The Andromeda Evolution

by Michael Crichton

  On Stone’s command, the swarm of canaries rose higher, their flickering shapes milling about in the lower canopy. From around sixty feet up, the dotted remains of the monkeys took on a clear pattern of two arcs.

  Stone reverse-pinched the screen to zoom out to a larger map, largely blank. Each corpse was marked as a black dot. Drawing with his fingertip, he connected the dots until he had traced an entire rough circle.

  And in the dead center, their destination waited.

  “Dr. Odhiambo is right,” said Stone. “They were fleeing the anomaly.”

  Looking up, Stone was startled to see Vedala leaning beside him, her cheek nearly pressed against his as she peered into the monitor. A low-resolution live video feed in the corner showed the sneering face of a dead monkey. Its lolling tongue was streaked with what looked like gray ash.

  “What the hell is this?” she asked, pointing and looking into Stone’s face.

  Suddenly aware of how close she was to Stone, Vedala backed up, stumbling over a root. Under a layer of dirt and sweat, she was surprised to feel heat rising on her cheeks.

  “There was something in its mouth,” she said, covering her embarrassment. “You should have pointed it out immediately. It’s a disease marker.”

  On her knees in the dirt a few yards away, Peng had finished assembling her portable field science kit.

  “I’ll tell you what it is. But we need a sample,” she said.

  The scientists looked at each other, and even the Matis guides perked up, watching to see who would volunteer.

  “I’ll do it,” said Vedala.

  Reaching into the kit slung on her hip, Vedala retrieved a half-face respirator. She pulled the contoured device down over her mouth and nose. It was dark blue and smooth, with two cylindrical black filters on either side. Slipping on a pair of purple nonlatex exam gloves, she took Peng’s sample kit and tromped away toward the nearest corpse.

  “Wait for me,” said Stone, pulling on his own respirator. “I’m going, too.”

  ENVELOPED IN A cloud of a dozen canary drones, the two figures moved through shadowy layers of undergrowth. The rest of the field team watched silently from afar as the two were engulfed by the jungle.

  The day was already nearly half over.

  Fortunately, the sample retrieval process was brief and proceeded without event. Of more importance is the unknown exchange that occurred between Nidhi Vedala and James Stone while they were momentarily alone.

  Returning from the jungle, Nidhi handed the sample bag to Peng and then turned to the sergeant. Getting directly to the point, she asked Eduardo Brink whether he was aware of any immediate danger to her team. Fixing a steely glare on James Stone, the sergeant crossed his bulky arms and responded that the team was not in any more or less danger than they had been upon their arrival.

  Stone-faced, Brink issued a final bit of advice: “There’s nothing out here I can’t handle. Trust me, I’ve got instructions for every eventuality.”

  These words would turn out to be fateful.

  Meanwhile, Peng Wu had begun to fit the test tubes into a vacuum-sealed portal of her portable laboratory. The contents of each vial were sucked into the compact machine, where they were pulped by a diamond impact hammer, and various specimens were routed to different compartments.

  In this way, Peng was able to run dozens of experiments with her miniaturized and specialized hardware. She also had the benefit of already knowing the findings of the scientists who survived the first Andromeda incident.

  First, she used the mass spectrum analyzer to determine that the gray ash exhibited a chemical signature matching Andromeda (confirming the onboard sensors of the Abutre-rei drone). Even with the added granularity of chromatography, however, she could not determine whether the sample was an exact match to AS-1 or AS-2. Such results would require either comparison to live samples, or more advanced (and nonportable) lab methods such as X-ray crystallography.

  Isolating the positive samples, she nonetheless continued to experiment.

  Next, Peng tried to stimulate growth. Routing samples to environments with varying levels of vacuum, carbon dioxide, and ultraviolet light, she exposed each to a variety of potentially reactive substances, including fabric, epithelial tissue (i.e., skin), and Vedala’s inhibitor substance.

