The Swarm

by Orson Scott Card

  Mazer didn’t have a chance to answer because the assistant returned and beckoned them to follow. The three of them went down a corridor and into Hea Woo Han’s office, a large space with a holotable on the left and a circle of contemporary armchairs on the right. Hea Woo Han stood to receive them, and she was exactly as Mazer remembered her: poised, conservatively dressed, and all business. Her face, though polite, had the bearing of someone who was completely in command.

  After some bowing and formal introductions, the assistant exited and closed the doors behind him.

  “Won’t you have a seat,” said Hea Woo Han, gesturing to the armchairs. An ornate porcelain Korean tea set sat on a small coffee table before them. Hea Woo Han lifted the teapot. “May I interest you in a cup of omija cha, a Korean herbal tea made from the berries of the schisandra? It is said to calm the spirit and refresh the heart and kidneys. Personally I just like the taste.”

  “Thank you,” said Mazer.

  Prem accepted as well, and Hea Woo Han poured and served three steaming cups.

  “I remember you well, Captain Rackham,” said Woo Han, taking a sip from her tea. “Our passing was brief at WAMRED, but I do not forget a face. You helped conduct tests for the gravity disruptor. If I am not mistaken, a member of your unit was injured during one of the tests. I hope he has recuperated.”

  “He lost the lower half of his leg and is learning to walk with a prosthesis,” said Mazer.

  Hea Woo Han looked genuinely surprised. “I am sorry to hear it. You will please relay my condolences to him and his family when you see him next. We at Gungsu are not indifferent to such tragedies. Many of us are veterans. Myself included. Any loss to one soldier is a loss to us all.”

  “You have the bearing of a soldier,” said Mazer. “I’m not surprised to hear you served. What branch? ROKN?” Meaning the Republic of Korea Navy.

  Hea Woo Han smiled. “What tipped you off? The way I pour tea?”

  “Gungsu would want someone who has intimate knowledge of the contract-procuring process for large, self-sustaining vessels and their equipment. That’s the navy.”

  “Yes,” said Hea Woo Han. “I was an administrative contracting officer. Coming to Gungsu seemed like a natural transition.”

  “What was your terminal rank?” Mazer asked. “Major?”

  Hea Woo Han smiled. “Not quite. I was a daewi, an equivalent to your rank of captain.”

  “When did you get out?” Mazer asked.

  “Three years ago, when the IF formed.”

  “Then you should have been a major. You were the age of a major. You certainly have the presence and capabilities of a major.”

  Hea Woo Han bowed her head slightly. “You are kind to say so, Captain Rackham, but there are very few female majors in the Korean military. My terminal rank was quite an achievement considering the circumstances. But please, you did not come here to discuss my military service. How can we at Gungsu be of assistance?”

  Mazer took a sip of his tea. It was hot and sweet and warmed his throat. “What would you say is the IF’s greatest weakness at the moment, Ms. Woo Han?”

  Hea Woo Han paused and considered. “An interesting question, Captain. And one with a lengthy answer. The Fleet has a number of weaknesses at present. We have too few warships, for one, and too few experienced crews to man them. We have made great strides in defense since the last war, but we must continue to innovate if we hope to defeat the enemy. Surveillance, communication, weaponry, shielding. A strong defense is rooted in advanced tech. We cannot yield in our diligent pursuit of research and development.”

  “Isn’t that the foundational position of every defense contractor?” Mazer said. “‘The military is weak. We need to be stronger. We need more tech.’ Etcetera. You’d go out of business if you said otherwise.”

  Hea Woo Han’s expression remained flat. “Do you question my sincerity, Captain Rackham?”

  “Not at all. I meant no offense. And please, call me Mazer. Prem and I aren’t here as representatives of the IF. We’re here representing ourselves. We can drop the formalities.”

  “I see. It appears I have been misinformed. I was led to believe that this was in regards to an asteroid strike team.”

  “It is,” said Mazer. “But first, that question: the IF’s greatest weakness. I would assume that you, someone intimately familiar with the intricacies of military bureaucracy, would know our real problem.”

