Postsingular

It was Carlos's turn to giggle as the foam gushed over his hands. He took a swig and offered the bottle to Jeff. Jeff waved him off, intent on his future dreams.

"I see an astronomically large cloud of self-reproducing nanobots in orbit around the sun," said Jeff. "They'll feed on space dust and solar energy and carry out calculations too vast for earthbound machines."

"So that's what self-reproducing nanomachines are good for," said Carlos.

"I'm go

"Beautiful," said Carlos, jamming the launch rod into the sand a few meters above the waterline. "I claim this kingdom for the nants."

Jeff slid the rocket down over the launch rod, threading the rod through the five-inch metal tube glued to the rocket's side. He stuck an igniter wire into the molded engine, secured the wire with wadding, and attached the wire's loose ends to the ignition unit: a little box with an ante

"The National Association of Rocketry says we should back off seven hundred feet now," said Jeff, checking over their handiwork one last time.

"Bogus," said Carlos. "I want to watch our big beetle go throbbing into the air. We'll get behind that dune here and peek."

"Affirmative," said Jeff.

The boys settled onto the lee slope of a low dune and inched up until they could peer over the crest at the gaudy fat tube. Carlos dug a little hole in the sand to steady the champagne bottle. Jeff took out his cell phone. The launch program was idling on the screen, cycling through a series of clock and map displays.

"You can really see the jetliners on that blue map?" asked Carlos, his handsome face gilded by the setting sun.

"You bet. Good thing, too. We'll squirt up our rocket when there's a gap in the traffic. Like a bum scuttling across a freeway."

"What's the cluster of red dots on that next map?"

"Those are the nanochips in the rocket's tip. At apogee, the nose cone blows off and the dots scatter."

"Awesome," said Carlos. "The beetle shoots his wad. Maybe we should track down some of those nanochips after they land."

"We go visit some guy in the Sunset district, and we're, like, congratulations, a Lu-Tuc nant is idling in your driveway!" said Jeff, his homely face wreathed in smiles.

"Gosh, Mr. Luty, can I drive it to work?" riffed Carlos, sounding like an earnest wage earner. "You got a key?"

"Here comes a gap in the planes," said Jeff.

"Go," answered Carlos, his face calm and dreamy.

"T minus one hundred twenty seconds," said Jeff, punching in a control code. In two minutes the phone would signal the ignition unit.

Only now, damn, here came a ponytailed woman jogging along the beach with a dog. And of course she had to stop by the rocket and spot the boys. Jeff paused the countdown.

"What are you doing?" asked the woman, her voice like a dentist's drill. "Do you have permission for this?"

"It's just a little toy rocket kit I got for Christmas," called Carlos. "Totally legit, ma'am. No problem. Happy New Year."

"Well-you two be careful," said the woman. "Don't set off that thing while I'm around. Hey, come here, Guster!" Her dog had lifted his leg to squirt pee onto the rocket's side. Embarrassed now, the woman jogged off.

"Bounce, bounce, bounce," said Carlos loud enough for her to hear, and then switched to an officious tone. "I recommend that you secure the integrity of the launch vehicle, Mr. Luty."

"I'm not wiping off dog piss! I can smell it from here. See it dripping down? We'll cleanse the planet and send it into the sky."

"Resume countdown, Mr. Luty." Carlos took another pull from the champagne bottle. "This tickles my nose." He threw back his head and gave a sudden cracked whoop. "Happy New Year! Hey, maybe I should piss on the rocket too!" He handed Jeff the bottle, and made as if to stand up, but Jeff threw his arm over his friend.

"Batten down for Lu-Tuc Space Tech!" said Jeff, enjoying Carlos's closeness. He looked up and down the long empty beach. The woman was a small dab in the distance. And now she deviated into a side path. "T minus sixty seconds," said Jeff, snugging the bottle into its hole. "Battle stations, Carlos."

The boys backed down below the crest and lay side by side staring at Jeff 's little screen. The last ten seconds ticked off. And nothing happened.

"Shit," said Carlos, raising his head to peer over the dune's crest. "Do you think the dog-"

The blast was something Jeff felt more than heard. A hideous pressure on his ears. Shrapnel whizzed overhead; he could feel the violent rippling of the air. Carlos was lying face down, very still. Blood stained the sand, outlining Carlos's head. For a second Jeff could think he was only seeing a shadow. But no.

Not sure if he should roll his friend over, Jeff looked distractedly at the screen of his cell phone. How strange. The chaotic explosion must have sent a jet of nanomachines into Carlos's face, for Jeff could see a ghostly form of his friend's features on the little screen, a stippling of red dots. Carlos looked all right except for his-eye?

Jeff could hear sirens, still very far. Carlos didn't seem to be breathing. Jeff went ahead and rolled Carlos over so he could give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Maybe the shock wave had knocked his breath out. Maybe that was all. Maybe everything was still retrievable. But no, the five-inch metal tube that served as launch lug had speared through Carlos's right eye. Stuff was oozing from the barely protruding tip. Carlos had definitely stopped breathing.

Jeff leaned over his beloved friend, pressing his mouth to Carlos's blood-foamed lips, trying to breathe in life. He was still at it when his mother and sisters found him. The medics had to sedate him to make him stop. CHAPTER 2

Nant Day

Little Chu was Nektar Lundquist's joy, and her sorrow. The six-year-old boy was winsome, with a chestnut cap of shiny brown hair, long dark eyelashes, and a tidy mouth. Chu allowed Nektar and her husband to cuddle him, he'd smile now and then, and he understood what they said-if it suited his moods. But he wouldn't talk.

The doctors had pinpointed the problem as an empathy deficit, a type of autism resulting from flawed co

"I wonder if Chu thinks we're cartoons," said Nektar's husband, Ond Lutter, an angular man with thi

"Maybe Chu feels like we're all one," said Nektar. She was a self-possessed woman, tall and erect, glamorous with high cheekbones, full lips, and clear, thoughtful eyes. "Maybe Chu imagines that we automatically know what he's thinking." She reached back to adjust her heavy blond ponytail. She'd been dying her hair since she was twelve.

"How about it, Chu?" said Ond, lifting up the boy and giving him a kiss. "Is Mommy the same as you? Or is she a machine?"