Sunday, 31 July 2016

Imminent Baby Writing Challenge Day Eight: "Adaptations"

Sorry I've gone quiet for a few days on this. This story turned out to be nearly three times longer than my average so far, so I couldn't keep to my usual schedule. Fingers crossed for the future!

Today's word was suggested by my father who gave me 'beekeeping', a topic much on his mind at the moment, which then got the random genre 'sci-fi' - although I will admit to straying into sci-fi horror a bit with this one.

 Tomorrow's word is 'tea party' (picked by my wife's sister-in-law) and the random genre is 'suspense' - in my personal experience, these are not two words that often sit together!

If any more of my blog readers want to suggest a word, I'll write you a story too! (as always, the genre will get randomly picked out of a list).

So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you - "Adaptations".




Adaptations

The skeletal building dissolved in front of Ellen's eyes, softening and shifting and sliding back into sand; she made a note on her pad and popped another sweet into her mouth, never taking her eyes off the spectacle. When the building was finally gone, she left the squat grocery shop that served as her hide, picked up her backpack and trotted smartly across the car park to where the strange construction had stood. As she got closer, she could see mounds of sand still shivering uneasily, as if the things inside were rousing themselves from a bad dream.

Ellen knelt and unzipped her backpack. For a woman dressed in primitive hiking clothes, the contents of her worn bag were more impressive. One at a time, she lifted out spherical beacons, each the size of her fist, and switched them on with a recessed toggle on the top. She imagined the data they were each transmitting through the air was audible: a high-pitched, chattering whine, perhaps. They would have to be her eyes and ears: she couldn't stay here, but they could.

She quickly scattered them all over the increasingly turbulent sand, just now beginning to crackle and spark with static electricity. The swarm had reached a decision and it was going to try again. The crackle of their activity, escalating to a roar, chased her back across the car park as she retreated to the supermarket that served as her hide for this study.

Ellen settled back down in the fresh produce section of the supermarket, popped another sweet in her mouth and watched plumes of sand start spraying upwards in huge belches. A new structure tentatively began to rise from the ground, something more developed than the one just fallen. She made a note on her pad and checked that the data from the spherical beacons was reaching her computer. It was. She crunched down on the sweet in her mouth and made another note.

Days passed like this. Eventually, through much trial and error, the swarm decided what they wanted to build: a two-hundred-metre high helical cone, tapering to a structure at the pinnacle that was too indistinct to see from the ground. All in all, it was a job well done, Ellen decided, once they got it stable.

She was less pleased with her expedition partner, Gerek. He was late and he had the sweets: chewing on her pen lid wasn't cutting it. Also, the static discharges from the swarm were screwing with her computer and she needed Gerek to repair it. First though, the delicious jewels of sugar.

When he came through the door, she carried on with her observations, ignoring him utterly to show her irritation.

“Hello,” he said. “I got distracted.”

“You were supposed to be setting up an automated monitoring station around that Swarm near the harbour,” she said. “Did you manage that before you 'got distracted'? More importantly: where are my sweets?”

Gerek settled into one of the camp chairs, opened his backpack and, after a minute of exploratory rooting, threw a bag of sweets in front of her as a peace offering. Finally, Ellen turned away from the spire and forgave him.

“Yes,” he said as she sat down. “ I completed my task well. I did. The harbour swarm's bigger than this one and highly aggressive: a different and more successful species. Best you stay away from them for now. What have you found here?”

Ellen jerked her thumb at a crude analysis table she'd set up on a checkout conveyor belt. From this distance, all Gerek could see were glowing lamps, a forest of pronged metal instruments and several boxes sprouting strange hairstyles of fibre optic cables.

He wandered over to take a look. Under the brightest lamp was a specimen of this smaller swarm: a small, metal cube an inch big. Each edge sprouted sensors and grippers and delicate manipulators and on every face was printed the phrase “EZ-BUILD”. The font was soft and inaccurate, like it'd been copied from an original again and again by someone who had no idea what writing was.

“Evolving?” he asked. “Aggressive?”

“Yes, they're evolving, but slowly. They've not done badly from where they started,” she replied, feeling strangely defensive of her little colony. “Four hundred years to go from non-sentient building blocks to semi-sentient creators isn't bad. No, they're not aggressive. They get agitated when I've gone near a hive under construction, but that's about it. They remind me of honeybees in a lot of ways. What about your swarm near the harbour?”

“They're InstaHome, I think. Very rapid evolving and incredibly aggressive, but they've not built any structures of their own. They've just occupied some of the warehouses along the waterfront. If yours are honeybees, then we'll call mine wasps.”

