“Incoming Message: Terms acceptable.”
I looked around at the walls. What terms? I thought about what I had said, my boastful words. What terms had I given them? Had I, in fact, accidentally given them the deed to Australia?
“You will withdraw your fleet?” I asked cautiously.
“Incoming Message: Yes.”
“What will you require in return?”
“Incoming Message: Two to the sixteenth power metric tons of cargo.”
I licked my lips and breathed hard. Cargo. A huge amount of cargo. I did some mental calculations… they wanted about sixty-five thousand tons of cargo. I certainly hoped they want didn’t tons of diamonds. I was tempted to let it go at that, to figure as long as they turned around and left, I had pulled it off. But exactly what did they want and when?
“Specify the nature of the cargo.”
“Incoming Message: You will fill one ship.”
I nodded. Okay, one of their ships held that much cargo. I could easily see that. One of those invasion ships certainly could hold that much, probably a lot more….
Then, I got a horrible idea in my head. “You want us to fill one cargo ship with ground forces, is that correct?”
“Incoming Message: Yes.”
I had it. I understood now. I had bragged about our ground forces. My boasting had been effective. I’d identified something they wanted. Superior invasion forces. It made more and more sense as I thought about it. Why fight for our world if they could get a superior final product out of us than they could build themselves and lose nothing in the process? We had one thing they wanted. They wanted my marines. They wanted Star Force troops.
I felt a little sick. I tried to think of something else to offer them. But I couldn’t think of anything else they might want. They weren’t interested in food, oil, metals, video games or televisions. They wanted troops. Thousands of tons of them.
“We don’t have that amount of troops ready at this time. We will require—ten solar years to produce them.”
“Incoming Message: Terms unacceptable. We will send a ship one solar year from now.”
I swallowed hard. “How long will these forces have to serve?”
“Incoming Message: Until their termination.”
“No, that won’t work well for us. We are biotics. We need repairs and replacements. Bring the forces back within one year and we will provide you with a new, full-strength army.”
There was a delay. They were thinking it over.
“Incoming Message: Terms acceptable.”
“Very well then. Earth accepts your terms. We will provide the forces as your ally in war.”
“Incoming Message: Session terminated.”
And they pulled out after that. Without another word. They turned their ships around and glided away from Earth. They headed sunward, back toward Venus. I had to wonder if they were headed next to another world like ours to destroy or bully them.
I got a dozen calls after that from a dozen people. The word was spreading. I had somehow turned away doomsday. I had faced the greatest enemy in our planet’s history, and I’d sent them packing.
Sandra called me, Crow called me, General Kerr called incessantly. A dozen others followed, but I ignored all the calls.
I didn’t really feel like a hero. I had negotiated a peace with the machines. But the price would be high. Thousands of our best would be taken away to an unknown world to fight an unknown enemy. Their masters would be heartless, towering machines. Our men would be mercenaries, sold to keep the peace.
We were vassals to the Macros now, I realized. We were no longer truly free and independent. Like a lord given stewardship of a fief, I was to produce fighting men in turn for my overlord. They would fight and die to prevent a worse war at home. I had no doubt we would be conquering other species on other planets in order to avoid harm to ourselves. I recalled from history that the Mongols had formed their Golden Horde in just such a fashion, gathering survivors from conquests and driving them at the walls of the next enemy.
The calls kept coming in, but I still didn’t answer them. I wasn’t sure what to say. How was I going to explain to them the terms of this deal? I had no doubt they would come to accept it, eventually. They had no choice. We could build a great fleet to fight the Macros, but that would take far longer than a year. Our truce, our tribute, would buy us that time.
There was one thing I knew for certain. I was going to march aboard that invasion ship when it came back in a year to pick up our legion of soldiers. I would march aboard first, making a brave front of it, stepping onto an alien ship bound for an unknown star system fearlessly. I would do it because I could not ask Earth to give up her sons and then refuse to lead them myself.
The Alamo continued to request my permission to open channels. I continued to ignore her. I pondered the strange manner in which waging war had become my way of life.
I stretched in my chair and popped open the beer I had denied myself hours earlier. I drank it, and it tasted salty, fizzy and good.
The End
From the Author: Thanks Reader! I hope you enjoyed Swarm. Depending on the response to this book, I’m considering making a series out of it. The tale stands well on its own as a first contact story, but there is plenty of room for expansion. If you would like to see Swarm become the start of a series, please put up some stars and a review.
-BVL