Mae started to climb down into the chamber.
“Will you fucking cut it out?” In a corner of the room, David Brooks jumped back from Charley Davenport. Charley was holding a big spray bottle of Windex cleaner. He was testing the squeeze trigger mechanism, and in the process spraying streaks of water on David. It didn’t look accidental. “Give me that damn thing,” David said, snatching the bottle away. “I think it might work,” Charley said blandly. “But we’d need a remote mechanism.” From the first room, Rosie said, “Would this work?” She held up a shiny cylinder, with wires dangling from it. “Isn’t this a solenoid relay?”
“Yes,” David said. “But I doubt it can exert enough force to squeeze this bottle. Has it got a rating? We need something bigger.”
“And don’t forget, you also need a remote controller,” Charley said. “Unless you want to stand there and spray the fucker yourself.”
Mae came up from below, carrying a heavy metal tube. She walked to the sink, and reached for a bottle of straw-colored liquid. She pulled on heavy rubber-coated gloves, and started to mix the isotope into the liquid. A radiation counter over the sink was chattering. Over the headset, Ricky said, “Aren’t you guys forgetting something? Even if you have a remote, how are you going to get the cloud to come to it? Because I don’t think the swarm will just come over and stand there while you hose it down.”
“We’ll find something to attract them,” I said.
“Like what?”
“They were attracted to the rabbit.”
“We don’t have any rabbits.”
Charley said, “You know, Ricky, you are a very negative person.”
“I’m just telling you the facts.”
“Thank you for sharing,” Charley said.
Like Mae, Charley was seeing it, too: Ricky had dragged his feet every step of the way. It was as if Ricky wanted to keep the swarms alive. Which made no sense at all. But that’s how he was behaving.
I would have said something to Charley about Ricky, but over our headsets everybody heard everything. The downside of modern communications: everybody can listen in. “Hey guys?” It was Bobby Lembeck. “How’s it coming?”
“We’re getting there. Why?”
“The wind’s dropping.”
“What is it now?” I said.
“Fifteen knots. Down from eighteen.”
“That’s still strong,” I said. “We’re okay.”
“I know. I’m just telling you.”
From the next room, Rosie said, “What’s thermite?” In her hand she held a plastic tray filled with thumb-sized metal tubes.
“Careful with that,” David said. “It must be left over from construction. I guess they did thermite welding.”
“But what is it?”
“Thermite is aluminum and iron oxide,” David said. “It burns very hot-three thousand degrees-and so bright you can’t look directly at it. And it’ll melt steel for welding.”
“How much of that have we got?” I said to Rosie. “Because we can use it tonight.”
“There’s four boxes back there.” She plucked one tube from the box. “So how do you set ’em off?”
“Be careful, Rosie. That’s a magnesium wrapper. Any decent heat source will ignite it.”
“Even matches?”
“If you want to lose your hand. Better use road flares, something with a fuse.”
“I’ll see,” she said, and she disappeared around the corner.
The radiation counter was still clicking. I turned to the sink. Mae had capped the isotope tube. She was now pouring the straw-colored liquid into a Windex bottle. “Hey, guys?” It was Bobby Lembeck again. “I’m picking up some instability. Wind’s fluctuating at twelve knots.”
“Okay,” I said. “We don’t need to hear every little change, Bobby.”
“I’m seeing some instability, is all.”
“I think we’re okay for the moment, Bobby.”
Mae was going to be another few minutes, in any case. I went over to a computer workstation and turned it on. The screen glowed; there was a menu of options. Aloud, I said, “Ricky, can I put up the swarm code on this monitor?”
“The code?” Ricky said. He sounded alarmed. “What do you want the code for?”
“I want to see what you guys have done.”
“Why?”
“Ricky, for Christ’s sake, can I see it or not?”
“Sure, of course you can. All the code revisions are in the directory slash code. It’s passworded.”
I was typing. I found the directory. But I wasn’t being allowed to enter it. “And the password is?”
