The Hive

by Orson Scott Card

  “With lieutenant colonel bars,” said Mangold. “So?”

  “So he’s ripped off the sleeves and cut up the uniform. Desecrated it. Several of the other men are wearing pieces of IF uniforms as well. Also ripped and mutilated. Like badges of honor. Like tokens of kills they’ve made in battle.”

  “We already knew they had killed marines,” said Mangold. “What’s your point?”

  “These yellow uniforms,” said Imala. “They’re not from the Fleet. Look.”

  She tapped the display and used her fingertips to zoom forward on the frozen image, focusing it on the back of a man in a yellow jacket, where the word MINETEK was stenciled across his back.

  “Minetek,” said Mangold. “Defense contractor. One of Juke Limited’s big competitors. So Khalid and his goons raided a Minetek ship, killed the crew, and took their uniforms. So what?”

  “There’s a Minetek facility out here,” said Imala. “An old shipbuilding depot. Not far. Couple weeks out. I saw it on Rena’s nav charts.”

  “She’s right,” said Rena.

  “But it’s no longer in operation,” said Imala. “Minetek moved all their shipbuilding efforts closer to Luna at the start of the war. They were too exposed out here, too much hazard pay for the union members. Even if the Fleet provided security, the company couldn’t afford to keep the place in operation, not with so many other second-tier corporations and miners rushing for the Belt. For a shipyard to function, you need raw materials from asteroids. And a lot of them. Without the resources, you’ve got nothing to build with.”

  “So this Minetek facility is abandoned?” said Mangold.

  “Completely,” said Imala. “They couldn’t sustain business this far out anymore, not without a robust supply chain feeding them building materials.”

  “And you know all this because?” said Mangold.

  “I worked in shipping and trade before the first war,” said Imala. “I was an auditor. Tracking corporate trends and financial models was part of my job. There are trade journals.”

  “That you still read?” said Mangold. “Voluntarily?”

  “That’s where Khalid is,” said Imala. “Has to be. He’d have the entire structure to himself and all the equipment and tools he’d need to retrofit his ship with all the Fleet tech he’s stolen. That’s why he has such sophisticated weapons and powerful thrusters and heavy shielding on his ship. Because he’s parked at an abandoned shipbuilding depot.”

  “And you’ve made all these elaborate assumptions because a few pirates are wearing old Minetek jumpsuits?” said Mangold. “They could have gotten those jumpsuits from anywhere.”

  “Minetek’s corporate colors are red and white,” said Imala. “If those jumpsuits had come off a Minetek ship, they’d be red and white. Company branding guidelines would demand it. Yellow jumpsuits are a SOSA requirement for working around big dangerous bots and equipment.”

  “You lost me,” said Mangold. “SOSA?”

  “Space Occupational Safety Administration,” said Imala. “Rules for corporations. Like you have to wear a hardhat at a construction site. Yellow Minetek jumpsuits would only be at that depot. Why else would Khalid, one of the most notorious pirates in the system, be all the way out here? To hit that ship?” She gestured at the mining ship on the display terminal. “A two-decade-old piece of junk? No, this was a stop on his way home. An easy kill. A gift to his crew. He stumbled upon this ship en route to his hideout, and he played cat and mouse with it for his amusement.”

  Captain Mangold considered and then nodded. “Okay. Fine. We pass this on to the Fleet and let them handle it.”

  “The Minetek facility isn’t back toward the Fleet,” said Imala. “It’s in the other direction, farther out in the K Belt.”

  “In the direction we’re already supposed to be going,” said Rena. “More or less.”

  Mangold shook his head. “No. I made this clear. This isn’t our op. We have a mission. I’ve got no problem gathering intel, but we’re not infuriating CentCom further by going after Khalid and getting ourselves killed. Our war is with the Formics, not with some Somali butcher.”

  “Owanu is right,” said Imala. “We are the Fleet out here. Us. No one else. If we don’t do anything no one will.”

