Swarm

by B. V. Larson

I told her about the blue men in my dream, and how they had inspired me to hack the ship’s defenses and trick it into talking about the subject.

  “Okay,” she said, being agreeable for once. “From now, they are the Blues. And I’ve thought of something else. I bet the Blues have been studying Earth for years.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen one of those bullshit shows about alien abductions and stuff? What would you call what happened to us, other than an alien abduction?”

  “That doesn’t prove the Blues have been here very long, but I think you are right in any case.”

  She smiled and crawled onto the couch with me. She liked being told she was right.

  “Go on,” she said.

  I smiled back. “You’re right, because the Blues couldn’t have learned so much about us if this was their first visit. I mean, the Alamo can speak English. Assumedly, it can speak a dozen other languages as well. And it knows enough about our anatomy to repair our flesh and inject nanites that fix us, not kill us. All of that knowledge doesn’t develop overnight. They must have been here for years, just as you say.”

  “I like when you do smart things,” she told me. She was even closer now.

  “You are a thinker too. I like that about you.”

  “Now you’re flattering me.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  We began kissing. I half-expected Crow to call and announce he had elevated himself to the rank of Grand Marshal, or perhaps even Prime Minister. But he didn’t.

  -28-

  After relaying everything I had gotten from the Alamo about the Blues to the Pentagon people, I thought for a second and sent an email to the UN Secretary as well. Maybe I’m paranoid, but the point of critical information was, in my mind, to share it. I wasn’t completely certain the US military would do so.

  Next came my biggest task. I’d promised to create a force that could stand up to the Macros. That took all my time. As it turned out, the injections were the easiest part to supply. All the Nanos had to do was reproduce themselves in quantity. They were good at this and were able to do it quickly. The hard part was developing a new, more powerful reactor and hand-held laser rifle. In Nano-speak, these were macro pieces of equipment and took much longer and more specialized materials to fabricate.

  I went down to Andros Island to do the design work. The first thing I had to figure out was how big of a reactor and projector unit a nanite-enhanced man like myself could handle. The climate was similar enough to the Amazon jungle. The guys from the Pentagon were footing the bill for this whole thing, so they sent down a lot of spooks, medical people and uniforms to ‘help’ me. I was startled to see they had a full platoon of each variety of these ‘helpers’. There was a full company from the Army Corps of Engineers as well. This last group didn’t smile much, but they were the most useful. They got things done. I couldn’t very well say no to the rest of them, as I needed government resources.

  We used my body as a model for our future super-soldier. How much could I carry and still run quickly? It turned out to be a surprising amount. First, the engineers harnessed me up with a huge, double-thick backpack. Made of their very ugliest, camo-green fabric, it had leather straps sewn around it for support and heavy stitching over every inch. They filled it to the brim with wet sand, a load of well over three hundred kilos.

  I could lift it—barely. I found the bulk of it staggering. With that much weight on my back, I had to lean forward in an awkward crouch. I couldn’t stand erect. It pained my knees too, in particular. The Nanos worked to repair a muscle rip or a splitting joint with every step. I felt the nanites swarming overtime on my joints, making them tingle and itch, as if I were being constantly bitten by pissed-off ants. It got worse when I took off in a shambling run. I ran in a thundering, off-balanced fashion carrying the load a hundred yards or so down the beach and then brought it back to the team, sweating. My time was just over fifteen seconds, three times as long as I had run the same distance unloaded.

  “Too much,” I told them.

  Barely nodding, but impressed despite their cool exteriors, they shoveled out half the load. I smiled. I realized then they hadn’t expected me to be able to move. They had overloaded me right off, just to put me in my place. I’d still managed to run with the gear, however. With about eight hundred pounds of dripping sand on my back, I’d run up and down a beach in the tropical heat.

  While they shoveled, I looked back at my tracks. They were six inches deep in places. The prints had darkened and filled with water. Each print was a small, reflective pool. They looked like hoof prints. Prints from a horse that needed to go on a diet.