“It’s l-a-n-g-t-o-n, all lowercase.”
“Okay.”
I entered the password. I was now in the directory, looking at a list of program modifications, each with file size and date. The document sizes were large, which meant that these were all programs for other aspects of the swarm mechanism. Because the code for the particles themselves would be small-just a few lines, maybe eight, ten kilobytes, no more. “Ricky.”
“Yes, Jack.”
“Where’s the particle code?”
“Isn’t it there?”
“God damn it, Ricky. Stop screwing around.”
“Hey, Jack, I’m not responsible for the archiving-”
“Ricky, these are workfiles, not archives,” I said. “Tell me where.”
A brief pause. “There should be a subdirectory slash C-D-N. It’s kept there.”
I scrolled down. “I see it.”
Within this directory, I found a list of files, all very small. The modification dates started about six weeks ago. There was nothing new from the last two weeks. “Ricky. You haven’t changed the code for two weeks?”
“Yeah, about that.”
I clicked on the most recent document. “You got high-level summaries?” When these guys had worked for me, I always insisted that they write natural language summaries of the program structure. It was faster to review than documentation within the code itself. And they often solved logic problems when they had to write it out briefly. “Should be there,” Ricky said.
On the screen, I saw:
/.Initialize./
For j=1 to L x V do
Sj = 0 /.set initial demand to 0/
End For
For i=l to z do
For j = 1 to L x V do
ij = (state (x,y,z)) /.agent threshold param./
Ø ij = (intent (Cj,Hj)) /.agent intention fill./
Response = 0 /. begin agent response./
Zone = z(i) /. intitial zone unlearned by agent./
Sweep =1 /. activate agent travel./
End For
End For
/.Main./
For kl=1 to RVd do
For tm=1 to nv do
For = i to j do /. tracking surrounds./
Ø ij = (intent (Cj,Hj)) /.agent intention fill./
ij <> (state (x,y,z)) /.agent is in motion./
ikl = (filed (x,y,z)) /.track nearest agents./
I scanned it for a while, looking for how they had changed it. Then I scrolled down into the actual code, to see the implementation. But the important code wasn’t there. The entire set of particle behaviors was marked as an object call to a something titled “compstat-do.”
“Ricky,” I said, “what’s ‘compstat-do’? Where is it?”
“Should be there.”
“It’s not.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s compiled.”
“Well that isn’t going to do me any good, is it?” You couldn’t read compiled code. “Ricky, I want to see that damn module. What is the problem?”
“No problem. I have to look for it, is all.”
“Okay…”
“I’ll do it when you get back.”
I glanced over at Mae. “Have you gone through the code?”
She shook her head. Her expression seemed to say it was never going to happen, that Ricky would make up more excuses and keep putting me off. I didn’t understand why. I was there to advise them on the code, after all. That was my area of expertise. In the next room, Rosie and David were poking through the shelves of supplies, looking for radio relays. They weren’t having any success. Across the room, Charley Davenport farted loudly and cried, “Bingo!”
“Jesus, Charley,” Rosie said.
“You shouldn’t hold things in,” Charley said. “It makes you sick.”
“You make me sick.” Rosie said.
“Oh, sorry.” Charley held up his hand, showing a shiny metal contraption. “Then I guess you don’t want this remote-controlled compression valve.”
“What?” Rosie said, turning.
“Are you kidding?” David said, going over to look.
“And it’s got a pressure rating of ADC twenty pi.”
“That should work fine,” David said.
“If you don’t fuck it up,” Charley said.
They took the valve and went to the sink, where Mae was still pouring, wearing her heavy gloves. She said, “Let me finish…”
“Will I glow in the dark?” Charley said, grinning at her.
“Just your farts,” Rosie said.
“Hey, they already do that. ’Specially when you light ’em.”
“Jesus, Charley.”
“Farts are methane, you know. Burns with a hard blue gemlike flame.” And he laughed.
