The Swarm: The Second Formic War

by Orson Scott Card

  The sun was nearly set now, and the temple interior was growing dark. Wila busied herself lighting a few candles and then carried one with her as she moved inside toward the wihan—the great hall where monks and believers met in prayer.

  Wat Thung Sri Muang was a tiny temple by Buddhist standards, no bigger than a modest home; to call the wihan a “great hall” felt like an exaggeration. Nor was the room particularly decorative. There were no golden statues of deities, demons, or mythical creatures; no ornate columns; no mosaics or pottery or framed art. There was only a single incense table—and a small, slightly wobbly one at that, built with the same ancient teakwood. A stick of incense burned for the spirits of the dead, and Wila paused to pass her hand through the thin tendril of smoke and bring the scent reverently to her face. Again, it was a gesture of her own invention, but it steadied her mind and helped prepare her for prayer.

  Master Arjo was sitting in the lotus position on the cushion at the front of the room, eyes closed, facing the entrance, deep in mediation. His saffron robes were wrapped tightly around his thin and wrinkled frame, and Wila wondered how he could sit in that position for hours on end with his arthritis. Two other monks, both men, sat before him, also in prayer.

  The city had risen around the temple over the centuries, crowding it with skyscrapers and commerce and the fog of pollution. Wila could hear the traffic outside and the distant wail of a siren. If she concentrated hard enough she could push the noise back in her mind until it nearly disappeared from her notice.

  She found a spot on the floor in the back and began her prayer. She had many prayers memorized for the Hive Queen, but the one she recited now was her favorite. It was not a prayer to the Hive Queen, for Wila, like all believers of Theravada Buddhism, did not pray to any being, including the Buddha himself. Rather, it was a prayer for the queen, that in her current unenlightened bodhisatta state she would learn greater compassion for all sentient beings in the universe. It was a prayer for harmony and kindness, for the injured of the Formic race, that their suffering would be lifted, that their minds would be open and bright and receptive to the kindness of those not of their species.

  It was a long prayer, and when Wila finally opened her eyes, she found Master Arjo sitting in front of her, eyes open staring just to the left of her head, his pupils milky white with cataracts. The other monks were nowhere to be seen.

  Somehow he detected that she had finished even though Wila had not moved.

  “Your prayers test my patience, Wilasanee,” said Master Arjo. “I was beginning to wonder if I should have packed myself a sandwich to tide me over until you finished.”

  Wila pressed her palms together and bowed low. “Master Arjo. I did not mean to make you wait.”

  “You went before your committee today,” the old man said, “and your heart is heavy. You are sad for the outcome and sad that your prayers concerning the matter proved fruitless.”

  “For a man who has no eyes, Master Arjo, you see quite clearly.”

  Master Arjo smiled. “I have eyes, child. But I do not need them to hear the grief in your voice. You knew this committee would not accept you. There was no chance of them changing their opposition to your dissertation. And yet you went anyway.”

  “I allowed myself to hope,” Wila said.

  “You allowed yourself to be abused,” Master Arjo said. “You allowed them to spit vile at you and shame you, for I imagine that’s what they did.”

  Wila said nothing, for she did not want to speak unkindly of the committee.

  “A young boy with a golden singing voice sees a ferocious tiger in a cage,” Master Arjo said. “The boy thinks he can tame this tiger with a song. So he steps inside the cage and sings the tiger a melody so sweet that all the villagers nearby who hear the song weep at the beauty of it. Whereupon the tiger opens its mouth and swallows the boy whole. Now, who is to blame? The boy, for being foolish enough to face such a beast, or the tiger for doing what tigers have always done?”

  “Neither,” said Wila. “I blame the cage maker, for making a structure so insecure that a foolish boy could get inside.”

  Master Arjo smiled. “Wilasanee. Always taking the untrodden path.”

  “I do not walk my path alone, Master. There are many in Thailand and throughout the Buddhist world who share my belief that the Hive Queen is a bodhisatta, a creature on the path to Buddhahood.”

  “It is an unpopular position,” Master Arjo said. “For starters, there is no evidence that the Hive Queen exists.”

  “We may have not seen her,” said Wila. “But we have plenty of evidence to suggest that she exists. Or at least something like her. Someone was directing the Formics, Master. They moved as one in battle, responded without hesitation and without verbal communication between them. We have it all on vid. When the Formic scout ship was attacked, every Formic on Earth stopped what it was doing and raced back to the scout ship to protect it. We’ve noted the timestamps. Every Formic responded at the exact same instant, wherever it was in China. It was as if all of them were responding to a single impulse from a single source. That alone is evidence of a queen.”

  “It is evidence of something,” Master Arjo said. “A mind beyond our comprehension. Perhaps it is a queen. But without physical evidence we cannot be certain. We are content to call it a queen because we associate the Formics with insect colonies on Earth. Like ants or bees or locusts. But the mind of their hive may operate differently. It might be the mind of a third species we have yet to discover, a species that controls the Formics like a farmer controls his plow horse. We simply do not know.”

  “I thought you believed in the queen,” said Wila.

