Earth Afire (The First Formic War) (3 page)

“I’m going to throw up,” said Meilin.

“Not on me,” said Hopper. “I just bathed.”

They took off at a jog along the narrow bridge of earth that separated two of the paddies, heading out into the vast fields of rice. They ran slower so that Hopper could keep up, but it was a good steady pace for distance running.

After a few hundred yards Bingwen glanced back at the staircase to see if Zihao was following. There were a few children coming down, but Zihao wasn’t among them. They didn’t slow their pace.

“What’s the plan?” said Hopper.

“For what?” asked Bingwen.

“Warning everyone,” said Hopper.

Bingwen smiled. He could always count on Hopper. “I don’t know that anyone’s going to believe us. I showed Ms. Yí, and she shrugged it off.”

“Ms. Yí’s an old water buffalo,” said Hopper.

They ran for half an hour, cutting across the fields that followed the bends and turns of the valley. When they reached Meilin’s village, she stopped and faced them at the bottom of the stairs. “I can make it from here,” she said, gesturing up to her house near the bottom of the hill. “What do I tell my parents?”

“The truth,” said Bingwen. “Tell them what you saw. Tell them you believe it. Tell them to go to the library and see it for themselves.”

Meilin looked up into the sky where the first few dozen stars had already appeared. “Maybe they don’t mean us any harm. Maybe they’re peaceful.”

“Maybe,” said Bingwen. “But you didn’t see all of the vid. The alien attacked one of the humans.”

Even in the low light Bingwen could see Meilin grow pale.

“Oh,” she said.

“But maybe they won’t come here to China,” said Bingwen. “The world is a big place. We’re only a tiny, microscopic dot on it.”

“You’re only telling me what I want to hear,” said Meilin.

“I’m telling you the truth. There are a lot of unknowns at the moment.”

“Even so,” said Meilin, “we’d be stupid not to prepare for the worst.”

“You’re right,” said Bingwen.

She nodded and looked more insecure than before. “Good luck. Stay safe.”

They watched her ascend the stairs and waited until she was inside her home before they started running again. They stayed in the fields, jogging along the narrow earth bridges that crisscrossed the fields horizontally and vertically, creating a huge patchwork quilt of irrigated paddies. When they were almost to their own village, the first boy appeared behind them, several paddies back. Then a boy to their right appeared a few paddies over, matching their speed in a run. A third boy on their left appeared next, watching them as he kept pace with them.

“We’re being corralled,” said Hopper.

“Boxed in,” said Bingwen.

Sure enough, the boys around them began closing in.

“Ideas?” said Hopper.

“They’re taller than us,” said Bingwen. “And faster. We can’t outrun them.”

“You mean
I
can’t outrun them,” said Hopper.

“No, I mean both of us. You actually have greater stamina than me. You have a better chance of getting through than I do.”

“Plan,” said Hopper.

“You run ahead and get my father. I hang back and keep them busy.”

“Self-sacrifice. How noble. Forget it. I’m not leaving you.”

“Think, Hopper. Stay and we both get pummeled. Run ahead, and we might not. I’m saving my skin as much as yours. Now go.”

Hopper picked up his speed, and Bingwen stopped where he was. As expected, the other boys closed in, ignoring Hopper. Bingwen turned to his left and stepped down the embankment into the nearest paddy. The water was cold and reached his waist. The mud was thick and squishy beneath his feet. The rice shoots were packed tightly together and tall as his shoulders. Bingwen scanned the edge of the paddy until he found one of the paddy frogs half submerged near the embankment. He scooped it up, stuffed the frog into his pocket, and made his way to the center of the paddy. By the time he reached it, the boys had arrived. Each of them took up a position on one of the paddy’s sides, leaving the northernmost side, the side toward Bingwen’s village, unguarded. Less than a minute later Zihao arrived at that end of the paddy, breathing heavily from the run. It was almost full dark now.

“Out of the water,” said Zihao.

Bingwen didn’t move.

“You ruined our time at the library, mud brain,” said Zihao. “How are we supposed to leave this hole if mud brains like you keep ruining our computer time?”

Bingwen kept his eyes toward the village, looking for an approaching lantern light to appear.

“I said out of the water,” said Zihao.

Bingwen said nothing.

“Get out now or I’m coming in after you.”

Bingwen stood still and silent.

