Earth Awakens

by Orson Scott Card

  Li tossed Bingwen an MRE. "Eat."

  Bingwen peeled back the wrapper and bit into the wafer. It tasted like pork and cheese.

  "Permission to pose a question, Lieutenant Li, sir?"

  Li rolled his eyes. "I'm beginning to regret teaching you that. It's annoying." He bit into his wafer. "What?"

  "Why do the Formics leave our nonaggressive aircrafts alone?"

  "You don't have a theory?"

  "Yes, but it's based on little information."

  "Let's hear it anyway."

  "Back at my village, we would sometimes get these gnats. They'd buzz around in small swarms over the paddies, hovering in place and not really bothering us. Normally we would ignore them. But if you weren't paying attention and walked into their swarm, they'd get in your face and bite you."

  "So the Formics are gnats."

  "No," said Bingwen, "we're the gnats. I think the Formics leave the nonaggressive aircraft alone because they don't consider us a threat until we start biting. As soon as we get in their face, they realize we're there and brush us aside. Otherwise, we're insignificant to them."

  "So humans are gnats. Doesn't sound like you hold much confidence in the human race."

  "It's how the Formics perceive us. We think of them as an enemy. An equal. But maybe they see us as something far, far inferior, something barely worth their notice."

  "Maybe," said Li.

  "And if that's true," said Bingwen, "it makes me wonder what their true purpose is. A rice farmer doesn't come down to his paddies to swat at gnats. He comes to tend rice."

  "What's your point?"

  "My point is I don't think the Formics came here solely to kill us."

  "They've killed twenty million people, Bingwen."

  "Oh they're killing us. There's no question of that. And they're doing it effectively and intentionally. But that's not the primary reason why they're here. If it were, we would be their only target. They would always come after us. But initially they didn't. They killed all living things. Grass, trees, crops. All life. We need to ask ourselves why."

  "I'll ask you: Why?"

  Bingwen shrugged. "Some people might say that they're here to destroy the planet, that this is what they do as a species. They move through the universe killing all life. Maybe they're afraid intelligent beings will evolve enough to be a threat to them. So they kill everything to protect themselves against possible future attacks."

  "Kill your enemy before he becomes your enemy."

  "Yes."

  "Is that what you think?"

  "It's possible. Maybe even likely. But I don't think it's the only explanation. I think it far more likely that Formics are farmers."

  Li raised an eyebrow. "Farmers?"

  "Or whatever comes before farmers. Once, in my village, we had a few hectares of forest where we wanted to plant other crops besides rice. So we burned down the forest and cleared the land. It took awhile for the soil to heal, but once it did, it was rich and ready for planting. I think the Formics are doing the same, stripping the land to prepare it for crops. You can't just throw seed on the ground among what's already growing there and hope for the best. You have to remove everything that's currently seizing nutrients and start completely over."

  "It's called 'terraforming,'" said Li.

  "What's that?"

  "What you're describing. It means they're preparing the ground for plant life that fits their own protein structure. We've known this is what they're doing for some time now."

  "Why don't I hear people talking about this?"

  "You're eight years old. Adults don't have these conversations with children. And anyway most people are idiots. They don't care about the why. They only care about what threatens them."

  "I care about the why," said Bingwen.

  "Which is why you're on this train. The military needs people who ask why."

  They finished their meal, and the train pulled away an hour later, loaded with food and supplies. Other soldiers joined them in the passenger car, all of them heavily armed.

  Later, in middle of the night, the train suddenly stopped, throwing the passenger car into chaos. Equipment fell from storage compartments. Men tumbled from seats. Bingwen jerked awake.

  Li checked his wrist pad. "Something's wrong."

  He got up and moved toward the front of the train. Bingwen fell in behind him. When they reached the driver's cab, they found the engineer shaken.

  "What's wrong?" asked Li. "Why have we stopped?"

  "Bandits," said the engineer, pointing out the front window. "They've set up a barricade. I had to stop or we would have crashed."

  Bingwen went to the front window. The headlights of the train shined out into the darkness, illuminating thirty men ahead of them on the right side of the track. Most of them were armed with rifles, machetes, or farm tools. A large man sat on a horse at the front of the mob, a rifle resting in the crook of his arm. Thirty meters farther down the track, a huge bonfire made of felled trees burned in the center of the track, surrounded by heavy iron beams, old farming equipment, and large metal drums, all obstructing the way.

  Li grabbed the radio from the front console and switched it to external speaker. When he spoke, his voice boomed outside the train. "These tracks are the property of the People's Republic of China. To obstruct them is treason."

  The man on horseback must have had a projection device because his response was just as loud. "You are no longer in China. We have claimed our independence. The village of Chuanzhen and its lands are ours now. Your government forced us to grow cash crops instead of the crops we need to live on. Now we have no food. And since trade in this region has collapsed, how are we to survive? How can we feed our children? No one will accept our money because the whole financial system has shut down here. We have no choice but to charge you a tax for crossing our lands. We know you have food and supplies on board. Share what you have with us and we'll clear the track and let you go."

  "I am not the commanding officer on this train," said Lieutenant Li. "I cannot speak on his behalf. Let me consult with him and return with his answer."

  "You have three minutes," said the man on the horse.

  Li switched off the radio, unholstered his pistol, and gave it to the engineer. "Stay by this door," he said, gesturing to the side entrance. "If anyone tries to come inside, shoot them."

  The engineer took the gun, holding it daintily. He was not military.

  Li left the cab and moved back deeper into the train. Bingwen followed. In the third car they found fifty soldiers loading their weapons, checking their gear, putting on body armor.

