The Swarm (6 page)

“Your back will take weeks to heal,” Li said. “And for what? To earn the respect of your men, to show them that your heart is given completely to China? To paint yourself a worthy commander? I wish I could have heard your speech. The jailer was near tears when he recounted it. I thought he might start singing the national anthem.”

Bingwen didn't respond.

“I let your men out of the brig after six hours. I told them that was punishment enough. Oh, and we found the men in the tunnels, curled up into balls, crying like children, forgive the expression. They had both soiled themselves. And who can blame them? So many Formics. I fear both men may be scarred psychologically. Question is, what to do with them? I can't return them to your squadron. There are already whispers among your men to maim them both on sight. Was that the point of your theatrics? To turn your squadron against these delinquents, to have your men inflict the justice you are too cowardly to inflict yourself?”

Captain Li crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, Bingwen. You would rather take a cane across the back than shoot men guilty of attempted murder?”

“Is that what I was supposed to do?” Bingwen asked. “Shoot them? They were following orders. Though I cannot imagine who would give them such a command.”

Captain Li grinned. “Yes, it is troubling. But when the Formics return, you will thank me for making you a soldier, Bingwen. You may not like my methods, but you will never be the weapon we need you to be if you live by a morality other than the correct one.”

“And what morality is that, sir? Yours?”

Captain Li stood and buttoned up the jacket of his uniform. “We also checked your tablet. How strange that you would take one down into the tunnels. When we opened your files, all we found were your journal entries, all of which were surprisingly complimentary of me. Needless to say, I was amused. I could threaten to have you caned to find out what you were actually doing down there, but of course caning is not permitted and right now I need you well. I have been ordered to assemble a unique group of soldiers for training in the Belt. China, it seems, has finally agreed to give troops to the International Fleet. You will be happy to know that you will be among them, although because of your age your involvement will not be public knowledge. You'll be an experiment of sorts. The school is called Variable Gravity Acclimatization School, or VGAS, but everyone calls it Gravity Camp, or GravCamp for short. The IF has been training soldiers there for years. So get well. You leave in a week.”

He moved for the exit, but Bingwen stopped him with a question.

“And you, sir? What is to become of you?”

Li smiled. “I'm coming with you, of course. To be your commanding officer and take a position at the school. As I informed our superiors, you would not want it any other way.”

Li smiled wider and exited, leaving Bingwen alone with his bandages.

 

CHAPTER 3

Vaganov

As with all armed conflicts, the Second Formic War took its toll on our most fundamental social unit: the family. What made this war unique, however, was that it not only enlisted our sons and daughters into combat, but it also dictated how and when the free citizens of Earth could produce sons and daughters in the first place.

Because it was considered essential that all human activities be centered on the production of war materiel to fight the Formics in space, as far from Earth as possible, the Hegemony Council determined that Earth's economic resources must not be dissipated by trying to meet the needs of a growing population. Food production, housing, transportation, and medical facilities needed to be maintained at fixed levels so that all new production could be directed toward the construction of an effective war fleet during the brief time before the main Formic invasion force would arrive.

Countries like Iran, India, Uzbekistan, and the United States had long practiced passive, voluntary population control, mostly consisting of free access to birth control and the natural tendency of prosperous people to have fewer children; or somewhat more aggressive laws that disallowed men and women with multiple children to run for public office or receive certain benefits. But it was China's one-child policy that served as the ultimate model for the population laws instituted by the Hegemony prior to the Second Formic War. The child limit was set at two per family, doubling the Chinese quota, but failure to comply with this more generous policy resulted in fines, loss of property, and, in some tightly policed countries, incarceration.

Resistance to the laws was heaviest in those nations with a large Catholic population, such as Poland, which initially won an exemption of conscience for its Catholic citizens. That exemption was later swept aside once the Hegemony's political control was firmly set. Nations where Muslims historically had larger families and a tradition of resistance to outside interference in cultural matters, such as Bangladesh and Pakistan, also resisted.

The people most affected by the population laws, however, were the children born in defiance of the laws, or, rarely, those whose parents had been granted a Hegemony exemption. These third children—and in rare cases fourth and fifth children—were scorned, isolated, or taunted as Formic sympathizers. Their persecution—which included violent attacks from their peers, and in some cases from adults—is an often overlooked and shameful result of the population restrictions.

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

Mazer received a message on his wrist pad at breakfast to report to Colonel Vaganov's office immediately.

The summons surprised Mazer. He had never met the colonel. Vaganov had come to WAMRED only a month ago to assume command, and so far he had taken a hands-off approach with the breach teams. What Mazer knew about Vaganov was impressive, however. Before joining the IF, Vaganov had served as a battle cruiser commander in the Russian navy and then with the Admiralty in Saint Petersburg. His most recent post as the director of the International Fleet's Department of Acquisitions at CentCom on Luna was a high-profile position that had him rubbing shoulders with both the Hegemony and the private sector. His rise through the ranks meant real ability, either as a commander or as an upsucking bureaucrat. Mazer was hoping he could figure out which before Vaganov led them into combat.

The flight from the cafeteria to the colonel's office was a series of twists and turns through the labyrinth of the space station. WAMRED was actually five space stations cobbled together, each one donated from a different country when the International Fleet first formed. Linked together, with sturdy docking tubes between them, the stations formed an asymmetrical, odd-shaped structure, like something a child would assemble with a stack of random pipes.

Mazer initiated his boot magnets as he approached the colonel's office, and the door slid open automatically.

Colonel Vaganov was anchored to the floor behind his holotable. He was young for his rank, and unlike the other Russian officers Mazer had known—who always maintained a rather austere disposition—Vaganov actually smiled when Mazer entered.

“Captain Mazer Rackham,” he said. “Come in, come in. I was just reviewing your record here.”

