Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

by Orson Scott Card

  “Assuming we can,” said Wit.

  “Three hundred meters at least,” said Mazer.

  “All right,” said Wit. “You take point, Mazer. Calinga and I will be on either side of you, tracking parallel.”

  They climbed into their respective drill sledges and fired up the drills. Moments later they were each digging into the side of the hill, spewing back hot lava. Once underground, Mazer began a long gradual descent, heading for a spot three hundred meters below the lander. His cool-suit did its best to maintain a normal body temperature, but it erred on the side of cold. In moments, Mazer’s fingers felt stiff and he could see his own breath inside his helmet. His visor frosted at the edges, but fans cycled air through the helmet and kept the visor from fogging completely.

  The deeper they went below the surface, the more solid rock they encountered and the faster they moved. They tried not to go hot too often since they couldn’t communicate when they moved at those speeds, but at times it couldn’t be avoided.

  Mazer watched the depth-gauge holo on his dash. When they drew close to the lander, the holo filled with crisscrossing white lines. “The Formics must be tunnelers,” he said. “It’s like an ant colony down here.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and run into a few Formics,” said Calinga. “And I mean that literally. We grind them up and spit them out the back.”

  They finally got into position, three hundred meters below the surface, almost directly below the lander. Mazer was practically on his back in his seat, wiggling his fingers and toes, trying to keep his blood circulating. It wasn’t doing any good. “I’m ready, Wit. Give the word before my whole body turns to ice.”

  Wit’s voice came over the communicator. “Calinga, you set?”

  “Set and freezing my ass off,” said Calinga. “Let’s get a move on.”

  “Punch it,” said Wit.

  Mazer hit the throttle, and his drill sledge surged upward, spewing back lava and taking off. The cockpit shook, and Mazer gripped the steering bars tighter, holding on, pushing the drill to build momentum. He could feel the heat rising inside the cockpit. It was a welcome relief after the cold, but it quickly became blazing hot. “Two hundred and fifty meters to target,” he said.

  The three drill sledges surged upward, chewing through rock and earth. Mazer kept his eyes on the depth gauge, but the growing vibrations made it difficult to focus his eyes on the readout. “Two hundred meters,” he said.

  More white lines appeared on the screen. First there were only a few, but then dozens materialized as the drill sledges drew near to the lander. The Formics were definitely tunnelers, Mazer thought. No doubt of that now.

  The depth gauge scrolled up and revealed a huge spot of white immediately beneath the lander. “Wait!” Mazer said. “Slow down. There’s a large air pocket right beneath the lander. We’ll never make it.”

  “I see it,” said Wit. “Full stop at the air pocket.”

  Mazer continued to slow, breaking through the last of the earth and coming up into the air pocket almost at a crawl. The drill began to wind down, and the sledge tipped forward and leveled out on what looked like the floor of a massive cave. Wit’s and Calinga’s sledges appeared beside him. Mazer opened the cockpit and stood in his seat. He shined his helmet lights directly above him and saw the underside of the lander. A few more meters and he could have reached up and touched the metal surface.

  The air pocket was huge. Mazer wasn’t sure how wide it was; he shined his floodlight all around him and instead of seeing side walls, he saw only blackness.

  “Well that was anticlimactic,” said Calinga. He was standing in his open cockpit, staring up at the underside of the lander, a giant alien ceiling above them. “Here I thought we were going to bust through that thing, and now we can’t even reach it.”

  There was a crack of ice and a hiss of air, and Wit’s cockpit opened. “Talk to me, Mazer. What are our options? Any way we can reach the hull?”

  Mazer shined his helmet lights up again. “I wasn’t anticipating an air pocket here. This complicates matters.” He considered the distance from the floor to the ceiling. “If we came up like planned, we could fly up through the air pocket with enough ejecta behind us to reach the lander. But the drill bits would never get a grip on the hull. We’d bounce off.”

  “So we can’t bust through?” said Calinga. “What do we do? Leave the nuke here?”

