Keep it Fair

By jinnis

2024, the Olympic and Paralympic Games in Paris were a tremendous success. Never had so many athletes competed, and never the games had celebrated inclusivity with so much enthusiasm and vigour. But then, the nanobots changed everything.

The catalyst of the development was a teenage girl named Tamara Ngono. When she was born in a village somewhere in the African countryside, her parents were devastated to learn their little angel was blind. Despite her disability, Tamara was a clever girl and a fast learner. Since her family couldn't afford to send her into a special school for children with visual impairments, she went to the regular village school. Her teacher gave the best to help her along, aware the girl was gifted beyond most other pupils in her class.

When her teacher learned about the new technology, she knew she had to find a way for little Tammy to benefit. It took a lot of effort to raise the funds, and she might never have done it if not for a wealthy sponsor who found her initiative—and perhaps herself—endearing. In the end, Tammy's eldest brother flew with her to Europe, where she got the treatment. She was the first human child admitted to the program following extensive tests on chimpanzees.

Later, the company underlined their altruistic motives in their choice, but it was muttered that they deliberately risked the life and health of an unknown, unimportant, and undernourished African girl in the hope failure wouldn't matter as much.

Whatever the truth, the treatment worked. The nanobots released into Tamara's bloodstream, where they did what they were supposed to do and repaired her eye nerve. A few weeks later, with the bots purged from her system, little Tammy passed the eye test with far better results than her brother.

The attention of the world was on this small wonder. While the pharmaceutical company launched a project for long-term development, Tamara became a star in the tabloids and on social media.

Amidst all the attention, the young girl never forgot how lucky she had been, and swore to spend her life giving others the same opportunities she got herself.

The way from this first success to the general availability of the game-changing technology was still long, but Tamara never wavered in her determination. She finished her studies in biochemistry and human medicine in record time and was welcomed into the growing scientific team of the nano-health program with open arms.

With the bots, who had still been clumsy and unreliable in the beginning, becoming more elaborate and tinier, the risks of the treatment could be minimised, the costs lowered enough to make it affordable—at leat for the wealthy.

The age of the superhuman had begun.

Now, everyone could be the fastest, jump the highest, or hit the target best. It was just a question of the amount and quality of bots used to correct the faults in a metabolism and enhance the human system. Everything became a question of the price.

Hereditary diseases could be fought, damaged nerves healed, and the body's performance improved.

For a long time, no one cared much about the consequences. But since the bots were purged from the system after treatment and left no traces, athletes could use it to enhance their performance without fearing to be accused of doping. When her patient, a former tetraplegic, won Olympic gold over 100 m, Tamara developed the first doubts. Her colleague Brad found her one morning, staring at a blank screen and her hands cradled around a cold cup of coffee.

"What ails you, Tam? Have you passed the night in the office?"

Tamara looked with dark-ringed eyes. "Brad. Is it already morning?"

"Going on seven. What's wrong?"

"Have you read about the new world record over 100 m?"

"Nah, sports don't interest me much. What about it?"

Tamara emptied her cup, shivering. "The man was our customer less than a year ago. I remember him well, and you might, too. Charles Devlin."

A frown formed on Brad's face. "Wait, the man who broke his spine speeding and running his car into a school bus?"

"The one. Thirteen children dead—but he was lucky, and since his dad owns a major oil company, our bots repaired his spine and fixed a few minor issues as a side effect. And now this."

"Wow. He must have worked hard these last few months."

Tamara looked at her colleague with wide brown eyes. "From the wheelchair to Olympic gold in less than twelve months? This would never have been possible without our bots. How many other athletes will follow his example? A simple—if costly—treatment instead of years of training and deprivation?"

Brad shrugged. "So what?"

It was Tamara's turn to frown. "Aren't the olympics meant to be a peaceful competition between the nations, used by fairness and acceptance? If anyone can buy a treatment and win, where has this spirit gone?"

"Tam, you're a hopeless romantic." Brad patted her shoulder. "This spirit, as you call it, has gone down the drain long ago. Come, let's prepare the treatment chamber. We have a load of customers today."

She stood up with a sigh and went to refill her cup. "I swear, if there would be a way to return to what we had before, I'd do it. In the name of fairness and equality."

"Stop it, Tam. We both know we cannot turn back the wheel of time. Also, you benefited yourself, right?"

"Very much, and there isn't a day when I don't remember those who gave me my eyesight." She checked the day's schedule. A standard treatment for kidney failure and a woman with multiple sclerosis, her treatment funded by a non-profit foundation. A boy who had fallen from a tree and broken his spine. Nothing she couldn't align with her ethics. And yet...

With a deep sigh, she set up the injector and calculated the number of bots needed. "All that matters is to allow people to lead a better life. That's why I am here."

She had muttered the words to herself, but Brad overheard her. "That's the spirit. Never forget that we make a difference. The rest—it's just normal human behaviour."

"Still, it isn't fair. Shouldn't sport be fair?"

Brad only shrugged. "Life ain't fair. Are you ready for the first patient?"

Tamara lowered her gaze and nodded. Brad was right, but a bitter taste remained while she programmed the bots for their first task of the day.