The Swarm (67 page)

The helicopter lifted off from Wall Street heliport and headed northbound through the night air over Soho, Greenwich Village and Chelsea. The city sparkled with light, but you could see at a glance that things weren't right. Some streets were bathed in the harsh glare of floodlights, and the stream of traffic had stopped. New York was in the hands of the OEM and the army. Choppers were taking off and touching down all over the city and the harbour was closed. The only boats on the East River were military vessels.

They were powerless to help. The death toll kept rising, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. The OEM had published reams of regulations and recommendations, but the steady stream of warnings and drills had been in vain. Every household had been instructed to keep a canister of drinking water at the ready, in case of an emergency, but no-one was prepared. In any case, a safe supply of drinking water couldn't protect people against the toxins rising from drains or wafting up from washbasins, toilets and dishwashers. All Peak could do was herd those who were still in good health out of the danger zone and quarantine them in vast camps. New York's schools, churches and other public buildings now served as hospitals, and the belt of land surrounding the city was an enormous jailhouse.

He looked to the right. The fire was still blazing in the tunnel. The
driver of a military tanker had failed to follow the protocol for securing his gas mask, and had lost consciousness at the wheel. He'd been part of a convoy. The accident had set off a chain reaction: dozens of vehicles had burst into flames. Right now the temperature down there was equivalent to the heat inside a volcano.

Peak berated himself for not having prevented the accident. It was obvious that the danger of contamination would be many times higher inside a tunnel than on the streets, where the toxins could disperse. But how could he be everywhere at once?

If there was anything Peak hated, it was the feeling of powerlessness.

And now it was Washington's turn.

‘We can't handle it,' he'd told Li on the phone.

‘We have to.'

They crossed the Hudson River and made for Hackensack airport, where a military chopper was waiting to take Peak to Vancouver. They left the lights of Manhattan behind them. Peak thought of the scientists' meeting scheduled for the following day. Would they make any headway? He wished they could at least find a drug that would put an end to the horror in New York, but something told him not to get his hopes up.

Peak leaned back and closed his eyes.

Chateau Whistler, Canada

Li was pleased with herself. In view of the impending Armageddon, it would have been more appropriate to feel anguished or shocked, but the day had been a resounding success. Vanderbilt had been forced on to the defensive, and the President had listened to her advice. After countless telephone calls she now knew all the latest on the apocalypse, and was waiting impatiently to talk to the defense secretary. The sonar offensive would be starting the next day, and she wanted to discuss the deployment of boats. The defense secretary was caught up in a meeting, and wouldn't be able to talk for another few minutes.

It was approaching two o'clock in the morning when she sat down at the piano to play some Schubert. The telephone rang. She jumped up to answer it. She'd been expecting the Pentagon, so she was thrown by the voice on the line. ‘Dr Johanson! What can I do for you?'

‘Have you got a moment?'

‘Now?'

‘I'd like to speak to you in private.'

‘I'm afraid I'm busy. How about in an hour? I need to make some calls.'

‘Aren't you curious?'

‘Curious?'

‘You said you thought I had a theory.'

‘Come up to my suite.'

With a smile she replaced the receiver. It was exactly as she had expected. Johanson wasn't the type to use every last second of a deadline, and he was too well mannered to go back on his word. He had wanted to be the one to decide when he told her, and he'd chosen the middle of the night.

She called the Pentagon switchboard. ‘Postpone my teleconference with the defense secretary by half an hour.' She changed her mind. ‘Make that an hour.'

Johanson was bound to have plenty to say.

Vancouver Island

Anawak didn't have much of an appetite after Greywolf's explanations, but Shoemaker had excelled himself. He'd fried some steaks and concocted an impressive salad, topped with croutons and nuts. They ate on the veranda. Delaware was careful not to mention her budding relationship, and she was excellent company. She had an inexhaustible supply of jokes, and delivered even the corniest with perfect timing.

The evening was an oasis in a sea of misery.

