Diamond Tide

By George Applegate

A floating blanket of self-replicating nanomachines has spread across the Earth’s oceans. As it consumes CO2 from atmosphere and water, it is suffocating marine life, and causing famine and social chaos. This environmental catastrophe will doom mankind unless stopped. The nanomachines' startling complexity has scientists baffled. Identifying its source has investigators stumped. No lab admits error. No terrorist claims credit.

Time is running out. A search is on for a fugitive nanotech engineer suspected of being the terrorist. Scott Eastman, a disgraced DHS analyst eager to redeem himself, schemes to use the suspect’s ex-girlfriend. Eager to become a hero, he must choose between his duty, his honor, and his growing suspicion that the prime suspect is innocent, yet may still hold the key to ending the plague. There is no room for error.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clay Tablet Press
• Release date: Oct 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497702219

George Applegate

George Applegate began writing science fiction while an engineering grad student at UCLA. He has since written novels and screenplays, with Diamond Tide being his first published work. His education was in the sciences, starting at Berkeley with a degree in physics. He has worked as a caddy, dish washer, mechanic, can inspector, aerospace engineer, animator, and systems programmer. He believes that science fiction can, and should, be the fiction of ideas. The ideas that most intrigue him arise from the disconnect between the reality of science and the popular understanding of it. He is a recluse in Los Angeles.

Book preview

1 – Rancher

It is error alone which needs the support of government. Truth can stand by itself.

—Thomas Jefferson, Notes on Virginia 1781– Rancher

––––––––

The analyst slowed as he approached the standoff. At a hundred yards, he realized that a woman, likely a rancher, was pinned down behind her pickup, and that the lifeless white and red lump had been her dog. He broke off his pursuit to set the situation right. Although helping her shouldn’t have been his priority—what with his world turning to shit—he had a code. The suspected nano-terrorist he was following, long out of sight, might wait for him in Pie Town, as promised.

He pulled his Unimog off the highway at fifty yards, a safe distance, and fetched his scoped rifle to study the players. Food rationing had made scenarios like this common—a rancher fending off scavengers—and martial law had simplified dealing with them. The woman in bib overalls held a lever-action rifle and crouched behind a pickup truck, that blocked in a U-Haul on a gated side road. Two young toughs with pistols were behind the U-Haul, their backs to the gate, and a lifeless white dog, its fur stained red, lay near them. As he judged it, the punks with the U-Haul were probably livestock poachers from Las Cruces or Albuquerque. He needed to settle this but didn’t fancy himself as judge and jury, nor as executioner with a sniper rifle. He decided to disable the U-Haul, removing any hope the punks had of a successful getaway.

He drew a bead on the U-Haul’s front tire and slowly squeezed off a round. He felt something hard jam into the back of his neck.

Lay the rifle down. Lace your fingers behind your neck, a controlled male voice said.

The analyst complied.

Turn around slowly.

He turned to face a Catron, New Mexico county sheriff behind a pump shotgun. DHS, the analyst said. I have ID.

Slowly.

The analyst carefully retrieved his wallet from the back pocket of his camouflage fatigues and handed it to the sheriff.

After examining it—and the analyst again—the sheriff said, Eastman? He lowered the shotgun and handed the wallet back. He nodded in the direction of the trucks. We’ve got a situation here, Agent Eastman—

Actually, I’m not an agent, just an intelligence analyst.

The sheriff eyed him. Why didn’t you turn around when you heard me pull up behind you?

I didn’t. I’m a bit hard of hearing.

He nodded, understanding. Maggie, the woman behind the pickup phoned me—

A pistol report made both men duck as they heard the bullet impact metal on the Unimog.

I heard that, the analyst said.

Two more shots went wild.

The sheriff continued as the two crouched behind the analyst’s truck, She says it’s a couple of scavengers making off with goats.

What will you do?

He pursed his lips and squinted one eye. Scavengers usually run off after the first shot. These two aren’t taking the hint. He tilted his head toward the analyst’s rifle still up on the hood of his truck. I can’t ask you to use that rifle of yours, but I wouldn’t be disappointed if you did.

