The Swarm

by Orson Scott Card

  “If Soshi and Vaganov are playing it safe, they’re bringing in their own people to close this up,” said Mazer. “Have you met with Ravenshaw?”

  “This morning. He wants to cut a deal. He says he’ll drop all other charges, if you’ll plead guilty to espionage and agree to seven years.”

  Mazer laughed. “How kind of him. He was insulting your intelligence, of course.”

  “He was trying to intimidate me. I’m young, inexperienced. He’s the schoolyard bully threatening to bloody my nose if I don’t surrender my lunch money. I think he was hoping I’d counter with a softer plea out of desperation. Maybe drop espionage and assault and settle with conduct unbecoming. You wouldn’t go to jail, but your life in the IF would be hell thereafter. I told him he doesn’t have a case for espionage. He only sneered at me, like he knew something I didn’t.”

  “Does he?”

  She looked around, checking for listening ears. “Come with me.”

  He followed her to the cafeteria. It was between the hours of breakfast and lunch, and so most tables were empty. Even so, Chamrajnagar led Mazer to a table in the back, as far from the corridor as possible and well out of earshot of anyone. She sat with her back against the wall, giving her a view of the entire cafeteria. A soldier’s reflex, Mazer thought. Keep your eyes on all entrances and exits. Defend your back.

  Mazer took the seat opposite.

  “The espionage charge is a joke,” said Chamrajnagar. “Article 793 states that it’s unlawful for unauthorized persons to take information of global defense and either retain it or deliver it to persons not entitled to receive it. That’s not what you did. I can punch holes through their argument big enough to fly a warship through. Victor sent the information regarding the asteroid to your e-mail address. They can easily prove it was a matter of global defense, and they could argue that your sending it to other officers constitutes people not entitled to receive it. But the IF has to own the information and deem it classified first. By this logic they could arrest anyone who forwards the daily news. It’s ludicrous.”

  “Then why hasn’t the prosecutor dropped the charge? He conducted his investigation. He knows it’s bogus. He’d look like an idiot in court when he presents his evidence.”

  “They want to scare you into a plea. That’s the only explanation I can think of. They believe if they pour on the heat, you’ll cave and admit to a lesser charge. I’ve seen their depositions and list of witnesses. They’ve got nothing. If this goes all the way to court-martial Ravenshaw will drop espionage before it starts. He’s bluffing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mostly sure.”

  “What about the other charges?”

  “There’s the aggravated assault charge against Nardelli. Everyone knows that’s bogus, too. There were no witnesses. It’s your word against his. I’ve got three depositions from dockworkers at WAMRED who claim Nardelli ordered them to vacate the docking bay the day you were shipped out at the same hour that he staged his little attack. He threatened the dockworkers with bodily harm if they didn’t comply.”

  “Nardelli isn’t the brightest bulb,” said Mazer.

  “He’s an idiot. And believe me, your record could not be more different than his. He has a string of offenses and second chances. How the man is even still in uniform is beyond me. My guess is Vaganov keeps him as muscle. Regardless, Nardelli won’t be in the IF very much longer. He signed a deposition and perjured himself. JAG will go after him. I’ll do it myself if no one else does. My point is, no jury is going to believe him over you.”

  “You are good,” said Mazer. “Tracking down the dockworkers was smart. What about failure to obey a lawful order?”

  She winced slightly. “This one is the trickiest of the bunch. But there’s enough wiggle room in the law to get you acquitted here as well. I think. There are several counts against you. First, every time you didn’t fulfill the excessive work detail Vaganov filed it as a criminal offense. That holds as much water as a sieve. No chance the jury will side with Vaganov on that. I have the work details, and they’re untenable.”

  “So we’re clear,” said Mazer.

  “Maybe,” said Chamrajnagar. “But the jury won’t like that you broke chain of command and uploaded the intel into the forum.”

  “I gave the intel to Vaganov,” said Mazer. “That’s the first thing I did. When he seemed reluctant to act, I uploaded it the forum. We can argue that I didn’t break chain of command.”

