The Hive

by Orson Scott Card

  But yes, she realized. It had to be Ukko. Who else would have the ability to interrupt and disconnect CentCom?

  And then another puzzle piece clicked into place in her mind. CentCom hadn’t given her this assignment. Ukko Jukes had. The Hegemon of Earth had made her the communications officer. Her commission had happened at his insistence. Of course. That’s why the admirals at CentCom, who clearly despised her, hadn’t already removed her from her post. They couldn’t. The Hegemon was the commander in chief. His orders trumped their own. They would never have suggested that she be the communications officer. Were it up to them, Imala, a non-soldier, would never even be part of this mission. And yet here she was. Ukko didn’t trust the Fleet. That was the issue. He couldn’t stand the commanders. And he thought this mission too important to put entirely in their hands. Ukko wanted someone he could trust at the wheel, someone he could communicate with directly. Someone outside the military bureaucracy, who wouldn’t feel beholden to that rigid chain of command. Someone who would challenge poor decisions and dumb thinking.

  Imala laughed to herself. She had stood up to Ukko once. Defied him. Challenged him. She had thought at the time that it would ruin her, that a man of his power and influence would sweep her easily aside. Now it seemed that her defiance had affected him some other way.

  Captain Mangold and Rena were waiting for Imala outside the ansible room. Imala grabbed a handhold and steadied herself. It hurt to move. Lieutenant Owanu had applied a wound-healing NanoSkin gauze and wrapped Imala’s abdomen tightly to restrict her movements, but the decreased range of motion made it hard to get around.

  Rena steadied her. “You can barely stay upright. How are you supposed to endure acceleration?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Hardly,” said Rena.

  “What did CentCom say?” said Mangold.

  “We’ve been given permission to divert,” said Imala. Which wasn’t a lie. Ukko had given his blessing.

  “There’s something we haven’t considered,” said Captain Mangold. “We’re heading toward a Formic ship. We can’t exactly take these people with us into combat.”

  “Why not?” said Rena. “You’re taking Imala and her baby into combat. Or do they not count?”

  “Imala is a member of the Fleet,” said Mangold. “These people aren’t.”

  “The baby isn’t either,” said Rena.

  Mangold opened his mouth to argue, but again Imala was faster. “Stop. We’re wasting time we don’t have. There’s a depot station a few months ahead. We can drop any survivors off there after they’re rescued.”

  “I ran the nav numbers and made some modifications,” said Rena. “Our acceleration will be longer, but the G-forces will be less. I don’t want us pushing too many Gs. That’s not even open for debate. We do this gradually to minimize harm to Imala’s wound and any harm to the baby.”

  “Does that affect our ETA?” said Mangold.

  “That puts us dangerously close to the red line for the miners,” said Rena. “By the time we get there, they’ll be nearly out of oxygen or completely depleted. Not ideal, I know, but we’re not accelerating to them any faster. We help them as best we can while protecting Imala as best we know how.”

  “Agreed,” said Mangold.

  “And I’m riding in the impact balloon with Imala and the baby,” said Rena. “As is Lieutenant Owanu. This is not open for discussion, Imala. We’ve already made the arrangements. It will be close quarters in there, but you’re going to be heavily monitored or we’re not doing this.”

  The crew buckled themselves into their flight chairs. Imala climbed into the impact balloon with the baby in her arms, holding her close, cradling her, her blankets wrapped tight. Rena and Lieutenant Owanu climbed in next. Concussion bags were inflated around them, like they were porcelain or china being packed for rough shipment.

  The baby’s eyes were closed, and she looked at peace tucked snugly up against Imala’s bosom. Imala could feel her little chest moving, taking in small delicate breaths. Her tiny hand gripped Imala’s finger, clinging to her. Fragile, pink fingers that said, “I trust you, Mother. I am safe with you. I know you will protect me.”

  Imala’s heart swelled with love then. This was her child. Half Navajo, half Venezuelan. The best of her and Victor’s worlds. You have the strength of my family’s tribe, little one. And the resilience of your father’s people. That is why you survived. Because you knew how to fight from the instant you were born. And that is why you will have a warrior’s name. A Navajo name. A name of purpose, truth, history.

