Earth Awakens (The First Formic War)

by Orson Scott Card

  In your letter you ask about Mono. It breaks my heart to tell you that he snuck back on to El Cavador before the WU-HU ship had decoupled. I’m so sorry, son. He was on El Cavador when it was lost.

  I wish I could be there with you to give you this news. It seems so cold and impersonal to do it this way. I know he was like a brother to you. I hope you find some comfort in knowing that you were always in his thoughts. From the moment you left, you were always the subject of conversation if Mono was around. Vico this and Vico that. His love for you was as pure as any little boy’s can be. Remember him, son. And let his love for you make you stronger.

  I’m sorry you learned about your father from Lem Jukes. That angered me more than you know. When I see you next, I will tell you all and we can grieve together. In the meantime, to answer your question, I am fine. Losing your father was like losing myself, but I am holding tight to memories and finding peace wherever I can.

  You mentioned that you plan to attack the Formic ship with a team of soldiers. Don’t. I know it’s cruel and selfish of me to ask such a thing, but I’m going to be cruel and selfish. The thought of losing you so soon after finding you is almost unbearable.

  Build whatever they need. Design whatever the mission requires. Give them every scrap of brilliance that brain of yours can produce. But don’t give them you.

  You need to experience life, Vico. There is so much you haven’t lived. Fall in love. Be loved by someone in return. Have children, as many as your future wife can give you. Love them. Grow old with them. That is a joy you have not yet experienced, and it is the greatest joy of this life.

  Maybe it’s this Imala girl. I like her spunk. You don’t mention her age, but if she’s working and out of college, she’s got a few years on you. So what. I was four years older than your father, as you know. And he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Stay alive, son. That’s all I ask.

  From the moment you’ve left, I’ve kept you close, and that’s where you will always be.

  All my love,

  Mom

  CHAPTER 16

  Holopad

  Bingwen set up the doctors’ clinic in an alcove on the lower level of Dragon’s Den. Kim had come through with so many doctors willing to help staff the clinic via holo that Bingwen could have opened a small hospital if he had had that many holopads to work with. But, as it happened, he had only been able to scrounge up six—begging donations from those who owned one and raiding the supply closets when the soldiers weren’t looking. But six holopads amounted to six doctors, and that was more than the people had enjoyed before.

  “Tell me where it hurts, Ni Ni,” Bingwen asked the old woman in Chinese.

  The woman was stooped and frail, with gnarled hands as wrinkled as raisins. They were seated at a small table, atop of which lay a holopad. Above it, hovering in the air, was the head of a doctor from Fresno, California.

  The connection was strong. Bingwen had set up several repeaters from the equipment upstairs, and the resolution of the doctor’s face was so clear, it was almost as if he were there.

  There were five identical setups elsewhere in the alcove. Each with a patient, holopad, doctor’s assistant, and doctor. A line of fifteen people waiting to be seen extended out of the alcove and into the main tunnel.

  The old woman said, “It would be easier to list off where it doesn’t hurt, little one. Every part of me that bends aches like fire. Knuckles, hips, knees, toes. I’ve got more arthritis than a geriatric ward.” She laughed and showed that half her teeth were missing.

  Bingwen gave her a warm smile. Then he leaned his face into the holofield and translated what she had said.

  The doctor from Fresno was one Bingwen had never worked with before, a young general practitioner who looked Chinese and had a Chinese name but who couldn’t speak Chinese to save his life.

  “Is she allergic to any medication?”

  “No,” said Bingwen. “I already asked her that. In the past she’s mostly taken antiinflammatory drugs along with a pain med called glordical. Are you familiar with that one?”

  “Yes, but I doubt you have that on base.”

  “We don’t. Last time I checked we had six pain meds.” He rattled off the names to the doctor and waited.

  The doctor prescribed her one and gave Bingwen very specific instructions about the dosage. Then he made Bingwen repeat it all back to him.

