MICHAELCRICHTON

PREY

Within fifty to a hundredyears, a new class oforganismsislikelytoemerge.These organisms will beartificialinthesensethattheywilloriginallybedesignedbyhumans. However, they willreproduce, and will “evolve”into something other thantheir original form; they will

be “alive” under anyreasonable definition of theword. These organisms willevolve in a fundamentallydifferentmanner….Thepace…willbeextremelyrapid….The impact on humanity andthe biosphere could beenormous, larger than theindustrial revolution, nuclearweapons, or environmentalpollution.Wemusttakestepsnow to shape the emergence

ofartificialorganisms….

—DoyneFarmerandAllettaBelin,1992

There are many people,including myself, who arequite queasy about theconsequences of thistechnologyforthefuture.

—K.EricDrexler,1992

Contents

INTRODUCTION:ARTIFICIAL EVOLUTIONIN THE TWENTY-FIRSTCENTURY

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

EXCERPTFROMMICROPrologue

AbouttheAuthor

ByMichaelCrichtonCopyrightAboutthePublisher

INTRODUCTIONARTIFICIALEVOLUTIONINTHETWENTY-FIRSTCENTURY

The notion that the worldaround us is continuouslyevolving is a platitude; werarely grasp its fullimplications. We do not

ordinarily think, forexample,of an epidemic diseasechanging its character as theepidemic spreads.Nordowethink of evolution in plantsandanimalsasoccurringinamatter of days or weeks,thoughitdoes.Andwedonotordinarily imagine the greenworldaroundusasasceneofconstant, sophisticatedchemicalwarfare,withplantsproducing pesticides in

responsetoattack,andinsectsdeveloping resistance. Butthatiswhathappens,too.Ifweweretograspthetrue

natureofnature—ifwecouldcomprehendtherealmeaningof evolution—thenwewouldenvision a world in whicheverylivingplant,insect,andanimalspecies ischangingatevery instant, in response toevery other living plant,insect, and animal. Whole

populations of organisms arerisingandfalling,shiftingandchanging. This restless andperpetual change, asinexorableandunstoppableasthewavesandtides,impliesaworld in which all humanactions necessarily haveuncertain effects. The totalsystemwe call the biosphereis so complicated that wecannot know in advance theconsequencesofanythingthat

wedo.1

That iswhyevenourmostenlightened past efforts havehad undesirable outcomes—either because we did notunderstand enough, orbecause the ever-changingworld responded to ouractions in unexpected ways.From this standpoint, thehistory of environmentalprotection is as discouragingas the history of

environmental pollution.Anyone who is willing toargue, for example, that theindustrial policy of clear-cutting forests is moredamaging than theecologicalpolicy of fire suppressionignores the fact that bothpolicieshavebeencarriedoutwith utter conviction, andboth have altered the virginforest irrevocably. Bothprovide ample evidence of

theobstinateegotismthatisahallmark of humaninteraction with theenvironment.Thefact that thebiosphere

respondsunpredictablytoouractionsisnotanargumentforinaction. It is, however, apowerful argument forcaution, and for adopting atentative attitude toward allwe believe, and all we do.Unfortunately, our species

has demonstrated a strikinglackofcaution in thepast. Itis hard to imagine that wewillbehavedifferently in thefuture.We think we know what

we are doing. We havealways thought so.Weneverseemtoacknowledgethatwehave beenwrong in the past,andsomightbewronginthefuture. Instead, eachgeneration writes off earlier

errors as the result of badthinkingbylessableminds—andthenconfidentlyembarksonfresherrorsofitsown.We are one of only three

speciesonourplanetthatcanclaim to be self-aware,2 yetself-delusion may be a moresignificant characteristic ofourkind.

Sometime in the twenty-first

century, our self-deludedrecklessnesswill collidewithour growing technologicalpower. One area where thiswill occur is in the meetingpoint of nanotechnology,biotechnology, and computertechnology. What all threehaveincommonistheabilityto release self-replicatingentitiesintotheenvironment.We have lived for some

years with the first of these

self-replicating entities,computerviruses.Andwearebeginning to have somepractical experience with theproblems of biotechnology.The recent report thatmodified maize genes nowappear in native maize inMexico—despitelawsagainstit, and efforts to prevent it—is just the start of what wemay expect to be a long anddifficult journey to control

our technology. At the sametime, long-standing beliefsabout the fundamental safetyof biotechnology—viewspromoted by the greatmajority of biologists sincethe 1970s—now appear lesssecure. The unintendedcreation of a devastatinglylethal virus by Australianresearchers in 2001 hascaused many to rethink oldassumptions.3Clearlywewill

not be as casual about thistechnologyinthefutureaswehavebeeninthepast.Nanotechnology is the

newest of these threetechnologies, and in someways the most radical. It isthe quest to build man-mademachineryofextremelysmallsize, on the order of 100nanometers, or a hundredbillionths of a meter. Suchmachines would be about

1,000 times smaller than thediameter of a human hair.Pundits predict these tinymachines will provideeverything fromminiaturizedcomputercomponents tonewcancer treatments to newweaponsofwar.As a concept,

nanotechnologydatesbacktoa 1959 speech by RichardFeynman called “There’sPlenty of Room at the

Bottom.”4 Forty years later,thefield isstillverymuch inits infancy, despite relentlessmedia hype. Yet practicaladvances are now beingmade, and funding hasincreaseddramatically.Majorcorporations such as IBM,Fujitsu, and Intel arepouringmoney into research. TheU.S.governmenthasspent$1billion on nanotechnology inthelasttwoyears.

Meanwhile,nanotechniques are alreadybeing used to makesunscreens, stain-resistantfabrics, and compositematerials in cars. Soon theywill be used to makecomputers and storagedevices of extremely smallsize.And some of the long-

anticipated “miracle”products have started to

appear as well. In 2002 onecompany was manufacturingself-cleaning window glass;another made a nanocrystalwound dressing withantibiotic and anti-inflammatoryproperties.At the moment

nanotechnologyisprimarilyamaterials technology, but itspotential goes far beyondthat. For decades there hasbeen speculation about self-

reproducing machines. In1980 a NASA paperdiscussedseveralmethodsbywhich such machines couldbemade.Tenyears ago, twoknowledgeablescientiststookthematterseriously:

Within fifty to a hundredyears, a new class oforganismsislikelytoemerge.These organisms will beartificialinthesensethatthey

willoriginallybedesignedbyhumans. However, they willreproduce, and will “evolve”into something other thantheir original form; they willbe “alive” under anyreasonable definition of theword…. The pace ofevolutionary change will beextremely rapid…. Theimpact on humanity and thebiospherecouldbeenormous,larger than the industrial

revolution, nuclear weapons,or environmental pollution.We must take steps now toshape the emergence ofartificialorganisms….5

Andthechiefproponentofnanotechnology, K. EricDrexler, expressed relatedconcerns:

There are many people,including myself, who arequite queasy about the

consequences of thistechnologyforthefuture.Wearetalkingaboutchangingsomany things that the risk ofsociety handling it poorlythroughlackofpreparationisverylarge.6

Even by the mostoptimistic (or dire)predictions, such organismsareprobablydecadesintoourfuture.Wemayhope that by

thetimetheyemerge,wewillhave settled uponinternationalcontrolsforself-reproducingtechnologies.Wecanexpectsuchcontrolstobestringently enforced; alreadywe have learned to treatcomputer virus–makers withaseverityunthinkable twentyyears ago. We’ve learned toput hackers in jail. Errantbiotechnologists will soonjointhem.

But of course, it is alwayspossible that we will notestablish controls. Or thatsomeone will manage tocreate artificial, self-reproducing organisms farsoonerthananyoneexpected.If so, it is difficult toanticipate what theconsequencesmight be. Thatis the subject of the presentnovel.

MichaelCrichton

LOSANGELES,2002

It’smidnightnow.Thehouseis dark. I am not sure howthiswillturnout.Thekidsarealldesperatelysick, throwingup. I can hear my son anddaughterretchinginseparatebathrooms.Iwentintocheckonthemafewminutesago,toseewhatwascomingup.I’mworriedaboutthebaby,butIhad tomake her sick, too. Itwasheronlyhope.

I think I’m okay, at least

forthemoment.Butofcoursetheoddsaren’tgood:mostofthe people involved in thisbusiness are already dead.AndtherearesomanythingsIcan’tknowforsure.

The facility is destroyed,butIdon’tknowifwediditintime.

I’m waiting for Mae. Shewent to the lab in Palo Altotwelve hours ago. I hope shesucceeded. I hope she made

them understand howdesperate the situation is. Iexpectedtohearfromthelabbut so far there has been noword.

I have ringing in my ears,whichisabadsign.AndIfeela vibrating in my chest andabdomen.Thebabyisspittingup, not really vomiting. I amfeeling dizzy. I hope I don’tlose consciousness. The kidsneed me, especially the little

one. They’re frightened. Idon’tblamethem.

Iam,too.

Sittinghereinthedark,it’shard to believe that a weekago my biggest problem wasfindingajob.Itseemsalmostlaughablenow.

But then, thingsnever turnout the way you think theywill.

HOME

DAY110:04A.M.

Thingsneverturnoutthewayyouthinktheywill.Ineverintendedtobecome

a househusband. Stay-at-homehusband.Full-timedad,whatever you want to call it—thereisnogoodtermforit.Butthat’swhatIhadbecome

in thelastsixmonths.NowIwas in Crate & Barrel indowntown San Jose, pickingup some extra glasses, andwhile I was there I noticedthey had a good selection ofplacemats. We needed moreplacemats; the woven ovalones that Julia had bought ayear ago were getting prettyworn, and the weave wascrusted with baby food. Thetrouble was, they were

woven,soyoucouldn’twashthem. So I stopped at thedisplaytoseeiftheyhadanyplacematsthatmightbegood,and I found some pale blueonesthatwerenice,andIgotsome white napkins. Andthen some yellow placematscaughtmy eye, because theylooked really bright andappealing,soIgotthose,too.They didn’t have six on theshelf, and I thought we’d

betterhavesix,soIaskedthesalesgirl to look in the backand see if they had more.WhileshewasgoneIputtheplacematonthetable,andputawhitedishon it,and thenIputayellownapkinnexttoit.The setting looked verycheerful,andIbegantothinkmaybe I should get eightinsteadofsix.Thatwaswhenmycellphonerang.ItwasJulia.“Hi,hon.”

“Hi, Julia. How’s itgoing?” I said. I could hearmachineryinthebackground,a steady chugging. Probablythe vacuum pump for theelectron microscope. Theyhadseveralscanningelectronmicroscopes at herlaboratory.She said, “What’re you

doing?”“Buying placemats,

actually.”“Where?”“CrateandBarrel.”Shelaughed.“Youtheonly

guythere?”“No…”“Oh, well, that’s good,”

shesaid.IcouldtellJuliawascompletely uninterested inthis conversation. Somethingelse was on her mind.“Listen, Iwanted to tell you,Jack,I’mreallysorry,butit’s

going to be a late nightagain.”“Uh-huh…” The salesgirl

came back, carrying moreyellowmats.Stillholdingthephone tomy ear, I beckonedher over. I held up threefingers, and she put downthree more mats. To Julia, Isaid,“Iseverythingallright?”“Yeah, it’s just crazy like

normal.We’rebroadcastinga

demobysatellitetodaytotheVCsinAsiaandEurope,andwe’rehavingtroublewiththesatellite hookup at this endbecause the video truck theysent—oh, you don’t want toknow … anyway, we’regoing to be delayed twohours, hon. Maybe more. Iwon’t get back until eight attheearliest.Canyoufeedthekidsandputthemtobed?”“Noproblem,” I said.And

it wasn’t. I was used to it.Lately, Julia had beenworking very long hours.Most nights she didn’t gethome until the childrenwereasleep. Xymos Technology,thecompanysheworked for,was trying to raise anotherround of venture capital—twenty million dollars—andthere was a lot of pressure.Especially since Xymos wasdeveloping technology in

what the company called“molecular manufacturing,”butwhichmostpeoplecallednanotechnology.Nanowasn’tpopular with the VCs—theventure capitalists—thesedays. Too many VCs hadbeen burned in the last tenyearswithproductsthatweresupposedly just around thecorner,butthennevermadeitout of the lab. The VCsconsidered nano to be all

promise,noproducts.NotthatJulianeededtobe

told that; she’d worked fortwo VC firms herself.Originally trained as a childpsychologist,sheendedupassomeone who specialized in“technology incubation,”helping fledgling technologycompanies get started. (Sheused to joke she was stilldoing child psychology.)Eventually, she’d stopped

advisingfirmsandjoinedoneof them full-time. She wasnow a vice president atXymos.JuliasaidXymoshadmade

several breakthroughs, andwasfaraheadofothersinthefield.Shesaid theywere justdays away from a prototypecommercial product. But Itook what she said with agrainofsalt.

“Listen, Jack, I want towarn you,” she said, in aguilty voice, “that Eric isgoingtobeupset.”“Why?”“Well … I told him I

wouldcometothegame.”“Julia, why? We talked

about making promises likethis.There’snowayyoucanmake that game. It’s at threeo’clock.Why’d you tell him

youwould?”“IthoughtIcouldmakeit.”I sighed. It was, I told

myself, a sign of her caring.“Okay. Don’t worry, honey.I’llhandleit.”“Thanks. Oh, and Jack?

The placemats? Whateveryoudo,justdon’tgetyellow,okay?”Andshehungup.

I made spaghetti for dinnerbecause there was never anargumentaboutspaghetti.Byeight o’clock, the two littleoneswereasleep, andNicolewas finishing her homework.Shewastwelve,andhadtobeinbedbyteno’clock,thoughshe didn’t like any of herfriendstoknowthat.The littlest one, Amanda,

was just nine months. Shewas starting to crawl

everywhere, and to stand upholdingontothings.Ericwaseight; he was a soccer kid,andlikedtoplayallthetime,when he wasn’t dressing upas a knight and chasing hisolder sister around the housewithhisplasticsword.Nicole was in a modest

phase of her life; Eric likednothing better than to grabher bra and go runningaround the house, shouting,

“Nickywears a bra-a!Nickywearsabra-a!”whileNicole,too dignified to pursue him,gritted her teeth and yelled,“Dad? He’s doing it again!Dad!” And I would have togochaseEricandtellhimnottotouchhissister’sthings.Thiswaswhatmy lifehad

become. At first, after I lostthe job at MediaTronics, itwas interesting to deal withsibling rivalry. And often, it

seemed, not that differentfromwhatmyjobhadbeen.AtMediaTronicsIhadrun

a program division, ridingherdoveragroupof talentedyoung computerprogrammers.At forty, Iwastoo old to work as aprogrammermyselfanymore;writing code is a youngperson’s job. So I managedthe team, and it was a full-time job; like most Silicon

Valley programmers, myteam seemed to live in aperpetual crisis of crashedPorsches, infidelities, badlove affairs, parental hassles,and drug reactions, allsuperimposed on a forced-march work schedule withall-nightmarathonsfueledbycases of Diet Coke and Sunchips.Buttheworkwasexciting,

in a cutting-edge field. We

wrote what are calleddistributedparallelprocessingor agent-based programs.These programs modelbiological processes bycreating virtual agents insidethecomputerandthenlettingthe agents interact to solvereal-world problems. Itsounds strange, but it worksfine.Forexample,oneofourprograms imitated antforaging—how ants find the

shortest path to food—toroute traffic through a bigtelephone network. Otherprograms mimicked thebehavior of termites,swarming bees, and stalkinglions.It was fun, and I would

probably still be there if Ihadn’t taken on someadditional responsibilities. Inmylastfewmonthsthere,I’dbeen put in charge of

security, replacinganoutsidetechconsultantwho’dhadthejob for two years but hadfailed to detect the theft ofcompanysourcecode,untilitturnedupinaprogrambeingmarketed out of Taiwan.Actually,itwasmydivision’ssource code—software fordistributed processing. Thatwas the code that had beenstolen.We knew it was the same

code,becausetheEastereggshadn’t been touched.Programmers always insertEaster eggs into their code,littlenuggets thatdon’tserveany useful purpose and arejust put there for fun. TheTaiwanese company hadn’tchanged any of them; theyused our code wholesale. Sothe keystrokes Alt-Shift-M-9would open up a windowgiving thedateofoneofour

programmers’ marriage.Cleartheft.Of course we sued, but

Don Gross, the head of thecompany, wanted to makesure it didn’t happen again.So he put me in charge ofsecurity, and I was angryenoughaboutthethefttotakethejob.Itwasonlypart-time;I still ran the division. Thefirst thing I did as securityofficer was to monitor

workstationuse.Itwasprettystraightforward; these days,eighty percent of companiesmonitor what their workersdoatterminals.Theydoitbyvideo, or they do it byrecording keystrokes, or byscanning email for certainkeywords … all sorts ofproceduresoutthere.Don Gross was a tough

guy, an ex-Marine who hadnever lost his military

manner. When I told himabout the new system, hesaid, “But you’re notmonitoring my terminal,right?”Of course not, I said.In fact, I’d set up theprograms to monitor everycomputerinthecompany,hisincluded.AndthatwashowIdiscovered, two weeks later,thatDonwashavinganaffairwithagirlinaccounting,andhad authorized her to have a

company car. I went to himandsaidthatbasedonemailsrelatingtoJeaninaccounting,it appeared that someoneunknown was having anaffair with her, and that shemight be getting perks shewasn’t entitled to. I said Ididn’t know who the personwas, but if they kept usingemail,I’dsoonfindout.I figured Don would take

thehint,andhedid.Butnow

he just sent incriminatingemail from his home, neverrealizingthateverythingwentthrough the company serverandIwasgettingitall.That’show I learned he was“discounting” software toforeign distributors, andtakinglarge“consultantfees”into an account in theCayman Islands. This wasclearly illegal, and I couldn’toverlook it. I consulted my

attorney, Gary Marder, whoadvisedmetoquit.“Quit?”Isaid.“Yeah.Ofcourse.”“Why?”“Whocareswhy?Yougot

a better offer elsewhere.You’ve got some healthproblems. Or some familyissues. Trouble at home. Justgetoutofthere.Quit.”“Wait a minute,” I said.

“You think I should quitbecause he’s breaking thelaw? Is that your advice tome?”“No,”Gary said. “Asyour

attorney,my advice is that ifyou are aware of any illegalactivity you have a duty toreport it. But as your friend,my advice is to keep yourmouth shut and get out oftherefast.”

“Seemskindofcowardly.Ithink I have to notify theinvestors.”Gary sighed. He put his

handonmyshoulder.“Jack,”he said, “the investors canlookout for themselves.Yougetthefuckoutofthere.”I didn’t think that was

right. I had been annoyedwhen my code had beenstolen. Now I found myself

wondering if it actually hadbeen stolen. Maybe it hadbeen sold. We were aprivatelyheldcompany,andItold one of the boardmembers.It turned out hewas in on

it.Iwasfiredthenextdayforgross negligence andmisconduct. Litigation wasthreatened;Ihadtosignaraftof NDAs in order to get myseverance package. My

attorney handled thepaperwork for me, sighingwitheverynewdocument.At the end, we went

outside into the milkysunshine. I said, “Well, atleastthat’sover.”He turned and looked at

me. “Why do you say that?”hesaid.

Because of course it wasn’t

over. In some mysteriousway, I hadbecomeamarkedman. My qualifications wereexcellent and I worked in ahotfield.ButwhenIwentonjob interviews I could tellthey weren’t interested.Worse, they wereuncomfortable.SiliconValleycovers a big area, but it’s asmall place. Word gets out.Eventually I found myselftalking to an interviewer I

knew slightly, Ted Landow.I’d coached his kid in LittleLeague baseball the yearbefore. When the interviewwas over, I said to him,“What have you heard aboutme?”He shook his head.

“Nothing,Jack.”I said, “Ted, I’ve been on

ten interviews in ten days.Tellme.”

“There’snothingtotell.”“Ted.”He shuffled through his

papers, looking down atthem, not at me. He sighed.“JackForman.Troublemaker.Not cooperative. Belligerent.Hotheaded. Not a teamplayer.” He hesitated, thensaid, “And supposedly youwere involved in some kindof dealings. They won’t say

what,butsomekindofshadydealings. You were on thetake.”“Iwasonthetake?”Isaid.

I felt a flood of anger, andstarted to say more, until Irealized I was probablylooking hotheaded andbelligerent.So I shutup,andthankedhim.As I was leaving, he said,

“Jack, do yourself a favor.

Give it a while. Thingschange fast in the Valley.Your résumé is strong andyour skill set is outstanding.Waituntil…”Heshrugged.“Acoupleofmonths?”“I’dsayfour.Maybefive.”Somehow I knew he was

right. After that, I stoppedtryingsohard.Ibegantohearrumors that MediaTronicswasgoingbellyup,andthere

might be indictments. Ismelled vindication ahead,butinthemeantimetherewasnothingtodobutwait.The strangeness of not

goingtoworkinthemorningslowly faded. Julia wasworking longer hours at herjob, and the kids weredemanding; if I was in thehouse they turned to me,instead of our housekeeper,Maria. I started taking them

to school, picking them up,driving them to the doctor,the orthodontist, soccerpractice.ThefirstfewdinnersIcookedweredisastrous,butIgotbetter.AndbeforeIknewit,Iwas

buyingplacematsandlookingat table settings in Crate &Barrel. And it all seemedperfectlynormal.

Julia got home around nine-thirty. I was watching theGiants game on TV, notreally paying attention. Shecameinandkissedmeontheback of my neck. She said,“They all asleep?” “ExceptNicole. She’s still doinghomework.”“Jeez,isn’titlateforherto

beup?”“No, hon,” I said. “We

agreed. This year she gets tostayupuntilten,remember?”Julia shrugged, as if she

didn’tremember.Andmaybeshedidn’t.Wehadundergonea sort of inversion of roles;she had always been moreknowledgeable about thekids, but now I was.Sometimes Julia feltuncomfortable with that,experiencingitsomehowasalossofpower.

“How’sthelittleone?”“Her cold is better. Just

sniffles.She’seatingmore.”I walked with Julia to the

bedrooms. She went into thebaby’s room, bent over thecrib, and kissed the sleepingchild tenderly.Watching her,I thought there wassomething about a mother’scaring that a father couldnever match. Julia had some

connection to the kids that Inever would. Or at least adifferent connection. Shelistened to the baby’s softbreathing, and said, “Yes,she’sbetter.”Then she went into Eric’s

room,tooktheGameBoyoffthe bed covers, gave me afrown. I shrugged, faintlyirritated; I knew Eric playedwith hisGameBoywhen hewas supposed to be going to

sleep, but Iwas busy gettingthe baby down at that time,andIoverlookedit.IthoughtJulia should be moreunderstanding.Then she went into

Nicole’sroom.Nicolewasonher laptop, but shut the lidwhen her mother walked in.“Hi,Mom.”“You’reuplate.”“No,Mom…”

“You’re supposed to bedoinghomework.”“Ididit.”“Then why aren’t you in

bed?”“Because—”“Idon’twantyouspending

all night talking to yourfriendsonthecomputer.”“Mom …” she said, in a

painedvoice.

“Youseethemeverydayatschool, that should beenough.”“Mom…”“Don’t lookatyour father.

We already know he’ll dowhatever you want. I’mtalkingtoyou,now.”She sighed. “I know,

Mom.”This kind of interaction

was increasingly common

between Nicole and Julia. Iguess it was normal at thisage,butIthoughtI’dstepin.Juliawastired,andwhenshewas tired she got rigid andcontrolling. I put my armaroundhershoulderandsaid,“It’slateforeverybody.Wantacupoftea?”“Jack,don’tinterfere.”“I’mnot,Ijust—”“Yes, you are. I’m talking

to Nicole and you’reinterfering, the way youalwaysdo.”“Honey,we all agreed she

couldstayupuntilten,Idon’tknowwhatthis—”“But if she’s finished her

homework, she should go tobed.”“Thatwasn’tthedeal.”“Idon’twantherspending

all day and night on the

computer.”“She’snot,Julia.”At that point, Nicole burst

into tears, and jumped to herfeet crying, “You alwayscriticizeme!Ihateyou!”Sheran into the bathroom andslammedthedoor.Thatwokethebaby,whostartedtocry.Juliaturnedtomeandsaid,

“If youwouldplease just letmehandlethismyself,Jack.”

And I said, “You’re right.I’msorry.You’reright.”

In truth, that wasn’t what Ithought at all. More andmore, I regarded this as myhouse,andmykids.Shewasbargingintomyhouse,lateatnight, when I’d gotteneverything quiet, the way Ilikedit,thewayitshouldbe.Andshewasraisingafuss.

Ididn’tthinkshewasrightat all. I thought she waswrong.And in the last fewweeks

I’dnoticedthat incidentslikethis had become morefrequent. At first, I thoughtJulia felt guilty about beingaway so much. Then Ithought she was reassertingherauthority,tryingtoregaincontrol of a household thathad fallen into my hands.

ThenIthoughtitwasbecauseshe was tired, or under somuchpressureatwork.But lately I felt I was

making excuses for herbehavior.Istartedtohavethefeeling Julia had changed.She was different, somehow,tenser,tougher.The baby was howling. I

picked her up from the crib,huggedher,cooedather,and

simultaneously stucka fingerdown the back of the diapertosee if itwaswet. Itwas. Iputherdownonherbackontop of the dresser, and shehowled again until I shookher favorite rattle, and put itin her hand. She was silentthen, allowing me to changeherwithoutmuchkicking.“I’ll do that,” Julia said,

comingin.

“It’sokay.”“I woke her up, it’s only

rightIdoit.”“Reallyhoney,it’sfine.”Julia put her hand on my

shoulder, kissed the back ofmyneck.“I’msorryI’msuchajerk.I’mreallytired.Idon’tknow what came over me.Let me change the baby, Inevergettoseeher.”“Okay,” I said. I stepped

aside,andshemovedin.“Hi,Poopsie-doopsie,” she

said,chuckingthebabyunderthe chin. “How’s my littleWinkiedinkie?” All thisattentionmade thebabydroptherattle,andthenshestartedto cry, and to twist away onthe table. Julia didn’t noticethe missing rattle caused thecrying; instead she madesoothing sounds andstruggled to put on the new

diaper, but the baby’stwisting and kicking made ithard.“Amanda,stopit!”I said, “She does that

now.” And it was true,Amanda was in the stagewhere she actively resisted adiaperchange.Andshecouldkickprettyhard.“Well, she should stop.

Stop!”The baby cried louder,

triedtoturnaway.Oneoftheadhesive tabs pulledoff.Thediaper slid down. Amandawas now rolling toward theedge of the dresser. Juliapulled her back roughly.Amanda never stoppedkicking.“Goddamnit,Isaidstop!”

Julia said, and smacked thebabyontheleg.Thebabyjustcried harder, kicked harder.“Amanda! Stop it! Stop it!”

She slappedher again.“Stopit!Stopit!”For a moment I didn’t

react. Iwas stunned. I didn’tknowwhattodo.Thebaby’slegs were bright red. Juliawas still hitting her. “Honey…” I said, leaning in, “let’snot—”Julia exploded. “Why do

you always fuckinginterfere?” she yelled,

slamming her hand down onthe dresser. “What is yourfuckingproblem?”And she stomped off,

leavingtheroom.I letouta longbreath,and

picked the baby up.Amandahowled inconsolably, asmuchinconfusionasinpain.IfiguredIwouldneedtogiveherabottletogethertosleepagain.Istrokedherbackuntil

shesettleddownalittle.ThenI got her diaper on, andbrought her into the kitchenwhile I heated a bottle. Thelights were low, just thefluorescentsoverthecounter.Julia was sitting at the

table, drinking beer out of abottle, staring into space.“Whenareyougoingtogetajob?”shesaid.“I’mtrying.”

“Really? I don’t thinkyou’re trying at all. Whenwasyourlastinterview?”“Lastweek,”Isaid.Shegrunted.“Iwishyou’d

hurry up and get one,” shesaid, “because this is drivingmecrazy.”I swallowed anger. “I

know. It’s hard foreverybody,”Isaid.Itwaslateatnight, and Ididn’twant to

argue anymore. But I waswatchingheroutofthecornerofmyeye.At thirty-six, Julia was a

strikingly pretty woman,petite,withdarkhairanddarkeyes, upturned nose, and thekind of personality thatpeople called bubbly orsparkling. Unlike many techexecutives,shewasattractiveand approachable. She madefriendseasily,andhadagood

sense of humor. Years back,when we first had Nicole,Juliawould come homewithhilarious accounts of thefoibles of her VC partners.We used to sit at this samekitchentableandlaughuntilIfelt physically sick, whilelittleNicolewould tugatherarm and say, “What’s thefunny, Mom? What’s thefunny?” because she wantedto be in on the joke. Of

course we could neverexplain it to her, but Juliaalwaysseemedtohaveanew“Knock knock” joke forNicole, so she could join inthe laughter, too. Julia had areal gift for seeing thehumorous side of life. Shewas famous for herequanimity; shealmostneverlosthertemper.Right now, of course, she

wasfurious.Notevenwilling

to look at me. Sitting in thedark at the round kitchentable, one leg crossed overtheother,kickingimpatientlywhile she stared into space.As I looked at her, I had thefeeling that her appearancehad changed, somehow. Ofcourse she had lost weightrecently, part of the strain ofthe job.A certain softness inher face was gone; hercheekbones protruded more;

her chin seemed sharper. Itmadeherlookharder,butinawaymoreglamorous.Her clothesweredifferent,

too.Juliawaswearingadarkskirt andawhiteblouse, sortof standard business attire.But theskirtwas tighter thanusual. And her kicking footmade me notice she waswearing sling-back highheels. What she used to callfuck-me shoes. The kind of

shoes she would never weartowork.And then I realized that

everything about her wasdifferent—her manner, herappearance, her mood,everything—andinaflashofinsight I knewwhy:my wifewashavinganaffair.The water on the stove

began to steam, and I pulledoutthebottle,testeditonmy

forearm.Ithadgottentoohot,and I would have to wait aminute for it to cool. Thebaby started to cry, and Ibounced her a little on myshoulder, while I walked heraroundtheroom.Julia never looked at me.

She just kept swinging herfoot,andstaringintospace.

I had read somewhere that

this was a syndrome. Thehusband’s out of work, hismasculine appeal declines,his wife no longer respectshim, and she wanders. I hadread that in Glamour orRedbook or one of thosemagazines around the housethat I glanced through whilewaiting for the washingmachinetofinishitscycle,orthe microwave to thaw thehamburger.

But now I was floodedwith confused feelings. Wasitreallytrue?WasIjusttired,making up bad stories inmymind? After all, whatdifference did it make if shewaswearingtighterskirtsanddifferent shoes? Fashionschanged.Peoplefeltdifferenton different days. And justbecause she was sometimesangry, did that really meanshewashavingan affair?Of

course it didn’t. I wasprobably just feelinginadequate, unattractive.These were probably myinsecurities coming out. Mythoughtswenton in thisveinforawhile.But for some reason, I

couldn’ttalkmyselfoutofit.I was sure it was true. I hadlived with this woman formore than twelve years. Iknewshewasdifferent,andI

knewwhy. I could sense thepresenceof someoneelse, anoutsideperson,someintruderin our relationship. I felt itwith a conviction thatsurprised me. I felt it in mybones,likeanache.Ihadtoturnaway.

The baby took the bottle,gurgling happily. In thedarkened kitchen, she stared

up at my face with thatpeculiar fixed stare thatbabies have. It was sort ofsoothing,watchingher.Aftera while she closed her eyes,and then her mouth wentslack. I put her on myshoulder and burped her as Icarried her back into herbedroom. Most parents pattheir babies too hard, tryingto get a burp. It’s better tojust rub the flatofyourhand

up theirback,andsometimesjustalong the spinewith twofingers.Shegaveasoftbelch,andrelaxed.I set her down in the crib,

and I turned out the night-light. Now the only light inthe room came from theaquarium, bubbling green-blue in the corner. A plasticdiver trudged along thebottom,trailingbubbles.

As I turned to go, I sawJulia silhouetted in thedoorway, dark hair backlit.Shehadbeenwatchingme. Icouldn’t read her expression.Shestalkedforward.Itensed.She put her arms aroundmeand rested her head on mychest.“Please forgive me,” she

said.“I’mareal jerk.You’redoing a wonderful job. I’mjust jealous, that’s all.” My

shoulder was wet with hertears.“I understand,” I said,

holdingher.“It’sokay.”Iwaited to see ifmybody

relaxed, but it didn’t. I wassuspicious and alert. I had abad feeling about her, and itwasn’tgoingaway.

She came out of the showerinto the bedroom, toweling

her short hair dry. I wassitting on the bed, trying towatchtherestofthegame.Itoccurredtomethatsheneverusedtotakeshowersatnight.Juliaalwaystookashowerinthe morning before work.Now, I realized, she oftencamehomeandwentstraightto the shower before comingouttosayhellotothekids.My bodywas still tense. I

flicked the TV off. I said,

“Howwasthedemo?”“Thewhat?”“The demo. Didn’t you

haveademotoday?”“Oh,” she said. “Oh, yes.

We did. It went fine, whenwe finally got it going. TheVCs in Germany couldn’tstay for all of it because ofthe time change, but—listen,doyouwanttoseeit?”“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Ihaveadubofit.Wanttoseeit?”Iwassurprised.Ishrugged.

“Okay,sure.”“I’d really like to know

what you think, Jack.” Idetected a patronizing tone.Mywifewasincludingmeinher work. Making me feel apart of her life. Iwatched asshe opened her briefcase andtookoutaDVD.Shestuckit

in the player, and camebacktositwithmeonthebed.“What were you

demoing?”Isaid.“Thenewmedicalimaging

technology,” she said. “It’sreally slick, if I say somyself.” She snuggled up,tucking herself into myshoulder. All very cozy, justlike old times. I still feltuneasy, but I put my arm

aroundher.“Bytheway,”Isaid,“how

come you take showers atnight now, instead of in themorning?”“I don’t know,” she said.

“Do I? I guess I do. It justseems easier, honey.Mornings are so rushed, andI’ve been getting thoseconferencecallsfromEurope,they take so much time—

okay, here we go,” she said,pointing to the screen. I sawblack-and-white scramble,andthentheimageresolved.

The tape showed Julia in alarge laboratory that wasfitted out like an operatingroom.Amanlayonhisbackon the gurney, an IV in hisarm, an anesthesiologiststanding by.Above the table

was a round flat metal plateabout six feet in diameter,which could be raised andlowered,butwasnowraised.Therewerevideomonitorsallaround. And in theforeground, peering at amonitor,wasJulia.Therewasa video technician by herside.“This is terrible,” she was

saying, pointing to themonitor. “What’s all the

interference?”“We think it’s the air

purifiers.They’recausingit.”“Well, this is

unacceptable.”“Really?”“Yes,really.”“What do you want us to

do?”“Iwantyoutofixit,”Julia

said.

“Then we have to boostpower,andyouhave—”“Idon’t care,” she said. “I

can’tshowtheVCsanimageof this quality. They’ve seenbetterpicturesfromMars.Fixit.”Besidemeonthebed,Julia

said, “I didn’t know theyrecorded all this. This isbeforethedemo.Youcanfastforward.”

I pushed the remote. Thepicture scrambled. Iwaited afew seconds, and played itagain.Same scene. Julia still in

the foreground. Carol, herassistant,whisperingtoher.“Okay, but thenwhat do I

tellhim?”“Tellhimno.”“But he wants to get

started.”

“I understand. But thetransmissionisn’tforanhour.Tellhimno.”On the bed, Julia said to

me, “Mad Dog was ourexperimentalsubject.Hewasveryrestless.Impatienttogetstarted.”Onthescreen,theassistant

lowered her voice. “I thinkhe’s nervous, Julia. I wouldbe, too, with a couple of

million of those thingscrawling around inside mybody—”“It’s not a couple of

million, and they’re notcrawling,” Julia said.“Anyway, they’re hisinvention.”“Evenso.”“Isn’t that an

anesthesiologistoverthere?”“No,justacardiologist.”

“Well, maybe thecardiologist can give himsomething for hisnervousness.”“They already did. An

injection.”Onthebedbesideme,Julia

said, “Fast forward, Jack.” Idid. The picture jumpedahead.“Okay,here.”I saw Julia standing at the

monitor again, with the

technicianbesideher.“That’sacceptable,” onscreen Juliawas saying, pointing to theimage. “Not great, butacceptable. Now, show metheSTM.”“Thewhat?”“The STM. The electron

microscope. Show me theimagefromthat.”The technician looked

confused. “Uh … Nobody

told us about any electronmicroscope.”“For God’s sake, read the

damnstoryboards!”The technician blinked.

“It’sonthestoryboards?”“Did you look at the

storyboards?”“I’m sorry, I guess Imust

havemissedit.”“There’snotimenowtobe

sorry.Fixit!”

“Youdon’thavetoshout.”“YesIdo!Ihavetoshout,

because I’m surrounded byidiots!”Shewavedherhandsin the air. “I’m about to goonline and talk to elevenbillion dollars of venturecapital in five countries andshow them submicroscopictechnology, except I don’thave a microscope feed, sothey can’t see thetechnology!”

On the bed, Julia said, “Ikindoflostitwiththisguy.Itwas so frustrating.We had aclock counting down to thesatellite time, which wasbooked and locked. Wecouldn’tchangeit.Wehadtomake the time, and this guywasadimbus.Buteventuallywe got it working. Fastforward.”Thescreenshowedastatic

card,whichread:

APrivateDemonstrationofAdvancedMedicalImaging

byXymosTechnologyMountainView,CA

WorldLeaderinMolecularManufacturing

Then, on the screen, Juliaappeared,standinginfrontofthe gurney and the medicalapparatus. She’d brushed herhairandtuckedinherblouse.

“Hello to all of you,” shesaid, smiling at the camera.“I’mJuliaFormanofXymosTechnology, andwe’re aboutto demonstrate arevolutionary medicalimaging procedure justdeveloped here. Our subject,PeterMorris, is lying behindme on the table. In a fewmoments,we’regoingtolookinside his heart and bloodvessels with an ease and

accuracy never beforepossible.”She beganwalking around

thetable,talkingasshewent.“Unlike cardiac

catheterization,ourprocedureis one hundred percent safe.And unlike catheterization,we can look everywhere inthe body, at every sort ofvessel,nomatterhowlargeorsmall. We’ll see inside his

aorta,thelargestarteryofthebody. But we’ll also lookinsidethealveoliofhislungs,and the tinycapillariesofhisfingertips.Wecandoall thisbecause the camera we putinside his vessels is smallerthanaredbloodcell.Quiteabitsmaller,actually.“Xymos microfabrication

technology can now producethese miniaturized cameras,andproducetheminquantity

—cheaply, quickly. It wouldtake a thousand of them justto make a dot the size of apencilpoint.Wecanfabricatea kilogram of these camerasinanhour.“I’m sure you are all

skeptical. We’re well awarethat nanotechnology hasmade promises it couldn’tdeliver. As you know, theproblem has been thatscientists could design

molecular-scale devices, butthey couldn’t manufacturethem.ButXymos has solvedthatproblem.”It suddenly hit me, what

she was saying. “What?” Isaid, sitting up in bed. “Areyoukidding?”Ifitwastrue,itwas an extraordinarydevelopment, a genuinetechnological breakthrough,anditmeant—

“It’s true,” Julia saidquietly. “We’remanufacturing in Nevada.”She smiled, enjoying myastonishment.Onscreen,Juliawassaying,

“I have one of our Xymoscameras under the electronmicroscope, here”—shepointed to the screen—“soyou can see it in comparisontotheredbloodcellalongsideit.”

The image changed toblack-and-white. I sawa fineprobepushwhatlookedlikeatiny squid into position on atitaniumfield.Itwasabullet-nosed lump with streamingfilamentsattherear.Itwasatenth of the size of the redblood cell, which in thevacuum of the scanningelectron microscope was awrinkled oval, like a grayraisin.

“Our camera is one ten-billionthofaninchinlength.Asyousee,itisshapedlikeasquid,” Julia said. “Imagingtakes place in the nose.Microtubules in the tailprovide stabilization, like thetail of a kite. But they canalso lash actively, andprovide locomotion. Jerry, ifwecanturnthecameratoseethe nose … Okay, there.Thank you. Now, from the

front,youseethatindentationin the center? That is theminiature gallium arsenidephoton detector, acting as aretina, and the surroundingbanded area—sort of like aradial tire—isbioluminescent,andlightsthearea ahead. Within the noseitselfyoumaybeable to justmake out a rather complexseries of twisted molecules.That is our patented ATP

cascade. You can think of itas a primitive brain, whichcontrols the behavior of thecamera—very limitedbehavior,true,butenoughforourpurposes.”Iheardahissofstatic,and

a cough. The screen imageopenedasmallwindowinthecorner,andnowshowedFritzLeidermeyer, in Germany.The investor shifted hisenormous bulk. “I’m sorry,

Ms. Forman. Tell me pleasewhereisthelens?”“Thereisnolens.”“How can you have a

camerawithnolens?”“I’llexplainthataswego,”

shesaid.Watching, I said, “It must

beacameraobscura.”“Right,”shesaid,nodding.Cameraobscura—Latinfor

“dark room”—was the oldestimaging device known. TheRomanshadfoundthatifyoumadeasmallholeinthewallof a dark room, an upside-down image of the exteriorappeared on the oppositewall. That was because lightcoming through any smallaperturewasfocused,asifbya lens. It was the sameprinciple as a kid’s pinholecamera.Itwaswhyeversince

Roman times, image-recordingdeviceswerecalledcameras.Butinthiscase—“What makes the

aperture?” I said. “Is there apinhole?”“I thought you knew,” she

said. “You’re responsible forthatpart.”“Me?”“Yes. Xymos licensed

some agent-based algorithms

thatyourteamwrote.”“No,Ididn’tknow.Which

algorithms?”“To control a particle

network.”“Your cameras are

networked? All those littlecameras communicate witheachother?”“Yes,”shesaid.“They’rea

swarm, actually.” She wasstill smiling, amused by my

reactions.“Aswarm.”Iwasthinking

it over, trying to understandwhat she was telling me.Certainly my team hadwrittenanumberofprogramsto control swarms of agents.Those programs weremodeledonbehaviorofbees.The programs had manyuseful characteristics.Because swarms werecomposed of many agents,

the swarm could respond tothe environment in a robustway. Faced with new andunexpected conditions, theswarmprogramsdidn’tcrash;they just sort of flowedaroundtheobstacles,andkeptgoing.But our programs worked

by creating virtual agentsinsidethecomputer.Juliahadcreatedrealagentsintherealworld. At first I didn’t see

how our programs could beadapted to what she wasdoing.“We use them for

structure,” she said. “Theprogram makes the swarmstructure.”Of course. It was obvious

that a single molecularcamera was inadequate toregister any sort of image.Therefore, theimagemustbe

a composite of millions ofcameras, operatingsimultaneously. But thecameras would also have tobearranged inspace insomeorderly structure, probably asphere. That was where theprogramming came in. ButthatinturnmeantthatXymosmust be generating theequivalentof—“You’remakinganeye.”

“Kindof.Yes.”“But where’s the light

source?”“The bioluminescent

perimeter.”“That’snotenoughlight.”“Itis.Watch.”

Meanwhile, the onscreenJulia was turning smoothly,pointing to the intravenous

line behind her. She lifted asyringe out of a nearby icebucket. The barrel appearedtobe filledwithwater. “Thissyringe,” she said, “containsapproximately twentymillioncameras in isotonic salinesuspension. At the momentthey exist as particles. Butoncetheyareinjectedintothebloodstream, theirtemperaturewillincrease,andtheywillsoonflocktogether,

and form a meta-shape. Justlike a flock of birds forms aV-shape.”“What kind of a shape?”

oneoftheVCsasked.“A sphere,” she said.

“Withasmallopeningatoneend.Youmight thinkof itastheequivalentofablastulainembryology.Butineffecttheparticles form an eye. Andthe image from that eyewill

beacompositeofmillionsofphoton detectors. Just as thehuman eye creates an imagefromitsrodsandconecells.”She turned to a monitor

that showed an animationloop, repeated over and overagain. The cameras enteredthebloodstreamasanuntidy,disorganizedmass, a kind ofbuzzing cloud within theblood.Immediatelythebloodflow flattened the cloud into

an elongated streak. Butwithin seconds, the streakbegan to coalesce into aspherical shape. That shapebecame more defined, untileventually it appearedalmostsolid.“If this reminds you of an

actual eye, there’s a reason.Here at Xymos we areexplicitly imitating organicmorphology,” Julia said.“Because we are designing

with organic molecules, weare aware that courtesy ofmillionsofyearsofevolution,the world around us has astockpile of moleculararrangements that work. Soweusethem.”“You don’t want to

reinventthewheel?”someonesaid.“Exactly.Ortheeyeball.”She gave a signal, and the

flatantennawaslowereduntilit was just inches above thewaitingsubject.“This antenna will power

the camera, and pick up thetransmitted image,” she said.“The imagecanof coursebedigitally stored, intensified,manipulated,oranythingelsethatyoumightdowithdigitaldata. Now, if there are noother questions, we canbegin.”

She fitted the syringewitha needle, and stuck it into arubberstopperintheIVline.“Marktime.”“Zeropointzero.”“Herewego.”She pushed the plunger

down quickly. “As you see,I’m doing it fast,” she said.“There’s nothing delicateabout our procedure. Youcan’t hurt anything. If the

microturbulencegeneratedbythe flow through the needlerips the tubules from a fewthousand cameras, it doesn’tmatter. We have millionsmore. Plenty to do the job.”She withdrew the needle.“Okay?Generallywehavetowaitabouttensecondsfortheshape to form, and then weshouldbegingettinganimage… Ah, looks like somethingiscomingnow…Andhereit

is.”

Thesceneshowedthecameramoving forward atconsiderable speed throughwhat looked like an asteroidfield. Except the asteroidswere red cells, bouncypurplish bags moving in aclear, slightly yellowishliquid. An occasional muchlargerwhitecellshotforward,

filled the screen for amoment, then was gone.What I was seeing lookedmorelikeavideogamethanamedicalimage.“Julia,” I said, “this is

prettyamazing.”Beside me, Julia snuggled

closer and smiled. “I thoughtyoumightbeimpressed.”Onscreen,Juliawassaying,

“We’veenteredavein,sothe

red cells are not oxygenated.Right now our camera ismoving toward the heart.You’ll see the vesselsenlargingaswemoveup thevenous system … Yes, nowwe are approaching the heart…Youcanseethepulsationsin thebloodstreamthat resultfrom the ventricularcontractions…”Itwastrue,Icouldseethe

camera pause, then move

forward, thenpause.Shehadan audio feed of the beatingheart. On the table, thesubject lay motionless, withthe flat antenna just over hisbody.“We’recomingtotheright

atrium,andweshouldseethetricuspid valve. We activatethe flagella to slow thecamera. There the valve isnow.We are in the heart.” Isaw the red flaps, like a

mouth opening and closing,and then the camera shotthrough, into the ventricle,andoutagain.“Nowwe are going to the

lungs, where you will seewhat no one has everwitnessed before. Theoxygenationofthecells.”As I watched, the blood

vessel narrowed swiftly, andthen the cells plumped up,

and popped brilliantly red,one after another. It wasextremely quick; in less thanasecond,theywereallred.“The red cells have now

been oxygenated,” Julia said,“andweareonourwaybacktotheheart.”IturnedtoJuliainthebed.

“Thisisreallyfantasticstuff,”Isaid.But her eyes were closed,

andshewasbreathinggently.“Julia?”Shewasasleep.

Julia had always tended tofall asleep while watchingTV. Falling asleep duringyour own presentation wasreasonable enough; after all,she’d already seen it. And itwas pretty late. I was tiredmyself. I decided I could

watch the rest of the demoanothertime.Itseemedprettylengthy for a demo, anyhow.How long had I beenwatching so far? When IturnedtoswitchofftheTV,Ilookeddownatthetimecoderunning at the bottom of theimage. Numbers werespinning, ticking offhundredthsofasecond.Othernumbers to the left, notspinning. I frowned. One of

them was the date. I hadn’tnoticed it before, because itwas in international format,with the year first, the day,and the month. It read02.21.09.September21.Yesterday.She’d recorded this demo

yesterday,nottoday.I turned off the TV, and

turnedoffthebedsidelight.I

lay down on the pillow andtriedtosleep.

DAY29:02A.M.

We needed skim milk,Toastie-Os,Pop-Tarts,Jell-O,dishwasher detergent—andsomethingelse,butIcouldn’treadmyownwriting.Istoodin the supermarket aisle atnine o’clock in the morning,puzzling over my notes. A

voicesaid,“Hey,Jack.How’sithanging?”I looked up to see Ricky

Morse, one of the divisionheadsatXymos.“Hey, Ricky. How are

you?” I shook his hand,genuinely glad to see him. IwasalwaysgladtoseeRicky.Tanned, with blond crewcuthair and a big grin, he couldeasily be taken for a surfer

were it not for hisSourceForge 3.1 T-shirt.Ricky was only a few yearsyounger than I was, but hehad an air of perpetualyouthfulness. I’d given himhis first job, right out ofcollege, and he’d rapidlymoved into management.With his cheerful personalityand upbeat manner, Rickymade an ideal projectmanager, even though he

tended to underplayproblems, and givemanagement unrealisticexpectations about when aprojectwouldbefinished.AccordingtoJulia,thathad

sometimes caused trouble atXymos; Ricky tended tomake promises he couldn’tkeep. And sometimes hedidn’tquitetellthetruth.Buthe was so cheerful andappealing that everyone

alwaysforgavehim.Atleast,Ialwaysdid,whenheworkedfor me. I had become quitefond of him, and thought ofhim almost as a youngerbrother. I’d recommendedhimforhisjobatXymos.Ricky was pushing a

shopping cart filled withdisposable diapers in bigplastic bundles; he had ayoung baby at home, too. Iasked him why he was

shopping and not at theoffice.“Mary’s got the flu, and

themaid’sinGuatemala.SoItold her I’d pick up somethings.”“I see you’ve got

Huggies,” I said. “I alwaysgetPampers,myself.”“I find Huggies absorb

more,” he said. “AndPampers are too tight. They

pinchthebaby’sleg.”“ButPampershavea layer

thattakesmoistureaway,andkeepsthebottomdry,”Isaid.“I have fewer rashes withPampers.”“Whenever Iuse them, the

adhesivetabstendtopulloff.Andwithabig load, it tendsto leak out the leg, whichmakes extra work for me. Idon’t know, I just find

Huggiesarehigherquality.”Awomanglancedat us as

she pushed past with hershopping cart. We started tolaugh, thinking we mustsound like we were in acommercial.Rickysaidloudly,“Sohey,

how about those Giants?” tothe woman’s back as shecontinueddowntheaisle.“Fuckin’A, are they great

or what?” I said, scratchingmyself.We laughed, then pushed

our carts down the aisletogether. Ricky said, “Wanttoknowthetruth?MarylikesHuggies,andthat’stheendoftheconversation.”“Iknowthatone,”Isaid.Ricky looked at my cart,

and said, “I see you buyorganicskimmilk…”

“Stop it,” Isaid.“Howarethingsattheoffice?”“You know, they’re pretty

damn good,” he said. “Thetechnology’s coming alongnicely,ifIsaysomyself.Wedemoed for the money guysthe other day, and it wentwell.”“Julia’s doing okay?” I

said,ascasuallyasIcould.“Yeah, she’s doing great.

FarasIknow,”Rickysaid.I glanced at him. Was he

suddenly reserved? Was hisface set, the musclescontrolled? Was heconcealing something? Icouldn’ttell.“Actually,Irarelyseeher,”

Rickysaid.“She’snotaroundmuchthesedays.”“I don’t see much of her

either,”Isaid.

“Yeah,she’sspendingalotof time out at the fabcomplex. That’s where theactionisnow.”Rickyglancedquickly at me. “You know,because of the newfabricationprocesses.”The Xymos fab building

hadbeencompletedinrecordtime, considering howcomplex it was. Thefabrication building waswhere they assembled

molecules from individualatoms. Sticking themoleculefragments together like Legoblocks. Much of this workwas carriedout in avacuum,andrequiredextremelystrongmagnetic fields. So the fabbuilding had tremendouspump assemblies, andpowerful chillers to cool themagnets. But according toJulia, a lot of the technologywas specific to that building;

nothing like it had ever beenbuiltbefore.I said, “It’s amazing they

gotthebuildingupsofast.”“Well,wekeptthepressure

on. Molecular Dynamics isbreathing down our necks.We’ve got our fab up andrunning,andwe’vegotpatentapplicationsbythetruckload.But those guys at MolDyneand NanoTech can’t be far

behind us. A few months.Maybe six months, if we’relucky.”“So you’re doing

molecular assembly at theplantnow?”Isaid.“Yougotit,Jack.Full-bore

molecularassembly.Wehavebeenforafewweeksnow.”“I didn’t know Julia was

interested in thatstuff.”Withher background in

psychology, I’d alwaysregarded Julia as a peopleperson.“She’stakenareal interest

in the technology, I can tellyou.Also,they’redoingalotof programming up there,too,” he said. “You know.Iterativecyclesastheyrefinethemanufacturing.”I nodded. “What kind of

programming?”Isaid.

“Distributed processing.Multi-agent nets. That’s howwe keep the individual unitscoordinated, workingtogether.”“This is all to make the

medicalcamera?”“Yes.”Hepaused.“Among

other things.” He glanced atmeuneasily,asifhemightbebreaking his confidentialityagreement.

“Youdon’thave to say,” Isaid.“No, no,” he said quickly.

“Jeez,youandIgowayback,Jack.”He slappedme on theshoulder. “And you got aspouse in management. Imean,what the hell.”But hestill looked uneasy. His facedidn’t match his words. Andhis eyes slid away from mewhen he said the word“spouse.”

The conversation wascoming to an end, and I feltfilled with tension, the kindofawkwardtensionwhenyouthink another guy knowssomething and isn’t tellingyou—because he’sembarrassed, because hedoesn’t know how to put it,because he doesn’t want toget involved,because it’s toodangerous even to mention,because he thinks it’s your

job to figure it out foryourself.Especiallywhenit’ssomething about your wife.Like she’s screwing around.He’s looking at you likeyou’re thewalkingwounded,it’s night of the living dead,but hewon’t tell you. Inmyexperience, guys never tellother guys when they knowsomething about their wives.Butwomen always tell otherwomen, if they know of a

husband’sinfidelity.That’sjusthowitis.ButIwasfeelingsotenseI

wantedto—“Hey, look at the time,”

Ricky said, giving me a biggrin. “I’m late, Mary’ll killme, I’ve got to run. She’salready annoyed because Ihave to spend the next fewdaysatthefabfacility.SoI’llbe out of town while the

maid’s gone …” Heshrugged. “Youknowhow itis.”“Yeah,Ido.Goodluck.”“Hey,man.Takecare.”We shook hands.

Murmured another goodbye.Ricky rolled his cart aroundthe corner of the aisle, andwasgone.

Sometimes you can’t think

about painful things, youcan’t make your mind focusonthem.Yourbrainjustslipsaway, no thank you, let’schange the subject. Thatwashappening to me now. Icouldn’t thinkabout Julia, soI started thinking aboutwhatRickyhadtoldmeabouttheirfabrication plant. And Idecided it probably madesense, even though it wentagainst the conventional

wisdom aboutnanotechnology.There was a long-standing

fantasy among nano-technologists that oncesomebodyfiguredouthowtomanufacture at the atomiclevel,itwouldbelikerunningthe four-minute mile.Everybody would do it,unleashing a flood ofwonderful molecularcreationsrollingoffassembly

linesall around theworld. Inamatter of days, human lifewould be changed by thismarvelous new technology.Assoonassomebodyfiguredouthowtodoit.But of course that would

never happen. The very ideawas absurd. Because inessence, molecularmanufacturing wasn’t sodifferent from computermanufacturing or flow-valve

manufacturing or automobilemanufacturing or any otherkindofmanufacturing.Ittookawhiletogetitright.Infact,assembling atoms to make anew molecule was closelyanalogous to compiling acomputer program fromindividual linesofcode.Andcomputer code nevercompiled, the first time out.Theprogrammersalwayshadto go back and fix the lines.

And even after it wascompiled, a computerprogram never ever workedright the first time. Or thesecond time. Or thehundredth time. It had to bedebugged, and debuggedagain,andagain.Andagain.I always believed itwould

be the same with thesemanufactured molecules—they’d have to be debuggedagain and again before they

worked right. And if Xymoswanted“flocks”ofmoleculesworking together, they’dalsohave to debug the way themolecules communicatedwith each other, howeverlimited that communicationwas. Because once themolecules communicated,youhad a primitivenetwork.To organize it, you’dprobably program adistributed net.Of the kind I

had been developing atMediaTronics.So I could perfectly well

imagine them doingprogramming along with themanufacturing.ButIcouldn’tsee Julia hanging aroundwhile they did it. The fabfacility was far from theXymos headquarters. It wasliterally in the middle ofnowhere—out in the desertnear Tonopah, Nevada. And

Julia didn’t like to be in themiddleofnowhere.

I was sitting in thepediatrician’s waiting roombecausethebabywasdueforher next round ofimmunizations. There werefour mothers in the room,bouncing sick kids on theirlaps while the older childrenplayed on the floor. The

mothers all talked to eachother and studiously ignoredme.I was getting used to this.

A guy at home, a guy in asetting like the pediatrician’soffice,was an unusual thing.But it also meant thatsomethingwaswrong. Therewas probably somethingwrong with the guy, hecouldn’t get a job,maybe hewas fired for alcoholism or

drugs,maybe hewas a bum.Whatever the reason, itwasn’tnormalforamantobein the pediatrician’s office inthemiddleof theday.Sotheother mothers pretended Iwasn’tthere.Except they shot me the

occasionalworriedglance,asif Imight be sneaking up onthemtorapethemwhiletheirbacks were turned. Even thenurse, Gloria, seemed

suspicious.Sheglancedatthebaby in my arms—whowasn’tcrying,andwashardlysniffling. “What seems to betheproblem?”I said we were here for

immunizations.“She’sbeenherebefore?”Yes, she had been coming

to the doctor since she wasborn.“Are you related?” Yes, I

wasthefather.Eventually we were

ushered in.Thedoctor shookhands with me, was veryfriendly, never asked why Iwas there insteadofmywifeor the housekeeper. He gavetwo injections. Amandahowled.Ibouncedheronmyshoulder,comfortedher.“She may have a little

swelling, a little local

redness. Call me if it’s notgoneinforty-eighthours.”Then I was back in the

waiting room, trying to getoutmycreditcard topay thebillwhilethebabycried.AndthatwaswhenJuliacalled.“Hi. What’re you doing?”

Shemusthaveheardthebabyscreaming.“Payingthepediatrician.”“Badtime?”

“Kindof…”“Okay,listen,Ijustwanted

tosayIhaveanearlynight—finally!—so I’ll be home fordinner. What do you say Ipickuponmywayhome?”“That’dbegreat,”Isaid.

Eric’ssoccerpracticeranlate.It was getting dark on thefield. The coach always ranpractice late. I paced the

sidelines, trying to decidewhether to complain. It wasso hard to know when youwere coddling your kid, andwhen you were legitimatelyprotecting them. Nicolecalled on her cell to say thather play rehearsal was over,andwhy hadn’t I picked herup?WherewasI?IsaidIwasstill with Eric and asked ifshe could catch a ride withanybody.

“Dad …” she said,exasperated. You’d think Ihadaskedhertocrawlhome.“Hey,I’mstuck.”Very sarcastic:

“Whatever.”“Watch that tone, young

lady.”But a few minutes later,

soccerwasabruptlycanceled.A big green maintenancetruck pulled onto the field,

and two men came outwearingmasksandbigrubbergloves, with spray cans ontheirbacks.Theyweregoingto spray weed killer orsomething, and everybodyhad to stay off the fieldovernight.I called Nicole back and

saidwewouldpickherup.“When?”“We’reonourwaynow.”

“From the little creep’spractice?”“Comeon,Nic.”“Why does he always

comefirst?”“He doesn’t always come

first.”“Yeshedoes.He’s a little

creep.”“Nicole…”“Sor-ry.”

“See you in a fewminutes.” I clicked off. Kidsare more advanced thesedays. The teenage years nowstartateleven.

By five-thirty the kids werehome, raiding the fridge.Nicolewaseatingabigchunkofstringcheese. I toldher tostop;itwouldruinherdinner.Then I went back to setting

thetable.“Whenisdinner?”“Soon. Mom’s bringing it

home.”“Uh-huh.”Shedisappeared

for a few minutes, and thenshe came back. “She saysshe’ssorryshedidn’tcall,butshe’sgoingtobelate.”“What?” I was pouring

water into the glasses on thetable.

“She’ssorryshedidn’tcallbut she’s going to be late. Ijusttalkedtoher.”“Jesus.” It was irritating. I

tried never to show myirritationaround thekids,butsometimes it slipped out. Isighed.“Okay.”“I’m really hungry now,

Dad.”“Get your brother and get

into the car,” I said. “We’re

goingtothedrive-in.”

Later that night, as I wascarrying thebaby tobed,myelbow brushed against aphotograph on the living-room bookshelf. It clatteredtothefloor;Istoopedtopickitup.ItwasapictureofJuliaandEric inSunValleywhenhewas four.Theywere bothin snowsuits; Julia was

helping him learn to ski, andsmiling radiantly. Next to itwas a photo of Julia andmeon our eleventh weddinganniversaryinKona;IwasinaloudHawaiianshirtandshehad colorful leis around herneck, andwewerekissing atsunset.Thatwas agreat trip;in fact, we were pretty sureAmandawasconceivedthere.I remember Juliacamehomefromworkoneday and said,

“Honey, remember how yousaid mai-tais weredangerous?” I said, “Yes…”And she said, “Well, let meput it this way. It’s a girl,”andIwassostartledthesodaI was drinking went up mynose, and we both started tolaugh.Then a picture of Julia

making cupcakes withNicole, who was so youngshesatonthekitchencounter

and her legs didn’t reach theedge.Shecouldn’thavebeenmore than a year and a halfold. Nicole was frowningwith concentration as shewielded a huge spoon ofdough, making a fine messwhileJuliatriednottolaugh.Andaphotoofushikingin

Colorado, Julia holding thehand of six-year-old Nicolewhile I carried Eric on myshoulders, my shirt collar

darkwithsweat—orworse,ifI remembered that day right.Eric must have been abouttwo;hewasstill indiapers.Iremember he thought it wasfun tocovermyeyeswhile Icarriedhimonthetrail.The hiking photo had

slipped inside its frame so itstoodatanangle.Itappedtheframetotryandstraightenit,but it didn’t move. I noticedthat several of the other

pictures were faded, or theemulsion was sticking to theglass.Noonehadbotheredtotake care of these pictures.The baby snuffled in myarms, rubbing her eyes withherfists.Itwastimeforbed.Iput the pictures back on theshelf. They were old imagesfrom another, happier time.From another life. Theyseemedtohavenothingtodowith me, anymore.

Everything was differentnow.The world was different

now.

I left the table set for dinnerthat night, a silent rebuke.Julia saw it when she gothomearound ten.“I’msorry,hon.”“Iknowyouwerebusy,”I

said.

“I was. Please forgiveme?”“Ido,”Isaid.“You’re the best.” She

blew me a kiss, from acrossthe room. “I’mgoing to takeashower,” she said.Andsheheadedoffdownthehallway.Iwatchedhergo.On thewaydown thehall,

she looked into the baby’sroom, and then darted in. A

moment later, I heard hercooingandthebabygurgling.I got out of my chair, andwalked down the hall afterher.In the darkened nursery,

shewasholdingthebabyup,nuzzlinghernose.I said, “Julia…youwoke

herup.”“No I didn’t, she was

awake. Weren’t you, little

honey-bunny? You wereawake,weren’tyou,Poopsie-doopsie?”The baby rubbed her eyes

with tiny fists, and yawned.She certainly appeared tohavebeenawakened.Julia turned to me in the

darkness. “I didn’t. Really. Ididn’twake her up.Why areyoulookingatmethatway?”“Whatway?”

“Youknowwhatway.Thataccusingway.”“I’m not accusing you of

anything.”The baby started to

whimper and then to cry.Julia touched her diaper. “Ithink she’s wet,” she said,and handed her tome as shewalkedoutoftheroom.“Youdoit,Mr.Perfect.”

Now there was tensionbetween us. After I changedthebaby andput her back tobed,IheardJuliacomeoutofthe shower, banging a door.Whenever Julia startedbanging doors, it was a signfor me to come and mollifyher. But I didn’t feel like ittonight. Iwas annoyed she’dawakenedthebaby,andIwasannoyed by her unreliability,saying she’d be home early

and never calling to say shewouldn’t. I was scared thatshehadbecomesounreliablebecauseshewasdistractedbyanewlove.Orshejustdidn’tcare about her familyanymore. Ididn’tknowwhatto do about all this, but Ididn’tfeellikesmoothingthetensionbetweenus.I just let her bang the

doors. She slammed hersliding closet-door so hard

thewoodcracked.Sheswore.That was another sign I wassupposedtocomerunning.I went back to the living

room,andsatdown.Ipickedup the book I was reading,andstaredatthepage.ItriedtoconcentratebutofcourseIcouldn’t. I was angry and Ilistenedtoherbangaroundinthebedroom.Ifshekeptitup,she’d wake Eric and then Iwouldhavetodealwithhim.

I hoped it wouldn’t go thatfar.Eventually the noise

stopped. She had probablygotten into bed. If so, shewould soon be asleep. Juliacould go to sleep when wewerefighting.Inevercould;Istayed up, pacing and angry,tryingtosettlemyselfdown.When I finally came to

bed, Julia was fast asleep. I

slipped between the covers,and rolled over on my side,awayfromher.

It was one o’clock in themorning when the babybegantoscream.Igropedforthe light, knocked over thealarmclock,whichturnedtheclock radio on, blaring rockand roll. I swore, fumbled inthe dark, finally got the

bedside light on, turned theradiooff.The baby was still

screaming.“What’s the matter with

her?”Juliasaidsleepily.“Idon’tknow.”Igotoutof

bed, shakingmyhead, tryingto wake up. I went into thenursery and flicked on thelight. The room seemed verybright, the clown wallpaper

veryyellowandburning.Outof nowhere, I thought: whydoesn’t she want yellowplacemats when she paintedthewholenurseryyellow?The babywas standing up

inhercrib,holdingon to therails and howling, hermouthwideopen,herbreathcomingin jagged gasps. Tears wererunning down her cheeks. Iheldmy arms out to her andshe reached for me, and I

comforted her. I thought itmust be a nightmare. Icomforted her, rocked hergently.She continued to scream,

unrelenting. Maybesomething was hurting her,maybe something in herdiaper. I checked her body.That was when I saw anangry red rash on her belly,extending in welts around toher back, and up toward her

neck.Julia came in. “Can’t you

stopit?”shesaid.I said, “There’s something

wrong,”andIshowedhertherash.“Hasshegotafever?”I touched Amanda’s head.

Shewas sweaty and hot, butthatcouldbefromthecrying.Therestofherbodyfeltcool.“I don’t know. I don’t think

so.”Icouldsee therashonher

thighs now. Was it on herthighs a moment before? IalmostthoughtIwasseeingitspread before my eyes. If itwas possible, the babyscreamedevenlouder.“Jesus,” Julia said. “I’ll

callthedoctor.”“Yeah, do.”Bynow I had

the baby on her back—she

screamed more—and I waslookingcarefullyatherentirebody. The rash wasspreading,therewasnodoubtabout it. And she seemed tobe in terriblepain,screamingbloodymurder.“I’m sorry, honey, I’m

sorry …” I said. Definitelyspreading.Julia came back and said

sheleftwordforthedoctor.I

said, “I’m not going to wait.I’m taking her to theemergencyroom.”“Doyoureallythinkthat’s

necessary?”shesaid.I didn’t answer her, I just

went into thebedroomtoputonmyclothes.Julia said, “Do you want

metocomewithyou?”“No, staywith thekids,” I

said.

“Yousure?”“Yes.”“Okay,” she said. She

wandered back to thebedroom. I reached for mycarkeys.The baby continued to

scream.

“Irealizeit’suncomfortable,”the internwas saying. “But Idon’t think it’ssafe tosedate

her.”Wewere in a curtainedcubicle in the emergencyroom. The intern was bentovermy screaming daughter,looking in her ears with hisinstrument. By nowAmanda’s entire body wasbright,angryred.She lookedasifshehadbeenparboiled.I felt scared. I’d never

heard of anything like thisbefore, a baby turning brightredandscreamingconstantly.

I didn’t trust this intern,whoseemed far too young to becompetent. He couldn’t beexperienced; he didn’t evenlookasifheshavedyet.Iwasjittery, shifting my weightfrom one foot to the other. Iwasbeginningtofeelslightlycrazy, because my daughterhad never stopped screamingonce in the last hour. It waswearingmedown.Theinternignoredit.Ididn’tknowhow

hecould.“Shehasnofever,”hesaid,

makingnotes inachart, “butinachildthisagethatdoesn’tmeananything.Underayear,theymaynotrunfeversatall,evenwithsevereinfections.”“Is that what this is?” I

said.“Aninfection?”“I don’t know. I’m

presumingavirusbecauseofthatrash.Butweshouldhave

the preliminary blood workback in—ah, good.” Apassing nurse handed him aslipofpaper.“Uhh…hmmm…”Hepaused.“Well…”“Well what?” I said,

shiftingmyweightanxiously.Hewasshakinghisheadas

he stared at the paper. Hedidn’tanswer.“Wellwhat?”“It’s not an infection,” he

said. “White cell counts allnormal, protein fractionsnormal.She’sgotnoimmunemobilizationatall.”“Whatdoesthatmean?”Hewasverycalm,standing

there, frowning and thinking.Iwonderedifperhapshewasjust dumb. The best peopleweren’t going into medicineanymore,notwiththeHMOsrunning everything. This kid

might be one of the newbreedofdumbdoctor.“We have to widen the

diagnosticnet,”hesaid.“I’mgoing to order a surgicalconsult, a neurologicalconsult, we have a dermocoming, we have infectiouscoming.That’llmeanalotofpeople to talk to you aboutyour daughter, asking thesame questions over again,but—”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Idon’t mind. Just… what doyouthinkiswrongwithher?”“I don’t know, Mr.

Forman.Ifit’snotinfectious,we lookforother reasonsforthisskinresponse.Shehasn’ttraveledoutofthecountry?”“No.”Ishookmyhead.“No recent exposures to

heavymetalsortoxins?”“Likewhat?”

“Dump sites, industrialplants,chemicalexposure…”“No,no.”“Canyouthinkofanything

at all thatmight have causedthisreaction?”“No, nothing… wait, she

hadvaccinationsyesterday.”“Whatvaccinations?”“I don’t know, whatever

shegetsforherage…”

“You don’t know whatvaccinations?” he said. Hisnotebook was open, his penpoisedoverthepage.“No, for Christ’s sake,” I

said irritably, “I don’t knowwhat vaccinations. Everytime she goes there, she getsanother shot. You’re thegoddamneddoctor—”“That’s okay, Mr.

Forman,” he said soothingly.

“I know it’s stressful. If youjust tellme thenameofyourpediatrician, I’ll call him,howisthat?”Inodded.Iwipedmyhand

across my forehead. I wassweating. I spelled thepediatrician’s name for himwhilehewroteitdowninhisnotebook. I tried to calmdown.Itriedtothinkclearly.And all the time,mybaby

justscreamed.

Half an hour later, she wentintoconvulsions.They started while one of

the white-coated consultantswasbentoverher,examiningher.Herlittlebodywrenchedand twisted. She maderetchingsoundsasifshewastrying to vomit. Her legsjerked spastically. She began

towheeze.Hereyesrolledupintoherhead.I don’t remember what I

said or did then, but a bigorderly the size of a footballplayer came in and pushedmetoonesideof thecubicleand held my arms. I lookedpast his huge shoulder as sixpeople clustered around mydaughter; a nurse wearing aBart Simpson T-shirt wassticking a needle into her

forehead. I began to shoutandstruggle.Theorderlywasyelling, “Scow-vane,scowvane, scowvane,” overandover.FinallyIrealizedhewas saying “Scalp vein.” Heexplained it was just to startan IV, that the baby hadbecomedehydrated.Thatwaswhy she was convulsing. Iheard talk of electrolytes,magnesium,potassium.Anyway, the convulsions

stoppedinafewseconds.Butshecontinuedtoscream.

IcalledJulia.Shewasawake.“Howisshe?”“Thesame.”“Stillcrying?Isthather?”“Yes.” She could hear

Amandainthebackground.“Oh God.” She groaned.

“Whataretheysayingitis?”

“Theydon’tknowyet.”“Oh,thepoorbaby.”“There have been about

fiftydoctorsinheretolookather.”“Is there anything I can

do?”“Idon’tthinkso.”“Okay.Letmeknow.”“Okay.”“I’mnotsleeping.”

“Okay.”

Shortly before dawn thehuddled consultantsannouncedthatsheeitherhadan intestinal obstruction or abrain tumor, they couldn’tdecide which, and theyorderedanMRI.Theskywasbeginningtolightenwhenshewas finally wheeled to theimagingroom.Thebigwhite

machinestoodinthecenterofthe room. The nurse toldmeit would calm the baby if Ihelped her prepare her, andshetooktheneedleoutofherscalp because there couldn’tbeanymetalduring theMRIreading.BloodsquirteddownAmanda’s face, into her eye.Thenursewipeditaway.NowAmandawasstrapped

onto the white board thatrolled into the depths of the

machine. My daughter wasstaring up at the MRI interror, still screaming. Thenurse toldmeIcouldwait inthe next room with thetechnician.Iwentintoaroomwith a glass window thatlooked in on the MRImachine.The technician was

foreign, dark. “How old isshe?Isitashe?”

“Yes,she.Ninemonths.”“Quite a set of lungs on

her.”“Yes.”“Here we go.” He was

fiddling at his knobs anddials, hardly looking at mydaughter.Amanda was completely

inside themachine.Her sobssounded tinny over themicrophone. The technician

flickedaswitchandthepumpbegantochatter;itmadealotofnoise.ButIcouldstillhearmydaughterscreaming.And then, abruptly, she

stopped.Shewascompletelysilent.“Uh-oh,”Isaid.Ilookedat

the technician and the nurse.Their faces registered shock.We all thought the samething, that something terrible

had happened. My heartbegan to pound. Thetechnician hastily shut downthe pumps and we hurriedbackintotheroom.My daughter was lying

there, still strapped down,breathing heavily, butapparently fine. She blinkedher eyes slowly, as if dazed.Already her skin wasnoticeably a lighter shade ofpink,with patches of normal

color. The rash was fadingrightbeforeoureyes.“I’ll be damned,” the

techniciansaid.

Backintheemergencyroom,theywouldn’t letAmandagohome. The surgeons stillthought shehada tumororabowel emergency, and theywanted to keep her in thehospital for observation. But

the rash continued to clearsteadily. Over the next hour,the pink color faded, andvanished.No one could understand

what had happened, and thedoctors were uneasy. ThescalpveinIVwasbackinontheothersideofherforehead.ButAmanda took a bottle offormula, guzzling it downhungrilywhileIheldher.Shewasstaringupatmewithher

usual hypnotic feeding stare.She really seemed tobe fine.Shefellasleepinmyarms.Isatthereforanotherhour,

then began to make noisesabout how I had to get backtomykids,Ihadtogetthemto school. And not longafterward, the doctorsannouncedanothervictoryformodernmedicineandsentmehomewithher.Amandasleptsoundly all the way, and

didn’t wake when I got heroutofhercarseat.Thenightskywas turning graywhen Icarried her up the drivewayandintothehouse.

DAY36:07A.M.

The house was silent. Thekidswerestillasleep.IfoundJulia standing in the diningroom, looking out thewindowat thebackyard.Thesprinklers were on, hissingandclicking.Juliaheldacupof coffee and stared out the

window,unmoving.Isaid,“We’reback.”Sheturned.“She’sokay?”I held out the baby to her.

