Explaining Cthulhu to Grandma and Other Stories

by Alex Shvartsman

  Jenkins straightened himself, fighting the cold knot in the pit of his stomach the entire way. “What would that be?”

  Nakamura’s smile widened. “Pack your things, Doctor. You will not be disappointed.”

  The ship wasn’t what Jenkins expected. Instead of an impressive cruiser like the one at Tycho, George Patton was a tiny scout ship, built for speed rather than firepower. His backpack scraped against the bulkheads as he navigated his way down a narrow corridor. He found the rest of the team gathered in a cramped messdeck at the heart of the ship.

  Jenkins studied the gathered cadre of diplomats, perfectly coiffed and utterly incompetent when it came to dealing with anyone but other humans, as far as he was concerned. They stared back with more than a little contempt.

  “You must be Nakamura’s pet academic,” said a dark-haired woman in her thirties. “Theresa Matos, at your service.”

  “Why do we need a xenoarchaeologist, anyway? The bogeys we have to deal with ain’t dead yet.” An older man with graying sideburns sized Jenkins up. His distinguished looks didn’t quite match his plainspoken manner. He was the only one in the group to wear a uniform, which identified him as a navy liaison.

  “Maybe he’s an expert at making them dead,” chimed in another diplomat.

  “Settle down, Rigdon,” said Matos to the older man. “If the boss wants him along, there must be good reason. She has an eye for such things.”

  “Speak of the devil,” muttered someone in the back as Nakamura entered the messdeck.

  “I see you’ve all met,” she said. “Good.” Nakamura strolled to the center of the cabin. “Now that everyone is here I can share the fun factoid of the day, brought to you courtesy of Navy Intelligence. The Swarm has proposed an alliance to the Sgovari.”

  Nakamura settled back to watch the effect of the bombshell she’d just dropped. Everyone spoke at once, incredulous at the news and trying to sort out the implications. Humans were always known as the coalition builders, sweet-talking or threatening the minor species to fight on their side of the conflict. The Swarm, on the other hand, was a race of hive-mind nests which notoriously didn’t play well with others. Species that kept their head down and stayed out of the fighting were ignored, unless they were unfortunate enough to possess resources desired by the Swarm war machine. Everyone who resisted and lost was utterly destroyed.

  “But why the Sgovari?” asked Matos. “They’ve got nothing of any value. It’s like one of the major twentieth century Cold War powers seeking an alliance with Lichtenstein.”

  “They must know something we don’t,” said another diplomat.

  “Our mission is to find out,” said Nakamura. “To learn what the Swarm is after, and to prevent them from getting it.”

  “Without the Navy backup?” asked Rigdon. “The Swarm won’t just let us waltz in and piss into their soup.”

  “You don’t like any plan that doesn’t rely on superior firepower, do you?” said Matos.

  “That’s exactly what we will do,” said Nakamura. “The Swarm are still negotiating the terms of the treaty with the Sgovari. We are going there under the guise of doing the same thing. The Swarm may be a formidable enemy, but I’ll be damned if we can’t out-negotiate the bastards.”

  “You’re ignoring the bigger picture,” said Jenkins.

  The diplomats looked to see what insight the alien expert had to offer.

  “For the first time ever, The Swarm showed interest in cooperating with another species. Whatever they want, whatever their reasons are, it means they’re capable of peace. It may still be possible to end this war in a fashion that doesn’t involve total destruction of one of our species.”

  Rigdon frowned. “There can never be peace with the Swarm. You may be some kind of Bogey Whisperer whiz kid, but you haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”

  “Five minutes in the Corps and Jenkins is already working on ways to single-handedly end the war. Now that’s ambitious,” said Nakamura. A few of the diplomats chuckled.

  “Our priority is to figure out The Swarm’s motives. All the data Navy Intelligence collected on the Sgovari has been released to your consoles,” said Nakamura. “Start digging.”

  Gathered by the view screen in the messdeck, the diplomats stared in silence at the side of the Swarm warship orbiting the Sgovari homeworld.

