Кто написал книгу prey

Обновлено: 04.05.2024

Within fifty to a hundred years, a new class of organisms is likely to emerge. These organisms will be artificial in the sense that they will originally be designed by humans. However, they will reproduce, and will "evolve" into something other than their original form; they will be "alive" under any reasonable definition of the word. These organisms will evolve in a fundamentally different manner… The pace… will be extremely rapid… The impact on humanity and the biosphere could be enormous, larger than the industrial revolution, nuclear weapons, or environmental pollution. We must take steps now to shape the emergence of artificial organisms… Doyne Farmer and Alletta Belin, 1992 There are many people, including myself, who are quite queasy about the consequences of this technology for the future.

K. Eric Drexler, 1992

Artificial Evolution in the Twenty-first Century The notion that the world around us is continuously evolving is a platitude; we rarely grasp its full implications. We do not ordinarily think, for example, of an epidemic disease changing its character as the epidemic spreads. Nor do we think of evolution in plants and animals as occurring in a matter of days or weeks, though it does. And we do not ordinarily imagine the green world around us as a scene of constant, sophisticated chemical warfare, with plants producing pesticides in response to attack, and insects developing resistance. But that is what happens, too.

If we were to grasp the true nature of nature-if we could comprehend the real meaning of evolution-then we would envision a world in which every living plant, insect, and animal species is changing at every instant, in response to every other living plant, insect, and animal. Whole populations of organisms are rising and falling, shifting and changing. This restless and perpetual change, as inexorable and unstoppable as the waves and tides, implies a world in which all human actions necessarily have uncertain effects. The total system we call the biosphere is so complicated that we cannot know in advance the consequences of anything that we do. That is why even our most enlightened past efforts have had undesirable outcomes-either because we did not understand enough, or because the ever-changing world responded to our actions in unexpected ways. From this standpoint, the history of environmental protection is as discouraging as the history of environmental pollution. Anyone who is willing to argue, for example, that the industrial policy of clear-cutting forests is more damaging than the ecological policy of fire suppression ignores the fact that both policies have been carried out with utter conviction, and both have altered the virgin forest irrevocably. Both provide ample evidence of the obstinate egotism that is a hallmark of human interaction with the environment. The fact that the biosphere responds unpredictably to our actions is not an argument for inaction. It is, however, a powerful argument for caution, and for adopting a tentative attitude toward all we believe, and all we do. Unfortunately, our species has demonstrated a striking lack of caution in the past. It is hard to imagine that we will behave differently in the future. We think we know what we are doing. We have always thought so. We never seem to acknowledge that we have been wrong in the past, and so might be wrong in the future. Instead, each generation writes off earlier errors as the result of bad thinking by less able minds-and then confidently embarks on fresh errors of its own.

We are one of only three species on our planet that can claim to be self-aware, yet self-delusion may be a more significant characteristic of our kind. Sometime in the twenty-first century, our self-deluded recklessness will collide with our growing technological power. One area where this will occur is in the meeting point of nanotechnology, biotechnology, and computer technology. What all three have in common is the ability to release self-replicating entities into the environment.

We have lived for some years with the first of these self-replicating entities, computer viruses. And we are beginning to have some practical experience with the problems of biotechnology. The recent report that modified maize genes now appear in native maize in Mexico-despite laws against it, and efforts to prevent it-is just the start of what we may expect to be a long and difficult journey to control our technology. At the same time, long-standing beliefs about the fundamental safety of biotechnology-views promoted by the great majority of biologists since the 1970s-now appear less secure. The unintended creation of a devastatingly lethal virus by Australian researchers in 2001 has caused many to rethink old assumptions. Clearly we will not be as casual about this technology in the future as we have been in the past. Nanotechnology is the newest of these three technologies, and in some ways the most radical. It is the quest to build man-made machinery of extremely small size, on the order of 100 nanometers, or a hundred billionths of a meter. Such machines would be about 1,000 times smaller than the diameter of a human hair. Pundits predict these tiny machines will provide everything from miniaturized computer components to new cancer treatments to new weapons of war.

As a concept, nanotechnology dates back to a 1959 speech by Richard Feynman called "There's Plenty of Room at the Bottom." Forty years later, the field is still very much in its infancy, despite relentless media hype. Yet practical advances are now being made, and funding has increased dramatically. Major corporations such as IBM, Fujitsu, and Intel are pouring money into research. The U.S. government has spent $1 billion on nanotechnology in the last two years.

