Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

by Orson Scott Card

  Zihao laughed. “You pig faces think with your knees. You’re all jabbering about stuff you don’t know anything about. The vid is a fake. If it were real, it would be all over the news. The world would be in a panic.” He put a cupped hand to his ear, as if listening. “So where are the sirens? Where are the government warnings?” He folded his arms and smirked. “You weed heads are idiots. Haven’t you ever seen a spook vid before?”

  “It’s not a spooker,” said Hopper. “That’s a real alien.”

  “Oh?” said Zihao. “How do you know what a real alien looks like? Have you seen one before? Do you have a pen pal alien friend you’ve been swapping photos with?” A few of the boys laughed. “Who’s to say aliens don’t look exactly like paddy frogs or water buffalo or your armpit? If you guys believe this is real, you’re a bunch of bendans.” Dumb eggs.

  Several of the children laughed, though Bingwen could tell that most of them weren’t laughing with any confidence. They wanted Zihao to be right. They wanted to believe that the vid was a spooker. It had frightened them as much as it had frightened Bingwen, but it was easier to dismiss it than to accept it as real.

  Meilin narrowed her eyes. “It is real. Bingwen wouldn’t lie to us.”

  Zihao laughed and turned to Bingwen. “Cute. Your little girlfriend is sticking up for you.” He looked at Meilin. “You know what aliens like to eat, Meilin? Little girl brains. They stick a straw in your ear and suck your head empty.”

  Meilin’s eyes moistened with tears. “That’s not true.”

  “Leave her alone,” said Bingwen.

  Zihao smirked. “See what you’ve done, Bingwen? You’ve scared all the kiddies.” He bent down from the chair, got close to Meilin’s face, and spoke in a singsongy voice, as if addressing an infant. “Aw, did Bingwen scare the little girl with his alien vid?”

  “I said leave her alone.” Bingwen stepped between them and extended a hand, nudging Zihao back. It wasn’t a hard shove, but since Zihao was leaning forward in the chair and his center of gravity was off, the push was just enough to twist him off-balance. He stumbled, reached for the counter, missed, and fell to the floor, the chair scooting out and away from him. A few of the children laughed, but they instantly fell silent as Zihao jumped to his feet and seized Bingwen by the throat.

  “You little mud sucker,” said Zihao. “I’ll cut out your tongue for that.”

  Bingwen felt his windpipe constrict and pulled hard at Zihao’s wrists.

  “Let him go,” said Meilin.

  “Girlfriend to the rescue again,” said Zihao. He squeezed harder.

  The other children did nothing. A few boys from Zihao’s village were chuckling, but they didn’t seem amused, more like relieved that it was Bingwen who was taking the abuse and not them.

  Hopper grabbed Zihao from behind, but Zihao only scoffed. “Back off, cripple. Or we’ll see how you do with two twisted feet.”

  More laughter from the other boys.

  Bingwen’s lungs were screaming for air. He kicked and pounded his fists on Zihao’s shoulders, but the bigger boy seemed not to notice.

  “What is going on over here?” Ms. Yí said.

  Zihao released Bingwen, who fell to the floor, coughing and gasping and inhaling deeply.

  Ms. Yí stood over them, holding her bamboo discipline stick. “Out!” she said, waving the stick. “All of you! Out!”

  The children protested. It was Bingwen. He started it. He called us over here. He attacked Zihao.

  Bingwen grabbed Meilin’s hand, turned to Hopper, and said, “Meet us in the fields.” Then he pushed through the crowd toward the exit, pulling Meilin along behind him.

  “He was showing a spook vid,” said one of the children.

  “He was trying to scare us,” said another.

  “He pushed Zihao out of his chair.”

  “He started a fight.”

  Bingwen was through the front door, Meilin right at his heels. It was late in the afternoon, and the air outside was cool and damp, a light wind blowing up from the valley.

  “Where are we going?” asked Meilin.

  “Home,” said Bingwen. He led her to the village staircase built into the side of the hill, and they began descending toward the rice fields below. Every village in the valley was built onto a hillside, the valley floor being too fertile and valuable to be used for anything other than rice. Meilin’s village was three kilometers to the west. If Bingwen hurried, he might be able to escort her home and then cut south to his own village before it got too dark.

