The Swarm (60 page)

Mangold sighed again and then turned to Arjuna. “The ship is registered in your name. Do you agree to these terms?”

Arjuna hesitated.

“It's the best offer you're going to get,” said Rena.

“It's not the money,” said Arjuna, “it's leaving the ship.”

“Imala and I will make sure it gets back to you,” said Rena. “Your place is with your family. If we lose this war, they'll want you by their side.”

Arjuna turned to Mangold. “And you'll keep me and my family here until the transport arrives? We'll be cared for? Fed? We have children on board.”

“There aren't many comforts here on the station,” said Mangold. “And it will be crowded. But the few IF crew that stay behind will feed and provide for your family until the transport arrives, at which point your family will be taken to the Belt.”

Arjuna considered a moment then nodded. “Then I agree.”

Mangold took a moment to read his wrist pad. Then he typed something into it, and the contract that was in front of Arjuna disappeared, replaced with a new one. “The ship's computers have revised the contract based on our conversation. It includes the offer to rent the ship as proposed.”

A different document appeared in front of Rena.

“For Rena, this is our standard enlistment agreement,” said Mangold. “If everyone signs, we can proceed.” He turned to Victor and Imala. “You two need not sign anything. As members of the IF, you're already under orders.”

“I thought you said you couldn't approve my offer,” said Imala.

“I didn't,” said Mangold. “The ship's computer did. It's aware of IF assets, and I assure you this is a legally binding agreement.”

That struck Imala as odd. She had known of algorithms on Luna that could predict the likelihood of financial deals being approved by two parties, such as in the case of mergers and acquisitions, but she had never heard of a computer that could approve an offer. It was more likely that someone of a higher authority was listening in on their conversation and had just given Mangold the green light. But if so, who was listening? Someone else here at the station? It had to be. Sending a laserline transmission to Luna and Earth and then awaiting a response would take hours.

Rena and Arjuna read their documents and signed.

“Good,” said Captain Mangold. The documents disappeared. “Now, as this is a highly classified mission, I must ask that Arjuna and Ensign Delgado excuse us so that I may speak with Rena and Captain Bootstamp in private.”

“They'll just tell us later,” said Arjuna.

“No,” said Mangold. “They won't. Doing so would be an act of treason. I hope everyone here understands that.”

“So I can't know where you're sending my wife?” said Victor.

“I don't make the rules,” said Captain Mangold.

“It's all right,” said Imala. “We'll meet you back on the ship.”

Reluctantly Victor and Arjuna unanchored themselves and drifted outside. When they were gone, Mangold said, “There is a small Formic ship out in deep space. It detached itself from the Formic fleet some time ago, but it has kept its distance ever since. While the warships came in close and positioned themselves above and below the ecliptic, this ship hung back from an elevated position. We're calling it an observer ship because we think that is its purpose, to observe the proceedings of the coming war from a safe distance. We have no way of knowing for certain, but we believe that this ship may be carrying the Hive Queen.”

Rena and Imala exchanged glances.

“And what is our mission?” Rena asked. “To attack this ship? The Gagak isn't a warship.”

“It's equipped with the latest Juke mining lasers,” said Mangold. “And as you said, it's heavily shielded and near indestructible. We've reviewed the schematics. The Gagak is as durable as they come. It's the primary reason why we chose it.”

“It's not designed for interstellar flight,” said Imala. “How far out is this observer ship?”

“We believe we can reach it within a year,” said Mangold. “Assuming we can make a few modifications to your ship first. We have the equipment here already. It should only take a few weeks to prepare.”

“So our mission is to assassinate the Hive Queen?” said Rena. “Imala and I aren't trained combatants. So I'm assuming your crew is prepared to carry out that mission.”

“My crew are young, but they are all uniquely trained for this, yes. They'll do the fighting. Your job is to get them there.”