  “We will,” said Chamrajnagar. “But the jury may think otherwise. You have to understand, these guys on the jury are Vaganov. They’re all senior officers. They all have people under them who are smarter than they are, just like you. They see you and they see their own subordinates. That terrifies them. In their minds, you guys are their saving grace and their worst nightmare. They look to you for their best thinking, but they constantly worry that you’ll take their job. That’s Vaganov to the letter. And these guys will recognize him as one of their own. They won’t like his methods. They’ll publicly condemn his actions and his attitudes. But they can’t be seen siding with you either. They can’t condone someone who breaks chain of command. That sends the wrong signal to everyone beneath them.”

  “So how will it pan out?” Mazer asked

  She shrugged. “Honestly? Either way. We’re walking a razor’s edge here. But we can employ a tactic to improve our chances. A tactic you won’t like.”

  “Namely?”

  “We need to show them why your brain works the way it does. That you’re special. That you’re trusted by the Strategos.”

  “You mean use my classified service record? Show what happened in the First Formic War? My involvement?”

  “Sir, you’re a hero. You get things done. Vaganov was threatening to sit on the intel. What you did was in the best interest of global security. We have to make the members of the court see that. Your previous record is proof that—”

  “We can’t do that,” Mazer said.

  “Sir, this is a closed court proceeding. Anything we present as evidence can’t be discussed outside the court. Soshi can put a gag order on the proceedings. Everything would be confidential.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” Mazer said. “I made a commitment to Robinov, the Strategos. I told him I would keep my involvement quiet. He ordered me to, in fact. If I renege on that then I am disobeying an order. I can’t break one order to excuse myself for breaking another.”

  Chamrajnagar sighed. “Sir, I understand your dilemma. And I respect your desire to be honorable here, but as your attorney—”

  “I don’t want your advice as my attorney, Prem. I want it as a friend. As a fellow officer.”

  She was quiet a moment. “Without the classified file, there is a very good chance that we lose on that one count and they slap you with conduct unbecoming. It’s the weakest of the charges, but it’s the one that might stick.”

  “And if it does, they’ll discharge me?”

  “Or tuck you away somewhere. They want you to disappear, Mazer. Soshi will impose the maximum punishment if they get a conviction. You won’t see any jail time, but you won’t see the inside of a warship either.”

  “Did you catch the news this morning, Prem?”

  She nodded solemnly.

  “We have confirmation now that the Formics are coming in from below and above the ecliptic,” said Mazer. “We have an asteroid in the Kuiper Belt that’s occupied and sealed off by Formics, possibly being prepared as a weapon. Possibly a hundred other bad outcomes. We don’t have time for a lengthy trial here. We need to end this as soon as possible so I can get back in the field.”

  “There are only two ways to rush this,” Chamrajnagar said. “We cut a deal with the prosecutor, which won’t help you. Or we convince the judge and the prosecutor to drop the whole thing. Which they are obviously unwilling to do. Right now riding this thing out is your only option.”

  She checked the time on his wrist pad and stood, f
astening the loose button on her jacket. “It’s time. Show me your nongrumpy-I’m-innocent face.”

  Mazer frowned deeply then took his hand, palm flat, and moved it down across his face, changing his comically sad expression into an impassive one.

  “You look constipated,” said Chamrajnagar, “but that’s as good as we’re going to get. Let’s go.” She led him out of the cafeteria and down the hall to one of the courtrooms. The court’s sergeant at arms was standing post at the door. He saluted, scanned Chamrajnagar’s wrist pads, got a clearance beep, and opened the door for them.

  The room was not like the historic courthouses of Earth, with heavy oak tables and an elevated wood-paneled bench for the judge. It was military. Which meant it was utilitarian, institutional, with tables exactly like every other table at CentCom. The only item of note was a large seal of the International Fleet on the wall behind the judge’s seat, flanked by two identical flags of the Hegemony.

  As Mazer and Chamrajnagar took their seats at the defendant’s table, Ravenshaw, the prosecutor, entered. He came straight to them and set his attaché case atop their table between Mazer and Chamrajnagar, as if building a wall between them. Then he sat with his back to Mazer on the edge of the table nearest Chamrajnagar, so that he practically hovered over her. He was treating Mazer as if he were beneath his notice.