  “Why are we running?” said Meilin.

  “Because once Zihao gets outside,” said Bingwen, “he’ll come finish what he started.”

  “So I’m to be your human shield?”

  Bingwen laughed, despite himself. “You’re quite the little strategist.”

  “I’m not little. I’m taller than you.”

  “We’re both little,” said Bingwen. “I’m just littler. And I dragged you along because you’re my cousin and I’d rather not see you get your head pounded in. You stood up to Zihao. He’ll come for you, too.”

  “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

  He stopped and let go of her hand. “You want to go home alone?”

  Meilin seemed ready to argue, but then her expression softened and she looked at the ground. “No.”

  Bingwen took her hand again, and they continued down the stairs.

  Meilin was quiet a moment. “I shouldn’t have cried back there. That was childish.”

  “It wasn’t childish. Adults cry all the time. They just hide it better.”

  “I’m scared, Bingwen.”

  Her words surprised him. Meilin never admitted to weakness. If anything she went out of her way to prove how smart and strong and unafraid she was, always pointing out to Bingwen and Hopper and others how they were doing a math problem wrong or solving a thought puzzle incorrectly. And yet here she was, on the verge of tears, showing a fragility that Bingwen had never seen before.

  For a moment he considered lying to her, telling her the whole vid had been a prank. That’s what an adult would do, after all: laugh and shrug and dismiss the whole thing as fantasy. Children couldn’t stomach the truth, adults believed. Children had to be protected from the harsh realities of the world.

  But what good would that do Meilin? This wasn’t a prank. It wasn’t a game. That thing on screen was real and alive and dangerous.

  “I’m scared too,” said Bingwen.

  She nodded, hurrying to keep pace beside him. “Do you think it’s coming to Earth?”

  “We shouldn’t think of it as an ‘it,’” said Bingwen. “There’s probably more than one. And yes, it’s coming to Earth. The interference is only getting worse, which suggests their ship is headed this way. Plus it looked intelligent. It must be intelligent. It built an interstellar spacecraft. Humans haven’t done that.”

  They took the last turn in the staircase and reached the valley floor. Hopper was waiting for them, clothes soaked and covered in mud.

  “Took you long enough,” said Hopper.

  “How did you get down before us?” asked Meilin. “And why are you so filthy?”

  “Irrigation tube,” said Hopper. He patted the side of his bad leg. “Steps take too long.”

  Meilin made a face. “People throw their dishwater in the tubes.”

  Hopper shrugged. “It was that or get beat to a pulp. And it rained yesterday, so the tubes aren’t dirty. Much.”

  “That’s disgusting,” said Meilin.

  “Agreed,” said Hopper. “But it’s easier to clean clothes than to clean wounds.” He ran and jumped into the nearest rice paddy, which was filled waist-deep with water. He submerged himself, thrashed around a moment, getting most of the mud off, then shook his upper body and crawled back out of the paddy, dripping wet. “See? Fresh as a flower.”

  “I’m going to throw up,” said Meilin.

  “Not on me,” said Hopper. “I just bathed.”

&nb
sp; They took off at a jog along the narrow bridge of earth that separated two of the paddies, heading out into the vast fields of rice. They ran slower so that Hopper could keep up, but it was a good steady pace for distance running.

  After a few hundred yards Bingwen glanced back at the staircase to see if Zihao was following. There were a few children coming down, but Zihao wasn’t among them. They didn’t slow their pace.

  “What’s the plan?” said Hopper.

  “For what?” asked Bingwen.

  “Warning everyone,” said Hopper.

  Bingwen smiled. He could always count on Hopper. “I don’t know that anyone’s going to believe us. I showed Ms. Yí, and she shrugged it off.”

  “Ms. Yí’s an old water buffalo,” said Hopper.

  They ran for half an hour, cutting across the fields that followed the bends and turns of the valley. When they reached Meilin’s village, she stopped and faced them at the bottom of the stairs. “I can make it from here,” she said, gesturing up to her house near the bottom of the hill. “What do I tell my parents?”