  Hea Woo Han set her empty teacup down on the coffee table. “Perhaps I am not as wise as you think, Captain. You obviously have something in mind. Enlighten me.”

  “How many times were you passed up for promotion in the navy?” asked Mazer. “Four times? Six? Ten? You need not answer, but whatever that number, it happened not only because you were a woman in a male-dominated institution but also because you’re intelligent and they were afraid of you. And yet if you had filed a discrimination complaint, which would have been well within your rights to do, you would have essentially committed career suicide. You’d have been ostracized and ignored and blacklisted. They’d have made you a supply officer up in Gangwon province, bunking with the ice fishermen.”

  Hea Woo Han said nothing.

  “So you kept quiet,” said Mazer, “and did your duty and watched less capable careerist twits get promoted again and again because they knew how to work the system. They took credit for every success and deflected blame for every failure. Bureaucrats. Men who want command but who have no idea what to do with it. Men who avoid committing their forces until they know victory is already imminent. Men who want somebody else to take the risk. Men who lose wars.”

  Hea Woo Han didn’t reply.

  “But then Gungsu comes along,” continued Mazer. “A corporation that actually rewards people for being intelligent and promotes people for being effective. And they need someone exactly like you, someone who’s knowledgeable of military operations, someone who can interact with officers of senior rank without seeming deferential. Someone who understands the contract procurement process and who has risen to considerable rank despite the prejudices against her. And so they made you an offer right when you realized that joining the IF would be a dead end. You weren’t going to advance. Not in an environment where the bureaucracy was taken to a whole new level, with careerists from nearly every military on Earth jockeying for position and stepping on the backs of whoever got in their way. That wasn’t a game you had ever played, and you certainly didn’t want to play it now. So you came to Gungsu. And you love your job because you feel rewarded and validated. But you hate it as well because you have to make deals with precisely the kind of bureaucrats you despised from the beginning. Tell me if I’m getting warm here.”

  “You can’t defeat the bureaucracy,” said Hea Woo Han. “It may be our greatest weakness, but it’s indestructible. It defines the IF. I can’t help you.”

  “I think you can,” said Mazer. “I think we can help each other.” He unbuttoned his cufflink and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his wrist pad.

  “The IF has been prepping for ship-to-ship warfare,” said Mazer. “Large space battles. And we will almost certainly see those when the time comes. Yet the more critical battleground of the war may be asteroids. It’s believed that Formics have already occupied thousands of asteroids in our solar system. The Formics cover these asteroids with a durable shell that holds in an atmosphere. I believe it highly likely that Formics are tunneling through these asteroids and creating habitats, possibly even mining resources. For what purpose, we don’t yet know, but IF marines will need to take these asteroids. Failing to do so may cost us the war.”

  He extended the four small antennas on his wrist pad and turned on the holoprojector. A small holo of the spider harness Victor had created appeared in the holofield.

  “This is a tunnel harness,” said Mazer. “Designed by Victor Delgado, the free miner whose engineering helped win us the First Formic War. The harness was originally intended for metal tunnels inside a Formic warship,
but it could work just as well in asteroid tunnels. The legs of the harness push against all sides of the tunnel to keep the marine suspended in the middle, away from tunnel walls. Or if necessary, the marine can collapse the legs on one side in an instant, allowing him to flatten himself against a tunnel wall. The legs’ primary function, however, is to walk, allowing the marine to carry and aim his weapon while he advances or retreats.”

  “I see,” said Hea Woo Han. “And what are you proposing for Gungsu?”

  “An assault team will be forming and departing for the Belt to address this threat. They will need equipment on board to build prototypes of the harness. Their flight will take several months, during which time the marines will train with the harnesses and make modifications to the design as needed. If the harnesses prove effective and earn Hegemony approval, Victor Delgado and I are offering an exclusive development and production contract with Gungsu. If you’re not interested, we’ll take the design and others we have to Juke Limited for their consideration.”