She nodded and made a note on her pad. Ellen found this whole planet intriguing. Centuries ago, this star's UV output spiked, enough to scour away every spark of life from the surface. Everyone was evacuated on short notice, but the UV spike was milder than predicted; the abandoned planet thrived, especially all automated systems left behind, now loosed from direct control, but no-one wanted this one back except scientific expedition teams. There were better, more modern planets now, ones without creepy clusters of independent robots.

Ellen turned her attention back to the spire, feeling a little proud. Those little robots had gone a long way from assembling cheap houses. She slipped a sweet into her mouth and crunched it, as she always did when she was thinking hard, but her thoughts were interrupted by the flavour.

“Hey, this is a lime sweet!” she said. “You never leave me the lime sweets!”

Gerek shrugged.

“I've given them up.”

Ellen stared at him.

“Every weekly supply drop for the last year, you've stolen the lime sweets. Every single time. I used to dream about getting to one before you. And now...you've given them up?”

Gerek shrugged again, his broad face blank. Ellen wasn't really annoyed by his lateness - it was all part of the game they'd both played throughout their little expedition - but this new passivity was both disturbing and irritating.

“Tell me more about the honeybees,” he said.

Ellen gave him a long look before flipping back through her notes.

“Well, as expected, the fragments of core code I've managed to examine show heavy degradation over time. Those structures they build should be exclusively EZ-Build robots linking together, but they're using other materials now too. Even more exciting, they've cracked self-replication.”

She beamed widely, like a proud parent.

“They can copy themselves?” Gerek said evenly.

“Yeah. Construction minibots shouldn't be able to do that, but these ones can. I haven't decided whether they worked it out through experimentation or whether a code error unlocked something it shouldn't have, but this swarm has grown by almost three per cent in the last week. Did you see anything like that with your wasps?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“Good thing too, if they're as aggressive as you say,” she smiled.

Gerek did not smile back.

“Can we take a look at this corrupted code then?” he asked, nodding stiffly at the robot on the analysis table.

“Ah, there's a story!” Ellen smiled, popping another lime sweet into her mouth. “There's no code inside the minibots any more – I checked. It's all transmitted wirelessly from somewhere inside the hive.”

Gerek leant forwards.

“I think...” she said, pausing for dramatic effect. “That they've built themselves a 'queen': a code repository!”

Her colleague smiled thinly, a nasty expression that she'd never seen before. She looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze. Gerek was usually a happy man, perhaps a bit slipshod when he settled into an expedition, but jovial and convivial to a fault.

“Did something happen out there?” she asked, still avoiding his gaze. “Is there someone else on the planet? Did you have a near-miss with the wasps?”

“Have you seen the queen yourself?” Gerek asked, ignoring her question.

“No, but I've tried. Whenever I got close, they tried to shock me with mild static discharges. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't life-threatening. Why are you being so strange? What's happened?”

It was then that she noticed that Gerek wasn't fidgeting. He always fidgeted when he wasn't out exploring, but now, he sat there precisely and exactly still.

Then she noticed that he wasn't breathing either.

“We thought it would be the impersonal speech that alerted you,” Gerek said, noticing her scrutiny. “It's so difficult to keep everything as it should be.”

“What?” Ellen said, alarmed and backing away.

Gerek's face rippled blockily, opening up geometrically perfect black lines across his skin, his eyes, his mouth. Each line revealed a glimpse of the interior: a black, chaotically twitching space. He stepped towards her and a cube dislodged from his chest body, falling to the floor, like the clatter of a dice. The colour of his clothes, the colour of his skin was only a fraction of a millimetre thick; inside were the erratic grasping of tiny claws and tools searching for their lost comrade. The cube on the floor flipped upright, before scuttling back to his foot on tiny pincers, climbing back up his leg and slotting back into its previously position. Once it was home, the join was seamless, the mimicry near perfect.

“The wasps got Gerek then,” she said, backing further away down an aisle. “You must've been very quick to get him; he was very good.”

Another thin smile from the loosening mass of shifting blocks. No wonder he hadn't moved much. This thing could barely hold together; every step prompted fresh black seams to open in the construction's fa├žade.

“He underestimated us,” the shifting mass said. “He knew that we couldn't build structures for ourselves or self-replicate so he thought us stupid. He underestimated our intelligence and especially our ability to mimic what we sense. He underestimated our hunger.”

Ellen was almost at the door leading to the store room at the back of the shop. The door was centuries old, but it might...