  The word and its meaning came to Imala then, like a message through time from her upbringing on the reservation. Like a gift being opened. A name that would make her father and tribe proud: Ch’íníbaa’, meaning She came out raiding.

  That is who you are, my warrior. Your father will stumble on the word, so we’ll call you Chee for short. Now cling to me, little one. Go with me to war.

  Imala pulled Chee close as she heard Mangold give the order.

  The impact balloon squeezed, and the force of it, like a punch to Imala’s wound, hit. It felt as if tissue in her gut was tearing, but she couldn’t reach the wound to know for certain. The baby jerked slightly in her arms in the same instant and began to cry. Imala couldn’t hear her screams, however, not over the roar of the engines. She cradled Chee close, pressing one tiny ear against Imala’s chest and covering the other with her hand. Several hours of this, and then the pressure would decrease. Then in a few days, they would do it again. And a few days after that, yet again.

  Imala bit her lip as another wave of pain beat like a drum upon her abdomen. She would not scream. She would hush little Chee and sing her a calming lullaby.

  Even if the baby couldn’t hear.

  CHAPTER 7

  Heist

  POST TITLE: Pretending the Hive Queen Doesn’t Exist Is a Grievous Mistake

  AUTHOR: @SpartanShield47

  * * *

  The recent order from CentCom to remove—under penalty of court-martial—the theory of the Hive Queen from all trainings, tactical considerations, and even informal conversations within the International Fleet is a foolish, shortsighted error that will result in uninformed marines, unprepared tactical units, and, inevitably, higher casualties and losses. While it’s true that we don’t have irrefutable evidence of the Hive Queen’s existence, it is also true that we don’t have evidence that she does not exist. What we do have, however, is a great deal of evidence that suggests she (or it) COULD exist. MIGHT exist. Perhaps even LIKELY exists.

  In fact, the more we learn about the Formics, the more logical the theory of the Hive Queen becomes, as everything we observe validates the theory and nothing we observe disproves it. I recognize that the absence of disproof is not the same as having proof, but the same logic can be applied to CentCom’s decision. Where is the evidence that the theory of the Hive Queen is misdirecting our strategy, hindering our tactics, or harming our marines?

  The first rule of war is to understand your enemy. Not just her supplies and weapons and objectives, everything that we can see and calculate. But also her psyche, her motivations, her fears. Everything that is in her mind. For it is only in the pursuit of that understanding that armies can identify the enemy’s weakness and vulnerabilities. Why would we abandon a completely legitimate pursuit to understand our enemy? Do soldiers put blinders on their eyes before they charge into battle, or do they maintain a full view and consider every possible threat? If CentCom is so convinced that the Hive Queen does not exist, then what explanation can they give for what we’ve witnessed? If not the Hive Queen, then what? Or who?

  Silencing our search for understanding cripples our thinking and makes us stupid. It leads us to believe that we DO have answers and we DO understand, when in fact we don’t. CentCom would have us put on blinders. Don’t look over there, they say. Ignore the thing behind the Formic curtain. What’s really over there? We don’t know. But it makes us look uninformed to n
ot know, and we don’t like people thinking we’re uninformed. So we’re creating our own reality to validate our desperate need to have the answers. Oh, and the sky isn’t blue. And the grass isn’t green. Go, fight, win! But don’t forget your blinders.

  * * *

  Bingwen gathered Rat Army in the barracks during sleep shift and told them about the Hive Queen’s countermeasures in the asteroids. He then mentioned the NanoCloud capsules in the armory, though he didn’t tell them the information had come from Mazer.

  “What are you suggesting?” said Micho. “That we steal from the armory? Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Nobody here wants to be court-martialed, Bingwen,” said Jianjun.

  Chati scoffed. “Court-martialed? If only. If we’re caught stealing from the armory, we’ll be shot on sight. Especially if we’re caught lifting what is likely the most expensive weapon on this station.”