  “The truth,” said Bingwen. “Tell them what you saw. Tell them you believe it. Tell them to go to the library and see it for themselves.”

  Meilin looked up into the sky where the first few dozen stars had already appeared. “Maybe they don’t mean us any harm. Maybe they’re peaceful.”

  “Maybe,” said Bingwen. “But you didn’t see all of the vid. The alien attacked one of the humans.”

  Even in the low light Bingwen could see Meilin grow pale.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “But maybe they won’t come here to China,” said Bingwen. “The world is a big place. We’re only a tiny, microscopic dot on it.”

  “You’re only telling me what I want to hear,” said Meilin.

  “I’m telling you the truth. There are a lot of unknowns at the moment.”

  “Even so,” said Meilin, “we’d be stupid not to prepare for the worst.”

  “You’re right,” said Bingwen.

  She nodded and looked more insecure than before. “Good luck. Stay safe.”

  They watched her ascend the stairs and waited until she was inside her home before they started running again. They stayed in the fields, jogging along the narrow earth bridges that crisscrossed the fields horizontally and vertically, creating a huge patchwork quilt of irrigated paddies. When they were almost to their own village, the first boy appeared behind them, several paddies back. Then a boy to their right appeared a few paddies over, matching their speed in a run. A third boy on their left appeared next, watching them as he kept pace with them.

  “We’re being corralled,” said Hopper.

  “Boxed in,” said Bingwen.

  Sure enough, the boys around them began closing in.

  “Ideas?” said Hopper.

  “They’re taller than us,” said Bingwen. “And faster. We can’t outrun them.”

  “You mean I can’t outrun them,” said Hopper.

  “No, I mean both of us. You actually have greater stamina than me. You have a better chance of getting through than I do.”

  “Plan,” said Hopper.

  “You run ahead and get my father. I hang back and keep them busy.”

  “Self-sacrifice. How noble. Forget it. I’m not leaving you.”

  “Think, Hopper. Stay and we both get pummeled. Run ahead, and we might not. I’m saving my skin as much as yours. Now go.”

  Hopper picked up his speed, and Bingwen stopped where he was. As expected, the other boys closed in, ignoring Hopper. Bingwen turned to his left and stepped down the embankment into the nearest paddy. The water was cold and reached his waist. The mud was thick and squishy beneath his feet. The rice shoots were packed tightly together and tall as his shoulders. Bingwen scanned the edge of the paddy until he found one of the paddy frogs half submerged near the embankment. He scooped it up, stuffed the frog into his pocket, and made his way to the center of the paddy. By the time he reached it, the boys had arrived. Each of them took up a position on one of the paddy’s sides, leaving the northernmost side, the side toward Bingwen’s village, unguarded. Less than a minute later Zihao arrived at that end of the paddy, breathing heavily from the run. It was almost full dark now.

  “Out of the water,” said Zihao.

  Bingwen didn’t move.

  “You ruined our time at the library, mud brain,” said Zihao. “How are we supposed to leave this hole if mud brains like you keep ruining our computer time?”

  Bingwen kept his eyes toward the village, looking for an approaching lantern light to appear.

  “I said out of the water,” said Zihao.

  Bingwen said nothing.

  “Get out now or I’m coming in after you.”

  Bingwen stood still and silent.

  “I swear to you I will break your fingers one by one if you don’t get up here now.”

  Bingwen didn’t move. He wasn’t about to leave a defensive position. The water wasn’t much, but it was all he had.

  The boys around him shifted uncomfortably.

  “You think you’re so much smarter than everyone, don’t you, Bingwen? I’ve heard you speaking English into your computer. I’ve seen what you study. You’re a traitor.” He spat into the water.

  Bingwen didn’t move.

  Zihao was shouting now. “Get up here and face me, coward boy!”

  Bingwen looked toward the village. No lantern light approached.

  “I warned you,” said Zihao. He charged into the paddy, splashing water and not caring what shoots he pushed aside and damaged.

  Bingwen didn’t flinch. He stood waiting, hands in his pockets.

  Just before Zihao was within arm’s reach—and therefore hitting range—Bingwen turned on the tears. “Please don’t choke me. Please. Hit me if you want. Just don’t choke me again.”

