Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

by Orson Scott Card

  What was this? Lem wondered. Another test? Another exercise in humiliation? Or was Father actually speaking from the heart?

  “What’s the matter, Lem?” a voice said. “You got space legs?”

  Lem looked up. Father’s assistant, Simona, was outside in the airlock, bent forward and looking inside the skimmer, holding her holopad.

  “You’re not stuck in there are you? Do I need to call someone?”

  “My legs are fine,” said Lem. He climbed out of the skimmer then brushed a nonexistent speck of dust off his sleeve.

  “Little atrophy is nothing to be ashamed of,” Simona said. “Two years in zero-G is a long time.”

  She was talking to him like he was a boy, just as she always had, even though she was only five years his senior. He hated that. “I’m fine,” he said.

  He hadn’t noticed her standing there among the technicians earlier, but that didn’t surprise him. Simona had a way of suddenly appearing at Father’s side exactly when he needed her, usually without making a sound. Lem had jokingly called her a jungle cat once, which she had mistakenly taken as some flirtation. She had then proceeded to tell Lem that she wouldn’t be one of his conquests and flatly denied him. Lem had laughed at that, which Simona had taken as yet another insult. It was all a silly misunderstanding, but it had soured the air between them, and Lem could sense that two years apart hadn’t mended that.

  Simona looked exactly as she did when he had left: conservative skirt, conservative blouse, flat functional shoes. She was not one for fashion. She usually found the latest trends insulting and ridiculous. Lem agreed with her, but that didn’t raise her in his esteem. She was not particularly pretty either. Not plain, but not the kind of woman that would earn a second look. Her hair was arranged to keep it out of her face, and that was the extent of attention she gave it. Her nose was small, her cheeks freckled, her chest flat. She was like an awkward twelve-year-old girl who had made a wish to stay that way her whole life.

  “Father left in a hurry,” said Lem.

  “He won’t be coming,” said Simona. “He has meetings.”

  “Coming where?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” She looked down at the schedule on her holopad and started walking away from him down the corridor. “No, of course he didn’t. He has too much on his mind.” She snapped her fingers. “Come.”

  He hurried and fell into step beside her. “I’m not a dog, you know.”

  She didn’t look up from her pad. “I snap. I give quick commands. That’s how we move things along.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not very polite.”

  “Your father doesn’t mind it.”

  “I’m not my father. I’m nothing like my father.”

  She shot him a glance and a wry smile. “No, you’re not.”

  He stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She faced him. “It means what I said. I was agreeing with you.”

  “Yes, but when you say it, it sounds like an insult.”

  She folded her arms. “Agreeing with statements you make is insulting. Noted. I’ll argue and disagree more.” She motioned down the hall. “Now, shall we move on?”

  They got walking again. Lem grit his teeth. Same old Simona. Ten seconds, and you wanted to strangle her.

  “Why the rush?” he asked. He practically had to jog to keep up with her.

  “We keep a tight schedule, Lem. Your father is managing the largest corporation in the world and trying to stop a war. It’s a full plate. I’m glad you’re home, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Your father is glad as well. He’s been concerned about you.”

  “So he said.”

  She cast him a look. “You don’t believe him?”

  He didn’t want to answer. Whatever he said to Simona would doubtless be echoed to Father. “Where are we going?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “We’re not going anywhere anymore,” she said. “We’re here.” She stopped and opened a door to her left. Lem followed her in. They stood inside a small anteroom where there was a director’s chair, a mirror, and a woman with several boxes of cosmetics. Beyond the anteroom was a much bigger space, where production lights and cameras were set up. A crew of five people was moving about, fussing with various equipment.

  Simona pointed to the director’s chair. “Sit.”

  Lem sat, gesturing to the cameras in the other room. “What is this?”

  The woman with the cosmetics draped a paper bib around Lem’s neck and began dusting his face with powder.

  “This,” said Simona, “is your first interview. Gun Chen. He’s Chinese. He has an early-morning program. Very popular. Here are your talking points.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “One, you were in the Kuiper Belt testing a Juke Limited proprietary device. You learned of the Formics, and you made plans to stop them—”

  “It wasn’t my idea to stop them,” Lem interrupted. “It was someone else’s.”

  “Whose? Another crewmember?”

  “Another ship. Free miners. They came to me and asked us to help.”

  “In that case, you will say that you were in contact with another ship, and that ‘we decided to attack the Formics.’ They couldn’t have done it without you, so you should give yourself more credit.”

  “There was a third ship as well,” said Lem. “A WU-HU vessel.”

  Simona’s face soured. “Were they in the fight?”

  “Not technically. They stayed back with the women and children.”

  She nodded, considering this. “All WU-HU ships have been grounded to the Belt, so it doesn’t matter anyway. Don’t mention WU-HU. Say ‘another mining vessel’ if you have to. Or don’t mention them at all.”

  “In other words, don’t mention a competitor.”

  “The PR and legal teams have to vet the interview before it goes out, Lem. So if you said WU-HU, we’d cut it anyway. Let’s save the audio engineers some overtime and keep it simple. When Chen asks you why you rushed back from the Kuiper Belt, your response is that you returned to deliver this proprietary device back to Juke. You believe this device can help in the war effort. Maybe even end the war.”