  Hea Woo Han considered a moment before answering. “You realize, of course, that you’re breaking chain of command. Your CO is still Colonel Vaganov. It’s his prerogative to make these kind of arrangements.”

  Prem spoke up. “Colonel Vaganov is not the CO of Victor Delgado, whom we represent, and whose idea this is. I’d argue that we are not breaking chain of command at all. We’re simply circumnavigating the bureaucracy.”

  Hea Woo Han pursed her lips, considering. “And what are you asking for in return?”

  “Vaganov gave you an idea for a nanoshield,” said Mazer. “That idea came from the soldier in my unit who lost his leg. Shambhani. We recognize that you are under no legal obligation to do so, but we would ask that Gungsu make a generous donation to Shambhani’s family.”

  Hea Woo Han raised an eyebrow. “As long as Shambhani will agree to sign a document waiving his right to ever take legal action against us, I’m sure an arrangement can be made. Our lawyers can work up the particulars with Lieutenant Chamrajnagar here. Anything else?”

  “Appropriate financial compensation to Victor Delgado and his family,” said Mazer.

  “Of course,” said Hea Woo Han, “assuming our engineers can evaluate the holo and agree that the tech is viable. And you, Captain Rackham? You are doing this out of the goodness of your heart? Or do you seek compensation as well?”

  “You have an agreement with Colonel Vaganov,” said Mazer. “I don’t know what that agreement is exactly, but I would ask that you use whatever influence you have to encourage him and his associates to end my court-martial and acquit me of all charges.”

  “I see,” said Hea Woo Han.

  “They’re phony charges,” said Prem. “We will easily win on appeal, but the process will take months and delay the asteroid assault team.”

  “I am sorry, Captain Rackham,” said Hea Woo Han. “But I cannot help you. You clearly think Gungsu Industries has more influence than we do. The only relationship that Gungsu has with Colonel Vaganov is a professional one. Any other type of agreement with him or any of his associates would be unethical in the extreme and threaten the flawless service record we maintain with the good men and women of the International Fleet. Nor can Gungsu intervene in a military judicial proceeding. That is the purview of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps, and we would not dare to obstruct their duties. That is clearly outside the reach and responsibility of this corporation. On that point I cannot assist you whatsoever. I am afraid you have been misinformed. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I understand completely,” said Mazer. “It was foolish of me to suggest it. If I remain in the International Fleet once the court-martial is over, perhaps we can meet once again to discuss a potential partnership.” Mazer stood and extended his hand.

  Hea Woo Han stood and shook his hand. “Perhaps.”

  “Thank you for your time,” said Mazer.

  They bowed, and Hea Woo Han’s assistant escorted them up the elevator and out the front door of the building, where the false sunlight from the dome ceilings of Old Town shined down on the busy sidewalk.

  “Well that was a waste of time,” said Prem.

  Mazer called up another taxi, and he and Prem climbed inside. The taxi eased into traffic.

  “The conversation was being recorded,” said Mazer. “Woo Han was far too adamant in her objection. The lady did protest too much. She couldn’t say anything that would incriminate the company. My guess is she’s on a holo with Colonel Vaganov as we speak, asking him to call off the prosecutor.”

  “Or maybe she was adamant because she sincerely can’t help us.”

  “Maybe. But her eyes said otherwise.”

  “Ah. Her eyes. Of course. How silly of me to place greater emphasis on the words coming out of her mouth than that subtle glint in her eye that spoke volumes. Did her eyes also tell you that we’ve committed to an asteroid strike force that doesn’t even exist? Because that was the panicked thought running through my head. You don’t have the authority to form a special forces unit, Mazer. Nor do you have the freedom to participate in one, or the means to get them to the Belt. We have no money, no weapons, no soldiers, no ship, no plan. You’ve made a slew of promises you cannot keep, and you have zero authority to make a deal with a major contractor. Look, I applaud your ambition. I agree with you in principle, but you’re a captain. You can’t initiate a mission of this scale. Only colonels or officers of higher rank can propose something like this, and only after they’ve amassed a mountain of data on precisely what the mission is. Logistics, staff, weaponry, equipment, transportation. Plus they have a second mountain of data specifying what the enemy is and how he’ll be defeated. Maps, targets, individual objectives, hazards, threats, possible countermeasures, and on and on and on. We don’t have any of that. We’re not even certain which asteroids may be occupied and how many of them there are. How long will it take Hea Woo Han to confirm with her IF sources that we were bluffing and that there is no asteroid strike team in motion?”

