Swarm

by B. V. Larson

  “No.”

  “How many have found command personnel and aborted the searching mission, as this ship has?”

  “Forty-one.”

  So, the majority of them were still on the hunt. How many people had been killed by these ships—were being killed—even as I talked calmly to the Alamo? I couldn’t believe the world’s armed forces would take this invasion lightly. Were jets coming to engage me now, and possibly blow me out of the sky?

  “Alamo, are there—planes attacking these ships?”

  “Unknown.”

  “You aren’t communicating with them?”

  “Ships with command personnel are communicating. Other ships are seeking command personnel.”

  My mind raced. Some of the ships had given the humans the tests. Some people had survived and were in command, the way I was. I wasn’t alone.

  “Can I communicate with—” I began, then just gave the order. “Alamo, put me in communication with the other ships. I want to broadcast to them.”

  “Channel open.”

  I cleared my throat. “Hello? Hello out there? Can anyone hear me?”

  There was silence for several seconds, then a gruff voice spoke up. The voice had an accent that sounded British, or maybe Australian. “Who’s there, then? Get off the public channel, this is reserved.”

  The voice seemed to come from the walls, from all of them at once, just as the voice of the ship did. I looked around me, almost expecting to see a face appear. I thought about telling the ship to show me a face, but decided against it. The last time I’d requested such a thing I’d nearly been killed.

  “I don’t understand what you mean, about the public channel. I’ve only just made it to the bridge of my ship and I don’t have a clue about what’s going on. Is this some kind of military thing?”

  “Have you named your ship yet? If not, do so. Then open a private channel to the Snapper. Now, shut up and get off the public channel. Snapper out.”

  I took a deep breath and told my ship to open a connection between the Alamo and the Snapper.

  The gruff, accented voice came back on. “Ship name?”

  “The Alamo,” I said.

  Laughter. “Good one. You are a Yank, I take it? Congratulations on surviving your first hours aboard a murder-machine. Now, listen carefully greenie. There are some things you have to do right away. Tell your ship to stop picking up people and killing them, that’s number one. If it picks up a winner, it will guide them to you and they will kill you. Or you will have to kill them. Either way, it won’t be pleasant.”

  “I’ve already done that.”

  “Really? Good. I had to kill two poor Indian bastards who made it to me before I figured it out. They were trying to do the leadership test. I knew one of us had to drop out. It wasn’t fair, really, since I’d already passed the test once. Poor wallies. I still think of the looks on their faces as I watched them tumble down over Bangalore.”

  We exchanged names. My sole contact with humanity was an Aussie who called himself Captain Jack Crow. He’d spent a lot of time in the states, but still had an identifiable accent. I briefly told him my story—about my kids and the deadly tests. He made sympathetic noises. I figured he’d heard it all before. After a minimum of pleasantries we got down to the business of survival.

  “Kyle Riggs,” said Crow. “Right, I wrote that down.”

  “Where did you get the pen and paper?”

  “I foraged for it. You’ll learn to do the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Start stealing things. You’ll need them. There isn’t a whole lot aboard these ships. No food. No electronics that we can figure out. No toilets, either. Not even a bed. But you can tell the ship to fly to your local shops and steal what you need. If you tell it to, it can make a power outlet you can plug things into. You’ll need that.”

  “Won’t stealing items upset the populace?”

  The gruff laughter again. There was something harsh in that laughter, something that made me think I might or might not like this man if I ever met him in person. He didn’t sound kind or easy-going. But he sounded capable. What kind of person would typically make it through such deadly tests, I wondered. Probably not the nicest guy in the world.

  “It does upset people, but they can’t really do anything about it.”

  “What about jets? Won’t these ships come under attack?”

  “They do, off and on. But I think the ships shoot down anything that comes close.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, like fighters, missiles, police helicopters. Anything that gets too close is taken out automatically.”

  “I fired a gun at the ship when it took my kids. It didn’t do anything.”

  “Then you were lucky. They seem to become more paranoid when they have us—‘command personnel’ aboard. I think they know they can’t be hurt by a bullet or a fist or a thrown rock. When they are roaming around killing people they seem to only shoot at incoming missiles and the like. But once they have a pilot, they get more protective and react to anything that could hurt you.”

  “I did see a flash of light when I was over my house, but that’s all so far.”

  “You probably won’t see it fire at aircraft. The officials have gotten smarter over the last few hours and they stay clear of our ships. When the invasion started it came in last night over Eastern Asia first and then swept toward Europe and Africa. The ships raided their way around the globe, heading west with the darkness of night. You Yanks are the last ones to join the party. By now, the military has figured out a few things.”

  “How come I didn’t hear anything about last night’s invasion?”

  “Did you watch the news last night?”

  “No,” I said, thinking about my popcorn and movie night with the kids. It was a painful memory. I wondered if there would ever be another. I thought then about cutting this talk short and going into Medical to check on the kids. What were the robot arms doing to them? Did I really want to know? Did I really want to see it? I supposed I had to trust them. The kids were already dead. Those arms were the last slim hope I had.