  It always went this way when Bingwen worked with a new doctor. They always spoke to him as if he were a toddler, as if children were incapable of anything. Usually, when they first saw Bingwen, they would assume there had been some mistake and they would insist on speaking to an adult. And Bingwen would have to go and get one of the adults who worked as doctors’ assistants to come over and reassure the doctor that yes, Bingwen is in fact a doctor’s assistant and yes he is in fact quite capable. The doctors never believed the adults, but they had no choice but to work with whatever assistant they were given.

  So they would sigh and shrug and shake their heads in exasperation, and then they would charge ahead and hope for the best. After a few patients, they would realize that Bingwen wasn’t as incompetent as they had assumed, and things would proceed much faster.

  A few of the doctors who worked with Bingwen had even started asking for him by name. They had quickly learned that no one spoke English as well as he did, and that made all the difference in the world. Visits were faster, diagnoses were more accurate, and patients got the best care when the language wasn’t a stumbling block.

  But translation wasn’t the only area in which Bingwen excelled. As a doctor’s assistant, he was the doctors’ eyes and hands on this side of the world, and he had quickly learned his duties over the last seven days. He could take blood, administer shots, check vitals, conduct bone scans. He knew when a blood-pressure reading was high and when a liver-enzyme reading was low. He knew what lungs with pneumonia sounded like and what an infected eardrum looked like. He had become so good in fact that oftentimes the other doctors at the other stations would ask for him to step in and help the doctor’s assistant with something beyond mere translation.

  So he wasn’t surprised when Pipo tapped him on the shoulder and told him he was needed over at Station Four.

  Bingwen finished with the old woman and explained where she needed to go to pick up her prescription from the medical officer. Then he left his screen and hurried over to Station Four. To his surprise, there wasn’t a patient waiting. Nor a doctor’s assistant. Both chairs were empty. But the holopad was there, with an empty holofield above it. That either meant no one was there or the person on the other end didn’t want to be seen.

  Bingwen climbed up into a chair and put his face into the field.

  Kim’s head was there on screen.

  Bingwen smiled. “Is this a personal call? There’s no patient here.”

  Her expression was serious. “Bingwen, I think you’ll hear me better with the audio bud in your ear.”

  He understood immediately. He put the earpiece in, picked up the holopad and left the alcove. He found a side tunnel nearby that led to an empty storage closet. Bingwen slipped inside and locked the door behind him.

  “Alone and private,” he said.

  Kim relaxed. “There are some people on the line with me, calling in from Luna. They want to talk to you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I’ll let them explain. Will you speak with them?”

  “Put them on.”

  Two other heads appeared in the holofield. One was a woman—early twenties, sharp features, dark complexion, black hair. The other was a man, a few years younger. He was ethnic as well, but different. South American maybe.

  “Hello, Bingwen,” said the woman. “My name is Imala Bootstamp. This is my friend Victor Delgado.”

  The names meant nothing to him. “How can I help you, Ms. Bootstamp?”

  “I need to speak with Captain Wit O’Toole and Captain Mazer Rackham. I’m told you’re at the same facil
ity where they are.”

  Bingwen felt uneasy. He wasn’t sure if he should reveal anything to this woman.

  “I’m making you uncomfortable, Bingwen,” said Imala. “I don’t mean to. I know you want to protect Captain O’Toole and Captain Rackham. I don’t mean them any harm. I need their help.”

  “Are you reporters?”

  Imala smiled. “Hardly. We’re working with a team of engineers on Luna to infiltrate and destroy the Formic ship.”

  “Infiltrate? You mean get inside? Don’t the Formics vaporize every ship that approaches it?”

  “Every ship but ours,” said Imala. “We’ve reached it, Bingwen. We’ve already been inside it. And while we were there we found a weakness. We think we know how to destroy it. Only, we’re not soldiers. We need a capable, organized strike team to partner with us. We were hoping the MOPs would at least hear us out.”

  “Why contact them through me?” said Bingwen. “Why not go through the military?”

