The Cure (37 page)

Fuller stared at Erin and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure it didn’t fail to register with you,” he said, “that the description of the Hive’s behavior sounds extremely … psychopathic.”

“No. I got that,” she replied.

It all made a horrible sense to her. This superorganism would
inevitably
be without mercy or remorse. When the
self,
the seat of intellect, was so massive—spread out over trillions of individuals and thousands of light years—its
selfishness
would be equally immense.

Erin knew many scientists believed insect colonies on Earth were the ultimate embodiment of cooperation. But she realized now it was just the opposite. Sure, if you looked at army ants as individuals, they were cooperative—with each other. They made bridges with their bodies so their brethren could cross. They were willing to readily die for the cause. But if you looked at them as a superorganism, as cells of a single being that just happened to be able to move independently, the actions of individuals weren’t cooperative anymore. They were selfish. The cells in her own body displayed perfect cooperation, but they had a single purpose: preserving her as an individual.

The Hive would have the same relentless need to march as the army ant. And it would only care about its own needs, its own gratification. Anything outside of itself was for it to do with as it pleased. The hallmark of psychopathy.

In normals the words
chair
and
torture
would light up different areas of the brain; they were seen as being qualitatively distinct. But not to psychopaths. Similarly, to normal sentient species, sentient life and nonsentient life would be seen as being distinct. But not to a hive-mind.

“It seems to me that the Hive isn’t
just
psychopathic,” said Erin. “It’s the
ultimate
psychopath. The ultimate, violent, rampaging psychopath.”

“Right,” said Fermi. “Although none of the Seventeen had any concept of this condition, being the sheep that we are.”

“It doesn’t bother you to call yourself sheep?” said Erin.

“No. Maybe that’s what makes us sheep. We know that many humans would be irate if they were called this. But we know who we are. In the spectrum of societies, this is a fair analogy. And as I’ve said, wolves tear themselves to pieces before they become space-faring. Sheep don’t.”

Erin nodded. “Go on,” she said.

“Given all that we knew,” continued Fermi, “we resigned ourselves to our fate when the Hive arrived. We would be quickly exterminated.” His demeanor brightened. “But then we discovered you. It was a miracle. You fit the exact scenario we were long hoping for. We wanted to save a species like you from itself, and groom you to lead us. So we wouldn’t go extinct after millions of years of stagnation. But now this imperative had become far more urgent. So the four of us were chosen for the most important mission undertaken in the history of the Seventeen. To protect you so you could lead us against the Hive when they arrived. So we might have a chance of survival.”

Erin shook her head. “But our science and technology are thousands of years behind yours. And it sounds as though you’re thousands of years behind the Hive. I’m afraid we’ll be just as helpless as you are. We might be wolves, but wolves going up against tanks become just as dead as sheep.”

“No,” said the alien firmly. “The progress you’ve made just since your first signals reached us is
ridiculous
. Breathtaking. Your first radio broadcasts took place only about a hundred years ago, using vacuum tubes, and in a cosmological blink you’ve managed relativity, quantum mechanics, genetic engineering, cell phones, supersonic jets, and baby steps toward quantum computers. We were the fastest of the Seventeen to climb the technology ladder, and it took us four thousand years to make the progress you’ve made in a hundred. And your progress is accelerating. You have an insatiable curiosity. An endless drive. An itch you can never scratch. If you have a billion dollars you want a billion more. You’re never satisfied. If we can help you through this critical period, you may well be a threat even to the Hive. Even if you only had a thousand years to prepare instead of thirty-two thousand.”

There was silence in the room while Erin considered this. So the mission these four Wraps had been sent on had profound implications, not only for the future of their individual race, but for the future of the entire galaxy.

“So how were the four of you chosen to come here?” she asked Fermi. “You must have been pretty special.”

Fermi smiled. “Yes, but ironically, in a way that made us stand out in a negative way on Suran. After extensive testing, we four were found to be the most aggressive, competitive, and driven members of our species. The least sheep-like among the sheep. We’re still far to the left of the most pacifistic vegan on Earth, but we were rare individuals who might be able to handle the kind of onslaught of brutality we were sure to find here.”

