The Swarm (42 page)

I'm thinking like a human, he realized. I need to think like a Formic. He grabbed the lowest shelf and pulled himself down to the surface he had labeled the floor. It was dirty and sticky and smelled of grime and excrement. He grabbed at the shelf bars and positioned himself flat against the floor, staying low like a Formic would. There was a narrow empty space beneath the lowest habitat that extended the length of the shelves. A Formic could crawl in there easily, he realized. Victor couldn't fit as long as he wore his lower armor and mining suit. He was too bulky, too wide. He shed the lower half of his armor and his mining suit so that he wore only his skintight single undergarment. Now he was thin enough to crawl in under the shelf, though just barely. He pulled himself forward and found a lever and a button in front of a sliding panel. He pushed the panel up to reveal a small porthole. A Formic would crawl in this space and look out this porthole. Why? He experimentally tried the level and heard gears beneath him. Something was moving, rotating. He pushed the button and heard a spray of propellant. The ship titled upward, pushed back.

The lever and button powered one of the retros. He pushed his body away from the wall and slid across the aisle to the other side and found an identical panel and identical lever and button. He pushed the button, and the ship lurched slightly back and up.

A crew of five Formics because it took five of them to land. He pulled himself out from under the shelf and climbed up to what he considered the ceiling and found, as he had expected, matching spaces above the habitats, just wide enough for a Formic to squeeze into.

He crawled in, pushed the button, fired a retro. The ship lurched back, and now he could feel it tearing free of the resin. He slid to the fourth retro and fired it as well, more tilting, more lurching. It was all sloppy guesswork, with the ship tipping one way and then another, but it was backing away from the asteroid.

With all of the Formics working together simultaneously, their minds linked as one, delicately navigating the spacecraft would be a simple ordeal. By himself, it was a disaster.

And yet it was working. Or so it seemed. He moved back and forth between the four retros, tapping them enough to push the ship back. The ship bucked and dipped and spun, and he tried his best to keep it moving in the right direction.

He looked out the porthole and saw that he was free. The ship was drifting away from the rock. A giant hole remained in the resin where the ship had been. The air was no doubt pouring out, turning the whole environment into a vacuum once again. The remaining Formics, the slugs, all were sucked out into space to die of asphyxiation.

He couldn't see the quickship, though he knew Imala was out there somewhere. Waiting, tracking him, following.

It was several hours before the Gagak arrived and grabbed the ship with one of its docking claws. And then another hour before a docking tube was attached to the hull of the Formic ship. A laser cut a hole through the ceiling, and someone pushed the cut piece clear.

Victor looked up to see Arjuna's concerned face looking down at him.

“He's alive,” Arjuna shouted back over his shoulder.

Victor heard a chorus of cheers back in the ship.

“Are you hurt?” Arjuna asked him.

“I've got dangerous levels of hydrogen in my lungs and I may need a few stitches. Other than that I'm fine. Is Imala safe?”

“She's inside. Safe. But she's a mess, Vico. You put her through hell. Your mother, too. Rena wanted us all to charge in there and get you out. I almost had to restrain her.”

“I shouldn't have gone in, not with the air as volatile as it was. That was stupid.”

Arjuna sighed. “You're alive. That's what matters. And you brought back a souvenir, too.” He stuck his head into the Formic miniship and made a face of disgust. “It smells like a bucket of sewage, though.”

“I don't smell much better,” said Vico.

“I'll bring you some sanitizer and clean clothes. We want your family to welcome you, not throw you back out into space.”

 

CHAPTER 19

Soldier Brain

Formic technology is, at its root, biological. Rather than use machines, the Hive Queen engineers and mentally controls animals to perform certain tasks. The degree to which she controls those animals is a subject of much debate, but the prevailing theory is that not all creatures are controlled at the same integrated level. To some creatures, such as mining worms for example, the Hive Queen merely gives them an impulse to do the thing they're genetically predisposed to do. The worms then act autonomously, with the Hive Queen only checking in periodically to confirm that her creatures are still following their given set of instructions.

