Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

by Orson Scott Card

  “To the lander? I cannot talk you out of such folly?”

  “Destroying the landers is the only way to end this war.”

  Danwen exhaled. “I am an old man, Mazer. Too old for war, with you or the Formics. If you say you must go south, I will not try to stop you. Although I will allow you to escort us to a family or group. The boy doesn’t feel safe with me, and I don’t blame him. I can do little to defend us. He deserves better. We will leave at first light.”

  “Thank you,” said Mazer. “Also, and I hope you take no offense at this, Ye Ye Danwen, but after the war, I want to help Bingwen get into a school. He has told me how hard it is to get an education here. With your blessing I would like to enroll him somewhere. In a private school in Beijing perhaps. Or in Guangzhou. I will pay for it. For as long as I can. I owe him that.”

  Danwen reached out and patted Mazer’s hand. “You are a good man, Mazer Rackham. You have my blessing. Bingwen is a rare boy. You will say I am biased, but I believe he is one in a thousand. Maybe one in a million. Do you think a child could be wiser than most adults, Mazer?”

  “I do now.”

  Danwen laughed. “Yes. A very wise boy. You should ask him how to destroy the lander. I would not be surprised if he had the answer.”

  That night Danwen insisted on taking first watch. He sat in the doorway of the farmhouse with the sword lying across his lap. Mazer lay down near the window on the far side of the room with a view of the night sky. He stared up at the millions of stars, wondering if the mothership had been destroyed. Maybe the Formics here in China were all that was left of them.

  “Mazer.” A whisper.

  Mazer turned. Bingwen was beside him, sitting on the floor hugging his knees tightly to his chest.

  “I am sorry for asking you to stay. That was selfish.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Bingwen. I’d stay if I could. I’m sorry I can’t.”

  The boy nodded but didn’t leave.

  Mazer waited. Bingwen stared at the floor.

  “Is there something else you wanted to say, Bingwen?”

  The boy nodded, but he didn’t look at Mazer. “You must tell Grandfather something. Before you leave. I cannot tell him. I have tried many times, but the words won’t come.”

  Mazer waited. The boy said nothing.

  “What must I tell him, Bingwen?”

  In the moonlight Mazer could see tears running down Bingwen’s cheeks. The boy didn’t make a sound. He wiped at his face with his sleeve then spoke in a whisper. “My parents. They will not be waiting for us in the north. The day I came for you, I saw them.” He shook his head, ashamed. “I did not bury them. And now they are in the mountain of death, piled with all the dead things. I have dishonored them.”

  Mazer sat up and took the boy in his arms. “You have not dishonored them, Bingwen. Don’t think such a thing. You have honored them by helping me.” He didn’t know what else to say. The boy shook silently in his arms. Mazer could see Danwen’s silhouette in the doorway, looking in his direction. Mazer held up a hand to indicate that all was well.

  Sometime later Bingwen fell asleep. Only then did Mazer release him, gently laying him on his mat on the floor. Mazer lay down on the wood planks beside him, eyes weary and body weak. The rice and bamboo were filling his stomach but doing little more than that. His energy was down. He needed nutrients. Judging by how gaunt his body looked and felt, he guessed he had lost about seven kilos, or fifteen pounds. It was weight he couldn’t afford to lose—he had had almost no body fat to begin with.

  Outside, the night was still and quiet. It had taken Mazer a week to get used to the silence. No birds fluttered; no mice or small creatures rustled in the grass; no insects chirped in the darkness. The Formics had burned the land and everything with it, and left nothing behind but the wind.

  Mazer woke suddenly. He had slipped into sleep, but now a sound had awoken him. A soft noise that didn’t belong. He sat up and saw it, standing at the door, just outside, its wand leveled at Danwen’s face. The old man was asleep, completely oblivious. Mazer was up and running. The wand released a single puff of mist into Danwen’s face. The old man moaned quietly. The Formic looked up, sensing movement in the darkness. Then Mazer threw himself at the creature before it could raise the wand again.