  “You have an infant, Imala,” said Mangold. “Do you really want to push this? Because do you know what someone like Khalid will do to a child?”

  “Of course I know,” said Imala. “This vid tells me everything.” She tapped at the screen and it zoomed out again. “Look at this image. Look beyond the crazies with the rifles and instead at the people behind them, all holding their hands up in surrender. I haven’t counted them, but I see at least twelve adults and eight children. Khalid took four women with him. The three women who survived aren’t even in this image because they’re hiding somewhere. My guess, the three children who survived are hiding somewhere else too. Because I don’t see them here either. What I do see is about twenty innocent people, including women and children. The only faces I recognize are the two men we rescued, who are here on the end of this line. And I’m guessing the only reason they’re alive is because of their position in this line. They were last. And Khalid let them live because he wanted his vid of violence porn broadcast to the world. So I can play this vid, but do we really need to watch it? Do we need to witness Khalid go down this line and murder these people one by one while his drugged-up cronies cheer him on? Because if we’re going to do nothing, then we should at least watch these people be massacred so we know good and well what we’re doing nothing about.”

  Captain Mangold was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I know all of you are angry. I’m angry too. But this man, if he is in fact at this shipbuilding depot, is in a fortified position, with weaponry greater than our own. With troops in greater numbers than our own. With hostages. That’s a no-win situation. We don’t come out of that with a victory. We don’t come out of that at all.”

  “And the marines on this ship?” said Imala. “Sergeant Lefevre, the others. All special ops. All hardened, disciplined soldiers who believe in something greater than themselves. All the most elite and well trained the Fleet has produced. If we show them this vid, what will they say?”

  “They’ll say whatever the hell I tell them to say,” said Captain Mangold.

  “You better be sure of that,” said Imala. “Because whether they see this vid or not, they’ll know what’s on it. They’ve been helping the survivors all day. They know what they lost. They know what kind of man Khalid is. He is the opposite breed of man from them, the other end of the spectrum, the kind of man that made Lefevre put on a uniform in the first place. He is injustice and cruelty and evil. And if we roll over and do nothing, you can be sure Sergeant Lefevre and every other marine under your command will remember that. The fact that we let a man like that go, with female hostages, will burn in our marines’ memories. And when we reach the Formic ship, and the lives of those marines are in your hands, awaiting your orders, that memory will bubble to the surface, right when you need their loyalty and trust and service the most. They’ll remember.”

  “You’re trying to blackmail me,” said Mangold.

  “Not at all,” said Imala. “I’m doing what I told you I would do. I’m telling you the truth. If you don’t believe me, call Sergeant Lefevre in here and put the question to him. Ask him if we should find this Khalid or not.”

  “Lefevre isn’t the captain of this ship,” said Mangold. “I am. For a reason. It is my job to consider these decisions strategically. To consider how they will affect the mission.”

  “And that’s what I’m trying to articulate,” said Imala. “Do nothing, and there are consequences to the mission. Help, and there are consequences to the mission. No, we can’t deviate from the mission to answer every act of inhumanity. But we also can’t ignore inhumanity, if we want marines to believe in the mission and in your command. I am not the captain, and I’m grateful for it. That burden is yours.”


  Captain Mangold closed his eyes and exhaled. Rena and Imala and Owanu watched him.

  When he opened his eyes again, he turned to Rena. “Where exactly is this depot?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Hegemon

  Prior to the creation of the Hegemony, most governments of Earth were hindered by partisanship, corruption, the blatant and selfish pursuit of power by those in office, or all of the above. These barriers to good government obstructed the passage of common-sense legislation and resulted in greater deficits, greater division, and greater suffering among the populace.

  With the arrival of the Formics and the survival of the human race hanging in the balance, Earth could no longer abide deadlocked, corrupt governance. Hence, the Hegemony adopted a two-chambered legislature and executive branch to unify the nations of Earth and to govern more efficiently to better meet the demands of war.