  “We could,” said Wit. “But it would do far more damage inside. Our chances of success grow exponentially if we break through. Mazer, could we burn our way in? What if we turn these gophers around and hit the underside of the lander with our lava spew? Could we melt a hole big enough for Calinga to launch through?”

  “No idea,” said Mazer. “Maybe. It’s worth a shot. Trouble is, we’ll have to get out, turn the drill sledges around, extend the stilts, and get the sledges in an upright position, with the back end pointed up at the lander so we can hit the lander with our lava spew.”

  “Calinga, get back in your sledge and go deep,” said Wit. “Get into launch position again. Mazer and I will melt a hole. If it works, we’ll tell you to surge up and soar through. We’ll come right after you. Then we ditch your sledge and the nuke as planned.”

  “Roger that,” said Calinga.

  “I’ll need to extend your stilts and get you into a diving position,” said Mazer.

  Calinga closed himself in his cockpit. Mazer went to Calinga’s sledge, pulled back the side paneling, and punched in the sequence to operate the stilts. It was a multistep process that took a few minutes, but soon all the stilts were out and in place.

  “You’re set,” said Mazer. “But wait until I’m back in my gopher and out of the path of your spew.”

  Calinga waited for the all-clear then fired up the sledge and dove into the earth. An ejecta of lava spew shot back and hit the underside of the lander. Where it did, the hull sizzled and dripped away.

  “Hull’s melting,” said Mazer. “I’d say your plan’s a go, Wit.”

  “Show me how to set up the stilts on mine,” said Wit.

  Mazer waited until Calinga’s sledge had disappeared back into the earth and the ejecting lava spew had stopped. Then he rushed to Wit’s sledge and opened the paneling on the side and walked Wit through the process. Soon the sledge was up on its spider legs, its back end ready to shower the lander with lava.

  There was a hint of movement in the darkness. Mazer turned and shined his light. A crowd of twenty to thirty Formics was scurrying toward them. They didn’t look armed, but their clawed hands and maws looked ready to rip Mazer and Wit to shreds. “We’ve got company,” said Mazer.

  His weapon was in his cockpit. He ran for it. The Formics rushed forward. Mazer had the gun in his hand three seconds later and fired the first shots from where he stood on the side of the sledge. Most of the shots found targets. Formics dropped. Others scattered into the darkness.

  “Hold them off,” said Wit. “I’ll get your sledge into position.” He rushed to Mazer’s sledge, opened the paneling, and got busy.

  Their helmets were made for piloting the sledges. They weren’t designed for small-arms skirmishes in near-total darkness. Mazer had no HUD, no targeting help, no heat-signature capabilities, no night vision. His visor was a pane of glass, nothing more. He had a handgun and a spotlight.

  He kept the light moving, searching for Formics trying to sneak up on their position. Occasionally his beam found one, and he squeezed off a few rounds, aiming for the Formic’s center mass.

  Moments later the crowd of Formics emerged from the darkness and retreated, scurrying back the way they had come. “They’re leaving,” said Mazer.

  “Good,” said Wit. “I need two more minutes.”

  Mazer kept moving, shining his light in every direction, gun up and ready. For a moment he thought they were in the clear. Then his light fell upon hundreds of pairs of eyes in the darkness, rushing forward.

  “Formics!” said Mazer. “Two o’clock. Hundreds
of them!”

  “Thirty more seconds,” said Wit.

  The first group had been scouts, Mazer realized, sent forward to see what the enemy had to offer. This was the real army. Mazer didn’t think he could hold them for ten seconds, much less thirty. They were coming like a swarm.

  He flipped the gun to three-round bursts and opened fire. The gunfire echoed through the air pocket. Every shot hit a target. It wasn’t hard. The Formics were practically on top of each other, charging forward, scurrying in a frenzy, closing in on Mazer like a wave of eyes and arms and fury.

  They were completely fearless, he realized. He was mowing them down, but they didn’t care. It was as if they knew they would overrun him eventually, and the individuals up front were willing to sacrifice themselves to make that happen.

  “Thirty meters,” said Mazer. “You got three seconds.”