  They collided and tumbled out into the yard, the creature flailing. Mazer ripped its hand from the wand. Its other hands clawed at him. A leg kicked him. It was strong, Mazer realized. Stronger than he had expected, like an ape. It was scrabbling for him, reaching for him, twisting, fighting, trying to bite at him with its maw. They rolled in the dirt. It struck Mazer on the back, a colossal blow that sent pain ripping though his upper body. The creature was desperate, kicking, bucking. Mazer felt his grip weakening; his strength was not what it was. He twisted and maneuvered himself behind the Formic then wrapped his legs around its torso, pinning its arms to its side. The creature thrashed, desperate, angry. Mazer thought the backpack of defoliant might break and cover him in the liquid.

  “Grandfather?”

  Bingwen was at the door, looking down at the old man, whose body had slumped to the side.

  “Get back!” Mazer shouted. “Cover your mouth!”

  Bingwen retreated back into the darkness. The creature kicked and thrashed. Mazer wrapped his arms around the Formic’s head and jerked it violently to one side. Something cracked. Mazer felt muscle and bone or cartilage tear. The Formic went limp.

  Mazer held it a moment longer, then released it, kicking it away. His heart was pounding. There was moisture on his arms and legs. He wasn’t sure if it was his sweat or the Formic’s. He gagged. But then he extended his neck and controlled the reflex.

  He heard the soft patter of feet. Footsteps. But not human ones. They were coming from behind the barn. Danwen’s sword lay in the dirt near the doorway. Mazer looked for any remnant of the mist, but could see nothing in the dark. It might be there, or it might not. He wasn’t sure. The footsteps were getting closer. Mazer reached for the sword, grabbed it, and rolled away, coming up on the balls of his feet, ready to move. He ran for the barn, keeping his steps silent. He put his back to the wall of the barn just as another Formic with a mist sprayer came around the corner to his left, moving right past him. The Formic saw its dead companion in the yard and stopped.

  Mazer brought the sword down from behind hard and fast. It sunk into the Formic’s head with little resistance and drove down clear to its neck where it stuck. The creature dropped, nearly pulling the sword from Mazer’s grip. Mazer jerked it free and stepped back against the barn, listening.

  More footsteps. This time to his right. He sidled in that direction, his bare feet moving silently in the dirt. The Formic came around the corner before Mazer had reached it. It saw him, hesitated, then fumbled with the wand.

  Mazer lunged, skewering the creature in its center mass. The blade struck the backpack and stopped. The creature looked down at the blade protruding from its chest. Mazer retracted the blade and thrust again, piercing the creature through once more. The Formic didn’t make a sound. Mazer yanked the blade free again, and the Formic crumpled at his feet.

  Mazer crouched again, listening. He stayed that way for a full minute. Then two. He counted the seconds in his head. He heard nothing.

  Then he was up, sprinting for the farmhouse. Danwen’s body was folded there in the doorway, half inside, half outside. Mazer grabbed the old man by the wrists and dragged him out into the yard, away from where the mist had been sprayed. Danwen was limp. Mazer already knew he was dead. Bingwen appeared near the doorway.

  “Don’t go through the door,” said Mazer. “That’s where it was sprayed. Grab my boots and climb out the side window.”

  Bingwen disappeared again inside.

  Mazer knelt by Danwen. The creature had sprayed the old man in the face, and there was moisture on his forehead and cheeks. Mazer wanted to check Danwen’s pulse, but he dare not touch the man’s neck. He picked up his wrist instead.r />
  No pulse.

  He tried the other wrist as well.

  Nothing.

  He put a hand to Danwen’s chest. No heartbeat. Mazer looked up. Bingwen was standing there holding Mazer’s boots in his hands, staring down at his grandfather. He had thought to put on his own shoes. Mazer went to him and turned Bingwen’s face to his own. “Bingwen, look at me.”

  The boy blinked. He was in shock.

  “Your grandfather is gone. We can’t stay here. We need to move now. Do you understand?”

  Bingwen nodded. Mazer sat down in the dirt and threw on his boots, tightening the straps as fast as he could.

  Bingwen stood over his grandfather’s body. “We can’t leave him here like this. They will come and take him and put him with the dead things. They will dishonor him.”

  Mazer took Bingwen’s hand. “There’s no time to bury him, Bingwen. We have to move now.”

  Bingwen jerked his hand free. “No. We can’t let them take him.”

