Earth Afire (The First Formic War) (23 page)

“Then get me Sergeant Major Manaware. Anybody. Now!”

“One moment.” The tech busied himself, then disappeared. Manaware appeared.

“Captain Rackham—”

Mazer cut him off. “Listen to me. The landers, the discs, they’re headed to southeast China. I can’t be certain, but I think they’re coming to us.”

“We’ve calculated a huge landfall radius,” said Manaware. “They could be going to anywhere in Southeast Asia. Hell, they could stop in the middle of the sky and switch directions. There’s no telling, Captain. We can’t be sure where they’re going.”

Mazer didn’t have time to argue. “Fine. Contact Colonel Napatu. I need permission to engage the landers if they do land here and prove hostile.”

Manaware looked at someone off screen and said, “Colonel, he’s asking permission to engage.”

“Is Napatu there?” said Mazer, incredulous. “Then put him on the line!”

Manaware stepped away and Colonel Napatu appeared. “Captain Rackham, what the hell is going on? I got China on the other line saying you’ve run off with two billion credits worth of tech.”

“Colonel, they cut off all the feeds. We were without any contact to—”

“You are on a diplomatic training mission, Captain Rackham. You are representing your country. And in case you didn’t know, our government and most of the free world is trying desperately to convince China to trust us and join a coalition against this alien ship. We need the Chinese, Captain. We need their shuttles and we need their firepower. Stealing their property and angering Chinese brass is not helping our cause. We are in the middle of a global security crisis. This is bigger than you and your team. Now fly that HERC back to base and kiss the feet of their commander. That is an order.”

Napatu winked out.

They were silent inside the HERC for a moment. Finally Reinhardt said, “So what do we do?”

“You heard the colonel,” said Fatani. “We have our orders. We return to base.”

“Yes,” said Mazer. “But the colonel was a little unclear on
when
to return to base. Did anyone else catch that?”

Reinhardt smiled. “I don’t recall a time. Surely an order like that can wait sixteen minutes, give or take.”

Mazer looked at the others. They nodded.

“All right,” said Mazer. “Buckle up. Patu get that news feed back on the sat uplink. Reinhardt, take us up. Way up. A few thousand feet. I want us in a position to see anything. Seal the windows. Pressurize us.”

“Hold on to something,” said Reinhardt. He engaged the gravlens, and the HERC shot straight up as if yanked upward on a string. It climbed higher and higher, the altimeter numbers clicking through fast. Two thousand meters. Three thousand. Six. Seven. In a minute they were higher than they had ever taken the aircraft. Mazer’s stomach churned. His ears popped. His head swam. He blinked, kept himself focused, and ignored the queasy feeling.

Below them, the landscape was green and lush, filled with tiny, watery squares of rice paddies like a green tiled mosaic laid across the Earth.

“Computer,” said Mazer. “Follow the projectiles. Monitor their speed. Then update the landfall radius in real time as they approach. Tighten that circle as much as you can.”

“Understood,” said the computer.

They hovered there, waiting, watching the landfall radius on the map, watching the sky.

The sat feed in Mazer’s HUD showed the first projectile hit the atmosphere, a glow of orange heat encircling the front. The speed of the lander immediately slowed, and the computer instantly made modifications to the map. The giant red circle that was the landfall radius suddenly jumped inward, becoming a smaller circle, a third of its original size. The circle no longer included the Philippines or Vietnam or Cambodia or Laos. Only southeast China remained.

“Mazer,” said Reinhardt.

“I see it,” said Mazer looking at the map.

“No, not there,” said Reinhardt. “There.” He pointed east out the windshield.

Mazer looked. A distance away, almost to the edge of the horizon, a long white contrail stretched behind the alien lander, the front of it a bright hot wall of heat.

CHAPTER 12

Mud

“We’re nearly there, Grandfather. We shouldn’t rest now. Look, you can see the village stairs from here. A kilometer at the most. Here, I’ll help you.” Bingwen extended his hand.