“I’m glad you appreciate yourself,” Rosie said. “Because nobody else does.”
“Ouch, ouch,” Charley said, clutching his breast. “I die, I die…”
“Don’t get our hopes up.”
My headset crackled. “Hey guys?” It was Bobby Lembeck again. “Wind’s just dropped to six knots.”
I said, “Okay.” I turned to the others. “Let’s finish up, guys.”
David said, “We’re waiting for Mae. Then we’ll fit this valve.”
“Let’s fit it back in the lab,” I said.
“Well, I just want to make sure-”
“Back at the lab,” I said. “Pack it up, guys.”
I went to the window and looked out. The wind was still ruffling the juniper bushes, but there was no longer a layer of sand blowing across the ground.
Ricky came on the headset: “Jack, get your fucking team out of there.”
“We’re doing it now,” I said.
David Brooks said in a formal tone, “Guys, there’s no point in leaving until we have a valve that we know fits this bottle-”
“I think we better go,” Mae said. “Finished or not.”
“What good would that do?” David said.
“Pack up,” I said. “Stop talking and pack it up now.”
Over the headset, Bobby said, “Four knots and falling. Fast.”
“Let’s go, everybody,” I said. I was herding them toward the door.
Then Ricky came on. “No.”
“What?”
“You can’t leave now.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too late. They’re here.”
DAY 6
3:12 P.M.
Everyone went to the window; we banged heads trying to look out in all directions. As far as I could see, the horizon was clear. I saw nothing at all. “Where are they?” I said. “Coming from the south. We have them on the monitors.”
“How many?” Charley said.
“Four.”
“Four!”
“Yeah, four.”
The main building was south of us. There were no windows in the south wall of the shed.
David said, “We don’t see anything. How fast are they coming?”
“Fast.”
“Do we have time to run for it?”
“I don’t think so.”
David frowned. “He doesn’t think so. Jesus.”
And before I could say anything, David had bolted for the far door, opened it, and stepped out into the sunlight. Through the rectangle of the open door we saw him look to the south, shading his eyes with his hand. We all spoke at once:
“David!”
“David, what the fuck are you doing?”
“David, you asshole!”
“I’m trying to see…”
“Get back here!”
“You stupid bastard!”
But Brooks remained where he was, hands over his eyes. “I don’t see anything yet,” he said. “And I don’t hear anything. Listen, I think maybe we can make a run for-uh, no we can’t.” He sprinted back inside, stumbled on the door frame, fell, scrambled to his feet, and slammed the door shut, pulled it tight behind him, tugging on the doorknob. “Where are they?”
“Coming,” he said. “They’re coming.” His voice shook with tension. “Oh Jesus, they’re coming.” He pulled back on the doorknob with both hands, using his whole body weight. He muttered over and over, “Coming… they’re coming…”
“Oh great,” Charley said. “The fucking guy’s cracked.”
I went over to David, and put my hand on his shoulder. He was pulling on the doorknob, breathing in ragged gasps. “David,” I said quietly. “Let’s take it easy now. Let’s take a deep breath.”
“I just-I have to keep-have to keep them-” He was sweating, his whole body tense, his shoulder shaking under my hand. It was pure panic.
“David,” I said. “Let’s take a deep breath, okay?”
“I have to-have to-have-have-have-”
“Big breath, David…” I took one, demonstrating. “That feels better. Come on now. Big breath…”
David was nodding, trying to hear me. He took a short breath. Then resumed his quick gasps.
“That’s good, David, now another one…”
Another breath. His breathing slowed slightly. He stopped shaking.
“Okay, David, that’s good…”
Behind me, Charley said, “I always knew that guy was fucked up. Look at him, talking to him like a fucking baby.”
I glanced back, and shot Charley a look. He just shrugged. “Hey, I’m fucking right.”
Mae said, “It’s not helping, Charley.”
“Fuck helping.”
Rosie said, “Charley, just shut up for a while, okay?”