Майкл Крайтон - The Andromeda Evolution

ISS-KLINE

Not irrelevant if you consider this new evolution. AS-3 has appeared for a reason. There is an alien intelligence behind this. We are facing an unknown enemy who is staging an attack over the gulf of a hundred thousand years and across our solar system and likely the cosmos. This is a war, Nidhi, and you are on the front lines of it. I repeat. Do not approach that anomaly.

GRND-VEDALA

[static] We’ll take your theory under advisement. Over and out.

ISS-KLINE

Run. Disobey orders if you have to. Get out of—

[connection lost]

Incomplete Information

ASTUNNED SILENCE SETTLED OVER THE SCIENTISTS. They stood shoulder to shoulder around the satellite phone as Kline’s final words were cut off. A hot wash of air came from above as the PhantomEye lowered itself through the sun-soaked jungle canopy to rejoin the team.

Vedala was the first to move back into action, and she did so in her typical brusque manner. “Respirators on. Everyone recoat your uniforms and skin with the aerosolized inhibitor solution. Use light bursts to conserve it. Tuck your pants into your boots and wear gloves. We’re not taking any chances we don’t have to.”

Then, after a deep breath, she added, “We’re moving on in five.”

“Listen, lady,” said Brink. “Didn’t you hear what your friend just said—”

“Brink,” interrupted Vedala. “Tell your guides to reapply the inhibitor. Watch them. Make sure they do it properly. I don’t want anybody on our team to end up like these primates. Because we are moving on in five.”

“Who says?” asked Brink, standing to his full height, the snub-nosed battle rifle hanging from his chest like an exclamation point.

“ I do ,” said Vedala, standing toe to toe with the sergeant, a full head shorter and no less intimidating for it. “I am not about to explain my qualifications, but if you have read and comprehended your mission briefing, then you will intimately understand the . . . the goddamn consequences of disobeying me.”

Brink stared down at her, jaw clenched, slowly turning red with anger. Before he could respond, a hand appeared on Vedala’s forearm, gently pulling her back.

“Wait,” said Peng. The rare sound of her calm voice was enough to cause everyone to step out of the moment, turning away from Brink to listen.

“The soldier is right. We need to discuss this. As a group,” said Peng.

“What is there to discuss?” asked Vedala, glaring at Peng with suspicion. “That thing out there represents an existence-level threat to humanity. Out of everyone on the planet, we four are the best prepared to learn more about it, and possibly to stop it from spreading. We knew this was dangerous from the start.”

“This is true,” said Peng. “But if Kline is right, then it could be a suicide mission. The anomaly is the focal point of a virulent new infection. Ground zero. Perhaps we could do more good by studying it from afar. Establish a perimeter, like Kline suggested.”

Vedala snorted, tugging the straps of her backpack tighter and stepping toward Peng. “Kline has put forth a theory . Without evidence, that’s all it is. We are scientists. What we need is understanding. And we aren’t going to get that by staying on the perimeter.”

Peng stared coolly back at Vedala, while Brink watched them both with a wry smile.

“Major Wu is right,” came a deep voice. “Let us stop arguing, stop rushing off, and start thinking .”

Odhiambo cracked his knuckles, taking a deep breath and letting the green-filtered sunlight dance over the gray stubble on his cheeks and chin. The rest of the group waited, their heart rates slowing as they watched the calm man simply breathe.

In his rigorous, methodical way, Odhiambo began to work through the problem. “If what Dr. Kline says is true, and this anomaly is an attack, then the original Andromeda Strain must have been lingering in our atmosphere for thousands of years. And probably for millions. It is an old and patient thing—a trap designed to wait for intelligent life to evolve before springing. Once triggered, the strain evolves to isolate life on the planet’s surface by eating the plastics necessary for spaceflight. Am I correct so far?”

Looking at each other, the group nodded affirmation.

“Well, if this hypothesis is true, then how would the strain know to wait here ? Out of all the places where intelligent life could evolve?”

“It wouldn’t,” said Stone. “A weapon like that only works if the microparticle spreads everywhere life could possibly evolve—all over the galaxy—lingering in the upper atmosphere of any planet or moon with an atmosphere. It’s John Samuel’s Messenger Theory—one of the first ideas put forth by my father to explain the Andromeda Strain.”

“Clarify,” said Vedala.

“The Messenger Theory was proposed as the best, and possibly only, way to communicate with intelligent life across galaxies. Send a self-replicating craft to a neighboring planetary system, have it find raw materials to build copies of itself, and then launch those copies to other systems. The fleet would spread exponentially, covering every planet in the galaxy in only a few thousands of years . . .”

Odhiambo smiled at James Stone and finished his thought. “Indicating an alien intelligence. And thus we have come to our conclusion. We have no evidence that Andromeda has proliferated throughout our solar system. No sample-return mission has ever tested positive for the microparticle, correct?”

In the reconstructed video, acquired from the canary drones as they milled around the small clearing, Nidhi Vedala can be seen watching Peng Wu closely at this moment. Peng’s face is carefully blank, and as Odhiambo finishes his thoughts, she turns to face the jungle.

“Not that I’ve seen,” said Stone.

Peng Wu is seen taking a breath as if to speak . . . but the former taikonaut lets it out without saying anything. Her silence in this moment was surely spurred by conflicting desires—her duty to her team on one hand, versus her duty to maintain the secrets of her homeland on the other. With every word tantamount to a chess move, her decision to take no action here would prove a costly blunder.

And an unnecessary one.

In the grand scheme of things, all human beings are part of the same family, regardless of origin.* The divisions we have built between ourselves along the lines of race and geography are illusions. If our species is ultimately able to see past these biases, it will be our shared genetic stamp of humanness that will outlive the cultural contrivances that distract us in our day-to-day lives.

And yet even in the face of a species-wide threat, loyalty to nationality won out in this moment. Peng Wu said nothing.

“Then I do not see how Kline’s hypothesis could be true,” continued Odhiambo. “If the microparticle exists only in our atmosphere, it must have evolved naturally from a terrestrial source or arrived randomly from the cosmos. If so, the Messenger Theory does not apply, and there can be no malevolent intent. Based on the information we have, we are dealing with a very dangerous specimen, but one that does not have a will of its own.”

There was no disagreement from the scientists, though Sergeant Brink grumbled unhappily and pushed off his tree.

“We have a rendezvous to keep,” confirmed Vedala. “Let’s get on with it. Everyone?”

Standing in the silent jungle, the members of the group regarded one another without speaking—an assured conviction settling over them. It was Brink who broke the silence, the whine of his machete slicing off a branch as he wordlessly turned and forged ahead. The oil-slick gleam of the inhibitor spray lent a surreal shimmer to his brawny arms as he marched away among soaring tree trunks.