This is crazy, I admonish myself. I’m assigning meaning without basis. Classic human pattern-seeking. If I bring this up to Camila or anyone, I need more than numerology.
I return to the bench and set up another experiment instead: I’ll introduce a small number of nanobots to the algae dish to see if that changes anything. After all, in the field they will be together; maybe the nanobots are needed for the full “message,” if that’s what it is. I retrieve a vial of our prototype nanobots – they look like nothing more than silvery dust, suspended in a neutral fluid. In reality, they are microscopic machines, programmed with algorithms to coordinate their efforts. We use a magnetic field to guide or collect them when needed, but they can operate autonomously for a while.
Using a micro-pipette, I add a single drop of the nanobot solution to the algae dish where I observed the signals. Then I wait, camera rolling.
At first, the algae and bots simply coexist; nothing visibly dramatic. After about ten minutes, I notice a faint oscillation in the electrical readings on my tablet. It’s subtle, but it’s there – like the algae and bots are exchanging ions or signals beyond what we programmed. The algae then begin to glow again. The pattern this time is different. It’s longer. A series of three pulses, then two, then three, then three again, then two.
I jot furiously: 3-2-3-3-2. It repeats once and stops.
3-2-3-3-2. If earlier was 3-2-2-3, now 3-2-3-3-2. Are these sequences part of one another or separate? Could they be forming a sentence or coordinates in tandem? My brain latches onto the coordinate theory: Could 3.2233, 3.2332 be latitudes or something? But no, coordinates would need north/south or longer sequences.
Perhaps they’re references – like an ID number of a bot, or an experiment number? Or a warning code from the bots? We did give the nanobots an emergency signal pattern if they detect a critical failure, but that was supposed to be transmitted via radio back to our servers, not visually through algae. This doesn’t align with any failsafe I know of.
Then, as if to complicate things further, my email pings on the computer – an automated alert from the global data network we subscribe to for environmental monitoring. I almost ignore it, but the subject line grabs me: “Alert: Rapid Toxicity Spike – Blue Harbor Wetland.”
Blue Harbor… that’s the wetland Camila was talking about using for our demo, I realize with alarm. I open the email. It’s a report that local sensors detected a sudden increase in water toxicity and unusual die-off of fish in Blue Harbor Wetland, mere hours ago. The cause is unknown, but speculation in the network is that it could be due to illegal dumping or even a drift of Atlas’s nanobots from the coast.
“Damn it,” I mutter. If Atlas’s bots have anything to do with this, our chosen demo site just became ground zero for a new crisis. Camila must have seen this too. As if on cue, my phone buzzes – Camila’s number.
I answer, hearing the tension in her voice before she even says a word. “Polo, have you seen the alert?”
“Yes, just now. Blue Harbor’s been hit with something.”
She lets out a frustrated breath. “Figures the moment we decide on it, something goes wrong. I’m going to drive out there with a team first thing in the morning to assess. Could be sabotage, could be coincidence. Either way, it means eyes will be on that site. It might accelerate expectations for us to intervene.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Accelerate? Camila, we’re not ready for a full-scale deployment…”
She cuts in, her tone firm. “We might not have a choice. If the wetland is crashing, the government will want a solution. We volunteered that site as a test bed, which puts us on the hook. At minimum, they’ll want our analysis. Maybe a small emergency trial to mitigate damage.”
This is how it happens, I think grimly. Crisis after crisis, pushing everyone’s hand. The creeping tension of the global collapse doesn’t care about our carefully laid plans.
“I understand,” I say. “I’ll prep whatever data and equipment we might need to take. We should run some of the water samples here through the lab as soon as we get them.”
“Good idea,” she replies, already in action mode. “Meet me at the motor pool at 5 AM. We’ll take a rover out there. And Polo… get some rest before then, if you can.”
I almost laugh at the suggestion of rest, with adrenaline now coursing through me. “You know I’ll try.”
We hang up. I lean back in my chair, mind whirling. In the dish before me, the algae glow faintly, quietly – as if patiently waiting for me to pay attention to them again. The latest pattern 3-2-3-3-2 is etched in my brain. I have no idea what it means, but part of me wonders: did the algae somehow know about Blue Harbor? Is this a warning or just a reflection of some data they’ve picked up through the nanobots’ networking? The timing is uncanny that as soon as that site has a spike, I get a new sequence.