  “I absolutely believe,” said Master Arjo. “For the idea of a Formic queen, a creature whose mind can cross immeasurable distances and touch the mind of another sentient being instantaneously, is an appealing theological construct. It is the first true example of an omnipotent mind that I have ever witnessed. That is enlightenment. That is by definition the Buddha mind, the ability to manifest your mind in millions of forms throughout millions of universes. That is the quest of us all.” He raised a withered finger. “However, why does the Buddha mind do this? For what purpose does an omnipotent mind reach across space?”

  “To relieve the suffering of all sentient beings,” Wila said.

  “Yes, to relieve suffering,” said Master Arjo. “This is where the idea of the Formic Queen as a bodhisatta unravels for me. The queen, if she is truly aspiring to Buddhahood, will never attain it. Her sins are too great, her bad karma too high. She did not relieve suffering on Earth, but rather created it to a degree beyond comprehension. No one invader has murdered more, burned more, broken more homes, shattered more innocence, destroyed more crops and cities and livelihoods. No being has slaughtered more innocent children. No creature has shown more disregard for order and peace and the precepts of Buddhism.”

  Wila said nothing. She had heard all of these arguments before. The dissertation committee had said pretty much the same thing only two hours ago—although, unlike Master Arjo, their faces were twisted with anger and contempt toward her when they had spoken. How dare she suggest that the Hive Queen’s motivations were anything other than murderous.

  If only Master Arjo could have been the voice of the committee, Wila thought. He would have rejected my theories with such gentleness that I would have considered the exchange a blessing. The outcome would have been the same, but at least she would have been spared all the insults and curses.

  “You have grown quiet, child,” said Master Arjo.

  Wila smiled. She was not a child. She was eighteen now, but he would always see her as the little girl who had come to him so many years ago.

  “I have offended you,” said Master Arjo.

  “Not at all,” said Wila. “I was merely thinking how much more I would have enjoyed my rejection had the committee employed you to deliver the news.”

  “I do not reject you, child. I cannot. For to reject you is
to reject a piece of my own heart.”

  “Reject my thesis then,” said Wila.

  “I question your theory on theological grounds,” said Master Arjo. “I cannot fathom how a creature responsible for so much death and destruction could possibly have a soul.”

  “Not a soul,” said Wila. “A philote.”

  Master Arjo frowned. “I do not know the word.”

  “It is a new word,” said Wila. “A theoretical concept. And the basis of my dissertation. The idea is that philotes are the fundamental building blocks of all matter and energy.”

  “A new molecular particle?”

  “The true, indivisible particle that is not made up of smaller ones,” Wila said. “Philotes combine to form all structures. Electrons, protons, neutrons, atoms, molecules, humans, Formics, asteroids, all things in the universe.”

  “How big is this particle?” Master Arjo asked.

  “That is the part we do not yet understand,” said Wila, “for it is believed that philotes take up no space whatsoever.”

  Master Arjo looked confused. “How is that possible? Everything occupies space, Wilasanee. If it has mass, even a subatomic amount of mass, it must occupy space to exist.”

  Wila shrugged. “That’s just it. A philote has no space or dimension or inertia.”

  Master Arjo nearly laughed at the premise. “No inertia? Then this is not a physical thing. How can something that cannot be detected be proven to exist? It defies established laws of physics. It is no wonder that this persists as only a theory.”

  “Do not discount the theory completely, Master Arjo. The idea of a philote might explain many unanswered questions. Central to the idea is that each philote connects itself to the rest of the universe along a single ray, a one-dimensional line that connects it to all the other philotes in its smallest immediate structure. These strands twine together and connect to a larger structure, such as a proton. And the gathering strands twine and extend to larger and larger structures in the molecular level and beyond, until all things are connected.”

  “All things?” Master Arjo asked. “Both living and nonliving?”

  “All things,” Wila repeated. “You are connected to me. And we to this temple, and the temple to the flowers of the lotus pond, and to the people of this city, and to the insects, and the birds, and the very planet itself. Consider it, Master Arjo. We have longed believed that the truly enlightened mind can, with little effort, do all that is required to benefit all beings of the universe, that it could manifest itself in millions of forms. Yet science has never answered how such a thing could be possible. In fact, science has always vehemently rejected the idea, for there has never been any basis in science for such a concept. But what if science and religion and faith entwined their fingers and worked as one? What if biochemistry and physics found place in Buddhism and vice versa? Philotical principles answer this great question of our faith. How can one mind reach out to others in the universe, crossing vast distances to communicate some message of comfort? How can the mind achieve such a seemingly impossible reach?”

  “Why did this committee reject you?” Master Arjo asked. “Because of your views on the Hive Queen or your views on theoretical biochemistry?”