  The Hegemony Congress is the larger of the two legislative houses. It grants one seat per nation. The smaller house is the Hegemony Council, containing representatives from only nations with a population over 100 million. At its inception, the Council had nineteen seats.

  Members of the Council are called Consuls. Acts of the Council are Consular. The Hegemon is elected by the Council. There is never a popular vote or election for any of these offices. All are appointed by national governments.

  Legislation originates in the Council, where it is debated and voted upon. Congress can veto a bill with a 55% vote, but only for three months while the Council reconsiders. After the Council passes a bill for the third time, it cannot be vetoed by Congress, but it can be vetoed by the Hegemon. The Council needs a 60% vote to override. If it is vitally needed legislation, then the Hegemon can break the Congress’s veto and put the bill into effect. But only for a year, at which time Congress must approve it by simple majority or the law ceases to be valid.

  The executive branch consists of the Hegemon and the ministries, headed by Ministers, who have sweeping powers under the control of the Hegemon, who appoints them with simple majority approval from the Council.

  —Demosthenes, A History of the Formic Wars, Vol. 2

  * * *

  Lem followed the instructions on his wrist pad and flew his skimmer to a secluded private docking tower in the industrial district in Imbrium. A pair of Hegemony Secret Security agents greeted him at the gate and escorted him through a checkpoint, where Lem was scanned, frisked, and pronounced clear for entry. A second pair of agents escorted Lem down an escalator to where a subsurface tube car was waiting. “My instructions didn’t say anything about a tube car,” said Lem.

  “I can’t speak to your instructions, sir,” said an agent. “I can only speak to mine. If you would be so kind, please.” He gestured for Lem to board.

  The agents remained on the platform as Lem stepped into the car, strapped in, and shot away. Ten minutes later, after multiple forks and sidetracks, the tube car arrived at an underground platform adorned with the seal of the Hegemony. Lem had lost all sense of direction by now. He was clearly outside the city limits, but he had no idea where exactly.

  The tube car slid open, and Lem stepped out. The station was simple in its design—gray concrete, exposed moon-rock walls. But the polished steel door into the facility opposite the platform looked like the entrance to some impenetrable fortress, the bunker to end all bunkers, capable of withstanding a nuclear blast. Father was clearly taking no chances, and if the Formics ever did invade Luna, this would be the place to be. It made Lem wonder how many secret facilities Father had built for himself. The tracks leading here had branched off in multiple directions, and each of those tracks led somewhere.

  Nice work, Father. Even if the Formics win the war, perhaps some small segment of the human race could survive in your concrete box here.

  Lem approached the door, where six armed IF marines in full battle suits were standing guard, their faces concealed behind IF-blue visorless helmets, daring anyone to enter. Lem noticed that each marine carried a Skalpell FG19 slaser rifle designed by a German arms manufacturer that had beat out Juke Limited for the contract. Lem had felt stung by the loss, but the Germans deserved the win. Their slaser had better suit integration, faster processing, more accurate targeting, and better heat control. You win some, you lose some.

  A small section of the door slid open, and a woman in a conservative business suit stepped out and greeted Lem with a handshake. “Welcome, Mr. Jukes. If you would follow me, please. The Hegemon is ready to receive you.”

  Lem fell into step behind her and smiled to himself. The Hegemon is ready to receive you. As if Father were some grand sultan whom his people were forced to consider half mortal, half god. Careful, Father. Enemies already wait in the shadows with knives drawn. Don’t give them another reason to strike.

  Lem also thought it noteworthy that the woman hadn’t said, “Your father is ready to receive you.” It was the Hegemon. As if to remind Lem that there would be no air of informality here. No chumming it up with dear old dad. Ukko Jukes may be your blood relation, but here in these hallowed halls of government he is first and foremost the supreme ruler of Earth.

  It amused Lem. Does this woman actually think I enjoy seeing my father? Or that he enjoys seeing me? She hardly needed to set any rules against nepotistic treatment. If there was one rule between Lem and Ukko Jukes it was that all stabbing must happen in full view of the other. As a familial courtesy. None of this behind-the-back business.