Seriously?

He shrugged. Martial law. ‘Looters shot on sight.’

That wouldn’t be to my taste, but help yourself.

Don’t mind if I do. He reached up, retrieved the rifle, examined it briefly, then rose up and sighted through the scope. Too late. They rabbited over the fence, heading northeast.

The analyst stood. Where will that take them?

There isn’t another road for fifty miles in that direction, but if they follow the wash, they’ll hit the Navaho Reservation tomorrow—out of my jurisdiction. I’ll let them know to expect company. He then shouted to the woman, Maggie. They’ve run off. Are you okay?

She waved back and stood up. Fuckers shot my dog, she shouted as she walked in their direction, carrying her rifle in one hand.

Steam was coming from the front of the analyst’s truck and a yellow puddle was forming. The analyst lifted the hood, releasing a cloud. Looks like they tagged my radiator.

You won’t get far like that, the rancher said.

Pie Town? I’m supposed to meet someone there.

Not much left of Pie Town these days, the sheriff said. Definitely no pie. I just came through there and didn’t see anyone. Nearest place to get your radiator fixed is Albuquerque—that’s a good hundred and fifty miles.

Damn. Looking off toward the fleeing scavengers, he asked the sheriff, Aren’t you going after them?

The sheriff chuckled. What, a manhunt for goat thieves? Before the Black Tide, hell yeah. I pick different battles now.

Are you sure they’ll keep running?

They may try their luck at one of the ranches, but ranchers are ready for them. If they do, I’ll get a call they’ve been shot.

Just like that?

The sheriff nodded. I’ll take order over law.

And I thought things were bad in the cities.

Rancher killed a scavenger not more than five miles from here last week.

The two men turned to the woman as she approached. She looked in her forties and well fed, wearing a plaid shirt under her overalls, and her unnaturally red curly hair, under a once white cowboy hat, was tied back.

She nodded to the sheriff. Matt. Thanks for coming so quick.

The sheriff nodded back. Maggie. He cocked his head toward the analyst. This is Agent Eastman with the DHS.

Scott, the analyst said. Sorry about your dog.

She looked back at the dog’s body. When I drove up they were jimmying the gate. Corny ran ahead. If they’d seen me first, I might be lying there now. Thanks for stopping to help, Scott. She turned to look under Scott’s hood. Too bad about your truck. Can your people come get you?

He shook his head. I’m not on the job right now. This is my personal truck. Sounds like I’m going to have to get the radiator into Albuquerque, somehow.

My place is only a couple miles, just past Pie Town. Get you a stick the size of the bullet hole, a couple turns of duct tape, jam it in there, take the cap off, and it should hold water to my place.

Scott raised an eyebrow in admiration. I’ll take you up on that.

***

As the steaming Unimog followed Maggie’s pickup truck through Pie Town, Scott slowed and scanned for the white Excursion that should have been waiting for him. He saw nothing.

At the ranch, she directed him to pull his truck into the barn. It hissed and bubbled enthusiastically as he raised the hood.

Leaning on the long cluttered workbench, she said, It’ll take an hour or two to cool enough to work on. By then it’ll be dark. Come inside and we’ll have something to eat.

I’ll get some food out of my truck, he said.

No need. Come on. She led him out of the barn, still holding her rifle, and locked the barn doors behind them.

Really? I don’t want to take your rations.

She smirked. Rations? I thought all you city people figured ranchers and farmers kept most of the food for themselves.

He shrugged. No business of mine.

Well, not most of it, but enough. She gestured toward the house’s back door. Lead on MacDuff.

The filthy windows on the modest stucco house were barred and the shades were drawn. In addition to the barn there were several small buildings, all padlocked. A ranch hand was carrying off the body of Maggie’s dog and another was hosing blood out the bed of her pickup truck.

After Maggie unlocked the two deadbolts, she sat him down at the long wooden kitchen table while she washed her hands, leaning her rifle against the counter. The bars cast stark shadows on the window shades.