“Seemstobe.”“Thank God,” she said, “I

was so worried, Jack.” Butshedidn’tapproachAmanda,and didn’t touch her. “I wassoworried.”Her voice was strange,

distant. She didn’t really

sound worried, she soundedformal, likesomeonerecitingthe rituals of another culturethat they didn’t reallyunderstand. She took a sipfromhercoffeecup.“Icouldn’tsleepallnight,”

shesaid.“Iwassoworried.Ifelt awful. God.” Her eyesflickedtomyface,thenaway.Shelookedguilty.“Wanttoholdher?”

“I, uh…” Julia shook herhead, and nodded to thecoffee cup in her hand. “Notright now,” she said. “I haveto check the sprinklers.They’re overwatering myroses.” And she walked intothebackyard.Iwatchedhergooutinthe

backandstandlookingatthesprinklers. She glanced backat me, then made a show ofcheckingthetimerboxonthe

wall. She opened the lid andlooked inside. I didn’t get it.The gardeners had adjustedthe sprinkler timers just lastweek. Maybe they hadn’tdoneitright.Amanda snuffled in my

arms. I took her into thenursery to change her, andputherbackinbed.When I returned, I saw

Julia in the kitchen, talking

on her cell phone. This wasanother new habit of hers.She didn’t use the housephone much anymore; sheused her cell. When I hadaskedherabout it,she’dsaiditwasjusteasierbecauseshewas calling long distance alot,andthecompanypaidhercellularbills.Islowedmyapproach,and

walkedonthecarpet.Iheardher say, “Yes, damn it, of

courseIdo,butwehavetobecarefulnow…”Shelookedupandsawme

coming. Her toneimmediatelychanged.“Okay,uh…look,Carol,I thinkwecanhandle thatwith aphonecall to Frankfurt. Follow upwith a fax, and letme knowhow he responds, all right?”And she snapped the phoneshut.Icameintothekitchen.

“Jack, I hate to leavebefore the kids are up, but…”“You’vegottogo?”“I’m afraid so.

Something’s come up atwork.”I glanced at my watch. It

was a quarter after six.“Okay.”Shesaid,“So,willyou,uh

…thekids…”

“Sure, I’ll handleeverything.”“Thanks. I’ll call you

later.”Andshewasgone.

I was so tired I wasn’tthinking clearly. The babywasstillasleep,andwithluckshe’d sleep several hoursmore. My housekeeper,Maria, came in at six-thirtyand put out the breakfast

bowls. The kids ate and Idrove them to school. I wastrying hard to stay awake. Iyawned.Eric was sitting on the

front seat next to me. Heyawned,too.“Sleepytoday?”He nodded. “Those men

keptwakingmeup,”hesaid.“Whatmen?”“Themen thatcame in the

houselastnight.”“Whatmen?”Isaid.“The vacuum men,” he

said. “They vacuumedeverything. And theyvacuumeduptheghost.”From the backseat, Nicole

snickered.“Theghost…”I said, “I think you were

dreaming, son.” Lately Erichad been having vividnightmares that often woke

himinthenight.IwasprettysureitwasbecauseNicolelethim watch horror movieswithher,knowingtheywouldupset him.Nicolewas at theage where her favoritemovies featured maskedkillers who murderedteenagers after they had hadsex. It was the old formula:youhavesex,youdie.But itwasn’t appropriate for Eric.I’dspokentohermanytimes

aboutlettinghimseethem.“No, Dad, it wasn’t a

dream,” Eric said, yawningagain. “The men were there.Awholebunchofthem.”“Uh-huh. And what was

theghost?”“Hewasaghost.Allsilver

and shimmery, except hedidn’thaveaface.”“Uh-huh.” By now we

werepullingupattheschool,

andNicole was saying I hadtopickherupat4:15insteadof 3:45 because she had achorus rehearsal after class,and Eric was saying hewasn’t going to hispediatricianappointmentifhehad to get a shot. I repeatedthe timeless mantra of allparents:“We’llsee.”The two kids piled out of

the car, dragging theirbackpacksbehindthem.They

both had backpacks thatweighed about twentypounds. I never got used tothis. Kids didn’t have hugebackpacks when I was theirage. We didn’t havebackpacks at all. Now itseemedallthekidshadthem.Yousawlittlesecond-gradersbent over like sherpas,dragging themselves throughthe school doors under theweight of their packs. Some

ofthekidshadtheirpacksonrollers, hauling them likeluggageattheairport.Ididn’tunderstand any of this. Theworld was becoming digital;everything was smaller andlighter. But kids at schoollugged more weight thanever.Acoupleofmonthsago,at

a parents’meeting, I’d askedabout it. And the principalsaid,“Yes,it’sabigproblem.

We’re all concerned.” Andthenchangedthesubject.I didn’t get that, either. If

theywereallconcerned,whydidn’t they do somethingabout it?Butofcourse that’shuman nature. Nobody doesanything until it’s too late.We put the stoplight at theintersection after the kid iskilled.I drove home again,

through sluggish morningtraffic.IwasthinkingImightgetacoupleofhoursofsleep.It was the only thing on mymind.

Maria woke me up aroundeleven, shaking my shoulderinsistently.“Mr.Forman.Mr.Forman.”Iwasgroggy.“Whatisit?”“Thebaby.”

I was immediately awake.“Whatabouther?”“You see the baby, Mr.

Forman. She all …” Shemade a gesture, rubbing hershoulderandarm.“She’sallwhat?”“You see the baby, Mr.

Forman.”Istaggeredoutofbed,and

went into the nursery.Amanda was standing up in

her crib, holding on to therailing.Shewasbouncingandsmiling happily. Everythingseemednormal,exceptforthefactthatherentirebodywasauniform purple-blue color.Likeabigbruise.“Oh,Jesus,”Isaid.I couldn’t take another

episode at the hospital, Icouldn’t take more white-coateddoctorswhodidn’ttell

you anything, I couldn’t takebeingscaredalloveragain. Iwas still drained from thenightbefore.Thethoughtthatthere was something wrongwith my daughter wrenchedmy stomach. I went over toAmanda, who gurgled withpleasure, smiling up at me.She stretched one handtoward me, grasping air, hersignalformetopickherup.So I picked her up. She

seemed fine, immediatelygrabbing my hair and tryingto pull off my glasses, theway she always did. I feltrelieved,even thoughIcouldnow see her skin better. Itlooked bruised—it was thecolor of a bruise—except itwas absolutely uniformeverywhere on her body.Amanda looked like she’dbeen dipped in dye. Theevenness of the color was

alarming.I decided I had to call the

doctor in the emergencyroom,afterall.Ifishedinmypocket for his card, whileAmanda tried to grab myglasses. I dialed one-handed.I could do pretty mucheverything one-handed. I gotright through; he soundedsurprised.“Oh,” he said. “I was just

about to call you. How isyourdaughterfeeling?”“Well, she seems to feel

fine,”Isaid,jerkingmyheadbacksoAmandacouldn’tgetmyglasses.Shewasgiggling;it was a game, now. “She’sfine,”Isaid,“butthethingis—”“Has she by any chance

hadbruising?”“Yes,”Isaid.“Asamatter

offact,shehas.That’swhyIwascallingyou.”“The bruising is all over

herbody?Uniformly?”“Yes,” I said. “Pretty

much.Whydoyouask?”“Well,” the doctor said,

“all her lab work has comeback, and it’s all normal.Completely normal. Healthychild. The only thing we’restill waiting on is the MRI

report, but theMRI’s brokendown.Theysayit’llbeafewdays.”I couldn’t keep ducking

and weaving; I put Amandaback in her crib while Italked.Shedidn’tlikethat,ofcourse, and scrunchedupherface,preparing tocry. Igaveher her Cookie Monster toy,and she sat downandplayedwith that. I knew CookieMonster was good for about

fiveminutes.“Anyway,” the doctorwas

saying, “I’m glad to hearshe’sdoingwell.”IsaidthatIwasglad,too.There was a pause. The

doctorcoughed.“Mr. Forman, I noticed on

your hospital admissionsform you said youroccupation was softwareengineer.”

“That’sright.”“Does that mean you are

involved withmanufacturing?”“No. I do program

development.”“Andwheredoyoudothat

work?”“IntheValley.”“You don’t work in a

factory,forexample?”

“No.Iworkinanoffice.”“I see.” A pause. “May I

askwhere?”“Actually, at the moment,

I’munemployed.”“Isee.Allright.Howlong

hasthatbeen?”“Sixmonths.”“I see.” A short pause.

“Well,okay, I justwanted toclearthatup.”

Isaid,“Why?”“I’msorry?”“Why are you asking me

thosequestions?”“Oh.They’reontheform.”“What form?” I said. “I

filledout all the formsat thehospital.”“This is another form,” he

said. “It’s an OHS inquiry.OfficeofHealthandSafety.”

I said, “What’s this allabout?”“There’sbeenanothercase

reported,” he said, “that’svery similar to yourdaughter’s.”“Where?”“SacramentoGeneral.”“When?”“Five days ago. But it’s a

completelydifferentsituation.This case involved a forty-

two-year-old naturalistsleeping out in the Sierras,some wild-flower expert.Therewasaparticularkindofflower or something.Anyway,hewashospitalizedin Sacramento. And he hadthe same clinical course asyour daughter—suddenunexplained onset, no fever,painful erythematousreaction.”“AndanMRIstoppedit?”

“Idon’tknowifhehadanMRI,” he said. “Butapparently this syndrome—whatever it is—is self-limited. Very sudden onset,andveryabrupttermination.”“He’s okay now? The

naturalist?”“He’s fine. A couple of

daysofbruising,andnothingmore.”“Good,” I said. “I’m glad

tohearit.”“I thought you’d want to

know,”hesaid.Thenhesaidhemightbecallingmeagain,with some more questions,andwouldthatbeallright?Isaid he could call wheneverhe wanted. He asked me tocall if there was any changein Amanda, and I said Iwould,andIhungup.

Amanda had abandonedCookie Monster, and wasstanding in the crib, holdingon to the railing with onehand and reaching for mewith the other, her littlefingersclutchingair.Ipickedherup—andinan

instant she had my glassesoff.Igrabbedforthemasshesquealed with pleasure.“Amanda …” But too late;shethrewthemonthefloor.

Iblinked.Idon’tseewellwithoutmy

glasses. These were wire-frames,hardtoseenow.Igotdownonmyhandsandknees,still holding the baby, andswept my hand across thefloor in circles, hoping totouch glass. I didn’t. Isquinted, edged forward,swept my hand again. Stillnothing.ThenIsawaglintoflightunderneaththecrib.Iset

the baby down and crawledunder the crib, retrieved theglasses, and put them on. IntheprocessIbangedmyheadon the crib, dropped downlowagain.AndIfoundmyselfstaring

at the electrical outlet on thewall underneath the crib. Asmallplasticboxwaspluggedinto theoutlet. Ipulled itoutandlookedatit.Itwasatwo-inchcube,asurgesuppressor

by the lookof it,anordinarycommercialproduct,made inThailand. The input/outputvoltagesweremoldedintotheplastic. A white label ranacross the bottom, readingPROP. SSVT, with a barcode. It was one of thosestickers that companies putontheirinventory.I turned the cube over in

my hand. Where had thiscome from? I’d been in

charge of the house for thelast sixmonths. I knewwhatwas where. And certainlyAmanda didn’t need a surgesuppressor in her room. Youonlyneededthatforsensitiveelectronic equipment, likecomputers.Igottomyfeet,andlooked

around the room to seewhatelse was different. To mysurprise, I realized thateverythingwasdifferent—but

just slightly different.Amanda’s night-light hadWinnie-the-Pooh charactersprintedontheshade.IalwayskeptTiggerfacingtowardhercrib, because Tiggerwas herfavorite. Now, Eeyore facedthe crib. Amanda’s changingpad was stained in onecorner;Ialwayskeptthestainbottom left. Now it was topright. I kept her diaper-rashointments on the counter to

theleft, justoutofherreach.Nowtheyweretooclose;shecould grab them. And therewasmore—The maid came in behind

me.“Maria,”Isaid,“didyoucleanthisroom?”“No,Mr.Forman.”“Buttheroomisdifferent,”

Isaid.She looked around, and

shrugged. “No, Mr. Forman.

Thesame.”“No, no,” I insisted. “It’s

different.Look.” Ipointed tothe lampshade, the changingcloth.“Different.”She shrugged again.

“Okay, Mr. Forman.” I readconfusion in her face. Eithershe didn’t followwhat Iwassaying, or she thought I wascrazy. And I probably didlook a little crazy, a grown

man obsessing about aWinnie-the-Poohlampshade.I showed her the cube in

myhand.“Haveyouseenthisbefore?”Sheshookherhead.“No.”“Itwasunderthecrib.”“I don’t know, Mr.

Forman.” She inspected it,turning it in her hand. Sheshrugged,andgaveitbacktome.Sheactedcasual,buther

eyes were watchful. I begantofeeluncomfortable.“Okay, Maria,” I said.

“Nevermind.”She bent over to scoop up

thebaby.“Ifeedhernow.”“Yes,okay.”Ilefttheroom,feelingodd.

Justforthehellofit,Ilookedup“SSVT”on theNet. Igot

links to the Sri Siva VishnuTemple, the Waffen-SSTraining School at Konitz,Nazi Regalia for sale,Subsystems Sample DisplayTechnology, South ShoreVocational-Technical School,Optical VariTemp CryostatSystems, Solid SurfacingVeneerTilesforhomefloors,a band calledSlingshotVenus, the SwissShooting Federation—and it

wentdownhillfromthere.I turned away from the

computer.Istaredoutthewindow.Maria had given me a

shopping list, the itemsscrawledinherdifficulthand.I really should get theshopping done before Ipicked up the kids. But Ididn’t move. There weretimes when the relentless

pace of life at home seemedto defeat me, to leave mefeeling washed out andhollow.At those times I justhadtositforafewhours.Ididn’twanttomove.Not

rightnow.I wondered if Julia was

goingtocallmetonight,andIwonderedifshewouldhaveadifferent excuse. I wonderedwhat I would do if she

walked in one of these days,and announced she was inlove with someone else. Iwonderedwhat Iwoulddo ifI still didn’t have a job bythen.I wondered when I would

get a job again. I turned thelittlesurgesuppressoroverinmy hand idly, as my minddrifted.Right outside my window

was a large coral tree, withthick leaves and a greentrunk.Wehadplanted itasamuch smaller tree not longafter we moved into thehouse. Of course the treeguys did it, but we were allout there. Nicole had herplastic shovel and bucket.Ericwas crawling around onthe lawn in his diapers. Juliahad charmed the workmeninto staying late to finish the

job.AftertheyhadallgoneIkissed her, and brushed dirtfromhernose.Shesaid,“Oneday it’ll cover our wholehouse.”But as it turned out, it

didn’t. One of the brancheshadbrokenoff inastorm,soitgrewalittlelopsided.Coralis soft wood; the branchesbreakeasily.Itnevergrewtocoverthehouse.

Butmymemorywasvivid;staringoutthewindow,Isawall of us again, out on thelawn. But it was just amemory. And I was veryafraiditdidn’tfitanymore.

Afterworking for yearswithmulti-agent systems, youbegin to see life in terms ofthoseprograms.Basically,youcanthinkof

amulti-agent environment assomething like a chessboard,and the agents like chesspieces.Theagentsinteractontheboardtoattainagoal,justthe way the chess piecesmove to win a game. Thedifference is that nobody ismoving the agents. Theyinteract on their own toproducetheoutcome.Ifyoudesign theagents to

havememory,theycanknow

things about theirenvironment.Theyrememberwhere they’ve been on theboard, and what happenedthere. They can go back tocertain places, with certainexpectations. Eventually,programmers say the agentshave beliefs about theirenvironment, and that theyare acting on those beliefs.That’s not literally true, ofcourse,butitmightaswellbe

true.Itlooksthatway.But what’s interesting is

that over time, some agentsdevelop mistaken beliefs.Whether from a motivationconflict, or some otherreason, they start actinginappropriately. Theenvironmenthas changedbutthey don’t seem to know it.They repeat outmodedpatterns. Their behavior nolonger reflects the reality of

the chessboard. It’s as ifthey’restuckinthepast.In evolutionary programs,

those agents get killed off.They have no children. Inother multi-agent programs,they just get bypassed,pushedtotheperipherywhilethe main thrust of agentsmoves on. Some programshavea“grim reaper”modulethat sifts themout from timetotime,andpullsthemoffthe

board.But the point is, they’re

stuck in their own past.Sometimes they pullthemselves together, and getback on track. Sometimestheydon’t.Thoughts like these made

me very uneasy. I shifted inmy chair, glanced at theclock.Withasenseofrelief,Isawitwastimetogopickup

thekids.

Ericdidhishomeworkinthecar while we waited forNicole to finish her playrehearsal. She came out in abad mood; she had thoughtshewasinlineforaleadrole,butinsteadthedramateacherhad cast her in the chorus.“Only two lines!” she said,slamming thecardoor. “You

want to know what I say? Isay, ‘Look, here comes Johnnow.’Andinthesecondact,Isay, ‘That sounds prettyserious.’ Two lines!” She satback and closed her eyes. “Idon’t understand what Mr.Blakey’sproblemis!”“Maybe he thinks you

suck,”Ericsaid.“Rat turd!” She smacked

him on the head. “Monkey

butt!”“That’senough,” Isaid,as

Istartedthecar.“Seatbelts.”“Little stink-brain dimrod,

he doesn’t know anything,”Nicolesaid,bucklingherbelt.“Isaid,that’senough.”“I know that you stink,”

Ericsaid.“Pee-yew.”“That’senough,Eric.”“Yeah, Eric, listen to your

father,andshutup.”“Nicole …” I shot her a

glanceintherearviewmirror.“Sor-ry.”Shelookedonthevergeof

tears. I said to her, “Honey,I’m really sorry you didn’tget the part you wanted. Iknow you wanted it badly,and it must be verydisappointing.”“No.Idon’tcare.”

“Well,I’msorry.”“Really,Dad, I don’t care.

It’s in the past. I’m movingon.” And then a momentlater,“Youknowwhogotit?That little suckup KatieRichards!Mr.Blakeyisjustadick!”AndbeforeIcouldsayanything,sheburstintotears,sobbing loudly andhistrionically. Eric lookedover at me, and rolled hiseyes.

I drove home, making amental note to speak toNicole about her languageafter dinner, when she hadcalmeddown.I was chopping green

beanssotheywouldfitinthesteamerwhen Eric came andstoodinthekitchendoorway.“Hey Dad, where’s myMP3?”“I have no idea.” I could

nevergetusedtotheideathatI was supposed to knowwhere every one of theirpersonal possessions was.Eric’s Game Boy, hisbaseball glove,Nicole’s tanktops,herbracelet…“Well,Ican’tfindit.”Eric

remained standing in thedoorway, not coming anycloser, in case I made himhelpsetthetable.

“Haveyoulooked?”“Everywhere,Dad.”“Uh-huh. You looked in

yourroom?”“Allover.”“Familyroom?”“Everywhere.”“Inthecar?Maybeyouleft

itinthecar.”“Ididn’t,Dad.”“You leave it in your

lockeratschool?”“We don’t have lockers,

wehavecubbies.”“Youlookinthepocketsof

yourjacket?”“Dad. Come on. I did all

that.Ineedit.”“Since you’ve already

looked everywhere, I won’tbe able to find it either, willI?”“Dad. Would you please

justhelpme?”The pot roast had another

half hour to go. I put downtheknifeandwentintoEric’sroom.Ilookedinalltheusualplaces, the back of his closetwhere clothes were kickedinto a heap (Iwould have totalk to Maria about that),underthebed,behindthebedtable,inthebottomdrawerinthe bathroom, and under thepilesofstuffonhisdesk.Eric

was right. It wasn’t in hisroom.Weheaded toward thefamily room. I glanced in atthe baby’s room as I passedby.AndIsawitimmediately.Itwasontheshelfbesidethechanging table, rightalongside the tubes of babyointment. Eric grabbed it.“Hey, thanks Dad!” And hescamperedoff.There was no point in

asking why it was in the

baby’s room. I went back tothe kitchen and resumedchopping my green beans.Almostimmediately:“Daa-ad!”“What?”Icalled.“Itdoesn’twork!”“Don’tshout.”He came back to the

kitchen, looking sulky. “Shebrokeit.”

“Whobrokeit?”“Amanda. She drooled on

it or something, and shebrokeit.It’snotfair.”“Youcheckthebattery?”Hegavemeapityinglook.

“‘Course,Dad.Itoldyou,shebrokeit!It’snotfair!”I doubted his MP3 player

was broken. These thingswere solid-state devices, nomovingparts.Anditwastoo

largeforthebabytohandle.Idumped the green beans onthesteamertray,andheldoutmyhand.“Giveittome.”We went into the garage

andIgotoutmytoolbox.Ericwatched my every move. Ihad a full set of the smalltoolsyouneedforcomputersand electronic devices. Iworkedquickly.FourPhillipshead screws, and the backcovercameoffinmyhand.I

found myself staring at thegreen circuit board. It wascovered by a fine layer ofgrayish dust, like lint from aclothes dryer, that obscuredalltheelectroniccomponents.I suspected thatErichadslidinto home plate with thisthing inhispocket.Thatwasprobablywhy it didn’twork.But I looked along the edgeof the plastic and saw arubbergasketwheretheback

fitted against the device.They’d made this thingairtight…astheyshould.I blew the dust away, so I

couldseebetter.Iwashopingto see a loose batteryconnection,oramemorychipthathadpoppedupfromheat,anywaysomethingthatwouldbe easy to fix. I squinted atthe chips, trying to read thewriting. The writing on onechip was obscured, because

thereseemedtobesomekindof—Ipaused.“What is it?” Eric said,

watchingme.“Handme thatmagnifying

glass.”Eric gave me a big glass,

and I swung my high-intensity lamp low, and bentover the chip, examining itclosely.ThereasonIcouldn’t

read thewritingwas that thesurface of the chip had beencorroded.Thewholechipwasetchedinrivulets,aminiatureriver delta. I understoodnowwhere the dust had comefrom.Itwasthedisintegratedremainsofthechip.“Canyoufixit,Dad?”Eric

said.“Canyou?”What could have caused

this? The rest of the

motherboard seemed fine.The controller chip wasuntouched.Only thememorychipwasdamaged.Iwasn’tahardware guy, but I knewenough to do basic computerrepairs. I could install harddrives, add memory, thingslikethat.I’dhandledmemorychips before, and I’d neverseen anything like this.All Icould thinkwas that itwasafaulty chip. These MP3

players were probably builtwiththecheapestcomponentsavailable.“Dad?Canyoufixit?”“No,” I said. “It needs

anotherchip.I’llgetyouonetomorrow.”“‘Cause she slimed it,

right?”“No. I think it’s just a

faultychip.”“Dad. It was fine for a

wholeyear.Sheslimedit.It’snotfair!”As if on cue, the baby

startedcrying. I left theMP3player on the garage table,and went back inside thehouse. I lookedatmywatch.I would just have time tochangeAmanda’sdiaper,andmix her cereal for dinner,beforethepotroastcameout.

By nine, the younger kidswere asleep, and the housewasquietexceptforNicole’svoice, saying, “That soundspretty serious. That soundsprettyserious.Thatsounds…pretty serious.” She wasstanding in front of thebathroom mirror, staring atherselfandrecitingherlines.I’d gotten voicemail from

Juliasayingshe’dbebackbyeight,butshehadn’tmadeit.

I wasn’t about to call andcheck up on her. Anyway, Iwastired,tootiredtoworkupthe energy to worry abouther. I’d picked up a lot oftricks in the last months—mostly involving liberal useof tinfoil so I didn’t have toclean somuch—but even so,afterIdidthecooking,setthetable, fed the kids, playedairplanetogetthebabytoeather cereal, cleared the table,

wiped down the high chair,putthebabytobed,andthencleanedupthekitchen,Iwastired. Especially since thebaby kept spitting out thecereal,andErickeptinsistingall through dinner that itwasn’t fair, he wantedchickenfingersinsteadoftheroast.Ifloppeddownonthebed,

andflickedontheTV.

Therewas only static, andthen I realized the DVDplayer was still turned on,interrupting the cabletransmission. Ihit the remotebutton, and the disc in themachinebegantoplay.ItwasJulia’s demo, from severaldaysbefore.

The camera moved throughthebloodstream,and into the

heart. Again, I saw that theliquid of blood was almostcolorless, with bouncing redcells. Juliawas speaking.Onthetable,thesubjectlaywiththeantennaabovehisbody.“We’re coming out of the

ventricle, and you see theaorta ahead… And now wewill go through the arterialsystem…”She turned to face the

camera.“Theimagesyouhaveseen

arefleeting,butwecanallowthe camera to cycle throughfor asmuch as half an hour,and we can build up highlydetailed composites ofanythingwewant to see.Wecan even pause the camera,usingastrongmagneticfield.When we are finished, wesimply shunt the bloodthrough an intravenous loop

surrounded by a strongmagnetic field, removing theparticles, and then send thepatienthome.”The video image came

back to Julia. “This Xymostechnology is safe, reliable,and extremely easy to use. Itdoes not require highlytrained personnel; it can beadministered by an IV nurseor a medical technician. Inthe United States alone, a

million people die each yearfrom vascular disease. Morethan thirty million havediagnosed cardiovasculardisease. Commercialprospects for this imagingtechnology are very strong.Becauseitispainless,simple,andsafe, itwillreplaceotherimaging techniques such asCAT scans and angiographyandwillbecomethestandardprocedure. We will market

the nanotech cameras, theantenna, and monitorsystems. Our per-test costwill be only twenty dollars.This is in contrast to certaingene technologies thatcurrently charge two to threethousanddollarsatest.Butata mere twenty dollars, weexpectworldwiderevenuestoexceed four hundred milliondollars in the first year. Andonce the procedure is

established,thosefigureswilltriple.Wearetalkingaboutatechnologythatgeneratesonepoint two billion dollars ayear. Now if there arequestions…”I yawned, and flicked the

TV off. It was impressive,and her argument wascompelling.Infact,Icouldn’tunderstand why Xymos washaving trouble getting theirnext round of funding. For

investors, this should be aslamdunk.But then, she probably

wasn’t having trouble. Shewas probably just using thefundingcrisisasanexcusetostay late everynight.Forherownreasons.I turned out the light.

Lying in bed, staring at theceilinginthedark,Ibegantosee fleeting images. Julia’s

thigh,overanotherman’sleg.Julia’s back arched. Juliabreathing heavily, hermuscles tensed. Her armreaching up to push againstthe headboard. I found Icouldn’tstoptheimages.I got out of bed, andwent

tocheckthekids.Nicolewasstill up, emailing her friends.I told her it was time forlightsout.Erichadkickedoffhiscovers.Ipulledthemback

up.Thebabywasstillpurple,but she slept soundly, herbreathinggentleandregular.Igotbackintobed.Iwilled

myselftogotosleep,tothinkof something else. I tossedand turned, adjusted thepillow, got up for a glass ofmilkandcookies.Eventually,finally, I fell into a restlesssleep.And I had a very strange

dream.

Sometime during the night, Irolled over to see Juliastanding by the bed,undressing. She was movingslowly, as if tired or verydreamy, unbuttoning herblouse.Shewas turned awayfromme, but I could see herfaceinthemirror.Shelookedbeautiful, almost regal. Her

featureslookedmorechiseledthan I remembered, thoughperhapsitwasjustthelight.My eyes were half-closed.

She hadn’t noticed I wasawake. She continued toslowly unbutton her blouse.Her lips were moving, as ifshe were whisperingsomething, or praying. Hereyes seemed vacant, lost inthought.

ThenasIwatched,herlipsturned dark red, and thenblack. She didn’t seem tonotice.The blackness flowedaway from her mouth acrosshercheeksandoverherlowerface, and onto her neck. Iheld my breath. I felt greatdanger. The blackness nowflowed in a sheet down herbody until she was entirelycovered, as if with a cloak.Only the upper half of her

face remained exposed. Herfeatures were composed; infact she seemed oblivious,just staring into space, darklips silently moving.Watching her, I felt a chillthat ran deep intomy bones.Then a moment later theblack sheet slid to the floorandvanished.Julia, normal again,

finishedremovingherblouse,and walked into the

bathroom.I wanted to get up and

follow her, but I found Icould not move. A heavyfatigue heldmedownon thebed, immobilizingme. I wasso exhausted I could hardlybreathe. This oppressivesenseoffatiguegrewrapidly,and overwhelmed myconsciousness. Losing allawareness, I felt my eyesclose,andIslept.

DAY46:40A.M.

The next morning the dreamwas still fresh in my mind,vivid and disturbing. It feltutterly real, not like a dreamatall.Juliawas alreadyup. I got

outofbedandwalkedaroundto where I had seen her the

night before. I looked downat the rug, the bedside table,thecreasedsheetsandpillow.There was nothing unusual,nothingoutoforder.Nodarklinesormarksanywhere.I went into the bathroom

and looked at her cosmetics,in a neat line on her side ofthe sink. Everything I sawwas mundane. Howeverdisturbing my dream hadbeen,itwasstilladream.

Butonepartof itwas trueenough: Julia was lookingmore beautiful than ever.When I found her in thekitchen,pouringcoffee,Isawthat her face did indeed lookmore chiseled,more striking.Julia had always had achubbyface.Nowitwaslean,defined. She looked like ahigh-fashion model. Herbody,too—nowthatIlookedclosely—appeared leaner,

more muscular. She hadn’tlost weight, she just lookedtrim,tight,energetic.Isaid,“Youlookgreat.”She laughed. “I can’t

imaginewhy.I’mexhausted.”“What time did you get

in?”“About eleven. I hope I

didn’twakeyou.”“No. But I had a weird

dream.”

“Ohyes?”“Yes,itwas—”“Mommy! Mommy!” Eric

burst into the kitchen. “It’snotfair!Nicolewon’tgetoutof the bathroom. She’s beenin there foran hour. It’s notfair!”“Gouseourbathroom.”“But I need my socks,

Mommy.It’snotfair.”This was a familiar

problem.Erichadacoupleofpairsoffavoritesocksthatheworedayafterdayuntil theywere black with grime. Forsome reason, the other socksin his drawer were notsatisfactory.Icouldnevergethim to explain why. Butputting on socks in themorningwasamajorproblemwithhim.“Eric,” I said, “we talked

aboutthis,you’resupposedto

wearcleansocks.”“But those are my good

ones!”“Eric. You have plenty of

goodsocks.”“It’s not fair, Dad. She’s

beeninthereanhour,I’mnotkidding.”“Eric, go choose other

socks.”“Dad…”

I just pointed my fingertowardhisbedroom.“Shees.” He walked off

mutteringabouthowitwasn’tfair.I turned back to Julia to

resumeourconversation.Shewas staring at me coldly.“You really don’t get it, doyou?”“Getwhat?”“Hecameintalkingtome,

and you just took over. Youtookoverthewholething.”Immediately,Irealizedshe

wasright.“I’msorry,”Isaid.“I don’t get to see the

children very much thesedays,Jack.IthinkIshouldbeable to have my interactionwithoutyourtakingcontrol.”“I’m sorry. I handle this

kind of thing all day, and Iguess—”

“This really is a problem,Jack.”“IsaidI’msorry.”“I know that’s what you

said,butIdon’tthinkyouaresorry,becauseIdon’tseeyoudoing anything to changeyourcontrollingbehavior.”“Julia,” I said. Now I was

tryingtocontrolmytemper.Itook a breath. “You’re right.I’msorryithappened.”

“You’re just shutting meout,” she said, “and you arekeepingmefrommychildren—”“Julia,Goddamnit,you’re

neverhere!”Afrostysilence.Then:“I certainly am here,” she

said. “Don’t you dare say Iamnot.”“Wait a minute, wait a

minute. When are you here?

When was the last time youmadeitfordinner,Julia?Notlast night, not the nightbefore, not the night beforethat.Notallweek,Julia.Youarenothere.”She glared atme. “I don’t

know what you’re trying todo, Jack. I don’t know whatkind of game you areplaying.”“I’mnotplayinganygame.

I’maskingyouaquestion.”“I’m a goodmother, and I

balance a very demandingjob, a very demanding job,and the needs of my family.And I get absolutely no helpfromyou.”“What are you talking

about?” I said, my voicerising still higher. I wasstarting to have a sense ofunrealityhere.

“You undercut me, yousabotage me, you turn thechildren against me,” shesaid. “I see what you’redoing. Don’t think I don’t.Youarenotsupportiveofmeatall.Afterall theseyearsofmarriage, I must say it’s alousy thing to do to yourwife.”And she stalkedoutof the

room,fistsclenched.Shewasso angry, she didn’t see that

Nicole was standing backfromthedoor,listeningtothewhole thing. And staring atme,ashermothersweptpast.

Now we were driving toschool.“She’scrazy,Dad.”“No,she’snot.”“You know that she is.

You’rejustpretending.”“Nicole, she’s your

mother,”Isaid.“Yourmother

is not crazy. She’s workingveryhardrightnow.”“That’s what you said last

week,afterthefight.”“Well, it happens to be

true.”“You guys didn’t used to

fight.”“There’s a lot of stress

rightnow.”Nicolesnorted,crossedher

arms,staredforward.“Idon’t

know why you put up withher.”“And I don’t know why

youwere listening towhat isnoneofyourbusiness.”“Dad,whydoyoupullthat

crapwithme?”“Nicole…”“Sor-ry.Butwhycan’tyou

have a real conversation,instead of defending her allthe time? It’s not normal,

whatshe’sdoing.Iknowyouthinkshe’scrazy.”“Idon’t,”Isaid.From the backseat, Eric

whacked her on the back ofthe head. “You’re the onewho’scrazy,”hesaid.“Shutup,buttbreath.”“Shut up yourself, weasel

puke.”“I don’t want to hear any

more from either of you,” I

said loudly. “I am not in themood.”By then we were pulling

intotheturnaroundinfrontoftheschool.Thekidspiledout.Nicole jumped out of thefront seat, turned back to getherbackpack,shotmealook,andwasgone.

Ididn’tthinkJuliawascrazy,but something had certainly

changed, and as I replayedthat morning’s conversationinmy head, I felt uneasy forother reasons. A lot of hercomments sounded like shewas building a case againstme. Laying it outmethodically,stepbystep.You are shutting me out

and keeping me away frommychildren.I am here, you just don’t

notice.I’m a good mother, I

balance a very demandingjob with the needs of myfamily.You are not supportive of

me at all. You undercut me,yousabotageme.You are turning the

childrenagainstme.I could easily imagine her

lawyer saying these things in

court. And I knew why.AccordingtoarecentarticleIhad read in Redbookmagazine, “alienation ofaffection” was currently thetrendyargumentincourt.Thefather is turning the childrenagainstthemother.Poisoningtheirlittlemindsbywordanddeed. While the Mom isblamelessasalways.Everyfatherknewthelegal

systemwashopelesslybiased

in favor of mothers. Thecourts gave lip service toequality, and then ruled achildneededitsmother.Evenifshewasabsent.Evenifshesmacked them around, orforgot to feed them.As longasshewasn’tshootingup,orbreakingtheirbones,shewasafitmotherintheeyesofthecourt. And even if she wasshooting up, a father mightnotwin the case.One ofmy

friends at MediaTronics hadan ex-wife on heroin who’dbeen in and out of rehab foryears. They’d finallydivorced and had jointcustody. Shewas supposedlyclean but the kids said shewasn’t. My friend wasworried. He didn’t want hisexdriving thekidswhen shewas loaded. He didn’t wantdrug dealers around his kids.Sohewenttocourttoaskfor

fullcustody,andhelost.Thejudge said the wife wasgenuinely trying toovercomeher addiction, and thatchildrenneedtheirmother.So that was the reality.

AndnowitlookedtomeasifJulia was starting to lay outthat case. It gave me thecreeps.

About the time Ihadworked

myself into a fine lather,mycell phone rang. Itwas Julia.Shewascallingtoapologize.“I’m really sorry. I said

stupid things today. I didn’tmeanit.”“What?”“Jack, I knowyou support

me. Of course you do. Icouldn’tmanagewithoutyou.You’redoingagreatjobwiththe kids. I’m just notmyself

these days. It was stupid,Jack. I’m sorry I said thosethings.”WhenIgotoffthephoneI

thought,IwishIhadrecordedthat.

I had a ten o’clock meetingwith my headhunter, AnnieGerard.Wemet in the sunnycourtyardofacoffeeshoponBaker. We always met

outside, so Annie couldsmoke. She had her laptopout and her wireless modemplugged in. A cigarettedangledfromherlip,andshesquintedinthesmoke.“Got anything?” I said,

sittingdownoppositeher.“Yeah,asamatteroffactI

do. Two very goodpossibilities.”“Great,”Isaid,stirringmy

latte.“Tellme.”“How about this? Chief

research analyst for IBM,working on advanceddistributed systemsarchitecture.”“Rightupmyalley.”“I thought so, too. You’re

highly qualified for this one,Jack. You’d run a researchlabof sixtypeople.Basepaytwo-fifty plus options going

out five years plus royaltieson anything developed inyourlab.”“Soundsgreat.Where?”“Armonk.”“New York?” I shook my

head. “Noway,Annie.Whatelse?”“Headof a team to design

multi-agent systems for aninsurance company that’sdoing data mining. It’s an

excellentopportunity,and—”“Where?”“Austin.”I sighed. “Annie. Julia’s

gotajobshelikes,she’sverydevoted to it, and she won’tleave it now.My kids are inschool,and—”“Peoplemoveall the time,

Jack. They all have kids inschool.Kidsadapt.”“ButwithJulia…”

“Other people haveworkingwives,too.Theystillmove.”“I know, but the thing is

withJulia…”“Have you talked to her

about it?Have you broachedthesubject?”“Well,no,becauseI—”“Jack.”Anniestaredatme

over the laptop screen. “Ithinkyoubetter cut the crap.

You’renotinapositiontobepicky.You’restartingtohaveashelf-lifeproblem.”“Shelflife,”Isaid.“That’sright,Jack.You’ve

been out ofwork sixmonthsnow. That’s a long time inhigh tech. Companies figureif it takes you that long tofind a job, there must besomething wrong with you.They don’t know what, they

just assume you’ve beenrejected too many times, bytoo many other companies.Pretty soon, theywon’t eveninterview. Not in San Jose,notinArmonk,notinAustin,notinCambridge.Theboat’ssailed. Are you hearing me?AmIgettingthroughhere?”“Yes,but—”“Nobuts,Jack.You’vegot

to talk to your wife. You’ve

gottofigureoutawaytogetyourselfofftheshelf.”“But I can’t leave the

Valley.Ihavetostayhere.”“Hereisnotsogood.”She

flipped the screen up again.“Whenever I bring up yourname, I keep getting—listen,what’s going on at Media-Tronics, anyway? Is DonGrossgoingtobeindicted?”“Idon’tknow.”

“I’ve been hearing thatrumorformonthsnow,but itnever seems to happen. Foryour sake, I hope it happenssoon.”“Idon’tgetit,”Isaid.“I’m

perfectly positioned in a hotfield, multi-agent distributedprocessing,and—”“Hot?” she said, squinting

at me. “Distributedprocessing’s not hot, Jack.

It’s fucking radioactive.Everybody in the Valleyfiguresthatthebreakthroughsin artificial life are going tocome from distributedprocessing.”“They are,” I said,

nodding.In the last few years,

artificial life had replacedartificial intelligence as along-term computing goal.

The idea was to writeprograms that had theattributes of living creatures—the ability to adapt,cooperate, learn, adjust tochange. Many of thosequalities were especiallyimportant in robotics, andthey were starting to berealized with distributedprocessing.

Distributed processing meantthat you divided your workamong several processors, oramong a network of virtualagentsthatyoucreatedinthecomputer.Therewereseveralbasic ways this was done.Onewaywastocreatealargepopulation of fairly dumbagents that worked togetherto accomplish a goal—justlike a colony of antsworkedtogethertoaccomplishagoal.

Myown teamhaddonea lotofthatwork.Another method was to

make a so-called neuralnetwork that mimicked thenetwork of neurons in thehuman brain. It turned outthat even simple neural netshad surprising power. Thesenetworks could learn. Theycould build on pastexperience.We’d done someofthat,too.

A third technique was tocreate virtual genes in thecomputer, and let themevolveinavirtualworlduntilsomegoalwasattained.And there were several

other procedures, as well.Taken together, theseprocedures represented ahuge change from the oldernotions of artificialintelligence,orAI.Intheolddays, programmers tried to

write rules to cover everysituation. For example, theytried to teach computers thatifsomeoneboughtsomethingat a store, they had to paybefore leaving. But thiscommonsense knowledgeproved extremely difficult toprogram. The computerwould make mistakes. Newruleswouldbeaddedtoavoidthe mistakes. Then moremistakes, and more rules.

Eventuallytheprogramsweregigantic, millions of lines ofcode, and they began to failoutofsheercomplexity.Theyweretoolargetodebug.Youcouldn’t figureoutwhere theerrorswerecomingfrom.So it began to seem as if

rule-based AI was nevergoingtowork.Lotsofpeoplemade dire predictions aboutthe end of artificialintelligence. The eighties

wereagoodtimeforEnglishprofessors who believed thatcomputerswouldnevermatchhumanintelligence.Butdistributednetworksof

agents offered an entirelynew approach. And theprogrammingphilosophywasnew,too.Theoldrules-basedprogramming was “topdown.” The system as awhole was given rules ofbehavior.

But the new programmingwas “bottom up.” Theprogramdefinedthebehaviorof individual agents at thelowest structural level. Butthebehaviorof thesystemasa whole was not defined.Instead, the behavior of thesystememerged,theresultofhundredsofsmallinteractionsoccurringatalowerlevel.Because the system was

not programmed, it could

produce surprising results.Results never anticipated bythe programmers. That waswhy they could seem“lifelike.”And thatwaswhythe fieldwas so hot, because—

“Jack.”Annie was tapping my

hand.Iblinked.“Jack, did you hear

anythingIjustsaidtoyou?”“Sorry.”“I don’t have your full

attention,”shesaid.Sheblewcigarette smoke in my face.“Yes,you’reright,you’reinahot field. But that’s all themore reason to worry aboutshelf life. It’snot likeyou’rean electrical engineerspecializing in optical-drivemechanisms.Hotfieldsmove

fast.Sixmonthscanmakeorbreakacompany.”“Iknow.”“You’reatrisk,Jack.”“Iunderstand.”“So.Will you talk to your

wife?Please?”“Yes.”“Okay,” she said. “Make

sure you do. Becauseotherwise, I can’t help you.”

She flicked her burningcigarette into the remains ofmy latte. It sizzled and died.She snapped her laptop shut,gotup,andleft.

I put a call in to Julia, butdidn’t get her. I left voicemail.Iknewitwasawasteoftimeeventobringupmovingtoher.She’dcertainlysayno—especiallyifshehadanew

boyfriend. But Annie wasright, I was in trouble. I hadtodosomething.Ihadtoask.I sat at my desk at home,

turning the SSVT box inmyhands,tryingtothinkwhattodo. I had another hour and ahalf before I picked up thekids.IreallywantedtotalktoJulia. I decided to call Juliaagain through the companyswitchboard, to see if theycouldtrackherdown.

“XymosTechnology.”“JuliaForman,please.”“Please hold.” Some

classical music, then anothervoice.“Ms.Forman’soffice.”I recognized Carol, her

assistant.“Carol,it’sJack.”“Oh,hi,Mr.Forman.How

areyou?”“I’mfine,thanks.”“Are you looking for

Julia?”“Yes,Iam.”“She’s in Nevada for the

day, at the fab plant. Shall Itrytoconnectyouthere?”“Yes,please.”“Onemoment.”Iwasputonhold.Forquite

awhile.“Mr. Forman, she’s in a

meeting for the next hour. I

expect her to call backwhenitbreaksup.Doyouwanthertocallyou?”“Yes,please.”“Do you want me to tell

heranything?”“No,” I said. “Just ask her

tocall.”“Okay,Mr.Forman.”I hung up, stared into

space,turningtheSSVTbox.She’s in Nevada for the day.

Julia had said nothing to meabout going to Nevada. Ireplayed the conversationwith Carol inmymind. HadCarol soundeduncomfortable? Was shecovering?Icouldn’tbesure.Icouldn’t be sure of anythingnow.Istaredoutthewindowand as I watched, thesprinklerskickedon,shootingupconesofsprayalloverthelawn. Itwas right in theheat

ofmidday,thewrongtimetowater. It wasn’t supposed tohappen. The sprinklers hadbeenfixedjusttheotherday.I began to feel depressed,

staringatthewater.Itseemedlike everythingwaswrong. Ihad no job, my wife wasabsent,thekidswereapain,Ifelt constantly inadequatedealingwith them—and nowthefuckingsprinklersweren’tworking right. They were

goingtoburnoutthefuckinglawn.Andthenthebabybeganto

cry.

Iwaited for Julia to call, butshe never did. I cut upchicken breasts into strips(the trick is to keep themcold, almost frozen) fordinner, because chickenfingers were another meal

theyneverarguedabout.Igotout rice to boil. I looked atthe carrots in the fridge anddecidedthateventhoughtheywere a little old, I’d still usethemtonight.IcutmyfingerwhileIwas

chopping the carrots. Itwasn’tabigcutbut itbledalot, and the Band-Aid didn’tstop the bleeding. It keptbleedingthroughthepad,soIkept putting on new Band-

Aids.Itwasfrustrating.Dinner was late and the

kids were cranky. Ericcomplained loudly that mychicken fingers were gross,that McDonald’s were waybetter, and why couldn’t wehave those? Nicole tried outvarious line readings for herplay, while Eric mimickedher under his breath. Thebaby spit up every mouthfulof her cereal until I stopped

and mixed it with somemashed banana. After that,sheatesteadily.Idon’tknowwhy I never thought to dothat before. Amanda wasgetting older, and she didn’twanttheblandstuffanymore.Erichadlefthishomework

at school; I told him to callhisfriendsfortheassignment,but he wouldn’t. Nicole wasonline for an hour with herfriends; I kept popping into

her room and telling her togetoffthecomputeruntilherhomework was done, andshe’d say, “In just a minute,Dad.”Thebabyfussed,andittookalongtimeformetogetherdown.I went back into Nicole’s

room and said, “Now, damnit!”Nicolebegantocry.Ericcameintogloat.Iaskedhimwhyhewasn’tinbed.Hesawthe look on my face, and

scampered away. Sobbing,Nicole said I shouldapologize to her. I said sheshouldhavedonewhat I toldher to do twice before. Shewent into the bathroom andslammedthedoor.Fromhisroom,Ericyelled,

“I can’t sleep with all thatracket!”I yelled back, “One more

word and no television for a

week!”“Notfair!”I went into the bedroom

and turned on the TV towatch the rest of the game.Afterhalfanhour, I checkedon the kids. The baby wassleepingpeacefully.Ericwasasleep, all his covers thrownoff. I pulled them back onhim. Nicole was studying.When she saw me, she

apologized.Igaveherahug.I went back into the

bedroom, and watched thegame for about ten minutesbeforeIfellasleep.

DAY57:10A.M.

When I awoke in themorning, I saw that Julia’ssideofthebedwasstillmadeup,herpillowuncreased.Shehadn’t come home last nightatall.Icheckedthetelephonemessages; there were none.Ericwanderedin,andsawthe

bed.“Where’sMom?”“Idon’tknow,son.”“Didsheleavealready?”“Iguessso…”He stared at me, and then

at the unmade bed. And hewalked out of the room. Hewasn’tgoingtodealwithit.But I was beginning to

think I had to. Maybe Ishould even talk to a lawyer.Exceptinmymind,therewas

something irrevocable abouttalking to a lawyer. If thetrouble was that serious, itwas probably fatal. I didn’twant to believemymarriagewas over, so I wanted topostponeseeingalawyer.ThatwaswhenIdecidedto

call my sister in San Diego.Ellen is a clinicalpsychologist, she has apractice in La Jolla. It wasearly enough that I figured

she hadn’t gone to the officeyet; she answered the phoneat home. She soundedsurprised I had called. I lovemy sister but we are verydifferent.Anyway, I told herbriefly about the things I’dbeen suspecting about Julia,andwhy.“You’resayingJuliadidn’t

come home and she didn’tcall?”

“Right.”“Didyoucallher?”“Notyet.”“Howcome?”“Idon’tknow.”“Maybe she was in an

accident, maybe she’s hurt…”“Idon’tthinkso.”“Whynot?”“Youalwayshearifthere’s

an accident. There’s noaccident.”“Yousoundupset,Jack.”“Idon’tknow.Maybe.”My sister was silent for a

moment. Then she said,“Jack, you’ve got a problem.Why aren’t you doingsomething?”“Likewhat?”“Like see a marriage

counselor.Oralawyer.”

“Oh,jeez.”“Don’t you think you

should?”sheasked.“I don’t know. No. Not

yet.”“Jack. She didn’t come

homelastnightandshedidn’tbother to call. When thiswomandropsahint,sheusesa bombsight. How muchclearerdoyouneedittobe?”“Idon’tknow.”

“You’re saying ‘I don’tknow’alot.Areyouawareofthat?”“Iguessso.”Apause.“Jack,areyouall

right?”“Idon’tknow.”“Doyouwantme tocome

up for a couple of days?Because I can,noproblem. Iwas supposed to go out oftownwithmy boyfriend, but

his company just got bought.SoI’mavailable,ifyouwantmetocomeup.”“No.It’sokay.”“You sure? I’m worried

aboutyou.”“No, no,” I said. “You

don’thavetoworry.”“Areyoudepressed?”“No.Why?”“Sleeping okay?

Exercising?”“Fair.Notreallyexercising

thatmuch.”“Uh-huh. Do you have a

jobyet?”“No.”“Prospects?”“Notreally.No.”“Jack,” she said. “You

havetoseealawyer.”“Maybeinawhile.”

“Jack. What’s the matterwith you? This is whatyou’ve toldme.Yourwife isactingcoldandangry towardyou.She’slyingtoyou.She’sacting strange with the kids.She doesn’t seem to careaboutherfamily.She’sangryand absent a lot. It’s gettingworse. You think she’sinvolved with someone else.Last night, she doesn’t evenshow up or call. And you’re

just going to let this gowithoutdoinganything?”“Idon’tknowwhattodo.”“Itoldyou.Seealawyer.”“Youthinkso?”“You’redamnrightIthink

so.”“Idon’tknow…”She sighed, a long

exasperated hiss. “Jack.Look. I know you’re a little

passiveattimes,but—”“I’m not passive,” I said.

And I added, “Ihate itwhenyoushrinkme.”“Your wife is screwing

around on you, you thinkshe’s building a case to takethe kids away from you, andyou’re just letting it happen.I’dsaythat’spassive.”“What am I supposed to

do?”

“I told you.” Anotherexasperated sigh. “Okay. I’mtaking a couple of days andcominguptoseeyou.”“Ellen—”“Don’t argue. I’m coming.

You can tell Julia I’m goingtohelpoutwith thekids. I’llbeuptherethisafternoon.”“But—”“Don’targue.”Andshegotoffthephone.

I’m not passive. I’mthoughtful. Ellen’s veryenergetic, her personality’sperfect for a psychologist,because she loves to tellpeoplewhat todo.Frankly, Ithink she’s pushy. And shethinksI’mpassive.This is Ellen’s idea about

me.ThatIwenttoStanfordinthelateseventies,andstudiedpopulationbiology—apurelyacademic field, with no

practical application, no jobsexcept in universities. Inthosedayspopulationbiologywas being revolutionized byfield studies of animals, andby advances in geneticscreening. Both requiredcomputer analysis, usingadvanced mathematicalalgorithms.Icouldn’tfindthekindofprogramsIneededformy research, so I began towritethemmyself.AndIslid

sideways into computerscience—another geeky,purelyacademicfield.But my graduation just

happenedtocoincidewiththeriseofSiliconValleyandthepersonal-computer explosion.Low-number employees atstartup companies weremaking a fortune in theeighties,andIdidprettywellatthefirstoneIworkedfor.Imet Julia, and we got

married,hadkids.Everythingwas smooth. We were bothdoing great, just by showingupforwork.Igothiredawayby another company; moreperks, bigger options. I justrodetheadvancingwaveintothenineties.BythenIwasn’tprogramminganymore,Iwassupervising softwaredevelopment.And things justfellintoplaceforme,withoutany real effort onmy part. I

just fell intomy life. I neverhadtoprovemyself.That’s Ellen’s idea of me.

My idea is different. Thecompanies of Silicon Valleyare the most intenselycompetitive in the history ofthe planet. Everybody worksa hundred hours a week.Everybody is racing againstmilestones. Everybody iscutting development cycles.The cycles were originally

threeyears toanewproduct,a new version. Then it wastwo years. Then eighteenmonths. Now it was twelvemonths—anewversioneveryyear. If you figure betadebugging to golden mastertakes four months, then youhaveonlyeightmonthstodotheactualwork.Eightmonthsto revise ten million lines ofcode, and make sure it allworksright.

In short, Silicon Valley isnoplaceforapassiveperson,andI’mnotone.Ihustledmyassoffeveryminuteofeveryday. I had to prove myselfeveryday—orI’dbegone.That was my idea about

myself.IwassureIwasright.

Ellen was right about onepart, though. A strong streakof luck ran through my

career. Because my originalfield of study had beenbiology, I had an advantagewhen computer programsbegan to explicitly mimicbiological systems. In fact,therewereprogrammerswhoshuttled back and forthbetween computer simulationand studies of animal groupsin the wild, applying thelessonsofonetotheother.But further, I had worked

in population biology—thestudy of groups of livingorganisms. And computerscience had evolved in thedirection of massivelyparallel networked structures—the programming ofpopulations of intelligentagents. A special kind ofthinking was required tohandlepopulationsof agents,andIhadbeentrainedinthatthinkingforyears.

So I was admirably suitedtothetrendsofmyfield,andI made excellent progress asthefieldsemerged.Ihadbeenin the right place at the righttime.Thatmuchwastrue.

Agent-based programs thatmodeled biologicalpopulationswereincreasinglyimportant in the real world.

Like my own programs thatmimicked ant foraging tocontrol big communicationsnetworks. Or programs thatmimicked division of laboramong termite colonies tocontrol thermostats in askyscraper. And closelyrelated were the programsthat mimicked geneticselection, used for a widerange of applications. In oneprogram,witnessestoacrime

were shown nine faces andasked to choose which wasmostlikethecriminal,evenifnonereallywere;theprogramthen showed themninemorefaces, and asked them tochooseagain;andfrommanyrepeated generations theprogram slowly evolved ahighly accurate compositepicture of the face, far moreaccuratethananypoliceartistcouldmake.Witnesses never

had to saywhat exactly theywere responding to in eachface; they justchose,and theprogramevolved.And then there were the

biotech companies, whichhad found they could notsuccessfully engineer newproteins because the proteinstendedtofoldupweirdly.Sonow they used geneticselectionto“evolve”thenewproteins instead. All these

procedures had becomestandard practice in a matterof justafewyears.Andtheywere increasingly powerful,increasinglyimportant.So, yes, I had been in the

right place at the right time.But I wasn’t passive, I waslucky.

I hadn’t showered or shavedyet. I went in the bathroom,

stripped off my T-shirt, andstaredatmyselfinthemirror.IwasstartledtoseehowsoftI looked around the gut. Ihadn’t realized. Of course Iwasforty,andthefactwas,Ihadn’t been exercising asmuch lately. Not because Iwas depressed. I was busywith the kids, and tired a lotof the time. I just didn’t feellikeexercising,thatwasall.I stared at my own

reflection, and wondered ifEllenwasright.

There’soneproblemwithallpsychological knowledge—nobody can apply it tothemselves. People can beincredibly astute about theshortcomingsoftheirfriends,spouses, children. But theyhave no insight intothemselves at all. The same

people who are coldly clear-eyed about the world aroundthem have nothing butfantasies about themselves.Psychological knowledgedoesn’tworkifyoulookinamirror.Thisbizarrefactis,asfarasIknow,unexplained.Personally, I always

thoughttherewasacluefromcomputer programming, in aprocedure called recursion.Recursionmeansmaking the

program loop back on itself,touse itsown information todo thingsoverandoveruntilit gets a result. You userecursion for certain data-sorting algorithms and thingslike that. But it’s got to bedone carefully, or you riskhaving the machine fall intowhat is called an infiniteregress.It’stheprogrammingequivalentofthosefunhousemirrors that reflect mirrors,

andmirrors,eversmallerandsmaller, stretching away toinfinity. The program keepsgoing, repeating andrepeating, but nothinghappens.Themachinehangs.Ialwaysfiguredsomething

similar must happen whenpeople turn theirpsychological insight-apparatusonthemselves.Thebrain hangs. The thoughtprocess goes and goes, but it

doesn’tgetanywhere.Itmustbe something like that,becauseweknowthatpeoplecan think about themselvesindefinitely. Some peoplethinkoflittleelse.Yetpeoplenever seem to change as aresult of their intensiveintrospection. They neverunderstand themselvesbetter.It’svery rare to findgenuineself-knowledge.It’s almost as if you need

someoneelsetotellyouwhoyou are, or to hold up themirrorforyou.Which,ifyouthinkaboutit,isveryweird.Ormaybeit’snot.There’s an old question in

artificial intelligence aboutwhether a program can everbe aware of itself. Mostprogrammers will say it wasimpossible.Peoplehave triedtodoit,andfailed.

But there’s a morefundamental version of thequestion, a philosophicalquestion about whether anymachine can understand itsown workings. Some peoplesay that’s impossible, too.The machine can’t knowitselfforthesamereasonyoucan’t bite your own teeth.And it certainly seems to beimpossible: the human brainis the most complicated

structure in the knownuniverse,butbrainsstillknowverylittleaboutthemselves.For the last thirty years,

suchquestionshavebeenfuntokickaroundwithabeeronFridayafternoonsafterwork.They were never takenseriously. But lately thesephilosophical questions havetaken on new importancebecause there has been rapidprogress in reproducing

certain brain functions. Notthe entire brain, just certainfunctions. For example,before I was fired, mydevelopment teamwas usingmultiagent processing toenable computers to learn, torecognize patterns in data, tounderstandnaturallanguages,toprioritizeandswitchtasks.Whatwasimportantabouttheprograms was that themachines literally learned.

They got better at their jobswith experience. Which ismore than some humanbeingscanclaim.The phone rang. It was

Ellen. “Did you call yourlawyer?”“Not yet. For Christ’s

sake.”“I’m on the 2:10 to San

Jose. I’ll seeyouaround fiveatyourhouse.”

“Listen, Ellen, it reallyisn’tnecessary—”“I know that. I’m just

getting out of town. I need abreak. See you soon, Jack.”Andshehungup.So now she was handling

me.

In any case, I figured therewas no point in calling alawyertoday.Ihadtoomuch

todo.Thedrycleaninghadtobe picked up, so I did that.TherewasaStarbucksacrossthestreet, and Iwentover togetalattetotakewithme.And there was Gary

Marder, my attorney, with averyyoungblondeinlow-cutjeans and crop top that leftherbellyexposed.Theywerenuzzling each other in thecheckoutline.Shedidn’tlookmuch older than a college

student. I was embarrassedand was turning to leavewhen Gary saw me, andwaved.“Hey,Jack.”“Hi,Gary.”Heheldouthishand,andI

shook it.He said, “Say hellotoMelissa.”Isaid,“Hi,Melissa.”“Oh hi.” She seemed

vaguely annoyed at this

interruption, although Icouldn’tbesure.Shehadthatvacantlooksomeyounggirlsget around men. It occurredto me that she couldn’t bemorethansixyearsolderthanNicole. What was she doingwithaguylikeGary?“So. How’s it going,

Jack?”Garysaid,slippinghisarm around Melissa’s barewaist.

“Okay,” I said. “Prettygood.”“Yeah? That’s good.” But

hewasfrowningatme.“Well,uh,yeah…”Istood

there, hesitating, feelingfoolish in front of the girl.She clearly wanted me toleave. But I was thinking ofwhat Ellen would say: Youranintoyourlawyerandyoudidn’tevenaskhim?

So I said, “Gary, could Ispeaktoyouforaminute?”“Of course.” He gave the

girl money to pay for thecoffee,andwesteppedtoonesideoftheroom.I lowered my voice.

“Listen, Gary,” I said, “Ithink I need to see a divorcelawyer.”“Becausewhat?”“Because I think Julia is

havinganaffair.”“You think? Or you know

forafact?”“No. I don’t know for

sure.”“Soyoujustsuspectit?”“Yes.”Garysighed.Hegavemea

look.I said, “And there’s other

things going on, too. She’s

starting to say that I amturningthekidsagainsther.”“Alienation of affection,”

he said, nodding. “Legalcliché du jour. She makesthesestatementswhen?”“Whenwehavefights.”Another sigh. “Jack,

couples say all kinds of shitwhen they fight. It doesn’tnecessarilymeananything.”“I think it does. I’m

worrieditdoes.”“Thisisupsettingyou?”“Yes.”“Haveyouseenamarriage

counselor?”“No.”“Seeone.”“Why?”“Two reasons. First,

because you should. You’vebeen married to Julia a long

time,andasfarasIknowit’sbeen mostly good. Andsecond,becauseyou’llstarttoestablisharecordoftryingtosave the marriage, whichcontradicts a claim ofalienationofaffection.”“Yes,but—”“If you’re right that she is

starting to build a case, thenyou have to be extremelycareful,myfriend.Alienation

of affection is a toughargument to defend against.The kids are pissed atMom,andshesaysyou’rebehindit.How can you prove it’s nottrue?You can’t. Plus you’vebeenhomealot,soit’seasierto imagine that it might betrue.Thecourtwillseeyouasdissatisfied, and possiblyresentful of your workingspouse.”Hehelduphishand.“I know, I know none of

that’s true, Jack, but it’s aneasyargumenttomake,that’smy point. And her attorneywill make it. In yourresentment, you turned thekidsagainsther.”“That’sbullshit.”“Of course. I know that.”

He slapped me on theshoulder. “So see a goodcounselor.Ifyouneednames,callmy office andBarbara’ll

give you a couple ofreputableones.”

I called Julia to tell her thatEllen was coming up for afewdays.Of course, I didn’treach Julia, just her voicemail.Ileftalongishmessage,explaining what washappening.ThenIwenttodothe shopping because withEllenstayingover,we’dneed

someextrasupplies.Iwasrollingmycartdown

the supermarket aislewhen Igotacallfromthehospital.Itwas the beardless ER doctoragain. He was calling tocheck onAmanda and I saidherbruiseswerealmostgone.“That’s good,” he said.

“Gladtohearit.”I said, “What about the

MRI?”

The doctor said the MRIresults were not relevant,because the machine hadmalfunctioned and had neverexamined Amanda. “In fact,we’re worried about all thereadings for the last fewdays,” he said. “Becauseapparently the machine wasslowlybreakingdown.”“Howdoyoumean?”“It was being corroded or

something. All the memorychips were turning topowder.”I felt a chill, remembering

Eric’s MP3 player. “Whywouldthathappen?”Isaid.“Thebestguessisit’sbeen

corroded by some gas thatescaped from the wall lines,probably during the night.Likechlorinegas,that’ddoit.Except the thing is, only the

memorychipsweredamaged.Theotherchipswerefine.”

Things were getting strangerby the minute. And they gotstranger still a few minuteslater, when Julia called allcheerful and upbeat, toannounce that she wascominghomeintheafternoonandwould be there in plentyoftimefordinner.

“It’llbegreattoseeEllen,”she said. “Why is shecoming?”“I thinkshe justwanted to

getoutoftown.”“Well,it’llbegreatforyou

tohaveher around for a fewdays. Some grown-upcompany.”“Youbet,”Isaid.Iwaited for her to explain

why she hadn’t come home.

Butall she saidwas, “Hey, Igot to run, Jack, I’ll talk toyoulater—”“Julia,” I said. “Wait a

minute.”“What?”Ihesitated,wonderinghow

to put it. I said, “I wasworriedaboutyoulastnight.”“Youwere?Why?”“When you didn’t come

home.”

“Honey,Icalledyou.Igotstuck out at the plant.Didn’tyoucheckyourmessages?”“Yes…”“And you didn’t have a

messagefromme?”“No.Ididn’t.”“Well, I don’t know what

happened. I left you amessage, Jack. I called thehousefirstandgotMaria,butshe couldn’t, you know, it

was too complicated … Sothen I called your cell and IleftyouamessagethatIwasstuckattheplantuntiltoday.”“Well, I didn’t get it,” I

said,tryingnottosoundlikeIwaspouting.“Sorry about that, honey,

but check your service.Anyway listen, I really havetogo.Seeyoutonight,okay?Kisskiss.”

Andshehungup.

Ipulledmycellphoneoutofmy pocket and checked it.There was no message. Icheckedthephonelog.Therewerenocallslastnight.Julia hadn’t calledme.No

onehadcalledme.I began to feel a sinking

sensation, that descent intodepressionagain.Ifelttired,I

couldn’tmove.Istaredattheproduce on the supermarketshelves. I couldn’t rememberwhyIwasthere.Ihad justaboutdecided to

leave the supermarket whenmy cell phone rang in myhand.Iflippeditopen.ItwasTim Bergman, the guy whohad taken over my job atMediaTronics. “Are yousittingdown?”hesaid.

“No.Why?”“I’ve got some pretty

strange news. Braceyourself.”“Okay…”“Don wants to call you.”

Don Gross was the head ofthe company, the guy whohadfiredme.“Whatfor?”“He wants to hire you

back.”“Hewantswhat?”

“Yeah. I know. It’s crazy.Tohireyouback.”“Why?”Isaid.“We’re having some

problems with distributedsystems that we’ve sold tocustomers.”“Whichones?”“Well,PREDPREY.”“That’s one of the old

ones,” I said. “Who soldthat?” PREDPREY was a

systemwe’d designed over ayear ago. Like most of ourprograms, it had been basedon biological models.PREDPREY was a goal-seeking program based onpredator/prey dynamics. Butitwasextremelysimpleinitsstructure.“Well, Xymos wanted

somethingvery simple,”Timsaid.

“You sold PREDPREY toXymos?”“Right. Licensed, actually.

With a contract to support it.That’sdrivinguscrazy.”“Why?”“It isn’t working right,

apparently. Goal seeking hasgone haywire. A lot of thetime, the program seems toloseitsgoal.”“I’mnotsurprised,”Isaid,

“because we didn’t specifyreinforcers.” Reinforcerswere program weights thatsustained the goals. Thereason you needed themwasthat since the networkedagentscouldlearn,theymightlearn in a way that causedthem to drift away from thegoal. You needed a way tostore the original goal so itdidn’t get lost. The fact wasyou could easily come to

think of agent programs aschildren.Theprogramsforgotthings, lost things, droppedthings.It was all emergent

behavior. It wasn’tprogrammed, but it was theoutcome of programming.And apparently it washappeningtoXymos.“Well,” Tim said, “Don

figures youwere running the

team when the program wasoriginally written, so you’rethe guy to fix it. Plus, yourwife is high up in Xymosmanagement, so your joiningthe team will reassure theirtoppeople.”Iwasn’tsurethatwastrue,

butIdidn’tsayanything.“Anyway, that’s the

situation,” Tim continued.“I’mcallingyoutoaskifDon

should call you. Because hedoesn’twanttogetrejected.”I felt a burst of anger.He

doesn’t want to get rejected.“Tim,” I said. “I can’t gobacktoworkthere.”“Oh,youwouldn’tbehere.

You’d be up at the Xymosfabplant.”“Oh yes? How would that

work?”“Donwouldhireyouasan

off-siteconsultant.Somethinglikethat.”“Uh-huh,” I said, in my

best noncommittal tone.Everything about thisproposal sounded like a badidea. The last thing Iwantedtodowasgobacktoworkforthat sonof abitchDon.Andit was always a bad idea toreturn to a company afteryou’d been fired—for anyreason, under any

arrangement. Everybodyknewthat.Buton theotherhand, if I

agreed to work as aconsultant,itwouldgetridofmyshelf-lifeproblem.Anditwould get me out of thehouse. Itwouldaccomplishalotof things.Afterapause, Isaid, “Listen, Tim, let methinkaboutit.”“You want to call me

back?”“Okay.Yes.”“When will you call?” he

said.The tension in his voice

wasclear.Isaid,“You’vegotsomeurgencyaboutthis…”“Yeah, well, some. Like I

said,thatcontract’sdrivinguscrazy. We have fiveprogrammers from theoriginal team practically

living out at that Xymosplant.Andthey’renotgettinganywhereonthisproblem.Soifyou’renotgoingtohelpus,we have to look elsewhere,rightaway.”“Okay, I’ll call you

tomorrow,”Isaid.“Tomorrow morning?” he

said,hinting.“Okay,” I said. “Yes,

tomorrowmorning.”

Tim’s call should havemademe feel better about things,but it didn’t. I took the babytothepark,andpushedherinthe swing for a while.Amanda liked being pushedin theswing.Shecoulddo itfortwentyorthirtyminutesata time, and always criedwhen I took her out. Later Isatontheconcretecurbofthesandbox while she crawledaround,andpulledherselfup

to standing on the concreteturtles and other playthings.One of the older toddlersknocked her over, but shedidn’t cry; she just got backup.She seemed to likebeingaroundtheolderkids.Iwatchedher,and thought

aboutgoingbacktowork.

“Of course you told themyes,” Ellen said to me. We

were in the kitchen. She hadjust arrived, her blacksuitcase unpacked in thecorner. Ellen looked exactlythe same, still rail-thin,energetic, blond, hyper. Mysister never seemed to age.Shewasdrinkingacupofteafrom teabags that she hadbrought with her. Specialorganic oolong tea from aspecialshopinSanFrancisco.Thathadn’tchanged,either—

Ellen had always been fussyaboutfood,evenasakid.Asan adult, she traveled aroundwith her own teas, her ownsalad dressings, her ownvitamins neatly arranged inlittleglassinepacks.“No, I didn’t,” I said. “I

didn’ttellthemyes.IsaidI’dthinkaboutit.”“Think about it? Are you

kidding?Jack,youhavetogo

backtowork.Youknowyoudo.” She stared at me,appraising. “You’redepressed.”“I’mnot.”“Youshouldhavesomeof

this tea,” she said. “All thatcoffee is bad for yournerves.”“Tea has more caffeine

thancoffee.”“Jack.Youhavetogoback

towork.”“Iknowthat,Ellen.”“And if it’s a consulting

job … wouldn’t that beperfect? Solve all yourproblems?”“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“Really? What don’t you

know.”“I don’t know if I’m

getting the full story,” I said.“Imean, ifXymos is having

all this trouble, how comeJulia hasn’t said anythingaboutittome?”Ellen shook her head. “It

sounds like Julia isn’t sayingmuch of anything to youthesedays.”Shestaredatme.“So why didn’t you acceptrightaway?”“I need to check around

first.”“Check what, Jack?” Her

tone conveyed disbelief.Ellenwas acting like I had apsychological problem thatneededtobefixed.Mysisterwasstartingtogettome,andwe’d only been together afewminutes.Myoldersister,treating me like I was a kidagain. I stood up. “Listen,Ellen,”Isaid.“I’vespentmylife in this business, and Iknow how it works. There’stwo possible reasons Don

wants me back. The first isthe company’s in a jam andtheythinkIcanhelp.”“That’swhattheysaid.”“Right. That’s what they

said.Buttheotherpossibilityis that they’ve made anincrediblemessofthingsandbynowitcan’tbefixed—andtheyknowit.”“Sotheywantsomebodyto

blame?”

“Right. They want adonkeytopinthetailon.”She frowned. I saw her

hesitate.“Doyoureallythinkso?”“I don’t know, that’s the

point,” I said. “But I have tofindout.”“Whichyouwilldoby…”“By making some calls.

Maybepayingasurprisevisitto the fab building

tomorrow.”“Okay. That sounds right

tome.”“I’m glad I have your

approval.”Icouldn’tkeeptheirritationoutofmyvoice.“Jack,” she said. She got

up and huggedme. “I’m justworriedaboutyou,that’sall.”“I appreciate that,” I said.

“Butyou’renothelpingme.”“Okay.ThenwhatcanIdo

tohelpyou?”“Watch the kids, while I

makesomecalls.”

I figured I would first callRicky Morse, the guy I’dseen in the supermarketbuyingHuggies.Ihada longrelationship with Ricky; heworkedatXymosandhewascasual enough aboutinformationthathemighttell

mewhatwas reallygoingonthere. The only problemwasthat Ricky was based in theValley, andhe’dalready toldme that the actionwas all atthefabbuilding.Buthewasaplaceformetostart.I called his office, but the

receptionist said, “I’m sorry,Mr. Morse is not in theoffice.”“When is he expected

back?”“I really couldn’t say. Do

youwantvoicemail?”I left Ricky a voice-mail

message. Then I called hishomenumber.His wife answered. Mary

was getting her Ph.D. inFrench history; I imaginedher studying, bouncing thebaby, with a book open onherlap.Isaid,“Howareyou,

Mary?”“I’mfine,Jack.”“How’s the baby? Ricky

tellsmeyounevergetdiaperrash. I’m jealous.” I tried tosound casual. Just a socialcall.Mary laughed. “She’s a

good baby, and we didn’thave colic, thank God. ButRickyhasn’tbeenaroundfortherashes,”shesaid.“We’ve

hadsome.”I said, “Actually, I’m

looking for Ricky. Is hethere?”“No,Jack.He’sbeengone

allweek.He’soutat thatfabplantinNevada.”“Oh, right.” I remembered

now that Ricky hadmentionedthat,whenwehadmetinthesupermarket.“Haveyoubeenouttothat

plant?”Marysaid.IthoughtIdetectedanuneasytone.“No,Ihaven’t,but—”“Julia is there a lot, isn’t

she?Whatdoesshesayaboutit?”Definitelyworried.“Well, not much. I gather

they have new technologythat’sveryhush-hush.Why?”She hesitated. “Maybe it’s

myimagination…”“Whatis?”

“Well, sometimes whenRickycalls,hesoundskindofweirdtome.”“How?”“I’m sure he’s distracted

andworkinghard,buthesayssome strange things. Hedoesn’t alwaysmakea lot ofsense.Andheseemsevasive.Like he’s, I don’t know,hidingsomething.”“Hidingsomething…”

Shegaveaself-deprecatinglaugh.“Ieventhoughtmaybehe’s having an affair. Youknow, that woman MaeChang is out there, and healways liked her. She’s sopretty.”MaeChangusedtoworkin

my division at Media-Tronics. “I hadn’t heard shewasatthefabplant.”“Yes. I think a lot of the

peoplewhoused towork foryouarethere,now.”“Well,” I said. “I don’t

think Ricky is having anaffair,Mary.It’s justnot likehim.Andit’snotlikeMae.”“It’s the quiet ones you

have to watch out for,” shesaid, apparently referring toMae. “And I’m still nursing,so I haven’t lost my weightyet, Imean,my thighsareas

bigassidesofbeef.”“Idon’tthinkthat—”“They rub togetherwhen I

walk.Squishy.”“Mary,I’msure—”“IsJuliaokay,Jack?She’s

notactingweird?”“No more than usual,” I

said, trying tomakea joke. Iwas feeling bad as I said it.For days I had wished thatpeople would level with me

about Julia, but now that Ihad something to share withMary,Iwasn’tgoingtolevelwithher.Iwasgoingtokeepmy mouth shut. I said,“Julia’s working hard, andshesometimesisalittleodd.”“Does she say anything

aboutablackcloud?”“Uh…no.”“The new world? Being

present for the birth of the

newworldorder?”That sounded like

conspiracy talk to me. Likethose people who worriedabout the TrilateralCommissionandthoughtthatthe Rockefellers ran theworld. “No, nothing likethat.”“She mention a black

cloak?”I felt suddenly slowed

down. Moving very slowly.“What?”“TheothernightRickywas

talking about a black cloak,being covered in a blackcloak. It was late, he wastired, he was sort ofbabbling.”“Whatdidhesayaboutthe

blackcloak?”“Nothing. Just that.” She

paused. “You think they’re

takingdrugsoutthere?”“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“You know, there’s

pressure,working around theclock, and nobody’s sleepingmuch.Iwonderaboutdrugs.”“LetmecallRicky,”Isaid.

