The Swarm: The Second Formic War

by Orson Scott Card

  “If any piece of the GD malfunctions,” said Mazer, “it would alter the direction of the tidal forces at play. The results could be disastrous. Shards of hull material could burst outward and cut through my team like paper.”

  “I am aware of the danger,” said Vaganov. “As well as the challenges of the task. That is why I’m employing my best team. You’ll begin tomorrow at 0700. My aides will forward you the particulars.” Vaganov turned back to his desk.

  It was a dismissal.

  Well there you have it, Mazer thought. Vaganov was no ally, after all. In fact, he might even be more dangerous than the bureaucrats, for he was willing to needlessly endanger soldiers to please his superiors.

  “Permission to submit a formal objection,” said Mazer.

  Colonel Vaganov didn’t look at him. “If you feel the need to cover your ass, Mazer, by all means do so.”

  It was all Mazer could do. He straightened, saluted, and was out the door without another word.

  * * *

  Mazer’s team set out the following morning on schedule, with Mazer leading them in his capsule. Their destination this time was a C-class harvester—an early vessel in the space-mining industry designed to latch on to small, near-Earth asteroids and pull them to a harvesting station where miners would pick them clean of iron ore and precious metals.

  “Just like we practiced,” Mazer said. “The cubes may be live, but nothing we do changes.”

  At the appropriate time, he launched from his capsule and touched down on the surface, locking his Nan-Ooze boots into place. Three small vid screens on the left side of his HUD showed him the helmet cams of his teammates, who touched down nearby.

  The team moved swiftly, covering each other as they anchored their cubes to the hull. There would be no augmented-reality battle this time. This was get in and detonate.

  Mazer felt tense as he withdrew from the detonation zone and launched upward with the others. Four lines of Nan-Ooze stretched as the team shot away from the ship. Then the skinnywires snapped taut as they reached the maximum height.

  “Cubes align,” Mazer said, giving the order for the activated cubes to recognize each other, the last step before deploying the weapon.

  To Mazer’s horror, however, only three of the four cubes emitted a green go light.

  “Cubes align,” Mazer repeated.

  Nothing changed. One cube was nonresponsive.

  Mazer opened a radio frequency. “Control, this is Captain Rackham. We have a faulty cube here. Request permission to abort test, over.”

  The technician’s voice crackled back over the radio. “Captain, this is Control. Your request is denied. Proceed to contingency Beta. Over.”

  Mazer frowned, furious, then he pushed his frustration aside and refocused himself.

  There was a chance that one of the four team members would be killed in action or lost in transit, or that a cube would somehow prove defective, so a contingency had been created in the mission plan. The three remaining cubes would form a single triangle instead of four overlapping triangles. The tidal forces wouldn’t be as strong, and the resultant breach may not be as large, but the hope was that the team could still penetrate the hull and fulfill the mission.

  Mazer glanced at the others. “Cubes, engage contingency Beta. Authorization Captain Rackham.”

  The visual on his HUD told him the three cubes had realigned and were ready.

  “Deploy,” said Mazer.

  A force punched through the steel-reinforced hull as if it were thin aluminum, ripping jagged sections of the hull inward and sending cracks in every direction, as if the entire ship were about to crumble. A half second later the ship rocked to one side as the center of the breach widened unevenly, consuming one cube of the GD and then another, ripping, tearing, caving inward. Mazer spun, yanked to the right by his tether, slamming into someone, he didn’t know who.

  A scream of pain in his earpiece. Shrapnel flew around him, whizzing by his visor. He spun, disoriented, twisted in his tether line or maybe someone else’s, then he slammed into the side of the ship and bounced off, arms flailing, pain shooting up his shoulder, the ship vibrating for an instant beneath him.

  And then the vibrating stopped.

  As quickly as it had begun, the violence on the ship’s surface ceased. Cracks froze in place, no longer extending, and the hole in the side ceased bending inward.

  Mazer, however, didn’t stop. He was still in motion, spinning to his left, his tether further tangling with someone else’s.

