This one was written for The Scian science fiction short story writing competition. I think this one can be made into a novel, if ever I find the patience to do so.
PRELUDE
The fogger looked again through his binoculars – yes, it was definitely there. He smiled in anticipation. He could feel the strangeness of his discovery, and for foggers, strangeness translated to money; perhaps lots of it. The smile faded a little when he saw the barren land stretching away before him, like an implacably evil predator lying in wait. Perhaps, some of those city bound tubs of lard would prefer a decent old patch of barren land to insect laden forests, but foggers knew better: Barren land meant swarms, and swarms were deadly. He wiped sweat (and a handful of bugs) off his brow, and considered the risk. He had heard tales of the sheer swiftness of a swarm attack; one cocky fogger, the story went, decided to retrieve some 20th century gold from a particularly swarm-infested section of the Wildlands, a region even the legendary El-Rosso feared to tread. He had a jet pack, and remarkably sophisticated maps to track the gold, how hard could it be, he’d thought, to just drop in at point X, retrieve the treasure, fire the jet pack and scram. From here on, the story diverges. All versions agree that he never returned, but the more morbid ones go on to say that he dropped stone dead before he could hit the button to fire his jet pack. The fogger pushed these thoughts away, he’d fallen on hard times and this was a potential windfall he couldn’t miss for anything. He picked up a stone, hurled it into the distance and waited. Nothing happened; no hellish swarm instantly materialized and swallowed the stone whole. He didn’t trust the calm. Who knows – they might be smart enough to know that the stone isn’t alive. He looked around, and picked up a fat bullfrog trying to catch an evening snack. He threw the frog into the barren patch. Again he waited, and watched; there wasn’t any movement, apart from the thin layer of dust lifted and carried by the capricious wind. He picked up his equipment and ran.
THE DISCOVERY
The young man gingerly selected a whiteboard marker from the basket and went back to the board to begin his presentation. He looked mightily uncomfortable, which was understandable considering the fact that he was someone used to high-detail 3-D holographic presentations. He hadn’t held an actual pen before the Breakout. He squinted at his hastily assembled, but high-profile audience – the President of the Governing Council was there and so was the Defence Secretary. The Chairman of the Inter-disciplinary scientific committee was present, and also, he noted disapprovingly, the head of the Council for Metaphysical Discussion. He cleared his throat loudly to draw their attention.
“Gentlemen, our scientists tell us that we may have found the Holy Grail of science.” He smiled inwardly at the dumbstruck silence, and paused longer than necessary for dramatic effect.
“Biological immortality.” He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t the pandemonium that ensued. Everyone started talking at the same time. He raised a hand for silence.
“Let me clarify.” He pushed his long hair out of his eyes, and continued. “Two days ago, a rather desperate fogger came to us with a clump of grass and asked for a fortune in return. Naturally, the receptionist believed him to be a madman (‘You have no idea how many crazy foggers come to us, thinking they have discovered the key to the next great scientific paradigm’) and attempted to politely usher him out of the office. ‘But wait,’ he said, ‘I have pictures to prove it.’ Only, half-interested, she took the pictures. They showed a mundane expanse of grass, and the residual interest faded away. ‘But, don’t you see that patch of grass over there?’ the fogger continued, ‘that patch is always green! Look at the grass around that patch, it’s turning brown (it’s autumn), but this patch’s always green,’ his voice cracked in excitement, ‘I swear! Those pictures I showed span two months, and the grass patch hasn’t dulled a single bloody bit!’
‘All right, Mr, er, El-Paco, our scientists will look into it, and we’ll call you if there’s anything,’ the receptionist responded, finality etched in her voice. Now, it seems that the fogger may actually have struck gold this time. Scientists have long yearned for that little tweak to our genetic structure that would double, triple or perhaps, indefinitely lengthen our life span.” He paused again, apparently lost in thought.
“Let me give you folks some biological background. Our scientists have known for some time that telomeres, small DNA segments attached to the ends of all chromosomes, have something to do with aging. Telomeres are like protective buffers that prevent vital information from being lost during cell division (mitosis), but their length decreases every time a cell divides. Here’s the catch – there’s a limit to how short telomeres can get (usually around 50 cell divisions can be done before they get too short), and then the cell is programmed to age and die. Scale up your perspective, and we have all the outward signs of aging as a direct result of telomere shortening.”
“I am perfectly aware of the ethical implications of any anti-aging research. But,” he stopped abruptly, and directed a pointed glance towards the two exalted members of the Governing Council, “the issue of defence necessitates a field study, in the very least.”
“Consider this. The Knarl administration would give an arm and a leg for this kind of information, and although we injected a truckload of cash into the fogger’s account, we cannot be sure that he didn’t approach them while we still, er, reviewing his case.” Worried glances spread like wildfire through the small group. The word ‘Knarl’ always seemed to do the trick.
“Why do they want this information? The biggest problem that plagues the Knarl population today is the mechanism for artificial senescence that we put in. They don’t want to die, but their structural units inevitably fail and lead to death in a decade. It’s no wonder they seek the fountain of youth.”
“That’s all right, but why a field study? Didn’t that fogger chap return with samples?” A dignified voice pointed out- the Defence Secretary’s. “An expedition to the Wildlands, particularly one that requires us to push so far inland is nothing short of suicide,” he finished, his voice picking up volume as his indignation rose.
“It’s true that he returned with samples, but Dr Timen, our chief geneticist, tells us that unless we get an animal sample, we cannot truly unlock this mystery. Plants happen to be structurally quite different.”
The speaker raised a pre-emptive hand. “I know what you are going to ask. ‘How can you be sure?’ We cannot, but my only response is this – how can we afford not to be sure?”
THE PREPARATIONS
She loved retrospection. She also loved saying that retrospection is the second most futile thing in the universe. What was the first? As she shouted herself hoarse repeating, ‘A peace accord with the Knarls.’ For what was the 419th time (she was a bio-mathematician, so counting was her forte, and additionally, she had a diary), she reflected on humanity’s greatest mistake and the aftermath. The mental debate’s self-appointed mediator, a meddlesome pompous ass that lived in her head interrupted rudely, again. “Wait… One greatest mistake?” OK, there may be several. Today’s hindsight-powered historians deplore the fall of the erstwhile manufacturing industry as the event that started the rot- what had been a bustling hub of commercial activity, not to mention a source of employment for millions of sweaty human beings, had been erased almost overnight.
The spark was nanotechnology. Nanotechnology had been around for eons, and everyone agreed that it was a great future technology; but if any scientist dared suggest that there was even a slight possibility of immediate benefits, his work would be immediately disparaged and filed in the same mental shelf that housed Flat Earth hypotheses and New Age alchemy. But it all changed with that commercial breakthrough in quantum computing- the building of Quark-X. Quark-X provided a solution to the seemingly insurmountable problem of exponential error spread that dogged research into nanotechnology manufacturing. Nanotechnology’s promise in the field of manufacturing had always lay in bottom up construction. Form a small motor molecule, give it a chemical recipe for combining with primer molecules and watch, as macro-scale machines are built in hours. The problem with this technique was immediately apparent – what if, at an early stage of the construction, an erroneous substrate is built? This faulty molecule sequence would exponentially spread its effects through the progressing construction and make the entire machine unusable. If, on the other hand, a miniscule nano-computer could be included along with the original primer molecules, the computer would monitor the growth of the machine in its assigned segment, and destroy or rebuild faulty substrates. The computer could also have code to duplicate itself as soon as its assigned segment starts to get too bulky.
In the two decades that followed this momentous discovery, researchers in this burgeoning field worked like men possessed. Meanwhile, industries and speculative investors waited, and watched with the keen-eyed glare of a bird of prey, to see what would emerge. Leading economists sparred over the idea’s economic feasibility, some even went on to publish pseudo-analytical papers either heartily supporting the integration of nano-machines, or mercilessly trashing their viability. Philosophers and men of cloth pondered over Doomsday, or Utopia, as their arguments led them. Out of this hodge-podge of frenzied intellectual activity emerged the humble Blocks.