  “Acquiring NanoCloud capsules won’t accomplish anything if we don’t know how to control them,” said Nak. “NanoCloud looks like tiny particles of dust, but every speck of that dust is actually a nanobot that must be programmed to complete a task. None of us are coders, Bingwen. Or nanoroboticists. Even if we had every NanoCloud capsule in the system, they would all be equally useless to us without the tools and programs required to put them into operation.”

  “What tools do we need?” said Bingwen.

  “That’s just it,” said Nak. “I have no idea. None of us do. This isn’t our expertise. We haven’t the foggiest idea how to manipulate nanobots.”

  “I’m not saying this is easy,” said Bingwen. “I’m saying the Hive Queen is winning in the asteroids. Tunnel commandos are dying because of her countermeasures. Meanwhile the Fleet has abandoned the very idea of a Hive Queen, which means they won’t be approaching this problem, or any future problem, with her in mind. What are we going to do about it? Nothing? We spent the better part of a year on cramped boats to get here. And now that we’re here, dull-bob-of-the-year Colonel Dietrich won’t give us access to anything. Not the Battle Room, not the Tunnel Room. Not even a classroom. We can mope about that fact and shake our fists at the man, or we can do what we came here to do: find and kill the Hive Queen.”

  “It’s complicated, Bingwen,” said Nak. “There are huge obstacles here.”

  “Good,” said Bingwen. “We’re identifying obstacles. That’s the first step to overcoming them.”

  “One,” said Nak. “Communication. We’ve got basic net access here on our tablets, but if we undertake something like this, we’re going to need more. We’ve got to rope in a lot of people to help. People back on Luna at Juke Limited, for example. Engineers. Roboticists. People who can write and send us code, maybe. That’s a lot of net traffic coming out of this room. That will get noticed.”

  “Colonel Li has an ansible,” said Michon. “What are the chances of us using that?”

  Chati snorted. “Zero. We don’t even know for certain that he has one. None of us have ever seen it. And even if he does have one he’s not going to admit it. We’re not even supposed to know that ansibles exist.”

  “The ansible isn’t an option,” said Bingwen. “Even if Li does in fact have one, it links to some intelligence agency, not to the people we need to connect with. And anyway, Li can’t risk revealing to Colonel Dietrich that he has a secret back channel to an intelligence service. Dietrich would go nova. All of his conspiracy theories about us being part of some silent Chinese coup would feel validated.”

  “True,” said Nak. “But an ansible sure would be nice in this situation.”

  “An ansible would be nice in every situation,” said Bingwen. “But keep in mind that an ansible only communicates with another ansible. We can’t email engineers at Juke Limited with it. It only connects with whoever is on the other end of Li’s ansible.”

  “What’s option B?” said Nak. “Laserline?”

  “Which is slow,” said Bingwen. “We would be relying on the series of relay stations that exist between here and Luna. They would receive and then pass along our messages both ways up the chain.”

  “Bucket brigade,” said Nak. “I hate that option.”

  “We’re out near Jupiter,” said Bingwen. “We don’t have a lot of options.”

  “Even if we use the laserline option, there’s still the issue of bandwidth,” said Chati. “That will get noticed.”

  “I might be able to help there,” said Jianjun. “The laserline array is actually not far from us on the exterior of the space station. Both the receiver and the transmitter. All the cabling runs through the ducts nearby.”

  “And you know this because?” said Bingwen.

  “Because I accessed and studied the schematics of the space station when we arrived,” said Jianjun. “I like knowing where all the emergency exits are.”

  “How did you get a copy of the schematics?” said Nak.

  “Poking around in the service files. Security here is paper thin. At least for those kinds of files.”

  “How does this help us?” said Bingwen. “Knowing where the cables are?”

