Micro: A Novel
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In the vein of Jurassic Park, this high-concept thriller follows a group of graduate students lured to Hawaii to work for a mysterious biotech company—only to find themselves cast out into the rain forest, with nothing but their scientific expertise and wits to protect them. An instant classic, Micro pits nature against technology in vintage Crichton fashion. Completed by visionary science writer Richard Preston, this boundary-pushing thriller melds scientific fact with pulse-pounding fiction to create yet another masterpiece of sophisticated, cutting-edge entertainment.
screaming emergency. I’m sorry.” “Oh, Christ, Vin. Where are you going?” “Nanigen. I’m needed.” He caught the waiter’s eye; the waiter moved toward them. Emily St. Claire shook her hair and took a sip of wine. She put the glass down. Without looking at Drake, she said, “Suit yourself.” “I’ll make this up to you, Emily, I promise. We’ll do Tahiti in the Gulfstream.” “That’s so old. I’d prefer Mozambique.” “Done,” he said. He reached into his jacket and lifted a thick wad of hundred-dollar
sure, but he appeared to be about thirty yards offshore at the time. He didn’t dive, but rather jumped feet-first, vanishing into white foam. Peter watched closely to see if he emerged, but he did not seem to. And Eric had done something jarring, even disturbing: he had not put on a life jacket before he jumped. Eric knew enough to put on a life jacket in an emergency. “My brother wasn’t wearing a life jacket,” Peter remarked. “I noticed,” Watanabe commented. “Maybe he forgot to bring it on the
happens?” “Well—we have some data on the disease, not much. The safety staff began testing animals in the tensor generator. They shrank mice, at first. They kept the shrunken mice in tiny flasks and studied them with a microscope. After a few days, all the shrunken mice died. The mice were hemorrhaging. Next, they shrank rabbits and finally dogs. Again, the animals died with hemorrhages. Necropsies of the animals, after they’d been restored to normal size, showed that there was generalized
invisible to the bat. As a bat closed in on a moth, there would be a crescendo of bat pings, mixed with a rising drumming sound as the moth tried to jam the bat’s sonar. Ping, ping, ping, went a bat. Pom-pom-pom-pom, went a moth, trying to jam the bat’s sonar. Sometimes a moth’s drumming would end abruptly. “The bat ate the moth,” Erika informed them. They listened, almost hypnotized, as the bat-sounds played over their heads. And then a bat passed right over their fort, with a whoomp of velvet
said to her, “can walk thirty miles a day.” “Peter, we’re not soldiers,” Erika groaned. “I s’pose we could try,” Karen said. “But what about Amar? He can’t walk.” “We’ll carry him,” Peter said. “What are we going to do with Danny? He’s a pain in the ass,” Karen said. “Danny is one of us. We’ll take care of him,” Peter said firmly. Just then, Peter’s radio beeped and started crackling with a frantic voice. It was Danny calling. “Speak of the devil,” Karen murmured. Peter put on the headset