  Mazer reached for Bingwen, but the boy was quick and dodged his grasp. Bingwen ran to the fire pit they used for cooking. He grabbed one of the pots and scooped around in the coals. A few of the coals at the bottom were still red hot and smoldering. Bingwen used a stick to scoop them into the pot.

  “What are you doing?” Mazer asked.

  Bingwen didn’t respond. He ran to the barn and dumped the coals in a corner where an old bundle of hay lay rotting. The hay caught fire immediately, igniting like a match. The flames spread quickly, licking at the old, dry wooden wall of the barn. Bingwen dropped the pot and ran back across the yard to where Danwen lay in the dirt. He grabbed the old man by the ankles and pulled with all his strength. Danwen didn’t budge, light as he was.

  Mazer came over, bent down, and scooped the old man up into his arms, being careful not to touch Danwen’s face. Smoke was pouring out of the barn now. Flames crawled up the interior wall like it was kindling. There was a square wooden box on the ground near the back wall where more tools were kept. Mazer laid Danwen atop it and kicked some of the untouched hay around it. The fire was close now. Mazer kicked at a burning plank to knock it free of the wall. It splintered and broke away, burning at the edges. Mazer grabbed a corner that wasn’t on fire and placed it at the base of the box Danwen lay on. The smoke was thick and burned Mazer’s eyes. The heat was intense. Mazer retreated out of the barn coughing and brushing burning ashes from his clothes.

  Bingwen stood outside in the yard, staring at the flames, the sword loose in his hand, blood glistening on the blade in the firelight.

  Mazer knelt beside him. “We can’t stay, Bingwen. Can you run?”

  They needed to move. The troop transports were silent and light as leaves. They could be here at any moment. Bingwen turned to Mazer, his movements slow, as if in a trance. He didn’t respond. He wouldn’t be able to run, Mazer realized. Not quickly. Mazer took the sword and gently picked up Bingwen in his arms. Then he ran, heading down the mountain, the flames and the farmhouse at their backs—moving north, into the darkness.

  * * *

  They ran for fifteen minutes, cutting through fields that had been stripped of all life. Mazer’s boots were soon heavy with mud and ashes. They crossed rice fields, sticking to the thin bridges of earth between the paddies and steering clear of the standing water. The rice shoots had long since wilted and died, and now a thin chemical residue floated atop the water at the paddies’ edges, glistening in the moonlight like oil. A kilometer beyond the base of the mountain they found a stretch of jungle untouched by the mist and pushed their way through it, preferring to be in the cover of the thick foliage than out in the open where they could be easily spotted. It was harder to see in the jungle, however. Branches snagged at their clothes and slapped at their faces. Twice Mazer stumbled, nearly dropping Bingwen both times.

  By now, Bingwen was coming to himself again. “You don’t have to carry me anymore,” he said quietly. “I can run.”

  Mazer didn’t argue. He was exhausted. His body was slick with sweat. His arms and legs were cramped, particularly his right arm, which had carried the bulk of Bingwen’s weight. The wound in his belly had begun to burn, too, and he worried that he might have torn something. He set Bingwen down, and they collapsed at the base of a tree. Mazer leaned back against the trunk, his breathing heavy.

  They sat in silence for a while. Mazer wanted to comfort Bingwen; he wanted to say something reassuring, something to soften the boy’s grief. Yet everything that came to mind sounded insufficient or like an empty promise he couldn’t keep. They were in danger now, more danger than they had been in before, and any assurance of a happy ending seemed false and disingenuous.

  It was Bingwen who finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry you had to carry me,” he said. “I … wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “It’s all right,” said Mazer. “I didn’t mind. I needed the exercise.”

  “No. You didn’t. You shouldn’t be straining yourself. You should be resting. Look at you. You’re thinner than you were. You need food, Mazer. Real food. Meat and fruits and vegetables, not rice and bamboo. And a real doctor should have a look at you.” He pulled his knees up tight to his chest as he had done in the farmhouse. “You can’t go back to the lander, Mazer. You can’t. You’re not healthy enough to fight.”

  Mazer took a few more breaths before responding. His heart was pounding. “It’s complicated, Bingwen.”

