Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

by Orson Scott Card

  “So they’re going to do nothing? Why does everyone seem to believe that inaction is the best course of action?”

  “Caution is their action, Vico. Or at least that’s their justification. They’re sitting tight to see what happens. Everyone is hoping this will resolve itself. They’re acting like humans always act when war seems inevitable and most of the variables are still unknown. They’re playing the good-guy card and waiting for the other guy to shoot first.”

  “The Formics don’t shoot first, Imala. They rip apart. They find life and they destroy it. They’re not interested in diplomacy or gathering around a table and making friends. They’re interested in breaking us wide open and bleeding us dry.”

  They read on, but the situation only worsened. Riots were springing up all over the world—people taking to the streets to demand that governments take action. Deaths were reported. Governments continued to call for calm. The media discussed the vids Victor and Imala had uploaded as well. Experts scrutinized every detail, spending far too much time excusing the media for initially ignoring the vids. The vids did, after all, look like so many spookers out there.

  When they finished reading, Victor said, “We can’t move on, Imala. We’re not leaving this depot. Not yet. Not until we see how this plays out.”

  None of the other ships at the depot moved on either. And over the next few days, the number of ships only grew. Victor and Imala programmed the monitor to alert them whenever a new message came through, regardless of whether they were sleeping or not.

  They stayed for days, reading the reports aloud to each other the moment they came in. Sometimes Victor became so frustrated with the idiocy of governments or the press that he would tell Imala to stop reading. Then he would retreat to the back of the shuttle to cool off.

  “All that effort,” he told her, “all that time spent in the quickship so that Earth could prepare, so that countries could muster enough resources to take action, and nobody is doing anything.” He wanted to cry. He wanted to reach down through space and shake someone. “How can they be so fundamentally wrong?”

  “Because the world doesn’t think like a free-miner family, Vico,” Imala said. “We’re not one people. We’re splintered, too concerned about our own people and agendas and borders. We’re one planet, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at us.”

  Among all the idiocy, there were voices of reason as well. Several governments were as incensed and baffled by the inaction as Victor was. Germany, Australia, New Zealand, Argentina, South Africa. All were advocating forming a coalition to build an immediate defense. But Russia and China and the U.S. beat down the idea in the U.N. Security Council. Further provocation would only lead to further violence.

  On the fourth day, with a small cadre of STASA ships acting as escorts, the hormiga ship reached Earth’s geosynchronous orbit and came to a full stop.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mothership

  “What do you see?” said Bingwen. “Are they letting people inside the library?”

  Above him, Hopper clung to a drainpipe on the side of one of the village houses. Even with his gimp leg, Hopper had always been a better climber. It was the position of his bad foot that gave him the advantage. Since the foot was turned slightly inward, Hopper got more of the sole of his foot on the surface of things without having to bow his legs. It allowed him to scurry up rickety pipes like this one despite it being wet and narrow. “There’s got to be at least four hundred people here,” said Hopper.

  It was dark, well into evening, and the crowd was dotted with lanterns. Nearly everyone from the nearby villages had come to the library to see what would happen when the alien ship arrived. Bingwen’s parents were somewhere in the crowd, as was Grandfather. Bingwen had been standing with them, clinging to Mother’s hand. But as the crowd grew and shuffled forward toward the library, bodies began to push against each other, and Bingwen felt as if he might be crushed. Before Mother could stop him, he had ducked down and crawled through people’s legs behind him until he came out the back and found Hopper.

  “Ms. Yí’s got the door closed,” said Hopper. “She’s getting up on a chair.”

  Bingwen was desperate to see. He looked around him. There was a rain barrel to his right below a windowsill. He grabbed a fruit box from the trash pile and used it as a stepping stool to climb up onto the barrel. From there he pulled himself up into the windowsill. He didn’t have nearly as good a view as Hopper, but he could see over the crowd well enough.

  Ms. Yí, the librarian, was motioning for quiet. “Please. Everyone, please. The library is closed. We will reopen tomorrow for the news feeds at normal business hours.”

