The Swarm: A Novel

by Frank Schätzing

  ‘No!’ roared Johanson.

  Anawak slammed down on to the deck then slid to the edge of the platform.

  Anderson’s head turned towards Johanson. One arm shot out, grabbed him, and a fist rammed into his stomach. Johanson gasped for air. A wave of pain spread through his guts. He folded like a penknife and fell to his knees.

  The pain was almost unbearable.

  He crouched there, retching, as the wind whipped through his hair, waiting for Anderson to punch him again.

  PART FOUR

  SINKING

  Research shows that human beings are incapable of discerning intelligence beyond a certain micro- or meta-threshold. For us to perceive intelligence, it has to fit within our behavioural framework. If we were to encounter intelligence operating outside that framework - on a micro-level, for instance - we would fail to see it. Similarly, if we were to come into contact with a far higher intelligence, a mind vastly superior to our own, we would see only chaos, as its reasoning would elude us. Decisions taken by a higher instance of intelligence would prove inscrutable to our intellect, having been made within parameters beyond the reach of human understanding. Imagine a dog’s view of us. To the dog, a person appears not as a mind, but as a force to be obeyed. From its perspective, human behaviour is arbitrary: our actions are based on considerations that canine perception fails to grasp. It follows therefore that, should God exist, we would be incapable of recognising him or her as an intelligent being, since divine thought would encompass a totality of factors too complex for us to comprehend. Consequently, God would appear as a force of chaos, and therefore scarcely the entity that we would like to see governing the outcome of a football match, let alone a war. A being of that kind would exist beyond the limits of human perception. And that in turn prompts the question as to whether the meta-being God would be capable of perceiving intelligence on the sub-level of the human. Maybe we are an experiment in a petri-dish after all…

  Samantha Crowe, Diaries

  Deepflight

  Anderson’s punch never came.

  A few seconds earlier the crew of the Independence had been thrown into a state of red alert: the dolphins had reported an unknown object. Now the sonar systems detected it too. Something of unspecified size and shape was approaching at speed. It didn’t sound like a torpedo, and there was nothing on the sonar to show what could have launched it. What made the crew on the bridge and at the consoles particularly nervous wasn’t merely its silent and rapid ascent, but that it was coming at them vertically. They stared at the monitors and watched as a round, bluish patch emerged from the darkness. A rippling orb was rushing towards them, at least ten metres in diameter, gaining in size and detail on their screens.

  By the time Buchanan had given the order to shoot it down, it was already too late.

  The sphere exploded directly beneath the hull. Over the last few minutes of its journey, the gas inside it had continued to expand, accelerating its ascent. As it raced upwards, the cocoon’s thin skin of jelly had stretched to bursting point, then ripped open from top to bottom. The scraps hung in the water. The gas continued upwards, surging towards the surface, carrying a large rectangular object.

  Spinning on its axis, the lost Deepflight raced towards the Independence, striking it bow-first and ramming its torpedoes through the hull.

  An eternity elapsed.

  And then the explosion.

  Bridge

  The enormous vessel quaked.

  Buchanan, who had seen the disaster coming, narrowly succeeded in staying upright by clinging to the chart table. Others weren’t so lucky and crashed to the floor. In the control rooms beneath the island the vessel shook so violently that the monitors cracked and pieces of equipment flew through the air. In the CIC Crowe and Shankar were thrown from their chairs. In a matter of seconds chaos had broken out all over the ship. The harsh buzz of the alarm had kicked in, mixed with shouting, running footsteps, and jangling, droning, clunking noises, as the rumblings spread through the passageways, along the compartments and from level to level.

  Seconds after impact the majority of the engine- and boiler-room technicians were dead. A vast crater had been torn in the hull amidships, where the ammunition magazines and the engine room, with its two LM 2500 gas turbines, were located. The gaping tear was twenty metres long. Water blasted in with the force of a sledge-hammer, killing everyone who had survived the explosion. Anyone trying to escape was confronted by locked doors. The only way to save the Independence was to sacrifice those in the catacombs of the vessel, locking them in with the raging water to prevent the torrent swamping the vessel.