  “The helm tracks all messages that go and come,” said Jianjun. “They know who sends them and who receives them and how frequently. That tracking device is kept in the helm. It’s called a switchbox. The lines from the laserline array outside feed directly into that switchbox. So all communication goes to the helm and then is networked out to the individual terminals. But, if we can access the cable between the laserline array outside and the switchbox at the helm, we could potentially send and receive messages without the helm knowing. We would have to hardwire that line, upload some instruction to the laserline array, and then tag all of our messages with a bit of code so the array knows to send them to us and not to the helm. We would also have to include code in our outgoing messages so that whoever responds to us has the code already embedded in the message when it comes back. Otherwise the helm would start receiving messages intended for us and we’d be busted.”

  “This is legitimately possible?” said Bingwen.

  “Theoretically possible,” said Jianjun. “I would need equipment. The right cable at the right length; a switchbox not unlike what is found in the helm, though it doesn’t have to be nearly that complicated; some tools; and a way to get into the ducts where the cables are located.”

  Bingwen tapped at his tablet.

  “What are you writing?” said Nak.

  “A list of all the things we need from the quartermaster.”

  “You mean all the things we need to steal from the quartermaster,” said Nak.

  “How long would it take you to set this up?” Bingwen asked.

  Jianjun shrugged. “Not long once I have the equipment. But I’d want to test it before we actually put it into practice. There might be all kinds of security traps that I don’t know about. We would need to tread carefully. If alarms go off in Dietrich’s office, we’re history.”

  “Assuming this even works,” said Nak, “it doesn’t do us any good if we’re not connected to the right people. How are we supposed to link to the engineers and minds we need? The people most qualified to help us with the NanoCloud are the engineers who built it. We don’t know who these people are or how to contact them. And even if we do connect to them, how do we convince them to help us? We’re a bunch of kids.”

  Bingwen put a hand on Nak’s shoulder and smiled. “This is why I love you, Nak. You’re so good at pointing out next steps.” He turned to the others. “Our first objective is to set up Jianjun’s network. Jianjun, you said security protecting service files was paper thin. What about inventory? How do we find out if the space station has the equipment we need?”

  “I can poke around and see,” said Jianjun. “Inventory data will likely have tighter security to discourage pilfering, though.”

  “See what you find,” said Bingwen. “Chati, your job is to scope out the armory and the storage rooms. We need to case those locations without it being obvious that we’re doing
so. When are they watched, when are they not, how are they accessed? Including access points other than doors. Take whoever you need to help you.”

  “You mean like my own platoon?” said Chati.

  “Sure,” said Bingwen, “your own platoon.”

  “Nice. I’m a toon leader. You little rats are in my house now.”

  “Don’t let authority go to your head, Chati,” said Bingwen. “You’re a toon leader, not toon dictator. You know the difference.”

  “What do I do?” said Nak.

  “You and I are going to build our contact list,” said Bingwen. “We’ll identify the people we need to reach.”

  “I told you,” said Nak. “I don’t know who those people are.”

  “If you did,” said Bingwen, “it wouldn’t be an assignment. Victor Delgado should be the first person on our list, assuming we can track him down. We should also comb through Mazer’s forum and identify those junior officers who are posting good ideas. I’ll see if can I contact the people who designed the NanoCloud.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “Colonel Li will help. For now, use our current net access to start building our list. But don’t contact anyone yet. We should assume that Colonel Dietrich is monitoring our communication.”

  Once everyone was busy, Bingwen headed to Colonel Li’s office. He knocked twice and waited.

  “Identify,” said the voice from inside.

  “Bingwen, sir.”

  It was two minutes before Li opened the door, which Bingwen figured was plenty of time for Li to clear files off his holodesk and tuck away his ansible, if he had one.

  “Do you have so little to do that disturbing me is now a pastime?” said Li, once Bingwen was inside.

  “There was a woman on the shuttle with us from Earth,” said Bingwen. “A Buddhist monk. Wila, short for Wilasanee. I don’t remember her last name. She was heading to Luna to take a job with Juke Limited. She’s a biochemist and formicologist. She didn’t self-identify as a formicologist, but that’s what she is. She was the one who figured out what the Formic grubs were doing inside the seized asteroids. Now we have Formics introducing countermeasures. If we’re going to overcome those countermeasures and stay ahead of the Formics, we should consult with someone who understands how the Hive Queen thinks.”