The Swarm (50 page)

Mazer followed Li through a set of double doors to their right and through a locker room no doubt used by the loading crews.

“You probably don't remember me,” said Li. “But we met once. Briefly. Back at Dragon's Den, in China, the day Bingwen and the other MOPs came into the base. I was a young and cocky lieutenant trying to make a name for myself. I had a chip on my shoulder, as they say in America.”

It took Mazer a moment to place him. “I remember you, yes.”

Li smiled. “We had an awkward first meeting, Captain, but I'd like to think we're both a little older and wiser now. I speak Common much better than I did then, for example.”

“You speak it impeccably,” said Mazer.

“The language of the IF,” said Li. “Learn it or perish. Had China been a little more cooperative from the beginning, perhaps we'd all be speaking Chinese.”

He reached another set of double doors and pushed his way through. They entered what had once been a large concrete cargo hold, perhaps a holding area for freight being shipped out in the shuttles. Now however the room served as makeshift barracks. Bunk beds lined the walls on both sides, the bedding tight and immaculate. The floor in the center of the room was covered with foam sparring pads. A dozen young men ages twelve or thirteen were paired off on the pads, conducting hand-to-hand combat exercises, tossing each other to the floor. The boy nearest the door shouted, “Officer on deck!”

The young men immediately fell into two facing lines and came to attention, motionless. Their speed and response time was impressive.

“What do you think of our little army, Captain?” asked Li.

Mazer understood at once. “You're intending to send them into the narrow tunnels on the asteroids.”

“Of course,” said Li. “The tunnels are too big for grown men. Maybe not you, of course. You're rather small. But even you would have trouble with most of the tunnels we've seen. Small boys from Southeast Asia, however, will have a much easier time maneuvering in that space. Our genetics are built for this type of work. Bingwen. Front and center.”

Mazer's heart leaped in his chest as one of the young men in the back ran forward, a boy Mazer hadn't yet noticed. He was older and taller and maybe even a little thinner than Mazer remembered, with his hair shaved tight to his scalp, but it was Bingwen. The boy sprinted forward without looking at Mazer and snapped to attention in front of Colonel Li, his face free of emotion. “Bingwen reporting, Colonel Li, sir.”

“Do you recognize this officer, Bingwen?” Li asked, gesturing to Mazer.

Bingwen didn't turn his head or so much as glance at Mazer. “Yes sir, Colonel Li, sir. That is Captain Mazer Rackham, sir.”

“You know Captain Rackham well?”

“Yes sir, Colonel Li, sir. He helped me during the First Formic War, sir.”

“And Bingwen here saved my life as well,” Mazer said, smiling.

“I have not given you permission to speak, Captain Rackham,” said Li. “You will address a senior officer only when he poses a direct question. Otherwise you will request permission to speak when I am addressing another soldier. Do I make myself clear?”

Mazer raised an eyebrow. Was this a joke?

“Perhaps you are hard of hearing,” said Colonel Li. “I asked you a direct question, Captain Rackham. Your duty is to offer a direct answer.”

Mazer glanced at Bingwen. The boy hadn't so much as blinked. What hell have they put you through? Mazer wondered. He turned back to Colonel Li. “You've made yourself very clear, Colonel. May I speak with you in private please?”

Colonel Li looked annoyed. There was no hard and fast rule about honoring a fellow officer's request for private conversation, but usually officers agreed to it as a professional courtesy.

Li turned to his young army. “No one move.”

He walked out of the barracks and into a small adjacent office with glass windows. Mazer followed him inside.

Li folded his arms. “Do you have a problem with how I run my army, Captain Rackham? If you have objections, let's hear them.”

Mazer hesitated. He was walking on thin ice here, and he strongly suspected that whatever he said would only anger Li further. “Sir, it is my understanding that the recruitment and use of children during armed conflict is a war crime.”

“You are a poor student of history,” said Li. “Children have taken a direct part in war for centuries. Soldiers, spies, messengers, lookouts. Name a country, and I will cite to you the wars and rulers who have employed child soldiers. The list is long and may surprise you, and it includes those nations of the West who consider themselves above reproach, nations who scorn the rest of the world for the practice when they themselves are guilty of the act. Look at the Romans, the Crusades, the Napoleonic Wars, both world wars, the American Civil War, Africa, the Middle East; from the moment man first raised a spear to defend his campfire, we have been employing children in war.”

