Earth Awakens (The First Formic War) (4 page)

“Free miners and corporate miners fighting side by side,” said Unna. “Two groups that don’t normally get along, am I right?”

“We’ve had our differences in the past, yes,” said Lem. “Corporations are typically more stringent adherents to the laws of the space trade. We pay tariffs, taxes. We cooperate in all respects with STASA, or the Space Trade and Security Authority. We don’t shy away from federal oversight. Free miners, on the other hand, take a more liberal approach to the economy of space. They see it as a frontier, where families should be able to establish their own rules and operate however they see fit. Naturally, those two disparate economical philosophies are going to collide when they’re forced to occupy the same space. But those days are over. We can no longer act independently. We’re stronger together than we are alone.”

“Would you say the same to the nations of Earth?” asked Unna. “Are we stronger together than we are alone? There have been very few alliances formed since this war began, and not a single significant coalition. China refuses to allow outside military assistance, despite the fact that the Formics are killing millions of their people. What’s your reaction to that?”

“Earth is our nation now,” said Lem. “Earth is our borders. The
them,
the enemy, is out there now. It’s not Russia or the U.S. or the Middle East. It’s the Formics. And it’s going to take all of us working together and combining all of our talents and resources to incinerate them. Until the world wakes up and recognizes that, until we all agree that we can’t operate independent of each other, defending only our little corner of the globe and nothing else, then we’re going to continue to lose this war. Sadly, that’s a lesson China has learned the hard way. I was elated to hear the news this morning that Chinese troops conducted a joint operation with the Mobile Operations Police and destroyed one of the Formic landers, but China must accept more help than that. I recognize that the Formics landed on Chinese soil, but China is not the only nation threatened here. The entire human race is in danger. We must put national security behind global security. Using MOPs is a step in the right direction, but we’re talking about twenty to thirty men, barely a platoon, hardly enough troops to stop the waves of Formic foot soldiers armed with bioweapons marching across southeast China. The Russians stand ready to help. So do the Americans and Australians and Indians. All China needs to do is open its borders and let its neighbors come to its aid.”

“We’re told Russian troops are crossing the border as we speak,” said Unna.

“Yes, in isolated places. And at every location, the Chinese are pushing them back, fighting them tooth and nail. The fear is that the Russians are really an invading force, that they won’t leave once the Formics are defeated, and frankly that’s a legitimate concern. Were I China, I’d be nervous as well. But China’s allies can help. NATO can offer assurances. The Americans can broker a pullout of troops. Let’s work together. Let’s unite against a common enemy. Otherwise we don’t stand a chance.”

“One more question, Lem. You stared into the face of a Formic. In the heat of battle, out there in the Kuiper Belt, you looked deep into a Formic’s eyes. What did you see there?”

“Their eyes aren’t like ours, Unna. They aren’t windows to their souls. Or if they are, they have no soul. Because there is nothing there, no compassion, no remorse, no friendship, no desire to understand us. There is only blackness, a deep, empty, vacant blackness.”

Unna thanked him for his time and the use of his home and wrapped up the interview. The producer stepped in and gave the order to kill the cameras.

The bright lights dimmed, and the camera operators began packing up their equipment. Simona was at Lem’s side with her holopad an instant later, gently taking his arm and leading him away from the bustle of the crew.

“Well done,” she said. “I liked the part at the end about the eyes. Very spooky. I got goose bumps.” She looked down at her holopad. “You only mentioned the company by name twice, but I’ll tell the PR people to get over it. You can’t be a robot. If you say Juke Limited too often, you’ll sound like you’re shilling.”

“I
am
shilling.”

“What you’re saying is important, Lem. It’s giving people hope. And right now people need all the hope they can get.” She typed something on her pad. “We’ll have to edit out all that talk about China, though. That can’t air.”

That annoyed him. “Why not? Because we have customers in China?”

She looked up at him, tired. “Do you have any idea how much ore the Chinese government buys from us every year, Lem? They’re not just a customer. They’re our third
largest
customer. It’s an important relationship to maintain. Angering the Chinese would send the Board into a tailspin.”

