Earth Afire (The First Formic War) (2 page)

“Bingwen does.”

Meilin smirked. “Sure he does.”

“No, really,” said Hopper. “Tell her, Bingwen.”

Meilin turned to Bingwen, expecting the joke to end there, but Bingwen shrugged. “I get lucky, I guess.”

Meilin’s expression changed to one of disbelief. “Every answer? No wonder Mr. Nong gives you extra computer time and treats you like his little pet.”

Mr. Nong was the head librarian, a kindly man in his seventies whose health was poor and who only came to the library two days of the week now as a result. His assistant, Ms. Yí, who despised children and Bingwen most of all, covered for Mr. Nong on days like today when he was out. “She hates you because she knows you’re smarter than her,” Hopper had once said. “She can’t stand that.”

Meilin suddenly looked on the verge of tears. “But you can’t ace the test, Bingwen. You just can’t. If you do, you’ll raise the bar. They’ll only consider children next year who ace the test. And that’s when
I
take it. They won’t even consider me.” And then she
was
crying, burying her face in her hands. Several children nearby shushed her, and Hopper rolled his eyes. “Here we go,” he said.

Bingwen hopped down from his seat and went to her, putting an arm around her and guiding her into his cubicle with Hopper. “Meilin, you’re going to be fine. They won’t change the requirements.”

“How do you know?” she said through tears.

“Because Mr. Nong told me so. They’ve always done it this way.”

“Hey, at least you have a fighting chance,” Hopper told her. “They’d never take me. Even if I did ace the test.”

“Why not?” said Bingwen.

“Because of my bad leg, mud brain. They’re not going to waste government funds on a cripple.”

“Sure they will,” said Bingwen. “And you’re not a cripple.”

“No? Then what would you call me?”

“How do you know your legs aren’t perfect and the rest of us have bad legs?” said Bingwen. “Maybe you’re the only perfect human on Earth.”

Hopper smiled at that.

“But seriously,” said Bingwen. “They want minds, Hopper, not Olympic athletes. Look at Yanyu. She has a gimp arm, and she’s working on Luna doing important research.”

“She has a gimp arm?” Hopper asked, suddenly hopeful. “I didn’t know that.”

“And she types faster than I do,” said Bingwen. “So don’t say you don’t have a chance, because you do.”

“Who’s Yanyu?” asked Meilin, wiping away the last of her tears.

“Bingwen’s girlfriend,” said Hopper. “But I didn’t tell you that. It’s a secret.”

Bingwen slapped him lightly on the arm. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a friend.”

“And she works on Luna?” said Meilin. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone on Luna want to be
your
friend?”

“I’ll try not to take offense at that,” said Bingwen.

“She sent Bingwen something,” said Hopper. “Tell us what you think. Show her, Bingwen.”

Bingwen glanced at Ms. Yí, the librarian, saw that she was still busy, and hit play. As Meilin watched, more children gathered. When it finished, there were no less than twelve children around the monitor.

“It looks real,” said Meilin.

“Told you,” said Hopper.

“What do you know?” said Zihao, a twelve-year-old boy. “You wouldn’t know an alien if it bit you on the butt.”

“Yes, he would,” said Meilin. “If something bites you on the butt, you’re going to notice. There are nerve endings just below the surface.”

“It’s an American expression,” said Bingwen.

“Which is why English is stupid,” said Meilin, who always hated it when someone knew something she didn’t.

“When was this vid made?” said Zihao. He climbed up into the chair, clicked back on the site, and checked the date. “See?” he said, turning back to them, smiling triumphantly. “This proves it’s phony. It was uploaded a week ago.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Hopper.

“Yes, it does, mud brain,” said Zihao. “You’re forgetting about the interference in space. No communication is getting through. Radiation is crippling the satellites. If this was filmed in space a week ago, then how did it get to Earth with all the satellites down? Huh? Tell me that.”

“It was
uploaded
a week ago,” said Bingwen. “That doesn’t mean it was
filmed
a week ago.” He clicked through a series of screens and started scanning through pages of code.

“Now what are you doing?” asked Meilin.

“Every vid file has mountains of data embedded into it,” said Bingwen. “You just have to know where to look.” He found the numbers he was looking for and cursed himself for not checking this sooner. “Says here the vid was filmed over eight months ago.”

“Eight months?” said Hopper.

“Let me see,” said Zihao.

Bingwen pointed out the dates.

Zihao shrugged. “That’s just further evidence that it’s bogus. Why would someone record this and sit on it for eight months? That doesn’t make sense. If this were real they’d want everyone to know about it immediately.”

“Maybe they
couldn’t
tell people immediately,” said Bingwen. “Think about it. The interference has been going on for months now, right? Maybe these aliens are the ones causing it. Maybe their ship is what’s emitting all that radiation. So the people who recorded this vid couldn’t send it to Earth over laserline. Their communications lines were down.”

“Then how did it get here?” said Meilin.

“Someone must have hand carried it,” said Bingwen. “They got on a ship and they flew to Earth—or, more likely, they flew it to Luna. There’s no atmosphere there, and gravity is less. So it would be much easier to land there. And since the Moon’s close enough to us that communication between us and Luna is still getting through, we would hear about it here on Earth.”

“Someone flew eight months to deliver a vid?” said Zihao.

“The discovery of alien life,” said Bingwen. “What could be more important than that?” He tapped his monitor. “Think about the time line. It makes complete sense. Eight months on the fastest ship could take you pretty far out, maybe even to the Kuiper Belt. Precisely to the people who would first encounter something like this.”

“Asteroid miners,” said Hopper.

“Has to be,” said Bingwen. “They’ve got the best view of deep space. They’d see something like this long before anyone else did.”

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.”