Marygavemehiscellphonenumber,andIwroteitdown.Iwasabouttodialitwhenthedoor slammed, and I heard

Ericsay,“Hey,Mom!Who’sthatguyinthecarwithyou?”I got up, and looked out thewindow at the driveway.Julia’sBMWconvertiblewasthere, top down. I checkedmywatch.Itwasonly4:30.Iwentoutintothehalland

saw Julia hugging Eric. Shewas saying, “It must havebeen sunlight on thewindshield. There’s nobodyelseinthecar.”

“Yes there was. I sawhim.”“Oh yes?” She opened the

front door. “Go look foryourself.”Ericwentoutontothe lawn. Julia smiled atme.“He thinks someone was inthecar.”Eric came back in,

shrugging. “Oh well. Guessnot.”“That’sright,honey.”Julia

walkeddown thehall towardme.“IsEllenhere?”“Justgothere.”“Great.I’mgoingtotakea

shower, and we’ll talk. Let’sopen some wine. What doyou want to do aboutdinner?”“I’vegotsteaksready.”“Great.Soundsgreat.”Andwith a cheerfulwave,

shewentdownthehallway.

It was a warm evening andwe had dinner in thebackyard. I put out the red-checkered tablecloth andgrilled the steaks on thebarbecue, wearing my chef’sapronthatsaidTHECHEF’SWORD

IS LAW, and we had a sort ofclassic American familydinner.Julia was charming and

chatty, focusing her attention

on my sister, talking aboutthe kids, about school, aboutchanges she wanted to makeon the house. “That windowhas to come out,” she said,pointing back at the kitchen,“and we’ll put French doorsinsoit’llopentotheoutside.It’ll be great.” I wasastonished by Julia’sperformance. Even the kidswere staring at her. Juliamentioned how proud she

was of Nicole’s big part inthe forthcoming school play.Nicole said, “Mom, I have abadpart.”“Oh, not really, honey,”

Juliasaid.“Yes, Ido. I justhave two

lines.”“Now honey, I’m sure

you’re—”Ericpipedup.“‘Look,here

comes John now.’ ‘That

soundsprettyserious.’”“Shutup,weaselturd.”“She says ‘em in the

bathroom, over and over,”Eric announced. “About abilliongazilliontimes.”Juliasaid,“Who’sJohn?”“Those are the lines in the

play.”“Oh. Well, anyway, I’m

sureyou’llbewonderful.Andour littleEric ismakingsuch

progressinsoccer,aren’tyou,hon?”“It’sovernextweek,”Eric

said, turning sulky. Juliahadn’t made it to any of hisgamesthisfall.“It’s been so good for

him,” Julia said to Ellen.“Team sports buildcooperation. Especially withboys, it helps with thatcompetitiveness.”

Ellen wasn’t sayinganything, just nodding andlistening.Forthisparticularevening,

Julia had insisted on feedingthe baby, and had positionedthehighchairbesideher.ButAmanda was accustomed toplaying airplane at everymealtime. She was waitingfor someone to move thespoon toward her, saying,“Rrrrrrr-owwwww … here

comes the airplane … openthedoors!”SinceJuliawasn’tdoing that, Amanda kept hermouth tightly shut. Whichwaspartofthegame,too.“Ohwell.Iguessshe’snot

hungry,” Julia said, with ashrug. “Did she just have abottle,Jack?”“No,” I said. “She doesn’t

getoneuntilafterdinner.”“Well, I know that. I

meant,before.”“No,”Isaid.“Notbefore.”

I gestured toward Amanda.“ShallItry?”“Sure.” Julia handed me

the spoon, and I sat besideAmanda and began to playairplane. “Rrrrr-owwww …”Amandaimmediatelygrinnedandopenedhermouth.“Jack’s been wonderful

with the kids, just

wonderful,” Julia said toEllen.“Ithinkit’sgoodforaman

to experience home life,”Ellensaid.“Oh,itis.Itis.He’shelped

me a lot.” She patted myknee. “You really have,Jack.”ItwascleartomethatJulia

was too bright, too cheerful.She was keyed up, talking

fast, and obviously trying toimpressEllenthatshewasincharge of her family. I couldsee that Ellen wasn’t buyingit. But Julia was so speedy,she didn’t notice. I began towonderifshewereondrugs.Was that the reason for herstrangebehavior?Wassheonamphetamines?“And work,” Julia

continued, “is so incrediblethese days. Xymos is really

making breakthroughs—thekindofbreakthroughspeoplehave been waiting for morethantenyearstohappen.Butatlast,it’shappening.”“Like the black cloak?” I

said,fishing.Juliablinked. “Thewhat?”

Sheshookherhead.“What’reyoutalkingabout,hon?”“Ablackcloak.Didn’tyou

say something about a black

cloaktheotherday?”“No …” She shook her

head.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.” She turned back toEllen. “Anyway, all thismolecular technology hasbeenmuchslowertocometomarketthanweexpected.Butatlast,itreallyishere.”“You seem very excited,”

Ellensaid.“I have to tell you, it’s

thrilling,Ellen.”She loweredher voice. “And on top of it,we’ll probably make abundle.”“That’d be good,” Ellen

said.“ButIguessyou’vehadtoputinlonghours…”“Not that long,”Juliasaid.

“All things considered, ithasn’t been bad. Just the lastweekorso.”IsawNicole’seyeswiden.

Ericwasstaringathismotherasheate.But thekidsdidn’tsayanything.NeitherdidI.“It’s just a transition

period,”Juliacontinued.“Allcompanies have thesetransitionalperiods.”“Ofcourse,”Ellensaid.The sun was going down.

The airwas cooler. The kidsleft the table. I got up andstarted to clear. Ellen was

helping me. Julia kepttalking,thensaid,“I’dlovetostay, but I have somethinggoing on, and I have to getback to the office for awhile.”If Ellen was surprised to

hear this, she didn’t show it.All she said was, “Longhours.”“Just during this

transition.”Sheturnedtome.

“Thanks for holding the fort,honey.” At the door, sheturned, blew me an air kiss.“Love,Jack.”Andsheleft.Ellen frowned, watching

her go. “Just a little abrupt,wouldn’tyousay?”Ishrugged.“Will she say good-bye to

thekids?”“Probablynot.”

“She’ll just run right outthedoor?”“Right.”Ellen shook her head.

“Jack,” she said, “I don’tknowifshe’shavinganaffairor not, but—what’s shetaking?”“Nothing, as far as I

know.”“She’s on something. I’m

certain of it. Would you say

she’slostweight?”“Yes.Some.”“And sleeping very little.

And obviously speedy …”Ellen shook her head. “A lotof these hard-chargingexecutivesareondrugs.”“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.Shejustlookedatme.

Iwentbackintomyofficeto

call Ricky, and from theoffice window I saw Juliabacking her car down thedriveway. I went to wave toher,butshewaslookingoverher shoulder as she backedaway. In the evening light Isawgoldenreflectionsonthewindshield, streaking fromthe trees above. She hadalmost reached the streetwhen I thought I sawsomeone sitting in the

passenger seat beside her. Itlookedlikeaman.I couldn’t see his features

clearly through thewindshield, with the carmoving down the drive.When Julia backed onto thestreet, her body blocked myviewof the passenger.But itseemedasifJuliawastalkingtohim,animatedly.Thensheputthecaringearandleanedback in her seat, and for a

moment I had a brief, clearlook. The man was backlit,his face in shadow, and hemust have been lookingdirectly at her because I stillcouldn’t make out anyfeatures,butfromthewayhewas slouching I had theimpression of someoneyoung,maybeinhistwenties,thoughIhonestlycouldn’tbesure. It was just a glimpse.Then the BMW accelerated,

and she drove off down thestreet.I thought: the hell with

this. I ran outside, and downthe driveway. I reached thestreetjustasJuliacametothestop sign at the end of theblock, her brake lightsflaring. She was probablyfifty yards away, the streetilluminated in low, slantingyellow light. It looked as ifshewasaloneinthecar,butI

reallycouldn’tseewell.Ifelta moment of relief, and offoolishness. There I was,standing in the street, for nogood reason. My mind wasplaying tricks on me. Therewasnobodyinthecar.Then, as Julia made the

rightturn, theguypoppedupagain, like he had been bentover, getting something fromthe glove compartment. Andthenthecarwasgone.Andin

an instant all my distresscame flooding back, like ahot pain that spread acrossmy chest and body. I feltshort of breath, and a littledizzy.Therewassomebodyinthe

car.I trudged back up the

driveway, feeling churningemotions,notsurewhattodonext.

“You’re not sure what to donext?” Ellen said. We weredoingthepotsandpansatthesink,thethingsthatdidn’tgoin the dishwasher. Ellen wasdrying, while I scrubbed.“You pick up the phone andcallher.”“She’sinthecar.”“Shehasacarphone.Call

her.”“Uh-huh,” I said. “Sohow

do Iput it?Hey Julia,who’stheguyinthecarwithyou?”I shook my head. “That’sgoing to be a toughconversation.”“Maybeso.”“That’ll be a divorce, for

sure.”Shejuststaredatme.“You

don’t want a divorce, doyou.”“Hell, no. I want to keep

myfamilytogether.”“Thatmaynotbepossible,

Jack. It may not be yourdecisiontomake.”“None of this makes any

sense,” I said. “I mean theguy in the car, hewas like akid,somebodyyoung.”“So?”“That’snotJulia’sstyle.”“Oh?” Ellen’s eyebrows

wentup.“Hewasprobablyin

his twenties or early thirties.Andanyway,areyousosureaboutJulia’sstyle?”“Well, I’ve lived with her

forthirteenyears.”She set down one of the

pots with a bang. “Jack. Iunderstand that all this mustbehardtoaccept.”“It is, it is.” Inmymind, I

kept replaying the carbacking down the driveway,

overandover.Iwasthinkingthat there was somethingstrangeabouttheotherpersonin the car, something odd inhisappearance.Inmymind,IkepttryingtoseehisfacebutI never could. The featureswere blurred by thewindshield, by the lightshifting as she backed downthedrive…Icouldn’tseetheeyes, or the cheekbones, orthe mouth. In my memory,

thewhole facewas dark andindistinct. I tried to explainthattoher.“It’snotsurprising.”“No?”“No. It’s called denial.

Look Jack, the fact is, youhave the evidence right infront of your eyes. You’veseenit,Jack.Don’tyouthinkit’stimeyoubelievedit?”I knew she was right.

“Yes,”Isaid.“It’stime.”Thephonewasringing.My

handswere up to the elbowsinsoapsuds.IaskedEllentogetit,butoneofthekidshadalready picked it up. Ifinished scrubbing thebarbecue grill, handed it toEllentodry.“Jack,” Ellen said, “you

have to start seeing thingsastheyreallyare,andnotasyou

wantthemtobe.”“You’reright,”Isaid.“I’ll

callher.”At that moment Nicole

came into the kitchen,lookingpale.“Dad?It’sthepolice.They

wanttotalktoyou.”

DAY59:10A.M.

Julia’s convertible had goneoff the road about fivemilesfrom the house. It hadplunged fifty feet down asteep ravine, cutting a trackthrough the sage and juniperbushes. Then it must haverolled, because now it lay at

an angle, wheels facingupward. I could see only theundersideof thecar.Thesunwasdown,andtheravinewasdark. The three rescueambulances on the road hadtheir red lights flashing, andtherescuecrewswerealreadyrappellingdownonropes.AsI watched, portablefloodlights were set up,bathing the wreck in a harshblueglow.Iheardthecrackle

ofradiosallaround.Istoodupontheroadwith

amotorcyclepoliceofficer. Ihadalreadyaskedtogodownthere,andwastoldIcouldn’t;I had to stay on the road.When I heard the radios, Isaid,“Isshehurt?Ismywifehurt?”“We’llknow inaminute.”

Hewascalm.“What about the other

guy?”“Just a minute,” he said.

He had a headset in hishelmet, because he juststartedtalkinginalowvoice.It sounded like a lot of codewords. I heard “… update afour-oh-two for seven-three-ninehere…”I stood at the edge, and

looked down, trying to see.By now there were workers

allaroundthecar,andseveralhidden behind the upturnedframe.Alongtimeseemedtopass.Thecopsaid,“Yourwifeis

unconsciousbutshe’s…Shewaswearingherseatbelt,andstayed in the car. They thinkshe’sallright.Vitalsignsarestable. They say no spinalinjuriesbut…she…soundslikeshebrokeherarm.”

“Butshe’sallright?”“They think so.” Another

pause while he listened. Iheard him say, “I have thehusband here, so let’s eight-seven.”Whenheturnedbackto me, he said, “Yes. She’scomingaround.She’llhavetobe checked for internalbleeding at the hospital.Andshe’s got a broken arm. Butthey say she’s all right.They’re getting her on a

stretchernow.”“ThankGod,”Isaid.The policeman nodded.

“Thisisabadpieceofroad.”“This has happened

before?”He nodded. “Every few

months. Not usually solucky.”I flipped open my cell

phone and called Ellen, toldher to explain to the kids

there was nothing to worryabout,thatMomwasgoingtobeokay.“EspeciallyNicole,”Isaid.“I’ll take care of it,”Ellen

promisedme.I flipped the phone shut

and turned back to the cop.“Whatabouttheotherguy?”Isaid.“She’saloneinthecar.”“No,” I said. “There was

anotherguywithher.”He spoke on his headset,

then turned back to me.“Theysayno.There’snosignofanyoneelse.”“Maybehewas thrown,” I

said.“They’re asking your wife

now …” He listened amoment. “She says she wasalone.”“You’rekidding,”Isaid.

Helookedatme,shrugged.“That’swhatshesays.”Intheflashing red lights of theambulances, I couldn’t readhis expression. But his toneimplied: another guy whodoesn’tknowhisownwife.Iturnedaway, lookedover theedgeoftheroad.One of the rescue vehicles

hadextendedasteelarmwitha winch that hung over theravine. A cable was being

lowered. I saw the workers,struggling for footing againstthe steep slope, as theyattached a stretcher to thewinch. I couldn’t see Juliaclearly on the stretcher, shewas strapped down, coveredinasilverspaceblanket.Shestarted to rise, passingthrough the cone of bluelight,thenintodarkness.The cop said, “They’re

asking about drugs and

medicines. Is your wifetaking any drugs ormedicines?”“NotthatIknowof.”“How about alcohol?Was

shedrinking?”“Wine at dinner. One or

twoglasses.”The cop turned away and

spoke again, quietly in thedarkness. After a pause, Iheard him say, “That’s

affirmative.”The stretcher twisted

slowly as it rose into the air.One of the workers, halfwayup the slope, reached out tosteady it. The stretchercontinuedupward.I still couldn’t see Julia

clearly, until it reached thelevel of the road and therescue workers swung itaround,andunclippeditfrom

theline.Shewasswollen;herleft cheekbone was purpleand the forehead above herleft eye was purple as well.She must have hit her headpretty hard. She wasbreathing shallowly. Imovedalongside the stretcher. Shesaw me and said, “Jack …”andtriedtosmile.“Justtakeiteasy,”Isaid.She gave a little cough.

“Jack.Itwasanaccident.”The medics were

maneuvering around themotorcycle. I had to watchwhere I was going. “Ofcourseitwas.”“It’s not what you think,

Jack.”I said, “What is, Julia?”

She seemed to be delirious.Her voice seemed to drift inandout.

“I know what you’rethinking.” Her hand grippedmy arm. “Promise me youwon’t get involved in this,Jack.”Ididn’tsayanything,Ijust

walkedwithher.She squeezed me harder.

“Promise me you’ll stay outofit.”“Ipromise,”Isaid.Sherelaxed then,dropping

my arm. “This doesn’tinvolve our family. The kidswill be fine. You’ll be fine.Juststayout,okay?”“Okay,” I said, just

wantingtomollifyher.“Jack?”“Yes,honey,I’mhere.”By now we were

approaching the nearestambulance.Thedoors swungopen.Oneoftherescueteam

said,“Yourelatedtoher?”“I’mherhusband.”“Youwanttocome?”“Yes.”“Hopin.”I got into the ambulance

first, then they slid thestretcherin,oneoftherescueteamgot inandslammed thedoors shut.We started downtheroad,sirenmoaning.

I was immediately movedasideby the twoparamedics,working on her. One wasrecordingnotesonahandhelddevice and the other wasstarting a second IV in herotherarm.Theywereworriedabout her blood pressure,which was dropping. Thatwasagreatcauseforconcern.During all this I couldn’treally see Julia, but I heardhermurmuring.

I tried to move forward,but the medics pushed meback.“Letuswork,sir.Yourwife’s got injuries. We havetowork.”For the rest of the way, I

sat on a little jump seat andgripped a wall handle as theambulance careened aroundcurves. By now Julia wasclearly delirious, babblingnonsense. I heard somethingabout“theblackclouds,”that

were “not black anymore.”Then she shifted into a kindof lecture, talking about“adolescent rebellion.” ShementionedAmandabyname,andEric, asking if theywereallright.Sheseemedagitated.The medics kept trying toreassure her.And finally shelapsedintorepeating“Ididn’tdo anything wrong, I didn’tmean to do anything wrong”as the ambulance sped

throughthenight.Listeningtoher,Icouldn’t

helpbutworry.

The examination suggestedJulia’sinjuriesmightbemoreextensive than they firstthought. There was a lot torule out: possible pelvicfracture, possible hematoma,possiblefractureofacervicalvertebra, left arm broken in

twoplacesandmightneedtobe pinned. The doctorsseemed most worried abouther pelvis. They werehandling her much moregingerly when they put herintointensivecare.But Julia was conscious,

catchingmy eye and smilingatmefromtimetotime,untilshe fell asleep. The doctorssaidtherewasnothingformeto do; they would wake her

upeveryhalfhourduringthenight. They said that shewould be in the hospital atleast three days, probably aweek.They told me to get some

rest. I left thehospitala littlebeforemidnight.I took a taxi back to the

crashsite, topickupmycar.It was a cold night. Thepolice cars and rescue

ambulances were gone. Intheir place was a big flatbedtow truck, which waswinching Julia’s car up thehill.Askinnyguysmokingacigarette was running thewinch.“Nothingtosee,”hesaidto

me.“Everybody’sgonetothehospital.”Isaiditwasmywife’scar.“Can’t drive it,” he said.

He asked me for myinsurancecard.Igotitoutofmy wallet and handed it tohim. He said, “I heard yourwife’sokay.”“Sofar.”“You’re a lucky guy.” He

jerked his thumb, pointingacross the road. “Are theywithyou?”Across the street a small

white van was parked. The

sides were bare, with nomarkings or company logo.But low on the front door Isawaserialnumber,inblack.And underneath it said SSVTUNIT.

I said, “No, they’re notwithme.”“Been here an hour,” he

said.“Justsittingthere.”I couldn’t see anyone

inside the van; the front

windowsweredark. I startedacrossthestreettowardthem.I heard the faint crackle of aradio.When I was about tenfeetawaythelightscameon,the engine started, and thevanroaredpastme,anddrovedownthehighway.As it passed, I had a

glimpseofthedriver.Hewaswearinga shiny suit of somekind, like silvery plastic, anda tight hood of the same

material. I thought I sawsome funny, silver apparatushanging around his neck. Itlooked like a gas mask,except it was silver. But Iwasn’tsure.As the car drove away, I

noticed the rear bumper hadtwogreen stickers, eachwithabigX.ThatwastheXymoslogo. But it was the licenseplate that really caught myeye.ItwasaNevadaplate.

That van had come fromthe fabrication plant, out inthedesert.I frowned. It was time for

me to visit the fab plant, Ithought.Ipulledoutmycellphone,

and dialed Tim Bergman. Itold him I had reconsideredhisofferandIwouldtaketheconsultingjob,afterall.“That’s great,” Tim said.

“Donwillbeveryhappy.”“Great,”Isaid.“Howsoon

canIstart?”

DESERT

DAY67:12A.M.

With the vibration of thehelicopter,Imusthavedozedoff for a few minutes. Iawoke and yawned, hearingvoices in my headphones.Theywereallmenspeaking:“Well, what exactly is the

problem?”Agrowlingvoice.

“Apparently, the plantreleased some material intothe environment. It was anaccident. Now, several deadanimals have been found outinthedesert.Inthevicinityofthe plant.” A reasonable,organizedvoice.“Who found them?”

Growly.“Couple of nosy

environmentalists. They

ignored the keep-out signs,snooped around the plant.They’ve complained to thecompany and are demandingtoinspecttheplant.”“Whichwecan’tallow.”“No,no.”“Howdowe handle this?”

saidatimidvoice.“I say we minimize the

amount of contaminationreleased, and give data that

show no untowardconsequence is possible.”Organizedvoice.“Hell, I wouldn’t play it

that way,” said growlingvoice.“We’rebetteroffflatlydenying it. Nothing wasreleased. I mean, what’s theevidence anything wasreleased?”“Well,thedeadanimals.A

coyote, some desert rats.

Maybeafewbirds.”“Hell,animalsdieinnature

all the time. I mean,remember the business aboutthose slashed cows? It wassupposed to be aliens fromUFOs that were slashing thecows. Finally turned out thecows were dying of naturalcauses, and it wasdecomposing gas in thecarcasses that split themopen.Rememberthat?”

“Vaguely.”Timidvoice:“I’mnotsure

wecanjustdeny—”“Fuckyes,deny.”“Aren’t there pictures? I

think the environmentaliststookpictures.”“Well, who cares? What

willthepicturesshow,adeadcoyote? Nobody is going toget worked up about a deadcoyote.Trustme.Pilot?Pilot,

wherethefuckarewe?”I opened my eyes. I was

sitting in the front of thehelicopter, alongside thepilot. The helicopter wasflying east, into the glare oflowmorningsun.Beneathmyfeet I sawmostly flat terrain,with low clumps of cactus,juniper, and the occasionalscragglyJoshuatree.The pilot was flying

alongside the power-linetowersthatmarchedinsinglefile across the desert, a steelarmywith outstretched arms.Thetowerscastlongshadowsinthemorninglight.A heavyset man leaned

forward from the backseat.Hewaswearingasuitandtie.“Pilot?Arewethereyet?”“We just crossed the

Nevada line. Another ten

minutes.”The heavyset man grunted

and sat back. I’d met himwhen we took off, but Icouldn’t remember his namenow. I glanced back at thethree men, all in suits andties,whowere travelingwithme. They were all PRconsultantshiredbyXymos.Icouldmatch their appearanceto their voices. A slender,nervous man, twisting his

hands. Then a middle-agedman with a briefcase on hislap. And the heavyset man,older and growly, obviouslyincharge.“Whythehelldidtheyput

itinNevada,anyway?”“Fewer regulations, easier

inspections. These daysCaliforniaisstickyaboutnewindustry. Therewas going tobe a year’s delay just for

environmental-impactstatements. And a far moredifficult permitting process.Sotheycamehere.”Growly looked out the

window at the desert. “Whata shithole,” he said. “I don’tgivea fuckwhatgoesonouthere, it’s not a problem.”Heturned to me. “What do youdo?”“I’m a computer

programmer.”“You covered by an

NDA?”Hemeant,didIhavea non-disclosure agreementthat would prevent me fromdiscussing what I had justheard.“Yes,”Isaid.“You coming out to work

attheplant?”“Toconsult,”Isaid.“Yes.”“Consulting’s the way to

go,” he said, nodding as if Iwere an ally. “Noresponsibility. No liability.Just give your opinion, andwatchthemnottakeit.”With a crackle, the pilot’s

voice broke in over theheadsets. “Xymos MolecularManufacturing is deadahead,”hesaid.“Youcanjustseeitnow.”Twenty miles in front of

us,Isawanisolatedclusteroflow buildings silhouetted onthehorizon.ThePRpeopleinthebackallleanedforward.“Is that it?” said Growly.

“That’sallitis?”“It’s bigger than it looks

fromhere,”thepilotsaid.As the helicopter came

closer, I could see that thebuildings were interlocked,featureless concrete blocks,

all whitewashed. The PRpeople were so pleased theyalmost burst into applause.“Hey,it’sbeautiful!”“Looks like a fucking

hospital.”“Greatarchitecture.”“It’llphotographgreat.”I said, “Why will it

photographgreat?”“Because it has no

projections,”themanwiththe

briefcase said. “No antennas,no spikes, no things pokingup. People are afraid ofspikes and antennas. Thereare studies. But a buildingthat’s plain and square likethis,andwhite—perfectcolorchoice, associations tovirginal, hospital, cure, pure—a building like this, theydon’tcare.”“Those environmentalists

are fucked,” said Growly,

with satisfaction. “They domedicalresearchhere,right?”“Notexactly…”“They will when I get

through, trust me. Medicalresearch is theway to go onthis.”The pilot pointed out the

different buildings as hecircled them. “That firstconcrete block, that’s power.Walkway to that low

building, that’s theresidences. Next door, fabsupport, labs, whatever. Andthen the square windowlessthree-story one, that’s themain fab building. They tellme it’s a shell, it’s gotanother building inside it.Then over to the right, thatlow flat shed, that’s externalstorage and parking. Carshave to be under shade here,orthedashboardsbuckle.Get

a first-degree burn if youtouchyoursteeringwheel.”I said, “And they have

residences?”The pilot nodded. “Yeah.

Have to. Nearest motel is ahundred and sixty-onemiles.OvernearReno.”“Sohowmanypeople live

inthisfacility?”Growlysaid.“They can take twelve,”

the pilot said. “But they’ve

generally got about five toeight. Doesn’t take a lot torun the place. It’s allautomated,fromwhatIhear.”“Whatelsedoyouhear?”“Notverydamnmuch,”the

pilot said. “They’re closed-mouthed about this place.I’veneverevenbeeninside.”“Good,” said Growly.

“Let’smakesuretheykeepitthatway.”

Thepilotturnedthestickinhis hand. The helicopterbanked,andstarteddown.

I opened the plastic door inthe bubble cockpit, andstarted togetout. Itwas likestepping into an oven. Theblastofheatmademegasp.“Thisisnothing!”thepilot

shouted,overthewhirroftheblades. “This is almost

winter!Can’tbemore thanahundredandfive!”“Great,” I said, inhaling

hotair. I reached in thebackformyovernightbagandmylaptop.I’dstowedthemundertheseatofthetimidman.“Ihavetotakeapiss,”said

Growly, releasing his seatbelt.“Dave …” said the man

with the briefcase, in a

warningtone.“Fuck, it’s just for a

minute.”“Dave—” an embarrassed

glance toward me, thenlowering his voice: “Theysaid,we don’t get out of thehelicopter,remember?”“Aw hell. I can’t wait

another hour. Anyway,what’s the difference?” Hegestured toward the

surrounding desert. “There’snothing the fuckouthere foramillionmiles.”“But,Dave—”“Youguysgivemeapain.

I’m going to pee, damn it.”He hefted his bulk up, andmovedtowardthedoor.I didn’t hear the rest of

theirconversationbecausebythen I had taken off myearphones. Growly was

clamberingout.Igrabbedmybags, turned and movedaway, crouched beneath theblades.Theycastaflickeringshadowonthepad.Icametotheedgeofthepadwheretheconcrete ended abruptly in adirtpaththatthreadedamongthe clumps of cholla cactustoward the blocky whitepower building fifty yardsaway. There was no one togreet me—in fact, no one in

sightatall.Looking back, I saw

Growly zip up his trousersand climb back into thehelicopter. The pilot pulledthe door shut and lifted off,waving tomeashe rose intothe air. I waved back, thenducked away from the swirlof spitting sand. Thehelicopter circled once andheaded west. The soundfaded.

The desert was silentexcept for the hum of theelectrical power lines a fewhundred yards away. Thewindruffledmyshirt,flappedmytrouser legs.I turnedinaslow circle, wondering whatto do now. And thinkingabout the words of the PRguy:They said, we don’t getout of the helicopter,remember?“Hey!Hey,you!”

I lookedback.Adoor hadcracked open in the whitepower block. A man’s headstuck out. He shouted, “AreyouJackForman?”“Yes,”Isaid.“Well, what the hell you

waiting for, an engravedinvitation? Get inside, forChrissake.”And he slammed the door

shutagain.

That was my welcome tothe Xymos FabricationFacility. Lugging my bags, Itrudged down the dirt pathtowardthedoor.Things never turn out the

wayyouexpect.

I stepped into a small room,withdarkgraywallsonthreesides. The walls were somesmoothmateriallikeFormica.

It tookmyeyesamoment toadjust to the relativedarkness.ThenIsawthatthefourth wall directly ahead ofmewasentirelyglass,leadingtoasmallcompartmentandasecond glass wall. The glasswallswerefittedwithfoldingsteel arms, ending in metalpressure pads. It looked alittle bit like what you’dexpecttoseeinabankvault.Beyond the second glass

wall I could see a burlymanin blue trousers and a bluework shirt, with the Xymoslogo on the pocket. He wasclearly theplantmaintenanceengineer.Hegesturedtome.“It’s an airlock. Door’s

automatic.Walkforward.”Idid,andthenearestglass

doorhissedopen.Aredlightcameon. In thecompartmentahead, I saw grillwork on

floor,ceiling,andbothwalls.Ihesitated.“Looks like a fuckin’

toaster, don’t it?” the mansaid, grinning. He had someteeth missing. “But don’tworry, it’ll just blow you alittle.Comeahead.”I stepped into the glass

compartment,andsetmybagontheground.“No,no.Pickthebagup.”

I picked it up again.Immediately, the glass doorbehind me hissed shut, thesteel arms unfoldingsmoothly. The pressure padssealed with a thunk. I felt aslight discomfort in my earsas the airlock pressurized.The man in blue said, “Youmight want to close youreyes.”I closed my eyes and

immediately felt chilling

spraystrikemyfaceandbodyfrom all sides. My clotheswere soaked. I smelled astingingodor likeacetone,ornail polish remover. I beganto shiver; the liquid wasreallycold.The first blast of air came

from above my head, a roarthatquicklybuilttohurricaneintensity.Istiffenedmybodyto steadymyself.My clothesflapped and pressed flat

against my body. The windincreased, threatening to tearthe bag frommy hand. Thentheairstoppedforamoment,and a second blast cameupwardfromthefloor.Itwasdisorienting,butitonlylasteda fewmoments. Thenwith awhoosh the vacuum pumpskicked in and I felt a slightache in my ears as thepressure dropped, like anairplane descending. Then

silence.A voice said, “That’s it.

Comeahead.”I opened my eyes. The

liquid they’d sprayed on mehad evaporated; my clotheswere dry. The doors hissedopenbeforeme.Isteppedoutandthemaninbluelookedatmequizzically.“Feelokay?”“Yeah,Ithinkso.”“Noitching?”

“No…”“Good. We had a few

people who were allergic tothestuff.Butwe’vegottodothis routine, for the cleanrooms.”Inodded. Itwasobviously

a procedure to remove dustand other contaminants. Thedousing fluid was highlyvolatile, evaporating at roomtemperature, drawing off

microparticles on my bodyand clothes. The air jets andvacuumcompleted the scrub.Theprocedurewouldremoveany loose particles on mybodyandsuckthemaway.“I’mVinceReynolds,” the

man said, but he didn’t holdout his hand. “You call meVince.Andyou’reJack?”IsaidIwas.“Okay, Jack,” he said.

“They’re waiting for you, solet’s get started. We got totakeprecautions,becausethisis an HMF, that’s highmagnetic field environment,greater than33Tesla, so…”He picked up a cardboardbox. “Better lose yourwatch.”Iputthewatchinthebox.“Andthebelt.”Itookmybeltoff,putitin

thebox.“Any other jewelry?

Bracelet? Necklace?Piercings?Decorativepinsormedals?Medic-Alert?”“No.”“How about metal inside

your body? Old injury,bullets, shrapnel? No? Anypins forbrokenarmsor legs,hiporkneereplacement?No?Artificial valves, artificial

cartilage, vascular pumps orimplants?”I said I didn’t have anyof

thosethings.“Well, you’re still young,”

he said. “Now how about inyourbag?”Hemademetakeeverything out and spread iton a table, so he couldrummage through it. I hadplenty of metal in there:another belt with a metal

buckle,nailclippers,acanofshaving cream, razor andblades, a pocket knife, bluejeanswithmetalrivets…He took the knife and the

beltbutlefttherest.“Youcanput your stuff back in thebag,” he said. “Now, here’sthedeal.Yourbaggoestotheresidence building, but nofarther. Okay? There’s analarmattheresidencedoorifyoutrytotakeanymetalpast

there.Butdomea favoranddon’tset itoff,okay?‘Causeit shutsdown themagnets asa safety procedure and ittakes about two minutes tostart‘emupagain.Pisses thetechsoff,especiallyifthey’refabbingat thetime.Ruinsalltheirhardwork.”I said I would try to

remember.“The rest of your stuff

stays right here.” He noddedtothewallbehindme;Isawadozen small safes, each withan electronic keypad. “Youset the combination and lockit up yourself.” He turnedasidesoIcoulddothat.“Iwon’tneedawatch?”He shookhis head. “We’ll

getyouawatch.”“Whataboutabelt?”“We’llgetyouabelt.”

“Andmylaptop?”Isaid.“It goes in the safe,” he

said. “Unless you want toscrubyourharddrivewiththemagneticfield.”Iputthelaptopinwiththe

rest of my stuff, and lockedthe door. I felt strangelystripped, like aman enteringprison. “You don’t want myshoelaces, too?” I said,makingajoke.

“Nah. You keep those. Soyoucanstrangleyourself,ifitturnsoutyouneedto.”“WhywouldIneedto?”“I really couldn’t say.”

Vince shrugged. “But theseguys working here? Let metell you, they’re all fuckingcrazy. They’re making theseteeny-weeny little things youcan’t see, pushing aroundmolecules and shit, sticking

‘em together. It’s real tenseand detailed work, and itmakes them crazy. Everyfuckingoneof ‘em.Nutty asloons.Comethisway.”Wepassedthroughanother

set of glass doors. But thistime,therewasnospray.

We entered the power plant.Beneath blue halogen lamps,Isawhugemetaltubstenfeet

high, and fat ceramicinsulators thick as a man’sleg. Everything hummed. Ifeltadistinctvibration in thefloor. There were signs allaround with jagged redlightning bolts sayingWARNING: LETHAL ELECTRICAL

CURRENTS!

“You use a lot of powerhere,”Isaid.“Enoughforasmalltown,”

Vincesaid.Hepointedtooneof the signs. “Take thosewarnings seriously. We hadproblems with fires, a whileback.”“Oh?”“Yeah.Gotanestofratsin

the building. Buggers keptgetting fried.Literally. I hatethe smell of burning rat fur,don’tyou?”“Never had that

experience,”Isaid.“Smells like what you’d

think.”“Uh-huh,”Isaid.“Howdid

theratsgetin?”“Up through the toilet

bowl.” I must have lookedsurprised,becauseVincesaid,“Oh, you don’t know that?Rats do that all the time, it’sjustashortswimfor themtogetin.‘Course,ifithappened

whileyouweresitting,it’dbea nasty surprise.” He gave ashortlaugh.“Problemwasthecontractor for the buildingdidn’t bury the leach fielddeep enough. Anyhow, ratsgot in. We’ve had a fewaccidents like that since I’vebeenhere.”“Isthatright?Whatkindof

accidents?”He shrugged. “They tried

to make these buildingsperfect,” he said. “Becausethey’re working with suchsmall-sizethings.Butit’snota perfect world, Jack. Neverhasbeen.Neverwillbe.”Isaidagain,“Whatkindof

accidents?”By then we had come to

the far door, with a keypad,and Vince punched innumbers quickly. The door

clicked open. “All the doorsare keyed the same. Oh six,ohfour,ohtwo.”Vince pushed the door

wide, and we stepped into acovered passagewayconnectingthepowerplanttothe other buildings. It wasstifling hot here, despite theroaroftheairconditioner.“Contractor,” Vince

explained. “Never balanced

theairhandlersright.Wehad‘emback five times to fix it,but this passage is alwayshot.”At the end of the corridor

was another door, andVincehad me punch in the codemyself. The door clickedopen.I faced another airlock: a

wall of thick glass, withanother wall a few feet

beyond. And behind thatsecond wall, I saw RickyMorse in jeans andaT-shirt,grinning and wavingcheerfullytome.His T-shirt said, “Obey

Me,IAmRoot.”Itwasaninsidejoke.Inthe

UNIX operating system, itmeanttheboss.

Over an intercom speaker,

Ricky said, “I’ll take it fromhere,Vince.”Vince waved. “No

problem.”“You fix that positive

pressuresetting?”“Diditanhourago.Why?”“It may not be holding in

themainlab.”“I’llcheckitagain,”Vince

said. “Maybewe got anotherleaksomewhere.”Heslapped

me on the back, jerked histhumb toward the interior ofthebuilding.“Lotsof luckinthere.” Then he turned andwalked back the way hecame.“It’s great to see you,”

Ricky said. “You know thecodetogetin?”IsaidIdid.Hepointedtoa

keypad. I punched thenumbers in. The glass wall

slid sideways. I stepped intoanother narrow space aboutfour feet wide, with metalgrills on all four sides. Thewallclosedbehindme.Afierceblastofairshotup

fromthefloor,puffingupmytrouser legs, ruffling myclothing.Almostimmediatelyit was followed by blasts ofair coming from both sides,thenfromtop,blowingdownhard on my hair and

shoulders. Then awhoosh ofvacuum.Theglassinfrontofme slid laterally. I smootheddown my hair and steppedout.“Sorry about that.” Ricky

shook my hand vigorously.“Butatleastwedon’thavetowear bunny suits,” he said. Inoticedthathelookedstrong,healthy. The muscles in hisforearmsweredefined.

I said, “You look good,Ricky.Workingout?”“Oh, you know. Not

really.”“You’reprettycut,”Isaid.

I punched him on theshoulder.He grinned. “Just tension

onthejob.DidVincefrightenyou?”“Notexactly…”“He’s a little strange,”

Ricky said. “Vince grew upalone out in the desert withhismother.Shediedwhenhewas five. Body was prettydecomposed when theyfinallyfoundher.Poorkid,hejustdidn’tknowwhattodo.Iguess I’d be strange, too.”Rickygaveashrug.“ButI’mgladyou’rehere, Jack. Iwasafraid you wouldn’t come.”Despite Ricky’s apparentgood health, I was noticing

now that he seemednervous,edgy.Heledmebrisklydowna short hallway. “So. How’sJulia?”“Brokeherarm,andhither

head pretty badly. She’s inthe hospital for observation.But she’s going to be allright.”“Good. That’s good.” He

nodded quickly, continuingdown a corridor. “Who’s

takingcareofthekids?”I told him that my sister

wasintown.“Then you can stay

awhile?Afewdays?”Isaid,“Iguess.Ifyouneed

me that long.” Ordinarily,software consultants don’tspend a lot of time on-site.One day, maybe two. Notmorethanthat.Ricky glanced over his

shoulder at me. “Did Julia,ah, explain to you about thisplace?”“Notreally,no.”“But you knew she was

spendingalotoftimehere.”Isaid,“Ohsure.Yes.”“The last few weeks, she

cameoutalmosteverydayonthe helicopter. Stayed over acoupleofnights,too.”I said, “I didn’t know she

took such an interest inmanufacturing.”Rickyseemed tohesitatea

moment.Thenhesaid,“Well,Jack, this is a whole newthing …” He frowned. “Shereally didn’t tell youanything?”“No.Notreally.Why?”Hedidn’tanswer.

He opened the far door and

waved me through. “This isourresidentialmodule,whereeverybodysleepsandeats.”The air was cool after the

passageway. The walls werethe same smooth Formicamaterial. I heard a low,continuous whoosh of airhandlers. A series of doorsopened off the hallway. Oneof them had my name on it,written in marker on a pieceof tape. Ricky opened the

door. “Home sweet home,Jack.”Theroomwasmonastic—a

small bed, a tiny desk justlarge enough to hold aworkstation monitor andkeyboard. Above the bed, ashelf for books and clothes.All the furniture had beencoated with smooth-flowingwhite plastic laminate. Therewerenonooksorcrannies tohold stray particles of dirt.

Therewas nowindow in theroom either, but a liquid-crystalscreenshowedaviewofthedesertoutside.There was a plastic watch

and a belt with a plasticbuckleonthebed.Iputthemon.Ricky said, “Dump your

gear, and I’ll give you thetour.”Stillkeepinghisbriskpace,

heledmeintoamedium-sizelounge with a couch andchairs around a coffee table,and a bulletin board on thewall. All the furniture herewas the same flowing plasticlaminate. “To the right is thekitchenandtherecroomwithTV,videogames,soforth.”We entered the small

kitchen. There were twopeople there, a man and awoman, eating sandwiches

standing up. “I think youknow these guys,” Rickysaid, grinning. And I did.TheyhadbeenonmyteamatMediaTronics.Rosie Castro was dark,

thin, exotic-looking, andsarcastic; she wore baggycargo shorts and a T-shirttightacrossher largebreasts,which read YOU WISH.

Independent and rebellious,Rosie had been a

Shakespearean scholar atHarvard before she decided,in her words, that“Shakespeare is fuckingdead. For fucking centuries.There is nothing new to say.What’s the point?” Shetransferred toMIT,becameaprotégée of Robert Kim,working on natural languageprogramming. It turned outshe was brilliant at it. Andthese days natural language

programs were starting toinvolve distributedprocessing.Because it turnedout people evaluate asentence in several wayssimultaneously, while it isbeingspoken;theydon’twaituntil it is finished but ratherthey form expectations ofwhat is coming. That’s aperfect situation fordistributed processing, whichcan work on a problem at

severalpointssimultaneously.I said, “Stillwearing those

T-shirts, Rosie.” AtMediaTronics, we’d hadsome trouble about the wayshedressed.“Hey. Keeps the boys

awake,”shesaid,shrugging.“Actually, we ignore

them.” I turned to DavidBrooks, stiff, formal,obsessively neat, and almost

bald at twenty-eight. Heblinked behind thick glasses.“They’re not that good,anyway,”hesaid.Rosiestuckher tongueout

athim.Davidwasanengineer,and

he had an engineer’sbluntness and lack of socialskills. He was also full ofcontradictions; although hefussedovereverydetailofhis

work and appearance, onweekends he raced a dirtbike, often coming backcoveredinmud.Heshookmyhand enthusiastically. “I’mverygladyou’rehere,Jack.”I said, “Somebody’s going

tohavetotellmewhyyou’reallsogladtoseeme.”Rosie said, “Well, it’s

because you know moreabout the multi-agent

algorithmsthat—”“I’m going to show him

around first,” Ricky said,interrupting. “Then we’lltalk.”“Why?” Rosie said. “You

wantittobeasurprise?”“Hellofasurprise,”David

said.“No, not at all,” Ricky

said,givingthemahardlook.“I just want Jack to have

somebackgroundfirst.Iwanttogooverthatwithhim.”David lookedathiswatch.

“Well, how much time doyou think that will take?Because I figure we’ve got—”“I said, Let me show him

around, for Christ’s sake!”Rickywas almost snarling. Iwassurprised; I’dneverseenhim lose his temper before.

Butapparentlytheyhad:“Okay,okay,Ricky.”“Hey, you’re the boss,

Ricky.”“That’sright,Iam,”Ricky

said,stillvisiblyangry.“Andbytheway,yourbreakendedtenminutes ago. So let’s getback to work.” He lookedintotheadjoininggameroom.“Wherearetheothers?”“Fixing the perimeter

sensors.”“You mean they’re

outside?”“No, no. They’re in the

utility room. Bobby thinksthere’s a calibration problemwiththesensorunits.”“Great. Did anybody tell

Vince?”“No. It’s software:

Bobby’stakingcareofit.”Itwasatthatpointthatmy

cell phone beeped. I wassurprised,pulleditoutofmypocket.Iturnedtotheothers.“Cellphoneswork?”“Yeah,”Rickysaid,“we’re

wiredhere.”HewentbacktohisargumentwithDavidandRosie.

Isteppedintothecorridorandgotmymessages. Therewasonly one, from the hospital,

about Julia. “We understandyou are Ms. Forman’shusband,andifyoucouldcallusplease as soonaspossible…” Then an extension for aDr. Rana. I dialed back atonce.The switchboard put me

through.“ICU.”I asked for Dr. Rana, and

waited until he came on. Isaid, “This is Jack Forman.

JuliaForman’shusband.”“Oh yes, Mr. Forman.” A

pleasant, melodic voice.“Thank you for calling back.I understand youaccompaniedyourwifetothehospitallastnight.Yes?Wellthen you know theseriousnessofherinjuries,orshould I say her potentialinjuries. We really do feelthat she needs to have athoroughworkup for cervical

fracture, and for subduralhematoma, and she needs apelvic fracture workup aswell.”“Yes,”Isaid.“That’swhat

Iwastoldlastnight.Isthereaproblem?”“Actually, there is. Your

wifeisrefusingtreatment.”“Sheis?”“Lastnight,sheallowedus

to takeX-rays and to set the

fractures in herwrist.We’veexplained to her that X-raysare limited in what we cansee, and that it is quiteimportant for her to have anMRI, but she is refusingthat.”Isaid,“Why?”“Shesaysshedoesn’tneed

it.”“Ofcourse sheneeds it,” I

said.

“Yes, she does, Mr.Forman,”Rana said. “Idon’twant to alarm you but theconcern with pelvic fractureismassivehemorrhaging intothe abdomen and, well,bleeding to death. It canhappenveryquickly,and—”“What do youwantme to

do?”“We’d like you to talk to

her.”

“Ofcourse.Putheron.”“Unfortunately, she’s gone

for some additional X-raysjust now. Is there a numberwhere you can be reached?Your cell phone? All right.Oneotherthing,Mr.Forman,we weren’t able to take apsychiatric history fromyourwife…”“Whyisthat?”“She refuses to talk about

it.I’mreferringtodrugs,anyhistory of behavioraldisorders, that kind of thing.Canyoushedanylightinthatarea?”“I’lltry…”“Idon’twanttoalarmyou,

butyourwifehasbeen,well,abitontheirrationalside.Attimes,almostdelusional.”“She’s been under a lot of

stresslately,”Isaid.

“Yes, I am sure thatcontributes,” Dr. Rana saidsmoothly. “And she hassufferedasevereheadinjury,whichweneed to investigatefurther.Idon’twanttoalarmyou, but frankly it was theopinion of the psychiatricconsult that your wife wassuffering from a bipolardisorder, or a drug disorder,orboth.”“Isee…”

“And of course suchquestions naturally arise inthe context of a single-carautomobileaccident…”Hemeant that theaccident

might be a suicide attempt. Ididn’tthinkthatwaslikely.“Ihave no knowledge of mywife taking drugs,” I said.“But I have been concernedabout her behavior for, oh, afewweeksnow.”

Ricky came over, andstoodbymeimpatiently.Iputmyhandoverthephone.“It’sabout Julia.”Henodded,andglanced at his watch. Raisedhiseyebrows.Ithoughtitwaspretty odd, that he wouldpush me when I was talkingtothehospitalaboutmywife—and his immediatesuperior.The doctor rambled on for

awhile,andIdidmybest to

answer his questions, but thefact was I didn’t have anyinformation that could helphim. He said he would haveJulia callwhen shegotback,andIsaidIwouldwaitforthecall. I flipped the phoneclosed.Ricky said, “Okay, fine.

Sorry to rush you, Jack, but…youknow,I’vegotalottoshowyou.”

“Is therea timeproblem?”Isaid.“Idon’tknow.Maybe.”I started to ask what he

meant by that, but he wasalready leading me forward,walking quickly.We left theresidential area, passingthrough another glass door,and down anotherpassageway.This passage, I noticed,

was tightly sealed. Wewalked along a glasswalkway suspended abovethe floor.Theglasshad littleperforations,andbeneathwasa series of vacuum ducts forsuction. By now I wasgrowing accustomed to theconstant hiss of the airhandlers.Midwaydown thecorridor

was another pair of glassdoors.Wehad to go through

them one at a time. Theyparted as we went through,and closed behind us.Continuing on, I again hadthedistinctfeelingofbeingina prison, of going through asuccession of barred gates,goingdeeperanddeeper intosomething.It might be all high-tech

and shinyglasswalls—but itwasstillaprison.

DAY68:12A.M.

We came into a large roommarked UTILITY andbeneath it,MOLSTOCK/FABSTOCK/FEEDSTOCK.

The walls and ceiling werecovered with the familiarsmooth plastic laminate.Large laminated containers

werestackedonthefloor.OfftotherightIsawarowofbigstainless-steel kettles, sunkbelow ground with lots ofpiping and valvessurrounding them, andcoming up to the first-floorlevel.It lookedexactlylikeamicrobrewery, and I wasabout to ask Ricky about itwhen he said, “So there youare!”Working at a junction box

beneath a monitor screenwere threemoremembers ofmy old team. They lookedslightlyguiltyaswecameup,like kids caught with theirhands in the cookie jar. Ofcourse Bobby Lembeck wastheir leader. At thirty-five,Bobby now supervised morecode than he wrote, but hecould still write when hewantedto.Asalways,hewaswearing faded jeans and a

GhostintheShellT-shirt,hisubiquitousWalkmanclampedtohiswaist.Then there was Mae

Chang,beautifulanddelicate,aboutasdifferentfromRosieCastro as any woman couldbe.Maehadworkedasafieldbiologist in Sichuan studyingthe golden snub-nosedmonkey before turning toprogramming in her mid-twenties. Her time in the

field, as well as her naturalinclination, led her to bealmost silent. Mae said verylittle, moved almostsoundlessly, andnever raisedhervoice—butsheneverlostan argument, either. Likemanyfieldbiologists,shehaddevelopedtheuncannyabilitytoslipintothebackground,tobecome unnoticed, almost tovanish.And finally Charley

Davenport,grumpy,rumpled,and already overweight atthirty. Slow and lumbering,helookedasifhehadsleptinhis clothes, and in fact heoften did, after a marathonprogramming session.Charley had worked underJohnHolland inChicagoandDoyne Farmer at LosAlamos.Hewasanexpert ingenetic algorithms, the kindof programming that

mimickednaturalselectiontohoneanswers.Buthewasanirritating personality—hehummed, he snorted, talkedto himself, and farted withnoisy abandon. The grouponlytoleratedhimbecausehewassotalented.“Does it really take three

people to do this?” Rickysaid, after I’d shaken handsallaround.

“Yes,”Bobbysaid,“itdoestake three people, El Rooto,becauseit’scomplicated.”“Why? And don’t call me

ElRooto.”“Iobey,Mr.Root.”“Justgetonwithit…”“Well,” Bobby said, “I

started to check the sensorsafter this morning’s episode,anditlookstomelikethey’remiscalibrated. But since

nobody is going outside, thequestion is whether we’rereading them wrong, orwhether the sensorsthemselves are faulty, or justscaled wrong on theequipment in here. Maeknows these sensors, she’sused them in China. I’mmaking code revisions now.And Charley is here becausehe won’t go away and leaveusalone.”

“Shit, I have better thingsto do,” Charley said. “But Iwrote the algorithm thatcontrols the sensors, and weneed to optimize the sensorcode after they’re done. I’mjust waiting until they stopscrewing around. Then I’lloptimize.” He lookedpointedlyatBobby.“Noneofthese guys can optimizeworthadamn.”Maesaid,“Bobbycan.”

“Yeah, ifyougivehimsixmonths,maybe.”“Children,children,”Ricky

said.“Let’snotmakeasceneinfrontofourguest.”Ismiledblandly.The truth

was, I hadn’t been payingattention to what they weresaying. I was just watchingthem.Thesewerethreeofmybestprogrammers—andwhentheyhadworkedforme,they

had been self-assured to thepointofarrogance.ButnowIwas struck by how nervousthegroupwas.Theywereallon edge, bickering, jumpy.And thinkingback, I realizedthat Rosie and David hadbeenonedge,too.Charley started humming

inthatirritatingwayofhis.“Oh, Christ,” Bobby

Lembeck said. “Would you

tellhimtoshutup?”Ricky said, “Charley, you

knowwe’ve talked about thehumming.”Charleycontinuedtohum.“Charley…”Charley gave a long,

theatrical sigh. He stoppedhumming.“Thankyou,”Bobbysaid.Charley rolled his eyes,

andlookedattheceiling.“All right,” Ricky said.

“Finish up quickly, and getbacktoyourstations.”“Okay,fine.”“Iwanteverybodyinplace

assoonaspossible.”“Okay,”Bobbysaid.“I’m serious. In your

places.”“For Christ’s sake, Ricky,

okay, okay. Now will youstoptalkingandletuswork?”

Leaving the group behind,Ricky took me across thefloor to a small room. I said,“Ricky, these kids aren’t theway they were when theyworkedforme.”“I know. Everybody’s a

littleuptightrightnow.”“Andwhyisthat?”

“Because of what’s goingonhere.”“And what is going on

here?”He stopped before a small

cubicle on the other side ofthe room. “Julia couldn’t tellyou, because it wasclassified.” He touched thedoorwithakeycard.I said, “Classified?

Medical imaging is

classified?”The door latch clicked

open, and we went inside.The door closed behind us. Isaw a table, two chairs, acomputer monitor and akeyboard. Ricky sat down,and immediately startedtyping.“The medical imaging

project was just anafterthought,” he said, “a

minorcommercialapplicationof the technology we arealreadydeveloping.”“Uh-huh.Whichis?”“Military.”“Xymos is doing military

work?”“Yes. Under contract.” He

paused. “Two years ago, theDepartment of Defenserealizedfromtheirexperiencein Bosnia that there was

enormous value to robotaircraft that could flyoverhead and transmitbattlefield images in realtime.ThePentagonknewthatthere would be more andmore sophisticated uses fortheseflyingcamerasinfuturewars.You could use them tospot the locations of enemytroops, evenwhen theywerehidden in jungle or inbuildings;youcouldusethem

tocontrol laser-guidedrocketfire,ortoidentifythelocationof friendly troops,andsoon.Commanders on the groundcouldcalluptheimagestheywanted, in the spectra theywanted—visible, infrared,UV, whatever. Real-timeimaging was going to be avery powerful tool in futurewarfare.”“Okay…”

“But obviously,” Rickysaid, “these robot cameraswere vulnerable. You couldshoot them down likepigeons. The Pentagonwantedacamerathatcouldn’tbeshotdown.Theyimaginedsomethingverysmall,maybethe size of a dragonfly—atarget too small to hit. Butthere were problems withpower supply, with smallcontrol surfaces, and with

resolutionusing sucha smalllens. They needed a biggerlens.”I nodded. “And so you

thought of a swarm ofnanocomponents.”“That’s right.” Ricky

pointedtothescreen,whereaclusterofblackspotswheeledand turned in the air, likebirds. “A cloud ofcomponentswouldallowyou

to make a camera with aslarge a lens as you wanted.Anditcouldn’tbeshotdownbecause a bullet would justpass through the cloud.Furthermore, you coulddisperse thecloud, thewayaflockofbirdsdisperseswithagunshot. Then the camerawouldbeinvisibleuntil it re-formed again. So it seemedan ideal solution. ThePentagongaveus threeyears

ofDARPAfunding.”“And?”“We set out to make the

camera. It was of courseimmediately obvious that wehad a problem withdistributedintelligence.”

I was familiar with theproblem.Thenanoparticlesinthe cloudhad tobe endowedwith a rudimentary

intelligence, so that theycouldinteractwitheachotherto form a flock that wheeledin the air. Such coordinatedactivity might look prettyintelligent, but it occurredeven when the individualsmaking up the flock wererather stupid. After all, birdsandfishcoulddoit,andtheyweren’t the brightestcreaturesontheplanet.Most people watching a

flock of birds or a school offish assumed there was aleader, and that all the otheranimals followed the leader.That was because humanbeings, like most socialmammals,hadgroupleaders.But birds and fish had no

leaders.Theirgroupsweren’torganized that way. Carefulstudy of flocking behavior—frame-by-frame videoanalysis—showed that, in

fact, there was no leader.Birdsandfishrespondedtoafew simple stimuli amongthemselves, and the resultwas coordinated behavior.But nobody was controllingit. Nobody was leading it.Nobodywasdirectingit.Nor were individual birds

genetically programmed forflocking behavior. Flockingwas not hard-wired. Therewasnothing in thebirdbrain

that said, “When thus-and-suchhappens,startflocking.”On the contrary, flockingsimply emerged within thegroup as a result of muchsimpler, low-level rules.Rules like,“Stayclose to thebirds nearest you, but don’tbumpintothem.”Fromthoserules,theentiregroupflockedinsmoothcoordination.Because flocking arose

from low-level rules, it was

called emergent behavior.The technical definition ofemergent behavior wasbehavior that occurred in agroup but was notprogrammed into anymember of the group.Emergent behavior couldoccur in any population,including a computerpopulation. Or a robotpopulation.Orananoswarm.I said to Ricky, “Your

problem was emergentbehaviorintheswarm?”“Exactly.”“Itwasunpredictable?”“Toputitmildly.”In recent decades, this

notion of emergent groupbehavior had caused aminorrevolution in computerscience.What thatmeant forprogrammers was that youcould lay down rules of

behavior for individualagents,butnot for theagentsactingtogether.Individual agents—

whether programmingmodules,orprocessors,orasin this case, actual micro-robots—could beprogrammed to cooperateunder certain circumstances,and to compete under othercircumstances.Theycouldbegiven goals. They could be

instructed to pursue theirgoals with single-mindedintensity,ortobeavailabletohelp other agents. But theresult of these interactionscould not be programmed. Itjust emerged, with oftensurprisingoutcomes.In a way this was very

exciting. For the first time, aprogram could produceresults that absolutely couldnot be predicted by the

programmer.Theseprogramsbehaved more like livingorganisms than man-madeautomatons. That excitedprogrammers—but itfrustratedthem,too.Because the program’s

emergent behavior waserratic.Sometimescompetingagents fought to a standstill,and the program failed toaccomplish anything.Sometimes agents were so

influenced by one anotherthat they lost track of theirgoal, and did something elseinstead. In that sense theprogramwasverychildlike—unpredictable and easilydistracted. As oneprogrammerputit,“Tryingtoprogram distributedintelligence is like telling afive-year-oldkid togo tohisroomandchangehisclothes.He may do that, but he is

equally likely to dosomething else and neverreturn.”Because these programs

behaved in a lifelike way,programmers began to drawanalogies to the behavior ofreal organisms in the realworld. In fact, they began tomodel the behavior of actualorganisms as a way to getsome control over programoutcomes.

So you had programmersstudying ant swarming, ortermite mounding, or beedancing, in order to writeprograms to control airplanelandingschedules,orpackagerouting, or languagetranslation. These programsoftenworked beautifully, butthey could still go awry,particularly if circumstanceschanged drastically. Thentheywouldlosetheirgoals.

ThatwaswhyIbegan,fiveyearsago, tomodelpredator-preyrelationshipsasawaytokeep goals fixed. Becausehungry predators weren’tdistracted. Circumstancesmight force them toimprovise theirmethods; andthey might try many timesbefore they succeeded—buttheydidn’t losetrackof theirgoal.So I became an expert in

predator-prey relationships. Iknew about packs of hyenas,African hunting dogs,stalking lionesses, andattacking columns of armyants.Myteamhadstudiedtheliterature from the fieldbiologists, and we hadgeneralized those findingsintoaprogrammodulecalledPREDPREY,whichcouldbeusedtocontrolanysystemofagentsandmake itsbehavior

purposeful. To make theprogramseekagoal.

Looking at Ricky’s screen,the coordinated unitsmovingsmoothly as they turnedthrough the air, I said, “YouusedPREDPREYtoprogramyourindividualunits?”“Right. We used those

rules.”“Well, the behavior looks

pretty good to me,” I said,watchingthescreen.“Whyisthereaproblem?”“We’renotsure.”“Whatdoesthatmean?”“Itmeansweknowthere’s

aproblem,butwe’renotsurewhat’s causing it. Whetherthe problem is programming—orsomethingelse.”“Something else? Like

what?” I frowned. “I don’t

get it, Ricky. This is just aclusterofmicrobots.Youcanmakeitdowhatyouwant.Ifthe programming’s not right,you adjust it. What don’t Iunderstand?”Ricky looked at me

uneasily.Hepushedhischairaway from the table andstood.“Letmeshowyouhowwe manufacture theseagents,”hesaid.“Thenyou’llunderstand the situation

better.”

HavingwatchedJulia’sdemotape, I was immenselycurious to see what heshowed me next. Becausemany people I respectedthought molecularmanufacturing wasimpossible.Oneof themajortheoreticalobjectionswasthetime itwould take to build a

working molecule. To workat all, the nanoassembly linewould have to be far moreefficient than anythingpreviously known in humanmanufacturing. Basically, allman-madeassemblylinesranat roughly the same speed:they could add one part persecond. An automobile, forexample,hada few thousandparts. You could build a carin a matter of hours. A

commercial aircraft had sixmillion parts, and tookseveralmonthstobuild.Butatypicalmanufactured

molecule consisted of 1025parts. That was10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 parts.As a practical matter, thisnumber was unimaginablylarge. The human braincouldn’t comprehend it. Butcalculationsshowedthateven

if you could assemble at therate of a million parts persecond, the time to completeone molecule would still be3,000 trillion years—longerthan the known age of theuniverse. And that was aproblem.Itwasknownasthebuild-timeproblem.I said to Ricky, “If you’re

doing industrialmanufacturing…”

“Weare.”“Then you must have

solved the build-timeproblem.”“Wehave.”“How?”“Justwait.”Most scientists assumed

thisproblemwouldbesolvedby building from largersubunits,molecularfragmentsconsisting of billions of

atoms. That would cut theassembly time down to acouple of years. Then, withpartial self-assembly, youmight get the time down toseveral hours, perhaps evenone hour. But even withfurther refinements, itremained a theoreticalchallenge to producecommercial quantities ofproduct. Because the goalwas not to manufacture a

single molecule in an hour.Thegoalwas tomanufactureseveral pounds of moleculesinanhour.No one had ever figured

outhowtodothat.

We passed a couple oflaboratories, including onethat looked like a standardmicrobiology lab, or agenetics lab. I saw Mae

standinginthat lab,putteringaround.IstartedtoaskRickywhy he had a microbiologylab here, but he brushed myquestion aside. He wasimpatient now, in a hurry. Isawhimglance at hiswatch.Directly ahead was a finalglassairlock.Stenciledontheglass door wasMICROFABRICATION. Rickywaved me in. “One at atime,”hesaid.“That’sallthe

systemallows.”I stepped in. The doors

hissed shut behind me, thepressure pads again thunkingshut. Another blast of air:from below, from the sides,from above. By now I wasgettingusedtoit.Theseconddoor opened, and I walkedforward down another shortcorridor,opening intoa largeroom beyond. I saw bright,shiningwhitelight—sobright

ithurtmyeyes.Ricky came after me,

talking as we walked, but Idon’trememberwhathesaid.Icouldn’tfocusonhiswords.Ijuststared.BecausebynowI was inside the main fabbuilding—ahugewindowlessspace, like a giant hangarthreestorieshigh.Andwithinthis hangar stood a structureof immense complexity thatseemed to hang in midair,

glowinglikeajewel.

DAY69:12A.M.

At first, it was hard tounderstandwhatIwasseeing—it looked likeanenormousglowingoctopusrisingaboveme, with glinting, facetedarmsextendingoutwardinalldirections, throwing complexreflectionsandbandsofcolor

onto the outer walls. Exceptthis octopus had multiplelayersofarms.Onelayerwaslow, just a foot above thefloor.Asecondwasatchest-level; the third and fourthlayerswerehigher,abovemyhead. And they all glowed,sparkledbrilliantly.Iblinked,dazzled. Ibegan

to make out the details. Theoctopuswascontainedwithinan irregular three-story

framework built entirely ofmodular glass cubes. Floors,walls, ceilings, staircases—everythingwascubes.Butthearrangement was haphazard,as if someone had dumped amound of giant transparentsugar cubes in the center ofthe room.Within this clusterof cubes the arms of theoctopus snaked off in alldirections. The whole thingwas held up by a web of

black anodized struts andconnectors, but they wereobscured by the reflections,which is why the octopusseemedtohanginmidair.Ricky grinned.

“Convergent assembly. Thearchitecture is fractal. Neat,huh?”I nodded slowly. I was

seeing more details. What Ihad seen as an octopus was

actually a branching treestructure. A central squareconduitranverticallythroughthe center of the room, withsmaller pipes branching offon all sides. From thesebranches, even smaller pipesbranched off in turn, andsmaller ones still. Thesmallest of the pipes werepencil-thin. Everythinggleamed as if it weremirrored.

“Whyisitsobright?”“Theglasshasdiamondoid

coating,” he said. “At themolecular level, glass is likeSwiss cheese, full of holes.Andofcourseit’saliquid,soatoms just pass right throughit.”“Soyoucoattheglass.”“Right.Haveto.”Within this shining forest

ofbranchingglass,Davidand

Rosie moved, making notes,adjusting valves, consultinghandheld computers. IunderstoodthatIwaslookingat a massively parallelassembly line. Smallfragments of molecules wereintroduced into the smallestpipes, and atomswere addedto them. When that wasfinished, theymoved into thenext largest pipes, wheremore atoms were added. In

this way, molecules movedprogressively toward thecenter of the structure, untilassemblywascompleted,andtheyweredischargedintothecentralpipe.“Exactlyright,”Rickysaid.

“This is just the same as anautomobile assembly line,exceptthatit’sonamolecularscale. Molecules start at theends,andcomedownthelineto the center. We stick on a

protein sequence here, amethyl group there, just theway they stick doors andwheelsonacar.Attheendofthe line, off rolls a new,custom-made molecularstructure. Built to ourspecifications.”“Andthedifferentarms?”“Makedifferentmolecules.

That’s why the arms lookdifferent.” In several places,

the octopus arm passedthrough a steel tunnelreinforced with heavy bolts,for vacuum ducting. In otherplaces, a cube was coveredwithquilted silver insulation,and I saw liquid nitrogentanks nearby; extremely lowtemperatures were generatedinthatsection.“Those’re our cryogenic

rooms,” Ricky said. “Wedon’tgoverylow,maybe-70

Centigrade, max. Come on,I’ll show you.” He led methrough the complex,following glass walkwaysthatthreadedamongthearms.In some places, a shortstaircase enabled us to stepoverthelowestarms.Rickychattedcontinuously

about technical details:vacuum-jacketedhoses,metalphaseseparators,globecheckvalves.Whenwereached the

insulatedcube,heopenedtheheavy door to reveal a smallroom, with a second roomadjacent.Itlookedlikeapairof meat lockers. Small glasswindows were set in eachdoor. At the moment,everything was at roomtemperature. “You can havetwodifferent tempshere,”hesaid. “Run one from theother, if you want, but it’susuallyautomated.”

Rickyledmebackoutside,glancing at his watch as hedidso.Isaid,“Arewelateforanappointment?”“What? No, no. Nothing

like that.” Nearby two cubeswere actually solid metalrooms, with thick electricalcables running inside. I said,“Thoseyourmagnetrooms?”“That’s right,” Ricky said.

“We’ve got pulsed field

magnets generating 33 Teslain thecore.That’ssomethinglike a million times themagneticfieldoftheearth.”With a grunt, he pushed

open the steel door to thenearestmagnetroom.Isawalargedoughnut-shapedobject,about six feet in diameter,with a hole in the centerabout an inch wide. Thedoughnut was completelyencased in tubing and plastic

insulation. Heavy steel boltsrunning from top to bottomheldthejacketinginplace.“Lot of cooling for this

puppy, I can tell you.And alotofpower:fifteenkilovolts.Takesafull-minuteloadtimefor the capacitors. And ofcoursewecanonlypulseit.Ifwe turned itoncontinuously,it’dexplode—rippedapartbythe field it generates.” Hepointed to the base of the

magnet, where there was around push button at kneelevel. “That’s the safetycutoffthere,”hesaid.“Justincase.Hit itwithyourknee ifyourhandsarefull.”I said, “So you use high

magnetic fields to do part ofyourassemb—”But Ricky had already

turned and headed out thedoor, again glancing at his

watch.Ihurriedafterhim.“Ricky…”“Ihavemoretoshowyou,”

hesaid.“We’regettingtotheend.”“Ricky, this is all very

impressive,” I said, gesturingto the glowing arms. “Butmostofyourassemblylineisrunning at room temperature—no vacuum, no cryo, nomagfield.”

“Right. No specialconditions.”“Howisthatpossible?”He shrugged. “The

assemblersdon’tneedit.”“The assemblers?” I said.

“Are you telling me you’vegot molecular assemblers onthisline?”“Yes.Ofcourse.”“Assemblers are doing

yourfabricationforyou?”

“Of course. I thought youunderstoodthat.”“No, Ricky,” I said, “I

didn’t understand that at all.And I don’t like to be liedto.”Hegotawounded lookon

hisface.“I’mnotlying.”But I was certain that he

was.

One of the first things

scientists learned aboutmolecularmanufacturingwashowphenomenallydifficultitwas to carry out. In 1990,someIBMresearcherspushedxenon atoms around on anickelplateuntiltheyformedtheletters“IBM”intheshapeof the company logo. Theentire logo was one ten-billionth of an inch long andcouldonlybeseenthroughanelectron microscope. But it

made a striking visual and itgot a lot of publicity. IBMallowedpeopletothinkitwasa proof of concept, theopening of a door tomolecularmanufacturing.Butit was more of a stunt thananythingelse.Becausepushingindividual

atoms into a specificarrangement was slow,painstaking, and expensivework. It took the IBM

researchers a whole day tomove thirty-five atoms.Nobody believed you couldcreate a whole newtechnology in this way.Instead,mostpeoplebelievedthat nanoengineers wouldeventuallyfindawaytobuild“assemblers”—miniaturemolecular machines thatcould turn out specificmolecules the way a ball-bearing machine turned out

ball bearings. The newtechnology would rely onmolecular machines to makemolecularproducts.It was a nice concept, but

the practical problems weredaunting.Becauseassemblerswerevastlymorecomplicatedthan the molecules theymade,attempts todesignandbuild themhadbeendifficultfrom the outset. To myknowledge, no laboratory

anywhere in the world hadactually done it. But nowRicky was telling me, quitecasually, that Xymos couldbuild molecular assemblersthat were now turning outmoleculesforthecompany.AndIdidn’tbelievehim.Ihadworkedallmylifein

technology, and I haddevelopedafeelforwhatwaspossible. This kind of giant

leap forward just didn’thappen. It never did.Technologieswere a form ofknowledge, and like allknowledge, technologiesgrew, evolved, matured. Tobelieve otherwise was tobelieve that the Wrightbrothers could build a rocketandflytothemooninsteadofflyingthreehundredfeetoversanddunesatKittyHawk.Nanotechnology was still

attheKittyHawkstage.“Come on, Ricky,” I said.

“How are you really doingthis?”“The technical details

aren’tthatimportant,Jack.”“What fresh bullshit is

this? Of course they’reimportant.”“Jack,” he said, givingme

hismostwinning smile. “Doyou really think I’m lying to

you?”“Yes, Ricky,” I said. “I

do.”

I looked up at the octopusarms all around me.Surrounded by glass, I sawmy own reflection dozens oftimes in the surfaces aroundme. It was confusing,disorienting.Trying togathermy thoughts, I looked down

atmyfeet.And I noticed that even

thoughwe had beenwalkingon glass walkways, somesections of the ground floorwere glass, as well. Onesectionwasnearby. Iwalkedtowardit.ThroughtheglassIcould see steel ducting andpipes below ground level.One set of pipes caught myeye, because they ran fromthe storage room to a nearby

glass cube, at which pointthey emerged from the floorand headed upward,branching into the smallertubes.That, I assumed, was the

feedstock—the slush of raworganic material that wouldbe transformed on theassembly line into finishedmolecules.Looking back down at the

floor, I followed the pipesbackward to the place wherethey entered from theadjacent room. This junctionwasglass,too.Icouldseethecurved steel underbellies ofthe big kettles I’d noticedearlier. The tanks that I hadthoughtwereamicrobrewery.Because that’s certainlywhatit had looked like, a smallbrewery. Machinery forcontrolled fermentation, for

controlledmicrobialgrowth.AndthenIrealizedwhatit

reallywas.I said, “You son of a

bitch.”Ricky smiled again, and

shrugged. “Hey,” he said. “Itgetsthejobdone.”

Those kettles in the nextroom were indeed tanks forcontrolled microbial growth.

But Ricky wasn’t makingbeer—he was makingmicrobes,andIhadnodoubtaboutthereasonwhy.Unableto construct genuinenanoassemblers, Xymos wasusing bacteria to crank outtheir molecules. This wasgenetic engineering, notnanotechnology.“Well, not exactly,” Ricky

said,when I told himwhat Ithought. “But I admit we’re

using a hybrid technology.Notmuchofasurpriseinanycase,isit?”Thatwas true. For at least

tenyears,observershadbeenpredicting that geneticengineering, computerprogramming, andnanotechnology wouldeventuallymerge.Theywereall involved with similar—and interconnected—activities. There wasn’t that

much difference betweenusing a computer to decodepart of a bacterial genomeandusingacomputer tohelpyouinsertnewgenesintothebacteria, to make newproteins. And there wasn’tmuch difference betweencreatinganewbacteriatospitout, say, insulin molecules,and creating a man-made,micromechanical assemblerto spit out newmolecules. It

was all happening at themolecularlevel.Itwasallthesame challenge of imposinghuman design on extremelycomplex systems. Andmoleculardesignwasnothingifnotcomplicated.You could think of a

moleculeasaseriesofatomssnapped together like Legoblocks,oneafteranother.Butthe image was misleading.Because unlike a Lego set,

atoms couldn’t be snappedtogether in any arrangementyou liked. An inserted atomwassubject topowerful localforces—magnetic andchemical—with frequentlyundesirable results.Theatommight be kicked out of itsposition.Itmightremain,butatanawkwardangle.Itmightevenfold theentiremoleculeupinknots.As a result, molecular

manufacturing was anexercise in the art of thepossible, of substitutingatomsandgroupsofatomstomake equivalent structuresthat would work in thedesiredway.Inthefaceofallthis difficulty, it wasimpossible to ignore the factthat there already existedproven molecular factoriescapable of turning out largenumbers of molecules: they

werecalledcells.“Unfortunately, cellular

manufacturing can take usonlysofar,”Rickysaid.“Weharvest the substratemolecules—therawmaterials—andthenwebuildonthemwith nanoengineeringprocedures. Sowe do a littleofboth.”I pointed down at the

tanks. “What cells are you

growing?”“Theta-d5972,”hesaid.“Whichis?”“AstrainofE.coli.”E. coli was a common

bacterium,foundprettymucheverywhere in the naturalenvironment, even in thehuman intestine. I said, “Didanyonethinkitmightnotbeagoodideatousecellsthatcanliveinsidehumanbeings?”

“Not really,” he said.“Frankly that wasn’t aconsideration. We justwanted a well-studied cellthatwas fullydocumented inthe literature. We chose anindustrystandard.”“Uh-huh…”“Anyway,” Ricky

continued, “I don’t think it’sa problem, Jack. It won’tthrive in the human gut.

Theta-d is optimized for avariety of nutrient sources—to make it cheap to grow inthelaboratory.Infact,Ithinkitcanevengrowongarbage.”“So that’s how you get

your molecules. Bacteriamakethemforyou.”“Yes,”hesaid,“that’show

we get the primarymolecules. We harvesttwenty-seven primary

molecules. They fit togetherinrelativelyhigh-temperaturesettings where the atoms aremore active and mixquickly.”“That’s why it’s hot in

here?”“Yes. Reaction efficiency

hasamaximaatonehundredforty-seven degreesFahrenheit,soweworkthere.That’s where we get the

fastest combination rate. Butthesemoleculeswillcombineat much lower temperatures.Evenaroundthirty-five,fortydegreesFahrenheit,you’llgetacertainamountofmolecularcombination.”“Andyoudon’tneedother

conditions,”Isaid.“Vacuum?Pressure? High magneticfields?”Rickyshookhishead.“No,

Jack. We maintain thoseconditions to speed upassembly, but it’s not strictlynecessary. The design isreally elegant. Thecomponent molecules gotogetherquiteeasily.”“And these component

molecules combine to formyourfinalassembler?”“Whichthenassemblesthe

moleculeswewant.Yes.”