Meanwhile, nanotechniques are already being used to make sunscreens, stain-resistant fabrics, and composite materials in cars. Soon they will be used to make computers and storage devices of extremely small size.

And some of the long-anticipated "miracle" products have started to appear as well. In 2002 one company was manufacturing self-cleaning window glass; another made a nanocrystal wound dressing with antibiotic and anti-inflammatory properties. At the moment nanotechnology is primarily a materials technology, but its potential goes far beyond that. For decades there has been speculation about self-reproducing machines. In 1980 a NASA paper discussed several methods by which such machines could be made. Ten years ago, two knowledgeable scientists took the matter seriously:

Within fifty to a hundred years, a new class of organisms is likely to emerge. These organisms will be artificial in the sense that they will originally be designed by humans. However, they will reproduce, and will "evolve" into something other than their original form; they will be "alive" under any reasonable definition of the word… The pace of evolutionary change will be extremely rapid… The impact on humanity and the biosphere could be enormous, larger than the industrial revolution, nuclear weapons, or environmental pollution. We must take steps now to shape the emergence of artificial organisms…

And the chief proponent of nanotechnology, K. Eric Drexler, expressed related concerns:

There are many people, including myself, who are quite queasy about the consequences of this technology for the future. We are talking about changing so many things that the risk of society handling it poorly through lack of preparation is very large.

Even by the most optimistic (or dire) predictions, such organisms are probably decades into our future. We may hope that by the time they emerge, we will have settled upon international controls for self-reproducing technologies. We can expect such controls to be stringently enforced; already we have learned to treat computer virus-makers with a severity unthinkable twenty years ago. We've learned to put hackers in jail. Errant biotechnologists will soon join them.

But of course, it is always possible that we will not establish controls. Or that someone will manage to create artificial, self-reproducing organisms far sooner than anyone expected. If so, it is difficult to anticipate what the consequences might be. That is the subject of the present novel.

Prey — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком

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But the work was exciting, in a cutting-edge field. We wrote what are called distributed parallel processing or agent-based programs. These programs model biological processes by creating virtual agents inside the computer and then letting the agents interact to solve real-world problems. It sounds strange, but it works fine. For example, one of our programs imitated ant foraging-how ants find the shortest path to food-to route traffic through a big telephone network. Other programs mimicked the behavior of termites, swarming bees, and stalking lions. It was fun, and I would probably still be there if I hadn't taken on some additional responsibilities. In my last few months there, I'd been put in charge of security, replacing an outside tech consultant who'd had the job for two years but had failed to detect the theft of company source code, until it turned up in a program being marketed out of Taiwan. Actually, it was my division's source code-software for distributed processing. That was the code that had been stolen.

We knew it was the same code, because the Easter eggs hadn't been touched. Programmers always insert Easter eggs into their code, little nuggets that don't serve any useful purpose and are just put there for fun. The Taiwanese company hadn't changed any of them; they used our code wholesale. So the keystrokes Alt-Shift-M-9 would open up a window giving the date of one of our programmers' marriage. Clear theft.

Of course we sued, but Don Gross, the head of the company, wanted to make sure it didn't happen again. So he put me in charge of security, and I was angry enough about the theft to take the job. It was only part-time; I still ran the division. The first thing I did as security officer was to monitor workstation use. It was pretty straightforward; these days, eighty percent of companies monitor what their workers do at terminals. They do it by video, or they do it by recording keystrokes, or by scanning email for certain keywords… all sorts of procedures out there.

Don Gross was a tough guy, an ex-Marine who had never lost his military manner. When I told him about the new system, he said, "But you're not monitoring my terminal, right?" Of course not, I said. In fact, I'd set up the programs to monitor every computer in the company, his included. And that was how I discovered, two weeks later, that Don was having an affair with a girl in accounting, and had authorized her to have a company car. I went to him and said that based on emails relating to Jean in accounting, it appeared that someone unknown was having an affair with her, and that she might be getting perks she wasn't entitled to. I said I didn't know who the person was, but if they kept using email, I'd soon find out. I figured Don would take the hint, and he did. But now he just sent incriminating email from his home, never realizing that everything went through the company server and I was getting it all. That's how I learned he was "discounting" software to foreign distributors, and taking large "consultant fees" into an account in the Cayman Islands. This was clearly illegal, and I couldn't overlook it. I consulted my attorney, Gary Marder, who advised me to quit.

"Who cares why? You got a better offer elsewhere. You've got some health problems. Or some family issues. Trouble at home. Just get out of there. Quit."