During the Dark Ages, people had danced and caroused in the streets of Europe while the Black Death raged round them. Although there was no dancing or singing at Shoemaker's, they talked for several hours without a word about tsunamis, whales or killer algae. Shoemaker told anecdotes about the early days at the Station, and they enjoyed the balmy evening. Relaxing on the veranda, they gazed out over the dark waters of the bay.

Anawak left at two in the morning, but Delaware stayed behind. She and Shoemaker were deep in conversation about old movies and had just cracked open another bottle of wine. They were descending into
tipsiness, so Anawak made his way through the night air to the station. He switched on the computer and went online.

Within minutes his search for Professor Kurzweil was rewarded.

As dawn broke, a picture began to emerge

Chateau Whistler, Canada

Maybe, thought Johanson, this will be the turning-point. Or maybe they'll think I'm a crazy old fool.

He was standing on the little dais to the left of the screen. The projector was switched off. There'd been a few minutes' delay as they waited for Anawak, who'd stayed the night in Tofino, but now the delegates were assembled. The front row was occupied by Peak, Vanderbilt and Li. Peak had returned overnight from New York, and looked as though he'd left most of his energy there.

Addressing an audience was second nature to Johanson. He was used to lecturing students and speaking at conferences, occasionally adding his own insights and hypotheses to the standard set of facts. But for the most part standing at a lectern was the easiest thing in the world: you merely imparted the fruits of other people's research, and answered questions at the end.

Yet this morning he was experiencing the unfamiliar sensation of self-doubt. How on earth could he put across his theory without his audience laughing in his face? Li had conceded that he might be right, so he'd stayed up most of the night, drafting and redrafting his speech. Johanson had no illusions. He was only going to get one shot at this: either he won them over with a surprise attack, or they decided he was nuts.

He glanced at the top page of his print-out. He'd written a detailed introduction. Now, after three hours' sleep, it suddenly struck him as impenetrably complicated. He'd been satisfied with it in the early hours of the morning, when he was almost too exhausted to think, but now…

He laid aside his notes, and felt relieved of a burden. His self-assurance returned to him like a cavalry ready for battle, flags flying and trumpets blaring. He took a step forward and, once he was sure he
had his audience's attention, he said, ‘It's very simple, really. Dealing with the implications will be tricky, but the basic principle is logical and straightforward. We're not dealing with a series of natural disasters. And we're not doing battle with any terrorist organisation or rogue state. Not even evolution is to blame.' He paused. ‘No. What we're experiencing is the fabled war of the worlds - a war between two worlds that we've always thought of as one because they're bound together. All this time we've been gazing upwards in anticipation of an alien species arriving from space, when intelligent life-forms have been with us all along, inhabiting part of the planet that we've never seriously attempted to explore. Two radically different systems of intelligent life coexist on the Earth, and they've done so peacefully until now. While one has been observing the development of the other since time immemorial, the other has no concept of the complexity of the underwater world - or, if you like, the alien universe sharing our globe. Outer space is on Earth, in the oceans. We've found our extra-terrestrials, and they don't come from faraway galaxies. They evolved at the bottom of the sea. Life in the water existed long before the first organisms appeared on land, and this species is likely to be far, far older than humanity. I can't tell you what these creatures look like, or how they live, think or communicate. But we're going to have to get used to the notion that we're not the only smart species on this planet. For decades we've been systematically destroying the habitat of another intelligent race - and now, ladies and gentlemen, these creatures seem justifiably irate.'

No one spoke.

Vanderbilt's heavy jowls began to tremble and his entire body shook, as though a peal of laughter was mounting inside him. His fleshy lips twitched and he opened his mouth.

‘I can see how that might be possible,' said Li.

The deputy director of the CIA looked as though he'd been stabbed in the ribs. His mouth closed. Then he wheezed, ‘You can't be serious.'

‘Oh, yes, I can,' Li said calmly. ‘I didn't say Dr Johanson was right, but we should at least hear him out. He must have some evidence to support his claims.'

‘Thank you, General.' Johanson gave a little bow. ‘I do.'

‘Then please continue. Try to keep your explanation as succinct as possible so that we can start the debate right away.'