“If it's an observer ship,” said Imala, “won't the Formics see us coming? What's to keep them from firing on the Gagak or simply running away? Or is that the point? Are we the guinea pigs here? The expendable soldiers sent into battle to make the enemy reveal his weapons capabilities? That way, the IF will then know what it's up against and can prepare the real team?”

“That's not the case,” said Mangold. “I promise you. We're it. This mission is ours and no one else's. I didn't come out here to die for the sake of revealing enemy intelligence. Nor would the IF ask that of you. I came out here to kill the Hive Queen. She is more than the general of their army. She is their mind, their heart, their will. Her soldiers rely upon her guidance and instruction. If we can sever that communication, we could destabilize their entire army.”

“Or you might just infuriate them,” said Rena. “Kill their queen and they might fight all the more savagely out of vengeance.”

“Perhaps,” said Mangold. “But they won't be organized. They'll scatter and fragment and fight without order. We could defeat them. Their Hive Mind is their greatest strength. It allows them to share information instantaneously and respond as a single organism. If we can stop that, we might actually have a chance in this war.”

“But the Hive Queen is only a theory,” said Rena.

“True,” said Mangold. “But the evidence that she exists is greater than the evidence that she doesn't. And if you were the Hive Queen, set to battle an alien species, where would you be? With your forces in the thick of battle, or tucked away at a safe distance to watch the action unfold? And even if we're wrong, even if the Hive Queen isn't there, the Formics put that observer ship out there for a reason. And whatever their purpose, we want to thwart it.”

They discussed the particulars, going over the modifications that needed to be made to the ship, but Imala was only half listening. Her mind kept returning to Victor. All those years they had been together and only a few months as husband and wife.

That night, zipped up together in their sleep sack, as she held him close, she wondered why they had waited so long to marry. Their need for each other was so glaringly obvious now. Why had they delayed? Because love wasn't instant, she reminded herself. Love had come gradually, moment by moment. She had always enjoyed his company, she had always wanted to be near him. But not as his spouse, not as the woman that would bear his children and commit her life to his. He was a friend. No, he was more than that. He had always been more than that. And maybe that was the problem. Their relationship had been so close for so long that its ascension to something greater, to love, had been so short of a climb that she hadn't realized it had happened. But she did love him. There was no question. It was not what she had always expected love to be; those perceptions seemed silly and juvenile now. It was simply joy. Joy to be with him, to see him, to hear his voice. A coming home.

And now she was losing it all. Maybe for three years. Maybe forever.

*   *   *

They launched him the following morning. The zipship was about as tall as a bookcase and as deep as a dining room table. Mangold gave Victor a booklet entitled
Getting Unzipped
with instructions on exercises he would need to perform and medicines he would need to take once he arrived at his destination. Victor's body would be a wreck, but he would live.

It took the technicians over an hour to hook Vico up to his IV and all the electrodes that would occasionally activate his muscles to prevent them from atrophying. A crowd of technicians surrounded him the whole time, and so Imala didn't even have a private moment with him before they put him to sleep. They covered his face with the oxygen mask and then sealed him in the gel.

It felt like a burial. Like she was watching them lay her dead husband into the ground.

She stood at the porthole and watched him rocket away, never taking her eyes off the dot of light that was his ship. She was still there much later, long after the dot had disappeared, lost among a canopy of stars.

 

CHAPTER 29

Castalia

No one was looking at Eros. Perhaps that was the IF's greatest mistake.

—Demosthenes,
A History of the Formic Wars,
Vol. 3

Mazer pushed off the caged wall of the Battle Room and flew to the other side, spinning as he went so that he landed feet first. He bent his knees at the moment of impact and grabbed the bars of the grid wall to anchor himself. It was early, and he was alone. But it felt good to be flying again. The Battle Room had been closed for two months now, and it was liberating to stretch his legs and get his blood up for a change.