It was a clever solution,creating his assemblers withbacteria. But Ricky wastelling me the componentsassembled themselves almostautomatically, with nothingrequired but hightemperature.What, then,wasthis complex glass buildingusedfor?“Efficiency, and process

separation,” Ricky said. “Wecan build as many as nine

assemblerssimultaneously,inthedifferentarms.”“And where do the

assemblers make the finalmolecules?”“Inthissamestructure.But

first,wereapplythem.”I shookmy head. Iwasn’t

familiar with the term.“Reapply?”“It’s a little refinementwe

developed here. We’re

patenting it. You see, oursystemworkedperfectlyrightfromthestart—butouryieldswereextremelylow.Wewereharvesting half a gram offinished molecules an hour.At that rate, it would takeseveraldaystomakeasinglecamera. We couldn’t figureout what the problem was.Thelateassemblyinthearmsisdoneingasphase.Itturnedout that the molecular

assemblers were heavy, andtended to sink to the bottom.Thebacteriasettledonalayerabove them, releasingcomponent molecules thatwere lighter still, and floatedhigher. So the assemblerswere making very littlecontact with the moleculestheyweremeanttoassemble.Wetriedmixingtechnologiesbuttheydidn’thelp.”“Soyoudidwhat?”

“We modified theassemblerdesigntoprovidealipotrophic base that wouldattach to the surface of thebacteria. That brought theassemblersintobettercontactwith the componentmolecules, and immediatelyouryieldsjumpedfiveordersofmagnitude.”“Andnowyourassemblers

sitonthebacteria?”

“Correct. They attach totheoutercellmembrane.”At a nearby workstation,

Ricky punched up theassembler design on the flatpanel display. The assemblerlooked like a sort ofpinwheel, a series of spiralarms going off in differentdirections, and a dense knotof atoms in the center. “It’sfractal,asIsaid,”hesaid.“Soit looks sort of the same at

smallerordersofmagnitude.”He laughed. “Like the oldjoke, turtles all the waydown.” He pressed morekeys. “Anyway, here’s theattachedconfiguration.”The screen now showed

the assembler adhering to amuch larger pill-shapedobject, like a pinwheelattached to a submarine.“That’s the Theta-dbacterium,” Ricky said.

“Withtheassembleronit.”AsIwatched,severalmore

pinwheels attachedthemselves. “And theseassemblers make the actualcameraunits?”“Correct.”He typed again.

I saw a new image. “This isour target micromachine, thefinalcamera.You’veseenthebloodstream version. This isthePentagonversion, quite a

bit larger and designed to beairborne. What you’relooking at is a molecularhelicopter.”“Where’s the propeller?” I

said.“Hasn’t got one. The

machine uses those littleround protrusions you seethere, stuck in at angles.Those’re motors. Themachines actually maneuver

by climbing the viscosity oftheair.”“Climbingthewhat?”“Viscosity.Of theair.”He

smiled.“Micromachine level,remember? It’s a whole newworld,Jack.”

However innovative thedesign,Rickywasstillboundby the Pentagon’sengineering specs for the

product, and the productwasn’t performing.Yes, theyhad built a camera thatcouldn’tbeshotdown,andittransmittedimagesverywell.Ricky explained it workedperfectlyduringtestsindoors.But outside, even a modestbreezetendedtoblowitawaylikethecloudofdustitwas.The engineering team at

Xymos was attempting tomodify the units to increase

mobility, but so far withoutsuccess. Meanwhile theDepartment of Defensedecidedthedesignconstraintswere unbeatable, and hadbacked away from thewholenano concept; the Xymoscontract had been canceled;DOD was going to pullfundinginanothersixweeks.I said, “That’s why Julia

was so desperate for venturecapital, these last few

weeks?”“Right,” Ricky said.

“Frankly, this wholecompany could go belly upbeforeChristmas.”“Unless you fix the units,

sotheycanworkinwind.”“Right,right.”I said, “Ricky, I’m a

programmer.Ican’thelpyouwith your agent mobilityproblems. That’s an issue of

molecular design. It’sengineering. It’s not myarea.”“Um, I know that.” He

paused, frowned. “Butactually, we think theprogram code may beinvolvedinthesolution.”“Thecode?Involvedinthe

solutiontowhat?”“Jack, I have to be frank

with you. We’ve made a

mistake,” he said. “But it’snotour fault. I swear toyou.It wasn’t us. It was thecontractors.” He stood up.“Comeon,I’llshowyou.”

Walkingbriskly,heledmetothe far side of the facility,where I saw an open yellowelevatorcagemountedonthewall. Itwas a small elevator,and I was uncomfortable

becauseitwasopen;Iavertedmy eyes. Ricky said, “Don’tlikeheights?”“Can’tstandthem.”“Well, it’s better than

walking.” He pointed off tooneside,whereanironladderranupthewalltotheceiling.“When theelevatorgoesout,wehavetoclimbupthat.”Ishuddered.“Notme.”Werodetheelevatorallthe

way up to the ceiling, threestories above the ground.Hanging beneath the ceilingwas a tangle of ducts andconduits, and a network ofmesh walkways to enableworkers to service them. Ihated the mesh, because Icould see through it to thefloor farbelow. I triednot tolook down. We had to duckrepeatedly beneath the low-hangingpipes.Rickyshouted

over the roar of theequipment.“Everything’suphere!”he

yelled, pointing in variousdirections.“Airhandlersoverthere!Water tank for the firesprinkler system there!Electrical junction boxesthere!Thisisreallythecenterof everything!” Rickycontinueddownthewalkway,finally stopping beside a bigair vent, about three feet in

diameter, that went into theouterwall.“This is vent three,” he

said, leaningclosetomyear.“It’s one of four main ventsthat exhausts air to theoutside. Now, you see thoseslots along the vent, and thesquare boxes that sit in theslots? Those are filter packs.We have microfiltersarrangedinsuccessivelayers,to prevent any external

contamination from thefacility.”“Iseethem…”“You see them now,”

Ricky said. “Unfortunately,thecontractorforgottoinstallthe filters in this particularvent.Infact,theydidn’tevencut the slots, so the buildinginspectors never realizedanything was missing. Theysignedoffonthebuilding;we

startedworkinghere.Andwevented unfiltered air to theoutsideenvironment.”“Forhowlong?”Ricky bit his lip. “Three

weeks.”“And you were at full

production?”Henodded.“Wefigurewe

ventedapproximatelytwenty-fivekilosofcontaminants.”“And what were the

contaminants?”“A little of everything.

We’re not sure of exactlywhat.”“So you vented E. coli,

assemblers, finishedmolecules,everything?”“Correct. But we don’t

knowwhatproportions.”“Do the proportions

matter?”“Theymight.Yes.”

Ricky was increasinglyedgy as he told me all this,biting his lip, scratching hishead, avoiding my eyes. Ididn’tget it. In theannalsofindustrial pollution, fiftypoundsof contaminationwastrivial. Fifty pounds ofmaterial would fitcomfortably in a gym bag.Unless itwashighly toxicorradioactive—and it wasn’t—such a small quantity simply

didn’tmatter.I said, “Ricky, so what?

Thoseparticleswerescatteredby the wind across hundredsof miles of desert. They’lldecay from sunlight andcosmic radiation. They’llbreak up, decompose. In afew hours or days, they’regone.Right?”Rickyshrugged.“Actually,

Jack,that’snotwhat—”

Itwas at thatmoment thatthealarmwentoff.

It was a quiet alarm, just asoft, insistent pinging, but itmade Ricky jump. He randown the walkway, feetclangingonthemetal,towarda computer workstationmounted on the wall. Therewas a status window in thecorner of themonitor. Itwas

flashingred:PV-90ENTRY.

I said, “What does thatmean?”“Something set off the

perimeter alarms.” Heunclipped his radio and said,“vince,lockusdown.”Theradiocrackled.“We’re

lockeddown,Ricky.”“Raisepositivepressure.”“It’sup fivepoundsabove

baseline.Youwantmore?”

“No.Leaveitthere.Dowehavevisualization?”“Notyet.”“Shit.” Ricky stuck the

radiobackonhisbelt, begantyping quickly. Theworkstation screen dividedinto a half-dozen smallimagesfromsecuritycamerasmounted all around thefacility. Some showed thesurrounding desert fromhigh

views, looking down fromrooftops.Othersweregroundviews. The cameras pannedslowly.I saw nothing. Just desert

scrub and occasional clumpsofcactus.“Falsealarm?”Isaid.Ricky shook his head. “I

wish.”I said, “I don’t see

anything.”

“It’ll take aminute to findit.”“Findwhat?”“That.”Hepointed to themonitor,

andbithislip.

I sawwhat appeared to be asmall, swirling cloud of darkparticles.Itlookedlikeadustdevil, one of those tinytornado-like clusters that

movedover theground,spunby convection currents risingfrom the hot desert floor.Except that this cloud wasblack, and it had somedefinition—it seemed to bepinched in the middle,making it look a bit like anold-fashioned Coke bottle.But it didn’t hold that shapeconsistently. The appearancekeptshifting,transforming.“Ricky,” I said. “What are

welookingat?”“I was hoping you’d tell

me.”“It looks like an agent

swarm. Is that your cameraswarm?”“No.It’ssomethingelse.”“Howdoyouknow?”“Because we can’t control

it. It doesn’t respond to ourradiosignals.”

“You’vetried?”“Yes.We’ve tried tomake

contactwithitforalmosttwoweeks,” he said. “It’sgenerating an electrical fieldthatwe canmeasure, but forsomereasonwecan’tinteractwithit.”“So you have a runaway

swarm.”“Yes.”“Actingautonomously.”

“Yes.”“And this has been going

onfor…”“Days.Abouttendays.”“Ten days?” I frowned.

“Howisthatpossible,Ricky?The swarm’s a collection ofmicro-roboticmachines.Whyhaven’t they decayed, or runout of power? And whyexactly can’t you controlthem? Because if they have

the ability to swarm, thenthere’s some electricallymediated interaction amongthem. So you should be ableto take control of the swarm—oratleastdisruptit.”“All true,” Ricky said.

“Exceptwecan’t.Andwe’vetriedeverythingwecanthinkof.” He was focused on thescreen, watching intently.“Thatcloudisindependentofus.Period.”

“And so you brought meouthere…”“Tohelpusgetthefucking

thingback,”Rickysaid.

DAY69:32A.M.

It was, I thought, a problemno one had ever imaginedbefore. In all the years that Ihad been programmingagents,thefocushadbeenongetting them to interact in away that produced usefulresults. It never occurred to

usthattheremightbealargercontrolissue,oraquestionofindependence. Because itsimply couldn’t happen.Individual agents were toosmall to be self-powered;they had to get their energyfrom some external source,such as a supplied electricalor microwave field. All youhad to do was turn off thefield,andtheagentsdied.Theswarmwas nomore difficult

to control than a householdappliance, like a kitchenblender. Flip the power offanditwentdead.But Ricky was telling me

this cloud had been self-sustaining for days.That justdidn’tmakesense.“Whereisitgettingpower?”He sighed. “We built the

unitswithasmallpiezowaferto generate current from

photons. It’s onlysupplementary—we added itas an afterthought—but theyseem to bemanagingwith italone.”“So the units are solar-

powered,”Isaid.“Right.”“Whoseideawasthat?”“The Pentagon asked for

it.”“And you built in

capacitance?”“Yeah. They can store

chargeforthreehours.”“Okay, fine,” I said. Now

we were getting somewhere.“So they have enough powerforthreehours.Whathappensatnight?”“Atnight,theypresumably

lose power after three hoursofdarkness.”“And then the cloud falls

apart?”“Yes.”“And the individual units

droptotheground?”“Presumably,yes.”“Can’t you take control of

themthen?”“Wecould,”Rickysaid,“if

we could find them. We goout everynight, looking.Butwecanneverfindthem.”

“You’vebuiltinmarkers?”“Yes, sure. Every single

unithasafluorescingmodulein the shell. They show upblue-greenunderUVlight.”“So you go out at night

looking for a patch of desertthatglowsblue-green.”“Right. And so far, we

haven’tfoundit.”

That didn’t really surprise

me. If the cloud collapsedtightly,itwouldformaclumpabout six inches in diameteron the desert floor. And itwas a big desert out there.They could easily miss it,nightafternight.But as I thought about it,

therewas another aspect thatdidn’t make sense. Once thecloud fell to the ground—once the individual units lostpower—then the cloud had

no organization. It could bescattered by wind, like somany dust particles, never tore-form. But evidently thatdidn’t happen. The unitsdidn’t scatter. Instead, thecloud returned day after day.Whywasthat?“We think,” Ricky said,

“thatitmayhideatnight.”“Hide?”“Yeah.Wethinkitgoesto

some protected area, maybeanoverhang,orahole in theground,somethinglikethat.”Ipointed to thecloudas it

swirledtowardus.“Youthinkthat swarm is capable ofhiding?”“I think it’s capable of

adapting. In fact, I know itis.”Hesighed.“Anyway,it’smore than just one swarm,Jack.”

“There’smorethanone?”“There’s at least three.

Maybemore,bynow.”I felt a momentary

blankness, a kind of sleepygray confusion that washedoverme. I suddenly couldn’tthink, I couldn’t put ittogether. “What are yousaying?”“I’m saying it reproduces,

Jack,” he said. “The fucking

swarmreproduces.”

The camera now showed aground-levelviewofthedustcloudasitswirledtowardus.ButasIwatched,Irealizeditwasn’t swirling like a dustdevil. Instead, the particleswere twisting one way, thenanother, in a kind of sinuousmovement.They were definitely

swarming.“Swarming”wasatermfor

thebehaviorofcertain socialinsects like ants or bees,whichswarmedwheneverthehivemoved to a new site.Acloud of beeswill fly in onedirection and then another,forming a dark river in theair.Theswarmmighthaltandcling toa tree forperhapsanhour, perhaps overnight,before continuing onward.

Eventuallythebeessettledonanew location for theirhive,andstoppedswarming.In recent years,

programmers had writtenprograms that modeled thisinsect behavior. Swarm-intelligence algorithms hadbecome an important tool incomputer programming. Toprogrammers,aswarmmeanta population of computeragents that acted together to

solve a problem bydistributed intelligence.Swarming became a popularway to organize agents towork together. There wereprofessional organizationsand conferences devotedentirelytoswarm-intelligenceprograms. Lately it hadbecome a kind of defaultsolution—if you couldn’tcode anything moreinventive, you made your

agentsswarm.But as I watched, I could

see this cloud was notswarming in any ordinarysense.Thesinuousback-and-forth motion seemed to beonly part of its movement.There was also a rhythmicexpansion and contraction, apulse, almost like breathing.And intermittently, the cloudseemed to thin out, and risehigher,thentocollapsedown,

and become more squat.These changes occurredcontinuously, but in arepeatingrhythm—orratheraseries of superimposedrhythms.“Shit,”Rickysaid.“Idon’t

see the others. And I knowit’snotalone.”Hepressedtheradioagain.“Vince?Youseeanyothers?”“No,Ricky.”

“Where are the others?Guys?Speaktome.”Radios crackled all over

the facility.BobbyLembeck:“Ricky,it’salone.”“Itcan’tbealone.”Mae Chang: “Ricky,

nothingelseisregisteringoutthere.”“Just one swarm, Ricky.”

ThatwasDavidBrooks.“It can’t be alone!” Ricky

was gripping the radio sotightlyhisfingerswerewhite.He pressed the button.“Vince? Take the PPI up toseven.”“Yousure?”“Doit.”“Well, all right, if you

reallythink—”“Just skip the fucking

commentary,anddoit!”Ricky was talking about

increasing the positivepressureinsidethebuildingtosevenpoundspersquareinch.Allcleanfacilitiesmaintaineda positive pressure so thatoutside dust particles couldnotenter fromany leak; theywould be blown outward bythe escaping air. But one ortwo pounds was enough tomaintain that. Seven poundsofpositivepressurewasalot.It was unnecessary to keep

outpassiveparticles.But of course these

particlesweren’tpassive.

Watchingthecloudswirlandundulate as it came closer, Isaw that parts of itoccasionally caught thesunlight in away that turnedit a shimmering, iridescentsilver. Then the color faded,and the swarmbecame black

again. That had to be thepiezopanelscatchingthesun.But it clearly demonstratedthat the individualmicrounitswerehighlymobile,sincetheentire cloud never turnedsilver at the same time, butonlyportions,orbands.“I thought you said the

Pentagon was giving up onyou, because you couldn’tcontrolthisswarminwind.”

“Right.Wecouldn’t.”“But you must have had

strong wind in the last fewdays.”“Ofcourse.Usuallycomes

up in late afternoon.We hadtenknotsyesterday.”“Why wasn’t the swarm

blownaway?”“Because it’s figured that

one out,” Ricky saidgloomily.“It’sadaptedtoit.”

“How?”“Keep watching, you’ll

probablyseeit.Wheneverthewind gusts, the swarm sinks,hangs near the ground. Thenit rises up again once thewinddiesdown.”“This is emergent

behavior?”“Right. Nobody

programmed it.” He bit hislip.Washelyingagain?

“So you’re telling me it’slearned…”“Right,right.”“How can it learn? The

agentshavenomemory.”“Uh…well, that’s a long

story,”Rickysaid.“Theyhavememory?”“Yes, they have memory.

Limited. We built it in.”Ricky pressed the button onhis radio. “Anybody hear

anything?”The answers came back,

cracklinginhishandset.“Notyet.”“Nothing.”“Nosounds?”“Notyet.”I said to Ricky, “It makes

sounds?”“We’re not sure.

Sometimes it seems like it.

We’vebeentryingtorecordit…” He flicked keys on theworkstation, quickly shiftingthe monitor images, makingthem larger, one afteranother. He shook his head.“I don’t like this. That thingcan’t be alone,” he said. “Iwant to know where theothersare.”“How do you know there

areothers?”

“Because there alwaysare.” He chewed his liptensely as he looked at themonitor. “I wonder what it’suptonow…”We didn’t have long to

wait. In a few moments, theblackswarmhadcomewithina few yards of the building.Abruptly, it divided in two,and then divided again.Nowthere were three swarms,swirlingsidebyside.

“Son of a bitch,” Rickysaid.“Itwashidingtheothersinside itself.” He pushed hisbutton again. “Guys, we gotallthree.Andthey’reclose.”They were, in fact, too

close to be seen by theground-view camera. Rickyswitched to the overheadviews. I saw three blackclouds, all moving laterallyalongthesideofthebuilding.The behavior seemed

distinctlypurposeful.“What’re they trying to

do?”Isaid.“Getinside,”Rickysaid.“Why?”“You’d have to ask them.

Butyesterdayoneofthem—”Suddenly,fromaclumpof

cactus near the building, acottontail rabbit sprintedaway across the desert floor.Immediately, the three

swarmsturnedandpursuedit.Rickyswitchedthemonitor

view. We now watched atground level. The threeclouds converged on theterrified bunny, which wasmovingfast,awhitishbluronthe screen. The cloudsswirled after it withsurprising speed. Thebehaviorwasclear:theywerehunting.

I felt a moment ofirrational pride. PREDPREYwasworkingperfectly!Thoseswarms might as well belionesseschasingagazelle,sopurposeful was theirbehavior.The swarms turnedsharply, thensplitup,cuttingoff the rabbit’s escape to theleftandright.Thebehaviorofthe three clouds clearlyappeared coordinated. Nowtheywereclosingin.

And suddenly one of theswarmssankdown,engulfingthe rabbit. The other twoswarms fell on it momentslater. The resulting particlecloud was so dense, it washard to see the rabbitanymore. Apparently it hadflippedontoitsback,becauseI saw its hind legs kickingspasmodically in the air,abovetheclouditself.I said, “They’re killing it

…”“Yeah,” Ricky said,

nodding.“That’sright.”“I thought this was a

cameraswarm.”“Yeah,well.”“Howaretheykillingit?”“Wedon’tknow,Jack.But

it’sfast.”Ifrowned.“Soyou’veseen

thisbefore?”

Rickyhesitated,bithislip.Didn’tanswerme,juststaredatthescreen.Isaid,“Ricky,you’veseen

thisbefore?”He gave a long sigh.

“Yeah. Well, the first timewas yesterday. They killed arattlesnakeyesterday.”I thought, they killed a

rattlesnake yesterday. I said,“Jesus, Ricky.” I thought of

the men in the helicopter,talking about all the deadanimals. Iwondered ifRickywastellingmeallheknew.“Yeah.”The rabbit no longer

kicked. A single protrudingfoot trembled with smallconvulsions, and then wasstill.Thecloudswirledlowtothegroundaroundtheanimal,rising and falling slightly.

This continued for almost aminute.Isaid,“What’retheydoing

now?”Rickyshookhishead.“I’m not sure. But they didthisbefore,too.”“It almost looks like

they’reeatingit.”“Iknow,”Rickysaid.

Of course that was absurd.PREDPREY was just a

biological analogy. As Iwatched the pulsing cloud, itoccurred to me that thisbehavior might actuallyrepresent a program hang. Icouldn’t remember exactlywhatruleswehadwrittenforindividualunitsafterthegoalwas attained. Real predators,of course, would eat theirprey, but there was noanalogous behavior for thesemicro-robots. So perhaps the

cloud was just swirling inconfusion. If so, it shouldstartmovingagainsoon.Usually, when a

distributed-intelligenceprogram stalled, it was atemporary phenomenon.Sooner or later, randomenvironmental influenceswould cause enough units toact that they induced all theothers to act, too. Then theprogramwouldstartupagain.

Theunitswould resumegoalseeking.This behaviorwas roughly

what you saw in a lecturehall, after the lecture wasover. The audience milledaroundforawhile,stretching,talking to people close tothem, or greeting friends,collecting coats andbelongings. Only a fewpeople left at once, and themain crowd ignored them.

Butafteracertainpercentageoftheaudiencehadgone,theremaining peoplewould stopmilling and begin to leavequickly. It was a kind offocuschange.IfIwasright,thenIshould

see something similar in thebehavior of the cloud. Theswirls should lose theircoordinatedappearance;thereshould be ragged wisps ofparticles rising into the air.

Only then would the maincloudmove.I glanced at the timeclock

in the corner of themonitor.“Howlonghasitbeennow?”“Abouttwominutes.”That wasn’t particularly

long fora stall, I thought.Atone point when we werewritingPREDPREY,weusedthe computer to simulatecoordinated agent behavior.

We always restarted after ahang, but finally we decidedtowaitandseeiftheprogramwas really permanentlystalled. We found that theprogram might hang for aslong as twelve hours beforesuddenly kicking off, andcomingback to life again. Infact, that behavior interestedtheneuroscientistsbecause—“They’re starting,” Ricky

said.

And they were. Theswarms were beginning toriseupfromthedeadrabbit.Isaw at once that my theorywas wrong. There was noraggedness, no rising wisps.The three clouds rose uptogether, smoothly. Thebehavior seemed entirelynonrandom and controlled.Thecloudsswirledseparatelyfor a moment, then mergedinto one. Sunlight flashed on

shimmeringsilver.Therabbitlaymotionlessonitsside.Andthentheswarmmoved

swiftly away, whooshing offinto the desert. It shranktoward the horizon. Inmoments,itwasgone.Ricky was watching me.

“Whatdoyouthink?”“You’ve got a breakaway

robotic nanoswarm. Thatsomeidiotmadeself-powered

andself-sustaining.”“You think we can get it

back?”“No,” I said. “From what

I’ve seen, there’s not achanceinhell.”Ricky sighed, and shook

hishead.“But you can certainly get

ridofit,”Isaid.“Youcankillit.”“Wecan?”

“Absolutely.”“Really?” His face

brightened.“Absolutely.”AndImeant

it.IwasconvincedthatRickywas overstating the problemhefaced.Hehadn’tthoughtitthrough. He hadn’t done allhecoulddo.IwasconfidentthatIcould

destroy the runaway swarmquickly.IexpectedthatI’dbe

donewiththewholebusinessby dawn tomorrow—at theverylatest.That was how little I

understoodmyadversary.

DAY610:11A.M.

In retrospect, I was rightaboutonething:itwasvitallyimportant to know how therabbit had died. Of course Iknow the reason now. I alsoknow why the rabbit wasattacked.But that firstdayatthe laboratory, I didn’t have

the faintest notion of whathad happened. And I couldneverhaveguessedthetruth.None of us could have, at

thatpoint.NotevenRicky.NotevenJulia.

It was ten minutes after theswarms had gone and wewere all standing in thestorage room. The whole

group had gathered there,tense and anxious. Theywatched me as I clipped aradio transmitter to my belt,andpulledaheadsetovermyhead.Theheadset included avideo camera, mounted bymyleftear.Ittookawhiletoget the video transmitterworkingright.Ricky said, “You’re really

goingoutthere?”

“I am,” I said. “I want toknow what happened to thatrabbit.”Iturnedtotheothers.“Who’scomingwithme?”Nobody moved. Bobby

Lembeck stared at the floor,hands in his pockets. DavidBrooks blinked rapidly, andlooked away. Ricky wasinspecting his fingernails. Icaught Rosie Castro’s eye.She shook her head. “Nofuckingway,Jack.”

“Whynot,Rosie?”“You saw it yourself.

They’rehunting.”“Arethey?”“Sure as hell looked like

it.”“Rosie,” I said, “I trained

youbetterthanthis.Howcantheswarmsbehunting?”“Weall saw it.”She stuck

her chin out stubbornly. “Allthreeof theswarms,hunting,

coordinated.”“Buthow?”Isaid.Now she frowned, looking

confused. “What are youasking? There’s no mystery.Theagentscancommunicate.They can each generate anelectricalsignal.”“Right,”Isaid.“Howbiga

signal?”“Well…”Sheshrugged.“How big, Rosie? It can’t

be much, the agent is onlyfive hundredths of thethickness of a human hair.Can’t be generatingmuch ofasignal,right?”“True…”“And electromagnetic

radiationdecaysaccording tothe square of the radius,right?” Every school kidlearned that fact in highschool physics. As you

moved away from theelectromagnetic source, thestrength faded fast—veryfast.And what that meant was

the individual agents couldonly communicate with theirimmediate neighbors, withagents very close to them.Not to other swarms twentyorthirtyyardsaway.Rosie’s frown deepened.

The whole group wasfrowning now, looking ateachotheruneasily.David Brooks coughed.

“Then what did we see,Jack?”“You saw an illusion,” I

said firmly. “You saw threeswarmsactingindependently,and you thought they werecoordinated. But they’re not.And I’m pretty certain that

other things you believeabout these swarms aren’ttrue,either.”

There was a lot I didn’tunderstand about the swarms—andalotIdidn’tbelieve.Ididn’t believe, for example,that the swarms werereproducing. I thought Rickyand theothersmustbeprettyunnerved even to imagine it.

After all, the fifty pounds ofmaterial they’d exhaustedinto the environment couldeasily account for the threeswarms I had seen—anddozens more besides. (I wasguessing that each swarmconsisted of three pounds ofnanoparticles. That wasroughly theweightofa largebeeswarm.)As for the fact that these

swarms showed purposeful

behavior, thatwas not in theleast troubling; it was theintended result of low-levelprogramming. And I didn’tbelieve the swarms werecoordinated. It simplywasn’tpossible, because the fieldsweretooweak.Nor did I believe the

swarms had the adaptivepowers that Ricky attributedto them. I’d seen too manydemos of robots carrying out

some task—like cooperatingto push a box around theroom—whichwasinterpretedby observers as intelligentbehavior, when in fact therobotswerestupid,minimallyprogrammed,andcooperatingbyaccident.Alotofbehaviorlooked smarter than it was.(As Charley Davenport usedto say, “Ricky should thankGodforthat.”)And finally, I didn’t really

believe that the swarmsweredangerous. Ididn’t think thata three-pound cloud ofnanoparticles could representmuchofa threat toanything,notevena rabbit. Iwasn’tatall sure it had been killed. Iseemed to recall that rabbitswerenervouscreatures,proneto die of fright. Or thepursuingparticlesmighthaveswarmed in through the noseand mouth, blocking the

respiratory passages andchoking the animal to death.If so, the death wasaccidental, not purposeful.Accidental death made moresensetome.In short, I thought that

Ricky and the others hadconsistently misinterpretedwhat they saw. They’dspookedthemselves.Ontheotherhand,Ihadto

admit that severalunansweredquestionsnaggedatme.The first, and most

obvious,waswhy the swarmhadescapedtheircontrol.Theoriginal camera swarm wasdesigned to be controlled byan RF transmitter beamingtowardit.Nowapparentlytheswarm ignored transmittedradiocommands,andIdidn’tunderstand why. I suspected

an error in manufacturing.The particles had probablybeenmadeincorrectly.Secondwasthequestionof

the swarm’s longevity. Theindividual particles wereextremely small, subject todamage from cosmic rays,photochemical decay,dehydration of their proteinchains, and otherenvironmental factors. In theharsh desert, all the swarms

shouldhaveshriveledupanddied of “old age”manydaysago. But they hadn’t. Whynot?Third, there was the

problem of the swarm’sapparent goal. According toRicky, the swarms keptcoming back to the mainbuilding.Rickybelievedtheyweretryingtogetinside.Butthat didn’t seem to be areasonable agent goal, and I

wantedtolookattheprogramcodetoseewhatwascausingit.Frankly, Isuspectedabuginthecode.And finally, I wanted to

know why they had pursuedthe rabbit. BecausePREDPREY didn’t programunits to become literalpredators. It merely used apredator model to keep theagents focused and goal-oriented. Somehow, that had

changed,andtheswarmsnowappeared to be actuallyhunting.That, too, was probably a

buginthecode.To my mind, all these

uncertaintiescamedowntoasingle,centralquestion—howhad the rabbit died? I didn’tthink it had been killed. Isuspected the rabbit’s deathwas accidental, not

purposeful.Butweneededtofindout.

I adjusted my portable radioheadset, with the sunglassesand the video cameramounted by the left eye. Ipicked up the plastic bag forthe rabbit’s body and turnedto the others. “Anybodycomingwithme?”There was an

uncomfortablesilence.Ricky said, “What’s the

bagfor?”“To bring the rabbit back

in.”“No fucking way,” Ricky

said. “You want to go outthere, that’s your business.But you’re not bringing thatrabbitbackhere.”“You’ve got to be

kidding,”Isaid.

“I’m not. We run a level-six clean environment here,Jack. That rabbit’s filthy.Can’tcomein.”“All right, then, we can

storeitinMae’slaband—”“Noway, Jack. Sorry. It’s

not coming through the firstairlock.”Ilookedattheothers.They

were all nodding their headsinagreement.

“All right, then. I’llexamineitoutthere.”“You’re reallygoing togo

out?”“Why not?” I looked at

them, one after another. “Ihave to tellyouguys, I thinkyou’ve all got your knickersin a twist. The cloud’s notdangerous. And yes, I’mgoing out.” I turned toMae.“Doyouhaveadissectionkit

ofsomekindthat—”“I’ll come with you,” she

saidquietly.“Okay. Thanks.” I was

surprised that Mae was thefirst to come around to mywayofseeingthings.Butasafield biologist, she wasprobably better than theothersatassessingreal-worldrisk.Inanycase,herdecisionseemedtobreaksometension

intheroom;theothersvisiblyrelaxed.Maewent off to getthedissectingtoolsandsomelab equipment. That waswhen the phone rang. Vinceansweredit,andturnedtome.“YouknowsomebodynamedDr.EllenForman?”“Yes.”Itwasmysister.“She’s on the line.”Vince

handed me the phone, andstepped back. I felt suddenly

nervous. I glanced at mywatch. It was eleven o’clockin the morning, time forAmanda’s morning nap. Sheshould be asleep in her cribbynow.ThenIrememberedIhad promised my sister Iwould call her at eleven tocheck in, to see how thingsweregoing.I said, “Hello? Ellen? Is

everythingallright?”

“Sure. Fine.”A long, longsigh. “It’s fine. I don’t knowhowyoudoit,isall.”“Tired?”“AboutastiredasI’veever

felt.”“Kids get off to school

okay?”Another sigh. “Yes. In the

car, Eric hit Nicole on theback, and she punched himontheear.”

“You’ve got to interruptthemiftheystartthat,Ellen.”“SoI’mlearning,”shesaid

wearily.“Andthebaby?How’sher

rash?”“Better. I’m using the

ointment.”“Hermovementsokay?”“Sure. She’s well

coordinated for her age. Isthere a problem I should

knowabout?”“No, no,” I said. I turned

awayfromthegroup,loweredmy voice. “I meant, is shepoopingokay?”Behindme,IheardCharley

Davenportsnicker.“Copiously,” Ellen said.

“She’s sleeping now. I tookher to the park for a while.She was ready to go down.Everything’s okay at the

house.Exceptthepilotforthewaterheaterwentout,buttheguy’scomingtofixit.”“Good, good … Listen,

Ellen, I’m in the middle ofsomethinghere—”“Jack? Julia called from

the hospital a few minutesago. She was looking foryou.”“Uh-huh…”“WhenIsaidyou’dgoneto

Nevada,shegotprettyupset.”“Isthatright?”“She said you didn’t

understand. And you weregoing to make it worse.Something like that. I thinkyou better call her. Shesoundedagitated.”“Okay.I’llcall.”“Howare thingsgoingout

there?Youbebacktonight?”“Not tonight,” I said.

“Sometime tomorrowmorning. Ellen, I have to gonow—”“Call the kids at

dinnertime, if you can.They’dliketohearfromyou.AuntieEllenisfine,butshe’snot Dad. You know what Imean.”“Okay.You’lleatatsix?”“About.”I told her I’d try to call,

andIhungup.

Mae and I were standing bythe double glasswalls of theouter airlock, just inside thebuildingentrance.Beyondtheglass, I could see the solid-steel fire door that ledoutside. Ricky was standingbeside us, gloomy andnervous, watching as wemadeourfinalpreparations.

“You sure this isnecessary?Togooutside?”“It’sessential.”“Why don’t you and Mae

wait until nightfall, and gooutthen?”“Because the rabbit won’t

be there,” I said. “Bynightfall, coyotes or hawkswillhavecomeandtakenthecarcassaway.”“I don’t know about that,”

Rickysaid.“Wehaven’tseenanycoyotesaroundhereforawhile.”“Oh hell,” I said

impatiently, turning on myradio headset. “In the timewe’ve spent arguing aboutthis,we could have been outand back already. See you,Ricky.”I went through the glass

door,andstoodintheairlock.

The door hissed shut behindme. The air handlerswhooshedbrieflyinthenow-familiar pattern, and then thefar glass slid open. I walkedtoward the steel fire door.Looking back, I saw Maesteppingintotheairlock.I opened the fire door a

crack.Harsh,glaringsunlightlaid a burning strip on thefloor. I felt hot air on myface. Over the intercom,

Ricky said, “Good luck,guys.”I tookabreath,pushedthe

door wider, and stepped outintothedesert.

The wind had dropped, andthe midmorning heat wasstifling. Somewhere a birdchittered; otherwise it wassilent.Standingbythedoor,Isquinted in the glare of the

sunlight. A shiver ran downmyback.Itookanotherdeepbreath.I was certain that the

swarms were not dangerous.But now that I was outside,my theoretical inferencesseemed to lose force. I musthave caught Ricky’s tension,because I was feelingdistinctly uneasy.Now that Iwas outside, the rabbitcarcass looked much farther

away than I had imagined. Itwas perhaps fifty yards fromthedoor,half the lengthof afootball field. Thesurrounding desert seemedbarrenandexposed.Iscannedthe shimmering horizon,looking for black shapes. Isawnone.The fire door opened

behind me, and Mae said,“Readywhenyouare,Jack.”

“Thenlet’sdoit.”We set off toward the

rabbit, feet crunching on thedesertsand.Wemovedawayfrom the building. Almostimmediately,my heart beganto pound, and I started tosweat. I forced myself tobreathe deeply and slowly,working to stay calm. Thesun was hot on my face. Iknew I had let Ricky spookme, but I couldn’t seem to

helpit.Ikeptglancingtowardthehorizon.Maewasacoupleof steps

behind me. I said, “How’reyoudoing?”“I’ll be glad when it’s

over.”Weweremovingthrougha

field of knee-high yellowcholla cactus. Their spinescaught the sun. Here andthere, a large barrel cactus

stuckupfromthefloorlikeabristlinggreenthumb.Some small, silent birds

hopped on the ground,beneath the cholla. As weapproached, they took to theair, wheeling specks againstthe blue. They landed ahundredyardsaway.At last we came to the

rabbit, surrounded by abuzzingblackcloud.Startled,

Ihesitatedastep.“It’s just flies,” Mae said.

She moved forward andcrouched down beside thecarcass, ignoring the flies.Shepulledonapairofrubbergloves,andhandedmeapairtoputon.Sheplacedasquaresheetofplasticontheground,securingitwitharockateachcorner. She lifted the rabbitand set it down in the centeroftheplastic.Sheunzippeda

littledissectionkitandlaiditopen. I saw steel instrumentsglinting in sunlight: forceps,scalpel, several kinds ofscissors. She also laid out asyringe and several rubber-topped test tubes in a row.Her movements were quick,practiced. She had done thisbefore.I crouched down beside

her.Thecarcasshadnoodor.ExternallyIcouldseenosign

ofwhathadcausedthedeath.The staring eye looked pinkandhealthy.Mae said, “Bobby? Are

yourecordingme?”Over the headset, I heard

Bobby Lembeck say, “Moveyourcameradown.”Mae touched the camera

mountedonhersunglasses.“Littlemore… littlemore

…Good.That’senough.”

“Okay,” Mae said. Sheturned the rabbit’sbodyoverin her hands, inspecting itfrom all sides. She dictatedswiftly: “On externalexamination the animalappears entirely normal.Thereisnosignofcongenitalanomalyordisease,thefuristhick and healthy inappearance. The nasalpassages appear partially orentirelyblocked. Inote some

fecalmaterial excreted at theanus but presume that isnormalevacuationatthetimeofdeath.”Sheflippedtheanimalonto

its back and held theforepaws apart with herhands. “I need you, Jack.”She wanted me to hold thepawsforher.Thecarcasswasstillwarmandhadnotbeguntostiffen.

She took the scalpel andswiftlycutdowntheexposedmidsection. A red gashopened; blood flowed. I sawbones of the rib cage, andpinkishcoilsofintestine.Maespoke continuously as shecut, noting the tissue colorand texture. She said to me“Holdhere,”andImovedmyonehanddown,toholdasidethe slick intestine. With asingle stroke of the scalpel

she sliced open the stomach.Muddy green liquid spilledout, and somepulpymaterialthat seemed to be undigestedfiber. The inner wall of thestomachappearedroughened,butMaesaidthatwasnormal.She ran her finger expertlyaroundthestomachwall,thenpaused.“Umm. Look there,” she

said.

“What?”“There.” She pointed. In

several places the stomachwasreddish,bleedingslightlyasifithadbeenrubbedraw.Isaw black patches in themidstofthebleeding.“That’snot normal,” Mae said.“That’spathology.”She tooka magnifying glass andpeered closer, then dictated:“I observe dark areasapproximately four to eight

millimeters in diameter,which I presume to beclusters of nanoparticlespresent in the stomachlining,” she said. “Theseclusters are found inassociation with mildbleedingofthevillouswall.”“Therearenanoparticlesin

the stomach?” I said. “Howdid they get there? Did therabbit eat them? Swallowtheminvoluntarily?”

“Idoubtit.Iwouldassumetheyenteredactively.”Ifrowned.“Youmeanthey

crawleddownthe—”“Esophagus.Yes.At least,

Ithinkso.”“Whywouldtheydothat?”“Idon’tknow.”She never paused in her

swift dissection. She tookscissors and cut upwardthrough the breastbone, then

pushedtheribcageopenwithher fingers. “Hold here.” Imovedmy hands to hold theribs open as she had done.The edges of bone weresharp.Withmyotherhand, Iheld thehind legsopen.Maeworkedbetweenmyhands.“The lungs are bright pink

and firm, normalappearance.”Shecutonelobewith the scalpel, then again,and again. Finally she

exposed the bronchial tube,and cut it open. It was darkblackontheinside.“Bronchi show heavy

infestationwithnanoparticlesconsistent with inhalation ofswarm elements,” she said,dictating. “You getting this,Bobby?”“Getting it all. Video

resolutionisgood.”She continued to cut

upward. “Following thebronchial tree toward thethroat…”Andshecontinuedcutting,

intothethroat,andthenfromthe nose back across thecheek, then opening themouth… I had to turn awayfor a moment. But shecontinued calmly to dictate.“I am observing heavyinfiltration of all the nasalpassagesandpharynx.Thisis

suggestive of partial or fullairway obstruction, which inturnmayindicatethecauseofdeath.”Ilookedback.“What?”The rabbit’s head was

hardly recognizable anylonger, she had cut the jawfree and was now peeringdownthethroat.“Havealookforyourself,”shesaid,“thereseems to be dense particles

closing the pharynx, and aresponsethatlookssomethinglikeanallergicreactionor—”ThenRicky:“Say,areyou

guys going to stay outmuchlonger?”“As long as it takes,” I

said. I turned toMae. “Whatkindofallergicreaction?”“Well,” she said, “you see

this area of tissue, and howswollenitis,andyouseehow

it’s turned gray, which issuggestive—”“You realize,” Ricky said,

“that you’ve been out therefourminutesalready.”“We’re only out here

because we can’t bring therabbitback,”Isaid.“That’sright,youcan’t.”Maewas shakingherhead

asshelistenedtothis.“Ricky,you’renothelpinghere…”

Bobby said, “Don’t shakeyour head, Mae. You’removing the camera back andforth.”“Sorry.”But I saw her raise her

head, as if she was lookingtowardthehorizon,andwhileshe did so, she uncorked atesttubeandslippedasliceofstomach lining into theglass.Sheputitinherpocket.Then

looked back down. No onewatching the video wouldhave seen what she did. Shesaid, “All right, we’ll takebloodsamplesnow.”“Blood’s all you’re

bringing in here, guys,”Rickysaid.“Yes,Ricky.Weknow.”Mae reached for the

syringe,stuck theneedle intoan artery, drew a blood

sample, expelled it into aplastic tube, popped theneedleoffone-handed,putonanother, and drew a secondsamplefromavein.Herpaceneverslowed.I said, “I have the feeling

you’vedonethisbefore.”“This is nothing. In

Sichuan, we were alwaysworking in heavysnowstorms, you can’t see

what you’re doing, yourhands are freezing, theanimal’s frozen solid, can’tgetaneedlein…”Shesetthetubes of blood aside. “Nowwe will just take a fewcultures, andwe’re done…”She flipped over her case,looked.“Oh,badluck.”“What’sthat?”Isaid.“The culture swabs aren’t

here.”

“But you had theminside?”“Yes,I’msureofit.”I said,“Ricky,yousee the

swabsanywhere?”“Yes.They’rerighthereby

theairlock.”“You want to bring them

outtous?”“Oh sure, guys.” He

laughed harshly. “No wayI’m going out there in

daylight.Youwant ‘em, youcomeget‘em.”Maesaidtome,“Youwant

togo?”“No,”Isaid.Iwasalready

holding the animal open;myhands were in position. “I’llwaithere.Yougo.”“Okay.” She got to her

feet. “Try and keep the fliesoff.Wedon’twantanymorecontaminationthannecessary.

I’ll be back in a moment.”Shemoved off at a light jogtowardthedoor.I heard her footsteps fade,

then the clang of the metaldoor shutting behind her.Thensilence.Attractedbytheslit-open carcass, the fliescame back in force, buzzingaround my head, trying toland on the exposed guts. Ireleasedtherabbit’shindlegsand swatted the flies away

with one hand. I keptmyselfbusy with the flies, so Iwouldn’t thinkabout the factthatIwasaloneouthere.I kept glancing off in the

distance, but I never sawanything. I kept brushingaway the flies, andoccasionally my handtouched against the rabbit’sfur, and that was when Inoticed that beneath the fur,theskinwasbrightred.

Bright red—exactly like abad sunburn. Just seeing itmademeshiver.I spoke into my headset.

“Bobby?”Crackle.“Yes,Jack.”“Canyouseetherabbit?”“Yes,Jack.”“Youseetherednessofthe

skin? Are you picking thatup?”

“Uh,justaminute.”Ihearda softwhirrbymy

temple. Bobby wascontrolling the cameraremotely, zooming in. Thewhirringstopped.I said, “Can you see this?

Throughmycamera?”Therewasnoanswer.“Bobby?”Iheardmurmurs,whispers.

Ormaybeitwasstatic.

“Bobby,areyouthere?”Silence.Iheardbreathing.“Uh, Jack?” Now it was

the voice of David Brooks.“Youbettergoin.”“Mae hasn’t come back

yet.Whereisshe?”“Mae’sinside.”“Well,Ihavetowait,she’s

goingtodocultures—”“No.Comeinnow,Jack.”

I let go of the rabbit, andgot to my feet. I lookedaround, scanned the horizon.“Idon’tseeanything.”“They’re on the other side

ofthebuilding,Jack.”His voice was calm, but I

feltachill.“Theyare?”“Comeinsidenow,Jack.”I bent over, picked up

Mae’ssamples,herdissectionkit lying beside the rabbit

carcass. The black leather ofthekitwashotfromthesun.“Jack?”“Justaminute…”“Jack. Stop fucking

around.”I started toward the steel

door. My feet crunching onthe desert floor. I didn’t seeanythingatall.ButIheardsomething.

It was a peculiar low,thrumming sound. At first Ithought I was hearingmachinery,butthesoundroseand fell, pulsing like aheartbeat. Other beats weresuperimposed, along withsomekindofhissing,creatinga strange, unworldly quality—likenothingI’deverheard.When I look back on it

now, I think that more thananything else, it was the

soundthatmademeafraid.

I walked faster. I said,“Wherearethey?”“Coming.”“Where?”“Jack?Youbetterrun.”“What?”“Run.”I still couldn’t see

anything, but the sound was

building in intensity. I brokeinto a jog. The frequency ofthesoundwassolow,Ifeltitas a vibration in my body.But I could hear it, too. Thethumping,irregularpulse.“Run,Jack.”Ithought,Fuckit.AndIran.

Swirling and glinting silver,the first swarm came around

the corner of the building.The hissing vibration wascoming from the cloud.Sliding along the side of thebuilding, it moved towardme. It would reach the doorlongbeforeIcould.I looked back to see a

second swarm as it camearound the far end of thebuilding. It, too, movedtowardme.

The headset crackled. Iheard David Brooks: “Jack,youcan’tmakeit.”“I see that,” I said. The

first swarm had alreadyreached the door, and wasstanding in front of it,blocking my way. I stopped,uncertainwhat todo.Isawastickonthegroundinfrontofme,abigone,fourfeetlong.Ipickeditup,swungitinmyhand.

Theswarmpulsed,butdidnotmovefromthedoor.Thesecondswarmwasstill

comingtowardme.Itwastimeforadiversion.

I was familiar with thePREDPREYcode.Iknewtheswarmswere programmed topursuemovingtargetsif theyseemed to be fleeing fromthem. What would make agoodtarget?

I cocked my arm, andthrewtheblackdissectionkithigh into the air, in thegeneral direction of thesecondswarm.Thekitlandedon edge, and tumbled acrossthegroundforamoment.Immediately, the second

swarmbegantogoafterit.At the same moment, the

firstswarmmovedawayfromthe door, also pursuing the

kit. It was just like a dogchasing a ball. I felt amoment of elation as Iwatched it go. It was, afterall, just a programmedswarm. I thought: This ischild’splay. Ihurried towardthedoor.That was a mistake.

Because apparentlymy hastymovement triggered theswarm, which immediatelystopped, and swirled

backward to the door again,blocking my path. There itremained, pulsing streaks ofsilver,likeabladeglintinginthesun.Blockingmypath.It took me a moment to

realize the significance ofthat. My movement hadn’ttriggeredtheswarmtopursueme.Theswarmhadn’tchasedme at all. Instead it had

moved to block my way. Itwas anticipating mymovement.That wasn’t in the code.

The swarm was inventingnew behavior, appropriate tothe situation. Instead ofpursuing me, it had fallenbackandtrappedme.It had gone beyond its

programming—way beyond.I couldn’t see how that had

happened. I thought it mustbe some kind of randomreinforcement. Because theindividual particles had verylittle memory. Theintelligenceoftheswarmwasnecessarily limited. Itshouldn’t be that difficult tooutsmartit.I tried to feint to the left,

thentheright.Thecloudwentwith me, but only for amoment. Then it dropped

back to thedoor again.As ifitknewthatmygoalwas thedoor, and by staying there itwouldsucceed.That was far too clever.

There had to be additionalprogrammingtheyhadn’ttoldme about. I said into theheadset, “What the hell haveyou guys done with thesethings?”David:“It’snotgoingtolet

yougetpast,Jack.”Just hearing him say that

irritated me. “You think so?We’llsee.”Becausemy next stepwas

obvious.Close to the groundlike this, the swarm wasstructurallyvulnerable.Itwasaclusterofparticlesnolargerthan specks of dust. If Idisrupted the cluster—if Ibroke up its structure—then

the particles would have toreorganizethemselves,justasa scattered flock of birdswouldre-formintheair.Thatwould take at least a fewseconds. And in that time Iwouldbe able toget throughthedoor.But how to disrupt it? I

swung the stick in my hand,hearingitwhooshthroughtheair, but it was clearlyunsatisfactory. I needed

something with a muchbigger flat surface, like apaddle or a palm frond—something to create a largedisruptingwind…My mind was racing. I

neededsomething.Something.Behind me, the second

cloud was closing in. Itmoved toward me in anerratic zigzag pattern, to cut

offanyattemptImightmaketorunpast it. Iwatchedwitha kind of horrifiedfascination. I knew that this,too,hadneverbeencoded inthe program. This was self-organized,emergentbehavior—and its purpose was onlytooclear.Itwasstalkingme.The pulsing sound grew

louder as the swarm camecloserandcloser.

Ihadtodisruptit.Turning in a circle, I

looked at the ground allaround me. I saw nothing Icoulduse.Thenearestjunipertree was too far away. Thechollacactuseswereflimsy.Ithought, of course there’snothing out here, it’s thefucking desert. I scanned theexterior of the building,hoping someone had left outanimplement,likearake…

Nothing.Nothing at all. I was out

herewithnothingbuttheshirton my back, and there wasnobodythatcouldhelpmeto—Ofcourse!The headset crackled:

“Jack,listen…”ButIdidn’thearanymore

afterthat.AsIpulledmyshirtover my head, the headset

came away, falling to theground.Andthen,holdingtheshirtinmyhand,Iswungitinbroad whooshing arcsthrough the air. Andscreaming like a banshee, Icharged the swarm by thedoor.

The swarm vibrated with adeep thrumming sound. Itflattened slightly as I ran

toward it, and then I was inthemidstoftheparticles,andplunged into an oddsemidarkness, likebeing in adust storm. I couldn’t seeanything—I couldn’t see thedoor—I groped blindly forthe doorknob—and my eyesstungfromtheparticles,butIkept swinging my shirt inbroadwhooshingarcs,andinamomentthedarknessbeganto fade. I was dispersing the

cloud, sending particlesspinningoff in all directions.My vision was clearing, andmy breathing was still okay,thoughmythroatfeltdryandpainful. I began to feelthousands of tiny pinpricksall over my body, but theyhardlyhurt.Now I could see the door

infrontofme.Thedoorknobwas just to my left. I keptswinging my shirt, and

suddenlythecloudseemedtoclearentirelyaway,almostasifitwasmovingoutofrangeof my disruption. In thatinstant I slipped through thedoor and slammed it shutbehindme.

Iblinked insuddendarkness.I could hardly see. I thoughtmy eyes would adjust fromthe glare of sunlight, and I

waited a moment, but myvision did not improve.Instead, it seemed to begetting worse. I could justmake out the glass doors ofthe airlock directly ahead. Istillfeltthestingingpinpricksall over my skin. My throatwas dry and my breathingwas raspy. I coughed. Myvisionwasdimming.Istartedtofeeldizzy.On the other side of the

airlock,RickyandMaestoodwatching me. I heard Rickyshout, “Come on, Jack!Hurry!”My eyes burned painfully.

My dizziness grew rapidlyworse. I leaned against thewall to keep from fallingover. My throat felt thick. Iwas having difficultybreathing. Gasping, I waitedfor the glass doors to open,but they remained closed. I

staredstupidlyattheairlock.“Youhavetostandinfront

ofthedoors!Stand!”Ifelt like theworldwasin

slowmotion.Allmystrengthwasgone.Mybodyfeltweakand shaky. The stinging wasworse.The roomwasgettingdarker. I didn’t think I couldstanduponmyown.“Stand!Jack!”Somehow, I shoved away

from the wall, and lurchedtoward the airlock. With ahiss, the glass doors slidopen.“Go,Jack!Now!”Isawspotsbeforemyeyes.

I was dizzy, and sick to mystomach. I stumbled into theairlock, banging against theglass as I stepped inside.With every second thatpassed it was harder to

breathe. I knew I wassuffocating.Outside the building, I

heard the low thrummingsoundstartupagain.Iturnedslowlytolookback.The glass doors hissed

shut.I lookeddownatmybody

but could barely see it. Myskin appeared black. I wascovered in dust. My body

ached. My shirt was blackwith dust, too. The spraystung me, and I closed myeyes. Then the air handlersstartedup,whooshingloudly.Isawthedustsuckedoffmyshirt. My vision was clearer,but I still couldn’t breathe.The shirt slipped from myhand, flattening against thegrate at my feet. I bent toreach down for it. My bodybegan to shake, tremble. I

heard only the roar of thehandlers.Ifeltawaveofnausea.My

knees buckled. I saggedagainstthewall.I lookedatMaeandRicky

through the second glassdoors; theyseemedfaraway.As I watched, they recededeven farther, moving awayinto the distance. Soon theywere too far away forme to

worry any longer. I knew Iwas dying. As I closed myeyes,Ifelltotheground,andthe roar of the air handlersfaded into cold and totalsilence.

DAY611:12A.M.

“Don’tmove.”Something icy-cold

coursed through my veins. Ishuddered.“Jack.Don’tmove.Justfor

asecond,okay?”Something cold, a cold

liquid running up my arm. I

opened my eyes. The lightwas directly overhead,glaring, greenish-bright; Iwinced. My whole bodyached. I felt like I’d beenbeaten. I was lying on myback on the black counter ofMae’s biology lab. Squintingin the glare, I saw Maestandingbesideme,bentovermy left arm. She had anintravenouslineinmyelbow.“What’sgoingon?”

“Jack,please.Don’tmove.I’ve only done this on labanimals.”“That’sreassuring.”Ilifted

myheadtoseewhatshewasdoing.My temples throbbed.Igroaned,andlayback.Maesaid,“Feelbad?”“Terrible.”“I’llbet.Ihadtoinjectyou

threetimes.”“Withwhat?”

“Youwere in anaphylacticshock,Jack.Youhadasevereallergic reaction.Your throatalmostclosedup.”“Allergic reaction,” I said.

“That’swhatitwas?”“Severeone.”“Itwasfromtheswarm?”She hesitated for a

moment,then:“Ofcourse.”“Would nano-sized

particles cause an allergic

reactionlikethat?”“Theycertainlycould…”Isaid,“Butyoudon’tthink

so.”“No, I don’t. I think the

nanoparticles areantigenically inert. I thinkyou reacted to a coliformtoxin.”“A coliform toxin…”My

throbbing headache came inwaves. I took a breath, let it

out slowly. I tried to figureoutwhatshewassaying.Mymindwasslow;myheadhurt.Acoliformtoxin.“Right.”“A toxin from E. coli

bacteria? Is that what youmean?”“Right. Proteolytic toxin,

probably.”“Andwherewoulda toxin

likethatcomefrom?”

“From the swarm,” shesaid.Thatmade no sense at all.

According to Ricky the E.coli bacteria were only usedto manufacture precursormolecules. “But bacteriawouldn’t be present in theswarmitself,”Isaid.“Idon’tknow,Jack.Ithink

theycouldbe.”Whywas she sodiffident?

Iwondered.Itwasn’tlikeher.Ordinarily,Mae was precise,sharp. “Well,” I said,“somebody knows. Theswarm’s been designed.Bacteria’s either beendesignedin,ornot.”Iheardhersigh,asifIjust

wasn’tgettingit.Butwhatwasn’tIgetting?I said, “Did you salvage

the particles thatwere blown

off in the airlock? Did youkeep the stuff from theairlock?”“No. All the airlock

particleswereincinerated.”“Wasthatasmart—”“It’s built into the system,

Jack.Asasafetyfeature.Wecan’toverrideit.”“Okay.” Now it was my

turn to sigh. So we didn’thaveanyexamplesof swarm

agentstostudy.Istartedtositup,butsheputagentlehandonmychest,restrainingme.“Takeitslowly,Jack.”She was right, because

sittingupmademyheadachemuchworse.Iswungmyfeetover the side of the table.“HowlongwasIout?”“Twelveminutes.”“I feel like I was beaten

up.” My ribs ached with

everybreath.“You had a lot of trouble

breathing.”“Istilldo.”Ireachedfora

Kleenexandblewmynose.Alot of black stuff came out,mixed with blood and dustfromthedesert.Ihadtoblowmynosefourorfivetimestoclear it. I crumpled theKleenex and started to throwit away. Mae held out her

hand.“I’lltakethat.”“No,it’sokay—”“Giveittome,Jack.”She took the Kleenex and

slipped it into a little plasticbag and sealed it. That waswhen I realizedhowstupidlymy mind was working. Ofcourse that Kleenex wouldcontainexactlytheparticlesIwanted to study. I closedmyeyes, breathed deeply, and

waited for the throbbing inmy head to ease up a little.WhenIopenedmyeyesagaintheglareintheroomwaslessbright. It almost lookednormal.“By the way,” Mae said,

“Julia just called. She saidyou can’t call her back,something about some tests.But she wanted to talk toyou.”

“Uh-huh.”I watched Mae take the

Kleenexbagandputitinsidea sealed jar. She screweddownthelidtightly.“Mae,”Isaid,“if there’sE.coli in theswarm, we can find out bylooking at that right now.Shouldn’twedothat?”“Ican’trightnow.Iwillas

soon as I can. I’m having alittle trouble with one of the

fermentationunits,andIneedthemicroscopesforthat.”“Whatkindoftrouble?”“I’m not sure yet. But

yields are falling in onetank.” She shook her head.“It’s probably nothingserious. These things happenall the time. This wholemanufacturing process isincredibly delicate, Jack.Keeping it going is like

juggling a hundred balls atonce.Ihavemyhandsfull.”I nodded. But I was

starting to think that the realreason she wasn’t looking atthe Kleenex was that shealready knew the swarmcontained bacteria. She justdidn’t think it was her placeto tell me that. And if that’swhatwas going on, then sheneverwouldtellme.

“Mae,” I said. “Somebodyhastotellmewhat’sgoingonhere. Not Ricky. I wantsomebodytoreallytellme.”“Good,” she said. “I think

that’saverygoodidea.”

ThatwashowIfoundmyselfsitting in frontofacomputerworkstation in one of thosesmall rooms. The projectengineer, David Brooks, sat

beside me. As he talked,David continuouslystraightened his clothes—hesmoothed his tie, shot hiscuffs, snugged his collar,pulled up the creases in histrousersfromhisthighs.Thenhe’dcrossoneankleoverhisknee, pull up his sock, crossthe other ankle. Run hishands over his shoulders,brushing away imaginarydust. And then start over

again.Itwasallunconscious,of course, and with myheadache Imighthave founditirritating.ButIdidn’tfocuson it. Because with everypiece of new informationDavidgaveme,myheadachegotworseandworse.UnlikeRicky,Davidhada

very organizedmind, and hetold me everything, startingfrom the beginning. Xymoshad contracted to make a

micro-robotic swarm thatwould function as an aerialcamera. The particles weresuccessfully manufactured,and worked indoors. Butwhen they were testedoutside, they lackedmobilityinwind.The test swarmwasblown away in a strongbreeze. That was six weeksago.“You tested more swarms

afterthat?”Isaid.

“Yes,many.Over thenextfourweeks,orso.”“Noneworked?”“Right.Noneworked.”“So those original swarms

areallgone—blownawaybythewind?”“Yes.”“Whichmeanstherunaway

swarmsthatweseenowhavenothing to do with youroriginaltestswarms.”

“Correct…”“They are a result of

contamination…”David blinked rapidly.

“What do you mean,contamination?”“The twenty-five kilos of

material that was blown bythe exhaust fan into theenvironment because of amissingfilter…”“Who said it was twenty-

fivekilos?”“Rickydid.”“Oh,no,Jack,”Davidsaid.

“We vented stuff for days.Wemusthavevented fiveorsix hundred kilos ofcontaminants—bacteria,molecules,assemblers.”So Ricky had been

understating the situationagain.ButIdidn’tunderstandwhyhe bothered to lie about

this. After all, it was just amistake. And as Ricky hadsaid, it was the contractor’smistake.“Okay,”Isaid.“Andyou saw the first of thesedesertswarmswhen?”“Two weeks ago,” David

said, nodding and smoothinghistie.He explained that at first,

the swarm was sodisorganizedthatwhenitfirst

appeared, theythoughtitwasa cloud of desert insects,gnats or something. “Itshowedupforawhile,goinghere and there around thelaboratory building, and thenitwasgone. It seemed like arandomevent.”Aswarmappearedagaina

couple of days later, he said,and by then it was muchbetter organized. “Itdisplayed distinctive

swarming behavior, that sortof swirling in the cloud thatyou’ve seen. So it was clearthatitwasourstuff.”“And what happened

then?”“The swarm swirled

around the desert near theinstallation, like before. Itcame andwent. For the nextfew days, we tried to gaincontrolof itbyradio,butwe

never could. And eventually—about a week after that—we found that none of thecarswouldstart.”Hepaused.“I went out there to have alook, and I found that all theonboard computers weredead. These days allautomobiles havemicroprocessors built intothem. They controleverythingfromfuelinjectiontoradiosanddoorlocks.”

“But now the computerswerenotfunctioning?”“Yeah. Actually, the

processor chips themselveswere fine. But the memorychips had eroded. They’dliterallyturnedtodust.”I thought,Oh shit. I said,

“Couldyoufigureoutwhy?”“Sure. It wasn’t any big

mystery, Jack. The erosionhad the characteristic

signature of gammaassemblers. You know aboutthat?No?Well,wehaveninedifferent assemblers involvedin manufacturing. Eachassembler has a differentfunction. The gammaassemblers break downcarbon material in silicatelayers. They actually cut atthe nano level—slicing outchunksofcarbonsubstrate.”“So these assemblers cut

the memory chips in thecars.”“Right, right, but …”

David hesitated. He wasactingasifIweremissingthepoint.He tuggedathiscuffs,fingeredhiscollar.“Thethingyou have to keep in mind,Jack, is that theseassemblerscan work at roomtemperature. If anything, thedesert heat’s even better forthem. Hotter is more

efficient.”For a moment I didn’t

understand what he wastalking about. Whatdifference did it make aboutroom temperature or desertheat? What did that have todo with memory chips incars? And then suddenly,finally,thepennydropped.“Holyshit,”Isaid.Henodded.“Yeah.”

David was saying that amixture of components hadbeen vented into the desert,and that these components—whichwere designed to self-assemble in the fabricationstructure—would also self-assemble in the outsideworld. Assembly could becarried out autonomously inthe desert. And obviously,that’s exactly what washappening.

I ticked the points off tomake sure I had it right.“Basic assembly begins withthe bacteria. They’ve beenengineered to eat anything,even garbage, so they canfind something in the deserttoliveoffof.”“Right.”“Whichmeans thebacteria

multiply, and begin churningout molecules that self-

combine, forming largermolecules. Pretty soon youhave assemblers, and theassemblers begin to do thefinal work and turn out newmicroagents.”“Right,right.”“Which means that the

swarmsarereproducing.”“Yes.Theyare.”“And the individual agents

havememory.”

“Yes.Asmallamount.”“And they don’t need

much, that’s the whole pointof distributed intelligence.It’s collective. So they haveintelligence, and since theyhavememory, they can learnfromexperience.”“Yes.”“And the PREDPREY

program means they cansolve problems. And the

program generates enoughrandom elements to let theminnovate.”“Right.Yes.”My head throbbed. I was

seeing all the implications,now,andtheyweren’tgood.“So,” I said, “what you’re

telling me is this swarmreproduces, isself-sustaining,learns from experience, hascollective intelligence, and

can innovate to solveproblems.”“Yes.”“Which means for all

practicalpurposes,it’salive.”“Yes.” David nodded. “At

least, it behaves as if it isalive.Functionally it’s alive,Jack.”I said, “This is very

fuckingbadnews.”Brookssaid,“Tellme.”

“I’d like to know,” I said,“why this thing wasn’tdestroyedalongtimeago.”Davidsaidnothing.Hejust

smoothed his tie, and lookeduncomfortable.“Because you realize,” I

said, “that you’re talkingabout a mechanical plague.That’swhat you’ve got here.It’s just like a bacterialplague, or a viral plague.

Except it’s mechanicalorganisms. You’ve got afuckingman-madeplague.”Henodded.“Yes.”“That’sevolving.”“Yes.”“And it’s not limited by

biological rates of evolution.It’s probably evolving muchfaster.”Henodded. “It is evolving

faster.”

“How much faster,David?”Brooks sighed. “Pretty

damn fast. It’ll be differentthisafternoon,whenitcomesback.”“Willitcomeback?”“Italwaysdoes.”“And why does it come

back?”Isaid.“It’stryingtogetinside.”

“Andwhyisthat?”David shifted

uncomfortably. “We haveonlytheories,Jack.”“Tryme.”“Onepossibilityis that it’s

a territorial thing. As youknow, the originalPREDPREY code includes aconcept of a range, of aterritory in which thepredators will roam. And

within that core range, itdefines a sort of home base,which the swarm mayconsider to be the inside ofthisfacility.”Isaid,“Youbelievethat?”“Not really, no.” He

hesitated.“Actually,”hesaid,“most of us think that itcomes back looking for yourwife, Jack. It’s looking forJulia.”

DAY611:42A.M.

That was how, with asplitting headache, I foundmyself on the phone to thehospital in San Jose. “JuliaForman,please.”Ispelledthenamefortheoperator.“She’s in the ICU,” the

operatorsaid.

“Yes,that’sright.”“I’m sorry but direct calls

arenotallowed.”“Thenthenursingstation.”“Thankyou,pleasehold.”I waited. No one was

answeringthephone.Icalledback, went through theoperatoragain,andfinallygotthrough to the ICU nursingstation. The nurse told meJuliawasinX-rayanddidn’t

know when she would beback. I said Julia wassupposed tobebackbynow.The nurse said rather testilythatshewaslookingatJulia’sbedrightnow,andshecouldassuremeJuliawasn’tinit.IsaidI’dcallback.Ishutthephoneandturned

to David. “What was Juliadoinginallthis?”“Helpingus,Jack.”

“I’m sure. But how,exactly?”“In thebeginning, shewas

trying to coax it back,” hesaid. “We needed the swarmclose to the building to takecontrol again by radio. SoJuliahelpeduskeepitclose.”“How?”“Well,sheentertainedit.”“Shewhat?”“I guess you’d call it that.

It was very quickly obviousthat the swarm hadrudimentary intelligence. ItwasJulia’sideatotreatitlikeachild.Shewentoutsidewithbright blocks, toys. Things akid would like. And theswarm seemed to beresponding to her. She wasveryexcitedaboutit.”“Theswarmwassafetobe

aroundatthattime?”

“Yes, completely safe. Itwas just a particle cloud.”David shrugged. “Anyway,after the first day or so, shedecided to go a step furtherand formally test it. Youknow, test it like a childpsychologist.”“You mean, teach it,” I

said.“No. Her idea was to test

it.”

“David,” I said. “Thatswarm’s a distributedintelligence. It’s a goddamnnet. It’ll learn fromwhateveryou do. Testing is teaching.What exactly was she doingwithit?”“Just, you know, sort of

games. She’d lay out threecoloredblocksontheground,twoblueandoneyellow,seeifitwouldchoosetheyellow.Then with squares and

triangles.Stufflikethat.”“But David,” I said. “You

allknew thiswasa runaway,evolving outside thelaboratory. Didn’t anybodythink to just go out anddestroyit?”“Sure. We all wanted to.

Juliawouldn’tallowit.”“Why?”“Shewanteditkeptalive.”“And nobody argued with

her?”“She’s a vice president of

the company, Jack. She keptsayingtheswarmwasaluckyaccident, that we hadstumbled onto somethingreally big, that it couldeventually save the companyand we mustn’t destroy it.She was, I don’t know, shewas really taken with it. Imean, she was proud of it.Likeitwasherinvention.All

shewanted todowas‘rein itin.’Herwords.”“Yeah. Well. How long

agodidshesaythat?”“Yesterday, Jack.” David

shrugged. “You know, sheonly left here yesterdayafternoon.”It took me a moment to

realizethathewasright.JustasingledayhadpassedsinceJuliahadbeenhere,andthen

hadhadher accident.And inthat time, the swarms hadalready advancedenormously.“How many swarms were

thereyesterday?”“Three. But we only saw

two.Iguessonewashiding.”He shook his head. “Youknow,oneoftheswarmshadbecome like a pet to her. Itwas smaller than the others.

It’d wait for her to comeoutside, and it always stuckclosetoher.Sometimeswhenshe came out it swirledaroundher,likeitwasexcitedto see her. She’d talk to it,too, like it was a dog orsomething.”I pressed my throbbing

temples. “She talked to it,” Irepeated.JesusChrist.“Don’ttell me the swarms haveauditorysensors,too.”

“No.Theydon’t.”“Sotalkingwasawasteof

time.”“Uh,well…we think the

cloud was close enough thather breath deflected some ofthe particles. In a rhythmicpattern.”“So the whole cloud was

onegianteardrum?”“Inaway,yeah.”“And it’s a net, so it

learned…”“Yeah.”Isighed.“Areyougoingto

tellmeittalkedback?”“No, but it startedmaking

weirdsounds.”I nodded. I’d heard those

weird sounds. “How does itdothat?”“We’re not sure. Bobby

thinks it’s the reverse of theauditory deflection that

allows it to hear. Theparticles pulse in acoordinated front, andgenerate a sound wave. Sortoflikeanaudiospeaker.”It would have to be

somethinglikethat,Ithought.Even though it seemedunlikely that it could do it.The swarm was basically adust cloud of miniatureparticles.Theparticlesdidn’thave either the mass or the

energy to generate a soundwave.A thought occurred tome.

“David,” I said, “was Juliaout there yesterday, with theswarms?”“Yes, in the morning. No

problem. It was a few hourslater, after she left, that theykilledthesnake.”“And was anything killed

beforethat?”

“Uh…possiblyacoyoteafewdaysago,I’mnotsure.”“So maybe the snake

wasn’tthefirst?”“Maybe…”“And today they killed a

rabbit.”“Yeah. So it’s progressing

fast,now.”“Thankyou,Julia,”Isaid.

I was pretty sure theaccelerated behavior of theswarms that we were seeingwas a function of pastlearning. This was acharacteristic of distributedsystems—and for that mattera characteristic of evolution,which could be considered akind of learning, if youwanted to thinkof it in thoseterms.Ineithercase,itmeantthat systems experienced a

long, slow starting period,followed by ever-increasingspeed.You could see that exact

speedup in the evolution oflife on earth. The first lifeshows up four billion yearsago as single-cell creatures.Nothingchanges for thenexttwobillionyears.Thennucleiappear in the cells. Thingsstart to pick up. Only a fewhundred million years later,

multicellular organisms. Afew hundred million yearsafter that, explosive diversityof life. And more diversity.By a couple of hundredmillion years ago there arelarge plants and animals,complexcreatures,dinosaurs.Inallthis,man’salatecomer:four million years ago,upright apes. Two millionyears ago, early humanancestors. Thirty-five

thousand years ago, cavepaintings.The acceleration was

dramatic. If you compressedthe history of life on earthinto twenty-four hours, thenmulticellular organismsappeared in the last twelvehours, dinosaurs in the lasthour, the earliest men in thelast forty seconds, andmodern men less than onesecondago.

It had taken two billionyears for primitive cells toincorporate a nucleus, thefirst step toward complexity.But it had taken only 200million years—one-tenth ofthe time—to evolvemulticellular animals. And ittook only four million yearstogofromsmall-brainedapeswith crude bone tools tomodern man and geneticengineering. That was how

fastthepacehadincreased.This same pattern showed

up in the behavior of agent-basedsystems. It tooka longtime for agents to “lay thegroundwork” and toaccomplish the early stuff,butonce thatwascompleted,subsequentprogress couldbeswift. There was no way toskip the groundwork, just astherewasnowayforahumanbeing to skipchildhood.You

had to do the preliminarywork.Butatthesametime,there

was no way to avoid thesubsequent acceleration. Itwas, so to speak, built intothesystem.Teaching made the

progression more efficient,and I was sure Julia’steaching had been animportant factor in the

behavior of the swarm now.Simplybyinteractingwithit,shehadintroducedaselectionpressure in an organismwithemergent behavior thatcouldn’t be predicted. It wasaveryfoolishthingtodo.So the swarm—already

developing rapidly—woulddevelopevenmorerapidlyinthefuture.Andsinceitwasaman-made organism,evolution was not taking

place on a biological time-scale. Instead, it washappening in a matter ofhours.Destroying the swarms

would bemore difficultwitheachpassinghour.

“Okay,” I said to David. “Ifthe swarmsarecomingback,then we better get ready forthem.” I got to my feet,

wincing at theheadache, andheadedforthedoor.“What do you have in

mind?”Davidsaid.“WhatdoyouthinkIhave

inmind?” I said.“We’vegottokillthesethingscoldstonedead.We have towipe themoffthefaceoftheplanet.Andwehavetodoitrightnow.”David shifted in his chair.

“Finewithme,”hesaid.“But

Idon’tthinkRicky’sgoingtolikeit.”“Whynot?”Davidshrugged.“He’sjust

not.”Iwaited,andsaidnothing.Davidfidgetedinhischair,

more and moreuncomfortable.“The thing is,he and Julia are, uh, inagreementonthis.”“They’reinagreement.”

“Yes.Theyseeeyetoeye.Imean,onthis.”I said, “What are you

tryingtosaytome,David?”“Nothing.Justwhat Isaid.

They agree the swarmsshould be kept alive. I thinkRicky’sgoingtoopposeyou,that’sall.”

IneededtotalktoMaeagain.Ifoundherinthebiologylab,

hunched over a computermonitor,lookingatimagesofwhite bacterial growth ondarkredmedia.Isaid,“Mae,listen, I’ve talked to Davidand I need to—uh, Mae?Have you got a problem?”She was looking fixedly atthescreen.“IthinkIdo,”shesaid.“A

problemwiththefeedstock.”“Whatkindofproblem?”

“The latest Theta-d stocksaren’tgrowingproperly.”Shepointed to an image in theupper corner of the monitor,which showed bacteriagrowing in smooth whitecircles. “That’s normalcoliform growth,” she said.“That’s how it’s supposed tolook. But here …” Shebrought up another image inthe center of the screen. Theround forms appeared moth-

eaten, raggedandmisshapen.“That’s not normal growth,”she said, shaking her head.“I’m afraid it’s phagecontamination.”“You mean a virus?” I

said.Aphagewasavirusthatattackedbacteria.“Yes,” she said. “Coli are

susceptible to a very largenumber of phages. T4 phageis of course the most

common, but Theta-d wasengineeredtobeT4-resistant.SoIsuspectit’sanewphagethat’sdoingthis.”“A newphage?Youmean

it’snewlyevolved?”“Yes.Probablyamutantof

an existing strain, thatsomehow gets around theengineeredresistance.Butit’sbad news for manufacturing.If we have infected bacterial

stocks, we’ll have to shutdown production. Otherwisewe’ll justbe spewingvirusesout.”“Frankly,”Isaid,“shutting

down production might be agoodidea.”“I’ll probably have to. I’ll

try to isolate it, but it looksaggressive.Imaynotbeableto get rid of it withoutscrubbing the kettle. Starting

overwithfreshstock.Ricky’snotgoingtolikeit.”“Have you told him about

this?”“Not yet.” She shook her

head.“Idon’t thinkheneedsmore bad news right now.Andbesides…”Shestopped,asifshehadthoughtbetterofwhatshewasgoingtosay.“Besideswhat?”“Rickyhasahugestakein

thesuccessofthiscompany.”She turned to face me.“Bobby heard him on thephone the other day, talkingabout his stock options. Andsounding worried. I thinkRickyseesXymosashis lastbig chance to score. He’sbeen here five years. If thisdoesn’tworkout,he’llbetoosenior to start over at a newcompany.He’sgotawifeandbaby; he can’t gamble

another fiveyears,waiting tosee if the next companyclicks.Sohe’sreallytryingtomake this happen, reallydriving himself. He’s up allnight, working, figuring. Heisn’tsleepingmorethanthreeor four hours. Frankly, Iworry it’s affecting hisjudgment.”“I can imagine,” I said.