Originally the machines were called Quantum Powered Nanobot Industrial Assistants, or something to that tune; she wasn’t a historian and wasn’t sure. However, common parlance reduced the name to an enunciation-friendly ‘Blocks’. Come to think of it, they did look a lot like blocks. They were mostly cuboidal, with the sleek silvery finish that you associate with expensive objects. They had two ‘arms’, smaller cuboids built to perform a specific task, usually typing or assembly line checking. Some award winning economist soon came up with a long list of calculations that showed that employing these new machines in manufacturing would reduce costs by up to 50 percent, as a conservative estimate. The circling vultures pounced.
No one knows how it happened, but everyone agrees that the transition was really, really fast. If you’d ask her to guess at a number, she would say 40 years, but of course, she wasn’t a historian. The paradigm probably rivalled the computerization revolution that happened in the late 20th century, for pure speed as well as societal impact. Perhaps the original makers of the Blocks only intended them to be used as ‘Assistants’, but the truth is that market dynamics are driven only by one variable, money. Ethics, you say? They are only for people out of touch with reality.
It turned out that the machines themselves- every object from the humble tailoring machine to vast industrial boilers could be built much more cheaply using nanotechnology’s bottom up construction. Soon, Blocks were manufacturing more Blocks. ‘Didn’t someone say something against it?’, asks the armchair historian. Of course, many people said many things. Many people said many things about the devil’s instrument called the computer as well. People cried themselves hoarse about displacement of jobs; the lucky ones were pushed it into management, others summarily retired. The march of technology is the proverbial irresistible force, she thought sadly. So what is the immovable object that counters it? Perhaps there’s nothing which truly fits the bill, she thought darkly.
The advent of nanotechnology is in many people’s eyes humanity’s greatest mistake, but she liked to reserve that honour for what followed. Following the spectacular implosion of traditional manufacturing, everyone wanted a slice of the tasty new pie called nanotech manufacturing. One of the many hands reaching out was that of Artificial Intelligence. AI then, was primarily a theoretical science. Of course, you could argue that things like algorithms to reduce congestion over the internet were practical applications derived from AI, but if you are rigid about definitions, nothing other than a material replication of the human general intelligence is true AI. Replication of human general intelligence was perhaps already done and dusted mathematically, and in parts. What remained was the integration of these programs into a solid, tangible agent, an android if you will.
Like all emerging disciplines, AI was the target of many ethical and philosophical questions, some of which doubted the wisdom of continuing research in the field at all. But, unlike in other disciplines these concerns were not shouted out by the louder voices of capitalist investors – they simply couldn’t see the monetary potential of true AI. If ethical concerns still existed, then how did the Breakout happen? Perhaps, the ruckus surrounding the manufacturing revolution meant that social watchdogs missed the dangers posed. Or, perhaps human beings (with many wearing spectacles, but always myopic) simply couldn’t see the implications; obscured as they were by the utopic visions freely disseminated by rabble-rousers. We will never know.
A tap on her shoulder interrupted her ruminations. “Dr Manto,” said a husky female voice. “Dr Manto, please wake up. You have a visitor.”
“I am awake, Vilskie, just thinking.” She stretched her arms and yawned loudly, which did nothing to support her statement. “Who is it?”
“Apparently he’s a representative of the Governing Council. He wants to talk to you about some kind of top secret mission. I tried to pry details, but his mouth’s sealed tighter than a magnetic airlock.”
“The Governing Council?” she frowned viciously. She strongly opposed the Government’s peace accord with the Knarls, and she was not in the least bit diplomatic about it. The Governing Council, had in many subtle ways tried to shut her up, but their openly professed love for peace meant that they would never do away with someone as high-profile as herself. “Let him in.”
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Strum lolled casually on an expansive sofa in his lavishly furnished suite. He admired the beautiful 3-D TV in the corner, perhaps more so because it was illegal. He often claimed, rather proudly, that 'sybarite' was his middle name. On other occasions, he could be heard saying that 'hedonist' was his middle name. Middle names are free, he told himself lazily. “So, you think I’m a hypocrite?” he asked an imaginary reporter. Add that to my list of middle names, no problemo.
He was proud of that little presentation, he’d just made. He had an uncanny talent for immediately assessing what people feared the most; and he would quite unscrupulously employ this knowledge to curry favours. He was a geneticist by training, but he liked to think of himself as a Natural Philosopher. He dabbled in desktop computers, those unwieldy pre-Breakout relics. Prior to the Breakout, this hobby of his made him some kind of an eccentric recluse. Post- Breakout, and after the consequent failure of the manufacturing industry, all the head honchos wanted his exclusive services. He studied sciences, simply because he loved to. As he liked to say, “Don’t get fooled by the nonchalant exterior. I know much more than you in any topic you can think of.”
However, anyone following his career graph would come up with only term to describe his profession – a ‘mover and shaker’. He liked to use his people management skills to rise up the bureaucratic ladder. Many people had enquired about his fascination for bureaucracy, and he always gave the same answer, perhaps the one they least expected. “It’s the best kind of adventure there is, man.” he said, with the same roguish grin that let him manipulate people, and make them feel that they actually enjoy it. “And besides, if someone like me doesn’t keep the vast machinery of the bureaucracy oiled and moving, who will?”
He’d always dreamed of going off on a trip to the Wildlands. What stopped him before was not the minor detail that people (normal ones, not those darned foggers) who had gone in had not usually come out. And it certainly wasn’t the spine-chilling stories about the murderous swarms that stalked the lands. If anything, these were the reasons that a trip to the Wildlands came to appeal to him in the first place. What really stopped him was the fact that, visiting the Wildlands was illegal, and this wasn’t something he could cover up by toadying up to his higher-ups. It would be a major PR debacle and he couldn’t stand that. He’d needed a good, strong, legal reason to make a trip to the Wildlands. And he found one in the poor fogger’s photographs of a patch of grass. He looked at the acceptance letters of the members of the team lying on his desk- Dr Manto, one of Corlane’s leading biomathematicians; Dr Slesh, a top researcher in the field of gerontology (the study of aging); El-Paco, the fogger who discovered the anomaly himself. The smile plastered on his face momentarily faltered at the thought of a fogger accompanying them, and an unpleasant image of a smelly sewer rat came to his mind. He continued mentally perusing the list – finally, Dr Tana, an expert in the field of nanotechnology evolution.
He closed his eyes and smiled even more broadly. “We are going to the Wildlands, baby.”
OFF TO THE WILDLANDS
The Wildlands are the remnants of the failed research into artificial evolution that immediately followed the Breakout. Scientists tried to use the same nanotechnology and quantum computing techniques that spawned the Blocks, and later, the Knarls to fight them. Policy makers were convinced that they could manipulate the techniques to produce friendly Blocks, but this time with a control program put in, that established their servility. They failed. The same machines evolved to turn against them; it makes more evolutionary sense for a species to be independent, than be subject to another’s whims. Parallel research was done in the field of swarm intelligence. In hindsight, it might seem obvious that this would result in a catastrophe of even bigger magnitude, but honeyed tongues can sway the most rational of persons. People argued that swarm intelligences were by definition, limited to simple individual goals that lead to complex group action. If one can model these simple goals to result in a group action that simulated a powerful anti-Knarl weapon, what could possibly go wrong? Evolution, again, was the answer. And, as before, everyone missed it.
As soon as the disastrous consequences of these experiments became apparent to everyone, more specifically when people in the region stated disappearing, and hushed tones began to speak of those ghostly hunters, the labs were shut down, and the survivors evacuated. The area was sealed with a nanoparticle-proof wall, at great effort and expense. Soon, the Governing Council started to even deny that such an event had occurred.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Strum drawled, his speech slurred by sheer laziness. The team was travelling by a dangerous mountainous path that was just wide enough to accommodate their SUV, it seemed. On both sides, the cliff fell away precipitously to a rocky death in the barren lands far below. The vista was beautiful, but most people would probably be too busy holding back the contents of the morning’s breakfast to admire the scenery.