  The samples refused to react in any way, save for two exposures: blood and latex. And in both of those cases, environment did not seem to matter in the least to the voracious microparticle.

  Focusing her final (and rather limited) light microscopy analysis on these two reactions, Peng was perplexed to observe a mix of outcomes. On direct contact with blood, the infected samples caused coagulation at an alarming speed. Similarly, exposure to latex created a dustlike substance. Both patterns had been seen before in AS-1 and AS-2.

  It was what happened afterward that put a dismayed frown on Peng’s face.

  The microparticle seemed to grow visibly larger, self-replicating on exposure. With limited scientific resources in the field, Peng could not observe in any finer detail. Based on the outcome, she assumed her samples had been cross-contaminated and deemed the results largely untrustworthy.

  Only now did Peng have enough information to turn to the group.

  “The gray substance from the tongue has tested positive for Andromeda,” reported Peng. “I can’t confirm exactly which variety. The results are confused and most likely corrupted.”

  “Even so, what did you find?” asked Vedala.

  Peng spoke carefully. “The specimen appeared to coagulate blood on contact, like AS-1. But it also partially dechained polymer-made material, in the manner of AS-2. And . . . it seemed to self-replicate, using the substrate materials as fuel.”

  Nidhi Vedala exhaled. “So at the very least, we know the primates were infected. The question is, by which strain?”

  “Impossible to guess, without a full laboratory analysis,” said Peng.

  Odhiambo spoke up in a steady, rumbling voice. “The trees are unbroken between here and the anomaly. There are no babies among these monkeys. The infants must have been left behind. And primates are capable of brachiating at over thirty miles an hour through dense canopy such as this.”

  “We’re less than twenty miles from the anomaly,” added Vedala, grasping Odhiambo’s point. “At maximum speed, these animals survived a little more than half an hour, postinfection.”

  “That’s consistent with the Piedmont incident,” said Stone. “Some victims there died immediately of blood coagulation, but others . . . they lasted longer. Long enough to record final messages, to wander the streets, and to commit suicide. None survived more than an hour.”

  “Except the baby and the old man,” corrected Nidhi. “They each had an abnormal blood pH that prevented infection.”

  “Right,” said Stone, his voice hollow.

  “We should get these results up to Kline in the Wildfire module,” said Peng. “With living Andromeda samples for comparison, she can tell us which strain we’re dealing with. We need to find a clearing.”

  “Wrong,” replied Brink, looming over the four scientists. He scanned the jungle as he spoke. “We need to keep the team moving. There is a rendezvous to make. Besides, you’ll find no line of sight to the communications satellite out here. And therefore no way to make radio contact.”

  “That’s not exactly true.”

  Brink turned to glare at James Stone, who stood holding a dinner-plate-size drone in his hands.

  “What’s that supposed to be?” asked Brink.

  Stone shrugged, wearing a sheepish grin.

  “She’s my baby, highly customized. I brought her in my personal effects, instead of a change of clothes.”

  Brink snorted in disgust, turning away.

  Moments later, the carbon fiber drone was rising slowly through the canopy, picking its way through a maze of branches and vines. A string of wire filament trailed below it like a fishing line. The buzzing drone soon emerged through a small gap in the upp
er tree canopy, an alien visitor to the sun-soaked roof of the tropical rain forest.

  Vedala dialed a direct line to the International Space Station.

  An instant after the satellite uplink was established, a frantic flurry of invisible data leaped up from the green expanse of trees and into the blackness of the void above.

  A Higher Analysis

  AT THE HEART OF THE INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION, several hundred miles above the Amazon jungle, a humanoid form stood shrouded in shadows, still and silent. As it drifted slightly in the microgravity, the reddish pulse of a status light shone from the sinuous curves of its outer casing. The anodized aluminum was smooth, honed to a perfect golden sheen, but most of all it was clean—indeed, it had never been touched by human hands.