  I tried about a hundred and fifty kilos next. That was about three hundred and fifty pounds. The difference was dramatic. My joints creaked a bit, but they didn’t feel like they were snapping. The biggest improvement was in the area of weight-distribution. I didn’t feel as grossly off-balance. I had to lean forward to run, way forward, but it was doable. I could still outrun an Olympic sprinter, and I could do it without tearing myself apart. I trotted back to them.

  “That’s good. I can handle that much. I bet a bigger, younger man with better muscle tone could do more. But this is about triple the weight of the original gear. That should be enough firepower for a soldier to take out a Macro belly-turret single-handedly.”

  I was already forming dinner plans, and they involved Sandra. But the spooks weren’t finished with me yet. They had only just begun with their tests. They didn’t take my word for my physical status, either. They had doctors checking my pulse, blood-pressure, etc. after every lap. I had an EKG monitor strapped to my chest. They wanted to put a temperature probe up my tail-pipe, but I drew the line there, telling them I wasn’t a pack animal. They taped it into my armpit instead with sour expressions.

  They dressed up and redistributed my load. They added belts, circling my waist with diving weights. They gave me a smaller front pack to improve my balance. They kept hosing down the big load of sand, too, making sure it stayed close to the desired weight. I groaned and ran the beach lap for them about twenty more times.

  After the ordeal, they tested my eyesight, blood, reflexes and even swabbed my throat. I had no idea what they thought they would get out of all of that, but I didn’t argue as long as they didn’t irritate me too much. This team had to be sold. I needed them to convince the higher-ups the project was worth every resource they had. There couldn’t be any reluctance when it came to parting with supplies of titanium, plutonium and other critical components. If I didn’t succeed, they were going to have to nuke the Macros—and one of our continents with them—back into primordial ooze. We would only have six continents left after that. And we weren’t even sure the nukes would stop the enemy entirely.

  After a break that consisted of a lobster dinner in the officers’ mess with Sandra, and two beers each to keep us company, I headed out to the secret base I’d built in the jungle. My Nano factories hummed there night and day. Our ships hung all around it, like big, black shadows. Half were on guard duty, while half were ferrying whatever materials the factories needed to them. I had about ten percent of the factories working on making more factories now. That way, our production was always increasing.

  The factories had already produced enough nanite injections for thousands of troops. I set one quarter of them working on constructing heavier laser rifles. The rest I had making new reactors. The new units were over three hundred pounds each, about three times the weight of the reactors I’d had men carry into battle back in Brazil. Only men who had undergone the nanite injections could carry these new units. Ordering the factories to produce the weapons systems was a moment of commitment that felt drastic, but I felt I had to do it. What was the point of getting our best troops chewed up a second time around? This time, I’d go down with a force that might have a chance. And I’d take more of them along, too.

  The new recruits arrived the
next morning. In the first wave there were about three hundred of them. Many more were coming tomorrow, according to the reports. Thousands more.

  I had my first batch of recruits fall out and form up ten ranks deep on the parade grounds in the center of my camp. They were all male, and they were a grim-faced lot. They averaged twenty-eight years old, and they were combat veterans, every last one of them. I’d demanded that much. I didn’t want green troops. I didn’t have the ability to train them in infantry tactics, I barely knew the drill myself. But I could teach them how to handle their new bodies once they’d undergone the injections. I could teach them how to fight a Macro, to some degree. I could teach them about the laser units and backpack reactors, because I had designed them.

  Special forces volunteers from every major military were represented. There were Russian Spetsnaz, Israeli Shayetet, Swedish Jagares, and even Chinese SLCU. Nearly half were U.S. troops, however. Green Berets, Marine Recon, Airborne, and a few from Delta. There were some from organizations I’d never heard of. I felt honored and a bit daunted to be in the company of such men, such professionals—especially since I was expected to lead them. Most had never fought a Macro, however. And none had felt the joys of the nanite injections.