One thing is certain: tomorrow we’ll be at that wetland, facing whatever mess is unfolding. And I might have in my hands the only prototype of something that could help – if I can understand it in time. I gently remove the electrode and turn off the microscope light over the petri dish. The algae’s glow dims, leaving just the soft overhead lab lights.
I make a decision. I’ll bring a small sample of this algae and a vial of nanobots with me to Blue Harbor. Not to deploy widely – we’re not cleared for that. But I might need them to test in situ, to see how they react to the actual contaminated water. And maybe… maybe to see if this mysterious communication continues out there, possibly giving me more clues.
As I secure the samples and shut down the lab for the night, I feel the weight of the day settle on me. Polo’s introspection time, I think wryly, echoing a therapist’s mantra I once heard. So I pause and truly consider my feelings: I’m worried – deeply worried – that we are moving too fast, and that something beyond our control is brewing. I’m excited and scared about the algae’s cryptic signals in equal measure; they fascinate the scientist in me, but they unsettle the man who likes the world to make sense. I’m concerned for Camila too – she’s under pressure that would break most people, juggling the fate of a company and maybe the world’s hopes. Her charismatic armor belies the strain I know she feels.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
She called me the genius in the room, but she’s the one who has to convince humanity to trust that we can fix what’s broken. And if I tell her tonight that our miracle algae might be more miraculous (or dangerous) than we thought… what would that do? No, I’ll wait. I need more information, and tomorrow might provide it.
In the quiet of the empty lab, I stand at the threshold and take one last look at my workbench, as if expecting the algae to flash another parting message. They remain dark. For now, the conversation is paused. I only hope that, whatever the algae are trying to say, I’ll eventually decode it – before it’s too late to make a difference. I turn off the lights and step into the corridor, mind already on the day to come.
********************************************************************************
Dawn breaks in a dirty bronze line across the horizon as we speed toward Blue Harbor Wetland. Camila drives with steady focus, her hands tight on the wheel of the autonomous rover despite the AI being perfectly capable of handling the route. I know it’s her way of channeling nerves – having something tangible to control. I sit in the passenger seat, a case of equipment secured at my feet and a thermos of strong tea cradled in my hands. The rover’s tires crunch over a gravel service road flanked by scrubby vegetation struggling to stay alive.
Neither of us has said much since departing. The silence between us is thick with unspoken thoughts, until Camila finally breaks it. “Did you bring the samples and gear you need?” she asks, eyes still on the road.
“Yes,” I reply, patting the hard case. Inside are sealed vials of our algae, nanobots, testing kits, and my tablet loaded with last night’s data. “And portable analyzers, just in case.”
“Good.” She nods. “I’ve alerted the local environmental team that we’re coming. They’re containing the area and have drones scanning the water. Early reports say it’s a severe oxygen drop and toxin spike. Fish and amphibians are… well, pretty much gone in the immediate zone.”
I close my eyes for a moment, imagining the suffocated fish floating to the surface, the marsh grass blackened. A heavy sadness fills me. Another wound in the planet’s skin, likely self-inflicted by human hands. “Any indication of nanobots?” I ask quietly.
“There were some unusual metallic residues detected, possibly from Atlas’s tech. They’re denying involvement, of course.” Camila’s jaw tightens. “Typical. Even if it was their swarm drifting over, they’ll say it’s not proven. Meanwhile, the ecosystem pays the price.”
Her anger is palpable, and I share it. The recklessness of Atlas Corp has been a thorn in our side for months. But anger won’t help the wetland now. Solutions might, and that’s what we’re bringing – we hope.
As we round a bend, the wetland comes into view. What should have been a vibrant patch of green and blue amidst the dry landscape is now a mournful scene. The water in the marshy pools is an unnatural dull gray, and I can spot a few white bellies of dead fish catching the early light. The reeds are wilted, some coated in a sludgy film. A small team of people in hazmat suits is already on-site; they wave as we approach.