To other, more complex organisms, such as Formic soldiers, the Hive Queen gives more detailed instructions in the moment. Those instructions may be general or specific. Analyses of battles from both the First and Second Formic War suggest that sometimes the Hive Queen merely orders her troops to “attack.” In these instances, the creatures act as independent organisms, firing and jumping and fighting as autonomous soldiers, fearless but uncreative. In other instances, it appears as if the Hive Queen seizes full mental control, for the group ceases to act as individuals and begins to move like a single organism.

—Demosthenes,
A History of the Formic Wars,
Vol. 3

Mazer and Prem stepped off the elevator at the corporate offices of Gungsu Industries, four stories beneath the surface of Luna. A young Korean male with styled hair and a tight designer suit greeted them with a polite smile and a bow. “Captain Rackham. Lieutenant Chamrajnagar. I am Ms. Woo Han's assistant. Welcome. You will forgive us for being so unprepared for your visit.”

“You're unprepared because we didn't tell you we were coming,” said Mazer. “I hope we're not being an inconvenience.”

The assistant's smile didn't waver. “Any representative of WAMRED and the International Fleet is always welcome at our offices. Generally we like to set such appointments well in advance so that our schedules can be cleared to receive you. But these are challenging times, with new threats arising every moment, it seems. Gungsu always stands ready to assist you. Might I inquire the nature of your visit?”

“We have a proposition for Ms. Woo Han,” said Mazer.

The assistant waited for more information, and when Mazer didn't give it, he asked, “Might I share with Ms. Woo Han any more details concerning this proposition so that she might prepare herself to greet you?”

The assistant had clearly been sent to fish for information, and Mazer saw barely contained panic in the man's eyes. He clearly didn't want to return to Hea Woo Han empty-handed.

“Tell Ms. Woo Han that the International Fleet is forming a special asteroid assault team,” said Mazer, “and that we have several tech designs we would like to present to her. The timetable for this mission is short, and our experience with Gungsu leads us to believe that your corporation may be the perfect partner in this endeavor.”

The assistant's smile widened. “Of course.” He gestured to an ornate waiting room to his right. “Won't you have a seat? I will inform Ms. Woo Han of your arrival.”

“Thank you,” said Mazer.

He and Prem sat as the assistant scurried away.

“An asteroid assault team?” said Prem. “That sounded official.”

“That was my hope,” said Mazer.

“The assistant looked like he was going to burst into tears if we didn't give him something to say to Woo Han. She must be a scary one. What do you know about her?”

“Next to nothing,” said Mazer. “Except that she's Colonel Vaganov's direct link to Gungsu. Whatever deal Vaganov worked up, I think it's safe to assume that Woo Han was the one who orchestrated it all.”

“Then why are we talking to her? Isn't she the enemy here?”

“She's an opportunist,” said Mazer. “She makes deals. And she can probably call off the prosecution if we're right about her influence.”

“You realize of course that we have no authority whatsoever to speak on behalf of the International Fleet, and that by walking into this woman's office and pretending like we do, we're inviting a real court-martial.”

“I'll represent you in court if you represent me,” said Mazer.

“I'm serious, Mazer. At best, I'll get disbarred. At worst we go to jail.”

“I'll tell the arresting officers that you tried to talk me out of this, that you outlined all the consequences, and that you said this was a monumentally bad idea.”

“It
is
a monumentally bad idea.”

“My point is,” said Mazer, “there's no reason why we should both take the heat for this if it doesn't work. It's my idea. I'll go solo. You take the elevator now, and I'll meet you back at the office. If I get court-martialed, you can represent me. Could I get a two-for-one special on attorney fees?”

“You don't pay me, remember? I'm appointed.”

“Even better.”

Chamrajnagar considered a moment then sighed. “It's better if we both go. Alone you look like a rogue crazy man. With me—”

“I look like a rogue crazy man with a smart lawyer.”

“Should we at least discuss what we're going to present to this woman before we actually do? I hate winging it.”

