The Swarm (56 page)

“An Eden,” Lem said. Then realizing that she might not know the term, he asked, “Or is that strictly a Judeo-Christian myth?”

“There is no Adam or Eve in our text,” said Benyawe, “but there is the idea of a beautiful idyllic Earth flourishing naturally before becoming corrupted by the greed and conflicts of man.”

“Ah yes, those pesky greedy men,” said Lem. “I suppose I'm one of them since this former Eden is now corporate property, and all the biota in it was vaporized.”

Wila blushed and quickly bowed. “I meant no offense, Lem. The events that occurred here were wholly necessary.”

Lem laughed softly. “Don't apologize. I was joking. But now you've piqued my curiosity. You say the events here were necessary? You don't morally object to us fighting the Formics? I thought all Buddhists were pacifists.”

“That is a common misconception. While it is true that Buddhists historically prefer a path of nonviolence, we readily admit that killing is sometimes justified. There are many stories in Buddhism mythology that illustrate this principle. The man who kills the robber who is prepared to murder the man's family, for example. This act of defense, though violent, prevented the suffering of his wife and children. So it counters the negative karma generated by taking the robber's life. It is a matter of karmic balance, you see? So it is with the Formics. Our defense is designed to prevent the pain and suffering of billions of our own species. My preference would be for the Formics to retreat and live in peace in their own system, and to allow us to live in peace in ours. But I do not think that likely.”

“We'll never live in peace again,” said Lem, “even if the Formics do leave. We would always wonder if they were returning. That fear would never fade. If we ever want real peace, we have to find their home world and wipe them out completely.”

Wila appeared startled by the prospect. “But that act, an act of aggression, that would make
us
the monsters.”

“It would make us the survivors,” said Lem, “which is always better than being the corpses.”

“We're ready to begin, everyone,” said Dublin. “The technicians and equipment are in place. If we could all gather up here at the front, please.”

Everyone wore magnetic greaves on the shins anchoring them to the floor, so the group stiltedly walked to the designated spot and formed into a semicircle facing Dublin. Behind him, past the glass wall, was the massive curving inner wall of the Garden.

“The inner wall of this vessel, the wall you see behind me, is made of hulmat. One layer of impenetrable metal separates us from space. We have stripped away any interior pipes or internal walls to access the bare hulmat. And the interior of the Garden is already a vacuum, so if we penetrate that wall, it will be a cause for celebration, not alarm.” He pointed above him. The sling mechanism was mounted on the roof, ready to fire, visible through the glass. “The sling has been loaded with a black membranous balloon filled with several million nanobots. We'll launch that balloon at the hulmat. As the balloon approaches its target, I will activate the nanobots remotely. They will eat through the balloon and spread out in a wide NanoCloud. That cloud will descend upon the hulmat, and the nanobots will immediately begin to unwind the threads, with several million transactions occurring every second. For a ship in battle, a breach in the hull would obviously be catastrophic as it would result in a loss of atmosphere and a quick death to the crew. IF marines could then enter the ship and seize the vessel if necessary. Unless there are questions, let's begin.”

“I have a question,” Benyawe said. “This building is mostly glass. I don't know what the precise chemical composition of this particular glass is, but most glass is essentially silicon dioxide. We're about to unleash a million nanobots that generate a violent enzymatic reaction to all things silicon. If a few of those bots were to fall on this building, they would eat right through it. And it's a vacuum beyond these walls. That would end very poorly for all of us.”

Dublin smiled. “Very observant, Dr. Benyawe. And you're right. As a precaution we will all move into the annex.” He gestured to a door to his right. “That room is completely devoid of glass, and it has direct access to the shuttles should we need it. The test will be projected on the interior walls.”

The annex doors opened, and everyone filed inside. The room felt cramped compared to the glass ceilings of the conference room. Dublin tapped at his wrist pad, and several data screens appeared on the wall. A wide shot of the Garden. One of the sling. Another zoomed-in shot of the wall.

