“This had better be worth my time, Dr. Lansing. I rarely give so much time to view such…ludicrous experiments.”

“By all means, Mr. Amherst, I’m sure you’ll find our product rather lucrative once you see what it can do. You won’t regret sponsoring this project-”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. You have one half hour.”

I had entered the Diotrephes Laboratories with a Dr. Lansing at precisely 9:32 AM. Being the philanthropist that I am, particularly towards the education of our youth, it is only natural that I would be constantly burdened by companies and organizations, grubbing for money to fund their latest “projects.” I would usually leave this drivel to the spam filters and paper shredders, but this particular offer caught my eye.

“Tell me about this ‘miracle chip’ you’ve been ranting about,” I said, already dreading the longwinded advertisement which was sure to follow.

“Ask me a question,” he answered, a smug grin on his face.

I paused, then went along with his little game. “All right. Who wrote Paradise Lost?”

“That would be John Milton,” he responded.

I turned to look at the doctor. He didn’t look the type to be interested in classic literature with his wrinkles white coat and disheveled brown hair.

“You’ve read his work?”

“Never read a page of his writing,” said the doctor. He walked to a door and held it open. “After you,” he said.

The doctor gestured towards a door, which he had propped open with his arm. I adjusted my tie and stepped in. The cavernous room was lit with the glow of about fifty computer monitors around the perimeter, each one manned by another white coat. At the center was a large meeting table. I took a seat at one of the plush chairs, the doctor following suit.

“So, Doctor. You know about an author and his works without ever picking up one of his books. I suppose this has to do with your project somehow.”

Lansing looked as giddy as a schoolgirl, a boastful grin across his face, “Have I got your attention now?”

I tapped a finger against the pocket watch on the inside of my jacket, “You still only have a half hour. Keep it concise.”

“I’ve found a way to re-”

“‘Revolutionize the education system.’ I don’t need the advertisement. Just tell me how it works.”

Usually that tactic was enough to shake up those who would try to drain me of my time and money. But this lab rat kept his little smirk, direct eye contact, no fumbling of loose-leaf papers.

“I’ll one-up you, Mr. Amherst. I’ll show you how it works.”

With that, in walked a woman in her mid-thirties with a young boy, elementary school age. The mother’s dress code was trailer park business casual: some stained khakis and a Wal-Mart blouse. The child wore a pair of ripped shorts and a T-shirt with some sort of cartoon character. Highly unprofessional. What stood out about this kid, however, was the fact that he had a black band around his neck. The two stood next to the doctor, who gestured as if they were some prized cattle.

“Ms. Fulke was kind enough to volunteer her son Timothy as our first child test subject…”

Figures, probably another one of those welfare mothers. No doubt she got enough from these scientists’ donations to live for months without doing a damned thing.

“…Timothy suffers from a variety of learning disabilities. He was placed in separate classrooms from his peers, struggling to learn even the most basic information. Now, you surely have noticed this protector.”

He stopped to point at the band around the child’s neck.

“This is to guard the chip located at the base of Timothy’s neck. That way, he can still romp around without causing any harm. This chip is the processor, implanted into the brainstem. Electrodes are inserted in different parts of the brain. The neural activity is what stimulates the processor to work…”

Not like this Timothy looked like he was ‘romping around.’ The child was expressionless. He wasn’t running around the laboratory, trying to touch anything and everything. He wasn’t even grabbing at the promotional pens and scribbling on the table. Even his eyes looked lackluster as he stared out ahead.

“To avoid the long, jargon-filled explanation, this chip, when activated, can access our reference databases. The mind basically becomes a search engine. The information is pulled from the database, sent to the brain, and bam! Instant answer. Now, try asking him something, anything. Don’t go easy on him.”

I looked from the smirking doctor to the beaming mother, then to the kid, who looked like he didn’t give a damn. Fine, let’s see if this gizmo really works. I leaned in, smiling at this little man-made prodigy.

“Define Coulomb’s Law.”

The boy blinked in response. I looked towards the doctor for an explanation, or at least a baffled expression. He seemed unfazed.

“The magnitude of the electrostatic force between two point charges is directly proportional to the magnitudes of each charge and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the charges.”

The boy’s voice was unenthusiastic, but assured. He looked just as expressionless as ever, even while his mother nearly strangled him with her ecstatic embrace.

“Ya see? Mah boy’s gonna be one ‘a them doctor-types. He’s gonna be bright an’ successful, right Timmy?”

The boy just nodded in response.

"Doctor, what kind of learning disabilities does Timothy have?"

The doctor shifted to a manila folder, looking over the contents, "Let's see...dyslexia, dyscalculia...also a case of ADHD-"

"Wait, this kid has ADHD?" The boy was still rooted in place, "I've seen slugs with more energy than he has."

"There will be certain side-effects, one of them being a slight fatigue. In this case, it has actually countered his hyperactivity. He no longer needs medication."

I nodded. At least disciplinary issues wouldn't be much of a problem.

"But think of the positives, Mr. Amherst. All students will be on the same level. There won't be a need for tracking, separating the exceptional students from the normal. Schools themselves would become obsolete, Think of the money the states could save not having to fund education."

"Doctor, granted this is particularly impressive, but you can't think education is so...trivial. And our knowledge of the world is constantly changing."

The white coat smiled and tapped his fingers against the files in front of him, "Dear Mr. Amherst, do look back on your public school education and tell me it wasn't trivial. Even if the classes weren't integrated yet, the more advanced classes still had to be taught to a base test. We learned what we had to, we passed the tests, then left to forget it all. Here," he said, patting the band at the boy's neck, "the students will all become equal. Our knowledge will be as infinite as our databases, constantly updated.”