“Yes, but that does not make the practice morally acceptable, sir. I'd like to think we're a little more civilized now than we were during the wars you mention.”

Li laughed. “Civilized? When has war ever been civilized, Captain? War, by its very definition, is barbaric and horrific and the very antithesis of civility.”

“All the more reason to protect children from it,” said Mazer.

“You surprise me, Captain. I was told you had strategic prowess, that you had an innate ability to tackle difficult obstacles with a mind open to nonconventional tactics. I see now that such praise was mistaken.”

“The additional protocol to the Geneva Conventions states that no one under the age of fifteen can be recruited or participate in armed conflict,” said Mazer. “Are we ignoring the Geneva Conventions now?”

“Tell me, Captain. When they sat down around the tables in Geneva over a century ago, did they know about the Formics? Did they know that an alien race would one day seek to melt the flesh from our bones with biochemical weapons designed to destroy all biota on Earth? Did these military commanders, these wise men—who you clearly consider the only people in the history of the world capable of making moral judgments on our behalf—did they see what we would face? Did they know the threat that was coming? And perhaps more importantly, would they have made an exception to their own ethics if failing to do so meant the annihilation of our species? Because that's the question here, Captain Rackham. That's the cold hard ugly truth of the matter. If we lose, there will be no children. None. No infants, no toddlers, no preschoolers, no kids blissfully running around the playgrounds of Earth. They will each be a bloody stain and pile of bones if we don't win.

“What are you willing to do to protect them, Captain? Would you rather safeguard these twelve young men here before me? Would you rather preserve
their
lives than save the billions of people on Earth? Is that your logic? We wouldn't want Bingwen here to get nightmares and be scared, so let's step back and watch Earth burn.” Li shook his head. “No. That thinking does not hold water with me, Captain. This is not a war of easy choices. We will not win by following dated rules that were created without an awareness of our unique circumstances. Do you think the Formics live by some ethical code? Do you think they will withhold any advantage because of some convention convened in their past? You served in China, Captain. You saw what these bastards do to innocent people. My people. My homeland. Are you telling me that you're not willing to do whatever is necessary to annihilate them?

“And frankly, Captain Rackham, I find your objection rather hypocritical. You were the one who first took Bingwen into conflict. Was he not your guide to the Formic lander during the First Formic War? You steered him into battle, you dragged him into war. Not once, but many times. And when you were arrested by the Chinese military, your fellow MOPs made Bingwen one of their own. This boy, this
child
, as you call him, saw more action under your direction than have most soldiers of the International Fleet. I find that far more morally reprehensible than the sins you're throwing upon me. So don't stand there and pretend to occupy some moral high ground, Captain. You are far guiltier of this
crime
than I am.”

Mazer said nothing. What could he say? Li was right about Bingwen. Mazer had put him in danger. Mazer had tried desperately to remove Bingwen from conflict, but the circumstances thrust upon them had prevented that from happening.

“We're done here,” said Li. He stepped out of the office, and Mazer followed.

“Tell me, Bingwen,” said Li loud enough for everyone to hear. “Captain Rackham here doesn't think you're worthy to be a soldier. He thinks you're a useless child. He thinks you don't deserve to be in the IF. What do you say to that?”

“I must respectfully disagree with Captain Rackham, sir.”

“You would like to show him that you're a soldier, wouldn't you, Bingwen?” Colonel Li asked.

“Yes, sir, Colonel Li, sir. I would consider it an honor, sir.”

“Very well,” said Li. “Then we shall grant you your request.” He turned to Mazer. “Captain Rackham, you will spar with Bingwen and allow him to show you that he is worthy to be called a soldier.”

Mazer hesitated. “Sir, with all due respect, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Are you questioning my authority, Captain Rackham? Are you refusing to follow a lawful, direct order? Considering your recent court-martial, one would think you would be a little more submissive to authority.”

