The Swarm: The Second Formic War

by Orson Scott Card

  Victor drifted up to Imala. “Good thing Arjuna stepped in. The pitchforks and torches were coming out.”

  “I don’t see why the IF doesn’t make him captain,” said Imala. “I’m not qualified for this.”

  “You are actually,” Victor said. “You’ve proven yourself in combat with the Formics. You’re a skilled negotiator, and you’re the best pilot I’ve ever seen. The IF values all of those skills.”

  “Yes, but I’m not a commander,” Imala said. “I’m not a natural leader like Arjuna is. Which is what matters here.”

  “You’re learning,” Victor said. “Arjuna’s a good teacher. Part of me wishes he was the Polemarch.”

  “All of me wishes he was the Polemarch.” Imala said. She turned to the holotable and began typing up her response to Ketkar. “I’ll tell him we need a few days of prep.”

  “When you’re done, come down to the workshop. I need to take a mold of your body to make your armor.”

  She gave him a skeptical look.

  “Relax,” he said. “You’ll be wearing a mining suit. Unfortunately.” He winked and left her at the helm.

  Mother was waiting for him out in the corridor. “Vico.”

  He grabbed a handhold and turned to her.

  “So you’re conscripted,” she said.

  “You know why they did it, Mother.”

  “I know why, yes, but I don’t agree with Arjuna on this. I’m not going to whisper about it to anyone other than you, but I can see why the others are furious. We don’t have to accept everything the IF orders us to do.”

  “Would you feel this way if they had conscripted someone else?” Victor asked. “Arjuna maybe? Or Naishihi?”

  “You’re my son. Obviously I’m going to object to you being conscripted more than someone else. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re treating us like putty in their hands. We have always operated away from the world, Vico. That’s why we’re called free miners, because we’re free of any nation or government or organization calling us their own. We determine who and what we are. We govern ourselves. What right does the IF have to seize this ship? Do they own all of space? Is the entire solar system and everything in it their legal property, to be picked up and seized at their whim?”

  Victor opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

  “And don’t cite some commerce act or document or constitution. Those mean nothing. They were invented by people in order to control us. Who gave them the right to draft those documents in the first place? Certainly not us. Just because they say they have power and authority over us doesn’t make it true. If I type up a document stating that all Italian free miners are subject to my tax, would you honestly expect them to pay it?”

  “This is different, Mother. There is a fleet of Formics coming. There may be a fleet already here. Unifying our efforts strikes me as wise.”

  “And when this is all over,” Mother said, “when the Formics are defeated, then what? You think the IF is simply going to dissolve and voluntarily relinquish all the authority they’ve gathered?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought. We’re all trying to survive at this point.”

  “I’ll tell you what will happen,” Mother said. “The IF will continue to justify its existence. It will continue to assert its authority, and it will continue to behave as if it is the ruling authority of space. And they’ll do with us, the free citizens of space, as they please. At the least they will treat us with contempt, at the most they will conscript us into their organization.”

  “Were you this angry, Mother, before they conscripted your son?”

  Mother sighed and was quiet a moment. “I lost your father, Vico. And during the last war, in the final battle, when you were in the thick of it, I was physically sick. I had no idea what was happening to you or if you were even alive. I didn’t sleep. And there wasn’t a soul I could talk to or turn to or find comfort in. Now the two most important people in my life are soldiers, and I have no idea what that means for their future. You’re both about to face another ship of Formics, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “This is what we came here to do, Mother.”

  “No, we came here to put a few cameras inside. Recon is soldier’s work. I don’t see why we can’t just send the probe inside.”

  “The probe wasn’t made for that kind of maneuvering. It’s a rocket. It’s designed to cross great distances ahead of the ship and conduct reconnaissance. It’s not made for wiggling through narrow, rocky, winding passageways. And anyway, it’s probably too big for the tunnels. Assuming there are any.”