No one responded, but nothing could get Strum down. Nearly everyone in the group, with the exception of El-Paco were into desk jobs, and were probably contemplating, using all of their formidable intellect, the many ways of coming to their death in this desolate land. El-Paco, of course, did not need to contemplate. He knew.
“How many of those nano-disassemblers have we packed?” Dr Tana asked rather nervously. “I hope there are enough to take on those nanobots Paco keeps talking about.”
El-Paco interrupted, sounding even more nervous than Dr Tana, if that was possible. “There is no guarantee that those techniques will work. The nanobots would have…”
“Now, now, Paco. Stop that naysaying.” The smug voice of Strum cut in. “I promise you that we have enough of those disambs to bring down a city of that nano-stuff. No worries at all.” He looked out of the window, as if willing the ruffled scientists to be calmed by the serene ambience. The ground seemed a lot closer now; they had nearly completed their journey through the mountain pass.
The group had its first major argument over the issue of when they should dump the SUV. El-Paco had insisted, in his quiet, deferential way, that they abandon it as soon as they reached the bottom of the mountain. The size, and the sound of the SUV, would draw the attention of swarms much more than individual humans can, he cautioned. The scientists, though, could not let go of the false safety offered by the big vehicle, and insisted on using the SUV as much as possible. Strum believed El-Paco, but he did not shirk away from the implied danger as El-Paco expected; he loved it. This of course, meant that he sided with the scientists. The group agreed that they would proceed in the SUV, till they reached the first forested area, what the foggers simply called ‘The Bush’. This simple conclusion meant that they would have to travel for about 10 kilometres in the SUV through some of the most heavily infested areas; the magnitude of the danger was not lost on El-Paco, who took to biting his nails vigorously.
As the SUV slowly made its way through the rock terrain, it started to rain. The rain made a steady drumming sound as it fell heavily on the SUV’s roof. The rhythmic regularity of this sound somehow seemed to pacify the scientists. El-Paco, on the other hand, became even more nervous. Through with biting his nails, he switched to nibbling the ends of his fingers, alternating his hands, with one hand always on the steering wheel.
“Why are you worried, El-Paco? It looks like the guy up there likes us. No swarms to worry about, and no nanostuff can survive that downpour.” Strum said smartly, pointing to the myriad rivulets forming in the sandy ground.
“No, it’s not at all good. Yes, during the rain, the nanobots and the swarms hide, but immediately after the rains stop, they come back in force, to mark out their territories again. The rain wipes their marks clean.”
The exhilaration of a few minutes past dulled slightly. Dr Tana pointed out, “We could continue in the SUV through the Bush and retrieve a sample in less than hour. Then we would avoid those swarms you are talking about.” Hasty murmurs of assent accompanied this remark.
“We foggers know all about the rains in the Wildlands. They are like mirages in deserts, they flatter to deceive and disappear before they can help you in any way. I have been in the Wildlands many times, and not once have the rains lasted more than twenty minutes.” Dr Manto, who had so far refrained from participating in any of the discussions, raised a sceptical eyebrow. El-Paco caught it. “It doesn’t look it now, with what looks like the Great Flood falling on our heads, but believe me, the rain stops in seconds.” He shuddered. “And then they’ll be here.”
Perhaps being a sceptic is part of the job description for scientists, or maybe, it’s just ego, but in any case, no one listened to him. Normal conversation resumed. Dr Manto’s aggressive stance towards the Knarls came under vociferous attack from the normally placid Dr Tana.
“Dr Tana, wouldn’t you agree with me if I said that all attempts to program the Knarls (or the Blocks for that matter) have failed? You should know, having been at the forefront of the revolution.” she added contemptuously.
“Perhaps it’s true that we have failed to program obedience in the Knarls. I won’t even go into the ethics of genocide, or the beauty of pacifism. I have a simple practical rebuttal. We cannot defeat them in open battle. They are too strong for us.”
“And you didn’t realise this when you infused AI into stupid Blocks. Not only was that, in itself, a monumentally dense thing to do, but you went on to put a simulated human consciousness in them. What did you expect, with all the ego and bluster that drives the human mind, servility would be a natural by-product?” she thundered.
“Er, people,” interrupted El-Paco, in an almost inaudible squeak. “I didn’t tell you this earlier, but the major problem with rains is not the fact the swarms lose their territorial markings. The real problem is that can I lose my trail, which I have marked out to avoid the major swarm colonies.” He slowly pointed to the almost completely opaque windscreen. “And I have lost it now.”
“You mean we are driving blind?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He pointed to the vague silhouette of the Bush. “We might just pass close to some of the swarm colonies. Don’t worry,” he reassured uncharacteristically, “They won’t attack. It’s raining, remember.”
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“I think the rain’s thinning.” Slesh ventured fearfully.
“Don’t be silly. It’s just as heavy as ever. Look, I still cannot see a thing through my window.” Strum said, with his eyelids drooping with sleep. A slight movement seemed to register on his peripheral vision; he awoke with a start and looked out of the window again. The rain was indeed clearing up, and fast. A gigantic structure slowly began to resolve itself.
“What the hell is that?”
“I didn’t know you had buildings down here, El-Paco.”
“Don’t tell me the darned Knarls have set up base here as well!” the assertive monotone of Dr Manto cut through the melee.
“That’s a swarm colony.” El-Paco corrected, his voice quivering with fear. He pointed to the conical structure, with impressively detailed walkways, and human-sized holes leading to the dwellings of the workers. Some of the holes had what looked like rudimentary doors. The structure rose to nearly 80 metres in height, as tall as the tallest trees in Corlane. It tapered towards the top, like an intricately crafted sword that could cut through any enemy. The material shone a slivery-white even in the haziness of the fading rain – probably nanostuff. El-Paco thought he caught a glimpse of activity somewhere in the top levels of the structure, but when he looked again, it was gone.
El-Paco stopped the SUV. The treeline of the Bush was at least 50 metres away; he looked again at the swarm nest and tried to mentally gauge its distance. Despite the fact that he had seen these structures many times, their size was still disconcerting. Probably 50 metres or so, he told himself. He looked back at the scientists, now utterly silent and drained of all talk. They were looking at the swarm nest in shock, like deer caught in the headlights. Even Strum looked scared.
“OK the rain’s going to stop any second. We have only one chance, and that is to try and make for the trees. The swarm moves at a speed upwards of 200 kilometres per hour, so don’t even dream of out-sprinting it. You can only hope that… Never mind. Just get out and run! I’ll get the equipment.” He started packing all their research equipment into one bag. A couple of times, he heard sensitive equipment shatter. He smiled at the irony; any other day he would have treated the equipment with kid gloves; they were expensive, and expensive meant money, of course. He looked back to see the last of the group, Sturm, naturally, hurrying into the dense thicket, still looking over his shoulder.
He slammed the door of the SUV shut, slung the heavy bag on his shoulders and started off for the trees. He was still about 10 metres away, when the rain stopped abruptly. He froze. He could see the fearful expression on Dr Tana’s face, partially hidden in the foliage, in exquisite detail, but he dared not move. He could also see, by way of his peripheral vision, that the swarm was on the move. A gust of wind announced its arrival. He mentally clamped down on his feet to prevent himself from running. “Run!” said his panicked brain, over and over like a scratched disk, and when the desired response did not appear, released more adrenaline into the bloodstream. His heart was beating louder than a jackhammer now.
Vague sounds of savagery came from the direction of the SUV. His heartbeat slowed down a fraction, with the knowledge that maybe, he might just survive. The sounds stopped quickly, which meant that it was one of those swarms which could identify living organisms. Swarms are not fooled completely by still objects. It is true that in general, swarm individuals have motion-sensitive vision, which means they are blind to still objects, but they have other senses. Their sense of smell, in particular is very powerful; he’d heard of foggers attacked by swarms, even after they’d made sure that none were in the binoculars range. This is where he’d gambled. He knew that the SUV’s fuel gave out an incredibly strong odour that would cloud their olfactory pereceptors to everything else. Another gust of wind told him that he’d gambled right. The swarm was moving away, probably to mark out its territory again.
