Micro Story #5: Honey & Nanorobots
Updated: May 6
Roberta knew there were nanorobots in the honey, but she poured it over her toast anyway. The gooey sweetness filled her mouth and, mixed with the gentle heat of the cinnamon, it was a moment of calm. A moment of peace. Unlike last time, there was no metallic aftertaste. Which she was grateful for, truly.
She was also grateful an unknown government organization chose her to be the person they experimented on.
Rule number one of illegal biotechnological experimentation was to have subjects live their lives in blissful ignorance. Honestly, it’s genius. She would know, she orchestrated over a thousand experiments on unsuspecting delivery drivers, professors, and accountants across the country - none of them ever found out.
But you don’t spend a career invading people’s homes without picking up on the signs. Her bottle of honey and peanut butter jar had switched places in the cabinet. The meticulously engraved cap for the salt shaker was on the pepper shaker, and vice versa.
Then, of course, she scanned her entire condo for metals before she even used the bathroom in the morning.
“Good morning.” She stood to kiss Lucille, then returned to eating her toast.
“Mornin’.” As always, the soft scent of rose followed Lily while she reached for skillets and spices to begin her breakfast. She saw the bottle of honey on the kitchen table but didn’t stop her movements. “Still eating that honey I see.”
“I am,” Roberta said. “I wanna see what happens.”
“You do understand you’re being poisoned, right?” Lucille cracked a couple of eggs open and poured them into the pan. She reached in the back of the cabinet for the newly-bought salt and pepper that wasn’t infested with the robots.
“You say poison, I say progression.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Who said progression made sense?”
Lucille groaned. “It’s too early in the morning for your monologues.”
“You know as well as I do that this is the easiest way to gain access to MonoTech. Isn’t that what you want?”
Lucille turned away from the stove with her arms crossed. Her bonnet was only halfway on her head, and her sprawling grey curls twirled in every direction. Tugging on a loose thread in the arm of her thick robe, she shook her head.
“Are you going to deny it?” Roberta asked.
“I’m almost sixty years old, woman,” Lucille's voice grew hard. “I don’t deny anything. But it’s not simple. It could be medicine, it could be slow-acting arsenic.”
Roberta thought about this - really thought about it. “Well,” she whispered. “I guess we’ll find out.”