  “Then make something that will work, a tiny drone maybe. There’s no cause to endanger yourself.”

  “I’ll be armored, Mother. Imala will wait in the quickship. I value my life as much as you do. I won’t take unnecessary risks. I’ll only be gone for a few hours.”

  “And then what? Then you and Imala leave for the fleet?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve had about thirteen minutes to process all of this.”

  She took his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, her face lined with worry.

  “I’ll be fine, Mother. I’ll have Imala. Is there anyone else you’d rather have protecting me?”

  “But recon, Vico. Tunnels.”

  “We’re not certain there are tunnels,” said Victor. “That’s speculation. I’ll go armed. If the air isn’t combustible, I’ll use my laser. In close quarters, it will do the job just fine.”

  “And if the air is combustible?”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Have faith, Mother.”

  “Faith is not to blindly believe, son. Faith is action. It’s doing something. It’s creating what we need and believing that God will be merciful enough to grant it in his time.”

  “And that’s what we’re doing. We’re taking action.” He gave her hands a final squeeze and then launched down to the workshop.

  * * *

  Three days later Victor and Imala met in the cargo bay on the eve of their launch to try on their suits and make last-minute adjustments. First they donned their mining suits, then came the armor.

  “I feel like a floating tank,” Imala said.

  “You look like you belong on a catwalk,” Victor said. “Even combat gear looks good on you, Captain Bootstamp.” He whistled.

  She rolled her eyes. “Flirtatious behavior, Ensign Delgado. Need I recite IF regulations on what is and isn’t appropriate communication between a commanding officer and her subordinate?”

  “You can recite the whole rulebook as long as it gives me an excuse to stare at that face of yours.”

  “Let’s focus, space born.”

  He nodded. “The armor isn’t bulky. It only feels that way because it adds so much mass. The design is rather slim and compact.”

  She moved her bent arms up and down like a chicken, getting a feel for the armor. “I wish we had a few months to train in these. You should never give a soldier new equipment on the night before a mission. I haven’t been to basic training, but I know at least that much. That’s how mistakes are made. Mazer would not approve.”

  “We don’t have much of a choice. Here, this is the helmet.” He reached to the side and pulled the helmet off the workbench where he had anchored it. It was made of the same alloy as the armor.

  “How am I supposed to see out of it?” Imala said. “It’s completely solid. There’s no visor.”

  “A solid helmet gives the best protection against heat,” said Victor. “Very small cameras are embedded in the front where the visor should be. They relay your surroundings onto your HUD inside your helmet. It’s panoramic. It almost feels like you don’t have a helmet on at all.”

  “Where did you get the cameras?”

  “From the scanning equipment. Don’t tell Arjuna.”

  He slid the helmet down over her head and sealed it to her suit. She turned her head from side to side experimentally and then faced him. Victor donned his own helmet and locked it down. Hi
s HUD and interface came to life in front of him. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Imala said.

  “Good. First we’ll try a few simple launches.” He pointed across the room to where he had mounted several foam pads on the wall just below a handhold. “The pads are your target. You’ll thank me for putting them up. Launching takes a little getting used to. Landing is even harder.”

  “You realize of course that there won’t be any foam pads at the asteroid,” Imala said. “It will be nothing but unforgiving ice and rock.”

  “I’m making it sound harder than it is,” Victor said. “The trick is to put more power in your legs than you’re used to. It will take a few attempts before you get the hang of it, so don’t get discouraged.”

  Of course Imala did it perfectly on the first try. She squatted, launched, and landed softly on the foam, grabbing the handhold to catch herself with ease. She turned her helmet back to face him. “How was that?”

  Victor laughed to himself. “I’d say that was beginner’s luck, but I know you better than that. Can you leap back?”

  She did, landing deftly beside him.

  “This is supposed to be harder for you,” Victor said.

  “You’re a good coach,” Imala said, reaching up and tapping him gently on the top of his helmet.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Immensely,” she said, giving his head another condescending tap.