El-Paco’s second gamble failed. Swarm individuals also have a rudimentary sense of touch; if they hit an object they do not ignore it, whether or not they can see it. He had hoped that they would move in the direction away from him, but obviously that wasn’t happening. He shut his eyes tightly, as he felt the deluge pass by him. On occasions, he felt that a swarm entity had brushed his hair, his skin, but nothing happened. The storm passed. He stood still for a full five minutes after the sounds ceased and made his way to the Bush.
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The group slowly made its way through the Bush. The landscape was nothing remarkable. It looked like any tropical forest, with large trees blotting out the sunlight, and undergrowth hindering feeble attempts at progress. The unbelievably dense undergrowth looked like a world in itself, opaque to outside eyes. Legs pierced it with difficulty, but the bushes closed around them instantly, giving the appearance that a bunch of legless humans were skimming a leafy floor. The truly remarkable thing about the ambience was not the undergrowth, it was the silence. There wasn’t any sound at all, apart from their heavy boots cutting a swathe through the bushes. There were no field crickets in ear-splitting orchestra, no birds singing their troubles away, not even pestilent mosquitoes buzzing around aimlessly.
“It seems like we’ve been going for hours through this place, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end anytime soon.” Strum’s bored voice boomed in the distance.
“Please Mr Strum, do not shout. The swarms usually do not come here, but I emphasise the usually. The nanobots on the other hand thrive in these places, especially after the rains.” El-Paco looked around worriedly to ensure that no one else had followed Strum, and wandered away. He felt like an overworked nanny.
“Sure, sure, El-Paco.” Strum replied condescendingly. Strum lowered the volume, but quickened his pace. “I’ll find the exit from this place first.” he thought excitedly. It had never stopped being an adventure for him, not even when Paco had come to within an inch of losing his life. Suddenly, the thought occurred to him that he might get separated from the rest of the group. He sighed, stopped and sat down on a nearby rock. As he slipped into a stupor, a small pebble, a few feet away, moved. He paused to watch. In a few seconds, it moved again. “Ants.” Strum thought happily. “Finally some sign of life in this place.” He went to push the rock away with the toe of his boot, to see the ants below.
To his surprise, he noticed that there was nothing there. He looked around for the stone that he’d kicked and found that it was still stuck to his boot. He lazily shook his boot to dislodge it; it refused to budge. As he bent to remove it with his hand, the stone visibly grew in size: it had ingested a part of his boot. He screamed in shock.
Luckily, the rest of the group wasn’t too far off. He soon heard Dr Tana’s voice in the distance shouting. “Get rid of the shoe. Goddamn it! Get rid of the shoe!” In a daze, he extracted the shoe without touching the stone, and threw it away.
“What was that?”
“It was some kind of a nanobot that looked like a pebble. Obviously, it used this camouflage to sneak up on its prey.”
“And what is its prey?”
“I don’t know. It could be anything.”
The group quickened their pace. After another hour of walk without incident, except for the odd false alarm, they reached the end of the Bush. El-Paco took out his binoculars, mentally confirmed something, and handed them to Dr Slesh.
“Look. Can you see the funny looking grass patch over there, Dr Slesh?”
“Yes. And it’s definitely anomalous. And it seems to have grown in area, from what I remember of your pictures.”
“Yeah. But our major problem now is to cross that stretch of land.” El-Paco repeated his ritual with the stone. Nothing happened. He looked around for a living creature, but he couldn’t find anything. He suspected this might happen, from when the Bush first greeted them with absolute silence. Either the nanobots had multiplied in number, or the swarms had started to venture into the forests. He frowned unhappily.
“OK, so even the thickets may not be safe?” Strum enquired quietly, his earlier pomp gone. “But that means, any creatures that might have defied aging might now be in some nanobot’s belly!”
“Let’s hope that is not the case.” Dr Slesh interrupted impatiently. “So can we move now Mr El-Paco?”
El-Paco started to give the group hurried instructions. They had to walk in a single file, and in an irregular stop-start fashion. They had to resist the instinctive urge to run at all costs. As any swarm in the area was beyond binocular sight, vision would be the only way it would be able to spot them. The obvious solution to this problem would be to not move at all, but that was of course out of the question. A changing, rhythm-free motion was the next best option. It would help them blend with the swirling dunes. Paco took out his treasured pair of binoculars, and squatting down on his haunches leisurely, gesticulated to them to start moving.
“What, aren’t you coming?” Strum of course, mock solicitude weighting every syllable.
“Not yet. I will stay here and watch while you make the crossing. If I see any movement in the distance, absolutely anything at all, I’ll shout out. You have to stop moving immediately. Swarms are smart; they don’t waste fuel on false alarms.” El-Paco said the last sentence a bit louder than necessary, trying to infuse a false ring of confidence.
“How can you shout though? Wouldn’t that be like drawing attention to yourself?”
“Not really. A swarm entity’s hearing is far less developed than its vision.” El-Paco suddenly realized how much like a scientist he really was. He did not believe in certainties; experience had taught him (often painfully) that the world did not work in blacks and whites. Something would not occur, it only might occur. A swarm usually has a hearing much less developed than vision, but this particular swarm might be the one in a million (or billion) where the opposite held true. And here he was, spewing certainties like the best of politicians. Snapping out of his reverie, he noticed that the group had already started moving. They seemed to have mistaken his contemplative mood for concentration.
Wielding the binoculars, especially using them to cover the stretch of barren land of the thicket fast enough to be useful, was hard work. El-Paco soon found himself mopping his brow. For the umpteenth time, he watched the scientists, Strum with his patented swagger, Tana with his slouchy shuffle, Manto with her haughty stiffness and Slesh with his curiosity-driven speed, make their way across the dunes. They seemed to have followed his instructions to the dot though; he smiled ruefully at their drunken dance like motion. And then it happened. A non-descript rabbit like creature appeared in the distance. Almost without thinking he bellowed loudly; and the group stopped moving. The creature made a small, surprisingly quick movement in the direction of the group, and just when it seemed like it had detected them, began to fall away. He sighed with relief, and watched. The creature only moved a little bit into the distance, just enough, he calculated, to let the edge of the thicket hide the scientists from view. He bellowed again, and waited.
Soon enough, Paco realized that while the creature could not see the scientists, it certainly could see him. He trudged a little further into the Bush, and satisfied that he was well hidden, began to walk parallel to the thicket away from the creature. The motionless swarm entity was soon hidden by the advancing edge of the thicket, but still he did not stop. When he finally did so, he realized that he could no longer see the scientists either. He stepped out into the desert. With brisk, long strides and scant regard for his own instructions, he made his way to the magical thicket. As he neared the thicket, he glimpsed the scientists struggling through the bushes towards him, and almost simultaneously noticed the identical looks of shock on their faces. He turned around and noticed a lone swarm entity less than hundred metres away. Why was it hunting him alone? Then he realized that it wasn’t. It seemed to be following some kind of a trail. Thinking quickly, he hurled his backpack in the approximate direction of the approaching creature and ran. Was someone replaying (the not so enjoyable) moments of his life?
EPILOGUE
Dr Tana gingerly put the one of the super-ants on his palm, and watched lovingly, as it scurried back and forth, looking for a way out. The Source (Strum had named it), turned out to be bustling with animal life. Dr Slesh had quickly established that all life forms on that little green island showed signs of extended life spans. They decided to collect samples of ants, the most transportable of all the creatures on the island.
Strum, who lay on his back on a slightly elevated part of the ground, noticed motion in the distance, towards the Bush. He watched, without the slightest concern, as two blocky Knarls stepped out of the trees, and started running towards them.
“Incoming Knarl!” he said, in the musical tone of a radio announcer. “But not to worry folks, we’ve got it covered.” He pointed towards the centre of the barren patch of land separating them, where a small rabbit-like creature lay motionless, next to the remnants of El-Paco’s former backpack. The attack was fast. He lay back in satisfaction, and watched, as the swarm appeared, tore the knarls to shreds and dispersed, almost in a single motion.