  The experimental Robonaut R3A4 humanoid robot had been constructed inside this room by its predecessor, had never left its sealed environment, and was the sole permanent occupant of the Wildfire Mark IV laboratory module.

  Although untouched by human hands, the Robonaut was often touched by human thoughts.

  One by one, a ring of white lights blinked on inside the cylindrical laboratory module. LEDs on the upper chest of the R3A4 blinked from red to green. And in a subtle, complex symphony of movement and attention, the Robonaut appeared to come alive. The machine glanced down at its own hands, flexing each finger with startling dexterity. It then turned to face a wall of containment cabinets, each housing a separate experiment, stacked together like brightly lit fish tanks.

  Invented and perfected through multiple grant iterations by NASA’s Dexterous Robotics Laboratory at Johnson Space Center, the R3A4 occupied the same form factor as a human astronaut. A one-to-one match with the human body made for easy teleoperation—although the R3A4 was stronger, faster, and had better sensory capabilities than its human operators.

  And this R3A4 was especially unique.

  The Wildfire Robonaut had been tailor-made for Dr. Sophie Kline. The brain-computer interface Kline had used since childhood had been modified to wirelessly transmit her most subtle gestures to the R3A4. Locked inside its permanent home, the machine could carry out her experiments without risk of bacteria, dirt, or any foreign bodies that might compromise the platonically perfect cleanliness of the Wildfire laboratory.

  The R3A4 went to work.

  Twenty yards away in the Destiny laboratory module, Sophie Kline floated beside a remote workstation, wearing a slim pair of virtual reality goggles and instrumented gloves. She could see through the machine’s eyes, feel with its hands, and mentally inhabit the Robonaut with little effort. Over the years, the machine had become an extension of her own body—a hard metal incarnation of herself that Kline secretly relished inhabiting.

  In the Amazon rain forest far below, the Wildfire field team had sent up a barrage of data collected from dead primates. Now, Kline had the eyes of her second skin set to maximum magnification, comparing the incoming data to a live sample of the Andromeda Strain AS-1—a specimen that had been retrieved directly from Piedmont, Arizona.

  The transcript of her communication with the field scientists, monitored by NORTHCOM and confirmed against the audio logs of a salvaged canary drone, was as follows:

  GRND-VEDALA

  Kline. Data transfer is complete. We have limited time. Our drone can only loiter in communication range for a couple minutes.

  ISS-KLINE

  Roger that, Vedala. Preliminary results do confirm a match to Andromeda.

  GRND-VEDALA

  Our results concur. But which strain are we dealing with? Can you compare to the Piedmont samples?

  ISS-KLINE

  Hold on. [fifteen seconds elapse]

  ISS-KLINE

  It . . . this isn’t AS-1 or AS-2. You’ve hit on something new.

  GRND-VEDALA

  [static] Another evolution?

  ISS-KLINE

  Call it AS-3.

  GRND-VEDALA

  Is it dangerous?

  ISS-KLINE

  Affirmative. I advise you abort mission and retreat to the quarantine perimeter. The anomaly is growing out of control. And another unidentified structure is rising from the lake. There is nothing more your team can do, you understand?

  GRND-VEDALA

  We’ve got a lot of dead primates down here, and not a lot of time. What exactly did you find? Will it react to inhibitor?

  ISS-KLINE

  It’s nonreactive to the inhibitor, but the sample exhibits deadly properties of both previous strains.

  GRND-VEDALA

  I assumed as much. We’re continuing.

  ISS-KLINE

  Nidhi, listen. The first Andromeda strain triggered on contact with life. It killed those people in Piedmont and then evolved into AS-2, which eats the plastic necessary for spaceflight. It’s not a coincidence.

  GRND-VEDALA

  So you’re hypothesizing that Andromeda mutated in order to trap our species on Earth’s surface? It’s an interesting theory, but irrelevant.

  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

  A STUNNED 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 sno
rted, 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 . . .”