The Swarm (101 page)

At that moment Oliviera said, ‘Unbelievable - it looks like a dolphin.'

Johanson almost forgot that he was supposed to be steering the robot. He watched, fascinated, as other clumps of jelly changed shape too. Some looked like sharks, others squid.

‘How are they doing it?' asked Rubin.

‘They must be programmed,' said Johanson. ‘It's the only explanation.'

‘But how do they know how to do it?'

‘They must have learned.'

‘How, though?'

‘Just think,' said Oliviera. ‘If they can copy different shapes and movements, they must be masters of disguise.'

‘Oh, I don't know about that.' Johanson sounded sceptical. ‘I'm not convinced that what we're seeing is mimicry. I'd say it's more a case of them, uh…remembering.'

‘Remembering?'

‘Well, you know what happens in our brains when we think: specific neurons light up so you get networks and connections. Patterns emerge. Our brains can't change shape, but the neural networks do. If you could read them, you could tell what a person is thinking.'

‘So the jelly's thinking of a dolphin?'

‘It doesn't look like a dolphin,' objected Rubin.

‘Sure it -' Johanson stopped short. Rubin was right. The dolphin shape had gone. Now it was more like a skate, wings beating slowly as it ascended through the water. The tips of the wings grew slender feelers, and it turned into a snake-like creature. The jelly flew apart. Suddenly thousands of tiny fish were flitting through the water in synchrony, then the swarm came together and the jelly morphed again, accelerating through a series of changes as though it were running through a programme. In milliseconds familiar forms gave way to strange shapes. The other clumps of jelly had succumbed to the frenzy as well. They were moving towards each other. Then the familiar flashes of lightning came into play, and for one awful moment Johanson thought he saw a human body among the rapid succession of shapes.

It all streamed together, lumps of jelly and wisps of cloud.

‘It's aggregating!' croaked Rubin, eyes gleaming as he stared at the display on the screen. A stream of data flowed across it. ‘There's a new substance in the water. A compound!'

Johanson swooped through the imploding universe with the robot, taking samples as he went. It was like a rally. How many could he collect? When should he retreat? The mass seemed to have regained its original strength. A hub formed, then it all collapsed inwards. They'd already observed the phenomenon in miniature, but now it was occurring on a far larger scale. An organism was forming from a host of amoebas. It didn't appear to have eyes, ears or any other sensory organs,
or a heart, brain or gut, yet the homogeneous lump was somehow capable of complex processes.

A giant form emerged. At least half of the jelly from the well deck had been pumped back into the sea, but what remained was still the size of a Transit van. Through the oval window of the tank they watched as the jelly clustered and hardened. Johanson whisked the robot to the edge of the activity where blue streams were racing towards the hub. Three of the test-tubes were still empty. He directed them out of the rosette and launched another foray into the mass.

It sprang back at lightning speed, sprouting dozens of tentacles and seizing the intruder. Johanson lost control of the robot. Immobilised, it was trapped in the grip of the creature, which sank towards the bottom of the tank, producing a clumpy foot on which to settle. All of a sudden it looked like an enormous mushroom with a crown of rubbery arms.

‘Shit,' whispered Oliviera. ‘You were too slow.'

Rubin's fingers sped over his keyboard. ‘I've got all kinds of data coming up,' he said. ‘A heady molecular mix. The jelly's using a pheromone. So I was right!'

‘Anawak was right,' Oliviera corrected him. ‘Weaver was right.'

‘Of course. What I meant was—'

‘We were
all
right.'

‘Exactly.'

‘Is it anything we've seen before, Mick?' asked Johanson, without taking his eyes off the screen.

Rubin shook his head. ‘Pass. The ingredients are familiar enough but I'd have to examine the recipe. We need those samples.'

Johanson watched as a thick stem wound its way out of the creature, producing a bush of tiny feelers at its tip. The stem bent over the robot. Its feelers swept over the gadget and the test-tubes.

It looked like a structured, deliberate investigation.

‘Are you seeing what I'm seeing?' Oliviera peered at the screen. ‘Is it trying to open the test-tubes?'

