“So if you are triumphant against the Federation, and do become stronger, we’ll simply take over your entire fleet of zip-craft and turn them against you, while destroying your bases from within. Regardless of the outcome of your war, we’ll wipe you out with no effort at all.
“We could have done so at any time, despite a Galactic Federation that believes it can protect you. We’ve managed to establish and direct a large human organization right under their noses, simply because we have tech that can conceal the activities of this organization. The only reason we haven’t used the zip-craft this organization has produced to destroy your entire planet is that we’d rather goad you into eliminating the Federation for us first.”
“Why would you risk telling me this?”
“You’ll never take back control of your body, so you’ll have no way to send a warning. Besides, we don’t intend to destroy humanity for a thousand years or more, not until after you’ve done our bidding.”
“Except that we will figure it all out,” I said defiantly, “and we will beat you. Because Nari has guessed our strength—and your Achilles’ heel. Now that I’ve had the chance to speak with you, I know he’s right.”
“Right about what?”
“You do fear us. Likely the first time you’ve ever feared anything. You fear us for two reasons. First, because we’re what Nari calls a wolf species, you fear our potential for savagery. You’re utterly ruthless and relentless, but also cold and calculating. The primal savagery we’ll bring to bear is of a different order entirely.
“Second, we have an unbridled passion that is completely foreign to you. You’re a crawling, patient evil. A slow-moving cancer with an insatiable appetite. So alone, so incapable of one iota of empathy.
“You believe the universe exists solely for you to exploit. You’re incapable of recognizing the value of anything outside of yourself. Instead of a community of independent thinkers, you’re a single super-organism. A spoiled only child on a galactic scale.
“All interactions you’ve ever had with life other than your own have been hostile. You believe your collective self to be the one and only true being in all the universe, so you have no sense of compassion, or empathy, or closeness, or friendship, or love. You’re the ultimate narcissist, the ultimate predator, the ultimate psychopath, interested in nothing but conquest.
“You’re what we consider pure evil, but you’re a methodical evil. An icy, emotionless, passionless evil. Something Nari correctly identified as your weakness, and our strength. Because only we display a fierce, ferocious passion that motivates us in love and war. That spurs us on to extraordinary displays of barbarism—but also of altruism. Both of which we’ll use against you. Our passion is a double-edged sword—and you fear both edges.
“You fear the heights it can bring us to during a war. Our berserker rage and thirst for revenge.
“And you’re equally concerned about our passions on the other side of the ledger. In Nari’s words, we’re capable of astoundingly powerful displays of love, loyalty, self-sacrifice, and heroism. And a creativity when our backs are against the wall that far exceeds your own.”
“You’re free to believe in whatever gives you comfort as you face your approaching, inevitable extinction.”
“We both know I’m right,” I continued. “Why are you so intrigued with love? Because you have no reference point. You’ve likely absorbed all of our literature, yet you’re still no closer to truly understanding its nature. Well here’s a news flash, you never will. You can’t. It’s like a blind man understanding blue. Love will always confound you.
“You expected my love for Tessa to cause me to resist you more, but the level of my resistance surprised you. You admitted it. Surprised you for the first time in ages. And our passion, on both sides of the spectrum, will continue to surprise you. Over and over and over again, until the scorching heat of our passion overwhelms your icy relentlessness.”
“We concede that your passion is hard for us to fathom, does seem to strengthen you, and can be surprising. But so what? You might be surprised when a single bacteria displays the strength of two, but your bleach will destroy it just the same.”
“There’s more,” I said, ignoring the Swarm’s statement completely. “You also fear our diversity of thought. No matter how strong your mind, how many individual drone-intelligences you wire in, you’re a single thinking being, utterly alone.
“Humanity, on the other hand, draws upon the diversity of billions of minds, not all the same like your drones, but all different. All competing with each other for the best ideas. All with their own unique perspectives and abilities. Each capable of seizing upon a wild, game-changing idea from out of left field.
“Which makes us considerably more creative than you can ever be. Because when your massive mind is stuck on a problem, there is no way to get a second mind to consider it from a different angle.”
“With a mind as powerful, as unlimited, as ours, we don’t need diversity of thought.”
“We calculate that your body will wake up very soon,” said the voice of my nanite AI from out of the blue. “Best to act now. Find a way to pause your discussion for a few minutes so we can coordinate with you.”
“Understood,” I thought back quickly.
I turned my attention back to the Swarm. “And yet you’re missing the most important point of all,” I said. “Your ultimate weakness, which I haven’t even gotten to. Give me a few minutes to decide how best to lay it out, and I’ll tell you what it is.”
“You’re aware that time in here and time outside run at different subjective rates?”
“I wasn’t, but it makes sense. So give me a few minutes of in here time.”
“Agreed,” replied the Swarm.
“What’s the play?” I asked the nanites immediately.
“We still have a long way to go with our conversion and translation of Swarm memory. Mainly because we’ve shifted the majority of our focus to understanding the quantum physical presence of the hive-mind enough to help you eradicate it. With our help, we believe you have almost a one percent chance of success.”