The table was empty, but for a pile of papers and a laptop, but the rest of the long kitchen was cluttered with ranch paraphernalia. Other than the table and one countertop, between sink and stove, there were few unoccupied horizontal surfaces. Most wall space was taken with cabinets, shelves, and gear hung on hooks. Boxes of ammunition were stacked on top of the gun case.

She turned to study him. I got a call from Matt while we were driving here.

He waited for her to finish, dreading what she would say.

It seems you’re famous today; all over the news.

He tensed and sat up straight. Didn’t know that, which was true. What do they say?

She shook her head instead of answering. Coffee?

Thanks.

As she poured two mugs, she said, Seems you’re not on good terms with the DHS anymore.

Oh?

You’re wanted for aiding and abetting a fugitive—Peter Toller.

What did they say about Toller?

The same. Black Tide terrorist. Is it true you were helping him?

He drew a long breath. Technically, I suppose it is. But abetting isn’t accurate. Being used by, is closer. What’s the sheriff going to do?

Relax. She handed a cup to him and sat down herself. He’ll talk to you before deciding. He has more autonomy now than you might think. He’ll be here in half an hour or so. He says you were expecting to meet someone in Pie Town. Would that be Toller?

It would. But it looks like he bolted. He looked puzzled. Why are you helping me?

Am I? She smiled for the first time since they arrived at the ranch. If I am, I guess it’s because I owe you. You went out on a limb for me with those scavengers. For a stranger. No one does that anymore.

Apparently you do.

You seem righteous to me, but abetting Toller is a pretty serious charge. Is there more to that story?

He nodded. There is.

She stood. Start from the beginning. Bacon and eggs?

He nodded enthusiastically. Yes please. I haven’t had real bacon or eggs in a long time.

She got up, took a slab of pork from the refrigerator, and began slicing off strips.

I’m not sure myself what the story is, he began. Until today, I was sort of Toller’s go-between with a government Black Tide project at White Sands. There was a possibility it might end the Tide. Most of the White Sands people knew nothing about Toller’s involvement and thought my friend Kate and I were the brains. This afternoon was supposed to be the payoff; a demo for the Air Force.

Matt didn’t say anything about a government project. Sounds fishy that Toller would be helping them stop the Black Tide, given they say he started it.

He’s only a suspect.

How were you, of all people, mixed up with him? I mean, they said you were once a Navy officer. Oceanographer. Then DHS. Decorated? Is that true?

He nodded.

The DHS says you went to the other side.

Not as intriguing as that. I was just one of many people tracking him down. I got lucky. Maybe I got too personally involved. Toller may be an asshole, but I don’t think he’s the nano-terrorist some say he is.

She looked at the clock. You’ve got about twenty minutes to convince me.

2 – The Gulf

3 ½ Years Earlier

Kate McDonagh heard the Gatsby’s engines wind down; she could already smell the foul air. She closed her laptop and went out on deck.

The research dredge had stopped to sample the Black Tide bloom, some forty kilometers from the Mississippi shore. It was her first trip out since its sighting, four days earlier. She involuntarily took in a breath when she saw it. Beneath the steel gray sky, the rolling sea was black velvet to the horizons. She hadn’t expected it to be so otherworldly.

She stood by the skipper at the rail. How can it be that black? she asked in her Irish accent. It’s as if it’s floating.

It is, partly, the skipper said. The surface is thick with them. They soak up the light real good. He reached over the side with a pole to stir the water. The sun glinted briefly where the black carpet was disturbed.

It... It’s creepy, she said.

What depth do you want to sample? We’re in fifty fathoms.

Anything on sonar?

Nope. Haven’t seen any fish for the past few miles.

Then I want some benthic.

I don’t think you’ll see much change on the bottom yet. This area was clear just two days ago.

Well that’s what I need.

Aye, aye.

***

WBQP, Pensacola, Florida: Oceanographers at GCRL studying the West Florida Shelf have recently discovered a new rapidly growing dead zone, where most marine life is dying. It covers hundreds of square miles and could impact Florida fisheries if it persists. Unlike oxygen depleted dead zones, commonly seen, this region is rich in oxygen. Dead zones are usually the result of overgrowth by common algae. In this case, the common algae species are nearly absent and an extremely rare species has taken hold.