  Ravenshaw grinned and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “The courtroom, Prem. Was it everything you hoped it would it be? This is your first time inside one, isn’t it? Unless you count that tour you took as an elementary school student. When would that have been? Two years ago? Three?”

  “You’re sitting on my table, Reginald. Maybe you’ve forgotten that you get your own.”

  “Most people expect something a little more grandiose,” said Ravenshaw, ignoring her comment. “Something classical, you know. High vaulted ceiling, maybe a bust of some prime minister perhaps, or some dead judge long forgotten. Or maybe a Latin motto etched in bronze somewhere. E pluribus gluteus maximus. Or whatever. Instead we get this. Disappointing, isn’t it? Yes, that’s the word I’d use. Disappointing. That’s what this courtroom experience must be for you, Prem. Disappointing. Start to finish.”

  Mazer stood. “The lieutenant kindly asked you to remove yourself from the table.”

  Ravenshaw smiled. “Better put a leash on your client, Counsel. I’ve heard that these Maori boys think they’re always at war.” He looked at Mazer for the first time, regarding him as if he were some odd museum exhibit. “If you’re going to attack, Mazer, I hope I first get to see you dance a haka. I want the dinner and a show.” He frowned. “Also, I thought you’d be taller.”

  He slid off the desk and took his attaché case as the sergeant at arms entered, walked to the front of the room, and snapped to attention. “Ten-hut!”

  Everyone was already standing, but they came to attention as the door at the back of the courtroom opened and Colonel Michio Soshi came through. He took his seat at the judge’s table and struck the gavel. “Let’s get started please.”

  Mazer watched the man. Soshi seemed focused on his tablet, bored even, another day on the clock. He didn’t once look at Mazer. The sergeant at arms referred to his wrist pad. “Docket number 3627. International Fleet versus Captain Mazer Rackham. The defendant is charged with one count of espionage, one count of aggravated assault, eight counts of failure to obey a lawful order, and conduct unbecoming an officer of the Fleet.”

  Soshi looked to the defendant’s table, his expression unchanged, as if a charge of espionage were standard fare here. “And for the defense?” Soshi said.

  Prem kept her eyes forward as she spoke. “Chamrajnagar. Lieutenant. Junior Grade. Prem. Judge Advocate General’s Corp. Sworn and certified in accordance with Articles 28c and 47b of the International Fleet’s Uniform Code of Military Justice.”

  Soshi waved a hand, as if uninterested in the formalities. “Fine, fine. Does the defense wish to enter a plea?”

  “Yes, sir,” Chamrajnagar said. “The defendant pleads not guilty, sir.”

  Soshi nodded. “Enter a plea of not guilty for the defendant. We will adjourn until 0900, three weeks from today, at which time this court will reconvene for a court-martial.” He struck his gavel on the table.

  The sergeant at arms shouted again. “Ten-hut!”

  No one had moved. Soshi got up and disappeared back into his chambers. Start to finish, the whole procedure took ninety seconds.

  Ravenshaw grabbed his attaché case and grinned at Prem. “Whenever you come to your senses, Prem, and want to deal, you know where to reach me.” He moved to leave but turned back. “Oh, and get used to that disappointing feeling in your gut. After this is over, you’ll get it every time you step into this courtroom. Like Pavlov’s dogs. Ring a ding ding.” He winked. Then he pointed his finger like a gun at Mazer and fired an imaginary shot.

  Prem watched him go, then she turned to Mazer. “Did they teach you how to disembowel someone with your bare hands in the special forces? I’d give anything for that skill right now.”

  “Too messy,” said Mazer. “Especially in his case. Why wait three weeks to start the court-martial?”

  “They’re trying to sweat you out, I suppose. Or stall.”

  “We don’t have three weeks, Prem. We need to end this now. Do you have lunch plans?”

  “You’re my only case. But remember, you don’t have freedom of movement. You’re confined to that office they gave you.”