  Like the platform, the interior of the compound was minimal in its design. White walls, bright lights, the occasional bust of someone important on a short column. A government building. Functional, traditional, with that new building smell, as if the construction crews had just gathered their tools and left the building. Lem and his escort saw no one as they moved through the halls, for which Lem was grateful. The main offices of the Hegemony in Imbrium were filled with diplomats and dignitaries, lobbyists and journalists, and Lem had worried that in coming to meet with Father he might be ambushed by some random journalist hungry for a sound bite for that night’s broadcast. To see no one was bliss.

  The woman led Lem to a small but ornate dining room with empty tables lit by lamplight. She assured Lem that the Hegemon would join him momentarily, but it was an hour before Father arrived with four security agents. Father sat opposite Lem and shook out his napkin while the agents took up positions around the room, each with a holstered weapon beneath his suitcoat.

  “I’ve been waiting for an hour, Father,” said Lem. “Is that standard for your guests, or am I getting the special treatment?”

  “Never arrive when you’re scheduled to,” said Father. “That’s the first rule of office. It throws off the plans of your would-be assassins.”

  “I’d laugh, but I’m not sure you’re joking,” said Lem.

  “The Polemarch and Strategos take the threats made against my life very seriously. They insist I have constant security.”

  Lem gestured at the armed agents. “These aren’t Fleet marines.”

  “I use my own people,” said Father. “Safer that way. Bringing in marines might invite wolves into the sheepfold.”

  “You don’t trust the Polemarch and Strategos?”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” said Father. “And certainly not the Fleet. And especially not the admiralty at CentCom. Most of them would love to see my head on a platter.”

  “There’s a pleasant image,” said Lem.

  “The war is going poorly, Lem. That makes the admiralty look like the buffoons they are. They need someone to blame. I’m an easy target.”

  “So fire them,” said Lem. “You’re the Hegemon. The commander in chief. Send the dirty admirals packing and elevate those who can actually lead.”

  “Think, Lem. If I fire an admiral, let’s say a Russian admiral from CentCom, then I invite the ire and condemnation of the entire Russian people, who would accuse me of impeding their country’s participation in strategic command. They’d claim I was favoring the West
, and all the many simmering plans for a Hegemony coup would be set into motion. I’d be throwing liquid hydrogen onto an already fearsome fire.”

  “So replace the bad Russian admiral with a good Russian admiral,” said Lem. “You can hardly be accused of emasculating Russia if you fill the vacancy with someone else from their country.”

  “And what is a ‘good’ Russian admiral?” said Father. “One who has greater loyalty to the Hegemony than to his own country? Assuming I could find such a person—which I can’t—but even if I could find such a person, he’d be labeled a Hegemony puppet the instant he accepted the appointment. And even if he were someone the Russian people and oligarchs and fellow Russian commanders would readily acknowledge as a good choice for the post, they would swiftly condemn him as soon as I made the announcement. They can’t allow me that victory. It would disrupt the narrative they’re promulgating.”

  “Which is?”

  “That Ukko Jukes is unfit to continue as Hegemon and must be removed from office. That every decision I make is flawed. Every choice a mistake. That is their game, Lem. To ruin me. Particularly the Russians. They would gladly throw their finest general into the flames if it meant striking a political blow against me and turning public opinion in their favor, which would, in turn, increase their chances of seizing my post. Which is of course their ultimate goal. To put a Russian in as Hegemon. Thus, nothing I do, however beneficial it may be to Russia, will satisfy them. They can’t afford to be satisfied.”

  “Sokolov informed me you were resigning,” said Lem. “It sounds like he was mistaken.”

  “Of course I’m resigning,” said Father. “I’m making the announcement in a matter of days. The Hegemony Council will choose my replacement as soon as possible.”

  “Then I’m confused,” said Lem. “If you resign, aren’t you giving the Russians, or whoever, the golden opportunity they’ve been waiting for? A chance to make one of their own the supreme ruler of Earth?”