“I swear to you I will break your fingers one by one if you don’t get up here now.”

Bingwen didn’t move. He wasn’t about to leave a defensive position. The water wasn’t much, but it was all he had.

The boys around him shifted uncomfortably.

“You think you’re so much smarter than everyone, don’t you, Bingwen? I’ve heard you speaking English into your computer. I’ve seen what you study. You’re a traitor.” He spat into the water.

Bingwen didn’t move.

Zihao was shouting now. “Get up here and face me, coward boy!”

Bingwen looked toward the village. No lantern light approached.

“I warned you,” said Zihao. He charged into the paddy, splashing water and not caring what shoots he pushed aside and damaged.

Bingwen didn’t flinch. He stood waiting, hands in his pockets.

Just before Zihao was within arm’s reach—and therefore hitting range—Bingwen turned on the tears. “Please don’t choke me. Please. Hit me if you want. Just don’t choke me again.”

Zihao smiled.

Poor Zihao, thought Bingwen. So loud and strong and yet so predictable.

Zihao’s hands seized Bingwen by the throat, which Bingwen had extended and turned at a slight angle so that this time Zihao’s thumbs would press against the side and muscle of Bingwen’s throat instead of directly into his windpipe. Not that Bingwen expected to be choked for very long.

Bingwen allowed himself to look panicked and then muffled his words, as if begging for mercy. “Pleaskk akk.”

Zihao’s smile widened. “What’s that, Bingwen. I can’t hear—”

Bingwen shoved the paddy frog, face-first, directly into Zihao’s mouth. He had needed Zihao to speak, and Zihao had walked right into it.

Zihao released Bingwen and recoiled, splashing backward and gagging, clawing at his face to get the frog free. But Bingwen was faster. Now he had his left hand behind Zihao’s head to steady him while his right palm pressed the frog deeper into Zihao’s mouth. The frog was too wide to fit completely, but that was ideal; Bingwen wasn’t trying to choke Zihao; he only wanted to distract him. Zihao gave a muffled scream, and Bingwen released the frog, grabbed Zihao by the waist, and brought up his knee fast and hard into Zihao’s crotch.

Zihao buckled and fell forward with a splash, his body limp, the frog slipping from his mouth and plopping into the water. Bingwen didn’t wait to see how the others would respond. He had to act oblivious to them, as if so filled with rage, they weren’t even a consideration. He screamed and raised a fist as if to bring it down hard on Zihao, who was now half submerged in the water and moaning. As intended, Bingwen’s fist hit the water just to the left of Zihao’s face and plunged downward, the momentum of the punch carrying his whole body straight down to the paddy floor, completely out of sight.

Before the water could settle, Bingwen turned his body and moved underwater in the direction Zihao had come. The shoots were parted and broken, giving Bingwen a wide enough path to move through without rustling many shoots and revealing his position. He didn’t swim or kick or do anything to disturb the water, but rather crawled along the bottom with his fingers and toes, pushing himself forward, digging at the mud. Twice he paused and turned his head to get a silent gulp of air, but even then he kept moving forward.

He didn’t know if they were coming for him, but he didn’t rise out of the water to see. The darkness and shoots would conceal him or they wouldn’t.

He reached the earth wall of the paddy, lifted his head, and allowed himself a look back. The boys were in the water around Zihao, helping him to his feet. Even if they ran for Bingwen now, they wouldn’t catch him. They’d be too hampered by the water; he’d have too much of a lead.

He crawled out of the water and ran, his clothes heavy and wet.

There was shouting behind him but no pursuit.

He reached the stairs of the village just as Hopper and Father were coming down, a lantern in Father’s hand.

“You’re wet,” said Father.

“But not bleeding,” said Hopper. “That’s a good sign.”

Bingwen bent over, catching his breath, fighting back the urge to vomit. “Did you tell him about the vid?” he asked Hopper.

“There was no time,” said Hopper.

“Tell me about it inside, where it’s warm,” said Father. He turned to Hopper. “My son is safe. Thank you. Your parents will want you home.”

Hopper looked as if he wanted to object and tag along, but he knew Father well enough not to argue. They parted ways, and Father led Bingwen home, where Mother and Grandfather were waiting inside. Mother took Bingwen into her arms, and Grandfather went to fetch a towel.

“Are you hurt?” said Mother.