“The pressure must beterrible.”

“He’s so sleep-deprived itmakeshimerratic,”Maesaid.“I’mneversurewhathe’lldo,or how he’ll respond.Sometimes I get the feelinghe doesn’twant to get rid ofthe swarms at all. Or maybehe’sscared.”“Maybe,”Isaid.“Anyway, he’s erratic. So

if IwereyouI’dbecareful,”she said, “when you go after

the swarms. Because that’swhatyou’regoingtodo,isn’tit?Goafterthem?”“Yes,”Isaid.“That’swhat

I’mgoingtodo.”

DAY61:12P.M.

They had all gathered in thelounge,withthevideogamesand pinball machines.Nobody was playing themnow.Theywerewatchingmewith anxious eyes as Iexplainedwhatwehadtodo.The plan was simple enough

—the swarm itself wasdictatingwhatwe had to do,although I was skipping thatuncomfortabletruth.Basically, I told them we

had a runaway swarm wecouldn’t control. And theswarm exhibited self-organizing behavior.“Whenever you have a highSO component, it means theswarm can reassemble itselfafter an injury or disruption.

Justasitdidwithme.Sothisswarm has to be totally,physically destroyed. Thatmeanssubjectingtheparticlesto heat, cold, acid, or highmagnetic fields. And fromwhat I’ve seen of itsbehavior, I’d say our bestchancetodestroyitisatnightwhentheswarmlosesenergyandsinkstotheground.”Ricky whined, “But we

already told you, Jack, we

can’tfinditatnight—”“That’s right,youcan’t,” I

said.“Becauseyoudidn’t tagit.Look, it’s a bigdesert outthere. If youwant to trace itback to its hiding place,you’ve got to tag it withsomething so strong you canfollow its trail wherever itgoes.”“Tagitwithwhat?”“That’smynextquestion,”

Isaid.“Whatkindoftaggingagents have we got aroundhere?” I was greeted withblanklooks.“Comeon,guys.This is an industrial facility.You must have somethingthatwillcoattheparticlesandleave a trail we can follow.I’mtalkingaboutasubstancethat fluoresces intensely,orapheromone with acharacteristic chemicalsignature, or something

radioactive…No?”Moreblanklooks.Shaking

theirheads.“Well,” Mae said, “of

course, we haveradioisotopes.”“All right, fine.” Now we

weregettingsomewhere.“Weusethemtocheckfor

leaks in the system. Thehelicopter brings them outonceaweek.”

“What isotopes do youhave?”“Selenium-72 and

Rhenium-186. SometimesXenon-133 as well. I’m notsurewhatwe’vegotonhandrightnow.”“What kind of half-lives

are we talking about?”Certain isotopes lostradioactivity very rapidly, inamatterofhoursorminutes.

Ifso,theywouldn’tbeusefultome.“Half-lifeaveragesabouta

week,” Mae said.“Selenium’s eight days.Rhenium’sfourdays.Xenon-133 is five days. Five and aquarter.”“Okay.Anyofthemshould

do fine for our purposes,” Isaid. “We only need theradioactivity to last for one

night, after we tag theswarm.”Maesaid, “Weusuallyput

the isotopes in FDG. It’s aliquid glucose base. Youcouldsprayit.”“That should be fine,” I

said.“Whereare the isotopesnow?”Mae smiled bleakly. “In

thestorageunit,”shesaid.“Whereisthat?”

“Outside. Next to theparkedcars.”“Okay,”Isaid.“Thenlet’s

gooutandgetthem.”“Oh, for Christ’s sake,”

Ricky said, throwing up hishands. “Are you out of yourmind? You nearly died outtherethismorning,Jack.Youcan’tgobackout.”“There isn’t anychoice,” I

said.

“Sure there is. Wait untilnightfall.”“No,”Isaid.“Becausethat

means we can’t spray themuntiltomorrow.Andwecan’ttrace and destroy them untiltomorrow night. That meanswewait thirty-six hourswithan organism that is evolvingfast.Wecan’triskit.”“Risk it? Jack, if you go

outnow,you’llneversurvive.

You’refuckingcrazyeventoconsiderit.”Charley Davenport had

been staring at the monitor.Now he turned to the group.“No, Jack’s not crazy.” Hegrinned at me. “And I’mgoing with him.” Charleybegan to hum: “Born to BeWild.”“I’mgoing,too,”Maesaid.

“I know where the isotopes

arestored.”I said, “It’s not really

necessary, Mae, you can tellme—”“No.I’mcoming.”“We’llneedtoimprovisea

spray apparatus of somekind.” David Brooks wasrolling up his sleevescarefully. “Presumably,remotely controlled. That’sRosie’sspecialty.”

“Okay, I’ll come, too,”RosieCastro said, looking atDavid.“You’re all going?” Ricky

staredfromonetoanotherofus,shakinghishead.“Thisisextremely risky,” he said.“Extremelyrisky.”Nobody saidanything.We

alljuststaredathim.ThenRickysaid,“Charley,

will you shut the fuck up?”

He turned to me. “I don’tthink I can allow this, Jack…”“I don’t think you have a

choice,”Isaid.“I’minchargehere.”“Not now,” I said. I felt a

burstofannoyance.Ifeltliketelling him he’d screwed thepoochbyallowingaswarmtoevolve in the environment.But Ididn’tknowhowmany

critical decisions Julia hadmade. In the end,Rickywasobsequious to management,trying to please them like achild pleasing a parent. Hedid it charmingly; that washow he had moved ahead inlife. That was also hisgreatestweakness.But now Ricky stuck out

hischinstubbornly.“Youjustcan’t do it, Jack,” he said.“Youguyscan’tgoout there

andsurvive.”“Sure we can, Ricky,”

Charley Davenport said. Hepointedtothemonitor.“Lookforyourself.”The monitor showed the

desert outside. The earlyafternoonsunwasshiningonscrubby cactus. One stuntedjuniper in the distance, darkagainstthesun.ForamomentI didn’t understand what

Charley was talking about.Then I saw the sandblowinglow on the ground. And Inoticed the juniper was benttooneside.“That’s right, folks,”

CharleyDavenportsaid.“Wegot a high wind out there.High wind, no swarms—remember?Theyhavetohugthe ground.” He headedtoward the passagewayleading to the power station.

“Time’s a-wasting. Let’s doit,guys.”

Everybody filed out. I wasthe last to leave. To myastonishment, Ricky pulledme aside, blocked the doorwith his body. “I’m sorry,Jack, I didn’t want toembarrassyou in frontof theothers.ButIjustcan’tletyoudothis.”

“Would you rather havesomebodyelsedoit?”Isaid.Hefrowned.“Whatdoyou

mean?”“You better face facts,

Ricky. This is already adisaster.Andifwecan’tgetitundercontrolrightaway,thenwehavetocallforhelp.”“Help? What do you

mean?”“Imean,callthePentagon.

Call the Army. We have tocall somebody to get theseswarmsundercontrol.”“Jesus, Jack. We can’t do

that.”“Wehavenochoice.”“But it would destroy the

company. We’d never getfundingagain.”“That wouldn’t bother me

onebit,”Isaid.Iwasfeelingangry about what had

happened in the desert. Achainofbaddecisions,errorsand fuckups extending overweeksandmonths.Itseemedas if everyoneatXymoswasdoing short-term solutions,patch-and-fix, quick anddirty. No one was payingattention to the long-termconsequences.“Look,”Isaid,“you’vegot

a runaway swarm that’sapparently lethal. You can’t

screw around with thisanymore.”“But,Julia—”“Juliaisn’there.”“Butshesaid—”“Idon’tcarewhatshesaid,

Ricky.”“Butthecompany—”“Fuck the company,

Ricky.”Igrabbedhimbytheshoulders, shook him once

hard. “Don’t you get it?Youwon’t go outside. You’reafraid of this thing, Ricky.Wehavetokill it.Andifwecan’tkill it soon,wehave tocallforhelp.”“No.”“Yes,Ricky.”“We’ll seeabout that,” he

snarled.His body tensed, hiseyes flared. He grabbed myshirtcollar.Ijuststoodthere,

staringathim.Ididn’tmove.Ricky glared at me for amoment, and then releasedhisgrip.Hepattedmeontheshoulder and smoothed outmycollar.“Ahhell,Jack,”hesaid. “What am I doing?”And he gave me his self-deprecating surfer grin. “I’msorry. I think the pressuremustbegettingtome.You’reright.You’reabsolutelyright.Fuck the company.We have

todothis.Wehavetodestroythosethingsrightaway.”“Yes,”Isaid,stillstaringat

him.“Wedo.”He paused. He took his

hand away from my collar.“You think I’mactingweird,don’t you? Mary thinks I’mactingweird,too.Shesaidso,the other day. Am I actingweird?”“Well…”

“Youcantellme.”“Maybe on edge … You

gettinganysleep?”“Not much. Couple of

hours.”“Maybe you should take a

pill.”“I did. Doesn’t seem to

help. It’s the damn pressure.I’ve been here a week now.Thisplacegetstoyou.”“Iimagineitmust.”

“Yeah.Well, anyway.”Heturned away, as if suddenlyembarrassed. “Look, I’ll beontheradio,”hesaid.“I’llbewith you every step of theway.I’mverygratefultoyou,Jack. You’ve brought sanityandorderhere.Just…justbecarefuloutthere,okay?”“Iwill.”Rickysteppedaside.I went out the door past

him.

Going down the hallway tothepowerstation,withtheairconditioners roaring fullblast, Mae fell into stepbesideme.Isaidtoher,“Youreally don’t need to go outthere,Mae.Youcouldtellmeover the radiohow tohandletheisotopes.”“It’s not the isotopes I’m

concernedwith,”shesaid,hervoice low, so it would beburied in the roar. “It’s therabbit.”Iwasn’tsureI’dheardher.

“Thewhat?”“The rabbit. I need to

examinetherabbitagain.”“Why?”“You remember that tissue

sample I cut from thestomach?Well, I lookedat it

under the microscope a fewminutesago.”“And?”“I’m afraid we have big

problems,Jack.”

DAY62:52P.M.

I was the first one out thedoor, squinting in the desertsunlight. Even though it wasalmost three o’clock, the sunseemed as bright and hot asever. A hot wind ruffled mytrousersandshirt.Ipulledmyheadset mouthpiece closer to

my lips and said, “Bobby,youreading?”“Ireadyou,Jack.”“Gotanimage?”“Yes,Jack.”Charley Davenport came

out and laughed. He said,“Youknow,Ricky,youreallyare a stupid shmuck. Youknowthat?”Over my headset, I heard

Ricky say, “Save it. You

know I don’t likecompliments.Justgetonwithit.”Maecamethroughthedoor

next. She had a backpackslungover one shoulder.Shesaid to me, “For theisotopes.”“Aretheyheavy?”“Thecontainersare.”Then David Brooks came

out, with Rosie close behind

him. Shemade a face as shesteppedontothesand.“Jesus,it’shot,”shesaid.“Yeah, I think you’ll find

deserts tend to be thatway,”Charleysaid.“Noshit,Charley.”“I wouldn’t shit you,

Rosie.”Hebelched.I was busy scanning the

horizon, but I saw nothing.Thecarswereparkedundera

shed about fifty yards away.The shed ended in a squarewhite concrete building withnarrow windows. That wasthestorageunit.Westartedtowardit.Rosie

said, “Is that place air-conditioned?”“Yes,”Mae said. “But it’s

still hot. It’s poorlyinsulated.”“Isitairtight?”Isaid.

“Notreally.”“That means no,”

Davenport said, laughing.Hespoke into his headset.“Bobby, what wind do wehave?”“Seventeen knots,” Bobby

Lembeck said. “Good strongwind.”“And how long until the

winddies?Sunset?”“Probably, yeah. Another

threehours.”Isaid,“That’llbeplentyof

time.”I noticed that David

Brooks was not sayinganything. He just trudgedtoward the building. Rosiefollowedclosebehindhim.“But you never know,”

Davenport said. “We couldall be toast. Any minutenow.” He laughed again, in

hisirritatingway.Ricky said, “Charley, why

don’tyoushutthefuckup?”“Why don’t you come out

and make me, big boy?”Charley said. “What’s thematter, your veins cloggedwithchickenshit?”Isaid,“Let’sstayfocused,

Charley.”“Hey, I’m focused. I’m

focused.”

The wind was blowingsand,creatingabrownishblurjust above the ground. Maewalked beside me. Shelooked across the desert andsaidabruptly,“Iwanttohavea look at the rabbit. You allgoaheadifyouwant.”Sheheadedofftotheright,

toward the carcass. I wentwith her. And the othersturned in a group andfollowed us. It seemed

everybody wanted to staytogether. The wind was stillstrong.Charleysaid,“Whydoyou

wanttoseeit,Mae?”“I want to check

something.” She was pullingonglovesasshewalked.The headset crackled.

Ricky said, “Wouldsomebodypleasetellmewhatthehellisgoingon?”

“We’re going to see therabbit,”Charleysaid.“Whatfor?”“Maewantstoseeit.”“She saw it before. Guys,

you’re very exposed outthere. Iwouldn’t bewaltzingaround.”“Nobody’s waltzing

around,Ricky.”By now I could see the

rabbit in the distance,

partially obscured by theblowing sand. In a fewmoments, we were allstandingoverthecarcass.Thewind had blown the bodyover on its side. Maecrouched down, turned it onits back, laid open thecarcass.“Jeez,”Rosiesaid.I was startled to see that

the exposed flesh was no

longer smooth and pink.Instead, it was roughenedeverywhere, and in a fewplaceslookedasifithadbeenscraped. And it was coveredbyamilkywhitecoating.“Looks like it was dipped

inacid,”Charleysaid.“Yes, it does,” Mae said.

Shesoundedgrim.Iglancedatmywatch.All

this had occurred in two

hours. “What happened toit?”Mae had taken out her

magnifying glass and wasbent close to the animal.Shelooked here and there,moving the glass quickly.Then she said, “It’s beenpartiallyeaten.”“Eaten?Bywhat?”“Bacteria.”“Wait a minute,” Charley

Davenport said. “You thinkthis is caused by Theta-d?YouthinktheE.coliiseatingit?”“We’ll know soon

enough,” she said. Shereached into a pouch, andpulledoutseveralglasstubescontainingsterileswabs.“But it’s only been dead a

shorttime.”“Long enough,”Mae said.

“And high temperaturesaccelerate growth.” Shedaubed the animal with oneswab after another, replacingeachinaglasstube.“ThentheTheta-dmustbe

multiplying veryaggressively.”“Bacteria will do that if

yougivethemagoodnutrientsource. You shift into logphase growth where they’re

doubling every two or threeminutes. I think that’swhat’shappeninghere.”Isaid,“Butifthat’strue,it

meanstheswarm—”“I don’t know what it

means, Jack,” she saidquickly. She looked at meandgaveaslightshakeofthehead.Themeaningwasclear:notnow.But the others weren’t put

off. “Mae, Mae, Mae,”Charley Davenport said.“You’re telling us that theswarms killed the rabbit inorder to eat it? In order togrow more coli? And makemorenanoswarms?”“I didn’t say that,

Charley.” Her voice wascalm,almostsoothing.“But that’s what you

think,” Charley continued.

“You think the swarmsconsumemammaliantissueinordertoreproduce—”“Yes. That’s what I think,

Charley.”Maeputher swabsawaycarefully,andgottoherfeet.“ButI’vetakencultures,now.We’llruntheminLuriaand agarose, and we’ll seewhatwesee.”“I bet if we come back in

another hour, thiswhite stuff

will be gone, and we’ll seeblack forming all over thebody. New blacknanoparticles.Andeventuallythere’ll be enough for a newswarm.”She nodded. “Yes. I think

so,too.”“And that’s why the

wildlife around here hasdisappeared?” David Brookssaid.

“Yes.” She brushed astrand of hair back with herhand. “This has been goingonforawhile.”There was a moment of

silence.We all stood aroundthe rabbit carcass, our backsto the blowing wind. Thecarcass was being consumedsoquickly,IimaginedIcouldalmost see it happening rightbeforemyeyes,inrealtime.

“Webettergetridof thosefucking swarms,” Charleysaid.We all turned, and set off

fortheshed.Nobodyspoke.Therewasnothingtosay.

Aswewalkedahead,someofthosesmallbirdsthathoppedaround thedesert floorunderthe cholla cactus suddenly

tooktotheair,chitteringandwheelingbeforeus.I said toMae, “So there’s

nowildlife, but the birds arehere?”“Seemstobethatway.”The flock wheeled and

cameback,thensettledtothegroundahundredyardsaway.“Maybe they’re too small

for the swarms to botherwith,”Maesaid.“Notenough

fleshontheirbodies.”“Maybe.” I was thinking

there might be anotheranswer. But to be sure, Iwould have to check thecode.

I stepped from the sun intothe shade of the corrugatedshed, and moved along theline of cars toward the doorof the storage unit. The door

was plastered with warningsymbols—for nuclearradiation, biohazard,microwaves, high explosives,laser radiation. Charley said,“You can see why we keepthisshitoutside.”As I came to the door,

Vincesaid,“Jack,youhaveacall. I’ll patch it.” My cellphone rang. It was probablyJulia. I flipped it open.“Hello?”

“Dad.” It was Eric. Withthatemphatictonethathegotwhenhewasupset.Isighed.“Yes,Eric.”“When are you coming

back?”“I’mnotsure,son.”“Will you be here for

dinner?”“I’m afraid not. Why?

What’stheproblem?”

“Sheissuchanasshole.”“Eric,justtellmewhatthe

problem—”“Aunt Ellen sticks up for

herallthetime.It’snotfair.”“I’m kind of busy now,

Eric,sojusttellme—”“Why? What are you

doing?”“Justtellmewhat’swrong,

son.”

“Never mind,” he said,turning sulky, “if you’re notcoming home, it doesn’tmatter. Where are you,anyway? Are you in thedesert?”“Yes. How did you know

that?”“I talked to Mom. Aunt

Ellen made us go to thehospital to see her. It’s notfair. I didn’twant to go.She

mademeanyway.”“Uh-huh.HowisMom?”“She’scheckingoutof the

hospital.”“She’s finished all her

tests?”“Thedoctorswantedherto

stay,” Eric said. “But shewants to get out. She has acast on her arm, that’s all.She says everything else isfine. Dad?Why do I always

have to do what Aunt Ellensays?It’snotfair.”“LetmetalktoEllen.”“She isn’t here. She took

Nicoletobuyanewdressforherplay.”“Who’s with you at the

house?”“Maria.”“Okay,” I said. “Have you

doneyourhomework?”

“Notyet.”“Well, get busy, son. I

want your homework donebefore dinner.” It wasamazing how these lines justpopped out of a parent’smouth.By now I had reached the

storageroomdoor.Istaredatall the warning signs. Therewere several I didn’t know,like a diamond made up of

fourdifferentcoloredsquaresinside, each with a number.Mae unlocked the door andwentin.“Dad?”Eric started tocry.

“When are you cominghome?”“I don’t know,” I said. “I

hopebytomorrow.”“Okay.Promise?”“Ipromise.”I could hear him sniffling,

andthenthroughthephonealongsnarffsoundashewipedhis nose on his shirt. I toldhimhe could callme later ifhe wanted to. He seemedbetter, and said okay, andthensaidgood-bye.I hungup, and entered the

storagebuilding.

The interiorwasdivided intotwolargestoragerooms,with

shelvesonallfourwalls,andfreestanding shelves in themiddle of the rooms.Concrete walls, concretefloor.Therewasanotherdoorin the second room, and acorrugated rollup door fortruck deliveries.Hot sunlightcame in throughwood-framewindows. The air-conditioning rumbled noisilybut, as Mae had said, theroomswerestillhot.Iclosed

the door behind me, andlookedattheseal.Itwasjustordinary weather stripping.The shed was definitely notairtight.Iwalkedalongtheshelves,

stacked with bins of spareparts for the fabricationmachinery, and the labs. Thesecond room had moremundane items: cleaningsupplies, toilet paper, bars ofsoap, boxes of cereal, and a

couple of refrigerators filledwithfood.I turned to Mae. “Where

aretheisotopes?”“Over here.” She led me

around a set of shelves, to asteel lid set in the concretefloor.Thelidwasaboutthreefeet in diameter. It lookedlike a buried garbage can,except for the glowing LEDandkeypadinthecenter.Mae

dropped to one knee, andpunchedinacodequickly.Thelidliftedwithahiss.I saw a ladder that led

down into a circular steelchamber. The isotopes werestored in metal containers ofdifferent sizes. ApparentlyMae could tell which theywerejustbylooking,becauseshesaid,“WehaveSelenium-72.Shallweusethat?”

“Sure.”Maestartedtoclimbdown

intothechamber.“Will you fucking cut it

out?”Inacorneroftheroom,David Brooks jumped backfrom Charley Davenport.Charley was holding a bigspray bottle of Windexcleaner. He was testing thesqueeze trigger mechanism,and in the process spraying

streaks ofwater onDavid. Itdidn’t look accidental. “Giveme that damn thing,” Davidsaid, snatching the bottleaway.“I think it might work,”

Charley said blandly. “Butwe’d need a remotemechanism.”From the first room,Rosie

said,“Wouldthiswork?”Sheheldupashinycylinder,with

wiresdanglingfromit.“Isn’tthisasolenoidrelay?”“Yes,” David said. “But I

doubt it can exert enoughforce to squeeze this bottle.Has it got a rating?Weneedsomethingbigger.”“Anddon’tforget,youalso

need a remote controller,”Charley said. “Unless youwanttostandthereandspraythefuckeryourself.”

Mae came up frombelow,carrying a heavy metal tube.She walked to the sink, andreachedforabottleofstraw-colored liquid.Shepulledonheavy rubber-coated gloves,andstartedtomixtheisotopeinto the liquid. A radiationcounter over the sink waschattering.Over the headset, Ricky

said, “Aren’t you guysforgettingsomething?Evenif

you have a remote, how areyougoing toget thecloud tocome to it? Because I don’tthink the swarm will justcome over and stand therewhileyouhoseitdown.”“We’ll find something to

attractthem,”Isaid.“Likewhat?”“Theywereattractedtothe

rabbit.”“We don’t have any

rabbits.”Charley said, “You know,

Ricky, you are a verynegativeperson.”“I’m just telling you the

facts.”“Thank you for sharing,”

Charleysaid.Like Mae, Charley was

seeing it, too: Ricky haddraggedhisfeeteverystepofthe way. It was as if Ricky

wanted to keep the swarmsalive. Which made no senseat all.But that’showhewasbehaving.I would have said

something to Charley aboutRicky, but over our headsetseverybody heard everything.The downside of moderncommunications: everybodycanlistenin.“Heyguys?”ItwasBobby

Lembeck. “How’s itcoming?”“We’re getting there.

Why?”“Thewind’sdropping.”“Whatisitnow?”Isaid.“Fifteenknots.Downfrom

eighteen.”“That’sstillstrong,”Isaid.

“We’reokay.”“I know. I’m just telling

you.”Fromthenextroom,Rosie

said, “What’s thermite?” Inher hand she held a plastictray filled with thumb-sizedmetaltubes.“Carefulwith that,”David

said. “It must be left overfrom construction. I guesstheydidthermitewelding.”“Butwhatisit?”“Thermiteisaluminumand

iron oxide,” David said. “Itburns very hot—threethousand degrees—and sobrightyoucan’t lookdirectlyat it. And it’ll melt steel forwelding.”“How much of that have

we got?” I said to Rosie.“Because we can use ittonight.”“There’s four boxes back

there.” She plucked one tube

from the box. “So how doyouset‘emoff?”“Be careful, Rosie. That’s

a magnesium wrapper. Anydecentheatsourcewill igniteit.”“Evenmatches?”“If you want to lose your

hand. Better use road flares,somethingwithafuse.”“I’llsee,”shesaid,andshe

disappeared around the

corner.The radiation counter was

still clicking. I turned to thesink. Mae had capped theisotope tube. She was nowpouring the straw-coloredliquidintoaWindexbottle.“Hey,guys?”ItwasBobby

Lembeckagain.“I’mpickingup some instability. Wind’sfluctuatingattwelveknots.”“Okay,” I said. “We don’t

need to hear every littlechange,Bobby.”“I’m seeing some

instability,isall.”“Ithinkwe’reokayforthe

moment,Bobby.”Mae was going to be

another few minutes, in anycase. I went over to acomputer workstation andturned it on. The screenglowed; therewasamenuof

options. Aloud, I said,“Ricky, can I put up theswarmcodeonthismonitor?”“The code?” Ricky said.

He sounded alarmed. “Whatdoyouwantthecodefor?”“I want to see what you

guyshavedone.”“Why?”“Ricky, for Christ’s sake,

canIseeitornot?”“Sure, of course you can.

All the code revisions are inthe directory slash code. It’spass-worded.”I was typing. I found the

directory.But Iwasn’t beingallowed to enter it. “And thepasswordis?”“It’s l-a-n-g-t-o-n, all

lowercase.”“Okay.”I entered the password. I

was now in the directory,

looking at a list of programmodifications, each with filesize and date. The documentsizeswerelarge,whichmeantthat these were all programsforotheraspectsoftheswarmmechanism.Becausethecodefor the particles themselveswould be small—just a fewlines, maybe eight, tenkilobytes,nomore.“Ricky.”

“Yes,Jack.”“Where’s the particle

code?”“Isn’titthere?”“Goddamnit,Ricky.Stop

screwingaround.”“Hey, Jack, I’m not

responsible for the archiving—”“Ricky, these are

workfiles, not archives,” Isaid.“Tellmewhere.”

A brief pause. “ThereshouldbeasubdirectoryslashC-D-N.It’skeptthere.”Iscrolleddown.“Iseeit.”Within this directory, I

found a list of files, all verysmall.Themodificationdatesstarted about six weeks ago.Therewas nothing new fromthelasttwoweeks.“Ricky. You haven’t

changed the code for two

weeks?”“Yeah,aboutthat.”Iclickedonthemostrecent

document. “You got high-level summaries?” Whenthese guys had worked forme, I always insisted thatthey write natural languagesummaries of the programstructure. It was faster toreview than documentationwithin the code itself. And

they often solved logicproblems when they had towriteitoutbriefly.“Should be there,” Ricky

said.Onthescreen,Isaw:

I scanned it for a while,looking for how they hadchanged it. Then I scrolleddown into theactualcode, tosee the implementation. But

the important code wasn’tthere. The entire set ofparticle behaviors wasmarkedas anobject call to asomething titled“compstat_do.”“Ricky,” I said, “what’s

‘compstat_do’?Whereisit?”“Shouldbethere.”“It’snot.”“I don’t know.Maybe it’s

compiled.”

“Wellthatisn’tgoingtodome any good, is it?” Youcouldn’t read compiled code.“Ricky, I want to see thatdamn module. What is theproblem?”“No problem. I have to

lookforit,isall.”“Okay…”“I’ll do it when you get

back.”I glanced over at Mae.

“Have you gone through thecode?”She shook her head. Her

expression seemed to say itwas never going to happen,that Ricky would make upmore excuses and keepputting me off. I didn’tunderstand why. I was thereto advise them on the code,afterall.Thatwasmyareaofexpertise.

In the next room, Rosieand David were pokingthrough the shelves ofsupplies, looking for radiorelays. They weren’t havinganysuccess.Acrosstheroom,Charley Davenport fartedloudlyandcried,“Bingo!”“Jesus, Charley,” Rosie

said.“Youshouldn’tholdthings

in,” Charley said. “It makes

yousick.”“Youmakemesick,”Rosie

said.“Oh, sorry.” Charley held

uphishand,showingashinymetal contraption. “Then Iguess you don’t want thisremote-controlledcompressionvalve.”“What?” Rosie said,

turning.“Are you kidding?” David

said,goingovertolook.“And it’s got a pressure

ratingofADCtwentypi.”“That should work fine,”

Davidsaid.“If you don’t fuck it up,”

Charleysaid.They took the valve and

went to the sink,whereMaewasstillpouring,wearingherheavy gloves. She said, “Letmefinish…”

“Will I glow in thedark?”Charleysaid,grinningather.“Just your farts,” Rosie

said.“Hey,theyalreadydothat.

‘Specially when you light‘em.”“Jesus,Charley.”“Farts are methane, you

know.Burnswithahardbluegemlike flame.” And helaughed.

“I’m glad you appreciateyourself,” Rosie said.“Becausenobodyelsedoes.”“Ouch, ouch,” Charley

said, clutching his breast. “Idie,Idie…”“Don’tgetourhopesup.”Myheadsetcrackled.“Hey

guys?” It was BobbyLembeckagain. “Wind’s justdroppedtosixknots.”I said, “Okay.” I turned to

the others. “Let’s finish up,guys.”Davidsaid,“We’rewaiting

for Mae. Then we’ll fit thisvalve.”“Let’s fit it back in the

lab,”Isaid.“Well, I justwant tomake

sure—”“Back at the lab,” I said.

“Packitup,guys.”I went to the window and

looked out. The wind wasstill ruffling the juniperbushes, but there was nolonger a layer of sandblowingacrosstheground.Rickycameontheheadset:

“Jack, get your fucking teamoutofthere.”“We’re doing it now,” I

said.David Brooks said in a

formal tone, “Guys, there’s

no point in leaving until wehave a valve that we knowfitsthisbottle—”“Ithinkwebettergo,”Mae

said.“Finishedornot.”“What good would that

do?”Davidsaid.“Pack up,” I said. “Stop

talkingandpackitupnow.”Over the headset, Bobby

said,“Fourknotsandfalling.Fast.”

“Let’s go, everybody,” Isaid. I was herding themtowardthedoor.Then Ricky came on.

“No.”“What?”“Youcan’tleavenow.”“Whynot?”“Because it’s too late.

They’rehere.”

DAY63:12P.M.

Everyone went to thewindow; we banged headstrying to look out in alldirections. As far as I couldsee, the horizon was clear. Isaw nothing at all. “Wherearethey?”Isaid.“Coming from the south.

We have them on themonitors.”“How many?” Charley

said.“Four.”“Four!”“Yeah,four.”The main building was

south of us. There were nowindows in thesouthwalloftheshed.

David said, “We don’t seeanything. How fast are theycoming?”“Fast.”“Do we have time to run

forit?”“Idon’tthinkso.”David frowned. “He

doesn’t think so. Jesus.”Andbefore I could say anything,David had bolted for the fardoor, opened it, and stepped

outintothesunlight.Throughtherectangleoftheopendoorwesawhimlooktothesouth,shading his eyes with hishand.Weallspokeatonce:“David!”“David, what the fuck are

youdoing?”“David,youasshole!”“I’mtryingtosee…”“Getbackhere!”

“Youstupidbastard!”But Brooks remained

wherehewas,handsoverhiseyes. “I don’t see anythingyet,” he said. “And I don’thearanything.Listen, I thinkmaybewecanmakearunfor—uh, no we can’t.” Hesprinted back inside,stumbled on the door frame,fell,scrambledtohisfeet,andslammedthedoorshut,pulledit tight behind him, tugging

onthedoorknob.“Wherearethey?”“Coming,” he said.

“They’re coming.”His voiceshook with tension. “OhJesus, they’re coming.” Hepulled back on the doorknobwith both hands, using hiswhole body weight. Hemuttered over and over,“Coming … they’re coming…”

“Oh great,” Charley said.“Thefuckingguy’scracked.”I went over to David, and

putmyhandonhisshoulder.He was pulling on thedoorknob, breathing inraggedgasps.“David,”Isaidquietly. “Let’s take it easynow. Let’s take a deepbreath.”“I just—I have to keep—

havetokeepthem—”Hewas

sweating, his whole bodytense, his shoulder shakingunder my hand. It was purepanic.“David,”Isaid.“Let’stake

adeepbreath,okay?”“Ihave to—have to—have

—have—have—”“Big breath, David …” I

took one, demonstrating.“That feels better. Come onnow.Bigbreath…”

Davidwas nodding, tryingto hear me. He took a shortbreath. Then resumed hisquickgasps.“That’s good, David, now

anotherone…”Another breath. His

breathingslowedslightly.Hestoppedshaking.“Okay, David, that’s good

…”Behind me, Charley said,

“Ialwaysknew thatguywasfucked up. Look at him,talking to him like a fuckingbaby.”I glanced back, and shot

Charley a look. He justshrugged. “Hey, I’m fuckingright.”Maesaid,“It’snothelping,

Charley.”“Fuckhelping.”Rosie said, “Charley, just

shutupforawhile,okay?”I turned back to David. I

kept my voice even. “Allright, David… That’s good,breathe… okay now, let goofthedoorknob.”David shook his head,

refusing, but he seemedconfused now, uncertain ofwhat he was doing. Heblinked his eyes rapidly. Itwas as if hewas coming out

ofatrance.Isaidsoftly,“Letgoofthe

doorknob. It’s not doing anygood.”Finally, he let go, and sat

backontheground.Hebegantocry,headinhands.“Oh Jesus,” Charley said.

“That’sallweneed.”“Shutup,Charley.”Rosie went to the

refrigerator and came back

with a bottle of water. Shegave it to David, who drankashecried.Shehelpedhimtohis feet, nodded to me thatshe’dtakeitfromhere.Iwentbacktothecenterof

the room, where the otherswere standing by theworkstation screen. On thescreen, the lines of code hadbeen replaced by a monitorviewof thenorth faceof themain building. Four swarms

were there, glinting silver astheymovedupanddownthelengthofthebuilding.“What’re they doing?” I

said.“Tryingtogetin.”I said, “Why do they do

that?”“We’re not sure,” Mae

said.Wewatched foramoment

in silence. Once again I was

struck by the purposefulnessof their behavior. Theyreminded me of bears tryingto break into a trailer to getfood. They paused at everydoorwayandclosedwindow,hovering there, moving upand down along the seals,untilfinallymovingontothenextopening.I said, “And do they

always try the doors likethat?”

“Yes.Why?”“Becauseit lookslikethey

don’t remember that thedoorsaresealed.”“No,”Charley said. “They

don’tremember.”“Because they don’t have

enoughmemory?”“Either that,” he said, “or

thisisanothergeneration.”“You mean these are new

swarmssincenoon?”

“Yes.”I looked at my watch.

“There’s a new generationeverythreehours?”Charley shrugged. “I

couldn’tsay.Weneverfoundwhere they reproduce. I’mjustguessing.”The possibility that new

generationswerecoming thatfast meant that whateverevolutionary mechanism was

built into the code wasprogressing fast, too.Ordinarily,geneticalgorithms—which modeledreproduction to arrive atsolutions—ordinarily, theyran between 500 and 5,000generations to arrive at anoptimization.Iftheseswarmswere reproducingevery threehours, it meant they hadturned over something like100 generations in the last

two weeks. And with 100generations, the behaviorwouldbemuchsharper.Mae watched them on the

monitor and said, “At leastthey’re staying by the mainbuilding. It seems like theydon’tknowwe’rehere.”“Howwouldtheyknow?”I

said.“They wouldn’t,” Charley

said. “Their main sensory

modality isvision.Theymayhave picked up a littleauditoryoverthegenerations,but it’s still primarily vision.Iftheydon’tseeit, itdoesn’texistforthem.”Rosie came over with

David. He said, “I’m reallysorry,guys.”“Noproblem.”“It’sokay,David.”“I don’t know what

happened. I just couldn’tstandit.”Charley said, “Don’t

worry, David. Weunderstand. You’re a psychoand you cracked.We get thepicture.Noproblem.”Rosie put her arm around

David, who blew his noseloudly. She stared at themonitor. “What’s happeningwiththemnow?”Rosiesaid.

“Theydon’tseemtoknowwe’rehere.”“Okay…”“We’rehopingitstaysthat

way.”“Uh-huh. And if it

doesn’t?”Rosiesaid.I had been thinking about

that.“Ifitdoesn’t,werelyonthe holes in the PREDPREYassumptions. We exploit theweaknesses in the

programming.”“Whichmeans?”“Weflock,”Isaid.Charley gave a horse

laugh.“Yeah, right,we flock—andpraylikehell!”“I’mserious,”Isaid.

Over the last thirty years,scientists had studiedpredator-prey interactions in

everything from the lion tothe hyena to the warrior ant.Therewasnowamuchbetterunderstanding of how preydefended themselves.Animals like zebras andcaribou didn’t live in herdsbecause they were sociable;herdingwasadefenseagainstpredation. Large numbers ofanimals provided increasedvigilance. And attackingpredatorswereoftenconfused

when the herd fled in alldirections. Sometimes theyliterallystoppedcold.Showapredator too many movingtargets and it often chasednone.Thesamethingwastrueof

flocking birds and schoolingfish—those coordinatedgroup movements made itharder for predators to pickout a single individual.Predators were drawn to

attack an animal that wasdistinctiveinsomeway.Thatwas one reason why theyattackedinfantssooften—notonlybecausetheywereeasierprey,butbecausetheylookeddifferent. In the same way,predators killed more malesthan females becausenondominantmales tended tohang on the outskirts of theherd, where they were morenoticeable.

In fact, thirty years agowhen Hans Kruuk studiedhyenas in the Serengeti, hefoundthatputtingpaintonananimal guaranteed it wouldbe killed in the next attack.That was the power ofdifference.So the message was

simple. Stay together. Staythesame.Thatwasourbestchance.

But I hoped it wouldn’tcometothat.

Theswarmsdisappearedforawhile.Theyhadgonearoundto the other side of thelaboratory building. Wewaited tensely. Eventuallythey reappeared. They onceagainmovedalongthesideofthe building, trying openingsoneafteranother.

We all watched themonitor. David Brooks wassweatingprofusely.Hewipedhis forehead with his sleeve.“How long are they going tokeepdoingthat?”“As long as they fucking

want,”Charleysaid.Mae said, “At least until

thewindkicksupagain.Andit doesn’t look like that’sgoingtohappensoon.”

“Jesus,” David said. “Idon’tknowhowyouguyscanstandit.”He was pale; sweat had

dripped from his eyebrowsonto his glasses. He lookedlikehewasgoingtopassout.I said, “David. Do you wanttositdown?”“MaybeIbetter.”“Okay.”“Come on, David,” Rosie

said.Shetookhimacrosstheroomtothesink,andsathimon the floor. He hugged hisknees,puthisheaddown.Sheput cold water on a papertowel and placed it on thebackofhisneck.Hergesturesweretender.“That fucking guy,”

Charley said, shaking hishead. “That’s all we needrightnow.”

“Charley,” Mae said,“you’renothelping…”“So what? We’re trapped

in this fucking shed, it’s notfucking airtight, there’snothing we can do, no placewe can go, and he’s fuckingcracking up, makeseverythingworse.”“Yes,” she said quietly,

“that’s all true. And you’renothelpingit.”

Charley gave her a look,and began to hum the themefromTheTwilightZone.“Charley,” I said. “Pay

attention.”Iwaswatchingtheswarms. Their behavior hadsubtly changed. They nolonger stayed close to thebuilding. Instead, they nowmoved in a zigzag patternaway from the wall into thedesert, and then back again.They were all doing it, in a

kindoffluiddance.Mae saw it, too. “New

behavior…”“Yes,” I said. “Their

strategy isn’t working, sothey’re trying somethingelse.”“Not going to do shit for

them,” Charley said. “Theycan zigzag all they want, itwon’topenanydoors.”Even so, I was fascinated

toseethisemergentbehavior.The zigzags were becomingmore exaggerated; theswarms were moving fartherand farther away from thebuildings. Their strategywasshifting progressively. It wasevolvingaswewatched.“It’sreallyamazing,”Isaid.“Little fuckers,” Charley

said.One of the swarms was

now quite close to the rabbitcarcass. It approachedwithina few yards, and swirledaway again, heading back tothemainbuilding.A thoughtoccurred to me. “How welldotheswarmssee?”Theheadsetclicked.Itwas

Ricky.“Theyseefabulously,”he said. “It’swhat theyweremade to do, after all.Eyesight’s twenty-oh-five,”hesaid.“Fantasticresolution.

Betterthananyhuman.”I said, “And how do they

do the imaging?” Becausethey were just a series ofindividual particles. Like therods and cones in the eye,central processing wasrequired to form a picturefromall theinputs.Howwasthat processingaccomplished?Rickycoughed.“Uh…not

sure.”Charley said, “It showed

upinlatergenerations.”“You mean they evolved

visionontheirown?”“Yeah.”“And we don’t know how

theydoit…”“No. We just know they

justdo.”Wewatched as the swarm

angled away from the wall,moved back near the rabbit,thenreturnedtothewalloncemore.Theotherswarmswerefarther down the building,doing the same thing.Swirling out into the desert,thenswirlingbackagain.Over the headset, Ricky

said,“Whydoyouask?”“Because.”“You think they’ll find the

rabbit?”“I’mnotworriedaboutthe

rabbit,” I said. “Anyway, itlooks like they alreadymissedit.”“Thenwhat?”“Uh-oh,”Maesaid.“Shit,” Charley said, and

hegavealongsigh.We were looking at the

nearest swarm, the one thathad just bypassed the rabbit.

That swarm had moved outinto thedesertagain,perhapsten yards away from therabbit.But insteadof turningback in its usual pattern, ithad paused in the desert. Itdidn’t move, but the silverycolumnroseandfell.“Why is it doing that?” I

said. “That up and downthing?”“Something to do with

imaging?Focusing?”“No,”Isaid.“Imean,why

diditstop?”“Programstall?”I shookmyhead. “I doubt

it.”“Thenwhat?”“Ithinkitseessomething.”“Likewhat?”Charleysaid.I was afraid I knew the

answer. The swarm

represented an extremelyhigh-resolution cameracombined with a distributedintelligence network. Andone thing distributednetworksdidparticularlywellwasdetectpatterns.Thatwaswhy distributed networkprograms were used torecognize faces for securitysystems, or to assemble theshattered fragments ofarchaeological pottery. The

networks could find patternsindatabetter thanthehumaneye.“What patterns?” Charley

said, when I told him.“There’snothingout there todetectexceptsandandcactusthorns.”Mae said, “And

footprints.”“What? You mean our

footprints? From us walking

over here? Shit, Mae, thesand’s been blowing for thelast fifteen minutes. There’snofootprintslefttofind.”We watched the swarm

hang there, rising and fallinglike it was breathing. Thecloud had turned mostlyblack now, with just anoccasional glint of silver. Ithadremainedatthesamespotfor ten or fifteen seconds,pulsing up and down. The

otherswarmswerecontinuingintheirzigzagcourse,butthisonestayedwhereitwas.Charley bit his lip. “You

really think it seessomething?”“I don’t know,” I said.

“Maybe.”Suddenly, the swarm rose

up,andbegantomoveagain.But it wasn’t coming towardus. Instead, it moved on a

diagonal over the desert,headingbacktowardthedoorin the power building.Whenit came to the door, itstopped,andswirledinplace.“What the hell?” Charley

said.Iknewwhatitwas.Sodid

Mae.“It just trackedus,”shesaid.“Backward.”The swarm had followed

the path we had originally

taken from the door to therabbit. The question was,whatwoulditdonext?

The next five minutes weretense.Theswarmretraced itspath,goingbacktotherabbit.It swirled around the rabbitfor a while, moving in slowsemicircles back and forth.Then once again it retracedthe route back to the power

station door. It stayed at thedoor for a while, thenreturnedtotherabbit.The swarm repeated this

sequence three times.Meanwhile,theotherswarmshad continued theirzigzagging around thebuilding,andwerenowoutofsight. The solitary swarmreturned to the door, thenheaded back to the rabbitagain.

“It’s stuck in a loop,”Charleysaid.“Itjustdoesthesame thing over and overagain.”“Lucky for us,” I said. I

was waiting to see if theswarm would modify itsbehavior. So far it hadn’t.And if it had very littlememory,thenitmightbelikean Alzheimer’s patient,unable to remember it haddoneallthisbefore.

Now it was going aroundthe rabbit, moving insemicircles.“Definitely stuck in a

loop,”Charleysaid.Iwaited.I hadn’t been able to

reviewall thechangesthey’dmade to PREDPREY,because the central modulewasmissing.But theoriginalprogram had a randomizing

elementbuiltintoit,tohandlesituations exactly like this.WheneverPREDPREYfailedto attain its goal, and therewere no specificenvironmental inputs toprovoke new action, then itsbehavior was randomlymodified. This was a well-knownsolution.Forexample,psychologistsnowbelievedacertain amount of randombehavior was necessary for

innovation. You couldn’t becreative without striking outin new directions, and thosedirections were likely to berandom—“Uh-oh,”Maesaid.Thebehaviorhadchanged.Theswarmmovedinlarger

circles, going around andaroundtherabbit.Andalmostimmediately, it came acrossanother path. It paused a

moment, and then suddenlyrose up, and began to movedirectly toward us. It wasfollowing exactly the samepathwehadtaken,walkingtotheshed.“Shit,” Charley said. “I

thinkwe’refucked.”

Mae and Charley rushedacross the room to look outthewindow.DavidandRosie

stood and peered out thewindowabovethesink.AndIstartedtoshout:“No,no!Getawayfromthewindows!”“What?”“It’s visual, remember?

Get away from thewindows!”Therewasnogoodplaceto

hide in the storage room,notreally. Rosie and Davidcrawled under the sink.

Charley pushed in besidethem, ignoring their protests.Maeslippedintotheshadowsof one corner of the room,easing herself into the spacewhere two shelves didn’tquitemeet.Shecouldonlybeseen from the west window,andthennoteasily.The radio crackled. “Hey

guys?” It was Ricky. “One’sheading for you. And uh…No… twoothers are joining

it.”“Ricky,” I said. “Go off

air.”“What?”“Nomoreradiocontact.”“Why?”“Off,Ricky.”I dropped down on my

knees behind a cardboardcartonofsuppliesinthemainroom.Thecartonwasn’tlarge

enoughtohidemeentirely—my feet stuck out—but likeMae, I wasn’t easily seen.Someoneoutsidewouldhaveto look at an angle throughthe northwindow to seeme.Inanycase, itwas thebest Icoulddo.From my crouched

position, I could just see theothers huddled beneath thesink. I couldn’t see Mae atall, unless I really stuck my

headaroundthecornerofthecarton. When I did, shelooked quiet, composed. Iduckedbackandwaited.I heard nothing but the

humoftheairconditioner.Ten or fifteen seconds

passed. I could see thesunlightstreaming in throughthe north window above thesink. It made a whiterectangle on the floor to my

left.My headset crackled.

“Whynocontact?”“JesusfuckingA,”Charley

muttered.Iputmyfinger tomylips,

andshookmyhead.“Ricky,” I said, “don’t

these things have auditorycapacity?”“Sure, maybe a little, but

—”

“Bequietandstayoff.”“But—”I reached for the

transmitter at my belt, andclicked it off. I signaled theothersbeneaththesink.Theyeach turned their transmittersoff.Charley mouthed

somethingtome.Ithoughthemouthed, “That fucking guywantsuskilled.”

ButIcouldn’tbesure.Wewaited.

It couldn’t have been morethantwoorthreeminutes,butit seemed forever.My kneesbegan to hurt on the hardconcrete floor. Trying to getmore comfortable, I shiftedmy position cautiously; bynow I was sure the firstswarmwas inourvicinity. It

hadn’t appeared at thewindowsyet,andIwonderedwhat was taking so long.Perhaps as it followed ourpath it had paused to inspectthe cars. I wondered whatswarm intelligence wouldmakeofanautomobile.Howpuzzling it must look to thathigh-resolution eye. Butmaybebecause thecarswereinanimate, the swarm wouldignore them as some sort of

large, brightly coloredboulders.But still … What was

takingsolong?My knees hurt more with

every passing second. Ichangedmyposition, puttingweight on my hands andraisingmykneeslikearunnerattheblocks.Ihadamomentof temporary relief. I was sofocused on my pain that I

didn’t notice at first that theglaringwhiterectangleonthefloor was turning darker atthe center, and spreading outto thesides.Inamoment theentire rectangle turned dullgray.Theswarmwashere.I wasn’t certain, but I

fancied that beneath the humof the air conditioner was adeepthrummingsound.From

mypositionbehind thecrate,I saw the window above thesink grow progressivelydarker from swirling blackparticles. It was as if therewas a dust storm rightoutside.Insidethesheditwasdark.Surprisinglydark.Underneaththesink,David

Brooks began to moan.Charley clapped his handover hismouth. They lookedupward,eventhoughthesink

blocked their view of thewindowabovethem.And then the swarm

vanishedfromthewindow,asquickly as it had come.Sunlightpouredinagain.Nobodymoved.Wewaited.Momentslater,thewindow

in thewestwall turned dark,in the sameway. Iwonderedwhy the swarm didn’t enter.

The window wasn’t airtight.Thenanoparticles could slidethrough the cracks withoutdifficulty. But they didn’tevenseemtotry.Perhaps this was an

instance where networklearning was on our side.Perhapstheswarmshadbeentrainedby theirexperienceatthe lab to think doors andwindows were impermeable.Maybe that’s why they

weren’ttrying.The thought gave me a

hopeful feeling that helpedcounteract the pain in myknees.Thewestwindowwasstill

dark,whenthenorthwindowover the sink turned darkagain.Nowtwoswarmswerelooking in at the same time.Ricky had said there werethree coming toward the

building. He hadn’tmentioned the fourth. Iwondered where the thirdswarmwas.Amomentlater,Iknew.Like a silent black mist,

nanoparticles began to comeinto the roomunderneath thewest door. Soon moreparticles entered, all aroundthe door frame. Inside theroom, the particles appearedto spin and swirl aimlessly,

but I knew they would self-organizeinafewmoments.Then at thenorthwindow,

Isawmoreparticlesfloodingthrough the cracks. Throughthe air-conditioning vents inthe ceiling, still moreparticlesrusheddownward.There was no point in

waiting any longer. I got tomyfeetandsteppedfrommyhiding place. I shouted for

everybody to come out ofhiding. “Form up in tworows!”Charley grabbed the

Windex spray bottle and fellinto line, grumbling, “Whatdo you think our fuckingchancesare?”“Thebestthey’lleverget,”

Isaid.“Reynoldsrules!Formupandstaywithme!Let’sgo—now!”

If we weren’t so frightened,wemighthavefeltridiculous,shuffling back and forthacross the room in a tightcluster, trying to coordinateour movements—trying toimitate a flock of birds. Myheart was pounding in mychest.Iheardaroaringsoundin my ears. It was hard tofocusonoursteps.Iknewwewere awkward, but we gotbetter quickly. When we

came to a wall, we wheeledand headed back again,moving in unison. I startedswinging my arms andclappingwith each step. Theothersdidthesame.Ithelpedour coordination. And weeach fought our terror. AsMae said later, “It was stepaerobicsfromhell.”And all the time, we

watched the blacknanoparticles as they came

hissingintotheroomthroughcracksindoorsandwindows.Itseemedtogoonforalongtime,butitwasprobablyonlythirty or forty seconds. Soonakindofundifferentiatedfogfilled the room. I feltpinpricks all over my body,andIwassure theothers feltit,too.Davidstartedmoaningagain, but Rosie was rightbesidehim,encouraginghim,urging him to keep it

together.Suddenly, with shocking

speed the fog cleared, theparticles coalescing into twofully formed columns thatnowstooddirectlybeforeus,rising and falling in darkripples.Seenthisclose,theswarms

exudedanunmistakablesenseof menace, almostmalevolence. Their deep

thrummingsoundwasclearlyaudible, but intermittently Iheard an angry hiss, like asnake.But theydidnot attackus.

Just as I had hoped, theprogrammingdeficitsworkedfor us. Confronted by acluster of coordinated prey,thesepredatorswerestymied.Theydidnothingatall.Atleastfornow.

Between claps, Charleysaid, “Do you believe—thisfuckingshit—it’sworking!”I said, “Yes but maybe—

not for long.” I was worriedabout how long David couldcontrolhisanxiety.AndIwasworried about the swarms. Ididn’tknowhowlong they’djust stand there before theyinnovated new behavior. Isaid, “I suggest we—movetoward that—back door

behind us—and get the hellout.”Aswewheeledawayfrom

the wall, I angled slightlytoward the rear room.Clapping and stepping inunison, our group movedawayfromtheswarms,whichthrummed deeply andfollowed.“And if we get outside,

then what?” David whined.

He was having troublestaying in sync with the restof us. In his panic, he keptstumbling. He was sweatingandblinkingrapidly.“We continue this way—

flocking this way—back tothe lab—and get inside—areyouwillingtotry?”“Oh jeez,” he moaned.

“It’ssofar…Idon’tknowif…” He stumbled again,

nearly lost his balance. Andhe wasn’t clapping with therestofus.Icouldalmostfeelhis terror, his overwhelmingurgetoflee.“Davidyoustaywithus—

if you go on your own—you’llnevermakeit—areyoulistening?”David moaned, “I don’t

know … Jack … I don’tknow if I can …” He

stumbled again, bumped intoRosie, who fell againstCharley,who caught her andpulled her back to her feet.But our flock was knockedintomomentary disarray, ourcoordinationgone.Immediately, the swarms

turned dense black, coiledand tightened, as if ready tospring. I heard Charleywhisper“Ohfuck,”underhisbreath, and indeed, for a

moment I thought he wasright,andthatitwasallover.But then we regained our

rhythm, and immediately theswarms rose up, returned tonormal. Their denseblackness faded. Theyresumed their steadypulsing.They followed us into thenext room. But still they didnot attack. We were nowabout twenty feet from thebackdoor, the samedoorwe

hadcome in. I started to feeloptimistic.Forthefirsttime,Ithought it was possible wereallymightmakeit.And then, in an instant,

everythingwenttohell.

DavidBrooksbolted.Wewerewellintotheback

room, and about towork ourway around the freestandingshelves in the center of the

room, when he ran straightbetween theswarmsandpastthem, heading for the fardoor.The swarms instantly spun

andchasedhim.Rosie was screaming for

himtocomeback,butDavidwasfocusedonthedoor.Theswarms pursued him withsurprising speed. David hadalmost reached thedoor—his

hand was reaching for thedoorknob—when one swarmsank low, and spread itselfacrosstheflooraheadofhim,turningitblack.ThemomentDavidBrooks

reachedtheblacksurface,hisfeetshotoutfromunderhim,as if he had stepped on ice.He howled in pain as heslammed onto the concrete,and immediately tried toscrambletohisfeetagain,but

he couldn’t get up; he keptslipping and falling, againand again. His eyeglassesshattered; the frames cut hisnose. His lips were coatedwith swirling black residue.He started to have troublebreathing.Rosie was still screaming

as the second swarmdescended onDavid, and theblack spread across his face,onto his eyes, into his hair.

His movements becameincreasingly frantic, hemoaned pitifully like ananimal, yet somehow, as heslid and tumbled on handsand knees, he managed tomake his way toward thedoor. At last he lungedupward, grabbed thedoorknob, and managed topull himself to his knees.With a final desperatemovement, he twisted the

knob, and kicked the dooropenashefell.Hotsunlightflaredintothe

shed—and the third swarmswirledinfromoutside.Rosiecried,“We’vegot to

dosomething!”Igrabbedherarm as she ran past metoward David. She struggledinmygrip.“Wehavetohelphim!Wehavetohelphim!”“There’s nothing we can

do.”“Wehavetohelphim!”“Rosie.There’snothingwe

cando.”David was now rolling on

the ground, black from headto toe. The third swarm hadenveloped him. It wasdifficult to see through thedancingparticles.ItlookedasthoughDavid’smouthwas adark hole, his eyeballs

completely black. I thoughthemightbeblind.Hisbreathcame in ragged gasps, withlittle choking sounds. Theswarm was flowing into hismouthlikeablackriver.Hisbodybegantoshudder.

He clutched at his neck.Hisfeet drummed on the floor. Iwassurehewasdying.“Come on, Jack,” Charley

said. “Let’s get the fuck out

ofhere.”“You can’t leave him!”

Rosie shouted. “You can’t,youcan’t!”David was sliding out the

door, into the sunlight. Hismovements were lessvigorousnow;hismouthwasmoving, but we heard onlygasps.Rosiestruggledtogetfree.Charley grabbed her

shoulder and said, “Goddamnit,Rosie—”“Fuckyou!”Shewrenched

free from his grip, shestamped on my foot and inmy moment of surprise I letgo, and she sprinted acrossthe shed into the next room,shouting“David!David!”His hand, black as a

miner’s,stretchedtowardher.Shegrabbedhiswrist.Andin

the same moment she fell,slipping on the black floorjustashehaddone.Shekeptsaying his name, until shebegan to cough, and a blackrimappearedonherlips.Charleysaid,“Let’sgo,for

Christ’ssake.Ican’twatch.”I felt unable to move my

feet,unabletoleave.Iturnedto Mae. Tears were runningdown her cheeks. She said:

“Go.”Rosie was still calling out

David’s name as she huggedhim, pulled his body to herchest. But he didn’t seem tobe moving on his ownanymore.Charleyleanedclosetome

and said, “It’s not yourfuckingfault.”I nodded slowly. I knew

whathewassayingwastrue.

“Hell,thisisyourfirstdayon the job.” Charley reacheddown tomy belt, flickedmyheadseton.“Let’sgo.”I turned toward the door

behindme.Andwewentoutside.

DAY64:12P.M.

Beneath the corrugated roof,theairwashot and still.Theline of cars stretched awayfromus.Iheardthewhirrofavideocameramotorupbytheroof.Rickymusthaveseenuscoming out on the monitors.Static hissed in my headset.

Ricky said, “What the hell’sgoingon?”“Nothing good,” I said.

Beyondthelineofshade,theafternoonsunwasstillbright.“Where are the others?”

Ricky said. “Is everybodyokay?”“No.Everybodyisnot.”“Welltellme—”“Not now.” In retrospect,

wewereallnumbfromwhat

had happened. We didn’thave any reaction except totryandgettosafety.The lab building stood

across the desert a hundredyards to our right.We couldreach the power station doorinthirtyorfortyseconds.Wesetofftowarditatabriskjog.Ricky was still talking, butwe didn’t answer him. Wewere all thinking about thesame thing: in another half a

minute we would reach thedoor,andsafety.But we had forgotten the

fourthswarm.“Ohfuck,”Charleysaid.The fourth swarm swirled

out from the side of the labbuilding, and started straighttoward us. We stopped,confused. “What dowe do?”Maesaid,“Flock?”“No.” I shook my head.

“There’s only three of us.”Weweretoosmallagrouptoconfuse a predator. But Icouldn’t think of any otherstrategy to try. All thepredator-prey studies I hadever readbegan toplaybackin my head. Those studiesagreedononething.Whetheryou modeled warrior ants orSerengeti lions, the studiesconfirmed one majordynamic: left to their own

devices, predators would killall the prey until noneremained—unlesstherewasaprey refuge. In real life thepreyrefugemightbeanestinatree,oranundergroundden,or a deep pool in a river. Ifthepreyhada refuge, they’dsurvive.Withoutarefuge,thepredatorswouldkillthemall.“I think we’re fucked,”

Charleysaid.

We needed a refuge. Theswarmwas bearing down onus. I could almost feel thepinpricks on my skin, andtastethedryashentasteinmymouth.We had to find somekind of shelter before theswarm reached us. I turnedfull circle, looking in alldirections, but there wasnothingIcouldsee,except—“Arethecarslocked?”

Myheadset crackled. “No,theyshouldn’tbe.”Weturnedandran.

The nearest car was a blueFord sedan. I opened thedriver’s door, and Maeopened the passenger side.The swarm was right behindus. I could hear thethrumming sound as Islammed the door shut, as

Mae slammed hers. Charley,still holding the Windexspray,was trying toopen therear passenger door, but itwas locked. Mae twisted inthe seat to unlock the door,but Charley had alreadyturnedtothenextcar,aLandCruiser, and climbed inside.Andslammedthedoor.“Yow!” he said. “Fucking

hot!”

“Iknow,”Isaid.Theinsideof the car was like an oven.Mae and I were bothsweating. The swarm rushedtoward us, and swirled overthe front windshield,pulsating, shifting back andforth.Over the headset, a

panickedRicky said, “Guys?Whereareyou?Guys?”“We’reinthecars.”

“Whichcars?”“What fucking difference

does itmake?”Charley said.“We’re in twoof thefuckingcars,Ricky.”The black swarm moved

away fromour sedanover totheToyota.Wewatchedasitslid from one window toanother, trying to get in.Charley grinned at methrough the glass. “It’s not

like the shed. These cars areairtight.So…fuck‘em.”“What about the air

vents?”Isaid.“Ishutmine.”“But they aren’t airtight,

arethey?”“No,” he said. “But you’d

have togounder thehood tobegin to get in. Or maybethrough the trunk. And I’mbettingthisoverbredbuzzball

can’tfigurethatout.”Inside our car, Mae was

snapping closed thedashboard air ducts one afteranother.Sheopenedtheglovecompartment, glanced inside,shutitagain.I said, “You find any

keys?”Sheshookherhead,no.Over the headset, Ricky

said, “Guys? You got more

company.”I turned to see two

additional swarms comingaround the shed. Theyimmediatelyswirledoverourcar,frontandback.Ifeltlikewe were in a dust storm. Ilooked at Mae. She wassitting very still, stony-faced,justwatching.The two new clouds

finishedcircling thecar, then

came to the front. One waspositioned justoutsideMae’spassenger door window. Itpulsed, glinting silver. Theotherwason thehoodof thecar, moving back and forthfromMae to me. From timeto time, it would rush thewindshield, and disperseitself over the glass. Then itwould coalesce again, backaway down the hood, andrushagain.

Charley cackled gleefully.“Trying toget in. I toldyou:theycan’tdoit.”Iwasn’t so sure. I noticed

that with each charge, theswarm would move fartherbackdownthehood,takingalonger run. Soon it wouldback itself up to the frontgrill. And if it startedinspecting the grill, it couldfind the opening to the airvents. And then it would be

over.Maewasrummaginginthe

utility compartment betweentheseats.Shecameupwitharoll of tape and a box ofplasticsandwichbaggies.Shesaid,“Maybewecantapethevents…”I shookmyhead. “There’s

no point,” I said. “They’renanoparticles. They’re smallenough to pass right through

amembrane.”“You mean they’d come

throughtheplastic?”“Or around, through small

cracks.Youcan’tseal itwellenoughtokeepthemout.”“Thenwejustsithere?”“Basically,yes.”“And hope they don’t

figureitout.”Inodded.“That’sright.”

Over the headset, BobbyLembeck said, “Wind’sstarting topickup again.Sixknots.”It sounded like he was

trying to be encouraging, butsix knots wasn’t anywherenear enough force. Theswarms outside thewindshield movedeffortlesslyaroundthecar.Charley said, “Jack? I just

lost my buzzball. Where isit?”I looked over at Charley’s

car, and saw that the thirdswarm had slid down to thefront tire well, where it wasswirling in circles andmoving in and out throughtheholesinthehubcap.“Checking your hubcaps,

Charley,”Isaid.“Umm.” He sounded

unhappy, and with goodreason. If the swarm startedexploring the car thoroughly,itmightstumbleonawayin.Hesaid,“Iguessthequestionis, how big is their SOcomponent,really?”“That’sright,”Isaid.Maesaid,“InEnglish?”I explained. The swarms

hadno leader, andnocentralintelligence. Their

intelligence was the sum ofthe individual particles.Thoseparticlesself-organizedinto a swarm, and their self-organizing tendency hadunpredictable results. Youreally didn’t knowwhat theywoulddo.Theswarmsmightcontinue to be ineffective, asthey were now. They mightcome upon the solution bychance. Or they might startsearching in an organized

way.But they hadn’t done that

sofar.My clothes were heavy,

soaked in sweat. Sweat wasdripping from my nose andchin. I wiped my foreheadwith the back of my arm. Ilooked at Mae. She wassweating,too.Rickysaid,“Hey,Jack?”“What.”

“Julia called a while ago.She’s checked out of thehospitaland—”“Notnow,Ricky.”“She’s coming out here

tonight.”“We’lltalklater,Ricky.”“I just thought you’dwant

toknow.”“Jesus,” Charley said,

exploding.“Someonetellthisasshole to shut up. We’re

busy!”Bobby Lembeck said,

“Eight knots of wind now.No,sorry…seven.”Charley said, “Jesus, the

suspense is killing me.Where’s my swarm now,Jack?”“Under the car. I can’t see

what it’s doing … No, wait…It’scomingupbehindyou,Charley. Looks like it’s

checkingoutyourtaillights.”“Some kind of car freak,”

he said. “Well, it can checkaway.”I was looking over my

shoulder at Charley’s swarmwhenMaesaid,“Jack.Look.”

The swarm outside herwindowonthepassengersidehad changed. It was almostentirely silver now,

shimmeringbutpretty stable,and on this silver surface Isaw Mae’s head andshoulders reflectedback.Thereflection wasn’t perfect,because her eyes and mouthwere slightly blurred, butbasicallyitwasaccurate.I frowned. “It’s a mirror

…”“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

She turned away from the

window to look at me. Herimage on the silver surfacedid not change. The facecontinued to stare into thecar.Then, after amoment ortwo, the image shivered,dissolved and re-formed toshowthebackofherhead.“What does that mean?”

Maesaid.“I’ve got a pretty good

idea,but—”

The swarm on the fronthood was doing the samething, except that its silversurfaceshowedthetwoofussittingsidebysideinthecar,looking very frightened.Again, the image wassomewhat blurred. And nowit was clear to me that theswarm was not a literalmirror.The swarm itselfwasgenerating the image by theprecise positioning of

individual particles, whichmeant—“Badnews,”Charleysaid.“I know,” I said. “They’re

innovating.”“What do you figure, is it

oneofthepresets?”“Basically, yes. I assume

it’simitation.”Mae shook her head, not

understanding.

“The program presetscertain strategies to helpattain goals. The strategiesmodelwhatrealpredatorsdo.So one preset strategy is tofreeze where you are andwait,toambush.Anotheristorandom-walk until youstumble on your prey, andthen pursue. A third is tocamouflage yourself bytakingonsomeelementoftheenvironment,soyoublendin.

Anda fourth is tomimic theprey’s behavior—to imitateit.”Shesaid,“Youthinkthisis

imitation?”“I think this is a form of

imitation,yes.”“It’s trying to make itself

appearlikeus?”“Yes.”“This is emergent

behavior? It’s evolved on its

own?”“Yes,”Isaid.“Bad news,” Charley said

mournfully.“Bad,badnews.”

Sitting in thecar, I started toget angry. Because what themirror imaging meant to mewas that I didn’t know thereal structure of thenanoparticles. I’d been toldthere was a piezo wafer that

would reflect light. So itwasn’t surprising that theswarm occasionally flashedsilver in the sun. That didn’tcall for sophisticatedorientationoftheparticles.Infact, you would expect thatsort of silvery ripple as arandom effect, just the wayheavily trafficked highwayswill clog up and then flowfreely again. The congestionwascausedby randomspeed

changes from one or twomotorists, but the effectrippled down the entirehighway.Thesamewouldbetrueoftheswarms.Achanceeffectwouldpasslikeawavedown the swarm. And that’swhatwehadseen.Butthismirroringbehavior

was something entirelydifferent. The swarms werenow producing images incolor,andholdingthemfairly

stable. Such complexitywasn’t possible from thesimple nanoparticle I’d beenshown. I doubted you couldgenerateafullspectrumfroma silver layer. It wastheoreticallypossible that thesilvercouldbepreciselytiltedto produce prismatic colors,but that implied enormoussophisticationofmovement.It was more logical to

imaginethattheparticleshad

another method to createcolors. And that meant Ihadn’t been told the truthabout the particles, either.Ricky had lied to me yetagain.SoIwasangry.I had already concluded

something was wrong withRicky, and in retrospect, theproblem lay with me, nothim.Evenafterthedebacleinthestorageshed, I still failedtograspthattheswarmswere

evolving faster than ourability to keep pace withthem. I should have realizedwhat I was up against whenthe swarms demonstrated anew strategy—making thefloor slippery todisable theirprey, and to move them.Among ants, that would becalledcollectivetransport;thephenomenon was wellknown.Butfortheseswarms,it was unprecedented, newly

evolved behavior. Yet at thetime I was too horrified torecognize its truesignificance. Now, sitting inthehotcar,itwasn’tusefultoblame Ricky, but I wasscared,andtired,andIwasn’tthinkingclearly.“Jack.” Mae nudged my

shoulder, and pointed toCharley’scar.Herfacewasgrim.

TheswarmbythetaillightofCharley’s car was now ablackstreamthatcurvedhighin the air, and thendisappeared in the seamwhere the red plastic joinedthemetal.Over the headset I said,

“Hey,Charley… I think it’sfoundaway.”“Yeah, I see it. Fuck a

duck.”

Charley was scramblinginto the backseat. Alreadyparticles were beginning tofill the inside of the car,making a gray fog thatrapidly darkened. Charleycoughed. I couldn’t seewhathe was doing, he was downbelow the window. Hecoughedagain.“Charley?”He didn’t answer. But I

heardhimswearing.“Charley, you better get

out.”“Fucktheseguys.”Andthentherewasanodd

sound, which at first Icouldn’t place. I turned toMae, who was pressing herheadset to her ear. It was astrange, rhythmic rasping.She looked at mequestioningly.

“Charley?”“I’m—spray these little

bastards. Let’s see how theydowhenthey’rewet.”Mae said, “You’re

sprayingtheisotope?”He didn’t answer. But a

moment later he appeared inthewindowagain,sprayinginall directions with theWindex bottle. Liquidstreakedacrosstheglass,and

drippeddown.Theinteriorofthecarwasgrowingdarkerasmore and more particlesentered.Soonwecouldn’tseehimatall.Hishandemergedfrom the black, pressedagainst the glass, thendisappeared again. He wascoughingcontinuously.Adrycough.“Charley,” I said, “run for

it.”

“Ah fuck. What’s thepoint?”Bobby Lembeck said,

“Wind’stenknots.Goforit.”Ten knots wasn’t enough

butitwasbetterthannothing.“Charley?Youhear?”We heard his voice from

the black interior. “Yeah,okay … I’m looking—can’tfind—fucking door handle,can’t feel … Where’s the

goddamndoorhandleon this—”Hebrokeintoaspasmofcoughing.Over the headset, I heard

voices inside the lab, allspeaking rapidly. Ricky said,“He’sintheToyota.Where’sthehandleintheToyota?”Bobby Lembeck: “I don’t

know,it’snotmycar.”“Whosecarisit?Vince?”Vince: “No, no. It’s that

guywiththebadeyes.”“Who?”“The engineer. The guy

whoblinksallthetime.”“DavidBrooks?”“Yeah.Him.”Ricky said, “Guys? We

thinkit’sDavid’scar.”Isaid,“That’snotgoingto

dousany—”And then I broke off,

because Mae was pointingbehindher to thebackseatofourcar.Fromtheseamwheretheseatcushionmettheback,particleswerehissingintothecarlikeblacksmoke.I looked closer, and saw a

blanket on the floor of thebackseat.Maesawit,too,andthrew herself bodily into theback, diving between theseats. She kicked me in theheadasshewent,butshehad

the blanket and beganstuffing it into the crack.Myheadset cameoff, andcaughton the steering wheel as Itried to climb back to helpher. It was cramped in thecar. I heard a tinny voicefromtheearpieces.“Come on,” Mae said.

“Comeon.”Iwasbigger thanshewas;

there wasn’t room for me

back there; my bodyjackknifed over the driver’sseat as I grabbed the blanketandhelpedherstuffit.I was vaguely aware that

the passenger door bangedopenontheToyota,andIsawCharley’s foot emerge fromtheblack.Hewasgoingtotryhis luck outside. Maybe weshould, too, I thought, as Ihelped her with the blanket.The blanketwouldn’t do any

good, it was just a delayingtactic. Already I sensed theparticles were sifting rightthroughthecloth;thecarwascontinuingtofill.Theairwasgetting darker and darker. Ifelt thepinpricksallovermyskin.“Mae,let’srun.”Shedidn’tanswer,shejust

kept pushing the blanketharder into the cracks.

Probably she knew we’dnever make it if we wentoutside. The swarms wouldrunusdown,get inourpath,make us slip and fall. Andonce we fell, they wouldsuffocate us. Just as they didtotheothers.The air was thicker. I

started to cough. In thesemidarknessIkepthearingatinnyvoicefromtheheadsets.I couldn’t tell where it was

coming from. Mae’s headsethad fallen off, too, and Ithought I had seen it on thefront seat, but now it wasbecomingtoodarktosee.Myeyes burned. I coughedcontinuously. Mae wascoughing, too. I didn’t knowif she was still stuffing theblanket. She was just ashadowinthefog.Isqueezedmyeyesagainst

thesharppain.Mythroatwas

tightening,andmycoughwasdry.Ifeltdizzyagain.Iknewwe couldn’t survive morethan aminute or so, perhapsless. I looked back at Mae,but couldn’t see her. I heardher coughing. I waved myhand, trying to clear the fogso I could see her. It didn’twork. I waved my hand infrontofthewindshield,anditclearedmomentarily.Despitemyfitofcoughing,

I saw the lab in thedistance.The sun was shining.Everything looked normal. Itwas infuriating that it shouldappear so normal andpeaceful while we coughedourselves todeath. I couldn’tsee what happened toCharley.Hewasn’tinfrontofme anywhere. In fact—Iwaved my hand again—all Isawwas—Blowingsand.

Jesus,blowingsand.Thewindwasbackup.“Mae.” I coughed. “Mae.

Thedoor.”I don’t know if she heard

me.Shewascoughinghard.Ireached for the driver’s sidedoor,fumblingforthehandle.I felt confused anddisoriented. I was coughingcontinuously. I touched hotmetal,jerkeditdown.

The door swung openbeside me. Hot desert airrushed in, swirling the fog.Thewindhaddefinitelycomeup.“Mae.”She was racked with

coughing. Perhaps shecouldn’t move. I lunged forthe passenger door oppositeme. My ribs banged on thegearshift.Thefogwasthinnernow, and I saw the handle,twisted it, and shoved the

door open. It banged shut inthe wind. I pushed forward,twisted,shoveditopenagain,holdingitopenwithmyhand.Windblewthroughthecar.The black cloud vanished

in a few seconds. Thebackseat was still dark. Icrawled forward, out thepassenger door, and openedthebackdoor.Shereachedtome,andIhauledherout.We

werebothcoughinghard.Herlegsbuckled.Ithrewherarmover my shoulder and halfcarried her out into the opendesert.

Evennow,Idon’tknowhowI made it back to thelaboratory building. Theswarms had vanished; thewindwasblowinghard.Maewas a dead weight on my

shoulders,herbodylimp,herfeetdraggingoverthesand.Ihad no energy. I was rackedwith spasms of coughing,which often forced me tostop.Icouldn’tgetmybreath.Iwas dizzy, disoriented. Theglare of the sun had agreenishtingeandIsawspotsbefore my eyes. Mae wascoughingweakly;herbreathsshallow.Ihadthefeelingshewouldn’t survive. I trudged

on,puttingone footaheadoftheother.Somehowthedoorloomed

in front of me, and I got itopen. I broughtMae into theblack outer room. On theothersideoftheglassairlock,Ricky and Bobby Lembeckwere waiting. They werecheeringuson,butIcouldn’thear them. My headset wasbackinthecar.

The airlock doors hissedopen, and I got Mae inside.Shemanagedtostand,thoughshe was doubled overcoughing. I stepped away.Thewind began to blow herclean. I leaned against thewall,outofbreath,dizzy.I thought, Haven’t I done

thisbefore?I looked at my watch. It

was just three hours since I

hadnarrowlyescapedthelastattack.Ibentoverandputmyhandsonmyknees.Istaredatthe floor and waited for theairlock to become free. Iglanced over at Ricky andBobby. They were yelling,pointingtotheirears.Ishookmyhead.Couldn’t they see I didn’t

haveaheadset?Isaid,“Where’sCharley?”

