The Hive

by Orson Scott Card

  “He’s right,” said Mazer. “I’ve seen plenty of commanders who fit that description.”

  Bingwen said, “Nak and I believe that Colonel Li’s superiors gave him this assignment to give to us. We think we’re being used as analysts in a study this secret group is conducting.”

  “With what purpose?” asked Mazer.

  “To stop the Fleet from promoting unqualified commanders,” said Bingwen. “To prevent authority being given to the incompetent, the cowardly, and the naive. To remove the idiot commanders and put in the ones who actually belong in positions of command.”

  “Good,” said Mazer. “That’s an effort I wholeheartedly applaud.”

  “But doesn’t it bother you?” said Bingwen. “That there may be a secret group within the IF conducting this type of research and pursuing this thinking?”

  “Why would it?” said Mazer. “You think they’re acting outside their authority?”

  “Aren’t they?” said Bingwen.

  “Maybe not,” said Mazer. “Maybe this is a group assigned and created by the Hegemon for this precise purpose. It’s no secret that Ukko Jukes has serious issues with IF leadership. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’s examining how the Fleet promotes people and makes them commanders.”

  “But maybe it’s not the Hegemon,” said Nak. “Maybe it’s a rogue group of commanders. Maybe it’s a coup.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a coup,” said Mazer. “Coups are quick and violent. No one is seizing the Hegemony here. Whoever these people are, they’re putting the Fleet under a microscope and looking for the bacteria. That’s a good thing as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Except that we don’t know who they are,” said Bingwen. “Nor do we know what their ultimate goal might be. Maybe identifying bad commanders and bad practices is only phase one of their objective. That bothers me. I don’t like not knowing who I’m working for.”

  “You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought,” said Mazer.

  “We’ve been crammed in this bucket for over a month,” said Bingwen. “Time to think is all we have.”

  Nak said, “All the records that Colonel Li gave us to study came to him almost instantly after the captain’s death. No way he could have gotten all those by laserline that fast. He has to have an ansible.”

  “And consider this,” said Bingwen. “Someone greenlighted Colonel Li’s program of turning orphaned boys into future commanders. There are those in the Fleet like Colonel Dietrich who are opposed to the initiative. And yet Colonel Li was confident that Dietrich wouldn’t stand in his way. That means powerful people in the Fleet are willing to come to Li’s defense and safeguard our program.”

  “Every military and government have an intelligence organization,” said Mazer. “Maybe Li reports to the intelligence arm of the Hegemony. Maybe those are his superiors.”

  “What’s the organization called?” said Bingwen.

  “No idea,” said Mazer. “But the Hegemony almost certainly has one.”

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest, though,” said Bingwen, “to have an IF officer secretly part of an intelligence agency reporting to the Hegemony, possibly in direct conflict with his chain of command in the IF?”

  “That’s a question for Colonel Li,” said Mazer. “Though, if true, I doubt he’d give you an honest answer. That’s the secret of intelligence agencies: They prefer to remain secret.”

  They reached the Kandahar two weeks later. The selenop spread its anchor arms and gripped the Kandahar near the helm, where a large hole had been cut into the ship’s hull, exposing the helm to the vacuum of space.

  “That hole doesn’t go through to the other side,” said Bingwen. “So it wasn’t a weapon’s blast. It’s too clean for that.” He directed the selenop’s spotlight toward the hole. “Look at the edges of the cut. How precise they are. How straight. And cut to the precise depth of the hull’s thickness. That’s an access hole, Mazer. The Formics didn’t blast this ship into smithereens. They cut their way inside.”

  “Why would they board the ship?” asked Nak. “Have we seen them do that before?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” said Mazer. “Maybe it wasn’t the Formics. Maybe pirates came after the ship was scuttled and cleaned it out.”

  “If you were a pirate, would you venture into Formic-infested space to scavenge a dead ship?” said Bingwen.

  “If I was hungry enough, I might,” said Mazer. “If I thought the ship had valuable equipment that I could sell on the black market or keep for myself and make me more lethal in future raids.”