Erin couldn’t help but smile. “No kidding?”

“No kidding,” repeated Fermi.

“Getting back on topic,” said Steve Fuller, “the Wraps only shared this information about the Hive with us recently. They didn’t want to spring such a wild story until they had earned our trust. And they have. The world will never know just how critical their contributions have been. But once they did disclose this situation, we began putting our minds to the best strategic steps to take going forward. A sheep, and even a sheep’s computer, can’t possibly strategize like a wolf.” Fuller raised his eyebrows. “This is where you enter the picture.”

“I have to say that I haven’t connected the dots to me yet at all.”

“We decided we had to accelerate the process,” said Fuller. “Add more humans to the team. Brainstorm. Analyze the enemy, starting now. The Wraps are nervous about giving us technology, so we don’t play with fire and burn ourselves.”

“We probably would, you know,” said Erin. “Not wise to give a loaded gun to the crazed teenage version of your future savior.”

“Regardless of whether it’s wise or not,” replied Fuller, “even without their technology, we can find better ways to accelerate our own development. My view is that if everyone knew the history of the galaxy and the Seventeen, and the leadership role we will be expected to play in this galactic community, along with the threat from the Hive in thirty-two thousand years, humanity would pull together. At least better than we are now.” He sighed. “But that’s a debate for another time. For now, we’re in a position to help the Seventeen understand the coming enemy. Their computer contains all the intel ever gathered on the Hive. When we realized that it behaved in many ways like the rare, Hannibal Lecter–type psychopathic killer, it occurred to us that an expert on psychopathy might come in handy.”

Of course,
thought Erin. How could she have missed it?

“I saw the
Wall Street Journal
piece and did some background checks,” continued Fuller. “You were just what we were looking for. Brilliant. Single-minded in your goal of understanding psychopathy. Young. And your idea of finding remote ways to detect psychopathy could be helpful in what we’re trying to do to stop the most dangerous people here on Earth.”

“At last, your recruiting call begins to make sense,” noted Erin.

“The more I learned about you, the more perfect I thought you were for this job. I saw you as forming the nucleus of a team that would try to get inside the heads of our enemy. At least better than the Seventeen possibly could. Analyze everything known about Hive behavior.” He paused. “The larger team we plan to build will have exobiologists, of course. But we hoped you would be willing to lead a team of what we expect to call
exopsychologists
.”

Erin had to admit such a role sounded amazing. Challenging and important. Not as much fun as going into a prison every day …

“And as I mentioned,” continued Fuller. “I’m arguing that we should consider the possible effects of full disclosure to the world. Study if this is something we should do in five or ten years. So we would want top psychologists and psychiatrists to predict how people would handle learning of this. Would it bring our species closer together? Create widespread panic? Would this knowledge increase our resolve? Even though the enemy won’t be on the playing field for thirty thousand years?” He stared at Erin. “And I wanted you to be a part of this as well.”

Erin nodded. “It all suddenly makes sense. But to even begin to recruit me for this effort, you knew I needed to meet a Wrap. So I would believe what you told me. So you decided to fly me to your headquarters to initiate me.”

“Exactly. And we continued to vet you. Gather intel on you. We monitored your phone.” Fuller shook his head. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance to listen to the recordings of your conversations until the day after I had set up the meeting with you. But you can’t even begin to imagine how startled I was when I did play the recordings and I heard
Drake’s
voice on the line.”

“I assume Drake wasn’t working with you anymore,” said Erin, “or you wouldn’t have been surprised. So what happened? Did he have a disagreement with the rest of the group?”

“No,” said Fuller, shaking his head. “He was incinerated in an explosion.”

46

KYLE HANSEN HAD
been listening attentively to Erin’s tale of her meeting in Palm Springs with Steve Fuller and a very much alive alien named Fermi. She had been standing when she had begun, but five minutes earlier she had slid her hand down the steel strut to which it was attached to sit cross-legged on the cool garage floor. Soon after this she had begun to slump even farther and her voice had noticeably weakened.