  He reached down, trying to orient himself, and grabbed the tether at his ankle, his body in a ball. Then he struck the side of the ship again and grabbed at a crevice in the hull. The act was instinctual, and for a terrifying instant he thought the jagged edge might rip his suit. But no, the material held.

  “I’m hit,” Shambhani said, his voice heavy with pain. “Reel in.”

  Mazer saw him to his left. Sham was crumpled in a ball as his tether reeled him in. Mazer got his own feet under him and stood, his equilibrium still unsteady, the ship drifting slowly to one side beneath him, causing the canvas of stars around him to shift disorientingly to one side.

  Mazer reached Sham just as Sham reached the surface. A piece of shrapnel had sliced through Sham’s calf, leaving a gaping hole in his suit. The wound was open and purpling but spilling no blood. The suit’s self-sealing mechanism had saved Sham’s life by abandoning his leg from the knee down. Kaufman and Rimas gathered around him as Mazer shouted orders over the radio for an emergency EVAC crew.

  By the time the medic ship arrived and pulled them all inside, Sham’s leg had turned black, and his breathing was shallow. The medics cut his suit free and began working on him at once, but Mazer knew that there was little chance of saving the leg. They docked at the space station, and Mazer followed the stretcher to the medical wing. Nurses turned him away at the operating room and told him he was not allowed to wait here. They would contact him once there was news.

  Mazer hovered there in the corridor for a moment until he realized he was still in his suit. He looked a mess.

  He left and showered. By the time he was back in uniform a message on his wrist pad informed him that Shambhani had lost his leg and was now in recovery. He was not allowed any visitors.

  Mazer went straight to Colonel Vaganov’s office. The room was empty, but he saw Vaganov in the adjacent conference room through the large glass windows. Vaganov was facing an Asian woman Mazer didn’t recognize. A civilian, by the look of her. Business suit, formal demeanor.

  Mazer couldn’t hear their conversation, but the woman seemed to be the one directing affairs. After several minutes Vaganov nodded and then turned on the holotable and made a call. In moments the head of Ukko Jukes, the Hegemon of Earth, materialized in the holofield. A brief conversation followed. At one point Vaganov played a series of vids in the holofield for Ukko. Each one showed a different breach team conducting a test with the GD on a different target. The cubes were all live and successfully ripped holes in the hulls. Mazer noticed that in every test, all four cubes were lit and operative.

  The last vid was of Mazer’s team. Vaganov paused the vid on a close-up shot of the four cubes in place, with only three lit and ready to fire. Then he played the rest of the vid, which was edited. It cut back and forth between various cameras in a way that minimized the violence of the explosion. The concluding shot was of the hole in the side of the ship. Shambhani never made an appearance. No emergency EVAC. No rescue. No wounded leg.

  The Hegemon nodded his approval, spoke briefly, and then ended the call.

  Mazer watched as Vaganov and the woman shared a celebratory handshake. Then Vaganov escorted her out. They found Mazer in the corridor and Vaganov looked surprised. “Captain Rackham, the man of the moment. I present to you—”

  “Hea Woo Han,” said the woman, offering her hand. “You did excellent work today, Captain. Thank you.”

  “Ms. Woo Han is the director of research and development
at Gungsu Industries,” Vaganov said.

  Mazer understood. Gungsu was the Korean defense contractor that had designed the gravity disruptor. In the past few years they had gone from being a relative unknown in the weapons industry to a major player in the market.

  “Colonel Vaganov also shared with me your design for the nanoshield,” said Woo Han. “We’re intrigued. My engineers will want to discuss the project with you. A collaborative exploration of the tech is in order, I think, with you assisting our team as a WAMRED liaison. Colonel Vaganov can share with you our proposal.”

  Vaganov nodded. “Gladly.” He turned to Mazer. “Wait in my office, Captain Rackham. After I escort Ms. Woo Han back to her ship, we’ll discuss the matter in detail.”

  Everything was clear now. Vaganov was being deferential to a defense contractor instead of the other way around. Gungsu had him in their pocket. It made sense. Gungsu was a company of engineers. They didn’t know how to navigate the military bureaucracy. They needed commanders with influence who could put tech on the fast track to approval, who could help them penetrate the red tape and beat out competitors.