  “You think too easily like a pirate,” said Bingwen, grinning. “I’m sensing a sinister side.”

  “It’s called survival,” said Mazer. “This far out, this isolated from everything, if you’re a pirate you can’t afford not to take risks.”

  “Check this out,” said Nak, who had taken control of the spotlight and was moving the beam around the surface of the Kandahar. “Look at the hull.”

  “What about it?” said Bingwen.

  “No markings,” said Nak. “No IF insignia, no hull numbers, no hull classification symbols, no painted shark teeth or bombardier maidens. There’s nothing. The hull is solid black and completely clean. Like the ship doesn’t exist.”

  “Ghost ship,” said Bingwen. “Made to blend in with the black of space.” He turned to Mazer. “If the Hegemony had a secret intelligence organization, would they have their own ships?”

  “Depends on how big the organization is and what their mission is,” said Mazer. “But if I had to guess, I’d say almost certainly. Space is vast. You can’t expect scopes or satellites to gather all the intelligence you need.”

  They suited up into pressure suits and moved into the selenop’s tiny airlock where the tether cables and winches were housed. Bingwen’s and Nak’s pressure suits and helmets had been custom made to fit their diminutive sizes. They spent an hour double-checking all their seals and life support before hooking the tether cables onto the rings on the back of their suits and moving outside the airlock. It was a short spacewalk from where the selenop was anchored to the hole cut into the Kandahar. Mazer led the way, moving gingerly along the surface of the Kandahar, relying on the NanoGoo on the soles of his boots to grip the surface and allow him to stand. Each step was slow and laborious as he had to wait for the NanoGoo to seep into and grip the tiny surface scratches on the hull. The distance to the hole was only twenty meters, but it took them nearly half an hour to reach it and swing down into the ship.

  The helm of the Kandahar was dark and empty. No sign of the crew. A few tiny red lights blinked on the consoles.

  “No bodies,” said Nak.

  “The corpses might have drifted out the hole,” said Bingwen. “Or maybe they retreated further into the ship once they heard the Formics cutting their way inside.”

  They turned on their helmet lights and started their camera feeds to record everything. Mazer detached the slaser rifle secured to his leg but kept it on safety.

  “Decouple your tether lines and hook them on to something in here,” said Mazer. “The recon drone should be down in the cargo hold, assuming it docked correctly. We don’t have enough tether line to reach it.”

  They unclipped their tether cables from the backs of their suits and then tied their tether cables together and anchored them to one of the flight chairs. Then they crossed the helm and Mazer banged on the sealed hatch that led to the corridor.

  “Are you expecting someone to knock back?” said Bingwen. “There can’t be survivors. The ship ran out of life support a while ago.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to check,” said Mazer.

  “What do we do if someone knocks back?” said Nak.

  “Pray it isn’t a Formic,” said Mazer.

  No one knocked back.

  Mazer opened the hatch and gusts of air were sucked out as the corridor beyond lost all pressure. When the air calmed and the corridor was a vacuum, Mazer and the others cautiously lef
t the helm and drifted into the corridor. There were no blinking lights here. The corridor was pitch black and crowded with floating debris. Wall tiles, cables, cargo boxes, items that had shaken loose and bounced about in the battle, perhaps. Mazer swept the space with his helmet beam. The debris and bulkheads and structural braces along the walls created all kinds of shadows.

  Mazer turned on his magnetic greaves and anchored his feet to the metal-grated floor. Bingwen and Nak behind him did the same. Pushing debris gently out of the way to create a path, Mazer advanced down the corridor. He took the slaser off safety as a precaution.

  They hit a T junction and Mazer went left. Colonel Li had supplied them with a map of the ship, which was projected on Mazer’s HUD inside his visor. They found their first corpse shortly thereafter. A male, early twenties, drifting among the debris in a pressure suit. Mazer turned him over but he didn’t find any visible punctures in the suit, suggesting that the man had died of asphyxiation once his suit ran out of oxygen. The man’s wrist pad was blinking. Mazer rotated the man’s wrist to get a better view. Words were flashing on the tiny screen:

  Formics took three crew members alive. Others died in attack. See pouch. Full report here.