He waited a moment, probably to get out of the scientific euphoria he had worked himself into, and continued in a slightly calmer tone, "And we've recently incorporated wireless connectivity, so even pop culture references that might not be part of our academia databases can still be accessed. Go on, Mr. Amherst, ask him something."

Not wanting to disappoint the overexcited scientist, I asked, "Who played Eliza Doolittle in the 1964 film adaptation of My Fair Lady?"

The child paused, a little longer than before, but finally responded, "Audrey Hepburn."

The mother smiled wider than ever, and the doctor turned an expectant gaze towards me, as if waiting for me to jump up, pen in hand, and sign the papers that would assure my support of the project. I stayed in my seat. "Great. So we can make people into walking textbooks and trivia buffs."

The doctor furrowed his brow, slamming his fist against the table, "But always having that information, anytime, anywhere! Think about what could be accomplished If all minds could have access to that knowledge!" The good doctor was starting to show his frustration. About time too. I had started to think the lab rat was unshakable. He regained his composure quickly, however, and slid a file in my direction, labeled "Future Plans." Inside were stacks of documents on variant uses of the chip. I skimmed over the different papers, and paused upon reaching one of the applications.

"Law enforcement?"

Suddenly, his voice spoke next to my ear, "If -" he said. I jumped. While I had been reading the file, the doctor had walked around behind my chair. That damned grin spread even further across that pasty face. "If all goes well, the government has agreed to help fund our research into expanding the uses for this chip. If we can instill knowledge into the mind, why not correct morals? Even so far as to build a punishment system built into the chip itself to apprehend those who would commit an offense. The crime rate would drop immensely, if not disappear altogether!”

"Maybe. But what about this about job sorting on page seventy-two? I thought the point of this project was to even the playing field?"

"Though each person would be granted access to the same information, it doesn't change the fact that some minds are more apt to different work than others. So, at the age of first employment, a person will be sent in for a thorough physical and mental examination to find an unbiased solution as to what occupation the person should enter. Then, the chip will start entering data into the mind. The process could take anywhere from a few seconds to a few days to complete, depending on the field…”

I stared almost dumbfounded at the papers in front of me. Was it possible? Was this really the revolutionary "miracle chip' that would change damn near everything?

"Would you like to look at the contract now, Mr. Amherst? I wouldn't want to waste any more of your valuable time."

"Yes. Bring it here."

The doctor didn't move from his spot, but handed me another folder, this one containing nothing but the contract. He had been hanging onto it the entire time. He offered a pen as well, but I laid it to the side, pulling out a fountain pen from a pocket . in my suit jacket. Looking over the paperwork, I found it to be a standard contract for this sort of business: send us money, you get profits, don't expect refunds if we screw up along the way. I had barely touched the pen to the paper when a voice spoke out.

"Error.."

I looked to my right. There stood the boy, not looking at anyone in particular. His face was white though, even whiter than the lab rat. "What's wrong, darlin?" The mother crouched down behind her son, turning his face to look at her. "Error...Error." The mother looked confused at first, then started to scream. Her fingers were stained red with the blood that had started dripping from the boy's ears at a quickening pace. His body started to shake, and with a light thud, the boy fell to the floor, convulsing in the puddle of blood pooling wider by his head. The mother was in hysterics, clutching the child while screaming at the doctor.

"What didja do to my baby? He's dyin"! He's dyin'! Do somethin'! You're a doctor, aintcha? You fix it!”

The scientists working at the monitors were in a frenzy. Not so much because the child was on the floor bleeding to death, but because one by one, the monitors had begun blinking erratically. The doctor had already started harassing the other scientists, screaming at the top of his lungs, "What the hell is going on here?! You! Explain!"

The white coat he had targeted trembled as he spoke, barely able to get the words out, "Dr. Lansing...W-we don't know h-how it happened. B-b-but he got a ..v-virus."

A less shaken but somber white coat next to him finished the bad news, "Sir, we expect that it happened around the time that Timothy had used the wireless capabilities. We've got a time bomb."

"What..? How did it get around our firewall? ...Fine, that's fine. We'll just restart the systems, repair the damage." The doctor laughed nervously, sweat starting to collect at his collar.

"Sir, it's not so easy. The virus was added to the databases along with the information Timothy accessed. It...It's infecting everything..."

The doctor's eyes widened as he grasped at his neck. Between his fingers, under his collar, I could see the black band. He started ripping at it, digging his fingernails into the flesh surrounding the ribbon of black fused to his skin.

"Get it off! Get it out of me!" Around the room, the other scientists in the room had followed suit, each trying to tear away at their own little black noose.

"Doctor, stop! We don't know what will happen if we don't properly remove-"

"Get this fucking thing out of my neck!"

The combined din of the mother's sobs, the scientists' screams, and the frantic clattering of computer keys was enough that I thought I was going to start bleeding from the ears. The scientists had become desperate, savage in their attempts to free themselves. I pulled out my pocket watch and looked at the time: 10:17.

"Damn, lost track of time...Already late-" I looked up at the doctor, but stopped mid-sentence. His white coat wasn't so white anymore, more like a butcher's apron. He stopped clawing at the band as he met my gaze, then reached with a shaky hand to wipe away the blood at his own ears.

"God..God! Stop…stop the bleeding!"

He started to tremble, though whether that was the fear or the oncoming convulsions, I couldn't tell. I shoved my watch back in my suit pocket along with my fountain pen and ran out of the laboratory as the cage of white lab rats cried out to God.