“Any other questions?” Dublin asked.

“Fire it,” said Lem.

Dublin tapped at his wrist pad, and the sling fired. Everyone watched as a black ball shot from the sling and flew across the vast space toward the hulmat. Dublin waited a moment and then tapped at his wrist pad again. Lem expected the balloon to burst open and for the NanoCloud to disperse, but nothing happened.

“Hm?” said Dublin. He tapped at his wrist pad again.

The black ball drew closer to the wall.

“The cloud needs time to disperse,” said Benyawe.

“I'm trying,” said Dublin. “The bots don't seem to be responding.” He tapped again at his wrist pad. Nothing.

The black ball struck the far wall and bounced off, ricocheting back into the Garden, drifting lazily. Lem could almost hear the disappointment in the room.

“I don't understand,” said Dublin. “They should break the membrane easily.”

“Could there be interference in the room?” asked Lem. “Residual radiation from the First Formic War that's disrupting the signal? Maybe you didn't even turn the bots on.”

“The Garden has been tested for radiation,” said Dublin. “There is some residual radiation present, yes, but only a minute amount. Not enough for us to be alarmed about being in here, and certainly not enough to cause interference. We send signals from this facility all the time.”

“What's the balloon made of?” Benyawe asked. “What material did you use?”

“Silicone rubber,” one of the chemists said. “If the nanobots are silicon-removing enzymes, we thought that a natural choice. They could break through silicone easily.”

“You didn't test it beforehand?” Lem said, his voice rising.

The chemist—Lem couldn't remember his name—recoiled a little. “We didn't have the nanobots, Mr. Jukes. You only brought them today. This is the first time we've had a chance to test them with the silicone.”

Lem sighed and rubbed at his eyes. All this effort, all this work and money and time and sleepless nights.

“Could it be that the signal is not getting through the silicone rubber?” Benyawe asked. “Maybe the carrier mechanism is acting as a barrier. The nanobots are extremely sensitive. They're not like giant dishes or receiver towers. They're the size of molecules. They could easily miss the message.”

“Launch them again,” said Lem. “But lose the rubber ball.”

“But … we don't have a mechanism for throwing them that way,” said Dublin.

“Then put them in a bucket and toss them out like bathwater,” said Lem. “I don't care. We can work on a different launch mechanism later. What matters now is the bots.”

Dublin blushed. “Of course. Give us a moment.”

Dublin and most of the scientists scurried away, leaving only Benyawe and Wila and Lem behind. Wila looked at the floor, embarrassed.

“I'm throwing off my karmic balance, aren't I?” Lem said. “I'm earning strikes against me for losing my patience. If I died right now, what would I be next? A snake? A rat?”

“I am not a judge of character, Lem,” said Wila. “And certainly not a judge of you.”

“I'll be a judge,” said Benyawe. She turned to Lem. “You're being a bit of an ass, yes, but for once I happen to agree with that behavior. And if I had to guess, I'd say you'd come back as a shrew, maybe. Or a mole.”

“You flatter me,” said Lem, and he was pleased to see Wila smiling along with him.

A short time later Dublin and the others returned. “We're doing what you suggest, Lem. We're going to use manpower. The technicians are taking up one of the shuttles.”

And just as he said the words, the shuttle came into view on screen. Lem and the others watched as the shuttle approached the far wall. It fired retros when it was about thirty meters away and hovered there. A moment later, one of the technicians floated out of the airlock in a spacesuit, carrying a large chest.

“Tell him to turn on the NanoCloud before he throws it,” said Lem.

Dublin spoke into his wrist pad and relayed the message.

“Most of you here don't believe in God, I suspect,” Lem said, addressing the group. He turned to Wila. “But you're a person of faith, Wila. What prayer would you offer?”

Wila hesitated. “A prayer that would keep us believing in ourselves even if this does not work. A prayer of hope.”

“Good enough for me,” said Lem. He turned to Dublin and nodded, giving the order.