‘They're pretty well sealed.' Johanson tried to wrest back control of the robot. The tentacles wrapped round it merely tightened.

‘It seems to have fallen in love.' He sighed.

The feelers continued their investigation.

‘Do you think it can see it?' asked Rubin.

‘What with?' Oliviera shook her head. ‘It can change shape but it can't grow eyes.'

‘Maybe it doesn't need to,' said Johanson. ‘Maybe it literally
grasps
its surroundings.'

‘So do kids.' Rubin glanced at him doubtfully. ‘But they've got brains to store the information. How does this stuff make sense of what it's grasped?'

The creature released the robot. Its feelers and tentacles slumped down and disappeared inside the main body. The organism flattened itself, spreading until the base of the tank was coated with a thin layer of jelly.

‘The ostrich approach,' joked Oliviera. ‘So it knows about that too.'

‘
Arrivederci,
' said Johanson, and guided the robot into the garage.

Combat Information Center

‘What are you trying to tell us?' Crowe rested her chin in her hands. As usual, a cigarette was smouldering between the index and middle fingers of her right hand, but this time it had barely been smoked. She didn't have time to puff at it. She and Shankar were struggling to make sense of the message from the yrr.

A message that had been sent with an attack.

Having decoded the first transmission, it didn't take the computer long to get to grips with the second. As with the previous message, the yrr had responded in binary code. It remained to be seen whether the data would form a picture. Until now only one sequence made sense. It was a piece of information that seemed laughably simple, given that it was supposed to have come from an alien system of thought.

It was the description of a molecule. A chemical formula. H
₂
O.

‘Very original,' Shankar said sourly. ‘I think we know they live in water.'

But the formula was overlaid with other information. While the computer crunched the data, Crowe realised what the message might mean. ‘Perhaps it's a map,' she said.

‘How do you mean? A map of the seabed?'

‘No. That would imply that they lived on the seabed. Assuming the belligerent little creatures in the lab are part of the alien intelligence, the
yrr live in water. The depths are a liquid universe - homogeneous and the same from every angle.'

Shankar thought for a moment. ‘Unless, of course, you examine the seawater and look at its make-up-exact levels of minerals, acids, alkalis and so on.'

‘And then you see it all looks different.' Crowe nodded. ‘The first time they sent us a picture composed of two mathematical solutions. This time it looks more complicated. But if we're right, there'll be limits to the variation. I can't swear to it, but I think they've sent us another picture.'

Joint Intelligence Center

Weaver found Anawak sitting at the computer. Virtual amoebas were spinning over the screen, but it seemed to her that he wasn't really looking at them. ‘I'm sorry about what happened to your friend,' she said softly.

‘Do you know what's funny?' His voice sounded choked. ‘That her death's really affecting me. The last time I cried was when my mother died. My father died, and I just felt terrified because I wasn't even sorry. But Licia? God, it's not like I chased after her or anything. Until I learned to like her, she was just some student who got on my nerves.'

Tentatively Weaver laid her hands on his shoulders. Anawak's fingers reached up to touch them. ‘Your program works by the way,' he said.

‘So now it's up to the others to get the biology working in the lab.'

‘Yes, that's the problem. Meanwhile, it's just a hypothesis.'

They'd equipped the virtual amoebas with DNA that was capable of learning and could constantly mutate. Every single cell was essentially an autonomous computer that continually reprogrammed itself. Each new piece of information changed the structure of the genome. If a certain number of cells underwent a particular experience, the experience changed their genetic structure. If the mutated cells aggregated with other cells, they passed on the information, and the DNA of the other cells changed. It meant that the cells weren't merely learning constantly: whenever they aggregated they updated each other. Any new knowledge acquired by a single amoeba enriched the collective knowledge of the whole.

It was a revolutionary idea. It meant that knowledge could be
inherited. They'd discussed it with Johanson, Oliviera and Rubin, but the outcome had left them more bemused than ever. The good news was that the theory had been accepted with enthusiasm.

The bad news was that there was an almighty catch.