  After ten minutes of flawlessly hopping back and forth, she moved on to full-body rotations, using a touch of propulsion from the back of her suit. She leaped, spun, landed on her feet on the opposite wall; then she used the momentum to squat again and immediately launch back. Before they finished an hour later they were both launching with confidence, hitting every target they aimed for and landing with their feet under them.

  They finally removed their helmets and anchored themselves to the floor to catch their breaths.

  “Don’t take any risks tomorrow,” Imala said. “First sign of the enemy, you’re out. I’m serious, Vico. If I order you to pull back, you pull back. I want your word on that.”

  “I wouldn’t dare disobey my commanding officer,” Victor said, smiling.

  She frowned. “I’m not joking, Victor. If you care about my happiness, you’ll keep yourself safe.”

  “We’re both coming back, Imala. I promise you that.”

  He kissed her gently on the forehead, and they parted to shower and rest for the night.

  Victor slept poorly. He was ill-prepared for this and he knew it. And yet what more could he do? If he knew what was beneath the shell, he could strategize, build weapons for the situation and environment, pack gear that he knew would be useful. Here he was going in blind.

  The size of the asteroid was to his advantage. The Formic miniship had obviously carried a small crew. There likely weren’t that many Formics inside. And with the asteroid measuring nearly two kilometers in length, his chances of running into a Formic were small.

  When he did finally succumb to sleep he found himself inside the dark narrow tunnels of the Formic scout ship. Ahead of him there was light. He knew where it would lead, and he pulled himself forward despite his rising sense of panic. No. He did not want to go this way. He did not want to see.

  The wide cargo area was just as he remembered it, a space so long and expansive that the Gagak could easily fit inside it. He knew this because there were ships here of similar size, or rather pieces of ships. The Formics had destroyed every ship that had come against them, and, motivated perhaps by curiosity, they had pulled the ship wreckage inside their own ship to analyze it. The pieces all floated in the giant space like a twisted, scorched junkyard. And there in the center of the debris was the cockpit of an American fighter with the dead pilot still inside. Victor knew what was coming next. Because this was not a dream, but a memory. Two Formics pulled the canopy away from the cockpit, unhooked the pilot, and slid his body free of his harnesses. They were not gentle. They yanked away his helmet, giving little regard to the straps and harnesses that popped or came loose after repeated pulls. Next came his spacesuit and flight jacket and under garment until the man’s pale, almost colorless chest was exposed.

  No. Why wouldn’t Victor’s eyes close? Why wouldn’t his feet move, his neck turn away? The Formic cut open the man’s abdomen and reached up upside him, searching for something Victor knew they wouldn’t find.

  * * *

  The next morning Victor met Magoosa and Imala in the locker room, where Magoosa helped them both into their armor. Victor tucked his helmet under his arm and faced his young apprentice. “Any last words of advice?”

  “Advice? No. But I made you something.”

  Magoosa reached into one of the lockers and pulled out a spear, about a meter and a half long. The black shaft and leaf-blade tip were a single piece made of a hard polymer. Black grip tape had been wrapped around the shaft in two places, and an adjustable cloth strap extended from the spear’s bottom to the top of the shaft just below the blade.

  “You might need this in the tunnels,” Magoosa said, handing it to Victor. “It straps across your back when not in use.”

  Victor hefted the spear and studied the blade at the tip.

  “It’s not incredibly sharp,” Magoosa said, “but the polymer is near indestructible and it won’t create a spark if you strike a rock.”

  “Did you design this?” Victor asked.

  Magoosa looked slightly embarrassed. “No, I downloaded it from one of those groups on Earth that dress up and play fantasy quests in the woods.”

  Victor smiled. “Thanks, Goos.”

  They made their way to the airlock, where most of the crew was gathered to see them off. Mother stood by the hatch, dry-eyed and stoic, trying to be strong for him, which gave Victor a shot of courage. She gave a quizzical look when she saw the spear in his hand. Victor winked at her, opened the hatch to the airlock, and followed Imala inside.