Kate’s team at the Gulf Coast Research Laboratory had failed to identify the organism and decided it must be a species never seen previously. What they had learned was that these diatoms grew in great numbers, in the sunlit zone, and had the novel property of being indigestible. They crowded out the normal phytoplankton that formed the base of the food chain.

NBC Nightly News: Scientists have discovered a new species of black diatom, which is dominating the surface waters off the west coast of Florida. The organism has so far defied attempts to classify it. Its black skeletons are not made of silicate crystals, like other diatoms, but are made of carbon crystals. They are calling it the Black Tide.

CNN: An eighth Black Tide dead zone has been reported in Lake Baikal in Russia, adding to those found last week in the North Pacific and the Indian Ocean. Lake Baikal is a freshwater lake, yet it appears that the same species is responsible. Few organisms can exist in both fresh and seawater. The Black Tide organisms are apparently inedible to most marine animals, and are replacing the natural phytoplankton whose numbers are plummeting.

BBC: The Black Tide, as it has come to be known, is now believed to have appeared in at least eleven locations throughout the world at almost exactly the same time. It is moving from the Gulf of Mexico toward the North Atlantic, carried by the Gulf Stream. It could be here within weeks. In some areas, the organisms are apparently being carried by birds or sea spray to inland waters.

***

Kate fidgeted with her long dark hair as she paced, while the electron microscope tech muttered to himself.

What are you seeing? she asked for the third time, and for the third time got no answer. Is that thing even on?

He finally looked up. These aren’t diatoms, he said, impatient.

I know that. Why do you think I brought them to you? We already know they aren’t phytoplankton. What are they?

They aren’t metal.

What else aren’t they? she said, not concealing her sarcasm.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were elaborate crystals of some salt or mineral. That’s what they look like.

Why do you know better?

These are the Black Tide organisms, right?

So?

So they’re nano.

They’re what?

Nano.

She squinted at him. What is nano?

Nano machines. Don’t you listen to the news?

REUTERS: In a major announcement, earlier today, during the White House Press Briefing, it was confirmed that the microscopic gray particles that make up the Black Tide are not a new species of diatom after all, but machines. Biologists have been baffled for weeks in their efforts to understand the organism. Nanotechnology researchers in America and abroad are now convinced that the organisms are manmade. In a press release from the Center for Integrated NanoTechnologies in Los Alamos, New Mexico, researchers there say it took time to reach this conclusion because the machines are not made of traditional nanotechnology materials such as silicon or metals. They, at first, appeared to be organic because they are built from only carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen—the building blocks of life. The technology for using such basic materials to build nanomachines was thought to be in its infancy. Together with the fact that these machines can reproduce, means we are seeing a tremendous leap in nanotechnology, decades beyond what was thought possible.

The White House press secretary went on to say that the president’s Council of Advisors on Science and Technology has concluded that these machines are likely the result of a nanotechnology research and development project gone wrong. They theorize that the intent was to produce machines that would sequester atmospheric carbon by converting carbon dioxide, the manmade greenhouse pollutant, into solid carbon. Rising levels of carbon dioxide are responsible for the global warming that has concerned climate scientists for decades.

The president has issued an executive order putting an immediate moratorium on all nanotechnology research and development at government supported laboratories, and has encouraged private labs to do likewise.

During questioning following the briefing, the press secretary was asked whether any regulatory safeguards for nanotechnology research were currently in place, to which he replied, Not to my knowledge. When a follow-up question asked what actions were being taken to identify the source of these machines, he responded that, The president will appoint a commission to both investigate this incident and to make recommendations for a regulatory framework going forward.

3 – Diamond Tide

Kate dropped into the only chair in the sysadmin’s office that was not piled with computer parts. It looked more like a storeroom than an office, except several monitors on the shelves were lit, and the room hummed with fans.

Ruby didn’t look up from her keyboard. We’re getting hammered.

Kate pawed through her hair, looking for grays. We got hammered last night.