  The uproar from the crowd was immediate. “Let us inside!” someone shouted.

  “We want to see the feeds!”

  Ms. Yí waved for quiet again. “Even if I could let you in, we don’t have enough machines. You wouldn’t fit. If we hear any news, I’ll post it on the door.”

  “You’ll open the door!” someone shouted.

  “This is our library!”

  “Push her out of the way.”

  “They’re going to rip her arms off any second now,” said Hopper.

  It was true. It was about to get ugly. Bingwen had to do something fast. “Hop, we need to get on the roof of the library.”

  Hopper gave him a mischievous grin. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but I like it already.”

  Bingwen lowered himself to the ground, and Hopper followed. They ran around the crowd to the back of the library. There were no doors or windows in the back, just a smooth stucco wall.

  “No way to get to the roof,” said Hopper. “Nothing to climb. I could give you a boost, but the roof is four meters up.”

  Bingwen was hardly paying attention. He had run past Hopper to a stretch of tall grass behind the building. The bamboo ladder was right where he had left it, anchored to the ground with two hooked stakes. Even if someone had stood right where Bingwen was standing, they likely wouldn’t have seen the ladder; it was too well concealed beneath the thick net of grass and undergrowth. Bingwen lifted it free of the stakes and dragged it toward the back of the building.

  Hopper blinked. “What is that?”

  “A ladder.”

  “Obviously. Where did it come from?”

  “I made it.”

  “When?”

  “About a year ago.”

  “And when were you going to tell me about it?”

  Bingwen gestured with his hand. “Hopper, I’d like you to meet my ladder. Ladder, Hopper.”

  “Very funny. You mean to tell me you’ve been sneaking into the library for a year now?”

  “A few years actually,” said Bingwen. “This is the third ladder I’ve made.”

  Bingwen leaned the ladder against the lip of the roof, placing the bamboo poles neatly into the two small grooves on the roof he had chiseled out for that purpose. He gave the ladder a tentative shake to determine it was steady, then gestured to the lowest rung. “After you.”

  Hopper shook his head. “A few years? Why am I not surprised?” He climbed the ladder, and Bingwen followed.

  The top of the roof was flat. Bingwen pulled up the ladder and laid it to the side.

  “This is why you ace all the practice tests,” said Hopper. “You’ve been cheating for years.”

  “I don’t cheat,” said Bingwen. “I study more.”

  “When?”

  “Three or four in the morning most days. You’d love it. It’s very quiet.”

  “That explains how you learned English.”

  “What did you think, Hop, that I could pick up English during the paltry hours of study they give us? It’s the most backwards language in the world.”

  “Stop using words like ‘paltry.’ You’re only making me feel dumber.”

  Bingwen smiled and put a hand on Hopper’s shoulder. “You’re not dumb, Hop. You’re smart. I study more because I have to. I don’t grasp concepts as quickly as you do.”
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  Hopper folded his arms and scowled. “You’re only trying to make me feel better.”

  Bingwen made scissors with his fingers and snipped the air. “Let’s cut this wonderful bonding moment short and get inside, shall we?”

  Bingwen hurried to a spinning, bulbous air vent. He knelt beside it and peeled away the rubber skirt around the vent’s base. Then he wrapped his arms around the base, twisted, and lifted. The vent came free easily, leaving a gaping hole in the roof.

  “How did you lift that thing when you first started coming up here?” asked Hopper. “Your arms weren’t long enough to wrap around the thing.”

  “Pulley system,” said Bingwen. “Little rope, little bamboo, lot of work. Believe me, this is much easier.”

  Hopper shook his head again. “Unbelievable.”

  Bingwen set the vent aside.

  Hopper leaned forward and peered into the hole. “It’s a four-meter drop to the floor. How are we managing that? No, let me guess. Winches and scaffolding made from rice shoots and bubblegum?”

  Bingwen grinned. “Hopper. We have a ladder.”