They answered, but Icouldn’thearthem.“Did hemake it?Where’s

Charley?”I winced at a harsh

electronic squeal, and thenovertheintercomRickysaid,“—notmuchyoucando.”“Is he here?” I said. “Did

hemakeit?”“No.”“Whereishe?”

“Back at the car,” Rickysaid.“Henevergotoutofthecar.Didn’tyouknow?”“I was busy,” I said. “So

he’sbackthere?”“Yeah.”“Ishedead?”“No,no.He’salive.”I was still breathing hard,

stilldizzy.“What?”“It’s hard to tell on the

video monitor, but it lookslikeheisalive…”“Then why the fuck don’t

youguysgogethim?”Ricky’s voice was calm.

“We can’t, Jack.Wehave totakecareofMae.”“Someoneherecouldgo.”“We don’t have anyone to

spare.”“Ican’tgo,”Isaid.“I’min

noshapetogo.”

“Of course not,” Rickysaid, turning on his soothingvoice. The undertaker’svoice. “All this must be aterribleshocktoyou,Jack,allyou’vegonethrough—”“Just… tell me… who’s

goingtogethim,Ricky?”“To be brutally honest,”

Ricky said, “I don’t thinkthere’s any point. He had aconvulsion. A bad one. I

don’tthinkhehasmuchleft.”Isaid,“Nobody’sgoing?”“I’m afraid there’s no

point,Jack.”Inside the airlock, Bobby

was helping Mae out andleading her down thecorridor. Ricky was standingthere. Watching me throughtheglass.“Yourturn,Jack.Comeon

in.”

I didn’t move. I stayedleaning against the wall. Isaid, “Somebody has to gogethim.”“Not right now. The wind

isn’t stable, Jack. It’ll fallagainanyminute.”“Buthe’salive.”“Notforlong.”“Somebody has to go,” I

said.“Jack,youknowaswellas

I dowhatwe’re up against,”Rickysaid.Hewasdoingthevoice of reason now, calmand logical. “We’ve hadterrible losses.We can’t riskanybody else. By the timesomebody gets to Charley,he’ll be dead. He may bedead already. Come on andgetintheairlock.”I was taking stock of my

body, feeling my breathing,my chest,my deep fatigue. I

couldn’t go back out rightnow. Not in the condition Iwasin.SoIgotintotheairlock.

With a roar, the blowersflattened my hair, flutteredmy clothes, and cleaned theblack particles from myclothes and skin. My visionimproved almostimmediately. I breathed

easier. Now they wereblowing upward. I held outmyhandandsawitturnfromblack to pale gray, then tonormalfleshcoloragain.Now the blowers came

from the sides. I tookadeepbreath.Thepinprickswerenolongersopainfulonmyskin.Either I was feeling themless, or they were beingblown offmy skin.My headclearedalittle.Itookanother

breath.Ididn’tfeelgood.ButIfeltbetter.The glass doors opened.

Ricky held out his arms.“Jack. Thank God you’resafe.”I didn’t answer him. I just

turnedaround,andwentbackthewayIhadcome.“Jack…”The glass doors whished

shut,andlockedwithathunk.

“I’m not leaving him outthere,”Isaid.“What’reyougoingtodo?

Youcan’tcarryhim,he’stoobig. What’re you going todo?”“Idon’tknow.ButI’mnot

leavinghimbehind,Ricky.”AndIwentbackoutside.

OfcourseIwasdoingexactlywhat Ricky wanted—exactly

whatheexpectedmetodo—but I didn’t realize it at thetime. And even if somebodyhad toldme, Iwouldn’thavecredited Ricky with thatdegree of psychologicalsophistication. Ricky waspretty obvious in theway hemanaged people. But thistime,hegotme.

DAY64:22P.M.

The wind was blowingbriskly.Therewasnosignofthe swarms, and I crossed tothe shed without incident. Ididn’thaveaheadsetsoIwassparedRicky’scommentary.Thebackpassengerdoorof

theToyotawasopen.Ifound

Charley lying on his back,motionless. It took me amoment to see he was stillbreathing, althoughshallowly. With an effort, Imanaged to pull him into asitting position. He stared atme with dull eyes. His lipswere blue and his skin waschalkygray.Atearrandownhischeek.Hismouthmoved.“Don’t try to talk,” I said.

“Save your energy.”

Grunting,Ipulledhimovertothe edge of the seat, by thedoor, and swung his legsaround so hewas facing out.Charley was a big guy, sixfeet tall and at least twentypounds heavier than I was. Iknew I couldn’t carry himback.Butbehindthebackseatof the Toyota I saw the fattiresofadirtbike.Thatmightwork.“Charley, can you hear

me?”An almost imperceptible

nod.“Canyoustandup?”Nothing. No reaction. He

wasn’tlookingatme;hewasstaringintospace.“Charley,” I said, “do you

thinkyoucanstand?”He nodded again, then

straightened his body so heslid off the seat, and landed

on the ground. He stoodshakilyforamoment,hislegstrembling, and then hecollapsed against me,clutchingme to hold himselfup.Isaggedunderhisweight.“Okay,Charley…”Ieased

him back to the car, and sathim down on the runningboard. “Just stay there,okay?”I let go of him, and he

remained sitting. He stillstaredintospace,unfocused.“I’llberightback.”I went around to the back

of the Land Cruiser, andpopped the trunk. There wasa dirt bike, all right—thecleanest dirt bike I had everseen. It was encased in aheavyMylarbag.And it hadbeenwipeddownafteritwasused. Thatwould beDavid’s

way, I thought. He wasalways so clean, soorganized.Ipulledthebikeoutofthe

car and set it on the ground.There was no key in theignition.Iwenttothefrontofthe Toyota, and opened thepassenger door. The frontseats were spotless andcarefully ordered. David hadone of those suction cupnotepadson thedashboard, a

cradleforhiscellphone,anda telephone headset mountedona littlehook. Iopenedhisglove box and saw that theinterior was neatly arranged,too.Registrationpapersinanenvelope, beneath a smallplastic tray divided intocompartments containing lipbalm, Kleenex, Band-Aids.No keys. Then I noticed thatbetweentheseatstherewasastorage box for the CD

player, and beneath it was alocked tray. It had the samekindoflockastheignition.Itprobably opened with theignitionkey.I banged the tray with the

heel of my hand, and heardsomething metallic rattleinside. It might have been asmall key. Like a dirt bikekey. Anyway, somethingmetal.

WherewereDavid’skeys?I wondered if Vince hadtaken David’s keys away onarrival,ashehadtakenmine.If so, then the keys were inthelab.Thatwouldn’tdomeanygood.I looked toward the lab

building, wondering if Ishould go back to get them.ThatwaswhenInoticed thatthe wind was blowing lessstrongly. There was still a

layer of sand blowing alongthe ground, but it was lessvigorous.Great, I thought.That’sall

Ineednow.Feeling new urgency, I

decidedtogiveuponthedirtbike and its missing key.Perhaps therewas somethingin the storage shed that Icould use to move Charleyback to the lab. I didn’t

remember anything, but Iwent into the shed to check,anyway. I enteredcautiously,hearing a banging sound. Itturnedout tobe thefardoor,bangingopenandshut in thewind. Rosie’s body lay justinside the door, alternatelylight and dark as the doorbanged. She had the samemilkycoatingonherskinthatthe rabbit had had. But Ididn’tgoovertolookclosely.

Ihastilysearchedtheshelves,opened the utility closet,lookedbehindstackedboxes.Ifoundafurnituredollymadeof wooden slats with smallrollers. But it would beuselessinsand.I went back outside under

the corrugated shed, andhurried to the Toyota. Therewas nothing to do but try tocarry Charley across to thelab building. Imight be able

to manage it if he couldsupport part of his ownweight. Maybe by now hewas feeling better, I thought.Maybehewasstronger.But one look at his face

told me he wasn’t. Ifanything, he appearedweaker.“Shit, Charley, what am I

goingtodowithyou?”Hedidn’tanswer.

“I can’t carry you. AndDavid didn’t leave any keysin his car, so we’re out ofluck—”Istopped.WhatifDavidwerelocked

out of his car? He was anengineer, he thought ofcontingencies like that. Evenif it was unlikely to happen,Davidwouldneverbecaughtunprepared. He’d never be

flagging down cars asking ifthey had a wire hanger hecouldborrow.No,no.Davidwouldhavehiddena

key.Probablyinoneofthosemagnetickeyboxes. Istartedto lie down on my back tolookunderneaththecarwhenit occurred to me that Davidwould never get his clothesdirty just to retrieve a key.He’d hide it cleverly, butwithineasyreach.

Withthatinmind,Iranmyfingersalongtheinsideofthefront bumpers. Nothing. Iwenttothebackbumper,didthe same. Nothing. I feltunder the running boards onbothsidesofthecar.Nothing.No magnetic box, no key. Icouldn’t believe it, so I gotdown and looked under thecar,toseeiftherewasabraceor a strut I had somehowmissedwithmyfingers.

No, there wasn’t. I felt nokey.I shookmy head, puzzled.

Thehidingplaceneededtobesteel for the magnetic box.Anditneededtobeprotectedfrom the elements. That waswhy almost everybody hidtheir keys inside the carbumpers.Davidhadn’tdonethat.Whereelsecouldyouhide

akey?I walked around the car

again, looking at the smoothlines of the metal. I ran myfingers around the front grillopening, and under the backlicenseplateindentation.Nokey.Istartedtosweat.Itwasn’t

only the tension: by now Icoulddefinitely feel thedropin the wind. I went back to

Charley,whowasstill sittingonthesideboard.“How you doing,

Charley?”Hedidn’tanswer,justgave

a little shrug. I took hisheadset off, and put it on. Iheard static, and voicestalkingsoftly.ItsoundedlikeRicky and Bobby, and itsounded like an argument. Ipulled the mouthpiece near

my lips and said, “Guys?Speaktome.”Apause.Bobby,surprised:

“Jack?”“That’sright…”“Jack,youcan’tstaythere.

The wind’s been fallingsteadily for the last fewminutes. It’s only ten knotsnow.”“Okay…”“Jack, you’ve got to come

backin.”“Ican’tjustyet.”“Below seven knots, the

swarmscanmove.”“Okay…”Ricky: “What do you

mean, okay? Jesus, Jack, areyoucominginornot?”“Ican’tcarryCharley.”“You knew thatwhen you

wentout.”

“Uh-huh.”“Jack. What the hell are

youdoing?”I heard the whirr of the

videomonitorinthecornerofthe shed. I looked over theroof of the car and saw thelensrotateas theyzoomedinonme.TheToyotawas sucha big car, it almost blockedmy view of the camera.Andthe ski rack on top made it

even higher. I vaguelywondered why David had aski rack, because he didn’tski; he always hated cold.The rack must have comewith the car as standardequipmentand—Iswore.Itwassoobvious.TherewasonlyoneplaceI

hadn’t checked. I jumped upon the running board andlookedattheroofofthecar.I

ran my fingers over the skirack, and along the paralleltracksbolted to the roof.Myfingers touched black tapeagainst the black rack. Ipulledthetapeaway,andsawasilverkey.“Jack?Nineknots.”“Okay.”Idroppedbackdowntothe

ground, and climbed in thedriver’sseat. Iput thekey in

the lock box and twisted it.The box opened. Inside Ifoundasmallyellowkey.“Jack? What’re you

doing?”I hurried around to the

back of the car. I fitted theyellow key in the ignition. Istraddledthebikeandstartedit up. The motor rumbledloudly under the corrugatedshed.

“Jack?”I walked the bike around

the side of the car to whereCharleywassitting.Thatwasgoing to be the tricky part.The bike didn’t have akickstand;ImovedasclosetoCharley as I could and thentried to support him enoughthat he could climb onto thebackseat while I still sat onthe bike and kept it upright.Fortunately, he seemed to

understandwhatIwasdoing;I got him in place and toldhimtoholdontome.Bobby Lembeck: “Jack?

They’rehere.”“Where?”“South side. Coming

towardyou.”“Okay.”I gunned the motor, and

pulled the passenger doorshut. And I stayed exactly

whereIwas.“Jack?”Ricky: “What’s the matter

withhim?Heknowswhatthedangeris.”Bobby:“Iknow.”“He’sjustsittingthere.”Charley had his hands

around my waist. His headwas onmy shoulder. I couldhear his raspy breathing. Isaid, “Hold tight, Charley.”

Henodded.Ricky:“Jack?What’reyou

doing?”Thenatmyear, inavoice

justaboveawhisper,Charleysaid,“Fuckingidiot.”“Yes.”Inodded.Iwaited.I

could see the swarms now,coming around the building.This time there were nineswarms, and they headedstraight for me in a V

formation. Their ownflockingbehavior.Nine swarms, I thought.

Soon there would be thirtyswarms, and then twohundred…Bobby: “Jack, do you see

them?”“I see them.” Of course I

sawthem.And of course they were

different from before. They

were denser now, thecolumns thicker and moresubstantial. Those swarmsdidn’t weigh three poundsanymore. I sensed they werecloser to ten or twentypounds. Maybe even morethan that. Maybe thirtypounds.Theywouldhaverealweight now, and realsubstance.I waited. I stayed where I

was. Some detached part of

my brain was wonderingwhat the formationwoulddowhen it reached me. Wouldthey circleme?Would someoftheswarmshangbackandwait?Whatdid theymakeofthenoisybike?Nothing—they came right

forme,flatteningtheVintoaline, then into a kind ofinverted V. I could hear thedeep vibrating hum.With somany swarms it was much

louder.Theswirlingcolumnswere

twenty yards away fromme,then ten. Were they able tomove faster now, or was itmy imagination? I waiteduntil they were almost uponme before I twisted thethrottle and raced forward. Ipassed straight through thelead swarm, into theblackness and out again, andthen I was gunning for the

power stationdoor,bouncingover thedesert, notdaring tolook back overmy shoulder.Itwasawildride,anditonlylasted a few seconds. As wereached the power station, Idropped the bike, put myshoulder under Charley’sarm, and staggered the finalsteportwotothedoor.Theswarmswerestillfifty

yards away from the doorwhen I managed to turn the

knob,pull,getonefootinthecrack,andkickthedooropenthe rest of the way. When IdidthatIlostmybalance,andCharley and I more or lessfellthroughthedoorontotheconcrete. The door cameswinging shut, and whangedinto our legs, which hungoutside. I felta sharppain inmy ankles—but worse, thedoorwas stillopen,keptajarby our legs. Through the

opening I could see theswarmsapproaching.Iscrambledtomyfeetand

draggedCharley’s inert bodyinto the room. The doorwouldn’t shut completelybehindus,butremainedopenacrack,eventhoughIyankedat itacoupleof times, tryingto get it closed. But theremust have been dirt in thejamb.Igaveitup.Ihadtogetboth of us into the airlock.

Wewouldn’tbesafeuntilthefirst set of glass doors hadhissedshut.Grunting and sweating, I

hauled Charley into theairlock. I got him into asitting position, propped upagainstthesideblowers.Thatcleared his feet of the glassdoors.Andbecauseonlyonepersoncouldbeintheairlockat a time, I stepped backoutside.And Iwaited for the

doorstoclose.Buttheydidn’tclose.I looked on the side wall

forsomesortofbutton,butIdidn’t see anything. Thelights were on inside theairlock, so it was gettingpower. But the doors didn’tclose.And I knew the swarms

werefastapproaching.Bobby Lembeck and Mae

came running into the farroom.Isawthemthroughthesecond set of glass doors.Theywerewavingtheirarms,making big gestures,apparently indicating for metocomebackintotheairlock.But that didn’t make sense.Into my headset, I said, “Ithoughtyouhad togooneatatime.”Theydidn’thaveheadsets,

and couldn’t hear me. They

were waving frantically,comein,comein.I held up two fingers

questioningly. They shooktheir heads. They seemed tobe indicating I was missingthepoint.At my feet, I saw the

nanoparticles begin to comeinto the room like blacksteam. They were comingthrough the edges of the fire

door. I had only five or tensecondsnow.I stepped back in the

airlock.BobbyandMaewerenodding, approving. But thedoorsdidnotclose.Nowtheywere making other gestures,lifting.“You want me to lift

Charley?”Theydid.Ishookmyhead.

Charleywasslumpedtherein

a sitting position, a deadweight on the ground. Ilookedback at the anteroom,and saw it was filling withblack particles, starting toformagrayishmistintheair.Thegrayishmistwascomingintotheairlockaswell. I feltthefirst tinypinpricksonmyskin.I looked at Bobby and

Mae,on theothersideof theglass. They could see what

was happening; they knewonly seconds remained.Theywere again making gestures:lift Charley up. I bent overhim, gotmy hands under hisarmpits.Itriedtohaulhimtohisfeet,buthedidn’tbudge.“Charley, for God’s sake,

help.”Groaning,Itriedagain.Charley kicked his legs andpushed with his arms and Igot him a couple of feet offtheground.Thenheslidback

down. “Charley, come on,oncemore…”IpulledupashardasIcould,andthistimehehelpedalotandwegothislegsbackunderhimandwitha final heave, got himstanding. I kept my handsunderhisarmpits;wewereina kind of crazy lovers’clench. Charley waswheezing. I looked back totheglassdoors.Thedoorsdidn’tclose.

Theairwasgettingblackerall the time. I looked toMaeand Bobby, and they werefrantic, holding up twofingers,shakingthematme.Ididn’t get it. “Yes, there’stwo of us …” What waswrong with the damneddoors?FinallyMaebentover,and very deliberately pointedwithone fingerof eachhandto her two shoes. I saw hermouth, “Two shoes.” And

pointtoCharley.“Yeah, so, we have two

shoes. He’s standing on twoshoes.”Maeshookherhead.Sheheldupfourfingers.“Fourshoes?”The pinpricks were

irritating, making it difficultto think. I felt the oldconfusion begin to seep overme. My brain felt sluggish.

What did she mean, fourshoes?It was beginning to get

dark in the airlock. It wasbecoming harder to see Maeand Bobby. They werepantomiming something else,butIdidn’tgetit.Theybeganto feel distant to me, distantand trivial. I was withoutenergy,andwithoutcare.Twoshoes,fourshoes.

And then I got it. I turnedmy back to Charley, leanedagainst him, and said, “Putyourhandsaroundmyneck.”Hedid,andIgrabbedhislegsand lifted his feet off thefloor.Instantly, the door hissed

shut.Thatwasit,Ithought.Theblowersbegantoblast

down on us. The air rapidly

cleared. I strained to holdCharley up and I manageduntil I saw the second set ofdoors unlock and slide open.Mae and Bobby hurried intotheairlock.And I just fell down.

Charleylandedontopofme.I think it was Bobby whodragged him offme. I’m notsure. From that point on, Idon’tremembermuchatall.

NEST

DAY66:18A.M.

I woke up in my bed in theresidential module. The airhandlers were roaring soloudlytheroomsoundedlikean airport. Bleary-eyed, Istaggered over to the door.Thedoorwaslocked.Ipoundedonitforawhile

but nobody answered, evenwhen I yelled. I went to thelittleworkstationon thedeskand clicked it on. A menucame up and I searched forsome kind of intercom. Ididn’t see anything like that,although I poked around theinterface for a while. I musthave set something off,because a window openedand Ricky appeared, smilingat me. He said, “So, you’re

awake.Howdoyoufeel?”“Unlock the goddamn

door.”“Isyourdoorlocked?”“Unlockit,damnit.”“Itwas only for your own

protection.”“Ricky,” I said, “open the

damndoor.”“I already did. It’s open,

Jack.”

I walked to the door. Hewas right, it openedimmediately. I looked at thelatch.Therewasanextrabolt,some kind of remote lockingmechanism. I’d have toremembertotapeoverthat.On the monitor, Ricky

said,“Youmightwanttotakeashower.”“Yeah,Iwould.Whyisthe

airsoloud?”

“Weturnedonfullventingin your room,” Ricky said.“Incasetherewereanyextraparticles.”I rummaged inmybag for

clothes. “Where’s theshower?”“Doyouwantsomehelp?”“No, I do not want some

help. Just tell me where thegoddamnshoweris.”“Yousoundangry.”

“Fuckyou,Ricky.”

The shower helped. I stoodunder it for about twentyminutes, letting the steaminghotwaterrunovermyachingbody. I seemed to have a lotof bruises—onmy chest,mythigh—but I couldn’tremember how I had gottenthem.When I came out, I found

Ricky there, sitting on abench. “Jack, I’m veryconcerned.”“How’sCharley?”“He seems to be okay.

He’ssleeping.”“Did you lock his room,

too?”“Jack. Iknowyou’vebeen

throughanordeal,andIwantyou to know we’re all verygratefulforwhatyou’vedone

—I mean, the company isgrateful,and—”“Fuckthecompany.”“Jack, I understand how

youmightbeangry.”“Cut thecrap,Ricky. Igot

no goddamn help at all. Notfrom you, and not fromanybodyelseinthisplace.”“I’m sure it must feel that

way…”“It is that way, Ricky. No

helpisnohelp.”“Jack, Jack. Please. I’m

trying to tell you that I’msorry for everything thathappened.Ifeelterribleaboutit. I really do. If there wereany way to go back andchange it, believe me, Iwould.”I looked at him. “I don’t

believeyou,Ricky.”He gave a winning little

smile. “I hope in time thatwillchange.”“Itwon’t.”“You know that I always

valuedourfriendship,Jack.Itwas always the mostimportantthingtome.”I just stared at him. Ricky

wasn’tlisteningatall.Hejusthadthatsillysmile-and-everything-will-be-fine lookonhisface. I thought, Is he on

drugs? He was certainlyactingbizarrely.“Well,anyway.”Hetooka

breath, changed the subject.“Julia’s coming out, that’sgood news. She should beheresometimethisevening.”“Uh-huh. Why is she

comingout?”“Well, I’m sure because

she’s worried about theserunawayswarms.”

“How worried is she?” Isaid. “Because these swarmscould have been killed offweeks ago, when theevolutionary patterns firstappeared. But that didn’thappen.”“Yes. Well. The thing is,

back then nobody reallyunderstood—”“Ithinktheydid.”“Well,no.”Hemanagedto

appear unjustly accused, andslightly offended. But I wasgettingtiredofhisgame.“Ricky,” I said, “I came

out here on the helicopterwith a bunch of PR guys.Who notified them there’s aPRproblemhere?”“I don’t know about any

PRguys.”“They’d been told not to

getoutofthehelicopter.That

itwasdangeroushere.”Heshookhishead.“Ihave

noidea…Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”I threw up my hands, and

walkedoutofthebathroom.“I don’t!” Ricky called

afterme,protesting.“Iswear,I don’t know a thing aboutit!”

Half an hour later, as a kind

of peace offering, Rickybroughtme themissing codeIhadbeenasking for. Itwasbrief,justasheetofpaper.“Sorryaboutthat,”hesaid.

“Tookme a while to find it.Rosie took a wholesubdirectory offline a fewdays ago to work on onesection. I guess she forgot toput it back. That’s why itwasn’tinthemaindirectory.”

“Uh-huh.” I scanned thesheet. “What was sheworkingon?”Ricky shrugged. “Beats

me.Oneoftheotherfiles.”

“Ricky,” I said, “this codelooks almost the same as theoriginal.”“Yeah, I think so. The

changesareallminor.Idon’tknowwhyit’ssuchanissue.”He shrugged. “I mean, assoonaswelostcontroloftheswarm, the precise codeseemed a little beside thepoint to me. You couldn’tchangeit,anyway.”

“And how did you losecontrol? There’s noevolutionaryalgorithminthiscodehere.”He spread his hands.

“Jack,” he said, “ifwe knewthat, we’d know everything.We wouldn’t be in thismess.”“But I was asked to come

hereandcheckproblemswiththe code my team had

written,Ricky.Iwastoldtheagents were losing track oftheirgoals…”“I’d say breaking free of

radiocontrolislosingtrackofgoals.”“But the code’s not

changed.”“Yeah well, nobody really

cared about the code itself,Jack. It’s the implications ofthe code. It’s the behavior

that emerges from the code.That’swhatwewantedyoutohelpuswith.BecauseImean,itisyourcode,right?”“Yeah, and it’s your

swarm.”“Trueenough,Jack.”He shrugged in his self-

deprecatingway, and left theroom.Istaredatthepaperfora while, and then wonderedwhy he’d printed it out for

me.ItmeantIcouldn’tcheckthe electronic document.Maybe Ricky was glossingover yet another problem.Maybe the code really hadbeen changed, but he wasn’tshowingme.Ormaybe—Thehellwith it, I thought.

I crumpled up the sheet ofpaper, and tossed it in thewastebasket. However thisproblemgotsolved, itwasn’tgoing to be with computer

code.Thatmuchwasclear.

Mae was in the biology lab,peering at her monitor, handcuppedunderherchin.Isaid,“Youfeelokay?”“Yes.” She smiled. “How

aboutyou?”“Just tired. And my

headache’sback.”“I have one, too. But I

think mine’s from this

phage.” She pointed to themonitor screen. There was ascanningelectronmicroscopeimageofavirusinblackandwhite.Thephage looked likea mortar shell—bulbouspointed head, attached to anarrowertail.I said, “That’s the new

mutant you were talkingaboutbefore?”“Yes. I’ve already taken

onefermentationtankoffline.Production is now at onlysixty percent capacity. Notthatitmatters,Isuppose.”“And what’re you doing

withthatofflinetank?”“I’m testing anti-viral

reagents,”shesaid.“Ihavealimitednumberof themhere.We’re not really set up toanalyze contaminants.Protocol is just to go offline

and scrub any tank that goesbad.”“Why haven’t you done

that?”“I probably will,

eventually.Butsincethisisanewmutant,IthoughtIbettertry and find a counteragent.Because they’ll need it forfutureproduction.Imean,theviruswillbeback.”“Youmeanitwillreappear

again?Re-evolve?”“Yes.Perhapsmoreorless

virulent, but essentially thesame.”Inodded.Iknewaboutthis

from work with geneticalgorithms—programs thatwere specifically designed tomimicevolution.Mostpeopleimagined evolution to be aone-time-only process, aconfluence of chance events.

If plants hadn’t startedmaking oxygen, animal lifewouldneverhaveevolved. Ifan asteroid hadn’t wiped outthe dinosaurs, mammalswouldneverhavetakenover.Ifsomefishhadn’tcomeontoland, we’d all still be in thewater.Andsoon.All that was true enough,

but therewasanother sideofevolution,too.Certainforms,andcertainwaysof life,kept

appearing again and again.Forexample,parasitism—oneanimal living off another—had evolved independentlymany times in the course ofevolution. Parasitism was areliableway for life-forms tointeract; and it keptreemerging.A similar phenomenon

occurred with geneticprograms. They tended tomove toward certain tried-

and-true solutions. Theprogrammers talked about itintermsofpeaksonafitnesslandscape; they could modelit as three-dimensional false-colormountainrange.Butthefactwasthatevolutionhaditsstableside,too.And one thing you could

countonwasthatanybig,hotbrothofbacteriawaslikelytoget contaminated by a virus,and if that virus couldn’t

infect the bacteria, it wouldmutate to a form that could.You could count on that theway you could count onfinding ants in your sugarbowl if you left it out on thecountertoolong.

Considering that evolutionhas been studied for ahundred and fifty years, itwas surprising how little we

knew about it. The old ideasabout survival of the fittesthadgoneoutof fashion longago. Those views were toosimpleminded. Nineteenth-century thinkers sawevolution as “nature red intooth and claw,” envisioningaworldwherestronganimalskilled weaker ones. Theydidn’t take into account thatthe weaker ones wouldinevitably get stronger, or

fightbackinsomeotherway.Whichofcourse theyalwaysdo.Thenew ideas emphasized

interactions amongcontinuously evolving forms.Some people talked ofevolutionasanarmsrace,bywhich they meant an ever-escalatinginteraction.Aplantattacked by a pest evolves apesticide in its leaves. Thepest evolves to tolerate the

pesticide,sotheplantevolvesa stronger pesticide. And soon.Others talked about this

pattern as coevolution, inwhichtwoormorelife-formsevolved simultaneously totolerate each other. Thus aplantattackedbyantsevolvesto tolerate the ants, and evenbegins to make special foodfor themonthesurfaceof itsleaves. In return the resident

antsprotecttheplant,stinginganyanimalthattriestoeattheleaves.Prettysoonneithertheplant nor the ant species cansurvivewithouttheother.This pattern was so

fundamental that manypeoplethoughtitwastherealcore of evolution. Parasitismand symbiosis were the truebasisforevolutionarychange.These processes lay at theheartofallevolution,andhad

been present from the verybeginning. Lynn Marguliswas famous fordemonstrating that bacteriahad originally developednuclei by swallowing otherbacteria.Bythetwenty-firstcentury,

it was clear that coevolutionwasn’t limited to pairedcreatures in some isolatedspinning dance. There werecoevolutionary patterns with

three, ten, or n life-forms,wherencouldbeanynumberat all. A cornfield containedmany kinds of plants, wasattacked by many pests, andevolved many defenses. Theplants competed with weeds;thepestscompetedwithotherpests; largeranimalsateboththe plants and the pests. Theoutcome of this complexinteraction was alwayschanging,alwaysevolving.

And it was inherentlyunpredictable.Thatwas,intheend,whyI

wassoangrywithRicky.

He should have known thedangers, when he found hecouldn’t control the swarms.Itwasinsanitytositbackandallowthemtoevolveontheirown. Ricky was bright; heknew about genetic

algorithms; he knew thebiological background forcurrent trends inprogramming.He knew that self-

organizationwasinevitable.He knew that emergent

formswereunpredictable.He knew that evolution

involved interaction with nforms.He knew all that, and he

diditanyway.Hedid,orJuliadid.

IcheckedonCharley.Hewasstill asleep in his room,sprawled out on the bed.Bobby Lembeck walked by.“How long has he beenasleep?”“Sinceyougotback.Three

hoursorso.”“Do you think we should

wakehimup,checkonhim?”“Nah, let him sleep.We’ll

checkhimafterdinner.”“Whenisthat?”“Half an hour.” Bobby

Lembeck laughed. “I’mcooking.”

That reminded me I wassupposedtocallhomearounddinnertime,soIwentintomyroomanddialed.

Ellen answered the phone.“Hello? What is it!” Shesounded harried. I heardAmanda crying and Ericyelling at Nicole in thebackground. Ellen said,“Nicole, do not do that toyourbrother!”Isaid,“Hi,Ellen.”“Oh,thankGod,”shesaid.

“You have to speak to yourdaughter.”

“What’sgoingon?”“Justaminute.Nicole, it’s

your father.” I could tell shewasholdingout thephone toher.Apause,then,“Hi,Dad.”“What’sgoingon,Nic?”“Nothing. Eric is being a

brat.”Matter-of-factly.“Nic,Iwant toknowwhat

youdidtoyourbrother.”

“Dad.” She lowered hervoice to a whisper. I knewshe was cupping her handover the phone. “Aunt Ellenisnotverynice.”“I heard that,” Ellen said,

in the background. But atleast the baby had stoppedcrying;she’dbeenpickedup.“Nicole,” I said. “You’re

theoldestchild,I’mcountingon you to help keep things

togetherwhileI’mgone.”“I’mtrying,Dad.Butheis

amajorlyturkeybutt.”From the background: “I

am not! Up yours, weaselpoop!”“Dad.YouseewhatI’mup

against.”Eric:“Upyourholewitha

ten-footpole!”I looked at the monitor in

frontofme. It showedviews

of thedesertoutside, rotatingimages from all the securitycameras.Onecamerashowedmydirtbike,lyingonitsside,near the door to the powerstation. Another camerashowed the outside of thestorage shed, with the doorswinging open and shut,revealing the outline ofRosie’s body inside. Twopeople had died today. I hadalmost died. And now my

family, which yesterday hadbeenthemostimportantthinginmylife,seemeddistantandpetty.“It’s very simple, Dad,”

Nicolewassayinginhermostreasonable grown-up voice.“I came home with AuntEllen from the store, I got averyniceblousefortheshow,and then Eric came into myroom and knocked all mybooks on the floor. So I told

himtopickthemup.Hesaidnoandcalledmetheb-word,so I kicked him in the butt,not very hard, and took hisG.I. Joe and hid it. That’sall.”I said, “You took his G.I.

Joe?” G.I. Joe was Eric’smost important possession.HetalkedtoG.I.Joe.Hesleptwith G.I. Joe on the pillowbesidehim.

“Hecanhaveitback,”shesaid,“assoonashecleansupmybooks.”“Nic…”“Dad, he called me the b-

word.”“GivehimhisG.I.Joe.”The images on the screen

were rotating through thevarious cameras.Each imageonly stayed on screen for asecond or two. I waited for

theimageoftheshedtocomeback up. I had a naggingfeeling about it. Somethingbotheredme.“Dad,thisishumiliating.”“Nic,you’renotthemother

—”“Oh yeah, and she was

hereformaybefiveseconds.”“She was at the house?

Momwasthere?”“Butthen,bigsurprise,she

hadtogo.Shehadaplanetocatch.”“Uh-huh.Nicole,youneed

tolistentoEllen—”“Dad, I told you she’s

being—”“Because she’s in charge

untilIgetback.Soifshesaystodosomething,youdoit.”“Dad. I feel this is

unreasonable.”Hermembers-of-the-juryvoice.

“Well,honey,that’showitis.”“Butmyproblem—”“Nicole. That’s how it is.

UntilIgetback.”“When are you coming

home?”“Probablytomorrow.”“Okay.”“So. We understand each

other?”

“Yes, Dad. I’ll probablyhave a nervous breakdownhere…”“Then I promise I’ll visit

youinthementalhospital,assoonasIgetback.”“Veryfunny.”“LetmespeaktoEric.”I had a short conversation

with Eric, who told meseveral times that it was notfair.ItoldhimtoputNicole’s

booksback.Hesaidhedidn’tknock them down, it was anaccident. I said to put themback anyway. Then I talkedtoEllenbriefly.IencouragedherasbestIcould.Sometime during this

conversation, the securitycamera showing the outsideof the shed came up again.AndIagainsawtheswingingdoor, and the outside of theshed. In this elevation the

shed was slightly abovegrade; there were fourwooden steps leading fromthe door down to groundlevel. But it all looked thewayitshould.Ididnotknowwhathadbotheredme.ThenIrealized.David’sbodywasn’tthere.

Itwasn’tintheframe.Earlierin the day, I had seen hisbody slide out the door and

disappear from view, so itshould be lying outside.Given the slight grade, itmighthaverolledafewyardsfrom the door, but not morethanthat.Nobody.But perhaps I was

mistaken. Or perhaps therewerecoyotes.Inanycasethecamera image had nowchanged. I’d have to sit

throughanothercycletoseeitagain.Idecidednottowait.IfDavid’sbodywasgone,therewasnothingIcoulddoaboutitnow.

It was about seven o’clockwhen we sat down to eatdinner in the little kitchen oftheresidentialmodule.Bobbybrought out plates of ravioliwithtomatosauce,andmixed

vegetables.Ihadbeenastay-at-home dad long enough torecognize the brands offrozen food hewas using. “Ireally think thatContadina isbetterravioli.”Bobby shrugged. “I go to

the fridge, I find what’sthere.”Iwassurprisinglyhungry.I

ateeverythingonmyplate.“Couldn’t have been that

bad,”Bobbysaid.Maewas silent as she ate,

as usual. Beside her, Vinceate noisily. Rickywas at thefar end of the table, awayfromme,lookingdownathisfood and not meeting myeyes.Itwasallrightwithme.Nobodywanted to talkaboutRosie and David, but theemptystoolsaroundthetablewere pretty obvious. Bobbysaidtome,“So,you’regoing

togoouttonight?”“Yes,” I said. “When is it

dark?”“Sunset should be around

seven-twenty,” Bobby said.He flicked on a monitor onthe wall. “I’ll get you theexacttime.”I said, “So we can go out

three hours after that.Sometimeafterten.”Bobby said, “And you

think you can track theswarm?”“We should. Charley

sprayed one swarm prettythoroughly.”“As a result of which, I

glow in the dark,” Charleysaid, laughing. He came intotheroomandsatdown.Everyone greeted him

enthusiastically. If nothingelse, it felt better to have

another body at the table. Iaskedhimhowhefelt.“Okay.Alittleweak.AndI

haveafuckingheadachefromhell.”“Iknow.Metoo.”“Andme,”Maesaid.“It’s worse than the

headache Ricky gives me,”Charley said, looking downthetable.“Lastslonger,too.”Ricky said nothing. Just

continuedeating.“Do you suppose these

things get into your brain?”Charleysaid.“Imean,they’renanoparticles. They can getinhaled,crosstheblood-brainbarrier … and go into thebrain?”Bobby pushed a plate of

pasta in front ofCharley.Heimmediately ground pepperalloverit.

“Don’t you want to tasteit?”“No offense. But I’m sure

itneedsit.”Hestartedtoeat.“I mean,” he continued,

“that’s why everybody’sworried aboutnanotechnology polluting theenvironment, right?Nanoparticles are smallenough to get placesnobody’s ever had to worry

about before. They can getinto the synapses betweenneurons. They can get intothe cytoplasm of cardiaccells. They can get into cellnuclei.They’re small enoughto go anywhere inside thebody. So maybe we’reinfected,Jack.”“You don’t seem that

worriedaboutit,”Rickysaid.“Hey,what can I do about

itnow?HopeIgiveittoyou,is about all. Hey, thisspaghetti’snotbad.”“Ravioli,”Bobbysaid.“Whatever. Just needs a

little pepper.” He groundsomemoreoverthetop.“Sundownisseven-twenty-

seven,” Bobby said, readingthe time off the monitor. Hewent back to eating. “And itdoesnotneedpepper.”

“Fuckingdoes.”“Ialreadyputinpepper.”“Needsmore.”I said, “Guys? Are we

missinganybody?”“Idon’tthinkso,why?”I pointed to the monitor.

“Who’s that standing out inthedesert?”

DAY67:12P.M.

“Oh shit,” Bobby said. Hejumpedupfromthetableandranoutoftheroom.Everyoneelse did, too. I followed theothers.Ricky was holding his

radio as he went: “Vince,lockusdown.Vince?”

“We’re locked down,”Vince said. “Pressure is fiveplus.”“Why didn’t the alarm go

off?”“Can’tsay.Maybe they’ve

learnedtogetpastthat,too.”I followed everybody into

the utility room, where therewere large wall-mountedliquid crystal displaysshowing the outside video

cameras.Views of the desertfromallangles.Thesunwasalreadybelow

thehorizon,buttheskywasabright orange, fading intopurple and then dark blue.Silhouetted against this skywas a youngman with shorthair. He was wearing jeansand a white T-shirt andlooked like a surfer. Icouldn’t see his face clearlyin the failing light, but even

so, watching the way hemoved, I thought there wassomething familiar abouthim.“We got any floodlights

out there?” Charley said. Hewaswalking around, holdinghisbowlofpasta,stilleating.“Lights coming up,”

Bobby said, and a momentlater the youngman stood inglaringlight.NowIcouldsee

himclearly—And then it hit me. It

lookedlikethesamekidwhohad been in Julia’s car lastnight after dinner, when shedrove away, just before heraccident. The same blondsurfer kid who, now that Isawhimagain,lookedlike—“Jesus, Ricky,” Bobby

said.“Helookslikeyou.”“You’re right,” Mae said.

“It’s Ricky. Even the T-shirt.”Ricky was getting a soft

drink out of the dispensingmachine. He turned towardthe display screen. “What’reyouguystalkingabout?”“He looks like you,” Mae

said. “He even has your T-shirt with I Am Root on thefront.”RickylookedathisownT-

shirt, thenbackat thescreen.Hewas silent for amoment.“I’llbedamned.”Isaid,“You’veneverbeen

out of the building, Ricky.Howcomeit’syou?”“Fuckingbeatsme,”Ricky

said. He shrugged casually.Toocasually?Mae said, “I can’t make

outthefaceverywell.Imeanthefeatures.”

Charley moved closer tothe largestof thescreensandsquinted at the image. “Thereason you can’t seefeatures,”hesaid,“isbecausetherearen’tany.”“Oh,comeon.”“Charley, it’s a resolution

artifact,that’sall.”“It’s not,” Charley said.

“There’re no fuckingfeatures. Zoom it in and see

foryourself.”Bobbyzoomed.Theimage

of the blond head enlarged.The figure wasmoving backand forth, in and out of theframe,butitwasimmediatelyclear that Charley was right.Therewerenofeatures.Therewasanovalpatchofpaleskinbeneath the blond hairline;and therewas the suggestionof a nose and brow ridges,and a sort of mound where

the lips should be. But therewerenoactualfeatures.Itwas as if a sculptor had

started to carve a face, andhad stopped before he wasfinished.Itwasanunfinishedface.Except that the eyebrows

moved, from time to time.Asort of wiggle, or flutter. Orperhapsthatwasanartifact.“You know what we’re

looking at here, don’t you?”Charley said. He soundedworried. “Pan down. Let’ssee the rest of him.” Bobbypanned down, and we sawwhite sneakers moving overthe desert dirt. Except thesneakers didn’t seem to betouching the ground, butrather hovering just above it.And the sneakers themselveswere sort of blurry. Therewasahintofshoelaces,anda

streak where a Nike logowould be. But it was like asketch, rather than an actualsneaker.“This is very weird,”Mae

said.“Notweirdatall,”Charley

said. “It’s a calculatedapproximation for density.The swarm doesn’t haveenough agents tomake high-resolution shoes. So it’s

approximating.”“Or else,” I said, “it’s the

best it can do with thematerials at hand. Itmust begeneratingall thesecolorsbytiltingitsphotovoltaicsurfaceat slight angles, catching thelight. It’s like those flashcards the crowd holds up infootball stadiums to make apicture.”“In which case,” Charley

said, “its behavior is quitesophisticated.”“More sophisticated than

whatwesawearlier,”Isaid.“Oh, for Christ’s sake,”

Ricky said irritably. “You’reacting like this swarm isEinstein.”“Obviously not,” Charley

said, “‘cause if it’smodelingyou, it’s certainly noEinstein.”

“Giveitarest,Charley.”“Iwould,Ricky,butyou’re

such an asshole I getprovokedoverandover.”Bobby said, “Why don’t

youbothgiveitarest?”Maeturnedtomeandsaid,

“Why is the swarm doingthis?Imitatingtheprey?”“Basically,yes,”Isaid.“I hate to think of us as

prey,”Rickysaid.

Mae said, “You mean it’sbeen coded to, literally,physicallyimitatetheprey?”“No,”Isaid.“Theprogram

instruction is moregeneralized than that. Itsimply directs the agents toattain the goal. So we areseeingonepossible emergentsolution. Which is moreadvanced than the previousversion.Before,ithadtroublemaking a stable 2-D image.

Now it’s modeling in threedimensions.”I glanced at the

programmers. They hadstricken looks on their faces.They knew exactly how bigan advance they werewitnessing. The transition tothree dimensions meant thatnotonlywas the swarmnowimitating our externalappearance, it was alsoimitating our behavior. Our

walks, our gestures. Whichimplied a far morecomplicatedinternalmodel.Maesaid,“And theswarm

decidedthisonitsown?”“Yes,” I said. “Although

I’m not sure ‘decided’ is theright term. The emergentbehavior is the sum ofindividual agent behaviors.There isn’t anybody there to‘decide’anything.There’sno

brain, no higher control inthatswarm.”“Group mind?” Mae said.

“Hivemind?”“In a way,” I said. “The

point is, there is no centralcontrol.”“But it looks so

controlled,” she said. “Itlooks like a defined,purposefulorganism.”“Yeah, well, so do we,”

Charley said, with a harshlaugh.Nobody else laughed with

him.

Ifyouwanttothinkofitthatway, a human being isactually a giant swarm. Ormore precisely, it’s a swarmof swarms, because eachorgan—blood, liver, kidneys—is a separate swarm.What

we refer to as a “body” isreally the combination of alltheseorganswarms.We think our bodies are

solid,but that’sonlybecausewecan’tseewhatisgoingonat the cellular level. If youcould enlarge the humanbody, blow it up to a vastsize, you would see that itwas literally nothing but aswirling mass of cells andatoms,clusteredtogetherinto

smaller swirls of cells andatoms.Who cares? Well, it turns

outalotofprocessingoccursat the level of the organs.Human behavior isdetermined in many places.Thecontrolofourbehaviorisnot located inourbrains. It’salloverourbodies.So you could argue that

“swarm intelligence” rules

humanbeings,too.Balanceiscontrolled by the cerebellarswarm, and rarely comes toconsciousness. Otherprocessing occurs in thespinal cord, the stomach, theintestine.Alotofvisiontakesplace in the eyeballs, longbeforethebrainisinvolved.Andforthatmatter,alotof

sophisticatedbrainprocessingoccurs beneath awareness,too. An easy proof is object

avoidance. A mobile robothas to devote a tremendousamount of processing timesimply to avoid obstacles inthe environment. Humanbeings do, too, but they’renever aware of it—until thelightsgoout.Thentheylearnpainfully just how muchprocessingisreallyrequired.Sothere’sanargumentthat

the whole structure ofconsciousness,andthehuman

sense of self-control andpurposefulness, is a userillusion. We don’t haveconscious control overourselvesatall.Wejustthinkwedo.Justbecausehumanbeings

went around thinking ofthemselvesas“I”didn’tmeanthat it was true. And for allweknew,thisdamnedswarmhadsomesortofrudimentarysense of itself as an entity.

Or, if it didn’t, itmight verysoonstartto.

Watchingthefacelessmanonthemonitor,we saw that theimage was now becomingunstable. The swarm hadtrouble keeping theappearance solid. Instead itfluctuated: at moments, thefaceandshouldersseemedtodissolve into dust, then

reemerge as solid again. Itwasstrangetowatchit.“Losing its grip?” Bobby

said.“No, I think it’s getting

tired,”Charleysaid.“Youmeanit’srunningout

ofpower.”“Yeah, probably. It’d take

a lot of extra juice to tilt allthose particles into exactorientations.”

Indeed, the swarm wasreverting back to a cloudappearanceagain.“So this is a low-power

mode?”Isaid.“Yeah. I’m sure theywere

optimized for powermanagement.”“Ortheyarenow,”Isaid.It was getting darker

quickly,now.Theorangewasgone from the sky. The

monitor was starting to losedefinition.The swarm turned, and

swirledaway.“I’ll be goddamned,”

Charleysaid.I watched the swarm

disappearintothehorizon.“Threehours,”Isaid,“and

they’rehistory.”

DAY610:12A.M.

Charley went back to bedrightafterdinner.Hewasstillasleepattenthatnight,whenMae and Iwere preparing togo out again. We werewearing down vests andjackets, because itwasgoingtobecold.Weneededathird

person to go with us. Rickysaid he had towait for Julia,whowasflyinginanyminutenow;thatwasfinewithme,Ididn’t want him anyway.Vince was off somewherewatching TV and drinkingbeer.ThatleftBobby.Bobby didn’t want to go,

but Mae shamed him intocoming.Therewasaquestionabout how the three of uswould get around, since it

was possible the swarmhiding place might be somedistance away, perhaps evenseveral miles. We still hadDavid’s dirt bike, but thatcould only sit two. It turnedoutVincehadanATVintheshed.Iwenttoseehiminthepowerunittoaskhimforthekey.“Don’t need a key,” he

said. He was sitting on acouch, watchingWho Wants

to Be a Millionaire. I heardRegissay,“Finalanswer?”“I said, What do you

mean?”“Key’s in it,” Vince said.

“Alwaysthere.”“Wait a minute,” I said.

“You mean there was avehicle in theshedwithkeysinitallthetime?”“Sure.”OntheTV,Iheard,

“For four thousand dollars,

what is the name of thesmalleststateinEurope?”“Why didn’t anybody tell

me?” I said, starting to getmad.Vince shrugged. “Couldn’t

say.Nobodyaskedme.”I stalked back to themain

unit. “Where the hell isRicky?”“He’s on the phone,”

Bobby said. “Talking to the

brassbackintheValley.”Maesaid,“Takeiteasy.”“I’mtakingiteasy,”Isaid.

“Which phone? In the mainunit?”“Jack.” She put her hands

onmyshoulders,stoppedme.“It’safter teno’clock.Forgetit.”“Forget it? He could have

gottenuskilled.”“And right now we have

worktodo.”I looked at her calm face,

her steady expression. Ithought of the swiftway shehadevisceratedtherabbit.“You’reright,”Isaid.“Good,” she said, turning

away. “Now I think as soonas we get some backpacks,we’llbereadytogo.”There was a reason, I

thought,whyMae never lost

an argument. I went to thestoragecupboardandgotoutthree packs. I threw one toBobby.“Let’shittheroad,”Isaid.

It was a clear night, filledwith stars. We walked indarkness toward the storageshed, a dark outline againstthedarksky.Ipushedthedirtbikealong.Noneofustalked

for a while. Finally, Bobbysaid, “We’re going to needlights.”“We’regoingtoneeda lot

ofthings,”Maesaid.“Imadealist.”We came to the storage

shed, and pushed open thedoor.IsawBobbyhangbackinthedarkness.Iwentin,andfumbled for the lights. Iflickedthemon.

The interior of the storageshedappeared justaswehadleft it. Mae unzipped herbackpack and began walkingdown the row of shelves.“We need portable lights …ignition fuses … flares …oxygen…”Bobby said, “Oxygen?

Really?”“Ifthissiteisunderground,

yes,wemay…andweneed

thermite.”I said, “Rosie had it.

Maybe she set it downwhenshe…I’ll look.” Iwent intothe next room. The box ofthermite tubes layoverturnedonthefloor,thetubesnearby.Rosie must have dropped itwhen she ran. I wondered ifshehadhadanyinherhand.Ilooked over at her body bythedoor.

Rosie’sbodywasgone.“Jesus.”Bobby came running in.

“Whatisit?What’swrong?”I pointed to the door.

“Rosie’sgone.”“What do you mean,

gone?”I looked at him. “Gone,

Bobby. The body was herebeforeandnowit’sgone.”

“How can that be? Ananimal?”“I don’t know.” I went

over and crouched down atthe spot where her body hadbeen. When I had last seenher,fiveorsixhoursago,herbodyhadbeencoveredwithamilkysecretion.Someofthatsecretion covered the floor,too. It looked exactly likethick, dried milk. Up whereher head had been, the

secretion was smooth andundisturbed.Butclosertothedoor,itappearedtohavebeenscraped. There were streaksinthecoating.“It looks like she was

draggedout,”Bobbysaid.“Yes.”I peered closely at the

secretion, looking forfootprints. A coyote alonecouldn’t have dragged her; a

pack of animals would beneeded to pull her out thedoor. They would surelyleavemarks.Isawnone.Igotupandwalked to the

door.Bobbystoodbesideme,lookingoutintothedarkness.“You see anything?” he

said.“No.”IreturnedtoMae.Shehad

found everything. She had

coiled magnesium fuse. Shehad flare guns. She hadportable halogen flashlights.Shehadhead-mounted lampswith big elastic bands. Shehad small binoculars andnight-visiongoggles.Shehada field radio. And she hadoxygen bottles and clear-plastic gas masks. I wasuneasy when I recognizedthat these were the sameplastic masks I had seen on

the men in the SSVT vanback in California last night,excepttheyweren’tsilvered.AndthenIthought,Wasit

only last night? It was.Hardlytwenty-fourhourshadpassed.Itfelttomelikeamonth.

Maewas dividing everythinginto the three backpacks.Watching her, I realized that

she was the only one of uswith actual field experience.In comparison, we were allstay-at-homes,theoreticians.IwassurprisedhowdependentonherIfelttonight.Bobby hefted the nearest

packandgrunted.“Youreallythink we need all this stuff,Mae?”“It’s not like you have to

carry it; we’re driving. And

yes,bettersafethansorry.”“Okay,fine,butImean—a

fieldradio?”“Youneverknow.”“Whoyougonnacall?”“The thing is,Bobby,”she

said,“ifitturnsoutyouneedany of this stuff, you reallyneedit.”“Yeah,butit’s—”Mae picked up the second

backpack, and slung it overhershoulder.Shehandledtheweight easily. She looked atBobby.“Youweresaying?”“Nevermind.”I picked up the third

backpack. It wasn’t bad.Bobby was complainingbecausehewasscared.Itwastrue that the oxygen bottlewasalittlelargerandheavierthan Iwould have liked, and

it fitted awkwardly into thebackpack. But Mae insistedwehaveextraoxygen.Bobby said nervously,

“Extra oxygen? How big doyou guys think this hidingplaceis?”“Ihavenoidea,”Maesaid.

“But themost recent swarmsaremuchlarger.”She went to the sink, and

picked up the radiation

counter. But when sheunplugged it from the wall,shesawthebatterywasdead.We had to hunt for a newbattery, unscrew the case,replace the battery. I wasworried the replacementwouldbedead,too.Ifitwas,wewerefinished.Mae said, “We better be

careful with the night-visiongoggles, too. I don’t knowhowgoodanyofthebatteries

areforthestuffwehave.”But the counter clicked

loudly. The battery indicatorglowed. “Full power,” shesaid.“It’lllastfourhours.”“Let’sgetstarted,”Isaid.Itwas10:43P.M.

The radiation counter wentcrazy when we came to theToyota, clicking so rapidly

the sound was continuous.Holding thewand in frontofher,Mae left the car,walkedinto the desert. She turnedwest and the clicksdiminished. She went eastandtheypickedupagain.Butas she continued east, theclicks slowed. She turnednorth,andtheyincreased.“North,”shesaid.I got on the bike, gunned

theengine.Bobby rumbled out of the

shed on the All-TerrainVehicle,withitsfatreartiresand bicycle handlebars. TheATV looked ungainly but Iknew it was probably bettersuited to night travel in thedesert.Maegotonthebackofmy

bike, leaned over to hold thewand near the ground, and

said,“Okay.Let’sgo.”We started off into the

desert, under a cloudlessnightsky.

The headlight on the bikebounced up and down,jerking the shadows on theterrain ahead, making itdifficult to see what wascoming. The desert that hadlookedsoflatandfeatureless

indaylightwasnowrevealedto have sandy dips, rock-filled beds, and deep arroyosthat came up withoutwarning. It took all myattention to keep the bikeupright—particularly sinceMaewascontinuouslycallingtome, “Go left…now right… now right … okay, toomuch,left…”Sometimeswehadtomakeafullcircleuntilshe could be certain of the

rightpath.If anybody followed our

trackindaylight,they’dthinkthe driver must be drunk, ittwisted and turned so much.Thebikejumpedandswervedon rough ground. We werenow several miles from thelab, and I was starting toworry. I could hear thecounterclicks,and theywerebecoming less frequent. Itwas getting hard to

distinguish the swarm trailfrom the backgroundradiation. I didn’t understandwhy that should happen buttherewasnoquestion itwas.Ifwedidn’tlocatetheswarmhiding place soon, we’d losethetrailentirely.Maewasworried, too.She

kept bending over closer andclosertotheground,withonehand on the wand and onehandaroundmywaist.AndI

hadtogoslower,becausethetrail was becoming so faint.We lost the trail, found it,went off it again. Under theblack canopy of stars, webacktracked,turnedincircles.I caught myself holding mybreath.And at last I was going

around and around in thesame spot, trying not to feeldesperate. I made the circlethree times, then four, but to

noavail:thecounterinMae’shand just clicked randomly.And suddenly itwas clear tousthatthetrailwastrulylost.We were out here in the

middleofnowhere,drivingincircles.Wehadlostthetrail.

Exhaustion hit me suddenly,andhard. I hadbeen runningonadrenalinealldayandnow

that I was finally defeated adeepwearinesscameovermybody.Myeyesdrooped.Ifeltas if I could go to sleepstandingonthebike.Behindme,Maesatupand

said,“Don’tworry,okay?”“What do you mean?” I

said wearily. “My plan hastotallyfailed,Mae.”“Maybenotyet,”shesaid.Bobby pulled up close to

us. “You guys look behindyou?”hesaid.“Why?”“Look back,” he said.

“Lookhowfarwe’vecome.”I turned and looked over

my shoulder. To the south, Isaw the bright lights of thefabrication building,surprisingly close. Wecouldn’tbemore thanamileor two away.We must have

traveled in a big semicircle,eventually turning backtowardourstartingpoint.“That’sweird.”Mae had got off the bike,

and stepped in front of theheadlamp.Shewaslookingatthe LCD readout on thecounter.Shesaid,“Hmmm.”Bobbysaidhopefully,“So,

whatdoyousay,Mae?Timetogoback?”

“No,” Mae said. “It’s nottime togoback.Takea lookatthis.”Bobbyleanedover,andwe

both looked at the LCDreadout.Itshowedagraphofradiation intensity, steppingprogressively downward, andfinally dropping quickly.Bobby frowned. “And thisis?”“Time course of tonight’s

readings,” she said. “Themachine’s showing us thatever since we started, theintensity of the radiation hasdeclined arithmetically—it’sa straight-line decrease, astaircase, see there? And it’sstayedarithmeticuntilthelastminute or so, when thedecrease suddenly becameexponential. It just fell tozero.”“So?” Bobby looked

puzzled.“Thatmeanswhat?Idon’tgetit.”“I do.” She turned to me,

climbed back on the bike. “Ithink Iknowwhathappened.Goforward—slowly.”I let out the clutch, and

rumbled forward. Mybouncing headlight showed aslight rise in the desert,scrubbycactusahead…“No.Slower,Jack.”

I slowed. Now we werepractically going at awalk. Iyawned. There was no pointin questioning her; she wasintense, focused. I was justtired and defeated. Wecontinued up the desert riseuntilitflattened,andthenthebike began to tilt downward—“Stop.”Istopped.

Directly ahead, the desertfloor abruptly ended. I sawblacknessbeyond.“Isthatacliff?”“No.Justahighridge.”I edged the bike forward.

Thelanddefinitelyfellaway.SoonwewereattheedgeandI could getmy bearings.Wewere at the crest of a ridgefifteen feet high, whichformed one side of a very

wide streambed. Directlybeneath me I saw smoothriver rocks, with occasionalboulders and clumps ofscraggly brush that stretchedaboutfiftyyardsaway,tothefar side of the riverbed.Beyond the distant bank, thedesertwasflatagain.“Iunderstandnow,”Isaid.

“Theswarmjumped.”“Yes,”shesaid,“itbecame

airborne. And we lost thetrail.”“But then it must have

landed somewhere downthere,” Bobby said, pointingtothestreambed.“Maybe,” I said. “And

maybenot.”I was thinking it would

takeusmanyminutes to finda safe route down. Then wewould spend a long time

searching among the bushesand rocks of the streambed,before picking up the trailagain. It might take hours.We might not find it at all.Fromourpositionuphereontop of the ridge, we saw thedaunting expanse of desertstretchingoutbeforeus.I said, “The swarm could

have touched down in thestreambed. Or it could havecome down just beyond the

bed.Or it could have gone aquartermilebeyond.”Mae was not discouraged.

“Bobby, you stay here,” shesaid. “You’ll mark theposition where it jumped.Jack and I will find a pathdown, go out into that plain,andruninastraightlineeast-westuntilwepickupthetrailagain. Sooner or later, we’llfindit.”

“Okay,” Bobby said. “Gotyou.”“Okay,” I said. We might

aswelldoit.Wehadnothingto lose. But I had very littleconfidence we wouldsucceed.Bobbyleanedforwardover

hisATV.“What’sthat?”“What?”“Ananimal.Isawglowing

eyes.”

“Where?”“In that brush over there.”

He pointed to the center ofthestreambed.I frowned. We both had

our headlights trained downtheridge.Wewerelightingafairly large arc of desert. Ididn’tseeanyanimals.“There!”Maesaid.“Idon’tseeanything.”She pointed. “It just went

behind that juniperbush.Seethe bush that looks like apyramid? That has the deadbranchesononeside?”“Iseeit,”Isaid.“But…”I

didn’tseeananimal.“It’s moving left to right.

Wait aminute and it’ll comeoutagain.”Wewaited,andthenIsaw

a pair of bright green,glowing spots. Close to the

ground,movingright.Isawaflash of pale white. Andalmost immediately I knewthatsomethingwaswrong.So did Bobby. He twisted

his handlebars, moving hisheadlamp to point directly tothe spot. He reached forbinoculars.“That’s not an animal…”

hesaid.Moving among the low

bushes,wesawmorewhite—fleshwhite.Butwesawonlyglimpses. And then I saw aflat white surface that Irealized with a shock was ahuman hand, dragging alongthe ground. A hand withoutstretchedfingers.“Jesus,” Bobby said,

staring through thebinoculars.“What?Whatisit?”

“It’s a body beingdragged,” he said. And then,inafunnyvoice,hesaid,“It’sRosie.”

DAY610:58P.M.

Gunning the bike, I took offwithMae, running along theedge of the ridge until itsloped down toward thestreambed floor. Bobbystayed where he was,watching Rosie’s body. In afewminutesIhadcrossedthe

streambed to the other bank,andwasmovingbacktowardhislightonthehill.Mae said, “Let’s slow

down,Jack.”So I sloweddown, leaning

forward over my handlebars,trying to see the ground farahead.Suddenlytheradiationcounter began to chatteragain.“Goodsign,”Isaid.

Wemovedahead.Nowwewere directly across fromBobby on the ridge above.His headlamp cast a faintlightonthegroundallaroundus, sort of like moonlight. Iwavedforhimtocomedown.He turned his vehicle andheaded west. Without hislight, the ground wassuddenly darker, moremysterious.And then we saw Rosie

Castro.

***

Rosie lay on her back, herheadtiltedsosheappearedtobelookingbackward,directlyatme,hereyeswide,herarmoutstretched toward me, herpalehandopen.Therewasanexpression of pleading—orterror—on her face. Rigormortis had set in, and her

body jerked stiffly as itmoved over low shrubs anddesertcactus.She was being dragged

away—but no animal wasdraggingher.“I think you should turn

yourlightoff,”Maesaid.“But I don’t see what’s

doing it … there’s like ashadowunderneathher…”“That’s not a shadow,”

Maesaid.“It’sthem.”“They’redraggingher?”She nodded. “Turn your

lightoff.”I flickedoff theheadlamp.

Westood indarkness. I said,“I thought swarms couldn’tmaintain power more thanthreehours.”“That’swhatRickysaid.”“He’slyingagain?”

“Or they’ve overcome thatlimitationinthewild.”The implications were

unsettling. If the swarmscould now sustain powerthrough the night, then theymight be active when wereached their hiding place. Iwascountingonfindingthemcollapsed,theparticlesspreadon the ground. I intended tokill them in their sleep, so tospeak. Now it seemed they

weren’tsleeping.Westood there in thecool

darkair,thinkingthingsover.Finally Mae said, “Aren’tthese swarms modeled oninsectbehavior?”“Not really,” I said. “The

programming model waspredator-prey. But becausethe swarm is a population ofinteracting particles, to somedegreeitwillbehavelikeany

population of interactingparticles, such as insects.Why?”“Insects can execute plans

that take longer than thelifespan of a singlegeneration. They can buildnests that require manygenerations.Isn’tthattrue?”“Ithinkso…”“So maybe one swarm

carried the body for awhile,

and then another took over.Maybe there have been threeor four swarms so far. Thatway none of them has to gothreehoursatnight.”I didn’t like the

implications of that idea anybetter.“Thatwouldmean theswarms are workingtogether,” I said. “It wouldmeanthey’recoordinated.”“They clearly are, by

now.”“Except that’s not

possible,” I said to her.“Becausetheydon’thavethesignalingcapability.”“It wasn’t possible a few

generations ago,” Mae said.“Now it is.Remember theVformation that came towardyou? They werecoordinated.”Thatwastrue.Ijusthadn’t

realized it at the time.Standing there in the desertnight,IwonderedwhatelseIhadn’t realized. I squintedinto the darkness, trying toseeahead.“Where are they taking

her?”Isaid.Mae unzipped my

backpack,andpulledoutasetofnightgoggles.“Trythese.”Iwasabouttohelpherget

hers, but she’d deftly takenher pack off, opened it, andpulled out her own goggles.Her movements were quick,sure.I slipped on the headset,

adjustedthestrap,andflippedthe lenses down over myeyes.ThesewerethenewGEN4gogglesthatshowedimagesin muted color. Almostimmediately, I saw Rosie inthe desert. Her body was

disappearingbehindthescrubas she moved farther andfartheraway.“Okay, so where are they

taking her?” I said again.Even as I spoke, I raised thegoggleshigher, andatonce Isaw where they were takingher.

Fromadistanceitlookedlikea natural formation—a

mound of dark earth aboutfifteen feetwide and six feethigh. Erosion had carveddeep, vertical clefts so thatthemoundlookedalittlelikeahugegearturnedonedge.Itwould be easy to overlookthisformationasnatural.But it wasn’t natural. And

erosion hadn’t produced itssculpted look. On thecontrary, I was seeing anartificial construction, similar

to thenestsmadebyAfricantermites and other socialinsects.Wearingthesecondpairof

goggles, Mae looked for awhile in silence, then said,“Areyougoingtotellmethatis the product ofselforganized behavior? Thatthe behavior to make it justemergedallbyitself?”“Actually, yes,” I said.

“That’s exactly whathappened.”“Hardtobelieve.”“Iknow.”Maewas a good biologist,

but she was a primatebiologist. She wasaccustomedtostudyingsmallpopulations of highlyintelligent animals that haddominance hierarchies andgroup leaders. She

understoodcomplexbehaviorto be the result of complexintelligence. And she hadtrouble grasping the sheerpower of self-organizedbehavior within a very largepopulationofdumbanimals.Inanycase,thiswasadeep

human prejudice. Humanbeings expected to find acentral command in anyorganization. States hadgovernments. Corporations

had CEOs. Schools hadprincipals. Armies hadgenerals. Human beingstendedtobelievethatwithoutcentral command, chaoswould overwhelm theorganization and nothingsignificant could beaccomplished.From this standpoint, it

was difficult to believe thatextremely stupid creatureswith brains smaller than

pinheads were capable ofconstruction projects morecomplicated than any humanproject. But in fact, theywere.African termites were a

classic example. Theseinsects made earthencastlelike mounds a hundredfeetindiameterandthrustingspirestwentyfeetintotheair.To appreciate theiraccomplishment, you had to

imagine that if termiteswerethe size of people, thesemoundswouldbeskyscrapersonemile high and fivemilesin diameter. And like askyscraper, the termitemound had an intricateinternal architecture toprovide fresh air, removeexcessCO2 and heat, and soon. Inside the structure weregardens to grow food,residences for royalty, and

living space for as many astwomillion termites.No twomounds were exactly thesame; each was individuallyconstructed to suit therequirements and advantagesofaparticularsite.All this was accomplished

withnoarchitect,noforeman,nocentralauthority.Norwasa blueprint for constructionencoded in the termitegenes.Instead these huge creations

were the result of relativelysimple rules that theindividual termites followedin relation to one another.(Ruleslike,“Ifyousmellthatanothertermitehasbeenhere,putadirtpelletonthisspot.”)Yet the outcome wasarguably more complex thananyhumancreation.Nowwewereseeinganew

construction made by a newcreature, and it was again

difficult to conceive how itmight have beenmade.Howcould a swarm make amound, anyway? But I wasbeginning to realize that outhereinthedesert,askinghowsomething happened was afool’s errand. The swarmswere changing fast, almostminutetominute.Thenaturalhuman impulse to figure itout was a waste of time. Bythe time you figured it out,

thingswouldhavechanged.Bobby rumbled up in his

ATV, and cut his light. Weallstoodthereunderthestars.Bobbysaid,“Whatdowedonow?”“FollowRosie,”Isaid.“Looks likeRosie isgoing

into that mound,” he said.“You mean we follow herthere?”“Yes,”Isaid.

At Mae’s suggestion, wewalked the rest of the way.Lugging our backpacks, ittook us the better part of tenminutes to reach the vicinityof the mound. We pausedabout fifty feet away. Therewasanauseatingsmellintheair, a putrid odor of rottinganddecay.Itwassostrongitmademystomach turn.Thentoo, a faint green glowseemedtobeemanatingfrom

insidethemound.Bobby whispered, “You

reallywanttogointhere?”“Notyet,”Maewhispered.

She pointed off to one side.Rosie’sbodywasmovingupthe slope of the mound. Asshecametotherim,herrigidlegspointedintotheairforamoment. Then her bodytoppledover,andshefellintothe interior. But she stopped

before she disappearedentirely; for several seconds,her head remained above therim, her arm outstretched, asif she were reaching for air.Then,slowly,sheslidtherestof the way down, andvanished.Bobbyshivered.Mae whispered, “Okay.

Let’sgo.”She started forward in her

usual noiseless way.Followingher,Itriedtobeasquiet as I could. Bobbycrunched and crackled hisway along the ground. Maepaused, and gave him a hardlook.Bobbyhelduphishandsas

iftosay,whatcanIdo?She whispered, “Watch

whereyouputyourfeet.”Hewhispered,“Iam.”

“You’renot.”“It’sdark,Ican’tsee.”“Youcanifyoutry.”I couldn’t recall ever

seeing Mae show irritationbefore,butwewereallunderpressurenow.Andthestenchwas terrible.Mae turned andonce again moved forwardsilently. Bobby followed,makingjustasmuchnoiseasbefore. We had only gone a

fewstepsbeforeMae turned,held up her hand, andsignaled for him to staywherehewas.Heshookhishead,no.He

clearly didn’twant to be leftalone.She gripped his shoulder,

pointed firmly to theground,and whispered, “You stayhere.”“No…”

Shewhispered,“You’llgetusallkilled.”Hewhispered,“Ipromise.”She shook her head,

pointedtotheground.Sit.Finally,Bobbysatdown.Mae looked at me. I

nodded.Wesetoutagain.Bynow we were twenty feetfrom the mound itself. Thesmell was almostoverpowering. My stomach

churned;IwasafraidImightbe sick. And this close, webegan to hear the deepthrumming sound.More thananything it was that soundthat made me want to runaway.ButMaekeptgoing.We crouched down as we

climbed themound,and thenlayflatalongtherim.Icouldsee Mae’s face in the greenglowcomingfrominside.Forsomereasonthestenchdidn’t

bothermeanymore.ProbablybecauseIwastoofrightened.Mae reached into the side

pouch of her pack, andwithdrewasmallthumb-sizedcamera on a thin telescopingstick. She brought out a tinyLCDscreenand set it on thegroundbetweenus.Thensheslidthestickovertherim.On the screen, we saw a

green interior of smooth

undulating walls. Nothingseemed to be moving. Sheturned the camera this wayand that. All we saw weregreen walls. There was nosignofRosie.Mae lookedatme,pointed

to her eyes. Want to take alooknow?Inodded.Weinchedforwardslowly,

until we could look over the

rim.

It wasn’t what I expected atall.The mound simply

narrowedanexistingopeningthat was huge—twenty feetwide or more, revealing arock slide that slopeddownward from the rim andendedatagapinghole in therock to our right. The green

light was coming fromsomewhereinsidethisgapinghole.WhatIwasseeingwasthe

entrancetoaverylargecave.Fromourpositionontherim,wecouldn’tsee into thecaveitself, but the thrummingsound suggested activitywithin. Mae opened thetelescoping stick to its fulllength, and gently loweredthe camera into the hole.

Soon we could see fartherinto the cave. It wasundoubtedly natural, andlarge:perhapseightfeethigh,tenfeetwide.Therockwallswere pale white, andappeared to be covered withthe milky substance we’dseenonRosie.AndRosie’sbodywasonly

a short distance inside. Wecould see her hand stickingoutaroundabendintherock

wall. But we could seenothingbeyondthebend.Mae signaled me: want to

godown?I nodded slowly. I didn’t

likehowthisfelt,Ididn’tlikethat I had no idea what wasbeyond the bend. But wereallyhadnochoice.She pointed back toward

Bobby.Gethim?I shook my head, no. He

wouldn’thelpushere.She nodded, and started

veryslowlytoslideoutofherbackpack, making no soundat all, when she suddenlyfroze. Literally froze: shedidn’tmoveamuscle.Ilookedatthescreen.And

Ifroze,too.A figure had walked from

behind the bend, and nowstood alertly at the entrance

ofthecave,lookingaround.ItwasRicky.

Hewasbehavingasifhehadheard a sound, or had beenalertedforsomeotherreason.The video camera stilldangled down the rim of themound. Itwaspretty small; Ididn’t know if he would seeit.I watched the screen

tensely.The camera didn’t have

good resolution and thescreen was the size of mypalm,butitwasstillclearthatthefigurewasRicky.Ididn’tunderstand what he wasdoing here—or even how hehadgottenhere.Thenanothermancamearoundthebend.HewasalsoRicky.I glanced at Mae, but she

remained utterly still, astatue.Onlyhereyesmoved.I squinted at the screen.

Within the limits of videoresolution, the two figuresappeared to be identical inevery respect. Same clothes,same movements, samegestures and shrugs. Icouldn’t see the faces well,butIhadtheimpressiontheywere more detailed thanbefore.

Theydidn’tseemtonoticethecamera.Theylookedupat thesky,

and thenat the rockslide forawhile,andthentheyturnedtheir backs on us, andreturned to the interiorof thecave.Still Mae did not move.

She had been motionless foralmost a minute already andin that time she hadn’t even

blinked. Now the men weregone,and—Another figure came

around the corner. It wasDavid Brooks. He movedawkwardly,stifflyatfirst,buthe quickly became morefluid. I had the feeling Iwaswatching a puppeteer perfecthis moves, animating thefigureinamorelifelikeway.Then David became Ricky.And then David again. And

the David figure turned andwentaway.Still Mae waited. She

waited fully two moreminutes, and then finallywithdrew the camera. Shejerked her thumb, indicatingweshouldgoback.Together,we crept away from the rim,back down the mound, andmoved away silently into thedesertnight.

Wegatheredahundredyardstothewest,nearourvehicles.Mae was rummaging in herbackpack; she pulled out aclipboard with a felt marker.She flicked on her penlightandbegantodraw.“This is what you’re up

against,” she said. “The cavehas an opening like this,whichyousaw.Pastthebend,there’sabigholeinthefloor,and the cave spirals

downward for maybe ahundred yards. That bringsyou into one large chamberthat ismaybe a hundred feethigh,andacoupleofhundredfeet wide. Single big room,that’s all. There are nopassages leading off, at leastnonethatIsaw.”“Thatyousaw?”“I’ve been in there,” she

said,nodding.

“When?”“A couple of weeks ago.

Back when we first startedlooking for the swarm’shiding place. I found thatcave and went in there indaylight. I didn’t find anyindication of a swarm then.”She explained that the cavewas filled with bats, thewhole ceiling covered withthem, packed together in apink squirming mass, all the

wayouttotheentrance.“Ugh,”Bobbysaid.“Ihate

bats.”“Ididn’tseeanybatsthere

tonight.”“You think they’ve been

drivenaway?”“Eaten,probably.”“Jesus, guys,”Bobby said,

shaking his head. “I’m just aprogrammer. I don’t think Icandothis.Idon’tthinkIcan

gointhere.”Maeignoredhim.Shesaid

to me, “If we go in, we’llhave to set off thermite, andkeep doing it all the waydowntothechamber.I’mnotsurewehaveenoughthermitetodothat.”“Maybe not,” I said. I had

a different concern. “We’rewasting our time unless wedestroy all the swarms, and

all the assemblers that aremakingthem.Right?”Theybothnodded.“I’m not sure that’ll be

possible,” I said. “I thoughtthe swarms would bepowered down at night. Ithought we could destroythem on the ground. Butthey’re not powered down—atleastnotallofthem.Andifjustoneofthemgetspastus,

if it escapes from the cave…” I shrugged. “Then thishasallbeenawasteoftime.”“Right,” Bobby said,

nodding.“That’sright.It’dbeawasteoftime.”Mae said, “We need some

waytotraptheminthecave.”“There isn’t any way,”

Bobbysaid.“Imean,theycanjust fly out, whenever theywant.”

Maesaid,“Theremightbea way.” She startedrummaging in her backpackagain, lookingforsomething.“Meanwhile, the three of usbetterspreadout.”“Why?” Bobby said,

alarmed.“Just do it,” Mae said.

“Nowgetmoving.”