  Mazer read the screen aloud.

  “Why would Formics take people alive?” said Bingwen. “I’ve not heard of them doing that before.”

  “Me neither,” said Mazer. “But it explains why they cut into the ship instead of destroying it outright. They came for people. That hole wasn’t made by pirates.”

  “But why?” said Nak. “Why take POWs?”

  “I’m not certain they are prisoners of war,” said Mazer. “We might see them as such, but I’m not convinced the Formics would. Humans take prisoners because we don’t like killing. It’s the last and most brutal course of action we pursue. War is an instrument of change. If we can achieve that change without killing the enemy, all the better. Formics don’t follow the same morality. A human life means nothing to them.”

  “Then why take people?” Nak asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Mazer.

  He rotated the body again and found a pouch at the man’s waist. Mazer opened it and found a collection of ankle tags. Maybe fifteen total.

  “Taken off the dead,” said Nak.

  “He must have collected the casualties after the attack,” said Mazer. “Maybe gave them a ceremonial burial, releasing them into space.”

  Mazer deposited the ankle tags into his own cargo pouch. Then he took a pocket laser and cut the man’s wrist pad free and tucked that away as well. Then he delicately cut the man’s pressure suit open at the foot until he accessed the ankle tag. Mazer freed it and read the engraving. “He’s French. A lieutenant. We’ve got his serial number. We’ll get his history later. Let’s keep moving.”

  They followed the corridor toward the cargo hold. There was evidence of violence everywhere.

  “I see blood on the walls and plenty of damage from slaser fire,” said Bingwen. “But no bodies.”

  “More evidence that the Frenchman took care of the dead,” said Nak. “For which I’m grateful. If I don’t see another dead person, I’ll be perfectly content.”

  They found the cargo hold. Mazer opened the hatch, and they drifted inside. The recon drone was in its cradle by the bay doors and powered down, having self-docked upon returning to the Kandahar. It was about the size of a refrigerator and somewhat pyramidal in shape on one side. Mazer got to work, following the instructions Colonel Li had given him. It was a simple task to remove the designated hull plate and access the drive, which slid out easily. Mazer released the hatch and freed the data cube.

  “All this way for that tiny thing?” said Nak. “Seems like a whole lot of trouble for a measly cube.”

  “We should check the helm,” said Bingwen. “Maybe we can access the ship’s main drives. If this is part of some Hegemony intelligence operation, I’d like to learn what we can while we’re here. We saw lights on the consoles. Maybe some systems still have power.”

  “If we’re taking votes,” said Nak, “I say we get back to the selenop and get out of here. This place gives me the—”

  He didn’t finish. The ship spun violently to one side, and Mazer’s magnetic grip on the floor was broken. He flew backward into the wall behind him and crashed into solid metal, the wind knocked out of him. Bingwen’s body crashed on top of him, with Bingwen’s oxygen tanks hitting Mazer in the chest like a runaway train. Pain exploded in Mazer’s chest, and he thought for an instant that something had burst inside him. An object struck the wall above him. Nak’s limp body. Something else struck the wall to his right. A crate. Debris. Objects were flying all around them. Everything had shaken loose in the room. Mazer grabbed Bingwen, pulled him close, and then rotated his own body over Bingwen as a shield. The move proved unnecessary, as nothing struck Mazer’s back and the violence all around them began to settle as objects drifted and spun around the room, having ricocheted off the wall. Whatever had caused everything to shift suddenly was over as quickly as it had begun.

  “What was that?” said Bingwen.

  Mazer was breathing again, but the pain in his chest was unrelenting. At the very least he had cracked a rib. “Nak?”

  “Here,” said a voice.

  They found Nak nearby, banged up but okay.

  “Check your suits for leaks,” said Mazer.

  “Something hit the ship,” said Bingwen.

  “Something landed on it,” said Mazer. “And then emitted propulsion once it landed to stabilize the ship. Otherwise we’d still be spinning.” He checked his suit. “I’ve got no leaks.”

  “Me either,” said Bingwen.