"Wait a minute," I said. "You think I should quit because he's breaking the law? Is that your advice to me?"

"No," Gary said. "As your attorney, my advice is that if you are aware of any illegal activity you have a duty to report it. But as your friend, my advice is to keep your mouth shut and get out of there fast."

"Seems kind of cowardly. I think I have to notify the investors." Gary sighed. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Jack," he said, "the investors can look out for themselves. You get the fuck out of there."

I didn't think that was right. I had been annoyed when my code had been stolen. Now I found myself wondering if it actually had been stolen. Maybe it had been sold. We were a privately held company, and I told one of the board members.

It turned out he was in on it. I was fired the next day for gross negligence and misconduct. Litigation was threatened; I had to sign a raft of NDAs in order to get my severance package. My attorney handled the paperwork for me, sighing with every new document.

At the end, we went outside into the milky sunshine. I said, "Well, at least that's over."

He turned and looked at me. "Why do you say that?" he said.

Because of course it wasn't over. In some mysterious way, I had become a marked man. My qualifications were excellent and I worked in a hot field. But when I went on job interviews I could tell they weren't interested. Worse, they were uncomfortable. Silicon Valley covers a big area, but it's a small place. Word gets out. Eventually I found myself talking to an interviewer I knew slightly, Ted Landow. I'd coached his kid in Little League baseball the year before. When the interview was over, I said to him, "What have you heard about me?" He shook his head. "Nothing, Jack."

I said, "Ted, I've been on ten interviews in ten days. Tell me."

"There's nothing to tell."

He shuffled through his papers, looking down at them, not at me. He sighed. "Jack Forman. Troublemaker. Not cooperative. Belligerent. Hot-headed. Not a team player." He hesitated, then said, "And supposedly you were involved in some kind of dealings. They won't say what, but some kind of shady dealings. You were on the take."

"I was on the take?" I said. I felt a flood of anger, and started to say more, until I realized I was probably looking hotheaded and belligerent. So I shut up, and thanked him. As I was leaving, he said, "Jack, do yourself a favor. Give it a while. Things change fast in the Valley. Your rйsumй is strong and your skill set is outstanding. Wait until…" He shrugged.

"A couple of months?"

"I'd say four. Maybe five."

Somehow I knew he was right. After that, I stopped trying so hard. I began to hear rumors that MediaTronics was going belly up, and there might be indictments. I smelled vindication ahead, but in the meantime there was nothing to do but wait.

The strangeness of not going to work in the morning slowly faded. Julia was working longer hours at her job, and the kids were demanding; if I was in the house they turned to me, instead of our housekeeper, Maria. I started taking them to school, picking them up, driving them to the doctor, the orthodontist, soccer practice. The first few dinners I cooked were disastrous, but I got better.

And before I knew it, I was buying placemats and looking at table settings in Crate Barrel. And it all seemed perfectly normal.

Julia got home around nine-thirty. I was watching the Giants game on TV, not really paying attention. She came in and kissed me on the back of my neck. She said, "They all asleep?"

"Except Nicole. She's still doing homework."

"Jeez, isn't it late for her to be up?"

"No, hon," I said. "We agreed. This year she gets to stay up until ten, remember?" Julia shrugged, as if she didn't remember. And maybe she didn't. We had undergone a sort of inversion of roles; she had always been more knowledgeable about the kids, but now I was. Sometimes Julia felt uncomfortable with that, experiencing it somehow as a loss of power.

"How's the little one?"

"Her cold is better. Just sniffles. She's eating more."

I walked with Julia to the bedrooms. She went into the baby's room, bent over the crib, and kissed the sleeping child tenderly. Watching her, I thought there was something about a mother's caring that a father could never match. Julia had some connection to the kids that I never would. Or at least a different connection. She listened to the baby's soft breathing, and said, "Yes, she's better."

Prey — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком

Her clothes were different, too. Julia was wearing a dark skirt and a white blouse, sort of standard business attire. But the skirt was tighter than usual. And her kicking foot made me notice she was wearing slingback high heels. What she used to call fuck-me shoes. The kind of shoes she would never wear to work.