PRELUDE
The fogger looked again through his binoculars – yes, it was definitely there. He smiled in anticipation. He could feel the strangeness of his discovery, and for foggers, strangeness translated to money; perhaps lots of it. The smile faded a little when he saw the barren land stretching away before him, like an implacably evil predator lying in wait. Perhaps, some of those city bound tubs of lard would prefer a decent old patch of barren land to insect laden forests, but foggers knew better: Barren land meant swarms, and swarms were deadly. He wiped sweat (and a handful of bugs) off his brow, and considered the risk. He had heard tales of the sheer swiftness of a swarm attack; one cocky fogger, the story went, decided to retrieve some 20th century gold from a particularly swarm-infested section of the Wildlands, a region even the legendary El-Rosso feared to tread. He had a jet pack, and remarkably sophisticated maps to track the gold, how hard could it be, he’d thought, to just drop in at point X, retrieve the treasure, fire the jet pack and scram. From here on, the story diverges. All versions agree that he never returned, but the more morbid ones go on to say that he dropped stone dead before he could hit the button to fire his jet pack. The fogger pushed these thoughts away, he’d fallen on hard times and this was a potential windfall he couldn’t miss for anything. He picked up a stone, hurled it into the distance and waited. Nothing happened; no hellish swarm instantly materialized and swallowed the stone whole. He didn’t trust the calm. Who knows – they might be smart enough to know that the stone isn’t alive. He looked around, and picked up a fat bullfrog trying to catch an evening snack. He threw the frog into the barren patch. Again he waited, and watched; there wasn’t any movement, apart from the thin layer of dust lifted and carried by the capricious wind. He picked up his equipment and ran.
THE DISCOVERY
The young man gingerly selected a whiteboard marker from the basket and went back to the board to begin his presentation. He looked mightily uncomfortable, which was understandable considering the fact that he was someone used to high-detail 3-D holographic presentations. He hadn’t held an actual pen before the Breakout. He squinted at his hastily assembled, but high-profile audience – the President of the Governing Council was there and so was the Defence Secretary. The Chairman of the Inter-disciplinary scientific committee was present, and also, he noted disapprovingly, the head of the Council for Metaphysical Discussion. He cleared his throat loudly to draw their attention.
“Gentlemen, our scientists tell us that we may have found the Holy Grail of science.” He smiled inwardly at the dumbstruck silence, and paused longer than necessary for dramatic effect.
“Biological immortality.” He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t the pandemonium that ensued. Everyone started talking at the same time. He raised a hand for silence.
“Let me clarify.” He pushed his long hair out of his eyes, and continued. “Two days ago, a rather desperate fogger came to us with a clump of grass and asked for a fortune in return. Naturally, the receptionist believed him to be a madman (‘You have no idea how many crazy foggers come to us, thinking they have discovered the key to the next great scientific paradigm’) and attempted to politely usher him out of the office. ‘But wait,’ he said, ‘I have pictures to prove it.’ Only, half-interested, she took the pictures. They showed a mundane expanse of grass, and the residual interest faded away. ‘But, don’t you see that patch of grass over there?’ the fogger continued, ‘that patch is always green! Look at the grass around that patch, it’s turning brown (it’s autumn), but this patch’s always green,’ his voice cracked in excitement, ‘I swear! Those pictures I showed span two months, and the grass patch hasn’t dulled a single bloody bit!’
‘All right, Mr, er, El-Paco, our scientists will look into it, and we’ll call you if there’s anything,’ the receptionist responded, finality etched in her voice. Now, it seems that the fogger may actually have struck gold this time. Scientists have long yearned for that little tweak to our genetic structure that would double, triple or perhaps, indefinitely lengthen our life span.” He paused again, apparently lost in thought.
“Let me give you folks some biological background. Our scientists have known for some time that telomeres, small DNA segments attached to the ends of all chromosomes, have something to do with aging. Telomeres are like protective buffers that prevent vital information from being lost during cell division (mitosis), but their length decreases every time a cell divides. Here’s the catch – there’s a limit to how short telomeres can get (usually around 50 cell divisions can be done before they get too short), and then the cell is programmed to age and die. Scale up your perspective, and we have all the outward signs of aging as a direct result of telomere shortening.”
“I am perfectly aware of the ethical implications of any anti-aging research. But,” he stopped abruptly, and directed a pointed glance towards the two exalted members of the Governing Council, “the issue of defence necessitates a field study, in the very least.”
“Consider this. The Knarl administration would give an arm and a leg for this kind of information, and although we injected a truckload of cash into the fogger’s account, we cannot be sure that he didn’t approach them while we still, er, reviewing his case.” Worried glances spread like wildfire through the small group. The word ‘Knarl’ always seemed to do the trick.
“Why do they want this information? The biggest problem that plagues the Knarl population today is the mechanism for artificial senescence that we put in. They don’t want to die, but their structural units inevitably fail and lead to death in a decade. It’s no wonder they seek the fountain of youth.”
“That’s all right, but why a field study? Didn’t that fogger chap return with samples?” A dignified voice pointed out- the Defence Secretary’s. “An expedition to the Wildlands, particularly one that requires us to push so far inland is nothing short of suicide,” he finished, his voice picking up volume as his indignation rose.
“It’s true that he returned with samples, but Dr Timen, our chief geneticist, tells us that unless we get an animal sample, we cannot truly unlock this mystery. Plants happen to be structurally quite different.”
The speaker raised a pre-emptive hand. “I know what you are going to ask. ‘How can you be sure?’ We cannot, but my only response is this – how can we afford not to be sure?”
THE PREPARATIONS
She loved retrospection. She also loved saying that retrospection is the second most futile thing in the universe. What was the first? As she shouted herself hoarse repeating, ‘A peace accord with the Knarls.’ For what was the 419th time (she was a bio-mathematician, so counting was her forte, and additionally, she had a diary), she reflected on humanity’s greatest mistake and the aftermath. The mental debate’s self-appointed mediator, a meddlesome pompous ass that lived in her head interrupted rudely, again. “Wait… One greatest mistake?” OK, there may be several. Today’s hindsight-powered historians deplore the fall of the erstwhile manufacturing industry as the event that started the rot- what had been a bustling hub of commercial activity, not to mention a source of employment for millions of sweaty human beings, had been erased almost overnight.
The spark was nanotechnology. Nanotechnology had been around for eons, and everyone agreed that it was a great future technology; but if any scientist dared suggest that there was even a slight possibility of immediate benefits, his work would be immediately disparaged and filed in the same mental shelf that housed Flat Earth hypotheses and New Age alchemy. But it all changed with that commercial breakthrough in quantum computing- the building of Quark-X. Quark-X provided a solution to the seemingly insurmountable problem of exponential error spread that dogged research into nanotechnology manufacturing. Nanotechnology’s promise in the field of manufacturing had always lay in bottom up construction. Form a small motor molecule, give it a chemical recipe for combining with primer molecules and watch, as macro-scale machines are built in hours. The problem with this technique was immediately apparent – what if, at an early stage of the construction, an erroneous substrate is built? This faulty molecule sequence would exponentially spread its effects through the progressing construction and make the entire machine unusable. If, on the other hand, a miniscule nano-computer could be included along with the original primer molecules, the computer would monitor the growth of the machine in its assigned segment, and destroy or rebuild faulty substrates. The computer could also have code to duplicate itself as soon as its assigned segment starts to get too bulky.
In the two decades that followed this momentous discovery, researchers in this burgeoning field worked like men possessed. Meanwhile, industries and speculative investors waited, and watched with the keen-eyed glare of a bird of prey, to see what would emerge. Leading economists sparred over the idea’s economic feasibility, some even went on to publish pseudo-analytical papers either heartily supporting the integration of nano-machines, or mercilessly trashing their viability. Philosophers and men of cloth pondered over Doomsday, or Utopia, as their arguments led them. Out of this hodge-podge of frenzied intellectual activity emerged the humble Blocks.