  The International Fleet had put Mazer in a secluded office at Central Command until his court-martial. An enlisted man indicted on the same charges would likely have been thrown in the brig, but out of respect for his rank as well as his service record, Mazer had received slightly more comfortable accommodations. He was confined there during the day, and to his apartment with Kim in the evening. He wasn’t allowed to go anywhere else.

  “I’ll go to the office,” said Mazer. “After we take a detour.”

  He led her back through the corridors and up to the surface of Old Town, where he tapped his wrist pad and hailed a taxi.

  “Am I allowed to know where we’re going exactly?” Prem asked.

  “What do you know about patent law?”

  “Patent law?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Some. Not enough to win a case, if that’s what you’re asking. Intellectual property law doesn’t come up very often in the military. Why?”

  “Could you draw up the necessary paperwork to file for a patent?” Mazer asked.

  “Maybe. I suppose. I’d have to read up on it. It would depend on where you want to file it.”

  The self-driving taxi arrived, and they climbed inside. Mazer ordered the taxi to take them to the offices of Gungsu Industries.

  “Why are we going to Gungsu?” asked Prem.

  “My men and I designed a nanoshield for marine combat. Colonel Vaganov gave it to Gungsu to develop without our consent. The soldier who deserves most of the credit is Lieutenant Mustafa Shambhani.”

  “The marine who lost his leg.”

  Mazer nodded. “He’s here on Luna in recovery. Kim checked in on him. His prosthesis is working nicely, but he has a lot of hard physical therapy ahead of him. Gungsu needs to compensate him for his idea. His family could use that financial cushion.”

  The taxi sped down the city track, moving with traffic. “Mazer, with all due respect, I think it’s noble that you want to help your friend. Really, I do. It’s tragic what happened to him. But you have more pressing problems. Namely your court-martial and avoiding prison time. Flying off to Gungsu and violating your movement privileges isn’t helping your case either. And I’ll remind you, Gungsu is in bed with Vaganov and Judge Soshi. I wouldn’t call these people allies.”

  “Gungsu is the root of this, Prem. They control Vaganov, Soshi, Ravenshaw. They’re running this show, even if only indirectly. It all starts with them.”

  “So what’s your plan? Threaten them with an intellectual property lawsuit? That’s a bad idea.
I work for JAG, Mazer. I can’t sue a civilian in a military court. There’s no jurisdiction. Second, you don’t have much of a case anyway. Intellectual property litigation is not as cut and dry as you might suspect. For starters, we don’t have a patent and have not filed one. Therefore, technically, Gungsu is not infringing on one. We can’t even put them on notice since there’s no proof that they got the idea from Shambhani. They could easily claim that one of their own engineers came up with the idea at an earlier date. Or—and this is more likely—they could claim that as a soldier and member of WAMRED, Shambhani created the file as an employee of the military. The file thus belongs to the military, and Vaganov, as a rep for the military, can give it to whoever he chooses. Shambhani’s compensation is his salary. The military owns him. Anything he does on the job is their intellectual property. I’m sorry, Mazer. I hate to be the one to say so, but you have a paper-thin case. And even if your case were stronger, laws concerning damages favor the defendant in these cases.”

  “I realize that, Prem. Gungsu will realize that too. We’re not going to sue them. Or even threaten to sue them. We will simply imply that a condition for going into business with us is that they compensate Shambhani somehow as a show of goodwill.”

  Prem blinked, looking confused. “I’m sorry. You said, go into business with them?”

  “In a manner of speaking. And with Lem Jukes. We can’t work exclusively with Gungsu. We’ll work with them both.”

  Prem waved a hand, stopping him. “Mazer, your brain is going a hundred kilometers an hour here, and I’m at walking speed. You have a pending court-martial. We can agree on that much, correct?”

  “We both know how that’s going to play out, Prem. The best we can hope for at this point is an acquittal with a letter of formal reprimand and a recommendation for nonjudicial punishment. That’s the result even if we win in court. Soshi won’t settle for less. I’ll walk away with a slap on the wrist that will haunt me for the rest of my career. I’ll be passed over for promotions and opportunities. But it’s inevitable. Am I wrong?”

  She was quiet a moment. “You’re not wrong, no. And it’s not fair.”