that tired. I just let the pillowy mattress cradle me as my mind drifts away.

Sun 09/18 16:27:53 EAT

I adjust the broad hat that Ibrahim gave me to shield me from the scorching sun. It’s still abysmally hot out here, but at least with this I’m not getting burned. I try to just focus on laying pipe through the desert, but the job is too easy. It gives me too much time to think. It’s letting my mind take me to places that I don’t want to go.

The first three days in Somalia have made the Djibouti solar field installation feel like a day at the beach. Evan and I got put on pipe duty. The first hour or so was fun. I sat in the bed of one of the pickups while Ibrahim drove cross-country away from the ocean. I kept my eyes aimed backwards as we bumped across the rocky landscape. The ground behind us boiled and transformed into the thick pipeline that would carry fresh water into the desert. Evan was on sentry duty, sitting in the cab and making sure we didn’t get ambushed.

Once the novelty wore off, it was pure grind. It doesn’t take many twiggy shrubs and rocks before they all look the same. When Evan and I switched roles, sentry duty wasn’t any better. We’re in the absolute middle of nowhere, so there’s not much to watch for. The sentry overlay makes anything made of metal show up glowing red, even when it’s behind other objects, but the only time that happened was when we came within sight of a town, where we’d see all their knives, tools, and machinery light up. I saw a few small arms, pistols and rifles, but nothing moving like someone was carrying it, and nothing military. Nothing worth reporting over the everpresent link to my family in my ear.

The upside of the earpiece is that we’ve had a decently engaging conversation going on the whole time while we’ve been working. My sibs are pretty funny when you get them out into the real world. Marc has actually been more of a source of enjoyment than annoyance. He tells these long, winding, but surprisingly entertaining stories that do a good job of passing the hours. We’ve developed so many inside jokes that I couldn’t count them. Well, I could, I’d just just have to scan back through my logs.

It feels good to be a part of all of this. Part of this vision to save the world. Part of this family.

Dammit.

I don’t want to be a cog in this murdering bastard's plans. I want to kill him.

He killed Mom.

But we’re doing so much good. He’s doing so much good. I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as he does. That small mountain of nanobots he has must take monumental concentration to wield, but he’s the first person up in the mornings and the last one down when we finish our days. Never complaining, never showing fatigue. Just smiling, encouraging, and being the kind of dad that I always wished I had growing up.

Half a million people in Djibouti have practically unlimited clean water and power available to them now. I don’t know how many people here in Somalia we’ve helped so far, but by the time we’re through, we’ll have tripled the amount of usable farmland in the country. Maybe Father’s right. With abundant food, water, and power available, maybe the people here and everywhere else will ease off on killing each other. It seems like a good theory anyway.

And this is just the start of it. He’s been talking about other trips for next year. Decontaminating the ground water in Afghanistan, filtering the Mekong river in Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos, spreading clean water all over Southeast Asia. Fending off the otherwise inevitable famine that the river’s pollution will cause sooner or later. He’s even talking about converting the great Pacific garbage patch into a bunch of floating resort islands.

And this trip is just the tip of the iceberg. The Butler Institute is going to solve resource scarcity with nanomining, create new drugs with nanochemistry that will go beyond the wildest dreams of conventional medicine, build self-maintaining roads to everywhere with solar-powered vehicles that never emit a particle of pollution. A golden age for all of humanity. Climate change will be reversed as forests and grasslands spring up where deserts now dominate. And for those who find the perfected earth too boring, the nanobots will lead us into space with colonies on the moon and Mars.

How can I kill him? How can I punish the world for a crime against just Mom and me?

But how can I not?

So now I’m bumping along in the back of a pickup with too little to keep my mind off of what I don’t want to consider. Why can’t my mind just shut up? Why am I wrestling with a murder that I’m not even sure I can even commit?

Maybe I was wrong anyway. Maybe he just went to Denver to talk to her, and she just happened to get killed in a traffic accident that same day. Maybe he wasn’t even in Denver to see her. There’s other business he could have had there. I could have misunderstood his notes. He never admitted that he killed her.

Right?

No.

Dammit.

Does it even matter?

Of course it does.

I hate this. I hate him.

He’s my father, and not just by blood now.

I might love him.

I’ll let him live.

No.

He needs to die.

No.

“Hey, did you guys hear the one about the programmer that couldn’t leave the shower?” Father’s voice comes in through the earpiece.

A collective groan from my siblings.

“The instructions on the shampoo said lather, rinse, and repeat,” he says. I can almost see his crooked smile. “So he got stuck in an infinite loop.”

A bigger groan. A couple of chuckles.

How can I kill a dad like that?

I could let him live.

Maybe one day, I can even learn to forgive.