“Everything I said is true.”

She tucked her holopad under her arm and straightened his tie. “Be that as it may, these interviews are not podiums for geopoliticking. Focus on your story. That’s what people want to hear. Let the governments of the world focus on China.”

She was Father’s personal assistant, but she had offered to be on hand for all of Lem’s interviews for “moral support.” Lem knew full well that she was here on assignment from Father to ensure that Lem didn’t screw up, but he enjoyed having her around nonetheless.

“If I go on camera again, Simona, I want it to be with a real news outlet, not with a pink-haired bimbo. Please, for my own dignity.”

“Unna isn’t a bimbo, Lem. She’s huge all over Europe, particularly with eighteen- to thirty-five-year-olds. We’re hitting all demographics here. If we stick with traditional news networks, we’d be speaking only to geriatrics.” She straightened his suit coat and brushed off his lapel. “Now, you’ve got another interview in four hours. This one’s in Finnish, but don’t think that means you can say anything you want. I’ll have every word translated and approved before it airs.”

Lem smiled. “Don’t you think it’s sexy when I speak in Finnish?”

She rolled her eyes. “You also have a message from Dr. Benyawe. She called from your warehouse while you were in the interview. She wants you to call her immediately.”

Lem started moving for the door. “Cancel my next interview.”

Simona hurried to keep up. “He’s a celebrity reporter out of Helsinki, Lem. You’ll be doing it by holo. That’s your home country. You’re a national hero there. We can’t miss this one.”

“Cancel it.”

She caught his arm, stopping him. “Why? What does Benyawe want?” She studied his face. “Is she helping you send a team to the Formic ship? Is that what this is about?”

He pulled her to the side, out of earshot of the film crew, and lowered his voice. “Just cancel the interview. Please.”

In exchange for information, Lem had told Simona that he was preparing to send a small strike team to the Formic mothership. He hadn’t given her any of the details, but now he wished he hadn’t mentioned it at all.

Before she could object, he was out the door and making his way down to his skimmer. The warehouse was in a different dome on the other side of Imbrium, so it took Lem over an hour to get there. He parked on the launch pad beside the warehouse and moon-jumped to the entrance. Once inside, he turned on his magnetic greaves and walked across the warehouse floor, weaving his way through the piles of space junk. A few of the piles were as tall as he was, stacked with busted satellite parts and scraps of salvaged mining vessels. Victor and Imala had left it here unused, and it annoyed Lem that someone hadn’t cleaned it up.

He reached the far end of the warehouse and entered the conference room, surprised to find the overhead lights off. Dr. Benyawe was at the holotable, a half dozen screens floating in front of her, her face illuminated by their bluish glow. She was thin and lithe, even for a Nigerian, and although she was approaching her sixties, the years had been kind. Her hair was gray, but her skin was smooth and youthful. Dr. Dublin was asleep on a cot in the corner, still wearing his company jumpsuit, hair unkempt and mouth half open. He probably hadn’t showered in days. He and Benyawe had been taking shifts ever since Victor and Imala left.

Lem approached her and kept his voice just above a whisper. “Please tell me they’re not dead.”

She smiled, and in that single expression, all of Lem’s anxiety melted away. “I thought you would call first,” she said.

“I wanted to see for myself.” He turned to the screens in front of her. The largest showed the Formic ship, a giant red teardrop in geosynchronous orbit, silent and lethal and still. Another screen showed a three-dimensional rendering of Victor’s and Imala’s shuttle, with its current operations and functionality.

The plan had sounded brilliant when Lem had first heard it. Victor and Imala would camouflage a small shuttle, covering every inch of it with scraps of space junk to make it look like a useless piece of wreckage. Then they would drift toward the Formic ship and hope the Formics dismissed them as debris. If so, Victor and Imala could reach the ship without being vaporized by the Formics’ defenses and then enter the ship and sabotage the helm.

Lem had financed the whole thing, but now that Victor and Imala were underway and the money was all spent, the entire enterprise seemed ludicrous.