No. I mean the GCRL site. Search engine referrals. Noobs looking for Black Tide stuff.

You’re meant to be doing our Black Tide wiki. How is that coming?

I’ve finished most of it. The wiki structure is easy; the data is hard. I have the concentrator scripts running, scraping data from NASA, NWS, and NOAA. I’ve also got the feeds working for the academic sites and blogs. The database is enormous now. You’ve tried the search?

Yeah.

Really? You learned SQL?

I said I would. But I’m not finding it very useful. What I’m looking for is embedded in the text.

So you need to learn semantic searches.

Kate rolled her eyes. Another language? You do know I’m a scientist, not a programmer.

And I’ve been willing to overlook that. Quit bellyaching. You’re almost there.

It’s lovely having it all in one place, but it’s just too much—drinking from a fire hose. We need the wiki.

The wiki framework is running. I’ll roll it out once it’s populated.

When will that be?

Ruby stopped typing to look at Kate. You tell me. I’m not populating it—I’m not a scientist. Somebody with the right background has to do the grunt work. Maybe you?

Me? I just told you it’s too much to assimilate. That’s why we need the wiki. Can’t it be automatic?

Yeah, you’re right. I could use... like... magic?

Yeah, could you? That would be great, she said, without hinting at sarcasm.

Ruby turned her attention back to the computer.

At least the search is working, Kate said. Maybe I can get some grad students to work on it.

To reduce the load on GCRL, I need to give it a separate internet domain. I’ll put you down as the owner. What domain name should I use?

I’ll think on it.

Focused on her computer, Ruby’s fingers moved spasmodically between keyboard and mouse.

After a while, Kate gave up on her hair. You should start stockpiling food.

What? Ruby said, turning her head in Kate’s direction but not taking her eyes of her work.

Nobody’s saying it yet, but the Black Tide is going to play hell with the atmosphere. It may take years, but eventually it will affect crops.

Ruby gave Kate her full attention. Seriously? Food?

While you still can.

Kate named the site diamondtide.org. The crystal structure of the carbon that made up the diatoms’ shells was isometric, making it the hardest form of carbon, also known as diamond.

4 – Summit

Eight months after the Black Tide appeared, the first Intergovernmental Black Tide Summit was convened in Tokyo. Political delegates and scientists converged to discuss what was known about the Black Tide and to develop strategies going forward. It was there that the Black Tide took on new urgency when computer models gave evidence that climate would be severely affected. Evidence from many sources indicated that The Tide was reducing atmospheric carbon dioxide, and thus reducing the greenhouse effect. This was a natural consequence of the fact that the nanomachines were indigestible, and thus took carbon from the atmosphere and water to produce diamond silt that settled at the bottom of the oceans in a thin layer. The resulting cooling, however, would be more than offset by the increased absorption of light by the Black Tide. Drastic warming was predicted.

There seemed no limit to diatom proliferation, and the velvety black devices coated bodies of salt and fresh water around the world. Estimates were that they would reach their maximum extent in less than two years.

Intergovernmental Black Tide Summit - Tokyo - Summary for Policy Makers

Section 4.B: Near-Term Biosphere Consequence of Reductions in Atmospheric Carbon Dioxide.

This assessment of the impact of atmospheric carbon projections is the result of a large number of simulations, available from a broad range of atmosphere/biosphere/hydrosphere models. Taken together with additional information from observations, these provide a quantitative basis for estimating likelihoods of future atmospheric carbon dioxide levels and their impact. The model simulations cover a range of possible futures...

Atmospheric/biosphere/hydrosphere carbon coupling is expected to buffer carbon dioxide loss from the atmosphere near-term (years) even as Black Tide progresses, but the magnitude of this coupling is uncertain...

The climatic affect of this loss—on the order of one watt per square meter—will be countered by an increase in ocean heat absorption, on the order of several watts per square meter.