  “We heard about the doctors’ program you set up. That put us in contact with Dr. Arnsbrach. When she told us of your connection with Mazer Rackham, we knew we had our answer.”

  “Also, you asked the military already and they said no,” said Bingwen.

  “Correct.”

  “Why not contact Wit through his superiors at Strategos? Or Mazer’s superiors in New Zealand?”

  “We tried that as well,” said Imala. “Neither have had any contact with Captain O’Toole or Captain Rackham since right before they left India. The Chinese at Dragon’s Den are restricting any outside communication.”

  “I don’t know how to help you,” said Bingwen. “Wit and Mazer are in a restricted area. I can’t reach them.”

  Imala seemed crestfallen. “I see.”

  “But if you prove to me that this is legitimate, if you can show me that you have in fact penetrated the ship’s defenses, I’ll do everything I can to connect you with the MOPs.”

  “How will you reach them?” asked Imala.

  “Let me worry about that,” said Bingwen. “Kindly show me proof, and I’ll do what’s necessary.”

  Imala nodded. She looked down at something on her console on her end. “We’re sending you a clip, Bingwen. It shows you the inside of the Formic ship’s cargo bay and the wreckage from human ships collected there. Along the wall, you’ll see Formics pulling carts. Do you see it?”

  The vid had started playing in the holofield to Bingwen’s right. He stared at it. “Yes. I see it. Who took this vid?”

  “I did,” said Victor.

  “And you can get a team of soldiers back in there?” asked Bingwen.

  “I will or I’ll die trying.”

  The was good enough for Bingwen. “Send me your uplinks. I’ll take a holopad to Wit and Mazer and connect them to you directly. Give me a few hours.” He disconnected the call, put the holopad into his knapsack, then went and found Pipo.

  “I need to get inside the restricted area and see the MOPs,” he said.

  “That’s impossible,” said Pipo. “There are guards, hololocked doors. You’d never get in.”

  “I have to try. But I need your help. Can you pretend to be my sister?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Your sister? Why?”

  “I need someone to argue with me and validate my story. It’ll be more believable that way.”

  “You’re asking me to argue with you?”

  “And hit me as hard as you can.”

  Pipo smiled. “I like this idea.”

  He told her what he had in mind and they made their way to the commissary where the officers ate. The trick was to pick the right target. It needed to be an officer of high rank, someone who had access to the entire facility and who could access MOPs without first going to a superior. A colonel or higher, Bingwen figured. And he needed to be an unsympathetic soldier, a real rulebook zealot.

  Bingwen knew he couldn’t break into the restricted area. There was too much tech, too much security. But he also knew he didn’t need to. As long as adults thought they were in control and making the decision, you could get them to do whatever you wanted.

  He and Pipo hid in the tunnel outside the commissary until Bingwen saw the perfect candidate: a callous-looking colonel who snapped at a junior officer for not immediately forfeiting his place in line for someone of superior rank. The junior officer bowed and begged pardon, but the colonel kicked the man out.

  “You want to talk to that guy?” asked Pipo. “He’s a buffalo butt.”

  “Exactly,” said Bingwen. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out a map of an abandoned military base where he and the MOPs had once camped. It wasn’t the perfect prop for the job, but it would have to do.

  He and Pipo waited until the colonel finished his meal and made his way back to his vehicle parked out in the tunnel. Then Bingwen ran up to him with the map in his hand and bowed low.

  “Please, sir, please take this. One of the Anglo men must have dropped it.”

  The colonel looked ready to give Bingwen a kick then stopped. “Anglo men?”

  “In the restricted area,” said Bingwen. “Please. Could you return it? I’m sure the man will want it back.”

  The colonel snatched it from Bingwen’s hand and examined it. Deen had scribbled a few notes on the map, identifying a few of the buildings in English as Bingwen translated the Chinese characters.

  “You say this came from one of the Anglo men?” the colonel said. “That’s impossible. They don’t come over here.”