  A gnat next to the enemy vessel at its portside, George Patton was outclassed in every way. A single salvo from the warship would be enough to annihilate it. Yet the Swarm made no move against them.

  “I feel like a target in a shooting range,” said Rigdon. “A very slow moving, easy to hit target.”

  “They won’t jeopardize the negotiations by attacking us in Sgovari space,” said Nakamura.

  “The Dutch and the English fought a brief naval war off the coast of medieval Japan once,” said Rigdon. “Both sides figured the Japanese would want to trade with whoever proved to be the stronger power.”

  “It’s not the same,” said Nakamura. “The Sgovari are very particular about rules of engagement. We should be fine.”

  “Are you willing to bet our lives on that?” Rigdon glared at the diplomat.

  She met his gaze straight on. “I am. And if I’m wrong… Well, our orders are to sabotage the treaty by whatever means necessary.”

  After two days of intensive research, they hadn’t a single clue as to the enemy’s intentions. Sgovari didn’t even have faster than light travel – their level of technological advancement was barely enough to let them dicker around within their solar system. There were no secret weapons, large caches of rare metals or any other obvious prize for an advanced race to covet.

  Diplomatic conventions or not, Jenkins recognized the Swarm passing on an opportunity to take out an Earth vessel to be a minor miracle. Something new and strange was happening in this remote corner of the galaxy, something that caused the Swarm to deviate from their standard behavior for the first time in a decade. Something that could alter the course of this war. The answer wasn’t in the research. At the end of the day, the humans would have to go down to the planet and figure out what was happening for themselves.

  Unharassed, Patton sailed past the enemy warship and began its descent.

  The human delegation stood near the center of a massive hall, surrounded by tens of thousands of Sgovari. Their seven-foot height and bark-like skin made Jenkins feel as though lost in the forest of intelligent trees.

  “The damn dress uniform itches,” said Rigdon. “Why do we have to dress up to meet bogeys anyway? It’s not like they can tell a tuxedo apart from my pajamas.”

  “I think it’s about to begin.” Nakamura shushed him, pointing toward the commotion at the other end of the hall.

  The enormous structure served as a cross between a presidential palace, a temple, and a theater. Sgovari gathered there in great numbers for elaborate ceremonies that were part democracy in action and part performance art. The leaders would always arrive last and the humans were waiting for the upcoming spectacle along with everyone else.

  The sylvan crowd had shifted to create a wide open passage toward the center of the hall. Humans turned, expecting the Sgovari leaders, but down the open path came something else.

  A group of nine beings walked in perfect diamond formation. They wore heavy pressure suits adorned with a gray and white pattern the color of a stormy sky. Opaque helmets covered their heads.

  “Is that …?” Jenkins asked the nearest diplomat.

  “The Swarm,” she whispered back.

  The Swarm drones walked toward the center, not slowing down or acknowledging the human delegation in any way. They came to a halt a stone’s throw away, and settled in to wait.

  Soon after, the Sgovari equivalent of king and parliament showed up. Fifty or so of their most influential citizens climbed up a pair of steps onto an elevation at the center of the room and began swaying softly in what Jenkins could best describe as an interpretive dance.

  By all rights Jenkins shou
ld have been watching the stage, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the Swarm drones. Hive mind beings from across the galaxy, humanity’s greatest nemesis, stood here in this room, placidly watching the ceremony.

  Once the event began, the drones’ helmets became translucent and Jenkins caught his first glimpse of the enemy.

  Their heads were sharp and birdlike, reminiscent of a featherless owl. From a distance the flat beak was almost indistinguishable from a human nose. Deeply set aquamarine eyes dominated their faces. And they glowed. Each drone emitted an otherworldly pale light which, paired with the fishbowl helmets, created an illusion of halos.

  They were beautiful.

  Altogether the effect was that of a savage, alien beauty which mesmerized Jenkins like a mouse caught in a snake’s gaze. One of the drones turned toward the humans. For the briefest of moments their eyes locked, breaking the spell and sending a shiver down Jenkins’ spine. He broke eye contact and turned toward the stage.