  “My suit’s tight too,” said Nak. “You think it’s Formics?”

  “It’s not the Fleet,” said Mazer. “We were the closest ship. No one else from the IF was coming.”

  “Maybe it’s pirates,” said Bingwen.

  “Pirates would wait for us to leave,” said Mazer. “They wouldn’t attack with an IF selenop anchored outside. That would put them in a firefight against trained marines. Pirates wouldn’t take that risk.”

  “You sure it wasn’t a meteorite?” said Nak.

  “Chances of a meteorite that big striking the ship with that kind of force and velocity are remote. Chances of that meteorite then magically stabilizing us after striking us are nonexistent. No, Formics came precisely because we’re here. They saw us come in.”

  “To take us alive,” said Bingwen. “Like the crew.”

  “We don’t have a prayer against a Formic warship,” said Nak. “Even if we make it to the selenop, we can’t outrun them. Nor do we have the firepower to destroy one. Especially if they have hullmat.”

  Mazer thought the same. Hullmat, short for hull material, was a silicon-based alien alloy that made the hulls of Formic warships near indestructible. A selenop against a warship was like a soda can against a freight train.

  “It might not be a warship,” said Mazer. “A warship wouldn’t try to land on the Kandahar.”

  “Then what?” said Bingwen. “A microship?”

  “Or something like it,” said Mazer. He launched to a nearby weapons cabinet and found a row of slaser rifles inside. Older models, but better than nothing. He pulled two free. They would be awkwardly long for Bingwen and Nak, so Mazer gave Bingwen his shorter slaser and kept the longer one for himself. “Nak, you know how to use one of these?” Mazer asked.

  “Point at the bad guy, pull the trigger.”

  “If you hold the trigger down, the beam stays constant,” said Mazer. “Better to fire short bursts as needed or you might penetrate the hull.”

  “What’s the plan?” said Bingwen. “We hunker down in here?”

  “We need to get these cargo bay doors open,” said Mazer. “Not enough to attract attention, but just enough to allow us to squeeze through and get outside.”

  “Why not go back the way we came?” said Nak.

  “Because if it is Formics,” sa
id Mazer, “they’ll enter through the hole, same as us. Then we’ll have to push past them to reach the selenop.”

  “The bay doors don’t have power,” said Bingwen. “How do we open them?”

  “We’re looking for an emergency override. A big crank. Lots of warning decals.”

  They found it at the rear of the cargo bay, covered in a yellow cage to protect it from accidental access. Mazer sliced the lock with his laser and swung the cage door open. The crank for the bay doors had a safety latch. Mazer removed it, but the crank still wouldn’t budge. Bingwen discovered a locking mechanism below the crank that first had to be pumped several times to manually release the locks on the bay door. Mazer pumped the lever, and the bay doors spun open easily.

  “Kill your helmet lights,” said Mazer.

  Everyone did so.

  Mazer watched as the bay doors began to separate. He stopped turning the crank when the doors were a meter apart. They found new tether cables on a winch anchored to the wall. Mazer pulled as much slack free as he could and rewound it around his arm. Then he turned Bingwen around and hooked the locking mechanism at the end of the tether cable to the back of Bingwen’s suit. Mazer opened Bingwen’s cargo pouch and moved the data cube, the ankle tags, and the Frenchman’s wrist pad from Mazer’s own cargo pouch and into Bingwen’s. Then he turned Bingwen around again and handed him the excess cable. “Move outside and anchor your feet to the surface on the other side of the doors. Stay low.”

  Bingwen moved for the door, releasing cable as he went, then pulled himself through the opening in the bay doors and was gone.

  Mazer repeated the process with Nak, using a second tether cable. When the cable was secured to Nak’s back, he tapped Nak on the helmet, signaling him to go. Nak moved through the opening in the bay doors and disappeared from sight. The tether cables floated high above Mazer’s head and would be easily visible to anyone who came into the cargo bay. Mazer grabbed them and pulled them down toward the floor where they would be more inconspicuous. He looped them around a pipe near the floor to anchor them in place, then hustled back to the crank and turned it in the opposite direction. At once the doors began to close.