Johanson let his eyes rove round the room. Hardly anyone appeared openly dismissive. Most of the faces before him were frozen in surprise. Some looked fascinated, others disbelieving, and a few were impossible to read. Now he had to take the second step. He had to persuade them to assimilate his theory so that they could develop it on their own.

‘Our main problem over the past few days and weeks,' he said, ‘has lain in trying to connect the various phenomena. In fact, there wasn't any obvious connection until a jelly-like substance started to crop up. Sometimes it appeared in small quantities, sometimes in larger amounts, but always with the distinguishing characteristic that it disintegrated rapidly on contact with air. Unfortunately the discovery of the jelly only added to the mystery, given its presence in crustaceans, mussels
and
whales - three types of organism that could hardly be more different. Of course, it might have been some kind of fungus, a jellified version of rabies, an infectious disease like BSE or swine fever. But, if so, why would ships be disappearing or crabs transporting killer algae? There was no sign of the jelly on the worms that infested the slope. They were carrying a different kind of cargo - bacteria that break down hydrates and cause methane gas to rise. Hence the landslide and the tsunami. And what about the mutated species that have been emerging all over the world? Even fish have been behaving oddly. None of it adds up. In that respect, Jack Vanderbilt was right to discern an intelligent mind behind the chaos. But he overestimated our ability - no scientist knows anything like enough about marine ecology to be capable of manipulating it to that extent. People are fond of saying that we know more about space than we do about the oceans. It's perfectly true, but there's a simple reason why: we can't see or move as well in the water as we can in outer space. The Hubble telescope peers effortlessly into different galaxies, but the world's strongest floodlight only illuminates a dozen square metres of seabed. An astronaut in a spacesuit can move with almost total freedom, but even the most sophisticated divesuit won't stop you being crushed to death beyond a certain depth. AUVs and ROVs are only operational if the conditions are right. We don't have the physical constitution or the technology to deposit billions of worms on underwater hydrates, let alone the requisite knowledge to engineer them for a habitat that we barely understand. Besides, there are all the other phenomena: deep-sea cables being destroyed at the
bottom of the ocean by forces other than the underwater slide; plagues of jellyfish and mussels rising from the abyssal plains. The simplest explanation would be to see these developments as part of a plan, but such a plan could only be the work of a species that knows the ocean as intimately as we do the land - a species that lives in the depths and plays the dominant role in that particular universe.'

‘Have I understood you correctly?' Rubin asked excitedly. ‘You're claiming that we share this planet with another intelligent race?'

‘Yes.'

‘If that's so,' said Peak, ‘why haven't we heard of or seen them before?'

‘Because they don't exist,' Vanderbilt muttered testily.

‘Wrong,' said Johanson vigorously. ‘I can think of at least three good reasons why we've never come across them. First, there's the phenomenon of the invisible fish.'

‘The
what?
'

‘Most deep-sea creatures can't
see
any better than we can, but they've refined their other senses. Their bodies respond to the slightest change in pressure. Sound waves are detected over hundreds, if not thousands of kilometres. No submersible could ever get in viewing range without attracting their attention. In theory, millions of fish could be living in a particular region but if they stuck to the shadows, we'd never find out. If that's true of ordinary fish, how are we supposed to spot intelligent beings? If they don't want us to see them,
they won't let us!
Second, we have no idea what these creatures might look like. So far, we've filmed a few peculiar phenomena - a blue cloud, flashes that look a bit like lightning, and an odd thing on the Norwegian continental slope. Are those signs of alien intelligence? And what about the jelly? Or the noises that Murray Shankar can't identify? And, finally, the third reason. At one time we were convinced that life was only viable in the upper layers of the ocean, where sunlight penetrates. Now we know that the whole ocean is teeming with life, even at depths of eleven thousand metres. Many organisms don't need to seek out shallower water. In fact, most wouldn't survive the transition - the water temperature would be too high, the pressure too low, and they wouldn't find their usual food. We, on the other hand, are well acquainted with the surface of the water, but only a handful of robots and scientists in bulky submersibles have ever visited the depths. Imagine an alien spaceship lowering cameras to Earth. Each captures
only a few square metres at a time. The first zooms in on the Kalahari desert. The second takes a snap of the Mongolian steppes. A third is lowered over Antarctica, and the fourth hovers over a city and films just a few square metres of grass and a dog peeing up against a tree. What impression would the aliens have? No sign of intelligent life, though primitive life-forms are sporadically present.'