Itightenedmybackpack,and

adjusted the straps so itwouldn’t rattle. I locked thenight-vision goggles up onmy forehead, and I startedforward. I had gotten abouthalfwaytothemoundwhenIsaw a dark figure climb outintothenight.I dropped down as quietly

as I could. I was in a thickpatch of sagebrush three feethigh, so I was reasonablywellconcealed.Ilookedover

myshoulder, but I didn’t seeeitherMae or Bobby; they’ddropped to theground, too. Ididn’t know if they’dseparated yet. Cautiously, Ipushed aside a plant in frontofme,andlookedtowardthemound.Thelegsofthefigurewere

silhouetted against the faintgreen glow. The upper bodywas black against the nightstars. I flipped down the

goggles, and waited amoment while they flaredblue,andthensawtheimageresolve.This time it was Rosie.

Walking around in the night,looking in all directions, herbody vigilant and alert.Except that she didn’t movelike Rosie, she moved morelike a man. Then after amoment, the silhouettechanged into Ricky. And it

movedlikeRicky.Thefigurecroucheddown,

and appeared to be lookingover the tops of the sage. Iwonderedwhathadbroughtitout of the mound. I didn’thavetowaitlongtofindout.Behind the figure, a white

lightappearedonthewesternhorizon. It grew rapidly inbrilliance, and soon I heardthe thumping of helicopter

blades. That would be Juliacoming from the Valley, Ithought.Iwonderedwhatwassourgent that shehadhad toleave the hospital againstorders,andflyouthereinthemiddleofthenight.As the helicopter

approached,itswitchedonitssearchlight. I watched thecircleofblue-whitelightasitrippled over the groundtoward us. The Ricky figure

watched, too, then slid downoutofsight.And then the helicopter

roared over me, blinding mefor amoment in the halogenlight. Almost immediately itbanked sharply, and circledback.What the hell was going

on?Thehelicoptermadeaslow

arc, passing over the mound

butnotstopping,thencomingtoa stop rightabovewhere Iwas hiding. I was caught inthe blue glow. I rolled ontomy back and waved to thehelicopter, pointingrepeatedly toward the lab. Imouthed “Go!” and pointedaway.The helicopter descended,

andforamomentIthoughtitwasgoingtolandrightbesideme. Then it abruptly banked

again, and moved away lowto the ground, heading southtoward theconcretepad.Thesoundfaded.I decided I had better

changemypositionfast.Igottomykneesand inacrouch,moved crabwise thirty yardsto the left. Then I droppeddownagain.When I lookedbackat the

mound,Isawthree—no,four

figures coming out of theinterior. They moved apart,each heading to a differentarea of the mound. They alllooked likeRicky. Iwatchedas theywent down the slopeofthemound,andmovedoutintothebush.Myheartbegantopoundinmychest.Oneofthefigureswascominginmydirection.As itapproached, Isawitveerofftotheright.Itwasgoingtotheplacewhere

I had been before. When itreachedmylasthidingplace,it stopped, and turned in alldirections.It was not far from me at

all. I could see through thegoggles that this new Rickyfigure now had a completeface, and the clothing wasmuch more detailed. Inaddition, this figure movedwith the sensation of realbody weight. It might be an

illusion, of course, but Iguessed that the swarm hadincreased mass, and nowweighed fifty pounds,maybemore.Maybetwicethat.Ifso,then the swarm now hadenoughmass to joltyouwitha physical impact. Evenknockyouoffyourfeet.Through thegoggles Isaw

the figure’s eyes move, andblink.Thesurfaceofthefacenow had the texture of skin.

The hair appeared to becomposed of individualstrands. The lips moved, thetongue licked nervously. Allin all this face looked verymuch like Ricky—disturbingly like Ricky.When the head turned inmydirection, I felt that Rickywasstaringrightatme.And I suppose it was,

because the figure began tomovedirectlytowardme.

I was trapped. My heartwas thumping inmy chest. Ihadn’tplannedfor this;Ihadno protection, no sort ofdefense. I could get up andrun, of course, but therewasnowhere to go. I wassurrounded by miles ofdesert,andtheswarmswouldhunt me down. In a fewmomentsIwouldbe—With a roar, the helicopter

cameback.TheRicky figure

looked toward it as it came,and then turned and fled,literally flying over theground, not bothering anylongertoanimatethelegsandfeet.Itwascreepytoseethishuman replica, suddenlyfloatingoverthedesert.But the other three Ricky

figures were running, too.Running hard, conveying adistinct sense of panic. Didthe swarms fear the

helicopter? It seemed theydid. And as I watched, Iunderstoodwhy.Eventhoughtheswarmswerenowheavierand more substantial, theywerestillvulnerabletostrongwinds. The helicopter was ahundredfeetintheairbutthedowndraft was powerfulenoughtodeformtherunningfigures, flattening thempartially as they fled. It wasas if they were being

hammereddown.The figures vanished into

themound.I lookedback atMae. She

was standing up in thestreambed now, talking onher radio to the helicopter.She’d needed that radio, allright.Sheyelledtome,“Let’sgo!” and began runningtoward me. I was dimlyaware of Bobby, running

away from the mound, backtohisATV.Buttherewasnotimetoworryabouthim.Thehelicopter hung poised rightabove themound itself.Dustwhipped up, stinging myeyes.ThenMaewas besideme.

Removing our goggles, wepulled on our oxygenmasks.She turned me, twisted thetank valve behind me. I didthesameforher.Thenweput

the night goggles back on. Itseemed like a lot ofcontraptions jiggling andrattling around my face. Sheclipped a halogen flashlighttomybelt,andanothertoherown. She leaned close,shouted:“Ready?”“I’mready!”“Okay,let’sgo!”Therewasnotimetothink.

It was better that way. The

helicopter downdraft roaredin my ears. Together weclawedourwayup the slopeof the mound, our clotheswhipping around us. Wearrived at the edge, barelyvisible in the thick swirlingdust. We couldn’t seeanythingbeyond therim.Wecouldn’tseewhatwasbelow.Maetookmyhand,andwe

jumped.

DAY611:22P.M.

I landedon loosestones,andhalfstumbled,halfsliddownthe slope toward the caveentrance.Thethumpingofthehelicopter blades above uswas loud. Mae was rightbesideme,butIcouldhardlysee her in the thick dust.

There were no Ricky figuresanywhere in sight.We cameto the cave entrance andstopped. Mae pulled out thethermite capsules. She gavemethemagnesiumfuses.Shetossed me a plastic cigarettelighter. I thought, that’swhatwe’re using? Her face wasalreadypartlycloudedbehindthe mask. Her eyes werehidden behind the night-visiongoggles.

She pointed to the interiorofthecave.Inodded.She tapped me on the

shoulder, pointed to mygoggles. I didn’t understand,soshereachedforwardbymycheekandflickedaswitch.“—menow?”shesaid.“Yes,Ihear.”“Okaythen,let’sgo.”We started into the cave.

Thegreenglowhadvanished

inthethickdust.Wehadonlytheinfraredlightmountedontop of our night-visiongoggles. We saw no figures.We heard nothing but thethumping of the helicopter.But as we went deeper intothe cave, the sound began tofade.Andasthesoundfaded,so

didthewind.Maewasfocused.Shesaid,

“Bobby?Doyouhearme?”“Yes,Ihearyou.”“Getyourassinhere.”“I’mtryingto—”“Don’t try. Get in here,

Bobby.”Ishookmyhead.IfIknew

Bobby Lembeck, he wasnever coming into this pit.We rounded the bend, andsaw nothing but suspendeddust, the vague outlines of

cavewalls.Thewallsseemedsmoothhere,withnoplacetohide. Then from the gloomdirectly ahead I saw aRickyfigure emerge. He wasexpressionless, just walkingtoward us. Then anotherfigure from the left, andanother. The three formed aline.Theymarchedtowardusat a steady pace, their facesidenticalandexpressionless.“First lesson,” Mae said,

holdingoutthethermitecap.“Let’s hope they don’t

learn it,” I said, and I lit thefuse. It sputtered white-hotsparks. She tossed the capforward. It landed a few feetin front of the advancinggroup. They ignored it,staringforwardatus.Mae said, “It’s a three

count… two… one… andturnaway.”

Itwistedaway,duckingmyhead undermy arm just as asphere of blinding whitefilledthetunnel.Eventhoughmy eyes were closed, theglarewassostrongthatIsawspotswhenIopenedmyeyesagain.Iturnedback.Mae was already moving

forward. The dust in the airhad a slightly darker tint. Isaw no sign of the threefigures.

“Didtheyrun?”“No.Vaporized,” she said.

Shesoundedpleased.“New situations,” I said. I

wasfeelingencouraged.Iftheprogramming assumptionsstill held, the swarms wouldbe weak when reacting togenuinely new situations. Intimetheywouldlearn;intimethey would evolve strategiesto deal with the new

conditions. But initially theirresponse would bedisorganized, chaotic. Thatwasaweaknessofdistributedintelligence. Itwas powerful,anditwasflexible,butitwasslow to respond tounprecedentedevents.“Wehope,”Maesaid.We came to the gaping

holeinthecavefloorshehaddescribed. In the night

goggles, I saw a sort ofsloping ramp. Four or fivefigures were coming uptoward us, and there seemedto be more behind. They alllooked like Ricky, but manyof them were not so wellformed.Andthoseintherearwerejustswirlingclouds.Thethrummingsoundwasloud.“Secondlesson.”Maeheld

out a cap. It sizzled whitewhen I lit it. She rolled it

gently down the ramp. Thefigures hesitated when theysawit.“Damn,”Isaid,but then it

was time to duck away, andshield my eyes from theexplosive flash. Inside theconfined space, there was aroarofexpandinggas.Ifeltaburst of intense heat on myback. When I looked again,most of the swarms beneathus had vanished. But a few

hung back, apparentlyundamaged.Theywerelearning.Fast.“Next lesson,” Mae said,

holding two caps this time. Ilit both and she rolled one,and threw the second onedeeper down the ramp. Theexplosions roaredsimultaneously, and a hugegust of hot air rolled upward

pastus.My shirt caught fire.Mae pounded it out with theflatofherhand,smackingmewithrapidstrokes.When we looked again,

therewerenofiguresinsight,andnodarkswarms.We went down the ramp,

headingdeeperintothecave.

We had started with twenty-five thermite caps. We had

twenty-one left, and we hadgone only a short distancedown the ramp toward thelarge room at the bottom.Mae moved quickly now—Ihadtohurrytocatchupwithher—but her instincts weregood. The few swarms thatmaterialized before us allquickly backed away at ourapproach.Wewereherdingtheminto

thelowerroom.

Mae said, “Bobby, whereareyou?”The headset crackled. “—

trying—get—”“Bobby, come on, damn

it.”But all the while we were

movingdeeper into the cave,and soon we heard onlystatic. Down here, dust hungsuspendedintheair,diffusingtheinfraredbeams.Wecould

see clearly the walls andground directly ahead of us,but beyond that, there wastotal blackness. The sense ofdarkness and isolation wasfrightening. I couldn’t tellwhatwasoneithersideofmeunless I turned my head,sweepingmy beamback andforth. I began to smell thatrotten odor again, sharp andnauseating.We were coming to level

ground. Mae stayed calm;when a half-dozen swarmsbuzzed before us, she heldout another cap for me tolight.BeforeIcouldlightthefuse, the swarms backed off.Sheadvancedatonce.“Sort of like lion taming,”

shesaid.“Sofar,”Isaid.Ididn’tknowhowlongwe

could keep this up.The cave

waslarge,muchlargerthanIhad imagined. Twenty-onecapsdidn’tseemlikeenoughto get us through it. Iwondered if Mae wasworried,too.Shedidn’tseemto be. But probably shewouldn’tshowit.Something was crunching

underfoot.Ilookeddownandsaw the floor was carpetedwith thousands of tiny,delicate yellow bones. Like

birdbones.Exceptthesewerethe bones of bats. Mae wasright:they’dallbeeneaten.In the upper corner of my

night-visionimage,aredlightbegan to blink. It was somekindofwarning,probablythebattery. “Mae …” I began.Then the red light went out,asabruptlyasithadbegun.“What?”shesaid.“Whatis

it?”

“Nevermind.”And then at last we came

to the large central chamber—excepttherewasnocentralchamber, at least, notanymore.Nowthehugespacewas filled from floor toceilingwith an array of darkspheres, about two feet indiameter, and bristling withspiky protrusions. Theylooked like enormous seaurchins.Theywerestackedin

large clusters. Thearrangementwasorderly.Mae said, “Is this what I

think it is?” Her voice wascalm, detached. Almostscholarly.“Yeah, I think so,” I said.

Unless I was wrong, thesespiked clusters were anorganic version of thefabrication plant that Xymoshad built on the surface.

“Thisishowtheyreproduce.”Imovedforward.“Idon’tknowifweshould

goin…”shesaid.“Wehaveto,Mae.Lookat

it:it’sordered.”“You think there’s a

center?”“Maybe.”Andiftherewas,

Iwanted to drop thermite onit.Icontinuedonward.Movingamongtheclusters

wasaneeriesensation.Thickmucuslike liquid drippedfrom the tips of the spikes.Andthespheresseemedtobecoated with a kind of thickgel thatquivered,making thewhole cluster seem to bemoving, alive. I paused tolook more closely. Then Isaw that the surface of thespheres really was alive;crawling within the gel weremasses of twisting black

worms.“Jesus…”“They were here before,”

shesaidcalmly.“What?”“The worms. They were

living in the layer of guanoon the cave floor, when Icame here before. They eatorganic material and excretehigh-content phosphoruscompounds.”“Andnowthey’reinvolved

in swarm synthesis,” I said.“Thatdidn’t take long, just afew days. Coevolution inaction. The spheres probablyprovidefood,andcollecttheirexcretionsinsomeway.”“Or collect them,” Mae

saiddryly.“Yeah. Maybe.” It wasn’t

inconceivable. Ants raisedaphids the way we raisedcows. Other insects grew

fungusingardensforfood.Wemoved deeper into the

room.Theswarmsswirledonall sides of us, but they kepttheir distance. Probablyanother unprecedented event,I thought: intruders in thenest. They hadn’t decidedwhat to do. I movedcarefully; the floor was nowincreasinglyslipperyinspots.There was a kind of thickmuckontheground.Inafew

places it glowed streakygreen.The streaks seemed togoinward, towardthecenter.I had the sense that the floorslopedgentlydownward.“Howmuch farther?”Mae

said. She still sounded calm,but I didn’t think she was. Iwasn’t either; when I lookedbackIcouldnolongerseetheentrance to the chamber,hiddenbehindtheclusters.

And then suddenly wereached the center of theroom, because the clustersended in an open space, anddirectly ahead I saw whatlooked like a miniatureversionofthemoundoutside.It was a mound about fourfeet high, perfectly circular,with flat vanes extendingoutward on all sides. It toowasstreakedwithgreen.Palesmoke was coming off the

vanes.Wemovedcloser.“It’shot,” she said.And it

was. The heat was intense;that’s why it was smoking.Shesaid,“Whatdoyouthinkisinthere?”I looked at the floor. I

couldseenowthatthestreaksof green were running fromthe clusters down to thiscentral mound. I said,

“Assemblers.” The spikyurchinsgeneratedraworganicmaterial. It flowed to thecenter, where the assemblerschurned out the finalmolecules. This is where thefinalassemblyoccurred.“Then this is the heart,”

Maesaid.“Yeah.Youcouldsay.”The swarms were all

around us, hanging back by

theclusters.Apparently, theywouldn’t come into thecenter. But they wereeverywhere around us,waitingforus.“How many you want?”

she said quietly, taking thethermitefromherpack.I looked around at all the

swarms.“Five here,” I said. “We’ll

needtheresttogetout.”

“Wecan’tlightfiveatonce…”“It’s all right.” I held out

myhand.“Givethemtome.”“But,Jack…”“Comeon,Mae.”Shegavemefivecapsules.

I moved closer and tossedthem, unlit, into the centralmound. The surroundingswarms buzzed, but still didnotapproachus.

“Okay,” she said. Sheunderstood immediatelywhatIwasdoing.Shewasalreadytakingoutmorecapsules.“Nowfour,”Isaid,looking

back at the swarms. Theywere restless, moving backandforth. Ididn’tknowhowlong they would stay there.“Three for you, one for me.Youdotheswarms.”“Right …” She gave me

one capsule. I lit the othersforher.Shethrewthembackinthedirectionwehadcome.Theswarmsdancedaway.She counted: “Three …

two…one…now!”Wecrouched,duckedaway

fromtheharshblastoflight.Iheardacrackingsound;whenI looked again, some of theclusters were breaking up,falling apart. Spikes were

rolling on the ground.Without hesitating, I lit thenext capsule, and as it spitwhite sparks, I tossed it intothecentralmound.“Let’sgo!”We ran for the entrance.

The clusters were crumblingin front of us. Mae leapteasilyover thefallingspikes,and kept going. I followedher, counting inmymind…

three…two…one…Now.There was a kind of high-

pitched shriek, and then aterrific blast of hot gas, abooming detonation andstabbingpaininmyears.Theshock wave knocked me flaton the ground, sent meskidding forward in thesludge. I felt the spikessticking in my skin all over

my body. My goggles wereknocked away, and I wassurrounded by blackness.Blackness. I could seenothing at all. I wiped thesludge frommy face. I triedtogettomyfeet,slippedandfell.“Mae,”Isaid.“Mae…”“Therewas an explosion,”

shesaid,inasurprisedvoice.“Mae, where are you? I

can’tsee.”Everything was pitch

black. I could see nothing atall.IwasdeepinsomedamncavefullofspikythingsandIcouldn’tsee.Ifoughtpanic.“It’sallright,”Maesaid.In

the darkness I felt her handgrippingmyarm.Apparentlyshe could see me. She said,“The flashlight’s on yourbelt.”Sheguidedmyhand.

I fumbled in the darkness,feelingfortheclip.Ifoundit,but I couldn’t get it open. Itwas a spring clip and myfingers kept slipping off. Ibegan to hear a thrummingsound, low at first, butstarting to build. My handswere sweating. Finally theclipopened,andIflickedtheflashlight on with a sigh ofrelief. I sawMae in the coldhalogen beam; she still had

her goggles, and lookedaway. I swung the beamaround the cave. It had beentransformedbytheexplosion.Many of the clusters hadbroken apart and the spikeswerealloverthefloor.Somesubstance on the floor wasbeginningtoburn.Acrid,foulsmokewasbillowingup.Theair was thick and dark … Istepped backward, and feltsomethingsquishy.

I looked down and sawDavidBrooks’s shirt. Then Irealized I was standing onwhat was left of David’storso,whichhadturnedintoakindofwhitishjelly.Myfootwasrightinhisabdomen.Hisrib cage scraped against myshin, leaving a white streakon my pants. I looked backandsawDavid’sface,ghostlywhiteanderoded,hisfeatureseatenawayuntilhelookedas

featurelessasthefacesontheswarms. I felt instantnausea,andtastedbile.“Come on,” Mae said,

grabbing my arm, squeezingithard.“Comeon,Jack.”With a sucking sound,my

footpulledfreeofthebody.Itriedtoscrapemyshoeonthefloor,togetcleanofthewhitemuck. I was not thinkinganymore, I was just fighting

nausea and an overpoweringsense of horror. I wanted torun. Mae was talking to mebut I didn’t hear her. I sawonly glimpses of the roomaround me, and was onlydimly aware that the swarmswereemergingall aroundus,swarm after swarm afterswarm. They were buzzingeverywhere.“I need you, Jack,” Mae

said, holding out four caps,

and somehow, fumblingwiththe flashlight, I managed tolightthemandsheflungthemin all directions. I threw myhandsovermyeyesasthehotspheres exploded aroundme.When I looked again, theswarms were gone. But inonly a few moments, theybegan to reemerge. First oneswarm, then three, then six,then ten—and then toomanyto count. They were

converging, with an angrybuzz,towardus.“Howmany caps have we

gotleft?”Isaid.“Eight.”I knew then that we were

not going to make it. Weweretoodeepinthecave.Wewouldnevergetout.Ihadnoideahowmanyswarmswerearoundus—myhalogenbeamswung back and forth across

whatseemedlikeanarmy.“Jack …” Mae said,

holding out her hand. Shenever seemed to loseconfidence. I lit three morecaps and Mae threw them,retracingherstepstowardtheentrance as she did so. Istayed close to her, but Iknew our situation washopeless.Eachblastscatteredthe swarms for just amoment. Then they quickly

regrouped.Therewerefartoomanyswarms.“Jack.” More thermite in

herhands.Now I could see the

entrance to the chamber, justa few yards ahead. My eyeswere watering from all theacrid smoke. My halogenlightwas justanarrowbeamcutting through thedust.Theair was getting thicker and

thicker.A final series ofwhite-hot

blasts, and we came to theentrance. I saw the rampleading back toward thesurface.Ineverthoughtwe’dget this far. But I wasn’tthinkinganymore,everythingwasimpressions.“Howmanyleft?”Isaid.Mae didn’t answer me. I

heardtherumbleofanengine

from somewhere above us.LookingupIsawawobblingwhitelightinthecavehigherup. The rumble became veryloud—I heard an enginegunned—and then I saw theATV poised on the rampabove. Bobby was up there,shouting“Getoutttttt!”Mae turnedand ranup the

ramp, and I scrambled tofollow her. I was vaguelyaware of Bobby lighting

something that burst intoorange flame, and then Maepushedmeagainstthewallasthe riderless ATV roareddown the ramp toward thechamber below, with aflaming cloth hanging fromits gas tank. It was amotorized Molotov cocktail—coming into an enclosedchamberfilledwithdust.As soon as it passed,Mae

shovedme hard in the back.

“Run!”Isprintedthelastfewyards

up the ramp. Bobby wasreachingdownforus,haulingusupovertheliptothelevelabove. I fell and scrapedmyknee but hardly felt it as hedragged me onto my feetagain. Then I was runninghardtowardthecaveentranceand had almost reached theopening when a fiery blastknockedusoffourfeet,andI

went tumbling through theair, and smashed against oneofthecavewalls.Igottomyfeet, head ringing. Myflashlightwasgone.Iheardakind of strange screamingsound from somewherebehindme,orthoughtIdid.I looked at Mae and

Bobby. Theywere getting totheirfeet.Withthehelicopterstill thumping above us, weclambered up the incline and

collapsed over the lip of themound, and tumbled downthe slopes, out into the cool,blackdesertnight.The last thing I saw was

Mae waving the helicopteraway, gesturing for it to go,go,go—And then the cave

exploded.

The ground jumped beneath

myfeet,knockingmeover. Ifell to the ground just as theshockwavecausedsharppaininmy ears. I heard the deeprumble of the explosion.From the mouth of the cavean enormous angry fireballbillowed upward, orangelaced in black. I felt a waveof heat rolling down towardme,andthenitwasgone,andeverything was suddenlyquiet, and the world around

mewasblack.

HowlongI laytherebeneaththestarsIamnotsure.Imusthave lost consciousness,because the next thing Iremember was Bobbypushing me up into thebackseat of the helicopter.Mae was already inside, andsheleanedovertobucklemein.Theywerebothlookingat

me with expressions ofconcern.IwondereddullyifIhadbeeninjured.Ididn’tfeelany pain. The door slammedbesideme, andBobbygot inthefrontnexttothepilot.We had done it. We had

succeeded.I could hardly believe it

wasover.Thehelicopterroseintothe

airandIsawthelightsofthe

labinthedistance.

PREY

DAY712:12A.M.

“Jack.”JuliarushedtowardmeasI

came down the corridor. Inthe overhead light her facelooked beautiful in a lean,elegantway.Shewasintruthmore beautiful than Iremembered. Her ankle was

bandaged and she had a caston her wrist. She threw herarms around me and buriedherheadinmyshoulder.Herhair smelled of lavender.“Oh, Jack, Jack. Thank Godyou’reallright.”“Yeah,” I said hoarsely.

“I’mokay.”“I’msoglad…soglad.”I just stood there, feeling

her hug me. Then I hugged

her back. I didn’t know howto react. She was soenergized, but I wasexhausted,flat.“Are you all right, Jack?”

shesaid,stillhuggingme.“Yeah, Julia,” I said, just

aboveawhisper.“Iam.”“What’s wrong with your

voice?”shesaid,pullingbackto look at me. She scannedmyface.“What’swrong?”

“He probably burned hisvocal cords,” Mae said. Shewashoarse,too.Herfacewasblackenedwithsoot.Shehada cut on her cheek, andanotheronherforehead.Julia embraced me again,

her fingers touchedmy shirt.“Darling,you’rehurt…”“Justmyshirt.”“Jack, are you sure you’re

not hurt? I think you’re hurt

…”“No, I’m okay.” I stepped

awayfromherawkwardly.“Ican’ttellyou,”shesaid,

“how grateful I am for whatyou did tonight, Jack. Whatall of you did,” she added,turning to the others. “You,Mae, and Bobby too. I’monly sorry I wasn’t here tohelp. I know this is all myfault.Butwe’reverygrateful.

Thecompanyisgrateful.”I thought, The company?

But all I said was, “Yeah,well,ithadtobedone.”“Itdid,yes,itcertainlydid.

Quickly and decisively. Andyoudidit,Jack.ThankGod.”Ricky was standing in the

background,headbobbingupanddown.Hewaslikeoneofthose mechanical birds thatdrinks from a water glass.

Bobbing up and down. I feltunreal,asifIwasinaplay.“Ithinkweshouldallhave

a drink to celebrate,” Juliawassaying,aswewentdownthe corridor. “There must besome champagne aroundhere.Ricky? Is there?Yes? Iwant to celebrate what youguyshavedone.”“I just want to sleep,” I

said.

“Oh, come on, just oneglass.”It was typical Julia, I

thought. Involved inherownworld, not noticing howanyone around her wasfeeling.The last thinganyofus wanted to do right nowwasdrinkchampagne.“Thanks anyway,” Mae

said,shakingherhead.“Areyousure?Really?It’d

be fun. How about you,Bobby?”“Maybetomorrow,”Bobby

said.“Oh well, okay, after all,

you’retheconqueringheroes!We’lldoittomorrow,then.”Inoticedhowfastshewas

talking, how quick her bodymovements were. IrememberedEllen’scommentabout her taking drugs. It

certainlyseemedlikeshewason something. But I was sotired I just didn’t give adamn.“I’ve told the news to

Larry Handler, the head ofthecompany,”shesaid,“andhe’sverygratefultoyouall.”“That’snice,”Isaid.“Ishe

goingtonotifytheArmy?”“Notify the Army? About

what?”

“About the runawayexperiment.”“Well,Jack,that’salltaken

care of now. You’ve takencareofit.”“I’m not sure we have,” I

said. “Some of the swarmsmighthaveescaped.Or theremight be another nest outthere. To be safe, I thinkweshould call in the Army.” Ididn’t really think we had

missedanything,butIwantedtogetoutsidersinhere.Iwastired.Iwantedsomebodyelsetotakeover.“The Army?” Julia’s eyes

flickedtoRicky,thenbacktome. “Jack, you’re absolutelyright,” she said firmly. “Thisis an extremely serioussituation. If there is theslightest chance somethingwas missed, we must notifythematonce.”

“Imeantonight.”“Yes, I agree, Jack.

Tonight. In fact, I’ll do itrightnow.”I glanced back at Ricky.

He was walking along, stillnodding in that mechanicalway. I didn’t get it. Whatabout Ricky’s earlier panic?His fear that the experimentwould bemade public?Nowitseemedhedidn’tcare.

Julia said, “You three canget some sleep, and I’ll callmycontactsatthePentagon.”“I’llgowithyou,”Isaid.“It’sreallynotnecessary.”“Iwantto,”Isaid.She glanced at me and

smiled.“Youdon’ttrustme?”“It’snot that,” Isaid.“But

they might have questions Icouldanswerforthem.”

“Okay, fine. Good idea.Excellentidea.”I felt sure that something

waswrong.IfeltasifIwerein a play, and everyone wasacting a part.Except I didn’tknow what the play was. IglancedoveratMae.Shewasfrowning slightly. She musthavesensedit,too.We passed through the

airlocks into the residential

unit. Here the air feltuncomfortably cold to me; Ishivered. We went into thekitchen and Julia reached forthephone.“Let’s make that call,

Jack,”shesaid.I went to the refrigerator

andgotagingerale.Maehadanicedtea.Bobbyhadabeer.Wewereallthirsty.Inoticedabottleofchampagne sitting

in the fridge, waiting. Itouchedit;itwascold.Thereweresixglassesinthere,too,being chilled. She’d alreadyplannedtheparty.Julia pushed the

speakerphone button. Weheard a dial tone. Shepunchedinanumber.Butthecall didn’t go through. Thelinejustwentdead.“Huh,”shesaid.“Let’s try

thatagain…”She dialed a second time.

Again, the call failed to gothrough.“That’s funny. Ricky, I’m

notgettinganoutsideline.”“Try one more time,”

Rickysaid.Isippedmygingeraleand

watched them. Therewas noquestion that this was all anact, a performance for our

benefit. Julia dutifully dialedathirdtime.Iwonderedwhatnumber she was calling. Ordidsheknow thenumber forthePentagonbyheart?“Huh,” she said.

“Nothing.”Rickypickedupthephone,

looked at the base, put itdown again. “Should beokay,” he said, actingpuzzled.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Isaid. “Let me guess.Something has happened andwecan’tdialout.”“No, no, we can,” Ricky

said.“I was just calling a few

minutesago,”Juliasaid.“Justbeforeyougotback.”Ricky pushed away from

the table. “I’ll check thecommlines.”

“You do that,” I said,glowering.Julia was staring at me.

“Jack,” she said, “I’mworriedaboutyou.”“Uh-huh.”“You’reangry.”“I’mbeingfuckedwith.”“I promise you,” she said

quietly, meeting my eyes.“You’renot.”

Maegotupfromthetable,saying shewasgoing to takea shower. Bobby wanderedinto the lounge to play avideogame,hisusualwaytounwind. Soon I heard thesound of machine-gun fire,and the cries of dead badguys. Julia and I were aloneinthekitchen.She leaned over the table

toward me. She spoke in alow, earnest voice. “Jack,”

she said, “I think I owe youanexplanation.”“No,”Isaid.“Youdon’t.”“I mean, for my behavior.

My decisions these pastdays.”“Itdoesn’tmatter.”“Itdoestome.”“Maybelater,Julia.”“I need to tell you now.

You see, the thing is, I just

wanted to save the company,Jack. That’s all. The camerafailed andwe couldn’t fix it,we lost our contract, and thecompany was falling apart.I’ve never lost a companybefore. I never had one shotout fromunderneathme, andIdidn’twantXymostobethefirst. I was invested, I had astake, and I guess I had mypride. I wanted to save it. Iknow I didn’t use good

judgment. I was desperate.It’snobodyelse’sfault.Theyallwantedtostopit.Ipushedthem to go on. It was … itwas my crusade.” Sheshrugged.“Anditwasallfornothing. The company’sgoing to fold in a matter ofdays.I’velostit.”Sheleanedcloser. “But I don’t want toloseyou,too.Idon’twanttolosemy family. I don’twanttoloseus.”

She dropped her voicelower,andstretchedherhandacross the table to covermine. “I want to makeamends,Jack.Iwanttomakethings right, and get us backon track again.” She paused.“Ihopeyoudo,too.”Isaid,“I’mnotsurehowI

feel.”“You’retired.”“Yes. But I’m not sure,

anymore.”“Youmean,aboutus?”I said, “I hate this fucking

conversation.” And I did. IhatedthatshewouldstartthiswhenIwasexhausted,whenIhad just gone through anordeal that nearly got mekilled and that was,ultimately, all her doing. Ihated that she dismissed herinvolvement as “bad

judgment” when it wasconsiderablyworsethanthat.“Oh,Jack, let’sgoback to

the way we were,” she said,and suddenly she leaned therest of the way across thetable and tried to kissme onthelips.Ipulledback,turnedmy head away. She stared atme, eyes pleading. “Jack,please.”“Thisisnotthetimeorthe

place,Julia,”Isaid.A pause. She didn’t know

what to say. Finally: “Thekidsmissyou.”“I’m sure they do. I miss

them,too.”She burst into tears. “And

they don’t miss me …” shesobbed. “They don’t evencare aboutme…about theirmother …” She reached formyhandagain.I letherhold

it. I tried to takestockofmyfeelings. I just felt tired, andveryuncomfortable.Iwantedhertostopcrying.“Julia…”The intercom clicked. I

heard Ricky’s voice,amplified. “Hey, guys? Wehave a problem with thecommlines.Youbettercomehererightaway.”

Thecommroomconsistedofalargeclosetinonecornerofthemaintenanceroom.Itwassealed with a heavy securitydoor, with a small temperedglasswindowsetintheupperhalf. Through thiswindow, Icould see all the wiringpanels and switch racks forthetelecommunicationsinthelab. I also saw that greatchunks of wiring had beenyankedout.Andslumpedina

corner of the closet I sawCharley Davenport. Heappeared to be dead. Hismouth hung open, his eyesstared into space. His skinwas purple-gray. A blackbuzzing swarm swirledaroundhishead.“I can’t imagine how this

happened,”Rickywassaying.“He was fast asleep when Icheckedonhim…”

“Whenwasthat?”Isaid.“Maybehalfanhourago.”“Andtheswarm?How’dit

getthere?”“I can’t imagine,” Ricky

said.“Hemusthavecarrieditwithhim,fromoutside.”“How?” I said. “He went

throughalltheairlocks.”“Iknow,but…”“But what, Ricky? How’s

itpossible?”“Maybe … I don’t know,

maybe itwas inhis throatorsomething.”“In his throat?” I said.

“Youmean, just hanging outbetween his tonsils? Thesethingskillyou,youknow.”“Yeah,Iknow.OfcourseI

know.” He shrugged. “Beatsme.”I stared atRicky, trying to

understand his demeanor.Hehad just discovered that hislab was invaded by a lethalnanoswarm, and he didn’tappear to be upset at all. Hewas taking it all verycasually.Mae came hurrying into

the room. She took in thesituationwith a glance. “Didanyone check the videoplayback?”

“Wecan’t,”Rickysaid.Hepointed to the closet. “Thecontrols are disabled—inthere.”“So you don’t know how

hegotinthere?”“No. But he evidently

didn’twantuscallingout.Atleast…that’showitlooks.”Mae said, “Why would

Charleygointhere?”I shookmyhead. Ihadno

idea.Julia said, “It’s airtight.

Maybe he knew he wasinfected and wanted to sealhimselfoff.Imean,helockedthedoorfromtheinside.”I said, “He did? How do

youknowthat?”Julia said, “Um … I just

assumed … uh …” Shepeered through the glass.“And, uh, you can see the

lock reflected in that chromefitting…seethatonethere?”Ididn’tbothertolook.But

Maedid,andIheardhersay,“Oh yes, Julia, you’re right.Good observation. I missedthatmyself.” It soundedveryphony, but Julia didn’t seemtoreact.So everybody was

playacting, now. Everythingwas staged. And I didn’t

understand why. But as Iwatched Mae with Julia, Inoticed that she was beingextremely careful with mywife. Almost as if she wasafraidofher,oratleastafraidofoffendingher.Thatwasodd.Andalittlealarming.

I said to Ricky, “Is there awaytounlockthedoor?”

“Ithinkso.Vinceprobablyhas a skeleton key. Butnobody’sunlockingthatdoornow,Jack.Notaslongasthatswarmisinthere.”“So we can’t call

anywhere?” I said. “We’restuck here?Incommunicado?”“Until tomorrow, yes.

Helicopter will be backtomorrow morning, on its

regular run.”Rickypeered inthrough the glass at thedestruction. “Jeez. Charleyreally did a job on thoseswitchingpanels.”I said, “Why do you think

hewoulddothat?”Ricky shook his head.

“Charley was a little crazy,you know. I mean he wascolorful. But all that fartingand humming … he was a

few fries short of a HappyMeal,Jack.”“Ineverthoughtso.”“Justmyopinion,”hesaid.I stood beside Ricky and

lookedthroughtheglass.Theswarm was buzzing aroundCharley’s head, and I wasstarting to see the milkycoating form on his body.Theusualpattern.I said, “What about

pumping liquid nitrogen inthere?Freezingtheswarm?”“We could probably do

that,” Ricky said, “but I’mafraid we’d damage theequipment.”“Can you turn the air

handlers up enough to sucktheparticlesout?”“Handlers are going full-

borenow.”“Andyouwouldn’twantto

useafireextinguisher…”He shook his head.

“Extinguishers are Halon.Won’taffecttheparticles.”“So we’re effectively kept

outofthatroom.”“FarasIcantell,yes.”“Cellphones?”He shook his head.

“Antennas route through thatroom. Every form ofcommunication we have—

cells, Internet, high-speeddata trunks—everything goesthroughthatroom.”Julia said, “Charley knew

that room was airtight. I bethe went there to protect therest of us. It was a selflessact.Acourageousact.”She was developing her

theory about Charley,fleshingitout,addingdetails.It was a little distracting,

consideringthemainproblemwasstillunanswered—howtounlock the door, and disablethe swarm. I said, “Is thereanother window in thatcloset?”“No.”“This window in the door

istheonlyone?”“Yes.”“Okay, then,” I said, “let’s

black out the window, and

turn the lights out in there.And wait a few hours, untiltheswarmlosespower.”“Jeez, I don’t know,”

Rickysaiddoubtfully.“What do you mean,

Ricky?” Julia said. “I thinkit’sagreatidea.It’scertainlyworth a try. Let’s do it rightnow.”“Okay, fine,” Ricky said,

immediatelydeferring toher.

“Butyou’regoing tohave towaitsixhours.”I said, “I thought it was

threehours.”“It is, but I want extra

hoursbeforeIopenthatdoor.If that swarm gets loose inhere,we’veallhadit.”In the end, that was what

we decided to do. We gotblack cloth and taped it overthe window, and put black

cardboard over that. Weturned out the lights andtaped the light switch in theOFF position. At the end ofthat time, exhaustion hit meagain. I looked atmywatch.It was one o’clock in themorning.Isaid,“Ihavetogotobed.”“We should all get some

sleep,” Julia said. “We canrevisitthisinthemorning.”

We all headed off towardthe residence module. Maesidledupalongsideme.“Howareyoufeeling?”shesaid.“Okay.My back’s starting

tohurtalittle.”She nodded. “You better

letmetakealookatit.”“Why?”“Just let me take a look,

beforeyougotobed.”

“Oh, Jack, darling,” Juliacried. “You poor baby.”“Whatisit?”Iwassittingonthekitchen

tablewithmy shirt off. Juliaand Mae were behind me,clucking.“Whatisit?”Isaidagain.“There’s some blistering,”

Maesaid.“Blistering?” Julia said.

“His whole back is covered

—”“I think we have

dressings,” Mae said,interrupting her, reaching forthe first-aid kit beneath thesink.“Yes, I hope so.” Julia

smiled at me. “Jack, I can’ttellyouhowsorry I am, thatyouhadtogothroughthis.”“This may sting a little,”

Maesaid.

IknewthatMaewantedtotalk to me alone, but therewasnoopportunity.Juliawasnot going to leave us aloneforaminute.Shehadalwaysbeen jealous of Mae, evenyears ago when I first hiredMae in my company, andnowshewascompetingwithherformyattention.Iwasn’tflattered.Thedressingswerecoolat

first, as Mae applied them,but within moments theystungbitterly.Iwinced.“I don’t know what

painkillers we have,” Maesaid.“You’vegotagoodareaofsecond-degreeburns.”Julia rummaged frantically

through the first-aid kit,tossingcontentsoutrightandleft. Tubes and canistersclattered to the floor.

“There’smorphine,” she saidat last, holding up a bottle.She smiled at me brightly.“Thatshoulddoit!”“Idon’twantmorphine,” I

said.What I reallywanted tosaywas that Iwanted her togotobed.Juliawasannoyingme. Her frantic edge wasgetting on my nerves. And IwantedtotalktoMaealone.“There’s nothing else,”

Juliasaid,“exceptaspirin.”“Aspirinisfine.”“I’m worried it won’t be

—”“Aspirinisfine.”“Youdon’thavetobitemy

headoff.”“I’m sorry. I don’t feel

well.”“Well, I’m only trying to

help.” Julia stepped back. “I

mean, if you twowant to bealone, you should just sayso.”“No,” I said, “we do not

wanttobealone.”“Well, I’m only trying to

help.”Sheturnedbacktothemedicinekit.“Maybethereissomething else …”Containersoftapeandplasticbottles of antibiotics fell tothefloor.

“Julia,” I said. “Pleasestop.”“What am I doing? What

amIdoingthatissoawful?”“Juststop.”“I’monlytryingtohelp.”“Iknowthat.”Behind me, Mae said,

“Okay. All finished now.That should hold you untiltomorrow.” She yawned.“Andnow,ifyoudon’tmind,

I’mgoingtobed.”Ithankedher,andwatched

her leave the room. When Iturned back, Julia washolding a glass of water andtwoaspirinsforme.“Thankyou,”Isaid.“I never liked that

woman,”shesaid.“Let’s get some sleep,” I

said.“There’s only single beds

here.”“Iknow.”Shemovedcloser.“I’dlike

tobewithyou,Jack.”“I’m really tired. I’ll see

youinthemorning,Julia.”I went back to my room

andlookedatthebed.Ididn’tbothertakingoffmyclothes.Idon’t remembermyhead

touchingthepillow.

DAY74:42A.M.

I slept restlessly, withconstant and terrible dreams.I dreamed that Iwasback inMonterey, marrying Juliaagain, and I was standing infrontoftheministerwhenshecameupalongsideme inherbridal gown, and when she

lifted the veil I was shockedby how beautiful and youngand slender she was. Shesmiled at me, and I smiledback, trying to conceal myuneasiness. Because now Isaw she was more thanslender, her face was thin,almost emaciated. Almost askull.Then I turned to the

minister in front of us, but itwas Mae, and she was

pouring colored liquids backand forth in test tubes.WhenIlookedbackatJuliashewasvery angry, and said shenever liked that woman.Somehow it was my fault. Iwastoblame.I woke up briefly,

sweating. The pillow wassoaked. I turned it over, andwent back to sleep. I sawmyself sleeping on the bed,andI lookedupandsawthat

the door to my room wasopen.Lightcameinfromthehallway outside. A shadowfell across my bed. Rickycame into the room andlookeddown atme.His facewas backlit and dark, Icouldn’t see his expression,but he said, “I always lovedyou,Jack.”Heleanedovertowhispersomethinginmyear,and I realized as his headcamedownthathewasgoing

to kiss me instead. He wasgoing to kissme on the lips,passionately. His mouth wasopen. His tongue licked hislips.Iwasveryupset,Ididn’tknowwhat to do, but at thatmoment Julia came in andsaid,“What’sgoingon?”andRicky hastily pulled away,and made some kind ofevasive comment. Julia wasvery angry and said, “Notnow, you fool,” and Ricky

made another evasivecomment. And then Juliasaid, “This is completelyunnecessary, itwill take careof itself.” And Ricky said,“There are constrictioncoefficients for deterministicalgorithms if you do intervalglobaloptimization.”Andshesaid,“Itwon’thurtyouifyoudon’tfightit.”She turnedonthe light in the room andwalkedout.

Then I was suddenly backin my Monterey wedding,Juliawas standingbesidemeinwhite,andIturnedtolookback at the audience, and Isaw my three kids sitting inthe first row, smiling andhappy. And as I watched ablack line appeared aroundtheirmouths,andsweptdowntheir bodies, until they werecloaked in black. Theycontinued to smile,but Iwas

horrified. I ran to them,but Icouldn’t rub the black cloakoff. And Nicole said calmly,“Don’t forget the sprinklers,Dad.”I woke up, tangled up in

thesheets,drenchedinsweat.The door to my room wasopen.Arectangleoflightfellacross my bed from thehallway outside. I lookedover at the workstationmonitor. It said “4:55 A.M.” I

closedmyeyesand lay thereforawhile,butIcouldn’tgoback to sleep. Iwaswet anduncomfortable. I decided totakeashower.Shortly before five in the

morning,Igotoutofbed.

The hallway was silent. Iwalked down the corridor tothe bathrooms. The doors toall the bedrooms were open,

which seemed strange. Icouldseeeverybodysleepingas I walked past. And thelights were on in all thebedrooms. I saw Rickyasleep,andIsawBobby,andIsawJulia,andVince.Mae’sbed was empty. And ofcourse Charley’s bed wasempty.I stopped in the kitchen to

get a ginger ale from therefrigerator. I was very

thirsty,my throatpainfulandparched.Andmystomachfeltalittlequeasy.Ilookedatthechampagnebottle. Isuddenlyhad a funny feeling about it,as if it might have beentampered with. I took it outandlookedcloselyatthecap,at themetal foil that coveredthe cork. It looked entirelynormal. No tampering, noneedlemarks,nonothing.Justabottleofchampagne.

Iputitbackandclosedtherefrigeratordoor.Ibegan towonder if Ihad

been unfair to Julia. Maybeshe really did believe she’dmadeamistakeandwantedtoput things right. Maybe shejust wanted to show hergratitude.MaybeIwasbeingtoo tough on her. Toounforgiving.Becausewhenyouthought

about it, what had she donethatwassuspiciousorwrong?She’d been glad to see me,even if shewasover the top.She’d accepted responsibilityfortheexperiment,andshe’dapologized for it. She’dimmediately agreed to makethe call to the Army. She’dagreed with my plan to killtheswarminthecommroom.She’d done everything shecould do to show she

supportedme,andwasonmyside.ButIstillwasuneasy.And of course there was

thematterofCharleyandhisswarm. Ricky’s idea thatCharley had somehow beencarryingtheswarminsidehisbody, in his mouth or underhis armpit or something,didn’tmake a lot of sense tome. Those swarms killed

within seconds. So it left aquestion—howdidtheswarmget intothecommroomwithCharley? Did it get in fromoutside? Why hadn’t itattacked Julia andRicky andVince?Iforgotaboutmyshower.Idecidedtogodowntothe

utilityroom,andlookaroundoutsidethecommroomdoor.MaybetherewassomethingI

had missed. Julia had beentalking a lot, interruptingmytrainof thought.Almostas ifshe hadn’t wanted me tofiguresomethingout…There I was again, being

hardonJulia.Iwent through theairlock,

down the corridor, throughanother airlock. When youweretired,itwasannoyingtohave that wind blowing on

you. I came out into theutility area, andwent towardthecommroomdoor.Ididn’tnoticeanything.I heard the sound of a

clicking keyboard, andlooked into the biology lab.Mae was there, at herworkstation.I said, “What are you

doing?”“Checking the video

playback.”“I thought we couldn’t do

that, because Charley pulledthewires.”“That’s what Ricky said.

Butitisn’ttrue.”I started to come around

the lab bench, to look overhershoulder.Sheheldupherhand.“Jack,” she said. “Maybe

you don’t want to look at

this.”“What?Whynot?”“It’s, uh … maybe you

don’t want to deal with this.Not right now. Maybetomorrow.”But of course after that, I

practically ran around thetable to seewhatwas on hermonitor.AndIstopped.WhatI saw on her screen was animage of an empty corridor.

With a time code at thebottomofthepicture.“Isthisit?” I said. “Is this what Ishouldn’tdealwith?”“No.” She turned in her

chair. “Look, Jack, you havetogo throughall the securitycameras in sequence, andeach one only records tenframes aminute, so it’s verydifficult to be sure of whatwe’re—”

“Justshowme,Mae.”“Ihavetogobackabit…”

She pressed the BACK buttonin thecornerof thekeyboardrepeatedly. Like many newcontrol systems, the Xymossystem was modeled onInternet browser technology.You could go backward inwork,retracingyoursteps.The frames jumped

backward until she came to

the place she wanted. Thenshe ran it forward, thesecurityimagesjumpingfromone camera to the next inrapid succession. A corridor.The main plant. Anotherangle on the plant. Anairlock.Anothercorridor.Theutility room.A corridor. Thekitchen. The lounge. Theresidence hallway. Anexterior view, looking downat the floodlit desert.

Corridor. The power room.The outside, ground level.Anothercorridor.Iblinked. “How longhave

youbeendoingthis?”“Aboutanhour.”“Jesus.”Next I saw a corridor.

Rickymovingdownit.Powerstation. Outside, lookingdown on Julia stepping intothe floodlight. A corridor.

Julia and Ricky together,embracing, and then acorridor,and—“Wait,”Isaid.Mae hit a button. She

looked at me, said nothing.She pressed another key,flicked the images forwardslowly. She stopped on thecamera that showed RickyandJulia.“Tenframes.”

Themovementwasblurredand jerky. Ricky and Juliamoved toward each other.Theyembraced. Therewas aclear sense of ease, offamiliarity between them.And then they kissedpassionately.

“Aw, shit,” I said, turningaway from the screen. “Shit,shit,shit.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Maesaid. “I don’t know what tosay.”I felt a wave of dizziness,

almostas if Imightcollapse.Isatdownonthetable.Ikeptmy body turned away fromthe screen. I just couldn’tlook. I took a deep breath.Mae was saying somethingmore, but I didn’t hear herwords. I took another breath.I ran my hand through my

hair.I said, “Did you know

aboutthis?”“No. Not until a few

minutesago.”“Didanybody?”“No. We used to joke

about it sometimes, that theyhad a relationship, but noneofusbelievedit.”“Jesus.” I ran my hand

throughmy hair again. “Tell

me the truth,Mae. I need tohear the truth.Didyouknowaboutthisornot?”“No,Jack.Ididn’t.”Silence. I took a breath. I

tried to take stock of myfeelings. “You know what’sfunny?”Isaid.“What’sfunnyis that I’ve suspected this fora while now. I mean, I waspretty sure itwas happening,I just didn’t know who… I

mean … Even though Iexpectedit,it’sstillkindofashock.”“I’msure.”“I never would have

figuredRicky,” I said. “He’ssuch a … I don’t know …smarmy kind of guy. Andhe’s not a big power guy.Somehow I would havethought she’d pick someonemore important, I guess.”As

I said it, I remembered myconversation with Ellen afterdinner.Are you so sure about

Julia’sstyle?ThatwasafterI’dseenthe

guyinthecar.Theguywhoseface I couldn’t really makeout…Ellen: It’s called denial,

Jack.“Jesus,”Isaid,shakingmy

head. I felt angry,embarrassed, confused,furious. It kept changingeverysecond.Mae waited. She didn’t

move or speak. She wascompletely still. Finally shesaid,“Doyouwanttoseeanymore?”“Istheremore?”“Yes.”“I don’t know if I, uh …

No, I don’t want to see anymore.”“Maybeyoubetter.”“No.”“Imean,itmightmakeyou

feelbetter.”“Idon’tthinkso,”Isaid.“I

don’tthinkIcantakeit.”She said, “It may not be

what you think, Jack. Atleast, it may not be exactlywhatyouthink.”

It’scalleddenial,Jack.“Sorry,Mae,”Isaid,“butI

don’t want to pretendanymore. I saw it. I knowwhatitis.”

I thought I’d be with Juliaforever. I thought we lovedthe kids together, we had afamily, a house, a lifetogether. And Ricky had anew baby of his own. It just

was weird. It didn’t makesense tome.But then, thingsnever turn out the way youthinktheywill.IheardMaetypingquickly

onthekeyboard.IturnedsoIcould see her, but not thescreen.“What’reyoudoing?”“Trying to find Charley.

See if I can track whathappenedtohimoverthelastfewhours.”

She continued typing. Itook a breath. Shewas right.Whateverwasgoingoninmypersonallifewasalreadywelladvanced.TherewasnothingI could do about it, at leastnotrightnow.Iturnedallthewayaround

andfacedthescreen.“Okay,”Isaid.“Let’slook

forCharley.”

It was disorienting to watchthe camera images flash by,repeatinginsequence.Peoplepoppedinandoutof images.IsawJuliainthekitchen.ThenexttimeIsawherandRickyin the kitchen. Therefrigerator door was open,thenshut. I sawVince in themain plant room, then hepopped out. I saw him in acorridor,thengone.“Idon’tseeCharley.”

“Maybe he’s still asleep,”Maesaid.“Can you see in the

bedrooms?”“Yes, there are cameras

there, but I’d have to changesecuritycycle.Ordinarycycledoesn’t go into thebedrooms.”“How big a deal is it to

changethesecuritycycle?”“I’mnotsure.Thisisreally

Ricky’sarea.Thesystemhereisprettycomplicated.Ricky’sthe only one who reallyknows how to work it. Let’ssee ifwe findCharley in theregularcycle.”So that’s what we did,

waiting to see if he appearedinanyofthestandardcameraimages. We searched forabouttenminutesmore.Fromtime to time, I had to lookaway from the images,

though it never seemed tobotherMae.Butsureenough,wesawhimintheresidentialhallway, walking down thecorridor, rubbing his face.He’djustwokenup.“Okay,”Maesaid.“Wegot

him.”“What’sthetime?”Shefrozetheimage,sowe

couldreadit.Itwas12:10A.M.

I said, “That’s only about

half an hour before we gotback.”“Yes.” She ran the images

forward.Charleydisappearedfromthehallway,butwesawhim briefly, heading into thebathroom. Then we sawRicky and Julia in thekitchen.Ifeltmybodytense.But they were just talking.ThenJuliaputthechampagnein the refrigerator, andRickystartedhandingherglassesto

putinbesidethebottle.It was difficult to be sure

what happened next, becauseoftheframerate.Tenframesaminuteofvideomeant thatyouonly got an image everysix seconds, so eventsappeared blurred and jumpywhen things moved fast,because too much happenedbetweentheframes.But this is what I thought

happened:Charley showed up, and

began talking to the two ofthem. He was smiling,cheerful. He pointed to theglasses. Julia and Ricky putthe glasses away while theytalked to him. Then he helduphishand,tostop.He pointed to a glass that

Juliawasholdinginherhandbefore she put it in the

refrigerator. He saidsomething.Julia shook her head, and

put the glass in therefrigerator.Charley seemed puzzled.

He pointed again to anotherglass. Julia shook her head.Then Charley hunched hisshoulders and thrust out hischin, as if he were gettingangry. He poked the table

repeatedly with his finger,makingapoint.Ricky stepped forward

between Julia and Charley.He acted like someoneinterrupting an argument.Heheld his hands up soothinglytoCharley:takeiteasy.Charley wasn’t taking it

easy.Hewas pointing to thesink, heaped with unwasheddishes.

Ricky shook his head, andput his hand on Charley’sshoulder.Charleybrusheditoff.The two men began to

argue. Meanwhile, Juliacalmly put the rest of theglasses into the refrigerator.Sheseemedindifferenttotheargumentafewfeetfromher,almostasifshedidn’thearit.Charley was trying to get

around Ricky to therefrigerator, but Ricky keptmoving to block him, andheldhishandsupeachtime.Ricky’s whole demeanor

suggested that he did notregardCharleyasrational.Hewas treating Charley in thatcareful way you do whensomeone’soutofcontrol.Mae said, “Is Charley

beingaffectedbytheswarm?

Is that why he’s acting thatway?”“I can’t tell.” I looked

closer at the screen. “I don’tseeanyswarm.”“No,” she said. “But he’s

prettyangry.”“What does he want them

todo?”Isaid.Mae shook her head. “Put

the glasses back? Washthem?Usedifferentglasses?I

can’ttell.”I said, “Charley doesn’t

careaboutthatstuff.He’deatoutofadirtyplatesomebodyelsehadused.”Ismiled.“I’veseenhimdoit.”Suddenly, Charley stepped

several paces back. For amoment, he was completelystill, as if he had discoveredsomething that stunned him.Rickysaidsomethingtohim.

Charley began pointing andshouting at both of them.Rickytriedtoapproachhim.Charley kept backing

away, and then he turned tothe phone, mounted on thewall. He lifted the receiver.Ricky came forward, veryquickly, his body a blur, andslammedthephonedown.Heshoved Charley back—hard.Ricky’s strength wassurprising.Charleywasabig

guy,buthewentdowntothefloor,andskiddedbackwardafew feet. Charley got to hisfeet, continued to yell, thenhe turned and ran out of theroom.Julia andRickyexchanged

aglance.Juliasaidsomethingtohim.Immediately, Ricky ran

afterCharley.JuliaranafterRicky.

“Where are they going?” Isaid.The screen flashed

“Updating Time,” and thenwe started seeing imagesfromallthecamerasagain,insequence. We saw Charleyrunningdownacorridor,andwesawRickystartafterhim.Wewaitedimpatientlyforthenext cycle. But nobody wasvisiblethere.

Another cycle. Then wesaw Charley in the utilityroom, dialing the phone. Heglanced over his shoulder.Amomentlater,Rickycamein,and Charley hung up thephone. They argued, circlingaroundeachother.Charley picked up a

shovel,andswungitatRicky.The first time Ricky dodgedaway. The second time itcaught him on the shoulder

andknockedhimtothefloor.Charley swung the shoveloverhishead,andslammeditdown on Ricky’s head. Thegesture was brutal, theintention clearly murderous.Rickymanaged toduckbackjust as the shovel smashedontotheconcrete.“MyGod…”Maesaid.Ricky was getting to his

feet,whenCharleyturnedand

saw Julia enter the room.Julia held out her hand,pleadingwithCharley(toputdown the shovel?). Charleylooked from one of them tothe other. And then Vinceentered the room, too. Nowthattheywereallintheroom,heseemedto losehisurgetofight.Theywerecirclinghim,closingin.Suddenly Charley dashed

for the comm room, stepped

inside, and tried to shut thedoor behind him. Ricky wasonhiminaflash.Hehadhisfoot in the door and Charleycouldn’t get it closed.Charley’s face looked angrythroughtheglass.Vincecameright alongside Ricky. Withboth of them at the door, Icouldn’t see what washappening.Juliaseemedtobegivingorders.IthoughtIsawher reach her hand through

the crack in the door, but itwasdifficulttobesure.In any case, the door

opened, and both Vince andRicky entered the room. Theaction that came next wasswift, blurred on the video,but apparently the threemenwere fighting, and Rickymanaged to get behindCharley, and get him in ahammerlock; Vince pulledCharley’s arm behind his

back, and together the twomen subdued Charley. Hestopped fighting. The imagewaslessblurred.“What’s happening?” Mae

said.“Theynevertoldusanyofthis.”Ricky and Vince were

holdingCharleyfrombehind.Charley was panting, hischest heaving, but he nolonger struggled. Julia came

into the room. She looked atCharley, and had someconversationwithhim.And then Julia walked up

to Charley, and kissed himfullandlongonthelips.

Charley struggled, tried towrench away.Vince grabbedafistfulofCharley’shairandtried toholdhishead steady.Julia continued to kiss him.

Then she stepped away, andas she did I saw a river ofblackbetweenhermouthandCharley’s. It was only therefor a moment, and then itfaded.“OhmyGod,”Maesaid.Julia wiped her lips, and

smiled.Charleysagged,droppedto

the ground. He appeareddazed. A black cloud came

outofhismouth,andswirledaroundhishead.Vincepattedhim on the head and left theroom.Ricky went over to the

panels—and pulled outwiring by the handful. Heliterally ripped the panelsapart.ThenheturnedbacktoCharley, said somethingelse,andwalked out of the commroom.

At onceCharley sprang tohis feet, closed thedoor, andlockedit.ButRickyandJuliajust laughed, as if thiswas afutilegesture.Charleysaggedagain, and from then on hewasoutofsight.Ricky threw his arm

around Julia’s shoulder, andtheywalked out of the roomtogether.“Well, you two are

certainly up bright andearly!”Iturned.Julia was standing in the

doorway.

DAY75:12A.M.

She came forward into theroom, smiling. “You know,Jack,” she said, “if I didn’ttrust you so completely, I’dthink there was somethinggoing on between the twoofyou.”“Really,” I said. I stepped

awayfromMaealittle,whileshe typed quickly. I felttremendously uneasy. “Whywouldyouthinkthat?”“Well,youhadyourheads

together about something,”she said, as she came towardus. “You looked quitefascinated by what youwereseeingonthescreen.What’reyoulookingat,anyway?”“It’sah,technical.”

“MayIsee?I’minterestedin technical things. Didn’tRicky tell you I had a newtechnical interest? I do. I’mfascinatedbythistechnology.It’sanewworld,isn’tit?Thetwenty-first century hasarrived. Don’t get up, Mae.I’ll just look over yourshoulder.”By now she had walked

around the bench, and couldsee the screen. She frowned

at the image, which showedbacterial cultures on a redgrowth medium. Whitecircles within red circles.“What’sthis?”Mae said, “Bacterial

colonies. We’ve got somecontamination of the colistock. I had to take one tankoffline.We’retryingtofigureoutwhat’swrong.”“Probablyphage,don’tyou

think?” Julia said. “Isn’t thatwhat it usually is withbacterial stocks—a virus?”She sighed. “Everythingabout molecularmanufacturing is so delicate.Things go wrong so easily,and so often. You have tokeep alert for trouble.” Sheglanced at me, and at Mae.“But surely this isn’t whatyou’ve been looking at allthistime…”

“Actually,itis,”Isaid.“What?Picturesofmold?”“Bacteria.”“Yes, bacteria. You’ve

beenlookingatthisthewholetime,Mae?”She shrugged, nodded.

“Yes,Julia.It’smyjob.”“AndIdon’tquestionyour

dedication for a moment,”Julia said. “But do youmind?” Her hand darted

forward and hit the BACK keyinthecornerofthekeyboard.The previous screen

showed more pictures ofbacterialgrowth.The next screen showed a

viruselectronmicrograph.Andthenatableofgrowth

data over the last twelvehours.Julia continued to hit the

BACK key half a dozen times

more, but all she saw wereimages of bacteria andviruses, graphs, and datatables. She took her handaway from the keyboard.“You seem to be devoting alotof timeto this. Is it reallysoimportant?”“Well, it’s a contaminant,”

Mae said. “If we don’tcontrol it, we’ll have to shutdowntheentiresystem.”

“Thenbyallmeanskeepatit.” She turned tome. “Wantto have breakfast? I’dimagine you must bestarving.”“Soundsgreat,”Isaid.“Come with me,” Julia

said. “We’ll make ittogether.”“Okay,”Isaid.Iglancedat

Mae. “I’ll see you later. LetmeknowifIcandoanything

tohelp.”IleftwithJulia.Westarted

down the corridor to theresidences.“I don’t knowwhy,” Julia

said,“butthatwomanbothersme.”“I don’t know why either.

She’s very good. Verythoughtful, veryconscientious.”“Andverypretty.”

“Julia…”“Isthatwhyyouwon’tkiss

me?Becauseyou’reinvolvedwithher?”“Julia,forChrist’ssake.”Shestaredatme,waiting.“Look,”Isaid.“It’sbeena

rough couple of weeks foreverybody. Frankly, you’vebeendifficulttolivewith.”“I’msureIhave.”

“And frankly, I’ve beenprettyangrywithyou.”“With good reason, I

know. I’m sorry for what Iputyou through.”She leanedover,kissedmeonthecheek.“Butitfeelssodistantnow.Idon’tlikethetensionbetweenus.Whatdoyou saywekissandmakeup?”“Maybelater,”Isaid.“We

havealottodonow.”

She got playful, puckeringher lips, kissing air. “Oooh,comeon,sweetie, justa littlesmooch…comeon,itwon’tkillyou…”“Later,”Isaid.She sighed, and gave up.

We continued down thecorridor in silence for awhile. Then she said, in aserious voice, “You’reavoiding me, Jack. And I

wanttoknowwhy.”

I didn’t answer her, I justgave a long-suffering sighandkeptwalking, acting likewhat she’d said was beneathresponse.Infact,Iwasbadlyworried.I couldn’tkeep refusing to

kiss her forever; sooner orlater she’d figure out what Iknew. Maybe she already

had.BecauseevenwhenJuliawas acting girlish, sheseemed sharper, more alertthanshe’deverbeenbefore.Ihad the feeling she didn’tmissanything.AndIhad thesame feeling about Ricky. Itwasasiftheyweretunedup,ultra-aware.And I was worried about

what I’d seen on Mae’smonitor.Theblackcloudthatseemed to come from Julia’s

mouth. Had it really beenthere, on the video?Becauseas far as I knew, swarmskilled their prey on contact.They were merciless. NowJulia seemed to be harboringaswarm.Howcouldthatbe?Did she have some sort ofimmunity?Orwastheswarmtolerating her, not killing herfor some reason? And whatabout Ricky and Vince? Didtheyhaveimmunity,too?

One thing was clear: JuliaandRickydidnotwantus tocall anybody. They haddeliberatelyisolatedusinthedesert, knowing that theywouldhaveonlya fewhoursuntil the helicopter arrived.So apparently, that’s all thetime they needed. To dowhat? Kill us? Or just infectus?What?Walkingdownthecorridor

next tomywife, I feltas if I

waswalkingwith a stranger.WithsomebodyIdidn’tknowanymore.Somebodywhowasimmenselydangerous.Iglancedatmywatch.The

helicopter would be here inlessthantwohours,now.Julia smiled. “Got an

appointment?”“No.Justthinkingit’stime

forbreakfast.”“Jack,” she said. “Why

won’t you be honest withme?”“I’mbeinghonest…”“No.Youwerewondering

how long until the helicoptercomes.”Ishrugged.“Two hours,” she said.

And she added, “I’ll betyou’ll be glad to get out ofhere,won’tyou?”“Yes,”Isaid.“ButI’mnot

leaving until everything isdone.”“Why? What’s left to be

done?”Bynowwehadreachedthe

residentialunit. Icouldsmellbacon and eggs cooking.Ricky came around thecorner. He smiled heartilywhenhesawme.“Hey,Jack.How’dyousleep?”“Isleptokay.”

“Really?‘Causeyoulookalittletired.”“Ihadbaddreams,”Isaid.“Oh yes? Bad dreams?

Bummer.”“It happens sometimes,” I

said.We all went into the

kitchen. Bobby was makingbreakfast. “Scrambled eggswith chives and creamcheese,” he said cheerfully.

“What kind of toast do youguyswant?”Julia wanted wheat toast.

RickywantedEnglishmuffin.IsaidIdidn’twantanything.I was looking at Ricky,noticingagainhowstrongheappeared.BeneathhisT-shirt,the muscles were welldefined, cut. He caught mestaring at him. “Somethingwrong?”

“No. Just admiring yourbutch look.” I tried to belight,but the truthwas that Ifelt incredibly uncomfortableinthekitchenwithallofthemaroundme.IkeptthinkingofCharley,andhowswiftlytheyhad attacked him. I wasn’thungry; I just wanted to getout of there. But I couldn’tsee how to do it withoutarousingsuspicion.Julia went to the

refrigerator,opened thedoor.Thechampagnewas in there.“Youguysready tocelebratenow?”“Sure,” Bobby said.

“Soundsgreat,alittlemimosainthemorning…”“Absolutely not,” I said.

“Julia,I’mgoingtoinsistyoutake this situation seriously.We’re not out of the woodsyet.WehavetogettheArmy

inhere, andwehaven’t beenable to call. It’s not time tobreakoutthechampagne.”She pouted. “Oh, you’re

suchaspoilsport…”“Spoilsport hell. You’re

beingridiculous.”“Oooh, baby, don’t get

mad, just kiss me, kiss me.”She puckered her lips again,andleanedacrossthetable.But it seemed like getting

angry was the only move Ihad. “God damn it, Julia,” Isaid, raising my voice, “theonly reason we are in thismess is because you didn’ttake it seriously in the firstplace. You had a runawayswarmout there in thedesertfor what—two weeks? Andinstead of eradicating it, youplayed with it. You fooledaround until it got out ofcontrol, and as a result three

peoplearedead.Thisisnotagoddamn celebration, Julia.It’s a disaster. And I am notdrinking any fuckingchampagne while I am hereandneither isanyoneelse.”Itookthebottletothesinkandsmashed it. I turned back toher.“Gotit?”Stony-faced, she said,

“That was completelyunnecessary.”

I sawRicky lookingatmethoughtfully. As if he wastrying to decide something.Bobby turned his backwhilehe cooked, as if he wasembarrassed by a maritalspat. Had they gotten toBobby?IthoughtIsawathinblack line at his neck, but Icouldn’tbesure,andIdidn’tdarestare.“Unnecessary?”Isaid, full

of outrage. “Those people

were my friends. And theywere your friends, Ricky.And yours, Bobby. And Idon’t want to hear thiscelebration shit anymore!” Iturnedandstompedoutoftheroom. As I left, Vince wascomingin.“Better take it easy, pal,”

Vince said. “You’ll giveyourselfastroke.”“Fuckoff,”Isaid.

Vinceraisedhiseyebrows.Ibrushedpasthim.“You’re not fooling

anybody, Jack!” Julia calledafter me. “I know whatyou’rereallyupto!”My stomach flipped.But I

keptwalking.“I can see right through

you, Jack. I know you’regoingbacktoher.”“Damnright!”Isaid.

Was that what Julia reallythought?Ididn’tbelieveitfora moment. She was justtryingtomisleadme,tokeepme off guard until… what?Whatweretheygoingtodo?There were four of them.

Andonlytwoofus—atleast,therewere two if theyhadn’talreadygottentoMae.

Mae wasn’t in the biology

laboratory. I looked aroundandsaw thata sidedoorwasajar,leadingdownstairstotheunderground level where thefermentation chambers wereinstalled.Upclose,theyweremuch larger than I hadrealized, giant stainlessspheresabout six feet across.They were surrounded by amazeofpipesandvalvesandtemperature control units. Itwas warm here, and very

noisy.Mae was standing by the

thirdunit,makingnotesonaclipboard and shutting avalve. She had a rack of testtubesatherfeet.Iwentdownand stood beside her. Shelooked at me, then shot aglance toward the ceiling,where a security camerawasmounted. Shewalked aroundto the other side of the tank,andIfollowedher.Overhere,

thetankblockedthecamera.She said, “They sleptwith

thelightson.”I nodded. I knew what it

meant,now.“They’re all infected,” she

said.“Yes.”“Andit’snotkillingthem.”“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t

understandwhy.”

“Itmusthaveevolved,”shesaid,“totoleratethem.”“Thatfast?”“Evolution can happen

fast,” she said. “You knowtheEwaldstudies.”I did. Paul Ewald had

studied cholera. What hefound was that the choleraorganism would quicklychange to sustain anepidemic. In places where

there were no sanitary watersupplies but perhaps a ditchrunningthroughavillage,thecholera was virulent,prostrating the victim andkillinghimwherehefellfrommassive overwhelmingdiarrhea. The diarrheacontainedmillions of choleraorganisms; it would run intothe water supply and infectothers in the village. In thisway the cholera reproduced,

andtheepidemiccontinued.But when there was

sanitary water supply, thevirulent strain could notreproduce. The victimwoulddie where he fell but hisdiarrhea would not enter thewater supply. Others wouldnot be infected, and theepidemic would fade. Underthose circumstances, theepidemicevolved toamilderform, enabling the victim to

walk around and spread themilder organisms by contact,dirtylinens,andsoon.Mae was suggesting that

the same thinghadhappenedto the swarms. They hadevolved to a milder form,which could be transmittedfromonepersontoanother.“It’screepy,”Isaid.Shenodded.“Butwhatcan

wedoaboutit?”

And then shebegan to crysilently, tears running downher cheeks.Mae was alwaysso strong. Seeing her upsetunnerved me now. She wasshaking her head. “Jack,there’s nothing we can do.There’sfourofthem.They’restrongerthanweare.They’regoing tokill us theway theykilledCharley.”She pressed her head

againstmyshoulder.Iputmy

arm around her. But Icouldn’t comfort her.Because I knew she wasright.Therewasnowayout.

Winston Churchill once saidthatbeingshotatfocusedthemind wonderfully. My mindwas going very fast now. Iwas thinking that Ihadmadeamistake and I had to fix it.

Even though it was atypicallyhumanmistake.Consideringthatwelivein

an era of evolutionaryeverything—evolutionarybiology, evolutionarymedicine, evolutionaryecology, evolutionarypsychology, evolutionaryeconomics, evolutionarycomputing—itwassurprisinghow rarely people thought inevolutionary terms. It was a

humanblindspot.Welookedat the world around us as asnapshotwhenitwasreallyamovie, constantly changing.Of course we knew it waschanging but we behaved asif it wasn’t. We denied thereality of change. So changealways surprised us. Parentswere even surprised by thematuring of their ownchildren. They treated themas younger than they really

were.And I had been surprised

bythechangeintheevolutionof the swarms.Therewasnoreason why the swarmsshouldn’t evolve in twodirections at the same time.Or three, or four, or tendirections, for that matter. Ishouldhaveanticipatedthat.Ishould have looked for it,expected it. If I had, Imightbe better prepared to deal

withthesituationnow.But instead I had treated

theswarmasoneproblem—aproblem out there, in thedesert—and I had ignoredotherpossibilities.It’scalleddenial,Jack.I started to wonder what

elseIwasdenyingnow.WhatelseIhadfailedtosee.WheredidIgowrong?Whatwasthefirst clue I had missed?

Probably the fact that myinitial contact with a swarmhad produced an allergicreaction—a reaction thatalmost killed me. Mae hadcalled it a coliform reaction.Caused by a toxin from thebacteria in the swarm. Thattoxinwasobviouslytheresultof an evolutionary change intheE. coli that made up theswarm.Well, for thatmatter,theverypresenceofphagein

the tankwas an evolutionarychange, a viral response tothebacteriathat—“Mae,” I said. “Wait a

minute.”“What?”I said, “There might be

somethingwe can do to stopthem.”

Shewasskeptical;Icouldseeit in her face.But shewiped

hereyesandlistened.Isaid,“Theswarmconsists

of particles and bacteria, isthatright?”“Yes…”“The bacteria provide the

raw ingredients for theparticles to reproducethemselves. Right? Okay. Soif thebacteriadie, theswarmdiestoo?”“Probably.” She frowned.

“Are you thinking of anantibiotic? Giving everyonean antibiotic? Because youneed a lot of antibiotics toclear an E. coli infection,they’dhave to takedrugs forseveraldays,andIdon’t—”“No. I’m not thinking of

antibiotics.”Itappedthetankin frontofme. “I’m thinkingofthis.”“Phage?”

“Whynot?”“I don’t know if it will

work,”shesaid.Shefrowned.“It might. Except … how’reyou going to get the phageinto them? They won’t justdrinkitdown,youknow.”“Then we’ll fill the

atmosphere with it,” I said.“They’ll breathe it in andthey’llneverknow.”“Uh-huh. How do we fill

theatmosphere?”“Easy. Don’t shut down

this tank. Feed the bacteriainto the system. I want theassemblylinetostartmakingvirus—alotofvirus.Thenwereleaseintotheair.”Mae sighed. “It won’t

work,Jack,”shesaid.“Whynot?”“Becausetheassemblyline

won’tmakealotofvirus.”

“Whynot?”“Because of the way the

virus reproduces. You know—the virus floats around,attaches to a cell wall, andinjects itself into the cell.Then it takes over the cell’sownRNA, andconverts it tomaking more viruses. Thecell ceases all its normalmetabolic functions, and justcranks out viruses. Prettysoon the cell is packed with

viruses, and it bursts like aballoon. All the viruses arereleased, they float to othercells, and the process startsallover.”“Yes…so?”“If I introduce phage into

the assembly lines, the viruswill reproduce rapidly—forawhile.Butitwillrupturealotof cell membranes, leavingbehind all those membranes

asa lipidcrud.Thecrudwillclog the intermediate filters.After about an hour or two,the assembly lines will startto overheat, the safetysystemswillkickin,andshuteverything down. The wholeproductionlinewill juststop.Novirus.”“Canthesafetysystemsbe

turnedoff?”“Yes. But I don’t know

how.”“Whodoes?”“OnlyRicky.”I shook my head. “That

won’t do us any good. Areyousureyoucan’t figureout—”“There’sacode,”shesaid.

“Ricky’s the only one whoknowsit.”“Oh.”

“Anyway,Jack, it’dbetoodangerous to turn off thesafeties. Parts of that systemoperate at high temperature,and high voltages. Andthere’s a lot of ketones andmethane produced in thearms. It’s continuouslymonitored and drawn off tokeep the levels below acertainconcentration.Butifitisn’tdrawnoff,andyoustarthigh voltage sparking …”

Shepaused,shrugged.“What’re you saying? It

couldexplode?”“No, Jack. I’m saying it

will explode. In a matter ofminutes after the safeties areshut off. Six, maybe eightminutes at most. And youwouldn’t want to be therewhen that happens. So youcan’t use the system toproduce a lot of virus.