When the ship had altered its course for the asteroid Castalia, everyone on board had had to strap themselves into their flight hammocks. No one could get up and move around as the ship decelerated from its old course, reoriented itself, and then accelerated again on a new trajectory. It was maddening. The men were all special forces, trained to move, to march, to infiltrate, to attack. Lying in a hammock for weeks on end doing nothing was the ultimate test of patience and perseverance, especially with the Battle Room so close by, calling to them.

Mazer had known that the men would like the game. As soldiers they all had an innate love for combat. Conducting mock battles that stretched them to their limits and that taught them new and useful tactics was what each of them lived for. But Mazer had not expected them to become so devoted to the game. It was more than a means of exercise, more than an escape from the tedium of spaceflight. It was what they lived for. It had become the beating heart of their culture. Teams made uniforms, flags, war cries, chants. The trophies they made and awarded were silly homemade trinkets, but the men displayed them like priceless statues.

The corridors of the ship were filled with harmless trash-talking and the clapping and hooting that followed any victory. Sleep schedules had been altered so that more teams could get practice time. Mealtimes were changed to accommodate battles or special training sessions. Everything revolved around the Battle Room.

And now that the ship had arrived at Castalia, now that they had finished their deceleration and were ready to begin their attack, Mazer could rush outside and enjoy a moment alone before the mission began.

He looked to his left, out into space. Castalia was a hundred klicks out. The ship was tracking alongside it. The attack would begin within a few hours.

Rear Admiral Zembassi had given Colonel Li the assignment of planning the mission, but Li had relied on Mazer and Bingwen for the particulars. It hadn't been difficult. Blow the atmosphere. Send in a team of marines to confirm that the Formics and other creatures were fried to space dust, then bring in Bingwen and the other cadets to explore the tunnels and gather what additional clues they could.

Mazer did two more launches, then went back inside to get ready for the mission.

Li was at the hatch, waiting for him. “The rear admiral wants you in his office immediately.”

“Something wrong?” Mazer asked.

“Everything. Vaganov is trying to sandbag the entire operation.”

They hustled to Zembassi's office and found Vaganov and Zembassi giving each other the silent treatment. The tension in the room was palpable. Zembassi looked furious. Vaganov smiled pleasantly.

“You asked to see me, sir?” Mazer said.

“We have a problem, Captain,” said Zembassi. “Rear Admiral Vaganov here has taken it upon himself to change our orders and turn this mission into a bureaucratic mess.”

“You're overreacting, Fareed,” said Vaganov. “I merely pointed out to a few colleagues that your team had failed to consider a few critical details.”

“What exactly did we forget, sir?” asked Mazer.

Vaganov winced, as if he were embarrassed for Mazer for even asking. “If you had been more thorough in planning this mission, Mazer, you wouldn't have to ask that question.”

“Stop toying with him and get to the damn point,” said Zembassi.

“The creatures, Mazer,” said Vaganov. “The creatures are the clues. The mining slugs, the grubs, the bugs, all of the little alien creepy-crawly things inside that rock. They will tell us more about the Formics' intentions than an empty hole in a rock ever would, which is all your cadets are likely to find if you blow the asteroid. These creatures have DNA, Mazer—or whatever it is their protein structure is composed of. And a study of their DNA might give us the definitive answers we seek. The prevailing belief on Earth is that they were engineered by the Hive Queen herself. If we can capture them and dissect them and do whatever it is that scientists do, we might legitimately learn what the Hive Queen has in mind. At the very least, we'll learn more about how she communicates with creatures mind to mind. Perhaps that will give us the information we need to cut off that communication line.”

“We considered what you're proposing, sir,” said Mazer. “But there is an obvious danger to the idea. The atmosphere—”

“—is composed of volatile gas,” interrupted Vaganov. “Yes, yes. But that doesn't change the fact that by blowing up the asteroid, you might be incinerating critical intelligence. What if there is a computer at the heart of that asteroid with all of their sensitive information? Are we going to blow it up without even trying to seize it?”