  Lem pushed the powder brush out of his face, and the makeup lady backed off. Lem got out of the chair. “Is that what this is about? Is that why father had all the fanfare at my homecoming? The media and the screaming Lem fans and the big phony embrace? To put me in the spotlight so I could be the pitchman for his damn glaser?”

  He yanked the bib off his neck, tossed it aside, and was out the door, moving fast down the corridor in the direction Father’s shuttle had been heading.

  Simona was practically running to keep up. “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “To have a word with dear sweet Dad.”

  “He’s in a meeting.”

  “Where?”

  “Will you stop for a moment and let me talk to you?”

  “Where’s the meeting?”

  “I’m not going to tell you that.”

  “Then I’ll find someone who will.” He kept walking, looking up and down each corridor he passed, desperate for a passerby.

  “No, you won’t,” said Simona. “None of the people in this wing know where your father is. And even if they did, all I would have to do is send a universal text to them, which takes all of two seconds, and no one would talk to you. They’d clam up.”

  “Yes. More of Father’s obedient little sheep. Just like you.”

  “Will you stop for a second? I can’t run in this skirt.”

  He stopped and spun around. She ran into him and dropped her holopad, which hit the floor but didn’t break. Lem bent down and picked it up immediately to look at the schedule, but the screen went dark as soon as he touched it. He tapped it, but nothing happened.

  “It won’t respond to your touch,” Simona said, yanking it out of his hand. “Biometric security.” She tucked it under her arm, brushed a stray hair back, and said, “What is your problem?”


  “My problem is that my father thinks he can use me in his little war-profiteering effort. And I’ve got news for him: I am not playing along.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The glaser! He wants to use the glaser in the war.”

  “And that’s a crime because…”

  “I am not going to sell the glaser to the Chinese. Or to the Russians. Or to whomever it is Father wants me to pitch it to. I know what he’s doing. This is classic Father. He fed the reporters my story of how I took on the Formics in the Kuiper Belt to make me out as a hero. He’s trying to boost public opinion of me so he can use me to sell the glaser. He’s doesn’t want a son. He wants a celebrity endorsement. And you know what? You know what the saddest part of that whole scenario is? I actually fell for it. For a fleeting moment I actually entertained the idea that those misty eyes of his at the terminal were real. Which is ridiculous. He arranged the whole thing. It was a performance. A fabrication. He set the stage. He brought in the audience. He called action.”

  “Let me get this straight,” said Simona. “You’re the celebrity of a celebrity endorsement?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “You’re mocking me.”

  “I’m trying to follow your train of thought,” she said. “I’m not questioning your celebrity status. Son of the wealthiest man in the world. Hounded by the paparazzi in his earlier years. Voted most eligible bachelor by some teenage-centric pop zines on the nets. Good hair. White teeth. I can see why you might reach these conclusions.”

  He turned around and started walking again.

  She hustled to keep up. “Okay, you’re right. I was mocking you. But I shouldn’t. Because you’re partially right.”

  He stopped and faced her.

  “But only partially,” she said. “Your theory’s wrong in a lot of ways.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  She sighed. “Your father does want you to tout the glaser. He does want to give it a lot of attention. But not to sell it. He’s trying to convince the U.S. not to kill themselves.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s faster if I show you.” She gestured him to follow and turned down a side corridor. They walked twenty meters and went through the first door they came to. It was a conference room with a holotable in the middle. A team of six engineers was studying a holo of some intricate mechanical part in the air between them. One of them was poking it with his stylus and leading the discussion.

  “I need this room,” said Simona.

  The engineers looked at her and then at Lem. Then they turned to the chief engineer with the stylus, clearly the most senior among them.

  “Now?” the chief engineer asked.

  “No, yesterday at brunch,” said Simona. “Yes. Now.”

  “But we reserved this room.”

  “And I’m unreserving it,” said Simona. “Now please leave.” She snapped her fingers again, and the engineers hopped to it, gathering their things and hustling out the door. They knew who she was and to whom she reported.

  When they left, Lem said, “You have such a pleasant way about you.”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” She moved to the holotable, wiped the holo away, and entered a series of codes and gestures. A ship appeared in the holospace, smooth and small, with a long tube-shaped device mounted on its underside.

  “This is the Vanguard drone,” said Simona. “The biggest product launch we’ve had in years. It’s a prospecting drone, designed to seek out viable asteroids. If it finds something worth digging, it alerts us, and we send a manned craft out there to dig up the lugs. It’s been in development for over a decade.”

  “Why have I never heard of it?” asked Lem.

  “It was on a need-to-know basis. You weren’t on the list. Try not to be offended.”

  “Okay.”

  “Your father introduced the Vanguard to the world literally minutes before he found out about the Formics. Ukko was not pleased. The Vanguard was set to reignite the company. The interference had been killing business for months. We had two dismal quarters. Stockholders were antsy. We needed a victory. The announcement of the Formics couldn’t have come at a worse time. It threw the Board into panic mode. Everyone knew the news would eclipse any momentum we might have gained with the Vanguard.”