‘They'd have to have some kind of technology to accomplish all this,' said Oliviera.

‘I've been thinking about that,' said Johanson. ‘It strikes me that there's an alternative to technology as we know it. We use materials to create our equipment and tools - houses, vehicles, radios, clothes and so on. But sea water is far more aggressive than air. Only one thing matters in the depths: optimal adaptation. Living organisms are usually fantastically well adapted, so you could imagine a technology based entirely on biology. If we're assuming this race is highly intelligent, then it seems reasonable to suppose that it's also creative and has a detailed knowledge of the biology of marine organisms. I mean, we're doing it too, if you think about it. For thousands of years we've been using other life-forms as part of our inventions. Hannibal crossed the Alps with a herd of living trucks. Horses are a kind of sentient motorbike. We've been training animals throughout the course of history, but now we're able to genetically modify them as well. We're already cloning sheep. What if we take the idea a bit further? What if we imagine a race that has based its culture and technology entirely on biology? They'd simply breed whatever they need, whether for daily life, transport - or warfare.'

‘God help us,' groaned Vanderbilt.

‘Of course, humans use living organisms for warfare too,' continued Johanson, as if he hadn't heard. ‘Scientists are growing strains of Ebola and other viruses, and experimenting with smallpox. For the moment, the conventional method is to cram them into warheads, but it's not the most straightforward way of doing things, and even satellite-guided missiles don't always hit their mark. Dispatching a pack of diseased dogs might be more effective. Or you could use a battalion of birds–or insects, for that matter. Just imagine trying to defend yourself against a swarm of virus-infested flies or an army of infected ants…Or against millions of crabs, transporting killer algae.' He paused. ‘The worms on the continental slopes were genetically engineered. It's not surprising
that we'd never seen them before. They didn't exist. Their sole purpose is to convey bacteria into the ice. They're annelid cruise missiles, if you like - biological weapons developed by a race of beings whose entire culture is based on manipulating organic life. It gives us an explanation for all the various mutations. In some cases, organisms have been modified only slightly, while others are new creations. Take the jelly-like tissue. It's a highly versatile biological product, but it certainly wasn't arrived at via standard evolution. Like the worms, it's there for a purpose - to control other living creatures by invading their neural networks. It's somehow affecting the behaviour of live whales. The crabs and lobsters are a slightly different story. The jelly steers their movements, but they're not actually alive. They're empty shells with incomplete nervous systems - organic spacesuits for the journey on to land.'

‘This jelly,' said Rubin, ‘couldn't a scientist have developed it instead?'

‘Unlikely.' Anawak joined the discussion. ‘Dr Johanson's explanation makes more sense. If this were a human project, what would be the point of attacking via the depths? That's a pretty big detour.'

‘Because killer algae are found in the sea.'

‘Why use killer algae in the first place? Anyone capable of creating a strain of algae more toxic than
Pfiesteria
would surely be able to find some pathogen that doesn't live in water. Why breed crabs if ants, birds or rats would do the job?'

‘Rats can't trigger a tsunami.'

‘That jelly was concocted in a lab,' insisted Vanderbilt. ‘It's a synthetic substance, which—'

‘I don't buy it,' interrupted Anawak. ‘Not even the navy would be capable of that, and from what I've heard, it's pretty darned good at messing with animals.'

Vanderbilt's head was shaking so fast that he looked as if he was having a convulsion.

‘What are you trying to say?'

‘I'm referring to a programme of experiments codenamed MKO.'

‘Never heard of it.'

‘Well, for years now the navy has been experimenting with dolphins and other marine mammals, trying to manipulate their behaviour by putting electrodes in their—'

‘Bullshit.'

‘It didn't work, though, or at least not in the way they'd intended, so now they're using Ray Kurzweil's ideas to—'