  “The news people have been talking about UFO sightings all day,” Crow said, “but as the night wore on and they got to the States, as best we can tell, the numbers grew. It was just a few ships at first over Asia. Now there are hundreds.”

  “Seven hundred and forty-six, according to the Alamo.”

  “That many? Well, we can’t do much about most of them. We can only communicate with people who finished the tests.”

  “Why do these ships need us to tell them what to do? Did their old commanders all die or something?”

  “No one knows. Personally, I think the goat-people most of us found on the ships were the old command personnel. Maybe they failed and we are the replacements. Doesn’t matter. What you need to do is set up the ship so you can see outside. Just a few webcams and some computers will do it. It’s not the best video, but it works.”

  I shook my head, baffled. “If these are robot ships, why don’t they have equipment like that built in?”

  “Nobody’s figured that out yet, either. Listen, are you with the military?”

  “I was in the Army Reserve.”

  “Reserves? An officer?” he asked quickly.

  “Yeah, First Lieutenant. It was a way to pay for graduate school.”

  “Did you see any action?”

  “One tour in the Gulf… but that was a long time ago. I’m a college professor now.”

  “A professor?” snorted Crow. “That’s a first. What do you teach, martial arts?”

  “No, computer science.”

  He made an appreciative, grunting noise. “Unusual, but I’m sure you will be useful. Most of the survivors are military, or crazy guys who sleep with guns under their pillows. You’re the first teacher I’ve heard of making it through the tests.”

  “I own a farm,” I explained. “And I had a shotgun handy when they came.”


  “Ah, good, I see,” Crow said.

  I could tell that just being a farmer moved me up in his estimation. I thought about the type of person who was likely to survive the tests I’d been given. Logically, they would be physically tough, quick-minded, decisive people who were probably somewhat paranoid. That didn’t describe my colleagues at the University, I had to admit.

  “Listen, Jack,” I said, “have any of us contacted our governments yet? Why don’t we fly these ships to our capitols and set them down and hand them over to the authorities?”

  Crow snorted. “Rude, since the ships would shoot up anyone who threatened us. But it just doesn’t work that way, in any case. These ships chose us. They won’t let us do whatever we want.”

  “So far, the ship has done everything I’ve asked.”

  “Try landing and getting out. It won’t let you. Not unless you do some very nasty things to yourself—and maybe not even then. It won’t let other people around you either, now that you have established full control.”

  “I opened up the floor by accident and could have killed myself.”

  “It might have looked that way, but the ship wouldn’t have let you fall out.”

  “You mean we are prisoners?”

  “We can do what we want. But we have to stay in our ships. We are on our own, and setting up our own organization. That brings us to my next question.”

  “What?”

  “Will you, Kyle Riggs, join me—join us? I have over thirty ships in my fleet. I’m an ex-naval captain and I know what I’m doing to some extent. We need you, and I’ll give you the rank of Ensign to start with.”

  I stopped talking for a moment, stunned. What was this man talking about? Was he forming some kind of political force outside his own government?

  “What gives you the authority to do any of that?”

  “These ships give us the authority. Nothing on Earth can stand up against them. We are the only ones who control them. To let someone else take control of them, we have to die. I’m not interested committing suicide for the benefit of any government. So, what do you say?”

  “But why? Why are these ships here and what are they doing?”

  Crow paused. “You don’t know yet?”

  “I’m clueless.”

  Another harsh laugh from my only contact with the world. I didn’t like his laugh; it was the laugh of the bully who tripped the skinny kid.

  “You’ve got a lot more to learn, Kyle. And none of it is good.”

  -6-

  “Tell me everything. I’m listening.”

  “So, you’re joining us?” asked Crow. I could hear the eagerness in his voice.

  I hesitated. “Not yet. I need to think.”

  “Don’t go rogue on me, Kyle. I need new people. Join the team.”

  “I don’t know enough to make such a choice yet. I have to learn more about the situation. I’ll have to get back to you. I’m kind of shaken up right now.”

  “I understand—your kids and everything, I’m sorry about that. But rogues are left outside the loop, you should know that much. They don’t get to join in our pool of information. That’s one of the benefits of joining my outfit.”

  “Are there any other outfits?”

  Mean laughter again. “Didn’t I just say there was no more free information? Right away, you try to get around the first rule I give you. But I like you mate, so I’ll give you this factoid for free: no, there aren’t any other organizations.”

  “Okay, I’ll be in touch,” I said. I told the ship to break the connection and I blinked in thought. An organization of ships like these? What sort of people would survive all those tests and then try to organize on their own? Probably not the most pleasant, considerate people. Probably, they were a bunch of militia-types, vigilantes. Or worse, they could be pirates. What the hell was I getting myself into?

  I thought about Sandra and my kids then. It was time to check on them.

  “Alamo, are my children—repaired yet?”

  “The older female is conscious. Revival and repairs have been successful.”

  Hope flared up again, bright and glowing, in my mind. It was an evil thing. If the ship could bring back Sandra, who had been well and truly dead, wasn’t it reasonable to think it could revive Kristine and Jake? There had been only minutes between the deaths—minutes, miles and the type of injuries sustained. Could this ship really bring back the dead? A voice in my mind told me every emergency room could do that, up to point. What would you call a heart attack survivor or drowned kid who had been resuscitated other than the dead returned to life?