  He sealed the hatch, and then he and Imala put on their helmets and checked each other’s suits to make sure they were airtight and ready. Then Victor opened the exterior hatch and carefully pulled himself outside. The quickship was anchored to the Gagak’s hull beside the hatch. Victor clipped into the safety harness, passed the second harness to Imala, and then gave her enough room to follow him out. He then sealed the Gagak’s hatch closed again and moved for the quickship, tapping his thumb trigger to give himself a slight burst of propulsion.

  He and Imala wriggled into the cockpit. Victor secured his spear under the console and turned on the main power. The jury-rigged controls came to life, their readout screens dimmed down to low. The cockpit was extremely cramped. Victor and Imala were practically on top of each other.

  “Too bad we’re wearing all this armor,” Victor told her. “I could get used to tight quarters with you.”

  “Squeezed together but forever apart,” said Imala.

  She had meant the separation caused by their suits, but Victor couldn’t help but think it an apropos statement on their relationship as well. They had been thrown together from the beginning. She had been assigned as his caseworker on Luna when everyone thought he was out of his mind; they had flown to the Belt and back, crammed inside a tiny cargo vessel; they had squeezed in a craft even smaller than this one to fly to the Formic scout ship; they had bunked together on the freighter that had brought them out to the Kuiper Belt; they had shared a tiny barracks with twelve other adults for the past two years; and now here they were again, squeezing into a space not really big enough for the two of them. And yet there remained a distance between them.

  He had forced himself to remain optimistic about the mission. But now, with Imala beside him and them both squeezed into the cockpit, ready to depart, he couldn’t help but think how fragile she was, how fragile they both were.

  He pushed the thought away and got back to work. He blinked a command, and his camera feed began. “Cameras are on. Arjuna, are you getting my feed?”<
br />
  “Roger that. Coming through clear.”

  “Feed check,” said Imala.

  “Imala’s feed is confirmed as well,” said Arjuna. “But once you detach we go radio silent unless it’s an emergency.”

  “Roger,” said Victor. “We are ready to detach.”

  Arjuna’s voice crackled over the radio. “Detaching. Be safe.”

  Victor felt the brief grinding of metal as the anchor clips released their grip, and then the quickship was free. Imala used the retros to steer them clear of the Gagak and orient the quickship toward 2030CT. Then she lightly engaged the thrusters. They accelerated for only a few seconds, and then Imala killed the engines, letting inertia take over. It was best if they approached at a slow velocity without outputting any heat. There was no way of knowing what collision-avoidance system the Formics had employed, if any. It would be an anticlimactic shame for them to go to all this trouble only to be obliterated on approach.

  When they were within ten kilometers Imala tapped the forward retros and slowed the quickship to a negligible speed. It took them over four hours to drift the remaining distance. As they approached, the asteroid grew larger in their view, and the sheer size of it began to sink in. It was more than twice the size of the scout ship, and even though Victor had known that all along, it was only now that he truly grasped the implausibility of the shell around the rock. No, not a shell, more like a cocoon. And certainly bigger than the rock itself. Up close it looked like a giant alien egg of dark caramel glass. It dwarfed the quickship. Victor felt like an insect approaching a boulder. How could he possibly reconnoiter something so large?

  “How did they build this, Imala? Where did this material come from?”

  “No one’s shooting at us,” said Imala. “That’s all I’m worried about at the moment. Now what?”

  “I’d love for us to circle this thing and see it from every angle, but that would only increase our chances of being seen. Just keep heading in, not on a collision but a flyby. I’ll jump when I can, and you pull back with the quickship. You’ve got my camera feed. When I’m ready for extraction, I’ll hold up an open hand to my face. Then I’ll leap out through the canopy hole. Wait until I’m a distance away to come get me.”