Scenario C1: This scenario describes a world where the Black Tide remains unchecked and mitigation is either absent or ineffective. While there is large variability among the climate and biosphere models, in terms of the temporal and geographic distribution of consequences, all models predict both a substantial atmospheric and ocean temperature rise, and a contraction and eventual biosphere collapse at the atmosphere/lithosphere/hydrosphere interface. Only heat-tolerant extremophile biomes, dependent solely on geothermal and chemical processes (surface, deep ocean, subterranean), are likely to survive. Mammalian surface life would no longer exist.

5

–CINT

Peter Toller walked toward the Biomaterials Division front desk—an angular sculpture of polished metal and blond wood—where Elena Luty, that division’s decorative but efficient receptionist, sat. Peter was a senior scientist in the Mechanical Design Division of the Center for Integrated NanoTechnologies in Albuquerque, where he had worked for the past four years.

She smiled, seeing him approach. Notice anything? she asked, tilting her head and batting her eyes.

He leaned against the counter and studied her. You got some sun?

She frowned. Hair. It’s a different color.

He nodded. Oh. Right. He was careful never to flatter her appearance as other men did. I’m going away for a while.

Where?

Peter enjoyed Elena’s husky Russian voice. I have a summer place.

You never told me about that. Where is it?

He shrugged dismissively. Mountains. He handed her a worn paperback. I brought another book for you. On the cover was a drawing of a tiger and a boy in a small boat. This book is fiction but it’s not really about its plot. Tell me what you think the island means. Peter strategically flattered her intellect. Like many other administrative people at CINT, she held a degree that was little used—hers was in mechanical engineering.

I still haven’t finished the last one, she said, apologetic. It’s good though. I can’t believe they killed those poor sled dogs.

Over the past months, he had frequently wandered over to Biomaterials to flirt with her, treating her as his intellectual equal. He gave her books to read and asked her opinions. When she didn’t understand something, he would congratulate her curiosity. When she said something stupid, he would spin it as a clever insight. She seemed flattered that a senior scientist would take such a tasteful approach to getting into her pants. Keep at it. I found that account fascinating and I was hoping to see what you took away from it. She grinned, seeming embarrassed at the complement, as he had hoped.

Have you been interviewed yet? she asked.

He glanced around to see if anyone was listening. Not going to be.

Well, you can’t leave until the FBI has talked to you, right? Don’t all the scientists have to be interviewed?

Fuck ‘em. They’re idiots.

She giggled. Good luck with that.

No. Seriously. They aren’t asking for advice on what to do about The Tide. They think anyone with a PhD is a suspect. You heard what happened in Livermore. I’m not waiting around to be thrown into an internment camp.

Cascade Springs isn’t an internment camp! On the news they said it’s a brain trust.

You might find brains there, but you won’t find trust.

Don’t you think you’re being paranoid?

I don’t.

They say the best minds in the country will be collaborating under one roof—like the Manhattan Project.

You believe that?

They’re the smart people, like you. They’ll know the right answers.

But will they know the right questions?

She shrugged.

It’ll be a joke. Trust me.

***

Three of the workstations in Peter’s office were dedicated to CAD and remote fabrication systems, while the other two were for his office use. He removed the cover from one of the office machines, removed its drive, and replaced it with a similar drive from his laptop case. He buttoned the computer up and stuffed the old drive into his case. He knew he would have no trouble taking it since, unlike the National Laboratory facilities in Los Alamos, the Center for Integrated Nano Technology facility in Albuquerque was under light security.

He took out his phone and texted a message to Elena: I won’t be at this number anymore. I will contact you in time. He turned the phone off and laid it on the desk. He stood for a moment, looked around the office to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, and turned off the light.

In the parking lot, his white Excursion was packed so tightly he couldn’t see out the rear window. Even the passenger seat was crammed with boxes and bags. He drove out of the CINT parking lot and headed north for Colorado.

6 – Scott

NBC: After months of fruitless Black Tide investigation, the FBI announced today that it has a lead. Peter Toller, a nanotechnology scientist at CINT, the Center for Integrative Nano Technologies, a part of Los Alamos National Laboratories in New Mexico, is now suspected of playing a role in the development of the Black Tide nanomachines. He is said to have fled on Thursday to avoid questioning by FBI agents in Albuquerque, taking with him important data belonging to the lab. A manhunt has been launched in the central New Mexico mountains, where he is believed to be at large.