They all watched as the technician opened the chest, activated the bots, and slung them forward at the far wall.

The cloud dispersed, growing wider and wider like a net, thinning out so much that they began to disappear from view. And then, right before the cloud would have struck the wall, the bots did disappear, like water thrown outside in zero temperatures that freezes and vanishes as it strikes the air.

“What happened?” Lem asked. The hulmat was unchanged.

“They're widely dispersed,” said Benyawe. “They're there. We just can't see them. Give them a minute to take root before they begin.”

They waited. Nothing happened.

“Are we certain he turned them on?” Lem asked.

“Just wait,” said Benyawe.

“Something should have happened by now,” said Dublin.

Lem felt the pit of his stomach tying into a knot. Failure. And not just here. But for the ships of the Fleet as well. We were going to lose. We would fire on the Formics and unleash everything we had, and it would not so much as scratch the surface of their warships. The images of the first war flashed through his mind, wave after wave of mining ships and corporate ships and military vessels attacking this Formic scout ship and being annihilated, brushed aside like pesky mosquitos, barely worth the enemy's notice.

“Maybe the inner side of the hulmat is different,” said Dublin.

“Or maybe there is no silicon in the alloy at all,” said Lem.

He glanced at Wila. She was not staring at the screen like the others. Her eyes were closed, her feet off the ground, her magnets turned off, her arms drifting weightless by her side.

Don't waste your time, Lem wanted to say. I was wrong. Prayers aren't going to save us.

The technician began to shout over the radio. The signal crackled in and out.

“What did he say?” Lem asked.

“He said it was working,” said Dublin.

“I don't see anything,” said one of the scientists.

“Looks solid to me.”

“Is he sure?”

“Everyone shut up,” said Lem. “Dublin, have him zoom in with his visor, and send us his helmet feed, let us see what he's seeing.”

But it wasn't necessary. Because before Dublin could relay the order, the hulmat began to show dots of black. Tiny at first, but then they grew. Wider. And wider. Like it was dissolving at a hundred places at once.

Everyone was shouting and cheering. One of the men began to cry, embracing a colleague. Lem heard the noise like a sound happening to someone else, a muffled commotion happening far away. It felt as if a vise that had been gripping his heart without him even noticing it had suddenly released its hold on him. He could see space beyond the wall. Beautiful glorious never-ending space. With stars and worlds and galaxies. He watched the hole grow larger, then he turned his head and regarded Wila.

Her eyes were still closed. Her body had not moved. But as he watched, the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile.

 

CHAPTER 26

Profiteers

Ansible transmission between CentCom and IF supply ship Bajovník, Kuiper Belt, 2118

BAJOVN
Í
K:
   Hello, bastards. Can you hear me?

CENTCOM:
   Captain Merryweather?

BAJOVN
Í
K:
   An instant response. How fascinating. Is this the CentCom on Luna?

CENTCOM:
   Who is this?

BAJOVN
Í
K:
   How's the weather there on Luna? Raining again?

CENTCOM:
   Please state your name and rank.

BAJOVN
Í
K:
   Last name Mellow. First name Marsha. Get it? Marshmallow! Oh I kill me.

CENTCOM:
   Put Captain Merryweather on.

BAJOVN
Í
K:
   I'm afraid Captain Merryweather can't answer right now on account of a fresh hole in his head.

CENTCOM:
   Am I speaking with a soldier of the Fleet? Have you harmed Captain Merryweather?

BAJOVN
Í
K:
   You're asking a lot of questions. How about a question from me? How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Khalid laughed to himself and turned away from the device. Instantaneous communication. A marvel. And now it was his. He surveyed the helm of the IF supply ship he and his crew had just raided. The room was a mess. Three corpses floated in the space, their blue IF uniforms now heavily stained with blood. The monitors and equipment at the helm were all new and flashy, but Khalid's crew had not been careful with their aim during the firefight. There was little that could be stripped at this point and recovered. They would have to do a better job of that next time.