Nothing Mazer could say would change Li's mind. He would not recant his orders in front on his men and lose face. He would dig in, and Mazer would only make things worse for himself and for Bingwen. His only choice was to accept.

“You're right, Colonel,” said Mazer. “I beg your pardon. A demonstration of Bingwen's prowess would certainly help me understand your perspective better.”

Li smiled, victorious. And for an instant Mazer saw something else in the man's eyes as well: an eagerness to see a confrontation, a hunger for a fight.

Mazer removed his shoes and stepped out onto the mat. He was still wearing his class-As, which weren't designed for flexibility, but they would have to do. “Well, Bingwen. You've clearly been practicing a lot more than I have, but I'll warn you. I'm taller, heavier, and I won't go easy on you.”

Mazer spread his feet apart, assuming a relaxed fighting position, waiting.

Bingwen turned to him and joined him on the mat, facing him, his expression still flat, as if Mazer meant nothing to him.

Then, a heartbeat later, Bingwen attacked. Mazer hopped back as Bingwen advanced with a series of kicks aimed directly at Mazer's groin. Powerful kicks, relentless. Bingwen knew he had a stronger opponent and that his only chance was to target where Mazer was the weakest. Mazer blocked a kick with his leg, then another with his hand, then he grabbed Bingwen's foot and flipped him over.

Bingwen landed hard on the mat, and Mazer saw a flicker of anger in Colonel Li's face. Mazer had to keep it going and show no mercy, he realized. He only hoped Bingwen would seize the opportunity when it came. Bingwen sprang back to his feet.

Mazer laughed. “Is that what they teach you, Bingwen? To kick a man where he's most vulnerable? Good. You're a soldier. Your job is to win, not to play fair.”

The second attack came. Mazer hopped away again, moving to his left in a wide circle on the mat, acting as if he were enjoying himself. Three more kicks from Bingwen. Mazer blocked them all. “Predictable, Bingwen. You're showing me a pattern. You've got three good kicks you use too often. Everything else is weak and insubstantial. Or maybe you're going easy on me.”

Two more kicks, easily blocked.

“I certainly won't go easy on you,” said Mazer, stepping aside to dodge a punch. Another punch immediately followed, but he twisted again, grabbed Bingwen's wrist, pulled him off balance and landed a stunning flat-palmed blow into Bingwen's chest.

Bingwen staggered back, the wind knocked from his lungs. He clutched at his chest, but he stayed on his feet, half bent forward, desperate for air. For a moment Mazer thought he had hit him too hard.

Mazer continued to rotate around the circle until his back was to Colonel Li. “If we keep this up, I'm going to hurt you, Bingwen,” said Mazer. “Better give up now and save yourself some bruises.”

Bingwen's face hardened into a grimace and he assumed a new fighting stance.

“Persistent,” said Mazer. “I commend you for that. Especially against a stronger opponent. But a soldier must also know when to retreat. You sure you don't want to call it? Or maybe you want to invite two of your friends to help you?”

Mazer then gave Bingwen a subtle wink, one that Colonel Li couldn't see, and he hoped Bingwen would understand its meaning.

Bingwen did, because his fastest and fiercest attack followed. Now there was no pattern to the volley of kicks and punches. Everything he had done before this moment had been a feint. Now there was real power, as if Bingwen had held himself in reserve until this moment. Mazer scrambled to his left, dodging, deflecting, retreating. An opening came, and Mazer took it, as any soldier would. He kicked out, but Bingwen was already dropping to the floor, anticipating the attack, and sweeping with his leg, connecting with the one foot Mazer was standing on. Mazer didn't have to pretend to fall. His balance was off, and he went down.

But he knew better than to lose at this moment. That would be too obvious. He had to appear wounded and angry first. He had to show Li a progression in his emotions for Li to believe it. Arrogance, then surprise, then rage, then humility. This was surprise.

Mazer cursed under his breath, then rolled away and was back up in a crouched position, furious. Bingwen didn't pause in the attack, as Mazer knew he wouldn't. And Bingwen charged with an animalistic ferocity. Kick, block, kick, block, punch, block, sweep, jump, kick, dodge, punch, block, kick—