“Their shuttle reached the Formic ship an hour ago,” Benyawe said. “Victor has left the shuttle and flown untethered to the hull. He found a recessed area in the side of the ship where a cannon is normally stored, and he’s going to attempt to cut his way inside.” She moved her stylus through the holoscreens and brought one forward. It showed a rendering of Victor’s spacesuit. All of the data was at zero.

“Why aren’t we getting his biometrics?” Lem asked.

“We got some interference when he went into the ship. Imala still has contact with him. She’s recording everything on her end.”

“Can we see his helmetcam?”

“That’s an enormous amount of data to send. We’re keeping our contact with them to a minimum. If the Formics can detect communications, we don’t want to draw attention to the shuttle.”

“What’s Imala’s status?”

“She’s still in the shuttle, holding its position. She’s a better pilot than I thought.”

“They drifted like a hunk of debris, Benyawe. Anyone can fly a shuttle that slowly.”

“Drifting is the easy part. Keeping the shuttle close enough to the Formic ship that Victor can leap to it, and yet not so close that the shuttle threatens to touch the ship and alert the Formics, that’s hard.”

Lem turned to the screen showing Victor’s suit. “Can they hear us?” he asked. “Are we transmitting audio to them?”

She pocketed her stylus. “No. Why?”

He hesitated. It would be better to discuss this outside, alone. “Wake Dublin. Have him relieve you. Then meet me out in the warehouse.”

He walked out and stood by a pile of circuits and waited.

The warehouse was quiet and cool and smelled of rust and oil and old scraps of metal. All of the workers were elsewhere—probably making repairs to the structure and getting it back up to code. The warehouse manager had assured Lem when they moved into the building that it was safe to use for the time being, but he recommended they make drastic improvements as soon as possible.

That had been the first clear sign that Father had screwed Lem with this assignment.

At first Lem had been flattered by the position. “Executive Director of Mining Innovation, Kuiper Belt Division” was a lengthy title and—more importantly—had a ring of authority to it. It sounded like a hop, skip, and a jump away from a seat at the Board of Directors. And it seemed like a natural fit for Lem, who had just experienced firsthand all the challenges and opportunities of the Kuiper Belt.

But it had quickly become apparent that the position was worthless. The company had no plans to push into the Kuiper Belt. It took Lem all of twenty minutes to discover that. There were no plans to establish supply routes that far out, no plans to build more mining vessels that could endure those conditions and distances, no plans for establishing an economic infrastructure whatsoever. If anything, there was deep-seated resistance to the idea, especially from the finance division.

The final nail in the coffin came when Lem received a list of engineers assigned to his team: Benyawe, Dublin, everyone who had accompanied him to the Kuiper Belt, and not a soul more.

No doubt Father would argue that this was smart management—everyone on the team already knew each other and could therefore get to work immediately.

But Lem knew the truth of it. Father was clearly isolating him. He was keeping Lem as an employee as the media expected but not allowing Lem to interact with any executives and build any alliances. Even the warehouse Father had given him was isolated, far from the underground tunnels that were the bulk of corporate headquarters.

Father’s true intentions were made particularly plain when Lem realized how low his security clearance was. Most of the doors in the company’s tunnels would not open when he approached. When he removed the proximity chip from his wristpad that the company had issued him and compared its code with others, he learned that his clearance level was no better than the lowliest of employees.

Not very subtle, Father. You’re not even trying to conceal your contempt.

Benyawe came out of the conference room, squinting at the overhead lights. She saw his humorless expression and said, “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you have to say?”

“You’re not,” said Lem. “I’ve been withholding something from you, and it’s time I told you. My father is preparing to launch an attack on the Formic ship.”

She looked surprised. “When?”

“In three days.”

“With what, mining ships?”

“With the new Vanguard drones.”

Benyawe looked taken aback. “The drones? Those are still on the assembly line. They haven’t even been field-tested yet.”

The prospecting drones were Father’s newest industry innovation, a way to evaluate the economic viability of asteroids without the need of an expensive crew. Father had announced them to the world just before learning of the Formics.