  I did spot one friendly face in the crowd of serious-eyed warriors. Sergeant Lionel Wilson, the man I’d brought back with me from my first pitched battle with the Macros. I clapped him on the back and he staggered a step. I brought him out of line to stand before the others.

  “I know this man can fight the machines. I’ve personally fought with him, shoulder-to-shoulder against them. He knows how an improved man like myself operates. I’m making him my First Sergeant. The rest of you will have to earn your stripes all over again. I don’t care if you were a colonel yesterday. Here, you start fresh.”

  They looked startled, but no one protested. I nodded and stood as stiffly as I could.

  “After the injections, you will find yourself to be a different kind of man. You might not find it easy to return home. I urge anyone with second thoughts to bail out of here now, before you take the next step and change your body forever.”

  They looked at me. No one spoke up. I wondered if they might come to regret their decision when the nanites began toying with their cell structure.

  I’d produced new uniforms for these troops. They all had PFC stripes on them. I’d decided to go with Marine ranks and to start everyone one step from the bottom. The uniforms were different than standard fatigues. They were heavier. They were cumbersome, in fact. They had a lead lining and could be buttoned up for hazardous environments. We were likely to be wearing them in radioactive zones, and I wanted my men to be accustomed to that kind of sweltering, stiff gear.

  A lot of the men were in civies. I handed out the new uniforms and gave them leave to get dressed. They all had to look the same, just to get them thinking like a team. Everyone spoke reasonable English, another requirement for joining. They could all talk to one another, they all wore the same thing and they were all veterans. I hoped these shared traits would help pull them together quickly into an effective fighting force. The joy of the injections would be another experience that would make us all brothers, I figured.

  Next, I knew I had to impress them. Why the hell should they listen to me? That question had to be burning in their minds. I decided to show them why. First, I shouldered one of the new bulky reactors and gripped the connected beam unit. Then I marched them out into the jungle, to another region I’d plucked bare of trees. There were dark spots of open earth where trees had been hours before. The land looked like the gums of an old man who’d had all his teeth pulled at once. Big tropical insects crawled in every freshly-exposed hole.

  “This will be our initial training ground. We are going to spend some time here, learning how to fire these new weapons. Visors, everyone. Full gear on. Button up!”

  They had looked as if they were all bored, slouching and leaning against whatever was handy. But when they heard my barked commands, they snapped into motion. Every single one of them. They had been well-trained.

  All their suits were light-reactive, and when I opened up with the new heavy beamer, the autoshades instantly darkened their eye portals. I fired into the edge of the forest, picking a mahogany tree. The thick vines that covered the tree twisted like grass stalks. The bark peeled away like burnt skin and the white flesh of the tree beneath instantly blackened. A moment after that, the entire tree trunk exploded and it sagged over on its side.

  I knew most of them had never seen the power of one of my laser rifles. None of them, I was sure, had ever seen the power of one of these new heavy beamers. It was like having a blowtorch in your hands, a blowtorch so powerful tree trunks were like thin, dry weeds before it.

  I took off the pack then. I waved them forward.

  “As you can see, we can’t allow any friendly-fire accidents. They would be fatal almost instantly. Now, I want a volunteer to put on this pack and try to take out that tree over there,” I said, indicating a tall palm. It looked like an easy target. It was much thinner than the mahogany had been, and closer. All they had to do was blow it down.

  “Who’s first?” I asked.

  A dozen hands shot up, I pointed to the closest. I noticed that my only non-comm, Sergeant Wilson, kept his arms crossed. He had a small smile on his face.

  The first man to take up my challenge was a Russian. He reached down to grab the pack. He heaved, but it didn’t budge. He looked surprised.

  “Come on, put your back into it, soldier,” I said.

  He swallowed, then put himself into the straps in a squatting position. He heaved, legs wobbling. He almost managed to dead-lift it. It was close. He roared and grunted, but couldn’t quite do it. I had to admire his tenacity.