  Vaganov had come from Acquisitions. Had he begun his relationship with Gungsu then? That might explain Gungsu’s rapid ascent in the industry. The very man writing the checks was an ally.

  What had they promised Vaganov? Mazer wondered. Not direct payments, of course. That would be too risky, too easy to uncover.

  No, it would be some other method of compensation. A promised position on the Gungsu board when the war was over, perhaps, with a generous salary and a role as a consultant. It wasn’t an uncommon practice. Retired brass often took up positions at the big players. Maybe Vaganov had simply been given the offer in advance.

  “The presentation went very well,” Vaganov said upon returning. “The Hegemony was grateful. I expressed your concerns about the GD to Gungsu, and they found all of your complaints legitimate. They want to address every issue and make the system as safe as possible. Woo Han’s offer to you to work as a liaison is a real one, by the way. It has my approval. You can assist with the GD and the development of the nanoshield.”

  “The idea for the nanoshield wasn’t mine,” said Mazer. “It was Corporal Shambhani’s.”

  “Yes yes, he’ll get full credit in the report, I’m sure,” said Vaganov.

  “Corporal Shambhani is the one who lost his leg because of shrapnel today, sir.”

  “I haven’t seen the medical report,” said Vaganov, “but I’ll take your word for it. If his idea works, then his contribution will continue even after he’s given his medical discharge. Unless he opts to stay in. We need men with ideas.”

  Colonel Vaganov put a hand on Mazer’s shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Captain. You know as well as I do that training accidents are par for the course. We do our best to avoid them, but we are in the business of handling weapons of war. Accidents will happen.”

  Yes, thought Mazer. How deft of you to deflect blame from yourself by passing it to me.

  What was the GD contract worth, Mazer wondered? Four billion credits? Five? Buying a colonel in Acquisitions and then helping place him in command of WAMRED would cost far less.

  “Gungsu must be grateful for your guidance,” Mazer said.

  Colonel Vaganov dismissed the thought with a flick of his wrist. “We’re talking about you now, Captain. Opportunities like this don’t come often in the IF. You won’t see any bump in pay, but it will pay off in the long run.”

  I’m sure it will, thought Mazer.

  “There are other perks as well,” said Vaganov. “You’ll have to frequent Gungsu’s base of operations on Luna, which would allow you to visit your wife occasionally. That would make her happy, I bet.”

  “It would,” said Mazer.

  “Good. I’ll have someone prepare the paperwork.”

  He started for the door.

  “The defective cube,” said Mazer.

  Vaganov stopped, turned back.

  “It was deliberate,” said Mazer.

  He should have realized it before now. The Hegemony would demand that all potential applications be tested, which meant the colonel had to test the single-triangle formation. Yet he also needed that test to succeed. So he had given working cubes to the other teams and the faulty cube to the one team most likely to succeed despite the setback.

  “It was data the Hegemony required,” said Vaganov. “If they were going to go with the GD, we needed to prove it versatile and combat ready.”

  “If?” Mazer said. “Meaning it wasn’t tech the Hegemony asked for. They asked for something to put the world’s mind at ease, and you gave them a recommendation on what that tech should be?”

  “I fail to see your point,” said Vaganov.

  “You gave them the gravity disruptor,” said Mazer. “Out of all the proposed tech, you gave them the one that wasn’t ready to showcase.”

  Vaganov’s expression darkened. “Are you questioning my judgment?”

  “I’m questioning the motivation,” said Mazer. “There are dozens of projects in development here from other defense contractors. Why Gungsu? Why the GD?”

  “My motivations?” said Vaganov. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Captain, but there is a fleet of Formics heading this way with more firepower than we’ve cooked up in our worst nightmares. How many marines and pilots will we lose if we fail to take out just one of those warships? A thousand? Ten thousand? A man’s leg is an acceptable attrition rate. You may not like that math, but such is the arithmetic of war. Be grateful one leg is all we lost.”

  It was a baseless argument. The GDs wouldn’t work against the warships. Vaganov had even agreed to that fact. The man was clearly abandoning logic in pursuit of another agenda. He simply wanted to shut Mazer up.