  Deck Elevator

  The platform shuddered violently, then catapulted Floyd Anderson over Johanson’s head. The first officer flung out his arms, fingers clutching at the air, then fell face down, flipped over and lay motionless, eyes open and empty.

  Vanderbilt was almost knocked off his feet. He let go of the gun, which slid across the platform, stopping centimetres from the edge. He caught sight of Johanson trying to drag himself upright, darted over and kicked him in the ribs. The scientist toppled sideways with a muffled cry. Vanderbilt had no idea what had happened to the vessel, only that it must have been disastrous. But his brief was to eliminate Johanson and he intended to fulfil it. He was bending down to drag the groaning, bleeding man across the platform, intending to throw him over the nets, when someone cannoned into him from the side.

  ‘Vanderbilt, you bastard!’ screamed Anawak.

  Suddenly he found himself under attack. Anawak’s fists were battering him with frenzied violence. Vanderbilt retreated. He raised his arms to shield his head, ducked to the side and kicked his assailant in the kneecap.

  Anawak swayed and his legs gave way. Vanderbilt transferred his weight to the other foot. Most people who met Jack Vanderbilt misjudged his strength and agility. They saw only his girth. But he was fully trained in self-defence and martial arts and, despite his hundred or so kilos, could still perform some serious moves. He ran forward, threw himself into the air and rammed his boot against Anawak’s sternum. Anawak thumped on to his back. His mouth opened in an O, but no sound came out. Good, thought Vanderbilt. He’d winded him. Bending down, he pulled Anawak up by the hair and shoved his elbow into the man’s solar plexus.

  That should do it. Now back to Johanson. Once he’d got the Norwegian into the water, Anawak could follow.

  As he straightened up, he saw Greywolf bearing down on him. Vanderbilt went on the attack. He spun round, kicked out his right leg, made contact with his opponent - and rebounded.

  That’s not right, he thought, confused. The kick had been enough to make anyone slump to the floor or double up with pain. But the man continued towards him. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. Suddenly Vanderbilt realised that he had no choice but to win this fight if he wanted to survive. His arms whirled above his head as he prepared to land the next blow. He lunged forward and felt his arm brushed away casually. Then Greywolf’s left hand had buried itself in his double chin. Vanderbilt kicked out. Without breaking stride Greywolf shoved him towards the edge, raised his fist and punched.

  Vanderbilt’s field of vision exploded. Everything went red. There was a crunch as his nose broke. The next blow shattered his cheekbone. A gurgled scream rose from his throat. The fist rammed into his mouth. His teeth splintered. Vanderbilt was delirious with pain and rage. The giant’s other hand prevented him moving. His face was being pulped.

  Greywolf let go and Vanderbilt toppled backwards. He couldn’t see much, just a bit of sky, grey asphalt and the yellow markings of the platform, all through a veil of blood. His gun was lying next to him. He reached for it, grasped it, jerked up his arm and fired.

  For a moment it was quiet.

  Had he hit him? He fired again. His arm sagged backwards. He caught a glimpse of Anawak looming above him, then the gun was knocked from his hand and he was looking into Greywolf’s eyes.

  Pain rushed through him.


  He wasn’t on his back any more, he was standing upright. Or was he hanging upside-down? He couldn’t tell. He seemed to be floating. No, he was flying backwards. Through a mist of blood he saw the platform, then the edge of the platform, moving away from him, disappearing into the sky with the nets.

  The cold hit him like a blow. Foaming water washed the blood from Vanderbilt’s eyes, as his body dropped into the depths. There was no sign of the vessel, just featureless green, a darkening expanse from which a shadow emerged.

  It was moving quickly. Its mouth opened as it approached.

  Then there was nothing.

  Lab

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?

  ‘Let him go.’

  The words were still echoing in Weaver’s head: Peak’s horrified question, followed by Li’s brutal order. Then the lab shook and heeled. The rumble of the blast was drowned by a cacophony of noises as everything around them toppled and smashed. Weaver was hurled across the room with Rubin. They landed behind a bench in a hail of instruments and receptacles. A thunderous noise swept round the lab. Everything was vibrating. Then they heard glass shattering. Weaver’s first thought was for the containment facility. She hoped to God that its hermetically sealed chambers and armoured glass would hold. On her butt, she shuffled away from Rubin.