  Zihao smiled.

  Poor Zihao, thought Bingwen. So loud and strong and yet so predictable.

  Zihao’s hands seized Bingwen by the throat, which Bingwen had extended and turned at a slight angle so that this time Zihao’s thumbs would press against the side and muscle of Bingwen’s throat instead of directly into his windpipe. Not that Bingwen expected to be choked for very long.

  Bingwen allowed himself to look panicked and then muffled his words, as if begging for mercy. “Pleaskk akk.”

  Zihao’s smile widened. “What’s that, Bingwen. I can’t hear—”

  Bingwen shoved the paddy frog, face-first, directly into Zihao’s mouth. He had needed Zihao to speak, and Zihao had walked right into it.

  Zihao released Bingwen and recoiled, splashing backward and gagging, clawing at his face to get the frog free. But Bingwen was faster. Now he had his left hand behind Zihao’s head to steady him while his right palm pressed the frog deeper into Zihao’s mouth. The frog was too wide to fit completely, but that was ideal; Bingwen wasn’t trying to choke Zihao; he only wanted to distract him. Zihao gave a muffled scream, and Bingwen released the frog, grabbed Zihao by the waist, and brought up his knee fast and hard into Zihao’s crotch.

  Zihao buckled and fell forward with a splash, his body limp, the frog slipping from his mouth and plopping into the water. Bingwen didn’t wait to see how the others would respond. He had to act oblivious to them, as if so filled with rage, they weren’t even a consideration. He screamed and raised a fist as if to bring it down hard on Zihao, who was now half submerged in the water and moaning. As intended, Bingwen’s fist hit the water just to the left of Zihao’s face and plunged downward, the momentum of the punch carrying his whole body straight down to the paddy floor, completely out of sight.

  Before the water could settle, Bingwen turned his body and moved underwater in the direction Zihao had come. The shoots were parted and broken, giving Bingwen a wide enough path to move through without rustling many shoots and revealing his position. He didn’t swim or kick or do anything to disturb the water, but rather crawled along the bottom with his fingers and toes, pushing himself for
ward, digging at the mud. Twice he paused and turned his head to get a silent gulp of air, but even then he kept moving forward.

  He didn’t know if they were coming for him, but he didn’t rise out of the water to see. The darkness and shoots would conceal him or they wouldn’t.

  He reached the earth wall of the paddy, lifted his head, and allowed himself a look back. The boys were in the water around Zihao, helping him to his feet. Even if they ran for Bingwen now, they wouldn’t catch him. They’d be too hampered by the water; he’d have too much of a lead.

  He crawled out of the water and ran, his clothes heavy and wet.

  There was shouting behind him but no pursuit.

  He reached the stairs of the village just as Hopper and Father were coming down, a lantern in Father’s hand.

  “You’re wet,” said Father.

  “But not bleeding,” said Hopper. “That’s a good sign.”

  Bingwen bent over, catching his breath, fighting back the urge to vomit. “Did you tell him about the vid?” he asked Hopper.

  “There was no time,” said Hopper.

  “Tell me about it inside, where it’s warm,” said Father. He turned to Hopper. “My son is safe. Thank you. Your parents will want you home.”

  Hopper looked as if he wanted to object and tag along, but he knew Father well enough not to argue. They parted ways, and Father led Bingwen home, where Mother and Grandfather were waiting inside. Mother took Bingwen into her arms, and Grandfather went to fetch a towel.

  “Are you hurt?” said Mother.

  “No,” said Bingwen.

  “Here, by the fire,” said Grandfather, wrapping him in the towel.

  Bingwen took off his shirt and dried himself by the hearth. Mother, Father, and Grandfather watched him, their faces lines of worry. He told them about the vid then, letting it all pour out of him. The alien. The extra pair of arms. How the creature’s hair and muscles moved in zero gravity. All the reasons why he believed it.

  When he finished, Father was angry.

  “I taught you better, Bingwen. I taught you to respect your elders.”

  “Respect?” said Bingwen. Why was Father angry? He hadn’t even told them about Ms. Yí.