Originally the machines were called Quantum Powered Nanobot Industrial Assistants, or something to that tune; she wasn’t a historian and wasn’t sure. However, common parlance reduced the name to an enunciation-friendly ‘Blocks’. Come to think of it, they did look a lot like blocks. They were mostly cuboidal, with the sleek silvery finish that you associate with expensive objects. They had two ‘arms’, smaller cuboids built to perform a specific task, usually typing or assembly line checking. Some award winning economist soon came up with a long list of calculations that showed that employing these new machines in manufacturing would reduce costs by up to 50 percent, as a conservative estimate. The circling vultures pounced.
No one knows how it happened, but everyone agrees that the transition was really, really fast. If you’d ask her to guess at a number, she would say 40 years, but of course, she wasn’t a historian. The paradigm probably rivalled the computerization revolution that happened in the late 20th century, for pure speed as well as societal impact. Perhaps the original makers of the Blocks only intended them to be used as ‘Assistants’, but the truth is that market dynamics are driven only by one variable, money. Ethics, you say? They are only for people out of touch with reality.
It turned out that the machines themselves- every object from the humble tailoring machine to vast industrial boilers could be built much more cheaply using nanotechnology’s bottom up construction. Soon, Blocks were manufacturing more Blocks. ‘Didn’t someone say something against it?’, asks the armchair historian. Of course, many people said many things. Many people said many things about the devil’s instrument called the computer as well. People cried themselves hoarse about displacement of jobs; the lucky ones were pushed it into management, others summarily retired. The march of technology is the proverbial irresistible force, she thought sadly. So what is the immovable object that counters it? Perhaps there’s nothing which truly fits the bill, she thought darkly.
The advent of nanotechnology is in many people’s eyes humanity’s greatest mistake, but she liked to reserve that honour for what followed. Following the spectacular implosion of traditional manufacturing, everyone wanted a slice of the tasty new pie called nanotech manufacturing. One of the many hands reaching out was that of Artificial Intelligence. AI then, was primarily a theoretical science. Of course, you could argue that things like algorithms to reduce congestion over the internet were practical applications derived from AI, but if you are rigid about definitions, nothing other than a material replication of the human general intelligence is true AI. Replication of human general intelligence was perhaps already done and dusted mathematically, and in parts. What remained was the integration of these programs into a solid, tangible agent, an android if you will.
Like all emerging disciplines, AI was the target of many ethical and philosophical questions, some of which doubted the wisdom of continuing research in the field at all. But, unlike in other disciplines these concerns were not shouted out by the louder voices of capitalist investors – they simply couldn’t see the monetary potential of true AI. If ethical concerns still existed, then how did the Breakout happen? Perhaps, the ruckus surrounding the manufacturing revolution meant that social watchdogs missed the dangers posed. Or, perhaps human beings (with many wearing spectacles, but always myopic) simply couldn’t see the implications; obscured as they were by the utopic visions freely disseminated by rabble-rousers. We will never know.
A tap on her shoulder interrupted her ruminations. “Dr Manto,” said a husky female voice. “Dr Manto, please wake up. You have a visitor.”
“I am awake, Vilskie, just thinking.” She stretched her arms and yawned loudly, which did nothing to support her statement. “Who is it?”
“Apparently he’s a representative of the Governing Council. He wants to talk to you about some kind of top secret mission. I tried to pry details, but his mouth’s sealed tighter than a magnetic airlock.”
“The Governing Council?” she frowned viciously. She strongly opposed the Government’s peace accord with the Knarls, and she was not in the least bit diplomatic about it. The Governing Council, had in many subtle ways tried to shut her up, but their openly professed love for peace meant that they would never do away with someone as high-profile as herself. “Let him in.”
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Strum lolled casually on an expansive sofa in his lavishly furnished suite. He admired the beautiful 3-D TV in the corner, perhaps more so because it was illegal. He often claimed, rather proudly, that 'sybarite' was his middle name. On other occasions, he could be heard saying that 'hedonist' was his middle name. Middle names are free, he told himself lazily. “So, you think I’m a hypocrite?” he asked an imaginary reporter. Add that to my list of middle names, no problemo.
He was proud of that little presentation, he’d just made. He had an uncanny talent for immediately assessing what people feared the most; and he would quite unscrupulously employ this knowledge to curry favours. He was a geneticist by training, but he liked to think of himself as a Natural Philosopher. He dabbled in desktop computers, those unwieldy pre-Breakout relics. Prior to the Breakout, this hobby of his made him some kind of an eccentric recluse. Post- Breakout, and after the consequent failure of the manufacturing industry, all the head honchos wanted his exclusive services. He studied sciences, simply because he loved to. As he liked to say, “Don’t get fooled by the nonchalant exterior. I know much more than you in any topic you can think of.”
However, anyone following his career graph would come up with only term to describe his profession – a ‘mover and shaker’. He liked to use his people management skills to rise up the bureaucratic ladder. Many people had enquired about his fascination for bureaucracy, and he always gave the same answer, perhaps the one they least expected. “It’s the best kind of adventure there is, man.” he said, with the same roguish grin that let him manipulate people, and make them feel that they actually enjoy it. “And besides, if someone like me doesn’t keep the vast machinery of the bureaucracy oiled and moving, who will?”
He’d always dreamed of going off on a trip to the Wildlands. What stopped him before was not the minor detail that people (normal ones, not those darned foggers) who had gone in had not usually come out. And it certainly wasn’t the spine-chilling stories about the murderous swarms that stalked the lands. If anything, these were the reasons that a trip to the Wildlands came to appeal to him in the first place. What really stopped him was the fact that, visiting the Wildlands was illegal, and this wasn’t something he could cover up by toadying up to his higher-ups. It would be a major PR debacle and he couldn’t stand that. He’d needed a good, strong, legal reason to make a trip to the Wildlands. And he found one in the poor fogger’s photographs of a patch of grass. He looked at the acceptance letters of the members of the team lying on his desk- Dr Manto, one of Corlane’s leading biomathematicians; Dr Slesh, a top researcher in the field of gerontology (the study of aging); El-Paco, the fogger who discovered the anomaly himself. The smile plastered on his face momentarily faltered at the thought of a fogger accompanying them, and an unpleasant image of a smelly sewer rat came to his mind. He continued mentally perusing the list – finally, Dr Tana, an expert in the field of nanotechnology evolution.
He closed his eyes and smiled even more broadly. “We are going to the Wildlands, baby.”
OFF TO THE WILDLANDS
The Wildlands are the remnants of the failed research into artificial evolution that immediately followed the Breakout. Scientists tried to use the same nanotechnology and quantum computing techniques that spawned the Blocks, and later, the Knarls to fight them. Policy makers were convinced that they could manipulate the techniques to produce friendly Blocks, but this time with a control program put in, that established their servility. They failed. The same machines evolved to turn against them; it makes more evolutionary sense for a species to be independent, than be subject to another’s whims. Parallel research was done in the field of swarm intelligence. In hindsight, it might seem obvious that this would result in a catastrophe of even bigger magnitude, but honeyed tongues can sway the most rational of persons. People argued that swarm intelligences were by definition, limited to simple individual goals that lead to complex group action. If one can model these simple goals to result in a group action that simulated a powerful anti-Knarl weapon, what could possibly go wrong? Evolution, again, was the answer. And, as before, everyone missed it.
As soon as the disastrous consequences of these experiments became apparent to everyone, more specifically when people in the region stated disappearing, and hushed tones began to speak of those ghostly hunters, the labs were shut down, and the survivors evacuated. The area was sealed with a nanoparticle-proof wall, at great effort and expense. Soon, the Governing Council started to even deny that such an event had occurred.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Strum drawled, his speech slurred by sheer laziness. The team was travelling by a dangerous mountainous path that was just wide enough to accommodate their SUV, it seemed. On both sides, the cliff fell away precipitously to a rocky death in the barren lands far below. The vista was beautiful, but most people would probably be too busy holding back the contents of the morning’s breakfast to admire the scenery.