  “Both,” Wila said. “At times it was hard to tell which concept angered them most. I tried to explain that I do not condone the Hive Queen’s actions. I find the devastation of the Formics as horrific as they do. I am merely trying to understand a mind that is completely alien from our own. We have imposed our morals on a creature that developed under a completely different evolutionary process. What is death to a Formic? What is a human life? Does the Hive Queen share our values of such things? And are we certain that our interpretations of her point of view are correct? That is where we fall short, I believe. We are certain we know the mind of the Hive Queen. We have defined her as a malicious and remorseless creature of pure evil. But the basis for such a reputation is our own value system. We are operating under the assumption that she sees the world as we do and chooses to act destructively. But what if the Hive Queen does not see her acts as destructive? What if she sees them as the opposite? As constructive to her own species?”

  “You did your research at one of the most conservative universities in all of Thailand,” said Master Arjo. “You knew your ideas would be rejected and yet you persisted.”

  “They are not my ideas alone,” Wila said. “And I persisted because this is the path of enlightenment. Our duty is to see a creature’s true nature. Not the value society places upon it, but what it truly is. That is the quest of the fully developed mind. The world may look at an acorn and see an annoying round nut that must be raked up from the yard and disposed of. It is a nuisance. But the Buddha mind must look at the acorn and see its true nature. We must see a potential oak tree.”

  “And that is why you think the Hive Queen may be a bodhisatta. She has the potential to achieve Buddhahood.”

  “It is the foundation of our belief system,” Wila said. “We believe that all beings can achieve full consciousness. Perhaps it will take the Hive Queen a thousand centuries to do so, living and dying a million times. But to say that she cannot, to deny her the possibility, contradicts the very core of our faith.”

  Master Arjo smiled. “When monks speak with me, they come to learn wisdom. But with you I feel as if I am the student.”

  Wila bowed low again, appalled. “Forgive me, Master Arjo. I did not mean to give offense.”

  Master Arjo laughed. “No offense taken, child.” He grimaced as he got to his feet with some difficulty. “But come, walk me through the garden. Give me a biochemist’s perspective on the wonder of life.” He held out his arm for her to take.

  Wila got to her feet. “But it is dark out, Master Arjo. The sun has set.”

  “The world is always dark through my eyes, Wila. Isn’t that what you seek? To know the world through the eyes of another? To experience their view of the universe and thereby gain compassion? How else can you know and understand me? Come, teach me of the flowers. Let us see the acorns for what they truly are.”

  * * *

  Wila returned to her apartment late that evening, and for the first time in years there was no stack of books or academic papers demanding her attention. They were there on her computer terminal as always, waiting for her to read them, but they did not call to her now. She did not feel the driving sense of urgency that had carried her throughout her pursuit of her doctorate.

  She would continue in her studies of course, despite the rejection. For it was her duty as a believer to expand her understanding. But that would be her only motivation. She would be doing it to grow her mind, not her income.

  There were other, more liberal universities that might entertain her sympathetic views of the Hive Queen and call her progressive, but they would likely find her religious devotion off-putting if not downright disdainful. Religion had no place in academia, and especially not for a biochemist. Plus, she had no credentials. She had never been published. She had no doctorate. Who would take her seriously?

  She had not shaved her head today, so she took a few minutes to do so. As always it allowed her to feel a sense of renewal. A starting from scratch. She prepared a glass of black tea with crushed tamarind and cardamom, and then settled in front of her terminal to read the news.

  The lead story grabbed her immediately. Lem Jukes had released thousands of documents about the Formic hull and invited the world to help him crack it. Wila opened the files and began to browse. She had seen much of the interior of the ship already, for she had studied the vid that Victor Delgado had taken when he infiltrated the ship during the war. The vid had shown a massive garden in the center of the ship where dozens of alien life-forms were kept in a dense junglelike bio preserve. Animals and plants of every variety. The garden had served as the ship’s source of oxygen, but for the scientific community it was the single greatest biological discovery in history. Or rather, it would have been if it had not been completely destro
yed in the final battle when gamma radiation was released all throughout the ship.

  Oh what Wila would give to have spent an hour in that garden. The smells, the soil, the plants, the creatures. So much could be learned about the Formic planet’s evolutionary history. What genetic advantage had allowed the Formics to evolve as a dominant species, for example? And did the plants follow the pattern of photosynthesis? It would seem so, but how, and to what degree?

  Wila had noticed in the vid—brief as it was—how the Formics had used smaller creatures to complete certain chores or operations. Had Formics evolved with these creatures or had the Formics engineered them for that specific task? The doily weapons the Formics wielded were evidence that the Formics had practiced some bioengineering. Had they engineered other, more complex organisms? And specifically, had the Hive Queen engineered them? And if so, could the Hive Queen communicate with an engineered species in the same way that she communicated with her own? The idea was not outside the realm of possibility. If the Hive Queen clearly understood philotic connections and how to transmit information across a philotic thread, then would she not also understand how those threads twined with an organism of her own invention?

  The questions had swirled around in Wila’s head for years.

  Now there was this. The hull. Tech developed by the Formics. Along with years of detailed analyses from highly skilled scientists and engineers. And they were asking for help. Anyone’s help.

  On the surface it appeared to be a question of mechanical engineering. How do we break through this hull? What breach method or weapon do we build that’s strong enough to destroy it?