“No,” said Bingwen.

“Here, by the fire,” said Grandfather, wrapping him in the towel.

Bingwen took off his shirt and dried himself by the hearth. Mother, Father, and Grandfather watched him, their faces lines of worry. He told them about the vid then, letting it all pour out of him. The alien. The extra pair of arms. How the creature’s hair and muscles moved in zero gravity. All the reasons why he believed it.

When he finished, Father was angry.

“I taught you better, Bingwen. I taught you to respect your elders.”

“Respect?” said Bingwen. Why was Father angry? He hadn’t even told them about Ms. Yí.

“Are you smarter than the government now?” Father said, his voice rising. “Smarter than the military?”

“Of course not, Father.”

“Then why do you profess to be? Don’t you realize that by reaching this conclusion on your own you are calling everyone who has seen the vid and
not
believed it a fool?”

“I call no man a fool, Father.”

“There are experts for this, Bingwen. Educated men. If they thought it was real, they would have taken action. There is no action, therefore it is not real. Know your place.”

Mother said nothing, but Bingwen could see that she took Father’s side. There was only disappointment and shame for him in her expression.

Bingwen bent low, putting his face to the floor.

“Do not mock me,” said Father.

“No mockery, Father. Only respect for those whose name I carry and whose approval I seek. Forgive me if I have brought offense.”

He wanted to argue, he
had
to argue. Aliens were coming, whether Father believed it or not. Bingwen knew it sounded ridiculous, but facts were facts. They had to prepare.

But what could he say that wouldn’t make Father angrier? The discussion was closed. Father would never watch the vid now, even if Bingwen brought it to him on a platter.

Bingwen remained prostrate for several minutes, saying nothing more. When he finally sat up, only Grandfather remained.

“Don’t anger your father,” said Grandfather. “It spoils the evening.”

Bingwen bent low again, but Grandfather got a hand under his shoulder and sat him back up. “Enough of the bowing. I’m not going to talk to the back of your head.”

Grandfather reached out to the table and took his cup of tea. They were silent a moment as Grandfather drank it.

“You believe me,” said Bingwen. “Don’t you?”

“I believe that
you
believe,” said Grandfather.

“That’s not a complete answer.”

Grandfather sighed. “Let us assume for a moment that something like this
might
be possible.”

Bingwen smiled.

“Might,” repeated Grandfather, raising a finger for emphasis. “Extremely unlikely, but possible.”

“You must go to the library, Grandfather, and see this vid for yourself.”

“And anger your father? No, no, no. I would rather enjoy my tea and sit by the fire in peace.”

Bingwen was crestfallen.

“What good would it do anyway?” said Grandfather. “Even if it were true, what could we do about it? Can we fight with sticks? Fly into space? Or should we pray?”

“Prepare to run away,” said Bingwen. “Pack what we need, and then bury it where we can get it quickly.”

Grandfather laughed. “Bury our belongings? Why? The aliens won’t care about our traveling food and clothing and tools.”

“We’re hiding it from Father,” said Bingwen. “Since he told me not to do this, I’m being very disrespectful, trying to save our family’s lives by making it possible for us to run away at a moment’s notice.”

“Your father will be furious when he finds out,” said Grandfather.

“He will only find out if and when we need the buried items,” said Bingwen. “By then, he will be grateful for them.”

They spoke quietly after that, making an inventory of the items they would need. It wasn’t until much later, as Bingwen was climbing into bed, his pants long since dried, that he realized that no one had even asked him why he had been wet.

CHAPTER 2

Victor

“Look at them, Imala,” said Victor. “They’re all going about their business as if nothing is wrong, as if this were another day in paradise.”

He was gazing out the window of the track car as it zipped by the buildings and pedestrians of Luna, Imala sitting opposite him, holding her holopad. “The whole world could be headed to ashes,” said Victor, “and nobody cares.”

Outside, the walkways were crowded with people: men and women in suits, maintenance crews, merchants at kiosks selling hot pastries and coffee. Nearly everyone wore magnetic greaves on their shins, which pulled their feet down to the metal walkway and forced them to move with a steady stop-and-go, robotlike gait. Only a few people were bounce-walking, relying solely on the Moon’s low gravity to hop about, and these were getting plenty of annoyed looks from those in greaves, as if to move about in such fashion were indecorous.