And then I realized that everything about her was different-her manner, her appearance, her mood, everything-and in a flash of insight I knew why: my wife was having an affair. The water on the stove began to steam, and I pulled out the bottle, tested it on my forearm. It had gotten too hot, and I would have to wait a minute for it to cool. The baby started to cry, and I bounced her a little on my shoulder, while I walked her around the room. Julia never looked at me. She just kept swinging her foot, and staring into space. I had read somewhere that this was a syndrome. The husband's out of work, his masculine appeal declines, his wife no longer respects him, and she wanders. I had read that in Glamour or Redbook or one of those magazines around the house that I glanced through while waiting for the washing machine to finish its cycle, or the microwave to thaw the hamburger. But now I was flooded with confused feelings. Was it really true? Was I just tired, making up bad stories in my mind? After all, what difference did it make if she was wearing tighter skirts and different shoes? Fashions changed. People felt different on different days. And just because she was sometimes angry, did that really mean she was having an affair? Of course it didn't. I was probably just feeling inadequate, unattractive. These were probably my insecurities coming out. My thoughts went on in this vein for a while.

But for some reason, I couldn't talk myself out of it. I was sure it was true. I had lived with this woman for more than twelve years. I knew she was different, and I knew why. I could sense the presence of someone else, an outside person, some intruder in our relationship. I felt it with a conviction that surprised me. I felt it in my bones, like an ache. I had to turn away. …

The baby took the bottle, gurgling happily. In the darkened kitchen, she stared up at my face with that peculiar fixed stare that babies have. It was sort of soothing, watching her. After a while she closed her eyes, and then her mouth went slack. I put her on my shoulder and burped her as I carried her back into her bedroom. Most parents pat their babies too hard, trying to get a burp. It's better to just rub the flat of your hand up their back, and sometimes just along the spine with two fingers. She gave a soft belch, and relaxed.

I set her down in the crib, and I turned out the night-light. Now the only light in the room came from the aquarium, bubbling green-blue in the corner. A plastic diver trudged along the bottom, trailing bubbles.

As I turned to go, I saw Julia silhouetted in the doorway, dark hair backlit. She had been watching me. I couldn't read her expression. She stalked forward. I tensed. She put her arms around me and rested her head on my chest.

"Please forgive me," she said. "I'm a real jerk. You're doing a wonderful job. I'm just jealous, that's all." My shoulder was wet with her tears.

"I understand," I said, holding her. "It's okay."

I waited to see if my body relaxed, but it didn't. I was suspicious and alert. I had a bad feeling about her, and it wasn't going away.

She came out of the shower into the bedroom, toweling her short hair dry. I was sitting on the bed, trying to watch the rest of the game. It occurred to me that she never used to take showers at night. Julia always took a shower in the morning before work. Now, I realized, she often came home and went straight to the shower before coming out to say hello to the kids. My body was still tense. I flicked the TV off. I said, "How was the demo?"

"The demo. Didn't you have a demo today?"

"Oh," she said. "Oh, yes. We did. It went fine, when we finally got it going. The VCs in Germany couldn't stay for all of it because of the time change, but-listen, do you want to see it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have a dub of it. Want to see it?"

I was surprised. I shrugged. "Okay, sure."

"I'd really like to know what you think, Jack." I detected a patronizing tone. My wife was including me in her work. Making me feel a part of her life. I watched as she opened her briefcase and took out a DVD. She stuck it in the player, and came back to sit with me on the bed.

"What were you demoing?" I said.

"The new medical imaging technology," she said. "It's really slick, if I say so myself." She snuggled up, tucking herself into my shoulder. All very cozy, just like old times. I still felt uneasy, but I put my arm around her.

"By the way," I said, "how come you take showers at night now, instead of in the morning?"

"I don't know," she said. "Do I? I guess I do. It just seems easier, honey. Mornings are so rushed, and I've been getting those conference calls from Europe, they take so much time-okay, here we go," she said, pointing to the screen. I saw black-and-white scramble, and then the image resolved.

The tape showed Julia in a large laboratory that was fitted out like an operating room. A man lay on his back on the gurney, an IV in his arm, an anesthesiologist standing by. Above the table was a round flat metal plate about six feet in diameter, which could be raised and lowered, but was now raised. There were video monitors all around. And in the foreground, peering at a monitor, was Julia. There was a video technician by her side. "This is terrible," she was saying, pointing to the monitor. "What's all the interference?"

"We think it's the air purifiers. They're causing it."

"Well, this is unacceptable."

"What do you want us to do?"

"I want you to fix it," Julia said.

"Then we have to boost power, and you have-"

"I don't care," she said. "I can't show the VCs an image of this quality. They've seen better pictures from Mars. Fix it."