The FBI spokesman described the Toller connection as a major breakthrough, saying that the apprehension of Toller and the recovery of the stolen data may be the key to understanding how and why the Black Tide was developed. They say that Toller was not involved in any authorized carbon sequestration project at the Los Alamos Laboratory. They are also investigating his possible ties to groups that may have secretly sponsored clandestine research into climate mitigation.

A statement issued by CINT expressed shock that their facility may have been used for illicit purposes, and pledged cooperation in the FBI’s investigation.

Despite the assertion that Toller was not working on carbon sequestration, the Associated Press, citing an unnamed source at CINT, reports that Toller was, in fact, working on a project funded by Delphi Oil of Louisiana, whose spokesperson has denied this claim.

We have our environmental affairs chief speaking to us from Miami to discuss these developments.

Good evening, Harold. Should we see a secret effort to develop a carbon-sequestration nano-machine as noble or misguided?

HAROLD: Well, David, I’d be surprised if a small oil company like Delphi would undertake such an ambitious project. I could, however, see an environmental group mounting that kind of effort. It’s easy to see how an idea like this would hatch.

DAVID: Could an environmental group really afford to do this kind of research?

HAROLD: Easily. Environmental groups have amassed hundreds of millions in donations, perhaps even billions, but they’re all dressed up with nowhere to go. What money they do spend goes to lobbying and raising even more money, but this would be a way to do something concrete. But, so far, there is no evidence that they funded this research.

DAVID: How did it come about then?

HAROLD: One theory is that a group of like-minded scientists, working secretly on their own, undertook it using existing labs—right under the noses of their managers. This would cost the scientists nothing and would avoid regulatory oversight; the precise kind that might have prevented what we’re seeing.

DAVID: So, back to my original question: How ethical is this kind of research?

HAROLD: Do the ends ever justify the means? The end we’re seeing is clearly not wanted, but if the outcome had been different—if these machines cleaned up the environment and had not gone out of control—we would be having a very different conversation now. Instead of hiding from the FBI, the developers would be celebrated by the Nobel committee.

***

Scott Eastman arrived at the second floor of his Department of Homeland Security office, in Washington DC, at 0751 hours. The intelligence section where he worked was under the leadership of Cull Pritchard, a retired USMC captain from Alabama, who was larger than life in both presence and reputation. His exploits in leading a Marine combat team in North Africa had ultimately inspired a Hollywood movie. The dramatic relief operation of a besieged American consulate earned him a decoration, and upheld the fine military legacy of his family going back to the Civil War. Most of his DHS workforce, nearly all of whom were ex-military, had fought for the privilege of serving under him.

Among those recruited was Bert Lehman, a good friend of Scott’s from their Navy days and an Annapolis graduate. Pritchard had rejected Scott’s application, likely because he had been a naval intelligence officer. This wasn’t because of any grudge against Naval Intelligence, but because a naval intelligence officer is a restricted line officer, amply qualified for a technical role but not groomed for command in combat. Bert interceded and vouched for Scott’s character, loyalty, and qualifications. In a rare departure, Pritchard reconsidered, and Scott joined the team.

Having left a bland civilian gig with the Monterey Bay Aquarium, he was eager to get back in service. He returned to his military grooming and kept his office shipshape—a clean desk with any paperwork currently in play laid out in neat cascades. The only decoration on his desk was a picture of his parents, taken two decades earlier when he was twenty-three and they were still alive. Instead of the typical motivational poster hanging on his wall, he had a framed, signed picture of the vaudeville magician who had mentored teenaged Scott in prestidigitation.

Pritchard approved that his men (some of who were women) called him Captain. As of late, the section had been caught up in the Black Tide investigation, as had all branches of intelligence. That day at 0910, Pritchard held a staff meeting.

Good morning gentlemen, and ladies, Pritchard began. "For some time now, we have concentrated our efforts on finding a possible secret Black Tide nanotechnology operation, without success. As of