Finally, she stopped altogether, and Hansen could tell she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Erin?”
he said anxiously. “Erin, are you okay?”

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m feeling … dizzy. Insulin shock,” she mumbled.

“You’re
diabetic
?” said Hansen in disbelief. How had Drake missed this? Even if it was adult-onset diabetes, this was something that should have been in her file.

“I keep it … secret. Don’t like … showing … weakness.”

Hansen couldn’t believe it. He knew she didn’t like to show weakness, but she hadn’t seemed the type to hide something like
this
.

Could this really be happening? On top of everything else? Just when Erin was revealing to him the rationale for her seemingly inexplicable behavior. And given what she had said already, the rest of her story was critically important. If there was a God, he didn’t appear to be a big fan of Kyle Hansen and Erin Palmer. What next, an earthquake?

But worse than her not finishing her story, her very life could be in danger. Hansen seemed to recall that insulin shock in diabetics could be fatal if not treated.

Erin pointed at the display case on which Zalinsky had set the items he had taken from her. A silver cylinder still rested there. “Glucagon injection,” she whispered faintly. “For emergencies. In the … thigh.” With that, her eyes slid shut again and she looked to be unconscious.

Hansen shouted at the top of his lungs and continued to do so until both Gibb and Zalinsky raced into the garage, guns drawn.

As soon as the door opened, Hansen stopped shouting.

The two mercenaries surveyed the room for hidden danger and to make sure their prisoners were still restrained. Seeing no reason for alarm, they lowered their weapons.

Hansen gestured toward Erin with his free hand. “She’s in insulin shock,” he said rapidly. “That cylinder you took from her is an emergency dose of … I think she said glucagon. But whatever it is, you have to inject her. Now!”

The two men glanced at each other as if uncertain what to do.

“You know Drake wants to interrogate her,” barked Hansen. “You think he’ll be patting you on the back and giving you a bonus when he gets back here and she’s
dead
?
Come on! Every second counts.
”

Gibb walked over to the steel cylinder and carried it gingerly to Hansen, as though it were booby-trapped and might explode at any second. “Open it,” he said.

Hansen gestured for Gibb to put it in his right hand, which was cuffed to the home gym. When Gibb did so, Hansen held the metal tube between his thumb and index finger and used his free hand to press a small metal dot extending out from one end, hoping this would open it. Sure enough, one half of the silver tube rolled back inside the other half, lengthwise, to reveal a glass syringe, filled with a colorless liquid.

“Take it,” said Hansen. “Carefully.”

Seeing that the cylinder contained exactly what Hansen had said it would seemed to galvanize Gibb, and he took it as instructed.

“Now jam it into her thigh,” ordered Hansen. “
Quickly!
And make sure she gets it all.
Go!
” he screamed.

Gibb pulled a combat knife from a sheath at his ankle and cut a seam in Erin’s pants at the thigh so he wouldn’t have to risk damage to the needle by stabbing through her clothing. He plunged the needle into her leg and emptied the entire contents of the syringe.

Hansen exhaled loudly. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Both Gibb and Zalinsky remained in the garage to see what would happen. Within minutes Erin’s eyes fluttered open.

She caught Hansen’s eye and smiled weakly. “Thanks,” she whispered. She noticed that Gibb still had an empty syringe in his hand. “And you too,” she said to him.

“Will you be okay?” asked Hansen.

Erin nodded. “Feeling much better already.”

After another few minutes of recovery, Erin rose from the floor and looked over at Gibb. “Thanks,” she said again. “But I’m okay now. No need to babysit any further.”

Gibb thought about this for a few seconds. Finally, reaching a decision, he turned to Zalinsky. “Let’s go,” he said. Seconds later they had exited back through the door into the mansion and were out of sight.

After they left, Hansen stared at Erin reproachfully. “I know you don’t want to show weakness, Erin. But keeping something like that a secret is dangerous.” He turned away. “Jesus, we could have lost you.”