  Hopper flushed. “Right.”

  They retrieved the ladder, lowered it into the hole, and shimmied down. They were in the southwest corner of the building, obscured from the rest of the library by tall shelves of books.

  Bingwen could hear voices.

  “Now what?” whispered Hopper.

  Bingwen crept forward to the end of the shelf and looked down the aisle. The front door was barred, and Ms. Yí was inside now, seated at a terminal, flanked by two of her assistants, watching the news feed.

  “That mud sucker,” said Hopper. “She gets to watch the feed and we don’t?”

  “Follow me,” said Bingwen.

  They crept along the back wall to the main office. Bingwen pulled back a corner of carpet and took out a concealed access card.

  “I’m not even going to ask how you got that,” said Hopper.

  Bingwen opened the door, rehid the card, and they went inside. The projector and antenna box were in a cabinet. “Hold out your arms,” said Bingwen. Hopper obeyed, and Bingwen loaded Hopper’s arms with both devices. The amp and speaker were in a drawer in the back. Bingwen slid them into his pocket and motioned for Hopper to follow him out.

  When they reached the ladder, Hopper said, “So you get the light stuff, and I get the heavy stuff?”

  Bingwen put a finger to his lips, took the antenna box, and scaled the ladder. When they both reached the top, Bingwen pulled up the ladder and resealed the hole.

  “If you had told me theft was your plan from the beginning,” said Hopper, “I could have saved us both a little jail time by telling you what a yak’s ass of an idea this is.”

  “Not stealing,” said Bingwen. “This equipment will never leave the library.” He carried everything over to the opposite side of the roof above the front door. Most of the crowd was still present, but they had calmed and were sitting in small groups along the village staircase or in the few patches of grass, conversing quietly and waiting for the librarian to bring them news. No one noticed Bingwen setting up the equipment.

  It took him only a moment. When it was ready, he popped the lens cap, and the news feed projected onto the side of the house opposite the library. A reporter was standing in the streets of Beijing. Thousands of people were behind him, all of them watching the massive screens on the sides of buildings. The screens all showed live images of a red ship shaped like a giant teardrop.

  Below Bingwen, someone shouted and pointed to the projection. “Look!”

  The voice of the street reporter boomed from the speaker. Bingwen adjusted the volume, and the crowd of villagers quickly congregated in front of the house. Several of them applauded and whistled and briefly shined their lights up to the roof to see who had done them the favor. Hopper was standing at the roof’s edge, chest out, waving to the crowd like a general returning from war.

  Bingwen caught site of Grandfather, who gave him a wink.

  “… tens of thousands of people have taken to the streets,” the reporter said. “All of them here to see and experience this historic event together. I’ve stopped several people, and their feelings span the emotional spectrum. Some told me they’re afraid, that the destruction of mining ships in the Belt troubles them deeply…”

  The reporter prattled on.

  “Are you frightened, Bingwen?” Hopper asked.

  They were sitting beside each other on the roof now, hugging their knees tight to their chests to stay warm in the chilled night air.

  Bingwen made a slight adjustment on the speaker in front of him so that the sound in their direction lessened but that the audio for those below remained the same.

  “Aren’t you?” Bingwen asked.

  “I’d never say so to my father or to Meilin … but I have dreams now. Nightmares. My mother says I scream at night. The dream is so real. It’s right there in my room, standing over me.”

  “The creature?”

  Hopper nodded. “Only it’s not wearing a compression suit. It’s not wearing anything. It just stands there, looking down at me.” He looked skyward, as if he could see the ship beyond the blackness.

  “It’s a dream, Hop. I have them, too.”

  Hopper turned, surprised.

  “A lot of people do,” said Bingwen. “Even my father. He had to splash water in his face the other night and sit by the fire. Couldn’t go back to sleep. I’d never seen him like that. But they’re dreams, Hop. That’s all they’ll be. That ship looks big in the projection, but the world is much bigger. Twelve billion people strong. Whatever the creatures are, they won’t touch us here.”