  She spotted the metal case of test-tubes. It had slid across the floor towards her feet. She and Rubin stared at it.

  There was a brief pause while they weighed up their chances. Then Weaver lunged forward, but Rubin was quicker. He grabbed the case, jumped up and ran towards the back of the lab. Weaver swore, knowing she’d have to leave the shelter of the bench. Whatever was going on around them, no matter what Li was up to, she had to have that case.

  Two soldiers were slumped on the floor. One lay still, but the other was clambering to his feet. The third had kept his balance and was holding his gun at the ready. Li bent down to take the weapon from the motionless body. At the next second it was pointing at Weaver. Peak was leaning stiffly against the locked door. ‘Karen,’ he shouted, ‘don’t move. We won’t hurt you. For Christ’s sake, Karen, don’t move.’

  His voice was drowned by the rattle of the gun. Weaver sprang, catlike, behind a nearby cluster of benches. She had no idea what Li was firing, but the ammunition shredded the benches as though they were cardboard. Splinters of glass flew past her head and a hundred kilograms of microscope crashed to the floor. Amid the chaos the alarm buzzed steadily. Suddenly Rubin was running towards her, eyes wide with panic.

  ‘Mick!’ yelled Li. ‘Mick, you moron, get over here.’

  Weaver dived out of her hiding-place. She flung herself on top of Rubin and seized the case. Just then the vessel shook again, and the room tilted further. Rubin slid across the floor and crashed into a shelving unit, which toppled over, bombarding him with test-tubes and trapping him on his back. He howled, his arms and legs waving in the air. Out of the corner of her eye Weaver saw Li turn the weapon towards her. The third soldier was leaping over the ruins of the benches. He had one of the enormous black weapons too, and raised it.

  There was nowhere for her to run. She dropped down beside Rubin.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ she heard Li shout. ‘It’s too—’

  The soldier fired. He missed her. The shots thudded against the deep-sea simulator, making a gong-like sound on the glass. They ploughed straight through the oval window in a single line from left to right.

  Suddenly there was an eerie silence, except for the alarm, which continued to buzz at regular intervals. They all froze and stared transfixed at the tank. Weaver heard a single loud crack. She turned her head and saw fissures spreading through the enormous sheet of glass.

  ‘Oh, God,’ groaned Rubin.

  ‘Mick,’ yelled Li. ‘Get the hell over here!’

  ‘I can’t,’ he whimpered, ‘It’s my leg. I can’t move.’

  ‘Too bad,’ said Li. ‘He’s expendable. Let’s go.’

  ‘You can’t just—’ Peak was cut off before he could finish.

  ‘Open the door, Sal’

  If Peak said anything, no one heard it. There was a deafening bang as the glass shattered. Tonnes of seawater spurted towards them. Weaver ran. Behind her a torrent of water raged through the laboratory, knocking down everything in its path.

  ‘Karen,’ she heard Rubin cry out. ‘Don’t leave—’

  The room was full of spray. She saw Peak limping through the door, followed by Li. As the commander walked out her hand hit a switch on the wall beside the door. Weaver knew what that meant.

  Li intended to lock them inside.

  Water rushed up her back, pitching her forward. She crashed to her knees and scrambled up. She was drenched, but her arms were still wrapped round the case. Panting and trying not to be dragged back by the tide, she fought her way to the door as it started to close. She covered the last few metres in a single bound, glanced off the doorframe and tumbled on to the ramp.

  Deck Elevator

  Greywolf and Anawak helped Johanson to his feet. The biologist was in a bad way, but still conscious. ‘Where’s Vanderbilt?’ he murmured.

  ‘Gone fishing,’ said Greywolf.

  Anawak felt as though he’d been run over by a train. His belly was hurting so much that he could barely keep upright.

  ‘Jack,’ he kept saying, ‘Jeez, Jack.’ Greywolf had saved him again. It was becoming a tradition. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘I was a bit short with you earlier,’ said Greywolf ‘I wanted to apologise.’