  “All right,” said Wit. “You’re set. Go go go.”

  Mazer sprinted toward his drill sledge, firing erratically behind him. More Formics fell. The swarm continued forward, their fallen companions forgotten.

  Mazer scurried up the ladder and into his cockpit. He saw Wit out of the corner of his eye climbing up into the other one. Mazer yanked in the ladder and closed the cockpit just as a wave of Formics slammed into the machine, climbing up the stilts and pounding on the canopy. Their weight rocked the drill sledge, and for a terrifying moment Mazer thought they might tip the sledge over or break the stilts. But the drill sledge held, despite the pounding they received.

  “This won’t work,” said Mazer. “Calinga won’t be able to get out of his sledge. They’d overrun him. We have to abort.”

  “Destroying this lander is more important than Calinga,” said Wit. “It’s more important than all of us. He knows that. If we leave now, the Formics could shield the underside. It’s now or never. Let’s burn him a hole.”

  He was right of course. The mission trumped all other considerations, even their lives.

  Mazer cranked up his drill. Then he put the drill sledge’s tracks in reverse and slowly lowered the drill to the surface. Lava shot upward and hit the lander. The tracks in reverse countered the forward propulsion of the drill, but the opposing forces caused the drill sledge to buck and bounce. Mazer stayed at it. Wit did the same. Lava spewed. The underside of the lander began to melt.

  The pounding on Mazer’s cockpit had stopped. The Formics had fallen off. Mazer hoped they were getting a hot lava shower. One minute passed. Then two. The sledge bucked and bounced across the floor of the air pocket. Mazer was careful not to eject lava toward Wit’s position, and he hoped Wit was doing the same.

  A large chunk of the lander’s underside fell away, like the floor in a burning house crashing through. A gaping hole remained.

  “Calinga!” said Wit. “You’ve got a hole. I’m sending you scans now. Get in, drop the nuke, and get out if you can.”

  “Roger that. You two get clear. I don’t want to hit you on the way up. I’m coming in hot.”

  Mazer stopped the reverse motion of his tracks and collapsed the stilts. The drill sledge immediately dropped and shot downward, churning through earth below the air pocket and diving deep.

  Mazer called up Calinga’s position on the holo. They passed each other, Mazer going down, Calinga going up. At the last one hundred meters, Calinga put on a burst of speed and shot up through the air pocket. He aimed for the hole perfectly. But since he was coming in at a slight angle, the drill sledge hit the lip of the hole as it entered the lander and flew inside. The contact spun the drill sledge in the air, and it crashed on its side in the lander.

  “Calinga,” said Wit. “Report.”

  The voice that answered was pained but upbeat. “You two get deep. I’ll detonate the nuke.”

  “Hold on,” said Wit. “I’m coming for you.”

  “Negative,” said Calinga. “If you try to make the jump up here, the same thing will happen to you, and we’ll both be dead. I got Formics swarming the sledge already. We couldn’t make the transfer anyway. You two dive. I got this. I’ll give you twenty seconds.”

  “It should have been me,” said Wit. “I should have taken the nuke.”

  “Time to let someone else have the glory.”

  “It’s been an honor,” said Wit.

  “It’s been mine,” said Calinga.

  How could they talk about this so casually? thought Mazer. How could they resign themselves so easily?

  Because they’re MOPs, Mazer realized. Because they’re intelligent soldiers, because they know there’s no other way. “Ten seconds,” said Calinga. “They’re starting to tear into the canopy. I can’t delay here.”

  Mazer punched it, going hot. He counted down the seconds in his head, watching the holo on his dash. At zero, the blip that was Calinga’s drill sledge winked out.

  * * *

  Mazer headed for the predetermined location on the map where they had agreed to resurface. None of them knew what the blast radius for an underground nuke would be, but the reach of the radiation would likely be wide. The best they could do was pick a spot ten kilometers away, or the maximum distance the drill sledge could travel.

  Mazer broke through the surface at the designated spot and was surprised to see a number of vehicles there on the scanners. He unbuckled, stood, and opened the cockpit.