  Sgovari danced for over an hour. Those standing in the front rows began to sway, soon followed by the masses behind them. Eventually humans and the Swarm were the only ones left standing still. Then the movement ceased abruptly, as though someone flipped an off switch.

  An interpreter addressed the humans: “An offering of friendship from both of the grand cultures from beyond the sun has been relayed to the people. They have heard, and they are grateful.”

  “Do they understand that they can only accept the friendship from one of us?” asked Nakamura.

  “We understand. We must confer, and we must decide. The Sgovari culture must dream each one in turn and conclude which friendship is more vivid.”

  “In other words, let the bidding begin,” whispered one of the diplomats.

  Everyone was moving now, heading toward dozens of exits. With the ritual over, the movement was chaotic and disorganized. Some of the Sgovari walked through the group of humans with little regard, separating them in the crowd. Nakamura was still talking to the interpreter, but Jenkins was pulled further and further away by a mass of moving aliens.

  He saw his chance and slinked away from the group in the direction where he knew the Swarm drones to be standing.

  When else would the humans share space with Swarm drones without trying to kill each other? It was a unique opportunity, and Jenkins would be damned if he didn’t take advantage of it. Let them court martial him later.

  Jenkins pushed his way through, scraping his arms, uniform, and face. He couldn’t see anyone but a teeming mass of Sgovari. The fear that he lost his way in the crowd only added to his adrenaline rush as he shoved past the Sgovari.

  He squeezed through a gap between several of the tall aliens and there they were, the group of nine drones speaking to their own interpreter.

  “Excuse me.” Jenkins approached the drones carefully, so his intention would not be confused for an attack. The drones turned to face him with clockwork synchronization.

  “I’d like to speak with you if I may,” said Jenkins. He had no idea whether they might understand him. The Swarm was a hive mind species, each drone sharing the knowledge and experience of their entire nest, so he thought there was a reasonable chance of it. In any case, he had to try.

  “There are many humans who want peace,” said Jenkins. “And since you’re here then surely at least some of the nests must feel the same way.”

  The drones stared impassively at Jenkins.

  “I only ask for an opportunity to understand each other. A new beginning. If you’re willing to talk, I’ll take word back to Earth. I’m sure that . . .”

  One of the drones stepped forward and raised its hand, silencing Jenkins.

  “You are the World Burner,” said the drone.

  It was Jenkins’ turn to remain silent as he tried to puzzle out an appropriate response.

  “It is our name for you,” said the drone. “You call us the Swarm. We call you World Burner because you have come unprovoked and killed us with fire.”

  Jenkins knew it was the humans who started the war by kicking a Swarm settlement off a mining world. The Navy didn’t realize that they were poking at a tiny piece of a very large bear.

  “We made mistakes. We aren’t perfect, and every individual makes their own decisions,” said Jenkins. “I’m very sorry my people attacked yours. But both sides repeat this tragedy tenfold each day the war continues.”

  “You do not understand,” said the drone. “You do not feel because your mind is small and alone.”

  “I’m trying my best to understand,” said Jenkins. “I lost friends in the war. Family, even. Probably, every human has.”

  “You do not understand,” repeated the drone. A tendril with a thick slab of flesh on its tip snaked from inside the arm of the alien’s suit. “We are one. We remember the pain. Forever.” The tendril reached out to Jenkins and its tip touched his forehead like a human palm.

  A flash of incredible pain echoed in Jenkins’ head. An alien pain, different from anything he had experienced before, muscle memory of nerves that weren’t human. And through the pain, he could see the images of slaughter.

  Navy ships hung overhead, against the backdrop of an alien sky. Lights flashed rapidly from the ships’ hulls and it took Jenkins a moment to realize that they were firing weapons at the ground.

  Jenkins looked around. It was no mining outpost. An alien city sprawled around him as far as an eye could see. Every building was enormously tall, akin to Earth’s skyscrapers. And every building burned.

  Jenkins reeled from pain and displacement. He knew he wasn’t actually there, but he could feel the waves of heat on his face, smell the smoke, and feel cinders land on his skin. He could sense the consciousness of the Swarm drone hovering somewhere beyond the memory. His mind latched on to it in desperation, as if it were a piece of driftwood on the edge of a maelstrom.