  ‘Are you crazy? You shouldn’t be apologising for anything.’

  ‘Thank goodness he didn’t see it that way,’ said Johanson, between groans.

  Greywolf’s face was waxen beneath the copper-coloured skin. What’s wrong with him? thought Anawak. Then his friend’s shoulders slumped and his eyelids fluttered…

  Suddenly he noticed that Greywolf s T-shirt was covered with blood. For a moment he allowed himself to believe it was Vanderbilt’s. Then he saw that the stain was growing bigger - blood was spilling from his stomach. The ship was rocked by another blast and Johanson stumbled into him. Greywolf tipped forwards and disappeared over the edge.

  ‘Jack!’ Anawak dropped to his knees and slid over to where Greywolf had been standing. He was caught in one of the nets, gazing up at him. The waves crashed below. ‘Jack, give me your hand.’

  Greywolf didn’t move. He stared up at Anawak, pressing his hands to his belly. Blood welled through his fingers.

  Vanderbilt. The bastard had shot him.

  ‘It’s going to be OK, Jack.’ Words from a movie. ‘Give me your hand. I’ll pull you out of there. We can do it.’

  Johanson crawled to the edge. Lying flat on his belly, he tried to reach down into the net, but his arms weren’t long enough.

  ‘You need to pick yourself up,’ Anawak said. Then: ‘Stay there, Jack. I’m coming down. I’ll push you up, and Sigur can drag you from above.’

  ‘No,’ said Greywolf.

  ‘Jack…’

  ‘It’s better this way.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that!’ Anawak snapped at him. ‘I don’t want to hear any of that Hollywood shit about not worrying about you and leaving you to—’

  ‘Leon, buddy.’

  ‘Jack! I said no!’

  A thin ribbon of blood trickled out of Greywolf’s mouth. ‘Leon…’ He smiled. All of a sudden he seemed to relax. He sat up with a jerk, rolled towards the edge of the net and splashed into the waves.

  Lab

  Rubin couldn’t see or hear. Water from the tank swirled over him. He wondered what on earth had happened in the last few seconds. Then he felt the raging mass of water lift the shelving unit off his leg. He rose, spluttering, to the surface.

  Thank God for that, he thought. At least the worst is over.

  The tank held a hell of a lot of water, but not enough to flood the lab. Once it had spread out, it wouldn’t come higher than a metre.

  Where was Li?r />
  The body of a soldier was drifting alongside him. Another picked himself up from the water in stunned confusion.

  Li was gone.

  She’d abandoned them.

  Rubin looked at the water, then at the door. His mind cleared. He had to get out of there. There’d been an explosion on the vessel, and they were probably sinking.

  He was about to stand up, when the laboratory started to glow.

  Light flashed.

  It wasn’t only water escaping from the tank. He tried to get up, but skidded and fell backwards. His head disappeared under water. He paddled with his hands to steady himself, and met with resistance. Something smooth. It was moving.

  Lightning flashed in his eyes, then his mouth was sealed as a film of jelly spread over his face. Rubin tore at it, but his fingers kept sliding off. As soon as he touched it, it morphed or dissociated. New tissue formed in its place.

  This can’t be happening, he thought. No!

  He opened his mouth and felt the substance glide inside. He was crazy with fear. A thin feeler snaked down his throat, while other tendrils invaded his nostrils. He retched, flailing wildly and rearing up in the water. The pain was unbearable, as though instruments of torture were being inserted inside his skull. In a final moment of clarity he realised that the jelly was inside his brain.

  Ever since the incident on the well deck, Rubin had been wondering whether it was strategic intention, mere curiosity or a primeval drive to crawl inside whatever looked interesting that led the yrr to explore the human brain.

  Now he would wonder no more.

  Greywolf

  He felt peace. Utter calm. That probably wasn’t what Vanderbilt had felt. Vanderbilt had been afraid. His death had been brutal, and rightly so, but it was different without fear.

  Greywolf sank into the depths. He held his breath. Despite the terrible pain in his guts he was determined not to breathe out. Not because he thought he could lengthen his life. It was a last exertion of will-power, a final act of self-control. He would determine when the water should enter his lungs.