  “Sounds like the Board,” said Lem. “More concerned about the bottom line than about an imminent alien invasion and the possible annihilation of the human race. Classy. What’s this tube underneath the drone?”

  “That’s the glaser,” said Simona.

  “Glaser? You have more than one prototype?”

  “There’s only one prototype, and it’s on your ship. This is the real thing. Your father moved the glaser into production as soon as we heard that you had a successful field test in the Kuiper Belt about nine months ago.”

  “You moved it into production?” said Lem. “But we weren’t finished with the testing. The results we sent you were from the initial test only. We had dozens of field trials to go.”

  “Which you never got around to doing,” said Simona. “We lost contact with you because of the interference, and your father grew impatient. We did some more tests here, made some tweaks, shrunk the design, wrapped the whole thing in armored plates, and that was the end of it.”

  “So you didn’t wait for us?”

  “It was nine months ago, Lem. We weren’t even sure if you were still alive. It was very valuable tech. We weren’t going to sit around and hope you showed up. We took what we knew and we moved on.”

  “If you could’ve done all the testing here, why did my father send me to the Kuiper Belt in the first place?”

  “Because the K Belt is still the ideal place to conduct field trials secretly,” said Simona. “Your father wasn’t trying to get rid of you, if that’s what you’re thinking. The Deep is still our preferential testing ground. We only tested here because we had to. We didn’t have the time or the communications capabilities to launch another crew.”

  Lem leaned on the table and stared at the holo. Two years in space, and Father could have just as easily done the tests here. Not as thoroughly perhaps, not as reliably, but that hadn’t stopped Father from doing them. It made Lem feel as if all that time on the Makarhu had been an utter waste. “If it’s a prospecting ship, then why is it outfitted with a glaser?”

  “Because it’s not a prospecting ship anymore,” said Simona. “Now it’s a warship.”

  Lem regarded her, an eyebrow raised. “You’re joking.”

  “Ukko plans to attack the mothership,” said Simona, “and he’s going to use a fleet of drones to do it.”

  “A fleet? How many of these drones does he plan to make?”

  “Fifty. And he’s already made them. The glasers are produced as well. The only thing left to do is mount the glasers onto the drones. Our assembly lines are working around the clock on that as we speak. It’s proving trickier than we thought, though. We’re having to modify the drone’s flight controls to accommodate the glaser.”

  “How extensive was your testing of the glaser?” Lem asked.

  “Mostly lab work and computer models,” said Simona. “We couldn’t exactly go outside and blow up a few asteroids. There aren’t any around here. That’s why fields tests are best.”

  “You need to speak with Dr. Benyawe and Dr. Dublin, my chief engineer. All of our computer models for the glaser were wrong. When we hit a big asteroid in the Kuiper Belt, the resulting gravity field was far bigger than any of us expected. It almost consumed our ship. The Formic ship is much bigger than that rock, and its composition is unknown. Benyawe convinced me that it was too dangerous to hit it with the glaser. There’s no telling what kind of gravity field would result. Hitting it with fifty glasers at once could be suicide.”

  Simona made a few notes on her holopad. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. You still haven’t explained why I need to pitch the glaser in interviews and what this has to do with th
e U.S.”

  Simona wiped her hand through the field, and the drone disappeared. After a few more gestures, the Formic ship appeared in its place. “Our sources inside the U.S. Joint Chiefs tell us that the Americans are planning a strike against the Formic mothership,” said Simona.

  “We have sources that high inside the U.S. military?”

  “We have sources everywhere, dear. And these are particularly reliable ones. Although the strike isn’t much of a secret, truth be told. Everyone expects it. The U.S. has been preparing for it out in space ever since word of the Formic ship was confirmed. And as you know, it’s very hard to do anything in space without the whole world noticing. What isn’t common knowledge is when and how the strike will happen, which is what our sources have told us.”

  “What’s the U.S. planning?”

  “They’ve weaponized about fifteen shuttles, and they’ve added these to their existing space fleet. Right now they have twenty-two ships. We caught wind this morning that the Russians, British, and Chinese are adding ships as well, bringing the total to fifty-three.”

  “I saw the Formics take on sixty ships at once in the Belt,” said Lem. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  “The U.S. is doing it anyway,” said Simona. “Their military dismisses the Battle of the Belt as blue-collar scrubs acting like soldiers.”

  “Then the U.S. military are idiots,” said Lem. “Asteroid miners are far better space pilots and far better prepared for space combat than soldiers and pilots brought up from the planet.”

  Simona shrugged. “I’m not a strategist. I just keep your father informed.”

  “Why doesn’t the U.S. military just pound the mothership with nukes?”

  “They have. Or rather they tried. Three days ago. It didn’t work. The Formic guns picked off the missiles on their approach, long before they reached the Formic ship. The missiles detonated and emitted massive electromagnetic pulses that took out about three dozen satellites and created artificial radiation belts that will annoy everyone for years to come.”

  “If the nuke strike failed, then why is the U.S. going through with a manned strike? If the Formics can hit missiles, taking out shuttles and ships will be child’s play.”