  “No. It isn’t. You’re weak. The army has been pounding the lander and gotten nowhere. What can you do that they can’t? You’d be throwing your life away. Let the fighters and bombs do their job.”

  “You just said the bombs weren’t working.”

  “Walking to the lander is stupid. Suicide. If you want to get in the fight, find some troops. Do good elsewhere. You can help and still survive.”

  “If I go north and find Chinese troops, Bingwen, they’ll likely arrest me and ship me back to New Zealand. And that’s the best-case scenario.”

  “Why would they arrest you?”

  “Like I said, it’s complicated.”

  “And I wouldn’t understand because I’m a child? I thought we were past that.”

  Mazer exhaled deep and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “All right. They’d arrest me because I’m not supposed to be here. I disobeyed a direct order by rushing to the lander. Three of my friends died as a result of my decision. My military isn’t likely to forgive that. I’m not sure I can forgive it.” He took another deep breath and leaned forward. “That’s why I have to go back, Bingwen. I’m not going home until I help end this war. Not because it might absolve me of ignoring the order, but because I owe it to my friends to make their deaths mean something. Because I owe it to you and to your parents and your grandfather and everyone in China who has suffered. Does that make sense?”

  “No. It doesn’t. It’s boneheaded. You’re not responsible for what has happened here, Mazer. You’re not responsible even for your friends. They wanted to help. It was their decision to disobey that order as much as yours. It’s not your fault they died.”

  “It is actually. I was their commanding officer. I was responsible for their safety.”

  “So throwing yourself to the Formics is going to change that? What are you hoping to accomplish by getting yourself killed?”

  “I don’t plan on dying, Bingwen.”

  “Well the Formics are likely to spoil those plans. It’s you against hundreds or thousands of them. You, unarmed and weak, dressed in rags. And them, shielded and loaded with weapons and completely merciless. You don’t have to be an adult to see how foolish you’re being.”

  Mazer smiled. “Rest, Bingwen. This is the last break we’ll take for a while.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Mazer’s breathing normalized, and the burning in his side had dissipated, which suggested it was a stitch in his side and not the surgery wound … or so Mazer hoped. They got up and started moving again, this time at a muc
h slower pace. They used the sword to cut their way through the densest parts of the jungle, but every slice was loud in the stillness, so they did it sparingly.

  After another hour of walking Bingwen asked, “Do you have a son?”

  The question surprised Mazer. “A son? No. I’m not married, Bingwen.”

  “Why not? The doctor, Kim, she cares for you. Why not marry her?”

  Mazer regarded the boy. It was hard to see him clearly in the darkness and shadows of the jungle. “I wish it were that easy, Bingwen.”

  “She loves you. I could tell. I may be eight, but I’m not blind.”

  “People don’t marry simply because they’re in love, Bingwen.”

  “Of course they do. Why else would they do it?”

  “Marriage and family is a commitment to someone. If you can’t be absolute in your commitment, you shouldn’t make it. I’m a soldier. I’m always away. That would be hard on a marriage.”

  “So you’ll never marry?”

  “One day, I hope. After I’m a soldier.”

  “Would you ever consider having a son before you were married?”

  Mazer saw where this was going. When he spoke his voice was kind and quiet. “You can’t be my son, Bingwen.”

  “But I’d work hard,” said Bingwen. “And I’d obey. You wouldn’t have to scold me or punish me because I would always listen. I wouldn’t even complain when you had to go off somewhere on assignment. I could take care of myself. I could cook my own meals. I can cook other things besides rice and bamboo, you know. I can cook meats and vegetables. I could cook for you, too.”

  Mazer stopped and knelt in front of the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If I have a son one day, Bingwen, I hope he’s as brave and smart and strong as you. But China is your home, and New Zealand is mine.”

  “China was my home. But it’s a new China now, one that’s as strange to me as it is to you. I don’t belong here any more than you do.”

  He’s like me, thought Mazer. Displaced, alone, coping with a new culture, having lost the one he knew. It was exactly how Mazer felt as a boy when his mother died. She had angered her Maori family by marrying an Englishman. They were pure Maoris, and they saw Father as an intruder, stealing their daughter from her heritage. So they expelled her from the tribe.