Beside me on the bed, Julia said, "I didn't know they recorded all this. This is before the demo. You can fast forward."

I pushed the remote. The picture scrambled. I waited a few seconds, and played it again.

Same scene. Julia still in the foreground. Carol, her assistant, whispering to her.

"Okay, but then what do I tell him?"

"But he wants to get started."

"I understand. But the transmission isn't for an hour. Tell him no."

On the bed, Julia said to me, "Mad Dog was our experimental subject. He was very restless. Impatient to get started."

On the screen, the assistant lowered her voice. "I think he's nervous, Julia. I would be, too, with a couple of million of those things crawling around inside my body-"

"It's not a couple of million, and they're not crawling," Julia said. "Anyway, they're his invention."

"Isn't that an anesthesiologist over there?"

"No, just a cardiologist."

"Well, maybe the cardiologist can give him something for his nervousness."

"They already did. An injection."

On the bed beside me, Julia said, "Fast forward, Jack." I did. The picture jumped ahead.

I saw Julia standing at the monitor again, with the technician beside her. "That's acceptable," onscreen Julia was saying, pointing to the image. "Not great, but acceptable. Now, show me the STM."

"The STM. The electron microscope. Show me the image from that."

The technician looked confused. "Uh… Nobody told us about any electron microscope."

Michael Crichton: Prey

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Prey: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Michael Crichton: Prey

Michael Crichton: другие книги автора

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Кто написал книгу prey

Игорь Соколовский молод и богат. Перед ним открываются двери любого заведения, купюра из бумажника р.

Мажор 3

Мой сводный брат. У тебя есть все: дом, семья, родители… Я ничего не просила и ничего не ждала. Мн.

Только ты

Казалось бы, прошел всего один длинный и бесконечный день, но для самого Дима пролетели тысячелети.

Враг за спиной

Ты видишь, как жизнь проносится мимо, не оставляя тебе возможности ощутить свою значимость, обрести.

Кто заплачет, когда ты умрешь?

Евгений Водолазкин – прозаик, филолог. Автор бестселлера “Лавр” и изящного historical fiction “Солов.

Авиатор

Когда жизнь преподносит нам «сюрприз» в виде болезненных, невыносимых, запутанных ситуаций, мы вп.

Исповедь бывшей любовницы. От неправильной любви – к настоящей

Здравствуй уважаемый читатель. Книга "Prey" Crichton Michael (EN) относится к разряду тех, которые стоит прочитать. С помощью намеков, малозначимых деталей постепенно вырастает главное целое, убеждая читателя в реальности прочитанного. По мере приближения к исходу, важным становится более великое и красивое, ловко спрятанное, нежели то, что казалось на первый взгляд. Финал немножко затянут, но это вполне компенсируется абсолютно непредсказуемым окончанием. Удивительно, что автор не делает никаких выводов, он радуется и огорчается, веселится и грустит, загорается и остывает вместе со своими героями. Написано настолько увлекательно и живо, что все картины и протагонисты запоминаются на долго и даже спустя довольно долгое время, моментально вспоминаются. С первых строк обращают на себя внимание зрительные образы, они во многом отчетливы, красочны и графичны. Помимо увлекательного, захватывающего и интересного повествования, в сюжете также сохраняется логичность и последовательность событий. Место событий настолько детально и красочно описано, что у читающего невольно возникает эффект присутствия. Казалось бы, столь частые отвлеченные сцены, можно было бы исключить из текста, однако без них, остроумные замечания не были бы столь уместными и сатирическими. Возникает желание посмотреть на себя, сопоставить себя с описываемыми событиями и ситуациями, охватить себя другим охватом - во всю даль и ширь души. "Prey" Crichton Michael (EN) читать бесплатно онлайн безусловно стоит, здесь есть и прекрасный воплощенный замысел и награда для истинных ценителей этого жанра.

Размещено 03.09.2015
Тип размещения: Бесплатно

Новинки

Всё происходит после фильма про Тёмного Феникса. И. Что было бы, если РТУТЬ НЕ СЛИЛИ ПРОСТО ТАК.

Люди Икс: Дисбаланс

Всё происходит после фильма про Тёмного Феникса. И. Что было бы, если РТУТЬ НЕ СЛИЛИ ПРОСТО ТАК.

Надеюсь, что вам понравится фанфик, ведь я очень старалась. Мне очень нравится писать фанфики по п.

Michael Crichton: другие книги автора

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В течение 24 часов мы закроем доступ к нелегально размещенному контенту.

Prey: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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