No one responded, but nothing could get Strum down. Nearly everyone in the group, with the exception of El-Paco were into desk jobs, and were probably contemplating, using all of their formidable intellect, the many ways of coming to their death in this desolate land. El-Paco, of course, did not need to contemplate. He knew.
“How many of those nano-disassemblers have we packed?” Dr Tana asked rather nervously. “I hope there are enough to take on those nanobots Paco keeps talking about.”
El-Paco interrupted, sounding even more nervous than Dr Tana, if that was possible. “There is no guarantee that those techniques will work. The nanobots would have…”
“Now, now, Paco. Stop that naysaying.” The smug voice of Strum cut in. “I promise you that we have enough of those disambs to bring down a city of that nano-stuff. No worries at all.” He looked out of the window, as if willing the ruffled scientists to be calmed by the serene ambience. The ground seemed a lot closer now; they had nearly completed their journey through the mountain pass.
The group had its first major argument over the issue of when they should dump the SUV. El-Paco had insisted, in his quiet, deferential way, that they abandon it as soon as they reached the bottom of the mountain. The size, and the sound of the SUV, would draw the attention of swarms much more than individual humans can, he cautioned. The scientists, though, could not let go of the false safety offered by the big vehicle, and insisted on using the SUV as much as possible. Strum believed El-Paco, but he did not shirk away from the implied danger as El-Paco expected; he loved it. This of course, meant that he sided with the scientists. The group agreed that they would proceed in the SUV, till they reached the first forested area, what the foggers simply called ‘The Bush’. This simple conclusion meant that they would have to travel for about 10 kilometres in the SUV through some of the most heavily infested areas; the magnitude of the danger was not lost on El-Paco, who took to biting his nails vigorously.
As the SUV slowly made its way through the rock terrain, it started to rain. The rain made a steady drumming sound as it fell heavily on the SUV’s roof. The rhythmic regularity of this sound somehow seemed to pacify the scientists. El-Paco, on the other hand, became even more nervous. Through with biting his nails, he switched to nibbling the ends of his fingers, alternating his hands, with one hand always on the steering wheel.
“Why are you worried, El-Paco? It looks like the guy up there likes us. No swarms to worry about, and no nanostuff can survive that downpour.” Strum said smartly, pointing to the myriad rivulets forming in the sandy ground.
“No, it’s not at all good. Yes, during the rain, the nanobots and the swarms hide, but immediately after the rains stop, they come back in force, to mark out their territories again. The rain wipes their marks clean.”
The exhilaration of a few minutes past dulled slightly. Dr Tana pointed out, “We could continue in the SUV through the Bush and retrieve a sample in less than hour. Then we would avoid those swarms you are talking about.” Hasty murmurs of assent accompanied this remark.
“We foggers know all about the rains in the Wildlands. They are like mirages in deserts, they flatter to deceive and disappear before they can help you in any way. I have been in the Wildlands many times, and not once have the rains lasted more than twenty minutes.” Dr Manto, who had so far refrained from participating in any of the discussions, raised a sceptical eyebrow. El-Paco caught it. “It doesn’t look it now, with what looks like the Great Flood falling on our heads, but believe me, the rain stops in seconds.” He shuddered. “And then they’ll be here.”
Perhaps being a sceptic is part of the job description for scientists, or maybe, it’s just ego, but in any case, no one listened to him. Normal conversation resumed. Dr Manto’s aggressive stance towards the Knarls came under vociferous attack from the normally placid Dr Tana.
“Dr Tana, wouldn’t you agree with me if I said that all attempts to program the Knarls (or the Blocks for that matter) have failed? You should know, having been at the forefront of the revolution.” she added contemptuously.
“Perhaps it’s true that we have failed to program obedience in the Knarls. I won’t even go into the ethics of genocide, or the beauty of pacifism. I have a simple practical rebuttal. We cannot defeat them in open battle. They are too strong for us.”
“And you didn’t realise this when you infused AI into stupid Blocks. Not only was that, in itself, a monumentally dense thing to do, but you went on to put a simulated human consciousness in them. What did you expect, with all the ego and bluster that drives the human mind, servility would be a natural by-product?” she thundered.
“Er, people,” interrupted El-Paco, in an almost inaudible squeak. “I didn’t tell you this earlier, but the major problem with rains is not the fact the swarms lose their territorial markings. The real problem is that can I lose my trail, which I have marked out to avoid the major swarm colonies.” He slowly pointed to the almost completely opaque windscreen. “And I have lost it now.”
“You mean we are driving blind?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He pointed to the vague silhouette of the Bush. “We might just pass close to some of the swarm colonies. Don’t worry,” he reassured uncharacteristically, “They won’t attack. It’s raining, remember.”
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“I think the rain’s thinning.” Slesh ventured fearfully.
“Don’t be silly. It’s just as heavy as ever. Look, I still cannot see a thing through my window.” Strum said, with his eyelids drooping with sleep. A slight movement seemed to register on his peripheral vision; he awoke with a start and looked out of the window again. The rain was indeed clearing up, and fast. A gigantic structure slowly began to resolve itself.
“What the hell is that?”
“I didn’t know you had buildings down here, El-Paco.”
“Don’t tell me the darned Knarls have set up base here as well!” the assertive monotone of Dr Manto cut through the melee.
“That’s a swarm colony.” El-Paco corrected, his voice quivering with fear. He pointed to the conical structure, with impressively detailed walkways, and human-sized holes leading to the dwellings of the workers. Some of the holes had what looked like rudimentary doors. The structure rose to nearly 80 metres in height, as tall as the tallest trees in Corlane. It tapered towards the top, like an intricately crafted sword that could cut through any enemy. The material shone a slivery-white even in the haziness of the fading rain – probably nanostuff. El-Paco thought he caught a glimpse of activity somewhere in the top levels of the structure, but when he looked again, it was gone.
El-Paco stopped the SUV. The treeline of the Bush was at least 50 metres away; he looked again at the swarm nest and tried to mentally gauge its distance. Despite the fact that he had seen these structures many times, their size was still disconcerting. Probably 50 metres or so, he told himself. He looked back at the scientists, now utterly silent and drained of all talk. They were looking at the swarm nest in shock, like deer caught in the headlights. Even Strum looked scared.
“OK the rain’s going to stop any second. We have only one chance, and that is to try and make for the trees. The swarm moves at a speed upwards of 200 kilometres per hour, so don’t even dream of out-sprinting it. You can only hope that… Never mind. Just get out and run! I’ll get the equipment.” He started packing all their research equipment into one bag. A couple of times, he heard sensitive equipment shatter. He smiled at the irony; any other day he would have treated the equipment with kid gloves; they were expensive, and expensive meant money, of course. He looked back to see the last of the group, Sturm, naturally, hurrying into the dense thicket, still looking over his shoulder.
He slammed the door of the SUV shut, slung the heavy bag on his shoulders and started off for the trees. He was still about 10 metres away, when the rain stopped abruptly. He froze. He could see the fearful expression on Dr Tana’s face, partially hidden in the foliage, in exquisite detail, but he dared not move. He could also see, by way of his peripheral vision, that the swarm was on the move. A gust of wind announced its arrival. He mentally clamped down on his feet to prevent himself from running. “Run!” said his panicked brain, over and over like a scratched disk, and when the desired response did not appear, released more adrenaline into the bloodstream. His heart was beating louder than a jackhammer now.
Vague sounds of savagery came from the direction of the SUV. His heartbeat slowed down a fraction, with the knowledge that maybe, he might just survive. The sounds stopped quickly, which meant that it was one of those swarms which could identify living organisms. Swarms are not fooled completely by still objects. It is true that in general, swarm individuals have motion-sensitive vision, which means they are blind to still objects, but they have other senses. Their sense of smell, in particular is very powerful; he’d heard of foggers attacked by swarms, even after they’d made sure that none were in the binoculars range. This is where he’d gambled. He knew that the SUV’s fuel gave out an incredibly strong odour that would cloud their olfactory pereceptors to everything else. Another gust of wind told him that he’d gambled right. The swarm was moving away, probably to mark out its territory again.
