Swarm

-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 silvery 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.

“You mentioned they, Kyle. What they were you talking about?” she asked me. “Have you met the aliens?”

“Not exactly. I think there is only the ship itself,” I explained quickly about the computer voice she had heard and how the Alamo operated.

“So, we are trapped inside some kind of flying robot?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure we are trapped. It thinks I’m its mother, now.”

“You’re looking at me, aren’t you?”

I cleared my throat.

“What’s wrong with my eyes, Kyle? I think I can see something now, but it’s very dim. I came awake in some room, and it was black inside, utterly dark. I felt my way around and found squirming little tentacles and—I think there are bodies in there, Kyle.”

I explained about the smaller black cable-arms and my kids on the tables.

She was quiet for a second or two when I told her that one. She was beginning to put things together.

“I was dead, wasn’t I, Kyle?”

“No more dead than someone pulled out of a swimming pool. Just think of it as an emergency room with better technology.”

She nodded. “Smart way to think about it. Less freaky that way. How long was I—? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Do you think they can fix your kids?”

“I’m hoping so.” I proceeded to explain to her what I knew of our new world. I included the things Captain Jack Crow the Aussie told me, and other things I’d figured out about the Alamo.

“So these crazy people are trying to call themselves an army of some kind?”

“A fleet, I suppose. Yes.”

“What, are they out of their minds?”

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t know everything they know. Since we can’t fully control the ships, and more of them are coming down, some sort of organization is needed.”

“Can’t the government do that?”

I explained about the requirement of the previous commander dying in order to pass control of the ship to a new commander.

“Oh,” she said, nodding. “I think I understand their motivation better now. The first thing any government will demand is to board these ships and see for themselves.”

“Yes, and as far as I can tell, as soon as they do they will be participating in the tests, which must end in death for everyone but the new commander.”

“Or getting strapped to the ceiling like a dead chicken.”

I chuckled.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you do one more thing for me?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, or anything, but... can you turn around and stop staring at me? Because—I can see you now.”

“Oh! Ah—I’m sorry,” I said, turning away with a guilty start. My eyes met hers and I saw that the brass-like metallic gleam in her pupils had faded. They had turned black again.

“It’s cool,” she said, smiling at me. “You told the ship to come back and dig me out of the cold ocean, didn’t you? You saved my life.”

“Yes, exactly,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed, “and I’m glad you’ve got your vision back, Sandra.”

“Sure you are.”