Nanobots, Murder, and Other Family Problems
Wednesday, March 30

The men in the black suits climb out of their dark sedan. The house shakes as the huge one pounds a gorilla-sized fist against my grandparents’ door, shouting for them to open up. A police cruiser pulls up to the curb and a pair of uniformed cops get out. I let the thick drapes drop back to cover the spare room’s window and turn to the couch where I’ve been sleeping since Mom died. No point waiting, they’re taking me for real this time. I grab my backpack and start packing.

“You can’t have him,” Gramps shouts through the front door. “We’re filing for custody. Come back when you have a court order.”

“We don’t need a new court order,” the giant booms. “Custody reverted to his father on Mary Kimball’s death. Open the door and surrender the boy, or we’ll have you arrested.”

I grab Mom’s SynTech Model 350 laptop and stuff it into my bag. Its bulky shape fills most of the space, but that’s fine. Besides being the top of the line computer from my father’s company, it’s got the only copy of Mom’s hacking tools. She spent a lot of time with it, and it still kind of smells like her. There’s not much else here that I care about taking with me. I stuff some clothes around it in the bag, then put my journal and a small framed picture of her in the front pocket. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Noah is practically an adult,” Grammy protests, pushing past Gramps to crack open the door, leaving the chain lock in place. “You can’t take him away when he’s this close to eighteen. He should get to choose.”

“Sergeant Thompson,” the giant barks. “Break down the door.”

I hear them arguing outside as I recognize the name. He’s the same officer that came to my house a couple of weeks ago to tell me about Mom’s accident. Nice guy then, and he’s delaying that beast of a lawyer now. I owe him one, even if he’s here to help them haul me off.

I shoulder my pack and walk to the front door. Gramps is reaching into the closet where he keeps his shotgun. Pulling that worked when it was just the lawyers, but with the cops out there it’s more likely to get him shot. I put a hand on his shoulder and shake my head.

“It’s OK, Gramps. I’ll go.”

“No!” he says. “You can’t. Your mother would never—”

“Mom’s gone!” The words claw out more harshly than I’d intended. I soften my voice. “Look, I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. He can’t keep me for more than a few weeks. I’ll get back here before you even miss me.”

“But you don’t know what he’s like,” Grammy says. “He’ll twist and turn you. Use you up like he does to everyone.”

She starts crying when I unlatch the door anyway. I swing it open wide and give each of them a hug as the two cops stand aside, the monster and his three lackeys in their black suits looking on impassively. Gramps holds on as if his strong arms could somehow keep me here. “Remember who you are,” he whispers in my ear as I pull away. I nod and step through the door, closing it behind me. Their expressions burn into my memory, Gramps with his angry fear, Grammy’s tearful grief.

“You’ve got me,” I tell the giant. He’s even bigger up close. “Leave them alone.”

His hard eyes glare at me from under a haircut that probably cost as much as my laptop as his well-tanned face twists into a cruel smile. He turns to Sergeant Thompson. “Thank you for your assistance. Your part is done here.”

The cops look relieved not to have to arrest an old man. The hulk waves his crew toward the car as he shepherds me into the back seat of a large black sedan before taking the wheel. One of the suits gets in on either side of me. Once we’re a couple of blocks out, the slim black man with thick glasses next to me pulls out a phone. He flips it open and dials.

“Sir,” he says into it after a moment. “Yes. We have him, sir. Smith is driving us to the airport now. Yes. I’ll tell him.” He pauses. I can’t hear more than a faint mumble from the other end of the line. “I’m sure he’ll understand, sir. Thank you.”

He flips his phone closed and turns his head my way. “Mr. Butler will not be able to greet you when you arrive at his school. Pressing matters have required his presence elsewhere. He apologizes and wants you to know that he is still very eager to meet you.”

I’m not interested in talking with these robots in suits, so I just nod. Tom Butler, the father I’ve never met, didn’t care enough to come get me himself. Didn’t even care enough to be there when I arrive. Mom was right about him.

I pull out my phone at the airport and flip it open to let my grandparents know that I made it that far safely. Before I can dial their number, the giant swipes it out of my hands and glares at me. The next several hours pass in a dull blur, followed by boarding a plane and a surprisingly comfortable seat in first class. Never had one of those before. Mom and I always flew in the cheapest seats on our rare vacations. Maybe having a rich and famous father won’t be all downside.

A black SUV picks us up from the Las Vegas airport. The road running through the moonlit Nevada desert has nothing to see but the endless rows and rows of solar panels and hulking power lines leading away from them. My father’s work, those. Part of his one-man crusade to save the world again using his barely-legal nanotech, as if the one time that he’d already saved it wasn’t enough. That’s what I’ve read about him, anyway. Mom never talked about my father except to tell me to stay away from him.

It’s nearly midnight when we arrive at a walled compound in the middle of nowhere. “This is it,” the giant announces. I think those are the first words he’s spoken to me this whole trip. I get out and take a look at the tall wall and massive open gates of my temporary home. The car pulls away before I can try to get my phone back.

The moon shines bright enough for me to make out the sign spelling out The Butler Institute in large metal letters. I don’t see anywhere else to go, so I walk through the gate. A set of bright lights on poles click on to reveal a wide, grass-covered field surrounded by buildings. The clack of hard shoes on concrete rings out and a stout older woman with her hair tied back in a severe bun emerges from around a corner.

“Noah Kimball, I presume?”

I nod.

“Welcome, Noah. I’m Mrs. Hastings.” Her voice is softer than I’d expected from looking at her. “Did you have a good flight?”

“It was fine,” I tell her flatly. I don’t mention the threats to my grandparents or having my phone stolen. I’m sure she’ll hear all about it later from the oversized gorilla.

“My condolences for your loss. Your father always had good things to say about your mother. Unfortunately, Mr. Butler was called away quite unexpectedly on a matter of some urgency and wasn’t able to be here to greet you as he wished.”

She pauses. If I were less pissed at the whole situation, I might have told her it was fine, that I understood. Instead I give her a blank stare.

“You must be exhausted,” she says gently after the uncomfortable moment. “Let’s get you situated in the dorms. I’ll have one of the other children give you a tour of the place in the morning.”

I nod again. I guess I could use some sleep. Besides, the sooner this day ends, the sooner I get out of here. I let her lead me along a sidewalk around the open field and up to the dark outline of a large building. She pulls out a ring of keys and unlocks the pair of double doors, then leads me into a cavernous and dimly lit room dotted about with couches and chairs.

“These are the dorms,” she says, “and this is the common room. The other students like to spend most of their free time either here or in the rec room of the Learning Center. The girls’ wing is that way.” She points to one of the hallways leading off from the room. “You will never have any reason to go there, so don’t. The boys’ wing is over here.”

She leads me down a long hallway with the same dim lighting as the common room, stopping at a door labeled “Noah” in bold, black letters. She opens the door for me and I step into a small room furnished with a twin bed, a plain wooden desk, and a simple wheeled chair. An empty closet stands open to my right, a doorway to my left reveals the world’s smallest bathroom.

“We’ll get you set up with new clothes and whatever else you need tomorrow. Hopefully everything is to your liking.”

“It’s fine,” I say. One month. I can survive this cell for a month.

“I’ll let your grandparents know that you arrived safely. Your father will be back as soon as he can. The other children will see to you in the morning. Good night.”

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