  Bingwen looked uncomfortable. “No, sir. They’re not supposed to. But … he … I mean, the man … sometimes at night…”

  The colonel narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What man?” He grabbed Bingwen by the shoulder. “Answer me.”

  Pipo ran up on cue and bowed low. “Sir, forgive my brother. He is a fool. I will take that map. It belongs to our sister.”

  Bingwen glared at her. “Go away, Pipo. I’m giving it back.”

  “It’s not yours to give, Bingwen. It belongs to Ju-long.”

  “Who is Ju-long?” said the colonel.

  “Our older sister,” said Pipo. “She prizes that map, sir. Ignore my brother.”

  “Did one of the Anglo men give this to your sister?”

  “We do not want trouble, sir,” said Pipo. “Forgive the intrusion. You are a busy man. We will not bother you any further.” She extended her hand for the map.

  The colonel clung to it. “I asked you a question.”

  “You’re making it worse,” Bingwen said to Pipo. “Go away.” He looked back at the colonel. “It is not Ju-long’s fault, sir. She is beautiful to look upon. She did not ask for the visitor.”

  “Visitor, eh?” said the colonel. “When? When did he see her?”

  “Don’t say another word, Bingwen,” said Pipo.

  “Please do not fault Ju-long,” Bingwen said to the colonel. “She is eighteen. He promised to marry her after the war, take all of us out of China.”

  “Shut up,” said Pipo.

  “I do not believe the man, sir,” said Bingwen. “He only says what Ju-long wants to hear. He gives her gifts to be alone with her. Like this map.”

  Pipo clenched her fists. “I said shut up, Bingwen.”

  “You must give him back the map,” said Bingwen. “Then he will think Ju-long is not interested. He will not come anymore.”

  Pipo hit him. A swat on the arm, the face, the back, the head, anywhere her flying hands could reach him.

  The colonel pulled them apart and pushed Pipo away, who had started crying.

  “You’ll ruin it!” she screamed to Bingwen. “You’ll ruin everything!” She turned and ran away.

  The colonel grabbed Bingwen by the collar. “What does this man look like?”

  Bingwen cowered slightly, afraid. “All Anglos look alike to me, sir. I would know him on sight, but I don’t know how to describe him. A soldier, strong, short hair. When he comes next, I’ll make note of his features.”

  Th
e colonel considered a moment then opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  Bingwen’s eyes widened. “But … where are we going?”

  “I said get in.” The colonel grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and forced him inside.

  They drove through two security checkpoints and down several side tunnels. None of the guards stopped them.

  The colonel parked and led Bingwen through a series of secure doors, holding tightly to Bingwen’s collar as if he feared Bingwen would run away. They barged into a large briefing room where Mazer and the MOPs and a half dozen senior Chinese officers were gathered around a holotable filled with schematics and maps and images. The room fell silent. Everyone turned to Bingwen and the colonel.

  “Point to him!” said the colonel. “Point to the man!”

  Bingwen looked at all of their faces. He met Mazer’s eyes and gave him the subtlest of nods, hoping Mazer would understand.

  “Well?” said the colonel. “Who was it?”

  A Chinese soldier without any rank on his jumpsuit stepped forward. “Colonel Chua. To what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

  The colonel grabbed the back of Bingwen’s collar again. “Major Shenzu sir, you will pardon the interruption, but you have a security breach that must be resolved. One of these Anglos has been sneaking into the civilian barracks and cavorting with a woman.”

  Shenzu frowned. “That is a serious accusation, Colonel. I’m assuming you have proof of this?”

  The colonel pushed Bingwen forward. “Point to him, boy.”

  Bingwen walked up to Mazer, took the holopad from his knapsack, and gave it to him. “This is yours, Captain Rackham. I stole it from your pack before you went off to destroy the lander. It was wrong of me. I am sorry.”

  Mazer took the device and examined it. “Yes. I was wondering what had happened to this. You shouldn’t have taken this, Bingwen.”