Prey

 Prey

A novel by Michael Crichton (excerpt)

The camera now showed a ground level view of the dust cloud as it swirled toward us.But as I watched, I realized it wasn't swirling like a dust devil. Instead, the particles were twisting one way, then another, in a kind of sinuous movement.

They were definitely swarming.

“Swarming” was a term for the behavior of certain social insects site. A cloud of bees will fly in one direction and the another, forming a dark river in the air. The swarm might halt and cling to a tree for perhaps an hour, perhaps overnight, before continuing onward. Eventually the bees settled on a new location for their hive, and stopped swarming.

In recent years, programmers had written programs that modeled this insect behavior. Swarm-intelligence algorithm had become an important tool in computer programming. To programmers, a swarm meant a population of computer agents that acted together to solve a problem by distributed intelligence. Swarming became a popular way to organize agents to work together. There were professional organizations and conferences devoted entirely to swarm-intelligence programs. Lately it had become a kind of default solution – if you couldn't code anything more inventive, you made your agents swarm.

Relaxed Pond. Photo by Elena

But as I watched, I could see this cloud was not swarming in any ordinary sense. The sinuous back-and-forth motion seemed to be only part of its movement. There was also a rhythmic expansion and contraction, a pulse, almost like breathing. And intermittently, the cloud seemed to thin out, and rise higher, then to collapse down, and become more squat. These changes occurred continuously, but in a repeating rhythm – or rather a series of superimposed rhythms.

“Shit,” Ricky said. “I don't see the others. And I know it's not alone.” He pressed the radio again.

“Vince? You see any others?”

“No, Ricky.”

“Where are the others?” Guys? Speak to me.”

Radios crackled all over the facility. Bobby Lembeck: “Ricky, it's alone.”

“It can't be alone.”

Mae Chang: “Ricky, nothing else is registering out there.”

“Just one swarm, Ricky.” That was David Brooks.

“It can't be alone!” Ricky was gripping the radio so tightly his fingers were white. He pressed the button. “Vince? Take the PPI up to seven.”

“You sure?”

“Do it.”

“Well, all right, if you really think...”

“Just skip the commentary, and do it!”

Ricky was talking about increasing the positive pressure inside the building to seven pounds per square inch. All clean facilities maintained a positive pressure so that outside dust particles could not enter from any leak; they would be blown outward by the escaping air. But one or two pounds was enough to maintain that. Seven pounds of positive pressure was a lot. It was unnecessary to keep out passive particles.

But of course these particles weren't passive.

Watching the cloud swirl and undulate as it came closer, I saw that parts of it occasionally caught the sunlight in a way that turned it a shimmering, iridescent silver. Then the color faded, and the swarm became black again. That had to be the piezo panels catching the sun. But it clearly demonstrated that the individual microunits were highly mobile, since the entire cloud never turned silver at the same time, but only portions, or bands.

“I thought you said the Pentagon was giving up on you, because you couldn't control this swarm in wind.”

“Right. We couldn't.”