Mazer didn't have a chance to answer because the assistant returned and beckoned them to follow. The three of them went down a corridor and into Hea Woo Han's office, a large space with a holotable on the left and a circle of contemporary armchairs on the right. Hea Woo Han stood to receive them, and she was exactly as Mazer remembered her: poised, conservatively dressed, and all business. Her face, though polite, had the bearing of someone who was completely in command.

After some bowing and formal introductions, the assistant exited and closed the doors behind him.

“Won't you have a seat,” said Hea Woo Han, gesturing to the armchairs. An ornate porcelain Korean tea set sat on a small coffee table before them. Hea Woo Han lifted the teapot. “May I interest you in a cup of omija cha, a Korean herbal tea made from the berries of the schisandra? It is said to calm the spirit and refresh the heart and kidneys. Personally I just like the taste.”

“Thank you,” said Mazer.

Prem accepted as well, and Hea Woo Han poured and served three steaming cups.

“I remember you well, Captain Rackham,” said Woo Han, taking a sip from her tea. “Our passing was brief at WAMRED, but I do not forget a face. You helped conduct tests for the gravity disruptor. If I am not mistaken, a member of your unit was injured during one of the tests. I hope he has recuperated.”

“He lost the lower half of his leg and is learning to walk with a prosthesis,” said Mazer.

Hea Woo Han looked genuinely surprised. “I am sorry to hear it. You will please relay my condolences to him and his family when you see him next. We at Gungsu are not indifferent to such tragedies. Many of us are veterans. Myself included. Any loss to one soldier is a loss to us all.”

“You have the bearing of a soldier,” said Mazer. “I'm not surprised to hear you served. What branch? ROKN?” Meaning the Republic of Korea Navy.

Hea Woo Han smiled. “What tipped you off? The way I pour tea?”

“Gungsu would want someone who has intimate knowledge of the contract-procuring process for large, self-sustaining vessels and their equipment. That's the navy.”

“Yes,” said Hea Woo Han. “I was an administrative contracting officer. Coming to Gungsu seemed like a natural transition.”

“What was your terminal rank?” Mazer asked. “Major?”

Hea Woo Han smiled. “Not quite. I was a daewi, an equivalent to your rank of captain.”

“When did you get out?” Mazer asked.

“Three years ago, when the IF formed.”

“Then you should have been a major. You were the age of a major. You certainly have the presence and capabilities of a major.”

Hea Woo Han bowed her head slightly. “You are kind to say so, Captain Rackham, but there are very few female majors in the Korean military. My terminal rank was quite an achievement considering the circumstances. But please, you did not come here to discuss my military service. How can we at Gungsu be of assistance?”

Mazer took a sip of his tea. It was hot and sweet and warmed his throat. “What would you say is the IF's greatest weakness at the moment, Ms. Woo Han?”

Hea Woo Han paused and considered. “An interesting question, Captain. And one with a lengthy answer. The Fleet has a number of weaknesses at present. We have too few warships, for one, and too few experienced crews to man them. We have made great strides in defense since the last war, but we must continue to innovate if we hope to defeat the enemy. Surveillance, communication, weaponry, shielding. A strong defense is rooted in advanced tech. We cannot yield in our diligent pursuit of research and development.”

“Isn't that the foundational position of every defense contractor?” Mazer said. “‘The military is weak. We need to be stronger. We need more tech.' Etcetera. You'd go out of business if you said otherwise.”

Hea Woo Han's expression remained flat. “Do you question my sincerity, Captain Rackham?”

“Not at all. I meant no offense. And please, call me Mazer. Prem and I aren't here as representatives of the IF. We're here representing ourselves. We can drop the formalities.”

“I see. It appears I have been misinformed. I was led to believe that this was in regards to an asteroid strike team.”

“It is,” said Mazer. “But first, that question: the IF's greatest weakness. I would assume that you, someone intimately familiar with the intricacies of military bureaucracy, would know our real problem.”

Hea Woo Han set her empty teacup down on the coffee table. “Perhaps I am not as wise as you think, Captain. You obviously have something in mind. Enlighten me.”