  “I can’t do it,” he said, defeated.

  “What?”

  “I can’t do it, sir!”

  “What’s your name, private?”

  “Sergey Radovich, sir.”

  I nodded. “Are you a weak man, Radovich?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hell yeah, sir.”

  I nodded again. “Who else here wants to try to put on this pack, stand up and burn down that tree for me?”

  A lot of the early volunteers didn’t raise their hands a second time around. They knew a setup when they saw one.

  One or two kept their hands raised, however. I pointed to an Asian-looking fellow. He was the biggest Asian I’d ever laid eyes on. He looked like a barrel with legs. He was a sumo wrestler, but without the blubber.

  He had amazingly thick thighs, much bigger than my own. He stepped forward and took up the straps. Like Radovich, he positioned himself for a dead-lift. But he did it differently. He rocked forward and balanced the pack on his back. Roaring, he stood under the weight of it, four hundred pounds of metal, glass and polymers.

  Legs shaking, he targeted the palm tree and fired. The trunk exploded and the tree went down.

  “Very good. What is your name, soldier?” I asked him.

  “Kwon, sir,” he said as he eased the pack down.

  “Excellent work. Now, we will run back to the parade grounds. I want you all to pace me. This will be a jungle-run. All out. Full speed.”

  As I spoke, I lifted the pack and settled it on my back. Their eyes were big as they watched me handle the weight confidently. I pretended not to notice the stares.

  I ran then. I ran faster than any normal man had ever run, to my knowledge, across this Earth. None of them could keep up. In fact, I was standing on the parade grounds again, looking bored, when the fastest of them broke out of the jungle and sprinted back into the sunlight.

  When they were all assembled in front me again, I asked if there were any questions. A few hands went up. I pointed out Radovich.

  “Why the hell we run for no point, sir?” he asked, reasonably enough. His accent had become stronger, I noticed. It must have been due to all the exercise.
<
br />   I nodded, accepting the question as legitimate. “I wanted you all to understand some things. I am going to ask you to make some fantastic sacrifices. I want you to understand why I’m asking you to make them.”

  I told them then—about the injections. I did not pretty it up. I told them they would be screaming for the first hour or so until they blacked out. I told them we couldn’t give them anesthetic. The spooks from the Pentagon had tried it on some chimps, but the nanites had neutralized all foreign chemicals injected into the test subject’s system. Next, I told them about the incredible strength and speed they would gain, and how they would fear for their girlfriends’ lives afterward. Then, I pointed to the pack I had removed and placed in front of me.

  “But, without the nanites, without undergoing the injections,” I told them, “none of us can perform well enough to do our mission. We cannot be effective soldiers. Not without becoming—something new.”

  They thought about it, and slowly they realized they were going to have to become a marriage of man and machine. The idea was repugnant to some. But they did not argue. They did not refuse. The people who had selected them had chosen well.

  In the end every last one of them underwent the injections. No one backed out or refused in the final moments when they were strapped into a chair and the five gleaming, worming needles made their appearance.

  When the ordeal was over, we hosed the puke and blood off each other. One soldier had torn out his left eye. I assured him it could be regrown. I hoped I wasn’t lying.

  After the torment ended, I let them sleep it off in their barracks. When we assembled the next day, I promoted Radovich to the rank of Lance Corporal. I made Kwon into a Staff Sergeant. They had both been more highly ranked in their past lives, but I didn’t care about that.

  They had started over again as marines in Star Force. They were my marines now.

  -29-

  Brazil had been pretty much eaten up by the time I’d finally built a big enough assault force to go after the Macros again. The Pentagon boys had been after me night and day, with General Kerr spearheading the effort to get me to deploy. But I wanted to have a force that couldn’t be dealt with easily. I wanted to have a force that didn’t just slow the Macros, or stop them. I wanted a force that could shock them and roll them back.