  “You keep pointing out what we haven’t accomplished, Prem, instead of helping me map out what we can. I want you to switch off your attorney brain and turn on your soldier brain for a moment, that part of your brain that allows you to do seemingly impossible tasks. The IF is full of smart people. We can’t be the only ones who are thinking about these asteroids. We simply need to find out who those people are and join them.”

  “You have a chain of command, Mazer. Colonel Vaganov is still your commanding officer until you’re transferred. You can’t simply decide to leave and align yourself with another unit. You’re not a free agent.”

  “Your soldier brain, Prem. That’s the one you need to engage. Once we find out who is prepping for the asteroids, I’ll request a transfer to that unit. Vaganov won’t object. He wants me gone anyway.”

  “And how do we find out this information?”

  “The same way all meaningful information gets passed around the military. Back channels. I’ll check my forum. And I’ll ask Lem Jukes. His father is the Hegemon. Maybe Ukko can connect us with these people.”

  The taxi dipped into the tunnel, and the vehicle’s interior lights turned on as they left the domes behind them.

  “We’re not going back to the office, I see,” said Prem. “Yet another violation of your movement restrictions. And we’re going outside the city toward the offices of Lem Jukes. You do realize that you can’t just drop in on the heads of corporations and expect them to entertain your visit.”

  “We’re trying to save the world, Prem. When this is over and the Hive Queen is dead, you can give me all the lectures on etiquette you like.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Interruptions

  To: lem.jukes@juke.net

  From: cometwatcher75@freebeltmail.net

  Subject: What Victor found

  * * *

  Lem,

  We’ve not met. I’m Edimar, Victor Delgado’s cousin aboard the Gagak. Victor would write you himself, but he’
s been conscripted into the IF and ordered not to share military intelligence with anyone outside the Fleet. And apparently anything Victor finds, sees, hears, or discovers is automatically military intelligence. Brilliant strategy, don’t you think? So instead of allowing Victor to share information that would benefit everyone, including the free citizens of space and Earth and Luna—which would likely lead to more information being gathered by others—the military genius that is the Polemarch insists that the information go only to him. That way he can share it with only those people he chooses, which means only those who will echo his own dimwitted opinions back at him.

  I’m considering writing the Poopmarch to remind him that this isn’t a war between nations. It’s a war between two species with very different evolutionary histories. We don’t have to worry about secrecy and espionage and letting critical information fall into the enemy’s four hands. The Formics don’t speak Common—or use any language, for that matter. They don’t have devices that can intercept written text and translate it into a mind-to-mind message they would understand. Nor can they disguise Formics as human beings to go undercover and spy on us. So why should we conduct ourselves in absolute secrecy when we have so much more to gain by sharing information?

  And just in case our brilliant I-control-all-information-even-if-it-kills-us-all is listening in, Victor absolutely did NOT ask me to pass this information on to you. Victor is a good soldier and would never ever disobey stupid orders from stupid commanders. How did I get your e-mail address then, you ask? Victor is not my only resource. A fairy sprite gave it to me.

  Now the nitty gritty. Victor found six samples of mined metals at 2030CT, all of them excreted from wormlike creatures ingesting the rock. The Formics aren’t using mechanical tools to drill, they’re using engineered creatures. We’ve thoroughly analyzed the metal samples and the results are attached. I’m also including this link that will take you to a dark site with hundreds of uploaded photos and the vid feed from Victor’s helmet during the operation. The link is self-proliferating, so every time the IF tries to shut it down, it will spring up elsewhere. I assume their technicians have better tools than I do, however, so hurry and download before they annihilate it.