  Half a dozen Chinese tanks and assault vehicles were parked at the site, along with a platoon of armed Chinese soldiers in radiation suits. Wit had already arrived. He was down from his drill sledge stepping into a radiation suit two soldiers held open for him, arguing with an officer.

  The officer turned and faced Mazer, smiling. It was Shenzu, Mazer’s contact at the Chinese base who had threatened to shoot Mazer down for taking the HERC. “Captain Mazer Rackham. Welcome back. On behalf of the Chinese Army, we thank you for destroying one of the landers and the biomass. Here, step into this suit. There’s a communicator inside. We’re likely safe at this distance, but we will err on the side of caution.”

  “The blast was a success?” Mazer asked.

  Shenzu smiled. “This is a great day in China. We have scored a huge victory. Also, you are under arrest.”

  For a moment Mazer thought he had misheard.

  “We just destroyed the guys who have been slaughtering your people,” said Wit. “You’re supposed to see what we did and copy it.”

  “Oh we’ll copy it,” said Shenzu. “We have people working on that right now. This is only one lander after all. The war is far from over. But in the meantime, there are the charges against you. Illegally crossing our borders, stealing government property, conducting a nuclear strike on Chinese soil. All serious offenses. I am to escort you to a holding facility.”

  “This is how you show your thanks?” said Mazer.

  “Don’t worry, gentlemen. Most heroes in China are arrested first. We’re used to it.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Mothership

  Victor got his hand on the shuttle door, ready to open it. The instruments on the dash indicated that the Formic ship was only six hundred meters away now, practically on top of them. “We’re going to make it, Imala,” he said. “They’re not going to vaporize us.” He watched the numbers tick down as they drifted in closer … closer.

  He had known that being cramped in a cockpit with Imala for a few days would be awkward and uncomfortable, but he hadn’t expected the experience to be downright miserable. It was worse than being in the quickship for nine months. At least in the quickship he could do whatever he wanted and not have to worry about being indecorous. If he had to belch, he belched. If he had to urinate, he did. Here, not only was Imala practically right on top of him and thus likely aware of everything he was doing biologically inside his spacesuit, but he was also aware of her every move and sound.

  Plus their bulky helmets were practically touching, so it was as if they were huddled together and staring at each other. Nonstop. For two days.

  “Be careful,” said Imala. “When y
ou open the door, do it slowly. Sudden movements might set them off.”

  “Anything could set them off. Heat signatures might set them off.”

  “They can detect those?”

  “They can travel at near-lightspeed, Imala. Who knows what they can do?”

  “It would’ve been nice to have known that before we set out.”

  “If you wait until you know everything, you never do anything.”

  “Who are you quoting? Ben Franklin? Sun Tzu?”

  “My father.”

  The dash gave a beep, signaling it was time for him to leave. Imala flipped off the interior lights. “You can do this, Vico. And if it gets to the point where you don’t want to do it anymore, then we turn around. We didn’t come here for either of us to die. We’ll do more good if we live. Remember that.”

  “Live. Yes. A good plan.” He turned the handle and slowly opened the door, easing it outward. When it was wide enough, he pulled himself out, weightless. The Formic ship was like a red mountain in front of him. He was nothing compared to it. A dot. A gnat. How could he possibly stop something so big?

  He slowly pulled out the duffel bag with his tools and the explosive, which suddenly felt hopelessly inadequate considering the size of the thing in front of him.

  The shuttle drifted forward. Victor eased the door closed.

  They couldn’t have the shuttle float into the Formic ship. Having the two touch felt like a risk. It was better if Imala stopped the shuttle shy of the ship and Victor flew the remaining distance alone.

  “I’m clear, Imala.”

  “Roger that. Go easy. Come right back if anything feels wrong.”

  “Everything feels wrong already. You should see the size of this thing. It’s like a moon.”

  “Firing retros,” she said.

  Near-imperceptible bursts of air slowed the shuttle. Victor continued on, floating toward the gleaming red metallic wall. No guns sprang out. No Formics emerged.