Safeties on or safeties off, itjustwon’twork.”Silence.Frustration.Ilookedaroundtheroom.I

looked at the steel tank,curving upward over myhead. I looked at the rack oftest tubes at Mae’s feet. Ilooked in thecorner,where Isaw a mop, a bucket, and aone-gallon plastic bottle of

water. And I looked atMae,frightened, still on the vergeof tears, but somehowholdingittogether.AndIhadaplan.“Okay. Do it anyway.

Release the virus into thesystem.”“What’sthepointofthat?”

“Justdoit.”“Jack,”shesaid.“Whyare

wedoingthis?I’mafraidthey

knowthatweknow.Wecan’tfoolthem.They’retooclever.Ifwetrytodothis,they’llbeontousinaminute.”“Yes,” I said. “They

probablywill.”“And it won’t work,

anyway. The system won’tmake viruses. Sowhy, Jack?Whatgoodwillitdo?”

Mae had been a good friend

through all this, and now IhadaplanandIwasn’tgoingtotellher.Ihatedtodoitthisway, but I had to make adistraction for the others. Ihadtofoolthem.Andshehadto help me do it—whichmeantshehadtobelieveinadifferentplan.I said, “Mae, we have to

distract them, to fool them. Iwantyou to release thevirusinto the assembly line. Let

them focuson that.Let themworryaboutthat.Meanwhile,I’ll takesomevirusup to themaintenanceareabeneath theroof, and dump it into thesprinklerreservoir.”“And then set the

sprinklersoff?”“Yes.”She nodded. “And they’ll

be soaked in virus.Everybody in this facility.

Drenched.”“Right.”She said, “It just might

work,Jack.”“I can’t think of anything

better,” I said. “Now openoneof thosevalves,andlet’sdraw off some test tubes ofvirus.And Iwant you to putsome virus into that gallonjugoverthere.”She hesitated. “The valve

is on the other side of thetank. The security camerawillseeus.”“That’s okay,” I said. “It

can’tbehelpednow.Youjusthavetobuymealittletime.”“AndhowdoIdothat?”Itoldher.Shemadeaface.

“You’re kidding! They’llneverdothat!”“Ofcoursenot. I justneed

alittletime.”

Wewentaroundthetank.Shefilled the test tubes. Theliquid that came out was athick brown slop. It smelledfecal. It looked fecal. Maesaid to me, “Are you sureaboutthis?”“Got to do it,” I said.

“There’snochoice.”“Youfirst.”I picked up the test tube,

tookabreath,andswallowed

it whole. It was disgusting.My stomach heaved. Ithought Iwould vomit, but Ididn’t. I took another breath,swallowed some water fromthe gallon jug, and looked atMae.“Awful,huh?”shesaid.“Awful.”She picked up a test tube,

heldhernose,andswallowed.I waited through her

coughing fit. She managednot to vomit. I gave her thegallon jug, she drank, andpoured the rest out onto thefloor. Then she filled it withbrownslop.The last thing she didwas

twistthehandleofabigflowvalve.“There,”shesaid.“It’sgoingintothesystemnow.”“Okay,” I said. I took two

test tubes and stuck them in

my shirt pocket. I took thegallon jug. It said ARROWHEAD

PUREWATER on the label. “Seeyoulater.”AndIhurriedoff.As I went down the

hallway, I figured there wasonechanceinahundredthatIwould succeed. Maybe onlyonechanceinathousand.ButIhadachance.

Lateron,Iwatchedtheentire

sceneonthesecuritycamera,so I knew what happened toMae. She walked into thekitchen, carrying her rack ofbrown test tubes. The otherswere all there, eating. Juliagaveherafrostylook.Vinceignored her. Ricky said,“What’ve you got there,Mae?”“Phage,”shesaid.“Whatfor?”

Now Julia looked over.Mae said, “It’s from thefermentationtank.”“Ew,nowonderitstinks.”“Jack just drank one. He

mademedrinkone.”Ricky snorted. “What’d

you do that for? Jeez, I’msurprisedyoudidn’tpuke.”“I almost did. Jack wants

allofyoutodrinkone,too.”Bobby laughed. “Yeah?

Whatfor?”“Tomakesurenoneofyou

isinfected.”Ricky frowned. “Infected?

What do you mean,infected?”“Jack says that Charley

was harboring the swarminsidehisbody,somaybetherestofusare,too.Orsomeofus. So you drink this virus,and it’ll kill the bacteria

inside you, and kill theswarm.”Bobby said, “Are you

serious?Drink that crap?Noway,Mae!”SheturnedtoVince.“Smells like shit to me,”

Vince said. “Let someoneelsetryitfirst.”Mae said, “Ricky? You

wanttobethefirst?”Rickyshookhishead.“I’m

notdrinkingthat.WhyshouldI?”“Well,foronething,you’d

be assured you weren’tinfected.Andforanother,wewouldbeassured,too.”“Whatdoyoumean, it’s a

test?”Mae shrugged. “That’s

whatJackthinks.”Julia frowned. She turned

to Mae. “Where is Jack

now?”shesaid.“I don’t know. The last

time I saw him was by thefermentation chambers. Idon’tknowwhereheisnow.”“Yes, you do,” Julia said

coldly. “You know exactlywhereheis.”“I don’t. He didn’t tell

me.”“He did tell you. He tells

you everything,” Julia said.

“In fact, you and he plannedthis little interlude, didn’tyou? You couldn’t seriouslyexpect us to drink that stuff.WhereisJack,Mae?”“Itoldyou,Idon’tknow.”Julia said to Bobby,

“Check the monitors. Findhim.” She came around thetable. “Now then,Mae.”Hervoice was calm, but full ofmenace. “I want you to

answerme.AndIwantyoutotellmethetruth.”Mae backed away from

her. Ricky and Vince wereclosing in on either side ofher. Mae backed against thewall.Julia advanced slowly.

“Tell me now, Mae,” shesaid. “It will be much betterforyouifyoucooperate.”From the other side of the

room, Bobby said, “I foundhim. He’s going through thefabroom.He’scarryingajugofthecrap,lookslike.”“Tellme,Mae,”Juliasaid,

leaning close to Mae. Shewas so close their lips werealmost touching. Maesqueezed her eyes and herlips tightly shut. Her bodywas beginning to shake withfear. Julia caressed her hair.“Don’t be afraid. There’s

nothing to be afraid of. Justtellmewhatheisdoingwiththatjug,”Juliasaid.Mae began to sob

hysterically. “I knew itwouldn’t work. I told himyouwouldfindout.”“Of course we would,”

Julia saidquietly. “Ofcoursewe would find out. Just tellnow.”“Hetookthejugofvirus,”

Maesaid,“andhe’sputtingitinthewatersprinklers.”“Ishe?”Juliasaid.“That’s

really very clever of him.Thankyou,sweetie.”AndshekissedMaeonthe

mouth. Mae squirmed, butherbackwasagainstthewall,and Julia held her head.When Julia finally steppedback, she said,“Tryandstaycalm.Justremember.Itwon’t

hurt you if you don’t fightagainstit.”Andshewalkedoutof the

room.

DAY76:12A.M.

ThingshappenedfasterthanIexpected. I could hear themrunning towardme down thecorridor.Ihastilyhidthejug,then ran back and continuedcrossingthefabricationroom.Thatwaswhentheyallcameafter me. I started to run.

Vince tackled me, and I hittheconcretefloorhard.Rickythrew himself on top of meafterIwasdown.Heknockedthe wind out of me. ThenVincekickedmeintheribsacoupleof times, and togethertheydraggedmetomyfeettofaceJulia.“Hi, Jack,” she said,

smiling.“How’sitgoing?”“It’sbeenbetter.”

“We’ve had a nice talkwith Mae,” Julia said. “Sothere’s no point in beatingaroundthebush.”Shelookedaround the floor nearby.“Whereisthejug?”“Whatjug?”“Jack.”Sheshookherhead

sadly. “Why do you bother?Whereisthejugofphageyouwere going to put in thesprinklersystem?”

“Idon’thaveanyjug.”She stepped close tome. I

could feel her breath on myface. “Jack … I know thatlookonyour face, Jack.Youhaveaplan,don’tyou?Nowtellmewherethejugis.”“Whatjug?”Her lips brushed mine. I

just stood there, still as astatue. “Jack darling,” shewhispered, “you know better

than to play with dangerousthings.Iwantthejug.”Istoodthere.“Jack… just one kiss…”

Shewasclose,seductive.Ricky said, “Forget it,

Julia.He’snot afraidofyou.He drank the virus and hethinksit’llprotecthim.”“Will it?” Julia said,

steppingback.“Maybe,” Ricky said, “but

Ibethe’safraidtodie.”And then he and Vince

begandraggingmeacrossthefabrication room. They weretaking me to the high magfield room. I began tostruggle.“That’s right,” Ricky said.

“You know what’s coming,don’tyou?”Thiswasnot inmyplan. I

hadn’t expected it; I didn’t

knowwhatIcoulddonow.Istruggledharder,kickingandtwisting, but they were bothimmensely strong. They justdragged me forward. Juliaopened the heavy steel doorto the mag room. Inside, Isaw the circular drum of themagnet,sixfeetindiameter.They shoved me in

roughly. I sprawled on thegroundintheroom.Myheadbanged against the steel

shielding. I heard the doorclickandlock.Igottomyfeet.I heard the rumble of the

coolingpumpsastheystartedup. The intercom clicked. Iheard Ricky’s voice. “Everwonder why these walls aremade out of steel, Jack?Pulsed magnets aredangerous. Run themcontinuously, and they blow

apart.Getrippedapartbythefield theygenerate.Wegotaone-minute load time. Soyou’ve got one minute tothinkitover.”I had been in this room

before, when Ricky showedme around. I rememberedthere was a knee plate, asafetycutoff.Ihit itwithmyknee.“Won’twork,Jack,”Ricky

said laconically. “I invertedthe switching. Now it turnsthemagneton,insteadofoff.Thoughtyou’dliketoknow.”The rumbling was louder.

The room began to vibrateslightly.Theairgrewswiftlycolder. In a moment I couldseemybreath.“Sorry if you’re

uncomfortable, but that’sonly temporary,” Ricky said.

“Once the pulses get going,the room’ll heat up fast. Uh,let’s see. Forty-sevenseconds.”The sound was a rapid

chunk-chunk-chunk, like amuffled jackhammer. It wasloud, and getting louder. IcouldhardlyhearRickyovertheintercom.“NowJack,”hesaid.“You

have a family. A family that

needs you. So think aboutyourchoicesverycarefully.”I said, “Let me speak to

Julia.”“No, Jack. She doesn’t

wanttotalktoyourightnow.She’s very disappointed inyou,Jack.”“Letmespeaktoher.”“Jack, aren’t you listening

tome?Shesaysno.Notuntilyou tell her where the virus

is.”Chunk-chunk-chunk. The

room was starting to getwarmer. I could hear thegurgle of the coolant as itwent through the piping. Ikicked the safety plate withmyknee.“I toldyou,Jack.It’llonly

turn themagnet on. Are youhavingtroublehearingme?”“Yes,”Iyelled.“Iam.”

“Well that’s too bad,”Rickysaid.“I’msorrytohearthat.”At least, I thought that’s

what he was saying. Thechunk-chunk-chunk seemedto fill the room, tomake thevery air vibrate. It soundedlikeanenormousMRI, thosegiantpumps.Myheadhurt.Istared at the magnet, at theheavy bolts that held theplates together. Those bolts

wouldsoonbecomemissiles.“We’renotfuckingaround,

Jack,”Rickysaid.“We’dhatetoloseyou.Twentyseconds.”Theloadtimewasthetime

it took to charge the magnetcapacitors, so thatmillisecond pulses ofelectricitycouldbedelivered.I wondered how long afterloading itwould take for thepulses to blow the magnet

apart.Probablyafewsecondsatmost.Sotimewasrunningout for me. I didn’t knowwhat to do. Everything hadgonehorriblywrong.AndtheworstpartwasthatIhadlosttheonlyadvantageIeverhad,because theynow recognizedthe importance of the virus.Earlier they hadn’t focusedonitasathreat.Butnowtheyunderstood, and weredemanding I hand it over.

Soon they would think todestroythefermentationtank.They would eradicate thevirus very thoroughly, I feltsure.And there was nothing I

coulddoaboutit.Notnow.IwonderedhowMaewas,

and whether they had hurther. I wondered if she wasstill alive. I felt detached,indifferent.Iwassittinginan

oversized MRI, that was all.This big terrifying sound, itmusthavebeenhowAmandafelt,whenshewasintheMRI… My mind drifted,uncaring.“Tenseconds,”Rickysaid.

“Come on, Jack. Don’t be ahero. It’s notyour style.Tellus where it is. Six seconds.Five.Jack,comeon…”The chunk-chunk-chunk

stopped, and there was awhang! and a scream ofrending metal. The magnethad switched on, for a fewmilliseconds.“First pulse,” Ricky said.

“Don’tbeanasshole,Jack.”Another whang! Whang!

Whang! The pulses werecoming faster and faster. Isaw the jacketing on thecoolant beginning to indent

with each pulse. They werecomingtoofast.Whang!Whang!I couldn’t take it anymore.

I shouted, “Okay!Ricky! I’lltellyou!”Whang! “Goahead, Jack!”

Whang!“I’mwaiting.”“No!Turnitofffirst.AndI

onlytellJulia.”Whang! Whang! “Very

unreasonable of you, Jack.

You’re in no position tobargain.”Whang!“You want the virus, or

youwantittobeasurprise?”Whang!Whang!Whang!Andthenabruptly,silence.

Nothing but the low swooshof the coolant flowingthrough the jacketing. Themagnetwashot to the touch.But at least the MRI soundhadstopped.

TheMRI…I stood in the room, and

waited for Julia to come in.And then, thinking it over, Isatdown.I heard the door unlock.

Juliawalkedin.

“Jack. You’re not hurt, areyou?”“No,” I said. “Just my

nervesareshot.”

“Idon’tknowwhyyouputyourselfthroughit,”shesaid.“It was totally unnecessary.Butguesswhat? Ihavegoodnews. The helicopter justarrived.”“Itdid?”“Yes, it’s early today. Just

think, wouldn’t it be nice tobe on it now, going home?Back to your house, back toyour family? Wouldn’t that

feelgreat?”I sat there with my back

againstthewall,lookingupather. “Are you saying I cango?”“Of course, Jack. There’s

no reason for you to stayhere. Just give me the bottleofvirus,andgohome.”I didn’t believe her for a

second. I was seeing thefriendly Julia, the seductive

Julia.ButIdidn’tbelieveher.“WhereisMae?”“She’sresting.”“You’vehurther.”“No. No, no, no. Why

would I do that?” She shookher head. “You really don’tunderstand, do you? I don’twant to hurt anybody, Jack.Not you, not Mae, notanybody. I especially don’twanttohurtyou.”

“TrytellingthattoRicky.”“Jack. Please. Let’s put

emotion aside and be logicalfor a moment. You’re doingallthistoyourself.Whycan’tyou accept the newsituation?” She held out herhandtome.Itookit,andshepulledmeup.Shewasstrong.Stronger than I everrememberedherbeing.“Afterall,” she said, “you’re anintegral part of this. You

killed the wild type for us,Jack.”“So the benign type could

flourish…”“Exactly, Jack. So the

benign type could flourish.And create a new synergywithhumanbeings.”“Thesynergythatyouhave

now,forexample.”“That’s right, Jack.” She

smiled.Itwasacreepysmile.

“You are, what?Coexisting?Coevolving?”“Symbiotic.” She was still

smiling.“Julia,thisisallbullshit,”I

said.“Thisisadisease.”“Wellofcourseyouwould

say that. Because you don’tknow any better, yet. Youhaven’t experienced it.” Shecame forward and huggedme.Iletherdoit.“Youhave

noideawhat’saheadofyou.”“Storyofmylife,”Isaid.“Stop being so stubborn,

for once. Just go along withit.Youlooktired,Jack.”I sighed. “I am tired,” I

said.AndIwas.Iwasfeelingdistinctlyweakinherarms.Iwassureshecouldsenseit.“Then why don’t you just

relax.Embraceme,Jack.”“I don’t know. Maybe

you’reright.”“Yes, I am.” She smiled

again, ruffled my hair withher hand. “Oh, Jack … Ireallyhavemissedyou.”“Metoo,”Isaid.“Imissed

you.” I gave her a hug,squeezed her, held her close.Our faces were close. Shelooked beautiful, her lipsparted,her eyes staringupatme, soft, inviting. I felt her

relax. Then I said, “Just tellmeone thing,Julia. It’sbeenbotheringme.”“Sure,Jack.”“Why did you refuse to

haveanMRIinthehospital?”She frowned, leaned back

to look at me. “What?Whatdoyoumean?”“AreyoulikeAmanda?”“Amanda?”

“Ourbabydaughter…yourememberher.ShewascuredbytheMRI.Instantly.”“What are you talking

about?”“Julia, does the swarm

have some problem withmagneticfields?”Her eyes widened. She

began to struggle inmygrip.“Let go of me! Ricky!Ricky!”

“Sorry, hon,” I said. Ikicked the plate with myknee. And there was a loudwhang!asthemagnetpulsed.Juliascreamed.

Her mouth was open as shescreamed, a steadycontinuous sound, her facerigidwith tension. I held herhard. The skin of her facebegan to shiver, vibrating

rapidly.Andthenherfeaturesseemed to grow, to swell asshe screamed. I thought hereyes looked frightened. Theswelling continued, andbegan to break up intorivulets,andstreams.And then in a sudden rush

Julia literally disintegratedbefore my eyes. The skin ofher swollen face and bodyblew away from her instreamsofparticles,likesand

blown off a sand dune. Theparticles curved away in thearc of the magnetic fieldtowardthesidesoftheroom.I felt her body growing

lighter and lighter in myarms. Still the particlescontinued to flowaway,witha kind of whooshing sound,to all corners of the room.And when it was finished,whatwasleftbehind—whatIstill held inmyarms—wasa

pale and cadaverous form.Julia’s eyes were sunk deepinhercheeks.Hermouthwasthin and cracked, her skintranslucent. Her hair wascolorless, brittle. Hercollarbones protruded fromher bony neck. She lookedlikeshewasdyingofcancer.Her mouth worked. I heardfaintwords,hardlymorethanbreathing. I leaned in, turnedmyeartohermouthtohear.

“Jack,” she whispered.“It’seatingme.”Isaid,“Iknow.”Her voice was just a

whisper. “You have to dosomething.”“Iknow.”“Jack…thechildren…”“Okay.”She whispered, “I …

kissedthem…”

Isaidnothing.Ijustclosedmy eyes. “Jack … Save mybabies…Jack…”“Okay,”Isaid.I glanced up at the walls

and saw, all around me,Julia’s face and bodystretched and fitted to theroom. The particles retainedherappearance,butwerenowflattenedonto thewalls.Andthey were still moving,

coordinating with themovement of her lips, theblink of her eyes. As Iwatched, they began to driftback from the walls towardherinaflesh-coloredhaze.Outside the room, I heard

Ricky shouting, “Julia!Julia!” He kicked the door acoupleoftimes,buthedidn’tcome in. I knewhewouldn’tdare. I had waited a fullminutesothecapacitorswere

charged.Hecouldn’tstopmefrompulsingthemagnetnow.Icoulddoitatwill—atleast,until the charge ran out. Ididn’t know how long thatwouldbe.“Jack…”I looked at her. Her eyes

weresad,pleading.“Jack,” she said. “I didn’t

know…”“It’s all right,” I said. The

particles were drifting back,

reassembling her face beforemyeyes.Juliawasbecomingsolid,andbeautifulagain.Ikickedthekneeplate.Whang!The particles shot away,

flying back to the walls,though not so swiftly thistime. And I had thecadaverous Julia in my armsagain, her deep-set eyespleadingwithme.

I reached into my pocket,and pulled out one of thevialsofphage.“Iwantyoutodrinkthis,”Isaid.“No … no …” She was

agitated.“Toolate…for…”“Try,”Isaid.Iheldthevial

to her lips. “Come on,darling.Iwantyoutotry.”“No … please … Not

important…”Ricky was yelling: “Julia!

Julia!” He pounded on thedoor. “Julia, are you allright?”The cadaver eyes rolled

toward the door. Her mouthworked.Her skeleton fingersplucked at my shirt,scratching the cloth. Shewanted to tellme something.I turnedmy head again, so Icouldhear.She breathed shallowly,

weakly. I couldn’t catch thewords. And then suddenlytheywereclear.Shesaid,“Theyhavetokill

younow.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Don’t let them …

Children…”“Iwon’t.”Herbonyhandtouchedmy

cheek. She whispered, “Youknow I always loved you,

Jack. I would never hurtyou.”“Iknow,Julia.Iknow.”The particles on the walls

weredriftingfreeoncemore.Now they seemed totelescope back, returning toher face and body. I kickedthe knee plate once again,hoping for more time withher,buttherewasonlyadullmechanicalthunk.

Thecapacitorwasdrained.And suddenly, in a

whoosh, all the particlesreturned, and Julia was fulland beautiful and strong asbefore, and she pushed meaway from her with acontemptuous look and saidin a loud, firm voice, “I’msorry you had to see that,Jack.”“SoamI,”Isaid.

“But it can’t be helped.We’re wasting time. I wantthebottleofvirus,Jack.AndIwantitrightnow.”

In a way it made everythingeasier.BecauseIunderstoodIwasn’t dealing with Juliaanymore. I didn’t have toworry about what mighthappen to her. I just had toworry about Mae—assuming

shewasstillalive—andme.AndassumingIcouldstay

alive for the next fewminutes.

DAY77:12A.M.

“Okay,”Isaidtoher.“Okay.I’llgetyouthevirus.”She frowned. “You’ve got

that look on your face again…”“No,” I said. “I’m done.

I’lltakeyou.”“Good. We’ll start with

thosevialsinyourpocket.”“What, thesehere?”Isaid.

I reached intomy pocket forthem as I went through thedoor. Outside, Ricky andVincewerewaitingforme.“Very fucking funny,”

Ricky said. “You know youcould have killed her. Youcould have killed your ownwife.”“Howaboutthat,”Isaid.

Iwas still fumbling inmypocket, as if the test tubeswerestuckinthecloth.Theydidn’t know what I wasdoing, so they grabbed meagain,VinceononesideandRickyontheother.“Guys,” I said, “I can’t do

thisifyou—”“Let him go,” Julia said,

comingoutoftheroom.“Like hell,” Vince said.

“He’llpullsomething.”Iwasstillstruggling,trying

tobringthetubesout.FinallyIhadtheminmyhand.Whilewe struggled, I threw oneonto the ground. It smashedon the concrete floor, andbrownsludgespatteredup.“Jesus!” They all jumped

away, releasing me. Theystared at the floor, and bentover to look at their feet,

making sure none of it hadtouchedthem.Andinthatmoment,Iran.

I grabbed the jug from itshiding place, and kept goingacrossthefabricationroom.Ihad to get all theway acrossthe room to the elevator, andrideitupto theceilinglevel,where all the basic systemequipment was located. Up

there, where the air handlerswere, and the electricaljunctionboxes—and the tankfor the sprinkler system. If Icould reach the elevator andrideitjustsevenoreightfeetin the air, then they couldn’ttouchme.If Icoulddo that, thenmy

planwouldwork.Theelevatorwasahundred

andfiftyfeetaway.

I ran hard, vaulting overthe lowest arms of theoctopus, ducking beneath thechest-highsections.Iglancedback and couldn’t see themthroughthemazeofarmsandmachinery. But I heard thethreeof themshouting,and Iheard running feet. I heardJuliasay,“He’sgoingforthesprinklers!”Ahead, Isawtheyellow open cage of theelevator.

I was going to make it,afterall.Atthatmoment,Istumbled

over one of the arms andwent sprawling. The jugskidded across the floor,cametorestagainstasupportbeam. I scrambledquickly tomy feet again, and retrievedthe jug. I knew they wererightbehindme.Ididn’tdarelookbacknow.

I ran for the elevator,ducking beneath one finalpipe, but when I lookedagain, Vince was alreadythere.Hemusthaveknownashortcut through the octopusarms;somehowhehadbeatenme.Nowhestoodintheopencage,grinning. I lookedbackand saw Ricky just a fewyardsbehindme,closingfast.Julia called, “Give it up,

Jack!It’snogood.”

Shewasrightaboutthat,itwasnogoodatall.Icouldn’tget past Vince. And Icouldn’t outrun Ricky now,he was much too close. Ijumped over a pipe, steppedaround a standing electricalbox, and ducked down. AsRicky jumped the pipe, Islammed my elbow upwardbetween his legs.He howledandwentdown,rollingonthefloor inagony. Istoppedand

kicked him in the head ashardas Icould.ThatwasforCharley.Iran.At the elevator, Vince

stood in a half-crouch, fistsbunched. He was relishing afight. I ran straight towardhimandhegrinnedbroadlyinanticipation.And at the last moment, I

swervedleft.Ijumped.

And started climbing theladderonthewall.Juliascreamed,“Stophim!

Stophim!”

It was difficult climbing,because I had my thumbhooked through the jug; thebottle kept banging painfullyagainst the back of my righthand as Iwent up. I focusedonthepain.Ipanicatheights

and I didn’t want to lookdown. And so I couldn’t seewhat was dragging at mylegs, pullingmeback towardthe floor. I kicked, butwhatever it was held on tome.Finally, I turned to look. I

was ten feet above theground, and two rungsbeneath me, Ricky had hisfree arm locked around mylegs, his hand clutching my

ankle. He jerked at my feet,andyankedthemofftherung.I slid for an instant and thenfeltaburstofsearingpain inmyhands.ButIheldon.Rickywas smiling grimly.

I kicked my legs backward,trying to hit his face, but tono avail, he had both legslockedtightagainsthischest.He was immensely strong. Ikept trying until I realizedthat I could pull one leg up

and free. I did, and stompeddown on his hand that washolding on to the rung. Heyelled, and released my legstoholdon to the ladderwithhis other hand. I stompedagain—and kicked straightback, catching him rightunder thechin.Hesliddownfive rungs, then caughthimself. He hung there, nearthebottomoftheladder.Iclimbedagain.

Julia was running acrossthefloor.“Stophim!”I heard the elevator grind

as Vince rode up past me,heading toward the top. Hewouldwaitformethere.Iclimbed.Iwasfifteenfeetabovethe

floor, then twenty. I lookeddown to see Ricky pursuingme but he was far behind, Ididn’t think he could catch

me, and then Julia cameswirling up through the airtoward me, spiraling like acorkscrew—and grabbed theladder right alongside me.Except she wasn’t Julia, shewas the swarm, and for amoment the swarm wasdisorganized enough that Icouldseerightthroughherinplaces; I could see theswirling particles thatcomposedher.Ilookeddown

andsawtherealJulia,deathlypale,standingandlookingupat me, her face a skull. Bynowtheswarmalongsidemebecame solid-appearing, as Ihad seen it become solidbefore. It looked like Julia.ThemouthmovedandIhearda strange voice say “Sorry,Jack.”Andtheswarmshrank,becoming denser still,collapsing into a small Julia,aboutfourfeettall.

Iturnedtoclimbagain.The small Julia swung

back, and slammed hardagainstmybody. I felt like Iwas hit by a sack of cement,thewind knocked out ofme.My grip loosened from theladder, and Ibarelymanagedtohangon,astheJuliaswarmsmashed against me again. Iducked and dodged, gruntingin pain, and kept goingdespite the impacts. The

swarm had enough mass tohurt me, but not enough toknockmeofftheladder.The swarm must have

realized it, too, because nowthe small Julia swarmcompressed itself into asphere, and slid smoothlyforward to envelop my headin a buzzing cloud. I wastotally blind. I could seenothing at all. It was as if Iwasinaduststorm.Igroped

for the next rung on theladder,andthenextafterthat.Pinpricks stung my face andhands, the pain becomingmore intense, sharper.Apparently the swarm waslearning how to focus pain.But at least it hadn’t learnedto suffocate. The swarm didnothing to interfere with mybreathing.Ikepton.

Iclimbedindarkness.And then I felt Ricky

pullingatmylegsagain.Andin that moment, finally, Ididn’tseehowIcouldgoon.

I was twenty-five feet in theair,hangingontoaladderfordear life, dragging a jug ofbrown sludge up with me,withVinceabovewaitingandRicky below dragging, and a

swarm buzzing around myhead, blinding me andstinging me like hell. I wasexhaustedanddefeatedand Icouldfeelmyenergydrainingaway. My fingers felt shakyon the rungs. I couldn’t holdmygripmuchlonger.Iknewthat all I had to do wasreleasemy grip and fall, anditwouldbeoverinaninstant.Iwasfinished,anyway.I felt for the next rung,

gripped it, and hauled mybody up. But my shouldersburned. Ricky was pullingdown fiercely. I knew hewould win. They would allwin.Theywerealwaysgoingtowin.AndthenIthoughtofJulia,

pale as a ghost and brittlethin, saying in a whisper“Save my babies.” I thoughtofthekids,waitingformetocomeback.Isawthemsitting

around the table waiting fordinner. And I knew I had togoonnomatterwhat.SoIdid.

It’snotcleartomenowwhathappenedtoRicky.Somehowhe pulled my legs off therungs, and I hung in the airfrom my arms, kickingwildly, and I must havekicked him in the face and

brokenhisnose.Because in an instant

Ricky let go of me, and Iheard a thump-thump-thumping as his body wentdown the ladder, and hedesperately tried to grab therungs as he fell. I heard,“Ricky, no!” and the cloudvanishedfrommyhead,Iwascompletely free again. Ilooked down and saw theJuliaswarmalongsideRicky,

whohadcaughthimselfabouttwelve feet above the floor.He looked up angrily. Hismouthandnoseweregushingblood. He started toward mebuttheJuliaswarmsaid,“No,Ricky. No, you can’t! LetVince.”And then Ricky half

climbed, half fell the rest ofthe way down the ladder tothe ground, and the swarmreinhabitedJulia’spalebody,

and the two of them stoodthereandwatchedme.I turned away from them

andlookeduptheladder.Vince was standing there,

fivefeetaboveme.

His feet were on the toprungs, and he was leaningover,blockingmyway.Therewas no possibleway I couldgetpasthim.Ipausedtotake

stock, shifted my weight onthe ladder, got one leg up tothenextrung,hookedmyfreearm around the rung nearestmy face. But as I raised myleg, I felt the lump in mypocket.Ipaused.I had one more vial of

phage.I reached into my pocket,

anddrewitouttoshowhim.Ipulled out the cork with my

teeth. “Hey, Vince,” I said.“Howaboutashitshower?”He didn’t move. But his

eyesnarrowed.Imovedupanotherrung.“Bettergetback,Vince,” I

said. Iwas panting so hard Icouldn’t manage the propermenace. “Getonbackbeforeyougetwet…”Onemorerung.Iwasonly

threerungsbelowhim.

“It’s your call, Vince.” Iheld the vial in my otherhand. “I can’t hit your facefromdownhere.ButI’llsureas hell hit your legs andshoes.Doyoucare?”Onemorerung.Vince stayed where he

was.“Maybe not,” I said. “You

liketolivedangerously?”I paused. If I advanced

another rung, he could kickme in the head. If I stayedwhere I was, he would haveto come down to me, and Icouldgethim.SoIstayed.“What do you say,Vince?

Goingtostay,orgo?”He frowned. His eyes

flicked back and forth, frommyfaceto thevial,andbackagain.And then he stepped away

fromtheladder.“Goodboy,Vince.”Icameuponerung.Hehadsteppedbacksofar

thatnowIcouldn’tseewherehe was. I thought he wasprobablyplanningtorushmeat the top. So I got ready toduck down, and swinglaterally.Lastrung.And now I saw him. He

wasn’t planning anything.Vince was shaking withpanic, a cornered animal,huddled back in the darkrecess of the walkway. Icouldn’t read his eyes, but Isawhisbodytremble.“Okay,Vince,”Isaid.“I’m

comingup.”I stepped onto the mesh

platform. I was right at thetop of the stairs, surrounded

by roaring machinery. Nottwentypacesaway,Isawthepaired steel tanks for thesprinkler system. I glanceddown and saw Ricky andJulia, staring up at me. Iwondered if they realizedhowcloseIwastomygoal.IlookedbackatVince,just

in time to see him pull atranslucent white plastic tarpoffacornerbox.Hewrappedhimself in the tarp like a

shield, and then, with aguttural yell, he charged. Iwas right at the edge of theladder. I had no time to getout of the way, I just turnedsideways and braced myselfagainst a big three-foot pipeagainstthecomingimpact.Vinceslammedintome.Thevialwentflyingoutof

my hand, shattering on themesh. The jug was knocked

from my other hand andtumbled along the walkway,comingtorestatthelipofthemesh path. Another fewinchesanditwouldgoover.Imovedtowardit.Stillhidingbehindthetarp,

Vincesmashedintomeagain.I was slammed back againstthepipe.Myheadclangedonsteel. I slipped on the brownsludge that dripped throughholesinthemesh,barelykept

my balance. Vince slammedmeagain.In his panic he never

realized I had lost myweapons. Or perhaps hecouldn’tseethroughthetarp.He just kept pounding mewith his full body, and Ifinally slipped on the sludgeandwentdownonmyknees.I immediately scrambledtoward the jug, which wasabouttenfeetaway.Thatodd

behaviormadeVincestopfora moment; he pulled downthe tarp, saw the jug, andlunged for it, vaulting hiswhole body forward in theair.But hewas too late. I had

my hand on the jug, andyankeditaway,justasVincelanded, tarp and all, rightwhere the jug had been. Hishead banged hard on thewalkway lip. He was

momentarilystunned,shakinghisheadtoclearit.And I grabbed the edgeof

thetarp,andyankedupward.Vince yelled, and went

overtheside.

Iwatchedashehit the floor.His body didn’t move. Thenthe swarm came off him,sliding into the air like hisghost.TheghostjoinedRicky

and Julia who were lookingup at me. Then they turnedaway and hurried across thefloorof thefabricationroom,jumping over the octopusarms as they went. Theirmovements conveyed a clearsense of urgency.Youmighteven think they werefrightened.Good,Ithought.Igottomyfeetandheaded

for the sprinkler tanks. Theinstructionswerestenciledonthelowertank.Itwaseasytofigure out the valves. Itwistedtheinflow,unscrewedthe filler cap, waited for thepressurized nitrogen to hissout, and then dumped in thejug of phage. I listened as itgurgled into the tank.Then Iscrewed the cap back on,twisted the valve,repressurizedwithnitrogen.

AndIwasdone.Itookadeepbreath.I was going to win this

thing,afterall.I rode the elevator down,

feelinggoodforthefirsttimeallday.

DAY78:12A.M.

They were all clusteredtogether on the other side ofthe room—Julia, Ricky, andnow Bobby, as well. Vincewas there, too, hovering inthe background, but I couldsometimes see through him,his swarm was slightly

transparent. I wonderedwhichoftheotherswereonlyswarms now. I couldn’t besure.Butitdidn’tmatternow,anyway.Theywere standing beside

a bank of computermonitorsthat showed every parameterofthemanufacturingprocess:graphsoftemperature,output,God knows what else. Buttheyhadturnedtheirbackstothe monitors. They were

watchingme.I walked calmly toward

them, in measured steps. Iwasinnorush.Farfromit.Imust have taken a full twominutes to cross thefabrication room to wherethey were standing. Theyregarded me withpuzzlement, and then withincreasingly openamusement.

“Well, Jack,” Julia saidfinally. “How’s your daygoing?”“Not bad,” I said. “Things

arelookingup.”“You seem very

confident.”Ishrugged.“You’ve got everything

undercontrol?”Juliasaid.Ishruggedagain.

“By the way, where isMae?”“Idon’tknow.Why?”“Bobby’s been looking for

her. He can’t find heranywhere.”“I have no idea,” I said.

“Why were you looking forher?”“Wethoughtweshouldall

be together,” Julia said,“whenwefinishourbusiness

here.”“Oh,” I said. “Is thatwhat

happensnow?Wefinish?”She nodded slowly. “Yes,

Jack.Itis.”I couldn’t risk looking at

my watch, I had to try andgauge how much time hadpassed. I was guessing threeor four minutes. I said, “So,whatdoyouhaveinmind?”Juliabegantopace.“Well,

Jack, I’m very disappointedinhowthingshavegonewithyou. I really am. You knowhowmuchIcareaboutyou.Iwouldneverwantanythingtohappen to you. But you’refighting us, Jack. And youwon’t stop fighting. And wecan’thavethat.”“Isee,”Isaid.“Wejustcan’t,Jack.”Ireachedinmypocketand

broughtoutaplasticcigarettelighter. If Julia or the othersnoticed,theygavenosign.She kept pacing. “Jack,

you put me in a difficultposition.”“How’sthat?”“You’vebeenprivilegedto

witness the birth ofsomething truly new, here.Something new andmiraculous. But you are not

sympathetic,Jack.”“No,I’mnot.”“Birthispainful.”“Soisdeath,”Isaid.She continued to pace.

“Yes,” she said. “So isdeath.”Shefrownedatme.“Somethingthematter?”“Where isMae?” she said

again.“Idon’tknow.Idon’thave

thefaintestidea.”She continued to frown.

“Wehavetofindher,Jack.”“I’msureyouwill.”“Yes,wewill.”“Soyoudon’t needme,” I

said.“Justdoitonyourown.Imean,you’rethefuture,ifIrememberright.Superiorandunstoppable.I’mjustaguy.”Julia started walking

around me, looking at me

fromallsides.Icouldseeshewaspuzzledbymybehavior.Or appraising. Maybe I hadoverdoneit.Gonetoofar.Shewas picking up something.She suspected something.And that made me verynervous.I turned the cigarette

lighter over in my hands,nervously.“Jack,” she said. “You

disappointme.”“Yousaidthatalready.”“Yes,”shesaid.“But Iam

stillnotsure…”As if on some unspoken

cuethemenallbegantowalkincircles.Theyweremovingin concentric circles aroundme. Was this some kind ofscanningprocedure?Ordiditmeansomethingelse?I was trying to guess the

time. I figured five minuteshadelapsed.“Come, Jack. I want to

lookmoreclosely.”She put her arm on my

shoulder and led me over toone of the big octopus arms.It was easily six feet across,andmirroredonitssurface.Icould see Julia standing nextto me. Her arm over myshoulder.

“Don’t we make ahandsome couple? It’s ashame.Wecouldhavesuchafuture.”Isaid,“Yeah,well…”AndthemomentIspoke,a

river of pale particlesstreamed off Julia, curved intheair,andcamedownlikeashowerallovermybodyandintomymouth.Iclampedmymouth shut, but it didn’t

matter, because in themirrormy body seemed to dissolveaway, to be replaced byJulia’s body. Itwas as if herskinhad lefther, flowed intothe air, and slid down overme. Now there were twoJuliasstandingsidebysideinfrontofthemirror.Isaid,“Cutitout,Julia.”She laughed. “Why? I

thinkit’sfun.”

“Stopit,”Isaid.Isoundedlike myself, even though IlookedlikeJulia.“Stopit.”“Don’t you like it? I think

it’s amusing. You get to beme,forawhile.”“Isaid,stopit.”“Jack, you’re just no fun

anymore.”I pulled at the Julia-image

on my face, trying to tear itaway like a mask. But I felt

onlymyownskinbeneathmyfingertips. When I scratchedat my cheek, the Julia-cheekshowed scratches in themirror. I reached back andtouchedmy own hair. Inmypanic, Idropped thecigarettelighter. It clattered on theconcretefloor.“Get it off me,” I said.

“Getitoff.”I heard a whoosh in my

ears, and the Julia-skin wasgone, sweeping into the air,then descending onto Julia.Except that she now lookedlikeme.NowthereweretwoJacks, side by side in themirror.“Isthisbetter?”shesaid.“Idon’tknowwhatyouare

trying to prove.” I took abreath.I bent over and picked up

thelighter.“I’m not trying to prove

anything,”shesaid.“I’mjustfeeling you out, Jack. Andyou know what I found?You’ve got a secret, Jack.And you thought I wouldn’tfinditout.”“Yes?”“ButIdid,”shesaid.I didn’t know how to take

her words. I wasn’t sure

whereIwasanymore,andthechangesinappearancehadsounnerved me that I had losttrackofthetime.“You’re worried about the

time, aren’t you, Jack,” shesaid. “You needn’t be. Wehave plenty of time.Everything is under controlhere.Areyougoingtotellusyoursecret?Ordowehavetomakeyoutell?”

Behindher,Icouldseethestacked monitor screens ofthecontrolstation.Thecorneroneshadaflashingbaralongthe top, with lettering that Icouldn’tread.Icouldseethatsome of the graphs wererising steeply, their linesturningfrombluetoyellowtoredastheyclimbed.Ididnothing.Julia turned to the men.

“Okay,”shesaid.“Makehimtell.”The three men converged

toward me. It was time toshow them. It was time tospringmytrap.“No problem,” I said. I

raisedmy lighter, flicked theflame, and held it under thenearestsprinklerhead.The men stopped in their

tracks.Theywatchedme.

I held the lighter steady.Thesprinklerheadblackenedwiththesmoke.Andnothinghappened.

The flame was melting thesoft metal tab beneath thesprinkler head. Splotches ofsilver were dripping on theground at my feet. And stillnothing happened. Thesprinklersdidn’tcomeon.

“Ohshit,”Isaid.Julia was watching me

thoughtfully. “It was a nicetry. Very inventive, Jack.Good thinking. But youforgotonething.”“What’sthat?”“There’s a safety system

for the plant. And when wesaw you going for thesprinklers, Ricky turned thesystem off. Safeties off,

sprinklersoff.”Sheshrugged.“Guess you’re out of luck,Jack.”I flicked the lighter off.

Therewas nothing forme todo. I just stood there, feelingfoolish. I thought I smelledafaintodorintheroom.Akindof sweetish, nauseating odor.ButIcouldn’tbesure.“Itwasanicetry,though,”

Julia said. “But enough is

enough.”Sheturnedtothemen,and

jerkedherhead.The threeofthem walked toward me. Isaid,“Heyguys,comeon…”Theydidn’treact.Theirfaceswere impassive. Theygrabbed me and I started tostruggle.“Hey,comeonnow…” I pulled free of them.“Hey!”Rickysaid,“Don’tmakeit

anyharderforus,Jack,”andIsaid, “Fuckyou,Ricky,” andI spit in his face just as theythrewme to the floor. I washopingtheviruswouldgetinhis mouth. I was hoping Iwould delay him, that wewouldhaveafight.Anythingfor a delay. But they threwmetothefloor,andthentheyall fell on me and began tostrangleme.Icouldfeeltheirhands on my neck. Bobby

hadhishandsovermymouthand nose. I tried to bite him.He justkepthishandsfirmlyin place and stared at me.Rickysmileddistantlyatme.It was as if he didn’t knowme, had no feeling for me.They were all strangers,killing me efficiently andquickly. I pounded on themwithmyfists,untilRickygothis kneeononeofmy arms,pinning it down, and Bobby

got the other arm. Now Icouldn’tmoveatall.Itriedtokick my legs, but Julia wassitting on my legs. Helpingthem out. I saw the worldstart to turnmisty beforemyeyes.Afaintandmistygray.Then there was a faint

popping sound, almost likepopcorn, or glass cracking,and then Julia screamed,“Whatisthat?”

Thethreemenreleasedme,and got to their feet. Theywalked away fromme. I layon the ground, coughing. Ididn’teventrytogetup.“What is that?” Julia

yelled.The first of the octopus

tubes burst open, high aboveus.Brownliquidsteamhissedout. Another tube poppedopen,andanother.Thesound

of hissing filled the room.The air was turning darkfoggy brown, billowingbrown.Julia screamed “What is

that?”“It’s the assembly line,”

Ricky said. “It’s overheated.Andit’sblowing.”“How? How can that

happen?”Isatup,stillcoughing,and

got to my feet. I said, “Nosafety systems, remember?You turned them off. Nowit’sblowingvirusall throughthisroom.”“Not for long,” Julia said.

“We’llhavethesafetiesbackin two seconds.” Ricky wasalready standing at thecontrol board, franticallyhittingkeys.“Good thinking, Julia,” I

said.Ilitmycigarettelighter,andhelditunderthesprinklerhead.Julia screamed, “Stop!

Ricky,stop!”Rickystopped.

I said, “Damned if you do,damnedifyoudon’t.”Julia turned in fury and

hissed,“Ihateyou.”

Already her body wasturningshadesofgray,fadingtoakindofmonochrome.SowasRicky,thecolorwashingoutofhim.Itwasthevirusintheair,alreadyaffectingtheirswarms.There was a brief crackle

of sparks, from high in theoctopus arms. Then anothershortlightningarc.Rickysawitandyelled,“Forgetit,Julia!Wetakeourchances!”Hehit

thekeysandturnedthesafetysystem back on. Alarmsstarted to sound.The screensflashed red with the excessconcentrations of methaneand other gases. The mainscreenshowed:SAFETYSYSTEMS

ON.

And the sprinklers burstintoconesofbrownspray.

They screamed as the water

touched them. They werewrithing and beginning toshrink, toshrivel rightbeforemy eyes. Julia’s face wascontorted. She stared at mewithpurehatred.Butalreadyshe was starting to dissolve.Shefelltoherknees,andthenonto her back. The otherswere all rolling on the floor,screaminginpain.“Comeon,Jack.”Someone

was tugging at my sleeve. It

was Mae. “Come on,” shesaid. “This room is full ofmethane.Youhavetogo.”I hesitated, still looking at

Julia. Then we turned andran.

DAY79:11A.M.

The helicopter pilot pushedthe doors open as we ranacrossthepad.Wejumpedin.Maesaid,“Go!”Hesaid,“I’llhavetoinsist

you get your harnesses onbefore—”“Fly this fucking thing!” I

yelled.“Sorry, it’s a regulation,

andit’snotsafe—”Black smoke started to

pouroutof thepowerstationdoorwehadjustcomeoutof.It billowed into the bluedesertsky.The pilot saw it and said,

“Hangon!”We lifted off and headed

north, swinging wide of the

building. Now there wassmoke coming from all theexhaustventsneartheroof.Ablackhazewasrisingintotheair.Mae said, “Fire burns the

nanoparticles and thebacteria,too.Don’tworry.”Thepilot said, “Where are

wegoing?”“Home.”Heheadedwest,andwithin

minutes we had left thebuilding behind. Itdisappeared below thehorizon.Maewassittingbackinherseat,eyesclosed.Isaidtoher,“Ithoughtitwasgoingto blow up. But they turnedthe safety system back onagain.SoIguessitwon’t.”Shesaidnothing.I said, “So what was the

big rush to get out of there?

And where were you,anyway? Nobody could findyou.”Shesaid,“Iwasoutside,in

thestorageshed.”“Doingwhat?”“Looking for more

thermite.”“Findany?”

There was no sound. Just a

flash of yellow light thatspread across the deserthorizon for an instant, andthenfaded.Youcouldalmostbelieve it never happened.Butthehelicopterrockedandjolted as the shock wavepassedus.The pilot said, “Holy

Mother of God, what wasthat?”“Industrial accident,” I

said.“Veryunfortunate.”Hereachedforhisradio.“I

betterreportit.”“Yes,” I said. “You better

dothat.”We flew west, and I saw

the green line of the forestandtherollingfoothillsoftheSierras, as we crossed intoCalifornia.

DAY711:57P.M.

It’slate.Almost midnight. The

house is silent around me. Iamnotsurehowthiswillturnout. The kids are alldesperatelysick, throwingupafter Igave them thevirus. Icanhearmysonanddaughter

retching in separatebathrooms.Iwentintocheckonthemafewminutesago,tosee what was coming up.Theirfacesweredeathlypale.I can see they’re afraid,because they know I’mafraid. I haven’t told themabout Juliayet.Theyhaven’tasked.They’retoosicktoaskrightnow.I’mworriedmostaboutthe

baby, because I had to give

her the virus, too. Itwas heronly hope. Ellen’s with hernow, but Ellen is vomiting,too. The baby has yet tothrow up. I don’t knowwhether that’s good or bad.Youngkidsreactdifferently.I think I’m okay, at least

for the moment. I’m deadtired.IthinkI’vebeendozingoff from time to time allnight. Right now I’m sittinghere looking out the back

window, waiting for Mae.She hopped the fence at theend of my backyard, and isprobably scrambling aroundinthebrushontheslopethatgoes down behind theproperty,wherethesprinklersare. She thought there was afaintgreenlightcomingfromsomewheredowntheslope. Itoldhernottogodowntherealone,butI’mtootiredtogoget her. If she waits until

tomorrow, the Army cancome here with flamethrowersandblastthehelloutofwhateveritis.The Army is acting dumb

about this whole thing, but IhaveJulia’scomputerhereathome, and I have an emailtrail on her hard drive. Iremoved the hard drive, justtobesafe.Idupedit,andputthe original in a safe depositbox in town. I’m not really

worried about theArmy. I’mworried about Larry Handlerand the others at Xymos.Theyknowtheyhavehorrificlawsuits on their hands. Thecompany will declarebankruptcy sometime thisweek, but they’re still liablefor criminal charges. Larryespecially. I wouldn’t cry ifhewenttojail.

Mae and I have managed toput together most of theevents of the past few days.My daughter’s rash wascausedbygammaassemblers—the micromachines thatassembledfinishedmoleculesfrom component fragments.Thegammasmusthavebeenon Julia’s clothing when shecame home from the lab.Julia worried about thatpossibility; thatwaswhy she

tookashowerassoonasshegot home. The lab itself hadgood decontaminationprocedures, but Julia wasinteracting with the swarmsoutside the lab. She knewtherewasadanger.Anyway, that night she

accidentally let the gammasloose in the nursery. Thegamma assemblers aredesigned to cut carbonsubstrate, but faced with a

pliable substance like skin,they only pinch it. It’spainful, and causesmicrotrauma of a sort thatnobodyhadeverseenbefore.Or would ever havesuspected. No wonderAmanda didn’t have a fever.She didn’t have an infection.She had a coating of bitingparticles on her skin. Themagnetic field of the MRIcuredherinaninstant;allthe

assemblerswereyankedawayfrom her in the first pulse.(Apparently that is alsowhathappened to the guy in thedesert.He somehow came incontact with a batch ofassemblers. He had beencampingwithinamileof theXymosdesertfacility.)Julia knew what was

wrongwithAmanda, but shedidn’t tell anybody. InsteadshecalledtheXymoscleanup

crew,whichshowedupinthemiddle of the night while Iwasatthehospital.OnlyEricsaw them, and now I knowwhat he saw. Because thesamecrewarrivedhereafewhoursagotosweepmyhouse.Theywere the samemen I’dseen in the van on the roadthatnight.The lead man wears a

silver bunny suit that’santimagnetic, and he does

look ghostly. His silveredmask makes him appearfaceless. He goes into theenvironment first to check itout. Then four other men incoveralls follow, to vacuumand clean up. I had toldEriche’d dreamed it, but hehadn’t. The crew left behindone of their sensor cubes,under Amanda’s bed. Thatwas intentional, to check forresidual gammas in case

they’dmissedany.Itwasn’tasurge suppressor; it was justconstructedtolooklikeone.When I finally figured all

this out, I was furious withJulia for not tellingmewhatwasgoingon.Formakingmeworry.Butofcourse,shewasdiseased. And there’s nopoint inbeingangrywithhernow.Eric’sMP3playerwascut

by gamma assemblers, thesame way the cars in thedesert were. And just as theMRI was. In every case thegamma assemblers cut thecarbon-rich memory chipsandleftthecentralprocessorsalone.Therewas a swarm in the

convertible with Julia thatnight. It had comebackwithher from the desert. I don’tknowwhether she brought it

intentionally or not. Theswarm could collapse intonothing, which is why Ericdidn’t see anything when hewent out to the car to look.And I wasn’t sure of what Isaw when she pulled away,which was reasonableenough. The swarm wasprobablycatchingthelightinoddways. Inmymemory, itlookedalittlelikeRicky,butit was probably too soon for

the swarm to be taking onappearances. It hadn’tevolved that much, yet. OrmaybeIjustsawanindistinctshape, and in my jealousy Iimagined it to be a person. Idon’t think Imade it up, butmaybe I did. Ellen thinks Imighthave.Afterhercarcrashed,Julia

called for the cleanup crews.That’s why they were thereon the road late that night.

They were waiting to godownthehillandcleanupthesite. I don’t know whatcaused the crash itself,whether it was something todowiththeswarmorwhetherit was just an accident.There’snoonetoaskaboutitnow.The facility in the desert

wasentirelydestroyed.Therewas enough methane in themain laboratory to produce a

fireball in excess of twothousand degrees Fahrenheit.Any biological materialswouldhavebeen incinerated.But I stillworry.They neverfoundanybodiesintheruins,notevenskeletons.

Mae took the bacteriophagetoherold lab inPaloAlto. Ihope she made themunderstandhowdesperatethe

situation is. She’s beingveryquiet about their reaction. Ithink they should put thephage into the water supply,butMaesaysthechlorinewilltake it out. Maybe thereshouldbeavaccineprogram.Asfarasweknow,thephageworkstokilltheswarms.Sometimes I have ringing

in my ears, which is aworrisome sign.And I feel avibrating in my chest and

abdomen. I can’t tell if I amjustparanoid,orifsomethingis really happening to me. Itry to keep a brave face forthe kids, but of course youcan’t fool kids. They knowI’mfrightened.

Thelastmysterytobeclearedup was why the swarmsalways returned to thelaboratory.Itnevermadeany

sense tome. I keptworryingabout it because it was suchan unreasonable goal. Itdidn’t fit the PREDPREYformulations. Why would apredator keep returning to aparticularlocation?Of course, in retrospect

there was only one possibleanswer. The swarms wereintentionally programmed toreturn. The goal wasexplicitly defined by the

programmersthemselves.But why would anybody

programinagoallikethat?I didn’t know until a few

hoursago.

The code that Ricky showedmewasn’t the code they hadactuallyusedontheparticles.Hecouldn’tshowmetherealcode, because I would haveknownimmediatelywhathad

beendone.Rickydidn’t evertellme.Nobodyevertoldme.What bothers me most is

an email I found on Julia’shard drive earlier today. ItwasfromhertoRickyMorse,with a CC to LarryHandler,theheadofXymos,outliningtheproceduretofollowtogetthecameraswarmtoworkinhigh wind. The plan was tointentionally release a swarmintotheenvironment.

And that’s exactly whattheydid.They pretended it was an

accidental release, caused bymissingairfilters.That’swhyRicky gave me that longguidedtour,andthesonganddance about the contractorand ventilation system. Butnoneofwhathe toldmewastrue. The release wasplanned.

Itwas intentional from thebeginning.

Whentheycouldn’tmaketheswarm work in high wind,they tried to engineer asolution. They failed. Theparticles were just too smalland light—and arguably toostupid, too. They had designflawsfromthebeginningandnow they couldn’t solve

them. Their wholemultimillion-dollar defenseproject was going down thedrain,andtheycouldn’tsolveit.So they decided to make

theswarmsolveitforthem.

They reconfigured thenanoparticles to add solarpower and memory. Theyrewrote the particle program

to include a geneticalgorithm.And they releasedtheparticlestoreproduceandevolve, and see if the swarmcould learn to survive on itsown.Andtheysucceeded.It was so dumb, it was

breathtaking. I didn’tunderstand how they couldhave embarked on this planwithout recognizing the

consequences. Likeeverything else I’d seen atXymos, it was jerry-built,half-baked, concocted in ahurry to solve presentproblemsandneverathoughtto the future. That might betypical corporate thinkingwhen you were under thegun, but with technologiesliketheseitwasdangerousashell.Butofcourse,therealtruth

was more complicated. Thetechnology itself invited thebehavior. Distributed agentsystems ran by themselves.That was how theyfunctioned. That was thewholepoint:youset themupand let them go. You got inthe habit of doing that. Yougot in the habit of treatingagent networks that way.Autonomywasthepointofitall.

But it was one thing toreleaseapopulationofvirtualagents inside a computer’smemory to solve a problem.It was another thing to setreal agents free in the realworld.They just didn’t see the

difference. Or they didn’tcaretoseeit.And they set the swarm

free.

The technical termfor this is“self-optimization.” Theswarm evolves on its own,the less successful agentsdieoff, and the more successfulagents reproduce the nextgeneration. After ten or ahundred generations, theswarm evolves toward a bestsolution. An optimumsolution.This kind of thing is done

all the time inside the

computer. It’s even used togenerate new computeralgorithms. Danny Hillis didone of the first of those runsyears back, to optimize asorting algorithm. To see ifthecomputercouldfigureouthow to make itself workbetter. The program found anew method. Other peoplequicklyfollowedhislead.But it hasn’t been done

with autonomous robots in

the real world. As far as Iknow, thiswas thefirst time.Maybeit’salreadyhappened,andwejustdidn’thearaboutit. Anyway, I’m sure it’llhappenagain.Probablysoon.

It’s two in themorning. Thekidsfinallystoppedvomiting.They’ve gone to sleep. Theyseem to be peaceful. The

baby is asleep. Ellen is stillprettysick.Imusthavedozedoff again. I don’t knowwhatwokeme. I seeMae comingup the hill from behind myhouse. She’swith the guy inthesilversuit,andtherestofthe SSVT team. She’swalkingtowardme.Icanseethatshe’ssmiling.Ihopehernewsisgood.I could use some good

newsrightnow.

Julia’s original email says,“We have nothing to lose.”But in the end they losteverything—their company,their lives, everything. Andthe ironic thing is, theprocedure worked. Theswarm actually solved theproblemtheyhadsetforit.Butthenitkeptgoing,kept

evolving.Andtheyletit.

They didn’t understandwhattheyweredoing.I’m afraid that will be on

the tombstone of the humanrace.Ihopeit’snot.Wemightgetlucky.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

This novel is entirelyfictitious, but the underlyingresearch programs are real.Thefollowingreferencesmayassist the interested reader tolearnmoreaboutthegrowing

convergence of genetics,nanotechnology, anddistributedintelligence.

Adami, Christoph.Introduction to ArtificialLife. New York: Springer-Verlag,1998.

Bedau, Mark A., John S.McCaskill, Norman H.Packard, and SteenRasmussen. Artificial Life

VII, Proceedings of theSeventh InternationalConference on ArtificialLife. Cambridge, Mass.:MITPress,2000.

Bentley, Peter, ed.Evolutionary Design byComputers. San Francisco:MorganKaufmann,1999.

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ExcerptfromMicro

Prologue

NANIGEN9OCTOBER,11:55

P.M.

WestofPearlHarbor,hedrovealongtheFarringtonHighwaypastfieldsofsugarcane,darkgreeninthemoonlight.ThishadlongbeenanagriculturalregionofOahu,butrecentlyithadbeguntochange.Offtohisleft,hesawtheflatsteelrooftopsofthenewKalikimakiIndustrialPark,brightsilverinthesurroundinggreen.Intruth,MarcosRodriguezknew,this

wasn’tmuchofanindustrialpark;mostofthebuildingswerewarehouses,inexpensivetorent.Thentherewasamarinesupplystore,aguywhomadecustomsurfboards,acoupleofmachineshops,ametal-worker.Thatwasaboutit.And,ofcourse,thereason

forhisvisittonight:NanigenMicro-Technologies,anewcompanyfromthemainland,nowhousedinalargebuildingatthefarendofthe

facility.Rodriguezturnedoffthe

highway,drovedownbetweensilentbuildings.Itwasalmostmidnight;theindustrialparkwasdeserted.HeparkedinfrontofNanigen.Fromtheoutside,the

Nanigenbuildingappearedlikealltheothers:asingle-storysteelfaçadewithacorrugatedmetalroof;ineffect,nothingmorethanan

enormousshedofcrude,cheapconstruction.Rodriguezknewtherewasmoretoitthanthat.Beforethecompanyerectedthatbuilding,theydugapitdeepintothelavarock,andhadfilleditwithelectronicequipment.Onlythendidtheyerectthisunprepossessingfaçade,whichwasnowcoveredinfinereddustfromthenearbyagriculturalfields.Rodriguezputonhis

rubbergloves,andslippedintohispockethisdigitalcameraandinfraredfilter.Thenhegotoutofhiscar.Heworeasecurityguarduniform;hepulledhiscapdownoverhisface,incasetherewerecamerasmonitoringthestreet.HetookoutthekeythathehadtakenfromtheNanigenreceptionistsomeweeksbefore,afterherthirdBlueHawaiihadputheroutcold;hehadhaditcopied,then

returnedittoherbeforeshewokeup.Fromherhehadlearned

thatNanigenwasfortythousandsquarefeetoflabsandhigh-techfacilities,whereshesaidtheydidadvancedworkinrobotics.Whatkindofadvancedwork,shewasn’tsure,excepttherobotswereextremelysmall.“Theydosomekindofresearchonchemicalsandplants,”shesaidvaguely.

“Youneedrobotsforthat?”“Theydo,yes.”She

shrugged.Butshealsotoldhimthe

buildingitselfhadnosecurity:noalarmsystem,nomotiondetectors,noguards,cameras,laserbeams.“Thenwhatdoyouuse?”heaskedher.“Dogs?”Thereceptionistshookher

head.“Nothing,”shesaid.“Justalockonthefront

door.Theysaytheydon’tneedanysecurity.”Atthetime,Rodriguez

suspectedstronglythatNanigenwasascamorataxdodge.Nohigh-technologycompanywouldhouseitselfinadustywarehouse,farfromdowntownHonoluluandtheuniversity,fromwhichallhigh-techcompaniesdrew.IfNanigenwaswayouthere,theymusthavesomethingtohide.

Theclientthoughtso,too.That’swhyRodriguezhadbeenhiredinthefirstplace.Truthbetold,investigatinghigh-techcorporationswasn’thisusuallineofwork.Mostlyhegotcallsfromlawyers,askinghimtophotographvisitinghusbandsonWaikikicheatingontheirwives.Andinthiscase,too,hehadbeenhiredbyalocallawyer,WillyFong.ButWillywasn’ttheclient,andhewouldn’tsaywhowas.

Rodriguezhadhissuspicions.NanigenhadsupposedlyspentmillionsofdollarsonelectronicsfromShanghaiandOsaka.Someofthosesuppliersprobablywantedtoknowwhatwasbeingdonewiththeirproducts.“Isthatwhoitis,Willy?TheChineseortheJapanese?”WillyFongshrugged.

“YouknowIcan’tsay,Marcos.”

“Butitmakesnosense,”Rodriguezhadsaid.“Theplacegotnosecurity,yourclientscanpickthelockandwalkinanynightandseeforthemselves.Theydon’tneedme.”“Youtalkingyourselfout

ofajob?”“Ijustwanttoknowwhat

thisisabout.”“Theywantyoutogoand

findoutwhat’sinthatbuilding,andbringthem

somepictures.That’sall.”“Idon’tlikeit.Ithinkit’s

ascam.”“Probablyis.”Willygavehimatired

lookasiftosay,Butwhatdoyoucare?“Atleastnobody’sgoingtogetupfromthedinnertableandhityouinthemouth.”“True.”Willypushedbackhis

chair,foldedhisarmsoverhisamplebelly.“Sotellme,

Marcos.Areyougoing,orwhat?”

Now,walkingtowardthefrontdooratmidnight,Rodriguezfeltsuddenlynervous.Theydon’tneedanysecurity.Whatthehelldidthatmean?Inthisdayandage,everybodyhadsecurity—lotsofsecurity—especiallyaroundHonolulu.Youhadnochoice.Therewerenowindowson

thebuilding,justasinglemetaldoor.Nexttoit,asign:NANIGENMICROTECHNOLOGIES,inc.Andbeneathit,BYAPPOINTMENTONLY.Heputthekeyinthelock

andturnedit.Thedoorclickedopen.Tooeasy,hethought,as

heglancedbackattheemptystreet,andslippedinside.

Nightlightsilluminateda

glass-walledentryarea,receptionist’sdesk,andawaitingareawithcouches,magazines,andcompanyliterature.Rodriguezflickedonhisflashlight,movedtothehallwaybeyond.Attheendofthehallwayweretwodoors;hewentthroughthefirst,andcameintoanewhallway,withglasswalls.Therewerelaboratoriesonbothsides,longblackbencheswithlotsofequipment,stacksofbottles

ontheshelvesabove.Everydozenyardstherewasahummingstainlessrefrigeratorandsomethingthatlookedlikeawashingmachine.Clutteredbulletinboards,

Post-itsontherefrigerator,white-boardswithscribbledformulas—thegeneralappearanceseemedmessy,butRodriguezhadtheoverwhelmingsensethatthiscompanywasreal;thatNanigenwasactuallydoing

scientificworkhere.Whatdidtheyneedrobotsfor?Andthenhesawthe

robots,buttheyweredamnedstrange:boxysilvermetalcontraptions,withmechanicalarmsandtreadsandappendages;theylookedlikewhattheysendtoMars.Theywerevarioussizesandshapes:somethesizeofashoebox,andothersmuchbigger.Thenhenoticedthatbesideeachonewasasmallerversionofthesame

robot.Andbesidethatwasastillsmallerversion.Eventuallytheywerethesizeofathumbnail:tiny,highlydetailed.Theworkbencheshadhugemagnifyingglassessotheworkerscouldseetherobots.Buthewonderedhowtheycouldbuildanythingsosmall.Rodriguezcametotheend

ofthehall,andsawadoorwithasmallsign:tensorcore.Hepusheditopen,feelingacoolbreeze.The

roombeyondwaslargeanddark.Totheright,henoticedrowsofbackpacks,hangingonhooksonthewall,asifforacampingtrip.Otherwisetheroomwasbare.TherewasaloudAChum,butnoothersound.Henoticedthefloorwasetchedwithdeepgroovesinahexagonalshape.Orperhapstheywerebighexagonaltiles;inthislowlighthecouldn’tbesure.Butthen...therewas

somethingbeneaththefloor,

herealized.Anenormous,complexarrayofhexagonaltubesandcopperwires,dimlyvisible.Thefloorwasplastic,andhecouldlookthroughittoseetheelectronicsthathadbeenburiedintheground.Rodriguezcroucheddown

tolookmoreclosely,andashepeeredatthehexagonsbelow,hesawadropofbloodspatteronthefloor.Thenanotherdrop.Rodriguezstaredcuriously,

beforehethoughttoputhishandtohisforehead.Hewasbleeding,justabovehisrighteyebrow.“Whatthe—?”He’dbeen

cut,somehow.Hehadn’tfeltanythingbuttherewasbloodonhisglovedhand,andbloodstilldrippingfromhiseyebrow.Hestood.Thebloodwasdrippingontohischeek,andchin,andontotheuniform.Heputhishandtohisforeheadandhurriedintothenearestlab,lookingfora

Kleenexoracloth.Hefoundaboxoftissues,andsteppedtoawashbasinwithasmallmirroroverit.Hedabbedathisface.Thebleedinghadalreadybeguntostop;thecutwassmallbutrazor-sharp;hedidn’tseehowithadhappenedbutpapercutscouldlooklikethat.Heglancedathiswatch.It

wastwelvetwenty.Timetogetbacktowork.Inthenextmoment,hesawaredgashopenacrossthebackofhis

hand,fromhiswristtohisknuckles,theskinspreadingandstartingtobleed.Rodriguezyelledinshock.Hegrabbedmoretissues,thenatowelhangingfromthesink.Herippedastripoff,and

wrappeditaroundhishand.Thenhefeltapaininhisleg,andlookingdownsawthathistrousershadbeenslicedhalfwayuphisthigh,andhewasbleedingfromthere,too.

Rodriguezwasn’tthinkinganymore.Heturnedandran.Staggeringdownthe

hallway,backtowardthefrontdoor,dragginghisinjuredleg,awarehewasleavingenoughevidencetoidentifyhimlater,buthedidn’tcare,hejustwantedtogetaway.

Shortlybeforeonea.m.,hepulledupalongsideFong’soffice.Thelightonthe

secondfloorwasstillon;Rodriguezstumbledupthebackstairs.Hewasweakfromlossofblood,buthewasallright.Hecameinthroughthebackdoor,notknocking.Fongwastherewith

anothermanRodriguezhadneverseenbefore.AChinesemaninhistwenties,wearingablacksuit,smokingacigarette.Fongturned.“Whatthehellhappenedtoyou?Youlookhorrible.”

Fonggotup,lockedthedoor,cameback.“Yougetinafight?”Rodriguezleanedheavily

onthedesk.Hewasstilldrippingblood.TheChineseguyinblacksteppedbackabit,saidnothing.“No,Ididnotgetintoafight.”“Thenwhatthehell

happened?”“Idon’tknow.Itjust

happened.”“Whatyoutalking?”Fong

saidangrily.“Youtalkstink,man.Whatjusthappened?”TheChinesekidcoughed.

Rodriguezlookedoverandsawaredarcwasslicedbeneathhischin.Bloodfloweddownhiswhiteshirt.Thekidlookedshocked.Heputhishanduptohisthroat,andthebloodseepedbetweenhisfingers.Hefelloverbackward.“Holycrap,”WillyFong

said.Hescurriedforward,

lookingatthekidonthefloor.Thekid’sheelsweredrummingontheground;hewasinspasm.“Didyoudothat?”“No,”Rodriguezsaid,

“that’swhatI’mtellingyou.”“Thisisafuckingmess,”

Fongsaid.“Youhavetobringthisbacktomyoffice?Didyouthinkaboutit?Becausecleaningthisupis—”Bloodsprayeduptheleft

sideofFong’sface.Thecutarteryinhisneckpumpedinspurts.Hethrewhishandoverthewound,butitspurtedthroughhisfingers.“Holycrap,”hesaid,and

saggedintohischair.HestaredatRodriguez.“How?”“Nodamnedidea,”

Rodriguezsaid.Heknewwhatwascoming.Hejusthadtowait.Hebarelyfeltthesliceatthebackofhisneck,butthedizzinesscame

quickly,andhefellover.Hewaslyingonhisside,inastickypoolofhisownblood,staringatFong’sdesk.Fong’sshoesunderthedesk.Andhethought,Bastardnevergavememymoney.Andthendarknessclosedaroundhim.

TheheadlinesreadTHREEDEADINBIZARRESUICIDEPACT.ItwassplashedallovertheHonoluluStar-Advertiser.

Sittingathisdesk,LieutenantDanWatanabetossedthepaperaside.Helookedupathisboss,MartyKalama.“I’mgettingcalls,”Kalamasaid.Kalamahadwire-framedspectaclesandblinkedalot;helookedlikeateacher,notacop.Buthewasanakamaiguy,knewwhathewasdoing.Kalamasaid,“Ihearthere’sproblems,Dan.”“Withsuicide?”Watanabe

nodded.“Youbet,big

problems.Makesnosenseatall,ifyouaskme.”“Sowhere’dthepapersget

it?”“Wheretheyget

everything,”Watanabesaid.“Theymadeitup.”“Fillmein,”Kalamasaid.Watanabedidn’thaveto

consulthisnotes.Dayslater,thesceneremainedvividinhismind.“WillyFonghasanofficeonthesecondfloorofoneofthosesmallbuildings

onPu‘uhuiLane,offofLillihiStreetnorthofthefreeway.Woodenbuilding,kindofratty,gotfourofficesinit.Willy’ssixty,probablyyouknewhim,defendsDUIsforlocals,smallstuff,alwaysbeenclean.OtherpeopleinthebuildingcomplainofasmellcomingfromWilly’soffices,sowegoupthereandfindthreedeceasedmales.MEsaysdeadtwotothreedays,can’testimatecloserthanthat.Air-

conditioningwasoff,sotheroomgotripe.Allthreediedofknifewounds.Willygotacutcarotid,bledoutinhischair.AcrosstheroomisayoungChineseguy,noIDyet,hemightbeanational,throatcutbothjugulars,bledoutquick.ThirdvicisthatPortugeewiththecamera,Rodriguez.”“Theonewhophotographs

guysoutcheatingwiththeirsecretaries?”

“That’shim.Keptgettingbeatup.Anyway,he’stheretoo,andhe’sgotcutsalloverhisbody—face,forehead,hand,legs,backoftheneck.Neverseenanythinglikeit.”“Testcuts?”Watanabeshookhishead.

“No.Examinersaysno,too.Theinjuriesweredonetohim,anddoneoversomeperiodoftime,maybeanhour.Wegothisbloodonthebackstairs,andhis

bloodyfootprintswalkingup.Bloodinhiscarparkedbesidethebuilding.Sohewasalreadybleedingwhenhewalkedinthedoor.”“Thenwhatdoyouthink

happened?”“Igotnoidea,”Watanabe

said.“Ifthisissuicide,it’sthreeguyswithoutnotes,andnobodyeverheardofthat.Plusnoknife,andweturnedtheplaceupsidedownlooking,Icantellyou.Plusit

waslockedfromtheinside,sonobodycouldhaveleft.Windowswereclosedandlocked,too.Wedustedaroundthewindowsforprintsanyway,justincasesomebodyenteredbyawindow.Nofreshprintsaroundthewindows,justabunchofdirt.”“Somebodyflushablade

downthetoilet?”Kalamaasked.“No,”DanWatanabe

answered.“Therewasn’tanybloodinthebathroom.Meansnobodywentinthereafterthecuttingstarted.Sowegotthreedeadguysslashedtodeathinalockedroom.Nomotive,noweapon,nonothing.”“Nowwhat?”“ThatPortugeePIcame

fromsomewhere.Healreadygotcutupsomewhereelse.Ifiguretrytofindoutwherethathappened.Whereit

started.”Watanabeshrugged.“HehadagasreceiptfromKelo’sMobilinKalepa.Filledthetankattenp.m.Weknowhowmuchgasheused,sowecangetaradiusofwherehecoulddrivefromKelo’stohisdestinationandthenbacktoWilly’s.”“Bigradius.Mustcover

mostoftheisland.”“We’rechippingaway.

There’sfreshgravelinthetiretreads.It’scrushed

limestone.Goodchancehewenttoanewconstructionsite,somethinglikethat.Anyway,we’llrunitdown.Itmaytakeusawhile,butwe’llgetthatlocation.”Watanabepushedthepaperacrossthedesk.“Andinthemeantime...I’dsaythepapersgotitright.Triplesuicidepact,andthat’stheendofit.Atleastfornow.”

AbouttheAuthor

MICHAEL CRICHTONwasborninChicagoin1942.HisnovelsincludeNext,Stateof Fear, The AndromedaStrain, Jurassic Park, andTimeline. He is also thecreatorofthetelevisionseriesER.

www.michaelcrichton.net

Visitwww.AuthorTracker.com forexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthor.

ByMichaelCrichton

Fiction

THEANDROMEDASTRAIN

THETERMINALMAN

THEGREATTRAINROBBERY

EATERSOFTHEDEAD

CONGO

SPHERE

JURASSICPARK

RISINGSUN

DISCLOSURE

THELOSTWORLD

AIRFRAME

TIMELINE

PREY

STATEOFFEAR

NEXT

PIRATELATITUDES

Nonfiction

FIVEPATIENTS

JASPERJOHNS

ELECTRONICLIFE

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1Thisuncertaintyischaracteristicofallcomplex systems, including man-madesystems. After the U.S. stock marketdropped 22 percent in one day inOctober 1987, new rules wereimplementedtopreventsuchprecipitatedeclines.Buttherewasnowaytoknowin advance whether the rules wouldincreasestability,ormakethingsworse.AccordingtoJohnL.Casti,“Impositionoftheruleswassimplyacalculatedriskon the part of the governors of theExchange.” See Casti’s very readable

Would-be Worlds, New York: Wiley,1997,p.80ff.

2 The only animals for which self-awareness has been convincinglydemonstrated are human beings,chimpanzees,andorangutans.Contraryto widespread belief, claims for otheranimals suchasdolphins andmonkeyshavenotbeenunambiguouslyproven.

3 Jackson, R. J., A. J. Ramsay, C. D.Christensen,S.Beaton,D.F.Hall,andI. A. Ramshaw. 2001. “Expression ofMouseInterleukin-4byaRecombinantEctromelia Virus Suppresses CytolyticLymphocyteResponsesandOvercomesGenetic Resistance to Mousepox.”JournalofVirology75:1205–1210.

4 Feynman, R. P., “There’s Plenty ofRoomattheBottom.”Eng.andSci.23(1960),p.22.

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