  “You don’t believe that. You’ve been stockpiling supplies. You’ve been preparing for the worst. You told me to expect the worst.”

  It was true. Bingwen had been scrambling ever since Yanyu sent him the vid. And he’d been telling Hopper to do the same. But gloom and doom wasn’t what Hopper needed to hear now. The time for prep was over. All they could do now was stay even keeled and alert.

  “It’s food storage,” said Bingwen. “I’m playing it safe. I mostly do it in case supplies run short and the trucks don’t come. Grandfather and I have a lot, we’ll share.”

  “You’re only trying to make me feel better again,” said Hopper.

  “You’re right,” said Bingwen. “I take back everything I’ve said today, especially the part about you being smart.” Then he gave Hopper his toothiest grin.

  Hopper rolled his eyes and shoved Bingwen lightly on the shoulder.

  The shouting below startled them both.

  “Stop!” Ms. Yí stormed out of the building, waving her arms. “Stop!” She ran in front of the projection and faced the crowd. “You can’t do this. All of you, go home!” She pointed a finger up at Bingwen. “You little rat, you put everything back.”

  Someone threw a shoe. The light from the projection was in Ms. Yí’s eyes, so she only recoiled at the last moment. The shoe lightly bounced off her chest, but Ms. Yí squealed as if it had taken off her arm. Several people laughed.

  “Go back inside,” someone yelled.

  “Leave us alone.”

  “Get out of the light.”

  Ms. Yí looked defiant. “The regional director will hear about this!”

  Another shoe flew, and Ms. Yí squealed again and retreated, covering her face with her arm. More laughter. Bingwen watched her go, feeling sorry for her.

  Ms. Yí stopped at the library door and shined her light toward the roof. “You will never set foot in this building again, Bingwen. You understand? You either, cripple.”

  “Eat farts, pig face!” Hopper shouted.

  More people laughed and Ms. Yí disappeared inside.

  “Smart,” said Bingwen. “Now you’ll never get to take the test.”

  “She wasn’t going to let us take it anyway. Besides, we don’t need her. We’ll come back at three in the morning and take the test then. Right, ladder boy?”<
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  They went back to watching the broadcast. The street reporter was interviewing someone when the anchor interrupted him and the feed switched to live coverage of the alien ship in space. Several news shuttles had tentatively approached it, and these gave the alien ship a sense of scale. It was bigger than Bingwen expected. He had seen all the evidence Yanyu had forwarded him; he had examined all the data and holos the free miner had uploaded. Yet numbers were merely numbers. This was the real thing, larger than anything humans had ever dreamed of building.

  The crowd of villagers was silent now. No one moved. Hopper was wide-eyed and rigid with fear.

  The commentator’s voice said, “An envoy from the United Nations is now approaching the alien ship, which for the past forty minutes has not changed its position or moved.”

  What is it doing? Bingwen wondered. Why is it just sitting there? Is it waiting for us? Attempting to communicate?

  In space, a distance from the alien ship, a small ship approached, escorted by two news shuttles. The feed switched to cameras from the shuttle escorts, and Bingwen saw that the approaching ship was light blue and emblazoned with the mark of the United Nations. The feed switched again to cameras inside the ship, where a dark-skinned man stood anchored to the floor in formal attire, smiling like an idiot.

  The commentator’s voice was almost a whisper now. “We go now to U.N. Secretary of Alien Affairs Kenwe Zubeka, who carries with him gifts and tokens of peace from a hundred and eighty-seven countries.”

  The U.N. ship stopped within a few kilometers of the alien ship. A platform detached itself from the underside of the U.N. ship and floated forward. A massive disc-shaped holo flickered to life above the platform like a Frisbee.

  The news broadcaster said, “U.N. delegates from twelve different nations insisted that Secretary Zubeka have a military escort, but Zubeka refused, saying quote, ‘We will not aim a gun with one hand and offer a token of peace with the other.’”