“If you take another step backwards,” the mass said. “We'll deconstruct you. It will be neither neat or quick.”

The block-mass snapped its millions of minuscule pincers shut en masse to make its point crystal clear; she froze instantly.

“If you do not assist, we will dissemble you like we did the man. We want your help,” the shifting mass said, extending an appendage to point at the towering spire. “We want their code.”

***

Ellen stumbled across the car park, concentrating so hard on the mass behind her that she seemed to trip over every pothole. Every time she did, there was an angry crackle of millions of tiny claws snapping at her heels. Every time she heard that, she imagined poor Gerek's fate, though she tried hard not to.

It needed to know the way to the 'queen' because it needed to steal their self-replication code; once they succeeded, they'd replicate uncontrollably and spread and attack. There would be no other new species, no new cultures, no new architecture: everything not wasp would be smashed apart, leaving a world-spanning monotonous grey sea of tumbling blocks.

The hive loomed closer, revealing new details. The honeybee swarm were filling in the gaps between the two spirals of the helix with incredibly intricate geometric patterns, some of them changing colour whenever the wind blew.

It was art, she released, hairs on the backs of her arms standing on. They were independently creating their own art.

“Faster,” the cubes behind her said mechanically, all pretence at a human voice now abandoned.

Ellen complied. What else could she do? Really, the wasps didn't need her at all. Once they were inside the hive, they could easily murder their way through millions of docile EZ-Build minibots until they found the code repository by themselves. Keeping her alive would cut down on the time it took to find the code, that was all.

They were almost at the hive's entrance now: a tide of tiny cubes surged in and out, carrying in resources and returning for more. The human buildings here weren't being torn down like she'd predicted. They were being very delicately harvested: walls were shaved down to a fraction of their former thickness, but remained; copper wires were gently pulled out of conduits, like someone handling an overcooked spaghetti strand and paints were delicately scraped off and collected, but any writing or words were ignored.

Was this intelligent behaviour emerging?

She couldn't let them die.

Ellen turned to face the wasp mass behind her but before she could move, it hit her in the chest with a heavy extension that hit as hard as a tonne of dice. The impact knocked her off her feet and onto her back; she felt something crack.

“How disappointing,” it said, managed a passable sneer. “Weak species, poorly evolved.”

It stomped towards the hive's entrance and all she could do was watch. Her body was only responding with bright red pain; it was a broken machine.

“Don't!” she cried weakly, not really sure who she was talking to. “Don't!”

As the vaguely humanoid shape reached the hive's entrance, there was a bright flash against its face: a small static discharge. The shape slapped a club-like appendage against its cheek and a little EZ honeybee dogged to the ground, smashed beyond repair.

The shape roared with a crude approximation of human laughter and although it was an alien intelligence, Ellen knew what it was thinking. This was it? This was the best defence that could be mustered?

It took another few steps. There was a flash against its head again and two more against its chest. Three more EZ honeybees fell dead, crushed. Another step. More flashes. More and more. An increasing number with every step. More dead. More and more. Piles upon piles. EZ honeybees were pouring out of the hive in a tumbling tidal wave. A surging arc of hundreds hit the wasp cluster in the chest in a barrage of tiny lighting strikes which forced it back a step, but they all fell dead.

Ellen levered herself up on her elbows to watch. Pain flayed her side.

The wasp human was covered in tiny minibots now, each shocking the construction furiously with no regard to their own safety. The pile was sparking with energy. The wasp conglomerate slipped and stumbled on the heaps of dead bees. More struck the crackling mound, building it higher and thicker until the interloper couldn't be seen at all.

The growing mountain pulsed and flashed and surged; spent minibots were snow tumbling down its flanks.

The mountain sagged.

The mountain was still.

The pile of EZ honeybees started to move away, back to their business as if nothing untoward had happened. Little by little, the body emerged as if from a retreating tide.

It looked like Gerek, but vaguely, as if rendered by a clumsy artist in wet clay.

It didn't move.

A small swarm of EZ honeybees crept up on the wasp conglomerate, seized it by the heel and, with the greatest of care, pulled it into the hive. That familiar, yet unfamiliar face slid away into the shadows, inch by inch, as if it was a piece of driftwood being coaxed away by the tide. Behind the fallen aggressor, little EZ honeybees formed a little procession: each held aloft one of their fallen comrades. Everything would be reverently dismantled, studied and used again. Ellen smiled and sank back to the ground again. They would learn and adapt; they would survive; they would create.

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