Life

I’m Alma.

Alma?

Yes.

Am I supposed to know who you are?

I’m Alma from Johns Hopkins. I mean, I’m Alma from Des Moines, but now I’m from Johns Hopkins. The university. I’m here for you.

I know Johns Hopkins, Miss… erm... Alma. I don’t really care where you went to school. Why are you in my lab?

I didn’t go there. I mean, I went there, but not to learn—to teach. I’m a professor in nanobiotechnology. I’m here for you.

The doctor had just finished several disturbing phone calls, one of them with his ex-wife, who had the astonishing ability to scream without ever raising her voice. Alma stood there, balancing on high heels, locking eyes with the elderly doctor in front of her. She handed him a sleek black hard disk.

You can find my research here. Well, my part of the research I conducted with Dr. Woo. I’m here for our final trial, as discussed.

Shit, you’re Alma Goldberg.

As I said when I walked in.

Why aren’t they picking up the pace? Why aren’t they already working? They’re dancing around each other—Who are you? Why are you here? Come on, people, start working! We did the work, led her between continents and labs, and now we finally got them in the same room. So why wouldn’t they start?

The doctor stared at Alma, a severe look on his wrinkle-ridden face. Her left eyelid twitched for less than a second, allowing him to smile with contentment.

My apologies, Mrs. Goldberg. Your lab is not ready quite yet. I believe you’re a bit early, am I correct?

Miss. I am, but I thought we could begin earlier than next month if possible.

The colonies started signaling each other, using all the hormonal resources at their disposal in the endocrine systems of Alma and the doctor.

WE NEED THEM TO START WORKING NOW.

Sleem glided into the doctor's nasal canal, passing through the respiratory tract, blood vessels—straight to his scrotum. A little mess around there was always a good way to make any human male comply.

The doctor turned his back to Alma, walked behind his table, and settled into the massive black chair. He put the hard disk and the phones on the table, took a few moments to sit down, shuffled some folders and papers, and then looked up at Alma.

I can have someone give you a tour of the labs, maybe one of my interns can take you to the coffee cart. Or, you can come back at the designated time, and we’ll have everything ready for you.

The colony sent Tex to push Alma’s central nervous system into an anxiety attack. Her body trembled, and she raised her voice—but the mission was more important than Alma’s wellbeing. The final trials had to be conducted. The robots needed to be ready for mass production. The colony couldn’t wait any longer.

I’m familiar with the labs. I’d be happy to just get a table and make a list of the things I really need for the trial.

The doctor sighed and nodded.

Okay, let’s find you a table.

Tex relished the colony’s praises. He was the best at pushing all the right buttons to make Alma do whatever the colony needed. Every decision she believed was her own was controlled by Tex and the colony. He felt lucky to have been swept into her digestive system seven years ago with the synthetic poison she’d bought online to stay thin. Thinness-obsessed women were Tex’s bread and butter. This brain—young, genius, and programmed by an overbearing family for self-hate—was a dream come true to manipulate.

Alma finished the list and handed it back to the doctor. Tex jumped into her stomach, making her hungry and guilty at the same time.

Go-Woo is still a prototype, but I expect the clinical trials to push our research forward. I expect you to provide me with everything on this list so we can start as soon as possible. Our nano-robots are the answer to many of humanity's questions—they can save millions of lives.

And the myriads of Toxoplasma gondii they are carrying.

I’ll make it work.

Humans need to return to the undisputed control of the colony. They’re too obsessed with health and medicine, but the nano-robots will restore order.

Thank you. Now, I think I’d like to see that coffee cart you mentioned earlier.

As she chewed her donut slowly, the colony celebrated. Tex knew she’d go ahead and regurgitate, no matter how slow she ate. She was never full, never satisfied, and never liked her reflection. The colony controlling the senior Mrs. Goldberg had ensured Alma would mind her weight from an early age—never too sick, never too healthy—so control would always be easy. The plan worked flawlessly. Maybe the colony would reward Alma by letting her indulge in her poison—alcohol and slimming pills.

The final step was near.

#ShortStory #SciFi #Nanotechnology #MindControl #DarkFiction #Toxoplasma #BodyHorror #SpeculativeFiction #BiotechThriller #Dystopian