Grandfather swatted it away. “Did your parents teach you nothing, boy? Do your elders mean so little to you? If I say I need a rest, I will take one, and no
boy,
however closely related, will command me not to.” He muttered something under his breath, a curse perhaps, then leaned heavily on his staff, groaning and wincing and scowling as he lowered himself toward the ground. His strength failed him just before he reached it, and he fell with a
thud
onto his backside. Another wince. Another curse. Then he exhaled deeply, as if the air he had been carrying in his lungs had only added to his burden and he was glad to be rid of it.

After the chaos of the night, the morning seemed strangely normal. The sun had been up for only half an hour at the most, but already there were small groups of people in the rice fields all along the valley, bent over the shoots, working, chatting, going about their labor as if the previous night had been a dream. There were fewer people than usual though, Bingwen noticed. And those who were close enough for him to see their faces were all elders, hunched and wrinkled like Grandfather with their coned straw hats and sun-faded garments.

“You told him not to let you rest, Ye Ye Danwen,” said Hopper. “You’ve been saying it for hours. It’s not fair of you to scold him for doing exactly what you commanded.”

Grandfather swung his cane out, not hard, not intending to hit Hopper, but fast enough and with enough force behind it to scare Hopper and send him shuffling backward. Hopper’s bad foot tripped him up, and he fell back onto the dirt, nearly tumbling into the nearest rice paddy.

“Enough from you,” said Grandfather. “You’ve been chattering all night and I’m done with it. Home with you.”

He waved his hand wide, as if sending Hopper away.

Hopper rolled his eyes when Grandfather wasn’t looking, dusted himself off, and went back to sit by Meilin, who was squatting on an embankment nearby, poking at the nearest rice shoots with a stick.

Hopper was right of course. Grandfather
had
told Bingwen on multiple occasions throughout the night that he was not to let Grandfather sit down again. “Keep me moving, Bingwen,” he had said. “It hurts too much to get back up again.”

And so Bingwen had tried: rushing over whenever Grandfather made a move to sit down, urging Grandfather on, pleading, pulling, reminding Grandfather of the pain that awaited him when he got up again. But on every occasion Grandfather had only grunted and resisted and cursed and scolded and sat down anyway.

And an hour or so later—because Grandfather would always take that long, regardless of how many times Bingwen urged him up again—Grandfather would struggle upward, his bones creaking and paining him so deeply that he’d apologize to Bingwen for being old and foolish and “Please please please, don’t let me sit down again.”

It was maddening. Stop me, Bingwen. Don’t stop me, Bingwen. Do as I say, Bingwen. Don’t do as I say. Bingwen would give anything for a truck or a skimmer.

Grandfather began to lie down in the dirt, and Bingwen came over and helped him, getting his hands under Grandfather shoulders and lowering him gently down.

“There are people in the fields, Grandfather. Let me find some who can carry you the rest of the way.”

“I have two feet, boy. Let me use them. I will not be the burden of any man.”

Oh, you won’t burden any man, thought Bingwen, but you will burden
me
.

Then he instantly felt ashamed for having thought such a wretched thing. It was Grandfather who had believed him about the aliens when no other adult had, Grandfather who had helped him pilfer cans of food and bags of rice and bury it all in the earth, Grandfather who had shown him how to build the ladder to get into the library many years ago. Always Grandfather.

For a moment Bingwen considered running ahead to the village and getting Father anyway. But then the thought of Father only angered him. He shouldn’t have left us, thought Bingwen. He should have come back for us after getting Mother home.

No, if Father didn’t come on his own accord, Bingwen wasn’t going to get him.

Hopper and Meilin giggled, poking the stick at a paddy frog who hopped away from them and splashed in the water.

Bingwen got up and went to them. “He’s asleep again. You should both go home. Your parents will be sick with worry. Grandfather and I don’t need you now.”

“And do what at home?” said Hopper. “Get a lashing for staying out? A fist to the ear. No thanks.”

“I told you to go home hours ago. You should have listened.”

Hopper shrugged. “This is fun.”

“Fun?” Bingwen wanted to shake him. “Dragging Grandfather through the valley is fun? You’re being stubborn and stupid, Hopper. Both of you. Wasting your time out here laughing and teasing each other. You should be home, helping.”

Hopper was on his feet, angry. “Helping do what? You said we were fine, Bingwen. You said nothing was going to happen. You said it’s a big world and we’re a tiny part of it.”