Camila parks the rover and we step out. The smell hits me immediately – a chemical tang laced with the stench of decay. I mask my face with a bandana, and Camila does the same with a scarf from the back seat. Even so, my eyes sting slightly. If this is bad for us to breathe, imagine the creatures stuck living in it.
“Dr. Reyes? Ms. Marques?” a man in a blue environmental agency uniform walks up, lowering his mask to speak. “I’m Devon Lee, lead field specialist here.” We shake hands. His grip is firm but his face looks tired, worry lines etched deeply – a man who’s seen too many habitats fall apart.
Camila goes into professional mode. “What’s the status, Devon?”
He leads us towards the water’s edge as he speaks. “Sensors picked up the spike around 3 AM. By the time we got crews out here, the pH had crashed and oxygen was near zero. We’ve contained the main area to prevent outflow downstream, but it’s effectively a dead zone now. Lab results from a quick test show high concentrations of a synthetic polymer and traces of some kind of nanoscopic machinery.” He glances at me. “It could be related to the Atlas nanobots we’ve heard about, but these are slightly different. Could be a variant or some new contaminant.”
I exchange a look with Camila. She gives a slight nod for me to proceed. “I’ve brought some resources to analyze this further,” I tell Devon. “Would it be alright if I take samples from the water and sediment?”
“By all means, please do,” he says, relief evident in his tone. CovTech’s involvement likely brings him hope, or at least resources he wouldn’t have alone.
While Camila confers with Devon and a couple of other officials about containment and media (I catch her directing someone to keep the press at bay for now), I get to work. Donning my own lightweight protective gloves and goggles, I kneel by the largest pool of water. The shallow water is murky, with unnatural rainbow sheens on the surface. Carefully, I fill a few vials: one with water, one with surface scum, one with sediment from the edge.
As I label them, I notice something odd: a faint luminescent glint under the water, near a cluster of drowned plants. My heart quickens. It’s daylight, and the water is opaque – I might be imagining it. But it looked similar to the kind of glow our algae emit. No, that’s unlikely; we haven’t released anything here. Could it be residual from Atlas bots? Some emit light as a signal when active…
I lean closer to the water, almost expecting another pulse or flash. Nothing. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Or maybe a bioluminescent organism stressed by the toxins. It’s daytime though; hard to see.
I set up a portable field microscope from the kit on the back of the rover and immediately begin analyzing a drop of water. Under magnification, the sample teems with debris – blackened algal cells, microscopic bits of plastic, and yes, several silvery specks whirring about. Nanobots, definitely. My anger flares seeing them in action, aimlessly bumping around now that they’ve wreaked havoc. They remind me of locusts that have gorged and now just wander.
I isolate a bot with the scope’s micromanipulator. It’s a standard Atlas design, or close to it: tiny, crab-like with grappling arms for grabbing waste particles. But there’s something else – a filamentous slime clinging to it. Possibly algae or bacterial biofilm. Interesting, maybe the local algae tried to colonize the bots?
“Find something?” Camila asks, suddenly at my shoulder. Despite the situation, she still carries an air of calm authority. The local team members watch us from a respectful distance, giving space.
“Nanobots,” I confirm, keeping my voice low. “Atlas style, no doubt. And residue of some polymer – likely their payload or degraded material. It’s exactly what we feared. They must have drifted from the coast or got dumped upriver and pooled here.”
She purses her lips. “Legally, we can’t outright accuse without proof, but this looks damning. More importantly, can we fix this? The officials will ask, if they haven’t already.”
I nod towards the equipment. “I brought our prototype culture and some bots. I was thinking I could run a micro-test in a contained sample, to see if our system can neutralize these toxins and maybe deactivate Atlas’s bots.”
Camila’s eyebrows rise. “Here? Now?”
“In a small way,” I assure. “I have a mini bioreactor jar. I’d take some of the polluted water, add our algae and nanobots to it, and monitor. It would be like a tiny version of a field test, totally contained. It might give us data on how effective we could be if we scale up. And it stays within our safety protocols because it’s sealed.”
She considers quickly. Time is of the essence and she knows it. “Do it. I’ll handle the officials if they get curious, say it’s just analysis.”