El-Paco’s second gamble failed. Swarm individuals also have a rudimentary sense of touch; if they hit an object they do not ignore it, whether or not they can see it. He had hoped that they would move in the direction away from him, but obviously that wasn’t happening. He shut his eyes tightly, as he felt the deluge pass by him. On occasions, he felt that a swarm entity had brushed his hair, his skin, but nothing happened. The storm passed. He stood still for a full five minutes after the sounds ceased and made his way to the Bush.
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The group slowly made its way through the Bush. The landscape was nothing remarkable. It looked like any tropical forest, with large trees blotting out the sunlight, and undergrowth hindering feeble attempts at progress. The unbelievably dense undergrowth looked like a world in itself, opaque to outside eyes. Legs pierced it with difficulty, but the bushes closed around them instantly, giving the appearance that a bunch of legless humans were skimming a leafy floor. The truly remarkable thing about the ambience was not the undergrowth, it was the silence. There wasn’t any sound at all, apart from their heavy boots cutting a swathe through the bushes. There were no field crickets in ear-splitting orchestra, no birds singing their troubles away, not even pestilent mosquitoes buzzing around aimlessly.
“It seems like we’ve been going for hours through this place, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end anytime soon.” Strum’s bored voice boomed in the distance.
“Please Mr Strum, do not shout. The swarms usually do not come here, but I emphasise the usually. The nanobots on the other hand thrive in these places, especially after the rains.” El-Paco looked around worriedly to ensure that no one else had followed Strum, and wandered away. He felt like an overworked nanny.
“Sure, sure, El-Paco.” Strum replied condescendingly. Strum lowered the volume, but quickened his pace. “I’ll find the exit from this place first.” he thought excitedly. It had never stopped being an adventure for him, not even when Paco had come to within an inch of losing his life. Suddenly, the thought occurred to him that he might get separated from the rest of the group. He sighed, stopped and sat down on a nearby rock. As he slipped into a stupor, a small pebble, a few feet away, moved. He paused to watch. In a few seconds, it moved again. “Ants.” Strum thought happily. “Finally some sign of life in this place.” He went to push the rock away with the toe of his boot, to see the ants below.
To his surprise, he noticed that there was nothing there. He looked around for the stone that he’d kicked and found that it was still stuck to his boot. He lazily shook his boot to dislodge it; it refused to budge. As he bent to remove it with his hand, the stone visibly grew in size: it had ingested a part of his boot. He screamed in shock.
Luckily, the rest of the group wasn’t too far off. He soon heard Dr Tana’s voice in the distance shouting. “Get rid of the shoe. Goddamn it! Get rid of the shoe!” In a daze, he extracted the shoe without touching the stone, and threw it away.
“What was that?”
“It was some kind of a nanobot that looked like a pebble. Obviously, it used this camouflage to sneak up on its prey.”
“And what is its prey?”
“I don’t know. It could be anything.”
The group quickened their pace. After another hour of walk without incident, except for the odd false alarm, they reached the end of the Bush. El-Paco took out his binoculars, mentally confirmed something, and handed them to Dr Slesh.
“Look. Can you see the funny looking grass patch over there, Dr Slesh?”
“Yes. And it’s definitely anomalous. And it seems to have grown in area, from what I remember of your pictures.”
“Yeah. But our major problem now is to cross that stretch of land.” El-Paco repeated his ritual with the stone. Nothing happened. He looked around for a living creature, but he couldn’t find anything. He suspected this might happen, from when the Bush first greeted them with absolute silence. Either the nanobots had multiplied in number, or the swarms had started to venture into the forests. He frowned unhappily.
“OK, so even the thickets may not be safe?” Strum enquired quietly, his earlier pomp gone. “But that means, any creatures that might have defied aging might now be in some nanobot’s belly!”
“Let’s hope that is not the case.” Dr Slesh interrupted impatiently. “So can we move now Mr El-Paco?”
El-Paco started to give the group hurried instructions. They had to walk in a single file, and in an irregular stop-start fashion. They had to resist the instinctive urge to run at all costs. As any swarm in the area was beyond binocular sight, vision would be the only way it would be able to spot them. The obvious solution to this problem would be to not move at all, but that was of course out of the question. A changing, rhythm-free motion was the next best option. It would help them blend with the swirling dunes. Paco took out his treasured pair of binoculars, and squatting down on his haunches leisurely, gesticulated to them to start moving.
“What, aren’t you coming?” Strum of course, mock solicitude weighting every syllable.
“Not yet. I will stay here and watch while you make the crossing. If I see any movement in the distance, absolutely anything at all, I’ll shout out. You have to stop moving immediately. Swarms are smart; they don’t waste fuel on false alarms.” El-Paco said the last sentence a bit louder than necessary, trying to infuse a false ring of confidence.
“How can you shout though? Wouldn’t that be like drawing attention to yourself?”
“Not really. A swarm entity’s hearing is far less developed than its vision.” El-Paco suddenly realized how much like a scientist he really was. He did not believe in certainties; experience had taught him (often painfully) that the world did not work in blacks and whites. Something would not occur, it only might occur. A swarm usually has a hearing much less developed than vision, but this particular swarm might be the one in a million (or billion) where the opposite held true. And here he was, spewing certainties like the best of politicians. Snapping out of his reverie, he noticed that the group had already started moving. They seemed to have mistaken his contemplative mood for concentration.
Wielding the binoculars, especially using them to cover the stretch of barren land of the thicket fast enough to be useful, was hard work. El-Paco soon found himself mopping his brow. For the umpteenth time, he watched the scientists, Strum with his patented swagger, Tana with his slouchy shuffle, Manto with her haughty stiffness and Slesh with his curiosity-driven speed, make their way across the dunes. They seemed to have followed his instructions to the dot though; he smiled ruefully at their drunken dance like motion. And then it happened. A non-descript rabbit like creature appeared in the distance. Almost without thinking he bellowed loudly; and the group stopped moving. The creature made a small, surprisingly quick movement in the direction of the group, and just when it seemed like it had detected them, began to fall away. He sighed with relief, and watched. The creature only moved a little bit into the distance, just enough, he calculated, to let the edge of the thicket hide the scientists from view. He bellowed again, and waited.
Soon enough, Paco realized that while the creature could not see the scientists, it certainly could see him. He trudged a little further into the Bush, and satisfied that he was well hidden, began to walk parallel to the thicket away from the creature. The motionless swarm entity was soon hidden by the advancing edge of the thicket, but still he did not stop. When he finally did so, he realized that he could no longer see the scientists either. He stepped out into the desert. With brisk, long strides and scant regard for his own instructions, he made his way to the magical thicket. As he neared the thicket, he glimpsed the scientists struggling through the bushes towards him, and almost simultaneously noticed the identical looks of shock on their faces. He turned around and noticed a lone swarm entity less than hundred metres away. Why was it hunting him alone? Then he realized that it wasn’t. It seemed to be following some kind of a trail. Thinking quickly, he hurled his backpack in the approximate direction of the approaching creature and ran. Was someone replaying (the not so enjoyable) moments of his life?
EPILOGUE
Dr Tana gingerly put the one of the super-ants on his palm, and watched lovingly, as it scurried back and forth, looking for a way out. The Source (Strum had named it), turned out to be bustling with animal life. Dr Slesh had quickly established that all life forms on that little green island showed signs of extended life spans. They decided to collect samples of ants, the most transportable of all the creatures on the island.
Strum, who lay on his back on a slightly elevated part of the ground, noticed motion in the distance, towards the Bush. He watched, without the slightest concern, as two blocky Knarls stepped out of the trees, and started running towards them.
“Incoming Knarl!” he said, in the musical tone of a radio announcer. “But not to worry folks, we’ve got it covered.” He pointed towards the centre of the barren patch of land separating them, where a small rabbit-like creature lay motionless, next to the remnants of El-Paco’s former backpack. The attack was fast. He lay back in satisfaction, and watched, as the swarm appeared, tore the knarls to shreds and dispersed, almost in a single motion.
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