  Navy ships rained fire upon the city. Each valley sent a fresh spasm of pain through Jenkins’ head as he felt the Swarm drones around him die by thousands. Then the ground shook and an entire section of the city collapsed like a sand castle. The next wave of pain was beyond tolerance. Jenkins lost control and felt the maelstrom pulling him in.

  He blinked hard several times and tried to focus on the Swarm emissaries hovering above him. He was back on the Sgovari home world, lying on the ground, and the tentacle was no longer feeding the hive nest memories into his mind.

  “Now you understand,” said the drone. It retracted the tentacle into its pressure suit. “We remember this, always.”

  Jenkins tried to speak but he only managed a weak groan.

  “You are the World Burner,” said the drone. “There can never be peace.”

  The nine drones turned their backs on the human sprawled on the floor and walked away.

  Jenkins recuperated aboard the ship. By the time the other humans had found him, he had lost consciousness and continued to drift in and out for several hours, despite the best efforts of the medic. His recovery was slow and unpleasant, despite the pain killers.

  Nakamura came to see him on the following day.

  “What in God’s name were you thinking? Matos saw one of the drones attack you right in the middle of the sacred hall.”

  Jenkins put aside the computer he was working on. “They didn’t attack me. They were trying to communicate.”

  “Don’t tell the Sgovari. We’re milking the guest-being-hurt-on-their-turf thing for all it’s worth in the negotiations.”

  Jenkins managed a weak smile.

  “What did the Swarm want with you?”

  Jenkins considered telling Nakamura about the memories the drone had shared with him. He’d thought of little else since his mind recovered enough. But he decided against it. Either she already knew about the severity of the Navy war crimes that started the war, or she didn’t and it would only burden her. In either case, the Swarm was out to kill every human, not just the ones responsible for the tragedy they showed him, and Jenkins had to do his part in or
der to stop them.

  “They threatened me, mostly. Called humans the World Burner.”

  “I wouldn’t mind burning a few of their worlds,” said Nakamura.

  Jenkins gritted his teeth but made no comment.

  “Well I hope you can get out of bed soon. I could use your insight with the negotiations.”

  “How is that going?” Jenkins carefully pushed himself up on the bed.

  “Little by little. The Sgovari know both us and the Swarm want them in our corner, so they’re bargaining hard. They want technology, defense, and tons of other goodies. Their head negotiator is so sleazy you could slap a fake mustache on him and he’d be ready to sell used cars in New Jersey.”

  “Don’t give away the farm,” said Jenkins. “I believe I may have figured out the Swarm’s plan.”

  “What is it?” Nakamura leaned in. “What does the Swarm want in this godforsaken place?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” said Jenkins. “It’s a gambit, of sorts.”

  Nakamura tilted her head. “How do you mean?”

  “When the Swarm drone touched me, I was connected to it,” said Jenkins. “We couldn’t read each other’s thoughts, but I could feel its emotions. The Swarm are incredibly xenophobic. Humans aren’t exactly the model citizens of the galaxy, but the fear, contempt and hatred some people feel toward aliens are a mere emotional blip when compared to what goes on inside of the hive mind of a Swarm nest.”

  “This isn’t exactly new information,” said Nakamura. “What of it?”

  “They hate the other species too much to voluntarily coexist with them,” said Jenkins. “Not even for a significant advantage. Therefore, their offer of alliance must be a ruse.”

  “To what end?”

  “The Swarm knows that the humans have been running around the galaxy and talking others into fighting on our side.” Jenkins thought back to Tycho. “Occasionally with a bit of success.”

  “Right.” Nakamura sat down at the edge of the bed. “I see where you’re going with this. They offer a fake alliance to a useless species in the arm pit of the galaxy. We come running, eager to outmatch them with a better deal, to offer whatever the prospective allies want, which ties up our resources and wastes our time. All at the cost of a single Swarm ship spending a few days away from the front lines.”