Control Room

‘What you have to realise,' explained Rubin, ‘is that when DNA mutates, its genetic information changes - and that spells trouble for any living creature.'

While the others were still analysing the samples, Rubin had snuck out of the lab, supposedly because his migraine was returning. In reality, he'd disappeared into the hidden control room for a meeting with Li, Peak and Vanderbilt. They were working through the transcripts from the audio surveillance. By now they all knew about the computer program and about Weaver and Anawak's theory - but only Rubin understood the implications.

‘Organisms rely on their DNA staying intact,' said Rubin. ‘Otherwise they fall sick or produce defective offspring. Exposure to radiation, for instance, causes irreparable damage to DNA, resulting in cancer or birth defects.'

‘But how does that fit with evolution?' asked Vanderbilt. ‘If humans are descended from apes, our DNA must have changed.'

‘Sure, but evolution takes place over a long time. And it selects those organisms whose natural mutation rate makes them best suited to the prevailing conditions. People don't often talk about evolutionary failures, yet nature gets rid of unsuccessful adaptations all the time. That said, there is another option, and that's repair. Take tanning, for instance. Sunlight leads to changes in the cells in the upper layers of our skin, resulting in mutations in the DNA. Our skin starts to tan, and if we're not careful we go red and burn. When that happens, our body sheds the cells that have been destroyed, but those remaining can be repaired. It's repairs like these that allow us to survive. Without them, we'd not only suffer continual mutations in our DNA, but our injuries wouldn't heal and we wouldn't recover from disease.'

‘Fine,' said Li. ‘But what about single-cell organisms?'

‘The same thing applies,' said Rubin. ‘If their DNA mutates, it has to
be repaired. And remember, organisms like that reproduce by cell division. For a species to remain stable, its DNA has to undergo repair. It doesn't matter what kind of cells we're talking about, nature always endeavours to keep the rate of mutation within manageable limits. And that's the catch for Anawak's theory. The genome is repaired globally, along its entire length. You can picture the repair enzymes as policemen, patrolling the entire DNA strand on the look-out for errors. As soon as they find a defective area, they begin the repair. To ensure that the information corresponding to the DNA's original sequence doesn't get lost, the repair enzymes act as the guardians of the genome's data. They police the sequence and can tell immediately which genetic configurations match the original and which are defective. It's like trying and failing to teach a child to talk. As soon as it learns a new word, the repair enzymes come along and reprogram it to its original state - ignorance. It's not possible for it to learn.'

‘Then Anawak's theory is nonsense,' said Li. ‘It would only make sense if the amoebas could retain the changes to their DNA.'

‘Well, on the one hand, that's right. Any new information would be treated as defective by the repair enzymes and, hey presto, the genome's restored to its original configuration. Back to square one, so to speak.'

‘I'm guessing,' grinned Vanderbilt, ‘that we're about to hear the but.'

Rubin nodded hesitantly. ‘There is one,' he said.

‘Which is?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Hang on,' said Peak. He sat up in his chair and winced. His foot was bandaged. ‘I thought you just said—'

‘I know! But the theory's brilliant,' cried Rubin. ‘It would explain everything. Then we'd be certain that the substance in the tank is our enemy. We'd be face to face with the yrr - the creatures that have landed us in all this shit. And I'm certain that it's them! We saw some pretty weird stuff in the lab this morning. The blob of jelly examined our robot, and you should have seen the way it did it - it had nothing to do with animal instinct or curiosity. It was pure cognitive intelligence. Anawak's theory must be right. Weaver's already got it working electronically.'

‘But how are we supposed to make sense of it?' Vanderbilt sighed and mopped his forehead.

‘It could be to do with anomalies.' Rubin gestured vaguely. ‘Even repair enzymes sometimes make mistakes. Not often, but every ten
thousand repairs or so they slip up. They miss a base pair that should have been restored to its original state. It's not much, but it's enough to cause a baby to be born haemophiliac, with a cleft palate or even cancer. We see these anomalies as defects, but they're proof that the repair mechanism doesn't always work.'