  Don’t push him too far, Mazer thought, not before you’ve confirmed your suspicions.

  “You’ll forgive me,” said Mazer, bowing his head slightly. “My emotions are raw, sir, and I forgot my place. Shambhani is a dear friend, and I’m taking his loss too personally. I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

  Vaganov visibly relaxed. “I understand. It is an unfortunate loss.”

  “I don’t think it’s wise to take the nanoshield to Gungsu, though,” said Mazer. “Their track record in nanotech is not nearly as good as others. The nanoshield would be better off in the hands of Juke Limited or Galaxy Defense, I think.”

  Vaganov looked amused, as if he had just heard the mindless prattle of a child. “Leave that to me, Mazer. I was in Acquisitions. I have a good sense of a company’s capabilities.”

  “I don’t doubt it, sir,” said Mazer, “but Shambhani, when he filed for the patent, explicitly stated that he wouldn’t want Gungsu developing this. I think he’ll object.”

  Vaganov’s face fell. “Well, Shambhani has no say in the matter, whether he filed for a patent or not. He is an employee of the IF, and therefore we hold all intellectual property rights. He’s a fool to think otherwise. Gungsu has the project, and with Gungsu it will remain.”

  It was all the confirmation Mazer needed.

  “You will forgive me, sir,” he said, “but I cannot accept a liaison position with Gungsu.”

  Vaganov’s anger returned. “This isn’t open for discussion, Mazer. I’m not making an offer for your consideration. Gungsu insists on this.”

  “With all due respect,” said Mazer. “I am not beholden to a corporation, sir. No soldier is.”

  The subtext was obvious, and for a moment, neither man spoke. In the silence Mazer could see the wheels in Vaganov’s mind spinning, wheels that seemed to say, “He knows.”

  Vaganov brushed an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve, his demeanor suddenly relaxed. “You surprise me, Captain. I thought someone as smart as you would know how the military works.”

  Vaganov pressed a button on his wrist pad, and one of his lieutenants entered the room.

  “Sir?” the lieutenant said.

  “Call two MPs to
take Captain Rackham here into custody on charges of failure to obey a lawful order and gross negligence in the line of duty, resulting in a member of his team to be needlessly wounded.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the lieutenant and exited.

  “I submitted a formal objection,” said Mazer. Which was to say: I won’t be the one who bears responsibility.

  Vaganov looked perplexed. “Objection? I received no such document.”

  The implication was clear. Any record of Mazer’s objection no longer existed.

  “We have vids of the operation, though,” said Vaganov. “I’m sure you’ll be exonerated. Eventually.”

  It didn’t matter, Mazer knew. Even if he was acquitted, a court-martial would taint him. He’d end up on a supply ship in the Belt with a mop in his hand. He had pushed Vaganov too far. He had dug around the root to uncover the truth and dug himself a hole in the process.

  I should have left it alone, he thought.

  But no. Shambhani deserved better. The marines who would die in the capsules once the war began deserved better. Kim and every free citizen of Earth who believed the IF would protect them deserved better.

  The MPs arrived and were civil, almost apologetic. Mazer knew them both. They were good soldiers. Once they were certain Mazer had no weapons, they confiscated his wrist pad and then confined him to private quarters where he was to remain until being transported to Luna for his court-martial. He would never see his team again.

  We’re going to lose, Mazer thought. If men like Vaganov lead us, Earth will fall and Kim will die.

  I can’t let that happen. There has to be another way, despite the corruption and the blind incompetence. The IF may be a lost cause, but the war doesn’t have to be.

  CHAPTER 4

  Victor

  To: vico.delgado@freebeltmail.net

  From: notoccamsrazor@stayanonymous.net

  Subject: Tunnel cart

  * * *

  Victor,

  I received your 3D model for the tunnel carts. A simple but useful device. I’m surprised we haven’t seen more tech designed to help marines move quickly through a Formic ship. I realize now that so much emphasis has been placed on getting us to the ships and breaching their hulls, that too little consideration has been given to how we’ll proceed once we’re inside.