Bingwen could feel his face flushing with fury, tears welling up in his eyes. Everything was building up and crashing down inside him all at once. Grandfather’s stupid old bones and the aliens and Father not coming and the cold of the night and Hopper giggling. “I said that on the roof to keep you from crying, Hopper. I said that to help. Which is more than you’re doing for me. All night long you and Meilin have been yapping and telling stories and poking with sticks, like this is all a game. Don’t you realize what’s going on? Don’t you see the danger we’re in? There are creatures above us, monsters with maws and claws and muscles and strength, hanging over us like spiders, and you skip and giggle and chase frogs like we’re having a birthday.”

Hopper glared. “Oh some friend you are. I go with you into the library, I
steal
for you, I freeze my butt off out here so you won’t be alone, and this is the thanks I get.” He poked Bingwen in the chest. “You’re just mad because Meilin is having more fun with me than she ever had with you.”

Bingwen blinked. What? Meilin? What did any of this have to do with Meilin? But then he saw Meilin’s cheeks flush with embarrassment before she turned away and Bingwen understood at once. Why hadn’t he seen it before? All through the night as Hopper and Meilin had lagged behind, the two had chased each other and needled each other and laughed and seemed oblivious to Bingwen and Grandfather. It had annoyed Bingwen, but for none of the reasons that Hopper thought. Did he honestly think Bingwen was … what? Jealous? How could Hopper imagine even for an instant that Bingwen and Meilin could ever be anything other than cousins?

“You know what?” said Hopper. “I
will
go home. Because I’d rather get boxed on the ear by my father than yelled at and insulted by someone I
thought
was my best friend.”

He turned and began limping away.

Bingwen opened his mouth but no words came out. What would he say? That he was sorry? That he hadn’t meant to lash out? That he was grateful that Hopper had come? That Hopper
was
his best friend and that it was he, Bingwen, who was acting like a fool? Yes, he would say all of that.

Someone was shouting in the valley, their voice frantic.

Bingwen turned. A distance away some workers were pointing in the sky, shouting. Bingwen’s eyes followed their fingers and he saw it. A ball of fire in the sky. Burning through the atmosphere.

It was the ship, he told himself. The ship was coming down on them.

He ran to Grandfather, kneeling beside him, shaking him. “Wake up! Grandfather! Wake up!”

The old man roused, confused, disoriented.

Bingwen looked up again. The ship was still a distance away, bearing down on them, aiming for them. It seemed low to the ground, but Bingwen knew better. That was the curvature of the Earth playing tricks. The ship was still high in the air. They had a few seconds.

He shook Grandfather again. “Get up!”

“Wha … what is it?” Grandfather said, coming to himself.

“It’s coming!”

Bingwen pointed. Grandfather looked, his eyes widening.

Bingwen wanted to scream to Hopper and Meilin to run, but where would they run to? If the ship hit the Earth like an asteroid with enough force, they were all dead. Everything would be decimated. The shockwave would kill them instantly.

Hopper had stopped cold, standing there stupidly, staring up into the sky. Meilin was beside him, too afraid to move.

Grandfather tried to get up, but cried out and fell back again.

Bingwen looked behind them. The embankment. They were lying on the top of the earthen bridge between two paddies. He had to get Grandfather to the far embankment, away from the ship. He hooked his fingers under Grandfather’s armpits and pulled. Grandfather cried out, but Bingwen didn’t care. He pulled, straining, gritting his teeth. Grandfather barely moved, edging inch by inch toward the embankment. They weren’t moving fast enough, Bingwen realized. He needed help.

“Hopper!” Bingwen shouted.

Hopper didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

Bingwen strained, pulling, digging his feet in the ground for purchase. He wasn’t going to make it. The ship was going to crush them.

He glanced up at it. The fire in the front had vanished; it was free of the outer atmosphere; it was right on top of them, bearing down, growing larger by the second, as big as a village, as ten villages, twenty.

Meilin was screaming.

Bingwen pulled. Grandfather howled at the pain. Hopper was a statue.

Then the sound of it reached them. A sound like nothing Bingwen had ever heard. Like the roar of an engine and the scream of a monkey and the cry of a thousand different things at once, deep and resonating that shook the earth.