  I recognized the voice then, the one in my head that was saying these attractive things. It was the evil, chattering hope-monkey. I had met this creature before, mostly in dreams, after Donna had died. She would be alive in my dreams and I would awaken, smiling, planning my day with her. But each morning I’d rediscovered with fresh despair that she was still dead, of course. A grief counselor I’d talked to had named the phenomena the hope-monkey.

  I was awake this time, but the cruelty was the same. The hope-monkey intently whispered unbidden things into my mind. After the ship told me Sandra had made it, the voice grew stronger with every passing second. The hope-monkey hopped about in its cage, screaming, wanting to be let out. I could hardly breathe.

  “What about the other two?” I asked a second or two later, trying to control the warble in my voice.

  “Revival has not yet been successful.”

  Yet, said the hope-monkey. Not yet.

  Pain. A bolt of it, right behind the eyes. I’d let hope in, and it had done its vile work instantly. Now I realized that if this didn’t work out, I would have to endure the pain of losing the kids all over again.

  Unless they did rise from the dead on those strange metal tables that were all part of one piece, coming up out of the floor. What were those skinny black arms doing to my kids’ bodies?

  “I want to see Sandra. Open the door.”

  “Command refused.”

  “What? Don’t you know what I mean? I’m talking about that section of the ship where you have my children. I will refer to that area of the ship as sick bay or—” what did they call it on ships sometimes? “Ah, call it: medical. Understood?”

  “Understood. Area named.”

  “Then open the door to Medical.”

  “Command refused.”

  I paced, frowning, becoming angry now. “Why not? I’m the commander here, aren’t I?”

  “You are command personnel.”

  “Then why can’t you open the damned door?”

  “Command personnel must be protected from indigenous life forms.”

  “From my own kids?”

  “From all macrobiotic life forms.”

  I heaved a sigh. She was alive, that was the important thing. “Alamo, can I see her through a window, or something?”

  “Current configuration prevents transparent surfaces.”

  I rubbed my temples. “Can’t you just tie her up, or something?”

  “Command accepted.”

  I looked up, eyebrows rising. I had a feeling Sandra wasn’t going to like this. I thought about countermanding my order, but the ship had already begun working on it. The walls vanished between the bridge and the main chamber where the big arm-thing originated. I’d decided by now that was going to be called the cargo bay, as it seemed to be the room from which the ship reached down its arm and plucked things from the surface of the world. Next, Sandra was brought onto the bridge with me.

  She was growling and screeching. She was held aloft, spread-eagle, with ropy, black cables entwining her arms and legs. Arms, little ones, grasped all four of her limbs. They glided along the ceiling, pinning her up there. Her hair hung down over her face, but I could tell without seeing it she wasn’t wearing her happy face. The thin, cable-like arms that held her came out of the metal skin of the ship itself. I eyed the spots where they sprouted. The metal there rippled like puddles of silve
ry liquid.

  “Let her go! Alamo, release her!”

  “Command personnel must be protected from indigenous life forms.”

  Her head snapped toward the sound of my voice. That’s when I saw her eyes. The pupils were a yellowy, metallic color. “Kyle? Is that you? What’s going on? What’s this thing doing to me? I can’t see anything, Kyle!”

  Her rage shifted instantly to tears, then back again as she fought with the squirming metal arms. They bit into her flesh. I could see she was bruised and cut in spots.

  “Just relax. The ship thinks it’s protecting me. It’s not going to do anything to you. Everything will be okay,” I said, but I was lying. Her eyes were full of yellow mercury. What the hell was that stuff?

  “Can you see me?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I see flashes of light in spots—that’s all.”

  “Well, I’m sure that will go away,” I said trying to sound calm. Now that she was calming down, I could think again. My eyes wandered over her body. I felt bad about it, but I could not stop them. She was very well-built. I couldn’t really enjoy the view, however. I was too stressed—and those freaky eyes....

  “Kyle, talk to me. What the hell is going on?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I—I fell out of the ship, didn’t I? You were holding onto me, pulling me back inside, when—” she stopped and made a gasping sound. “Kyle, I think I’m wiggling fingers. Do I have any fingers there? Are they gone?”

  I tore my eyes off the rest of her and looked at her fingers. They were indeed there, and wiggling. But they had white circles around each one, as if she wore rings or something.

  “Scarring,” I said. “They are okay, but there is some scarring. They must have sewn them back on or—”

  “Or what?” she snapped, fighting the arms again.

  “Or maybe they grew new ones. I’m not sure.”

  “Can you get me off the frigging ceiling, at least, Kyle? I’m going to throw up if I’m left hanging up here much longer.”

  “Oh yeah—sorry. Alamo, gently lower Sandra onto the wall area, please.”

  Slowly, the ship and its whipping little arms obeyed. Within a minute, she was in a normal vertical position. I thought about giving her what little clothing I had. But a pair of sweaty men’s jockeys and a few shreds of shirt weren’t going to help her mood much. And besides, I couldn’t think of how I would get them on over those clutching little arms.