It was then that Mazer noticed the military file hovering in the air above Vaganov's holotable.

Here it comes, thought Mazer. He'll see the complaints of insubordination and peg me as a troublemaker.

But Vaganov's mood didn't change after reviewing the file in silence for a moment. “I see here that you've been in the IF since it formed,” said Vaganov.

“Yes, sir,” said Mazer. “I spent one year at CentCom, and two years here.”

Vaganov nodded. “Our paths didn't cross at CentCom, but that doesn't surprise me. That place is practically a city. Your wife is still on Luna, I take it?”

“Yes, sir,” Mazer said. “She's an ER doctor at Imbrium Memorial.”

Vaganov smiled. “A doctor? Well, someone has to earn the bread for the family. We certainly don't get it in the IF.”

Mazer was impressed with Vaganov's command of Common. There was only the slightest hint of a Russian accent.

“Do you communicate with your wife at least weekly, Mazer? E-mails perhaps? Holos? Whatever?”

The question struck Mazer as odd. What business was it of the colonel's how often he spoke with Kim?

As if registering his thoughts, Vaganov smiled. “I ask, Mazer, not to pry but because I believe you are a husband first and a soldier second. I suspect I'd get a wrist slap from CentCom for saying so. They couldn't care less about your personal life. In their minds you are a blunt object to be thrown at the enemy and nothing more. But I disagree. I have little patience for a man who doesn't keep his commitments to his wife and family. It is a sign of weak character and usually indicative of how he will keep his commitments to his fellow soldiers in the field. That's not the type of officer I want in command of my troops.”

In all his years of service, Mazer had never heard any commander express that opinion. Most seemed to believe the opposite. You were a soldier and only a soldier, subject to the commander and only the commander. Family obligations were an inconvenient distraction.

Mazer's surprise must have registered on his face, because Vaganov laughed.

“My opinions unsettle you, I see,” Vaganov said.

“No, sir,” said Mazer. “On the contrary. I agree with you. I've just never heard a commanding officer hold that opinion.”

Vaganov laughed again. “I am a rare bird. Some people hear a melody. Most people hear squawking.”

It was a strange metaphor, but it amused Vaganov. Mazer doubted it was true. You didn't become the director of acquisitions or of WAMRED by squawking your way to the top.

“To answer your original question,” said Mazer. “Yes, my wife and I communicate often.”

Vaganov nodded. “I'm glad to hear it. I've noticed however that you have not been attending the officer socials.”

Is that what this was about? thought Mazer. Copernicus is destroyed, the IF is unstable, and Vaganov is concerned about attendance at his silly parties?

The socials were weekly get-togethers held in the officers' lounge. Vaganov had organized the events shortly after taking command. Mazer had attended the first one out of obligation, but he had left as soon as it became apparent that the event was nothing more than an informal brown-nosing affair, wherein junior officers fawned over Vaganov and his senior aides in the hope of getting in their good graces.

“I'm not one for socials, sir,” said Mazer. “I hope you'll forgive my absence.”

“Of course,” said Vaganov. He glanced back at Mazer's record. “It says here that you fought the Formics in China, but there's very little information or specifics. All I see are complaints of insubordination.”

He looked back at Mazer as if expecting an explanation.

“Some of my senior officers in the NZSAS and our counterparts in the Chinese army were not pleased with my decision to engage the enemy and offer assistance to wounded civilians,” said Mazer.

Vaganov nodded as if he expected this. “Yes. The NZSAS. That's the New Zealand Special Air Service?”

“That's correct, sir.”

“Special Forces.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vaganov frowned. “So you're in China, you rescue civilians, you give the Formics hell, and all you get for it in return are strikes on your record.” He shook his head. “That sounds about right. If I didn't know any better I'd say I was back in Russia.”

Vaganov waved a hand through the files and made them disappear. “Do you know why we're going to lose this war, Mazer? Do you know the biggest weakness in the Fleet? The largest chink in our armor? It's not our weapons. It's not our inferior tech, or our numbers, or our lack of combat experience in space. It's
skomorokhi.
That's a Russian word. Do you know it?”

“No, sir.”

“It means ‘buffoons.' Idiots, Mazer. That's why we will lose. Incompetent leadership. There are far too many men with stripes on their shoulders who care more about getting additional stripes or protecting the ones they have than they care about the twelve billion people of Earth. I know that sounds ludicrous, but it is a fact. A fact you know all too well, I suspect, because when I see those notes of insubordination on your record, I know precisely the type of man who put them there. I know because I've served under men like that myself, men who have tried similar tactics to discredit me. They tear down junior officers they consider a threat, they fear thinking they don't understand, they blame everyone around them for their own mistakes. And because these are charismatic men, and semi-intelligent men, they can fool those above them into thinking them tactical geniuses surrounded by fools.”

Vaganov stood erect and clasped his hands behind his back. “I know what type of soldier you are, Mazer. I've seen records like this time and again. And they always belong to soldiers who give a damn, soldiers who do what's right.” He raised a finger. “Don't mistake me. I'm not advocating insubordination. Disobey a lawful order from me, and there will be serious consequences.”

He smiled. “And I know why you don't come to the socials, Mazer. You skip them because you can't stand a kiss-up. The sight of all that fawning and pandering makes you sick to the stomach.” His smile widened. “But you see, that's just it. That's why I hold these socials whenever I receive a new post. I am looking for soldiers like you, Mazer, soldiers who are so repulsed by those games and turned off by the bureaucracy that they would risk offending their CO by not showing up.” He laughed. “The only thing I hate more than an idiot commander is a brown-nosing junior officer. Oh sure, I act entertained. I'll take their praise and compliments all day, but I'll hate them for it.” He smiled. “That surprises you, doesn't it?”