  "There are about thirty of them," Li told the soldiers. "All of them are traitors. Some are armed with machetes and old hunting rifles. I doubt many of them can shoot straight, but take out the rifles first just in case. There may be more in the trees on either side of the train. Look for heat signatures. I suggest getting off near the back and then coming up on either side using the trees for cover. Once it starts, they'll break and scatter. Be quick and clean."

  They were going to kill the villagers, Bingwen realized. They were going to mow them down where they stood. It wasn't right. Most of the people looked half starved. They were simply trying to survive. His village probably would have done the same.

  Bingwen dared not speak up and object, however. That would be disrespectful. He would infuriate Li, which would make Li all the more insistent that they proceed with his plan. Nor could Bingwen run outside and warn the people. Li would arrest him as a traitor--or worse shoot him with the others. And besides, giving the people a warning would only put their rifleman on alert and lead to casualties on both sides.

  No, there was only one course of action to prevent bloodshed.

  Bingwen turned on his heels and walked back to the front of the train. He moved past the engineer without a word, opened the side door, and went outside. The night air was cold and smelled of bonfire smoke. A narrow ledge curved around the front of the train. It was m
ore than wide enough for Bingwen. He sidled to the front and shouted to get their attention.

  "Friends and respected elders. I am Bingwen. I am from a rice village south of here near Dawanzhen. I know you. I am one of you." He pointed to the man on the horse. "You are my uncle Longwei, my mother's brother, bold and strong and mindful of his family." He pointed to an old man with a rifle. "You are my grandfather, wise and kind and protective of his grandchildren. All of you are doing what they would do, to help their families, their village survive. Only they're dead, killed by the Formics."

  The people were silent, watching him. The horse whinnied. The bonfire crackled. The tree leaves rustled softly in the wind.

  "I saw them die. My friend Hopper and my cousin Meilin were two of the first, buried in a mudslide when the Formic lander set down by my village. Theirs was a quick death. They were lucky. Most in my village were killed by the gases. Children like me. Infants wrapped in their dead mothers' arms. My mother, my father." His voice cracked, the emotion welling up inside him, but he swallowed, controlled himself and moved on. "The Formics killed them all and left them to rot in the fields. You have not experienced such things this far north. You are hungry, yes, but you have been spared the worst of this war. If the Formics are not stopped, they will come here soon. And no amount of food, taken from us or grown in your own fields, can save you."

  He gestured to the train behind him. "On this train we have soldiers who are trying to figure out how to kill the Formics before they come to this village. I don't know if they'll be ready in time to save your people. But they might--if you let them pass."

  He scanned the crowd, letting his eyes meet theirs. "Or you could fight them, try to steal everything. Maybe you win, and kill the soldiers. You would eat for a few days, yes, but then who will defend you when the Formics come? Or maybe they win, and you die. What will your families do then?"

  The door on the driver's cab opened, and Lieutenant Li stepped out onto the ledge, his hands raised, showing he was unarmed. "The boy says it true. We can share what we have. We have food for a week's journey on the train. What if we divide it with you? We'll journey on half rations. You'll have food for a few more days. We won't have Chinese killing Chinese."

  Bingwen looked at him. Had Li had a change of heart? Had he seen the wisdom of what Bingwen was proposing?

  "Send four of your men onto the train," said Li, "and we'll give them boxes of food to carry."

  "How do we know this isn't a trick?" said the man on the horse. "You could hold my four men hostage, demand that we remove the obstruction. I need some assurance."

  "I will send out four of our men," said Li. "They will be unarmed. You can keep them hostage while your men recover the food. I assure you no harm will come to your men."

  The man on the horse considered for a long moment, then he turned to the mob and ordered three men to come forward. The men shouldered their rifles and approached the train. The man on the horse dismounted and joined them. Lieutenant Li opened the door for Bingwen to come inside. Four unarmed Chinese soldiers were in the driver's cab when Bingwen reentered. They wore no armor or gear. Li held open the door for them, and the four men exited the train. They then approached the mob, hands raised. A few in the mob held their rifles ready, just in case.

  The horse rider, their leader, came up the ladder first, followed by his three men. When they were all in the driver's cab, the horse man said, "I am Shihong. This is my son, Renshu. And these are my fellow free citizens, Youngzhen and Xiaodan."

  The men each bowed in turn. They were simple, humble people, Bingwen saw--farmers, with little to no education, most likely. Their clothes were warm but threadbare. They looked more like peasants than bandits.

  "I am Lieutenant Li of the People's Liberation Army. Won't you come this way please?" He motioned to the hallway leading from the cab into the train.

  Shihong, their leader, glanced out the front window and hesitated. Outside the four soldier hostages stood in the train's headlights with their hands behind their heads, defenseless. Shihong then turned to Bingwen and studied him, his eyes boring into Bingwen's. Whatever he saw there, it gave him his answer. He turned to Li and nodded. "Lead on."

  Li escorted them into the train. They passed through several passenger cars until they reached a cargo hold where dozens of pallets of supplies were stored, all lashed to the walls of the train. Bingwen exhaled. He had feared some trap.

  Shihong eyed the pallets, and a look of relief came over him. His eyes misted. He placed a hand on one of the food boxes and smiled. "What will you give us?" he asked, turning back to Lieutenant Li.

  "Exactly what you deserve," said Li.

  Then he raised a pistol and shot Shihong in the chest.

  Bingwen jerked, startled.

  Three more quick shots. The heads of the three other men jerked back, each leaving a spray of red mist in the air. They crumpled. Shihong stumbled back against the pallet of food. He blinked, looked at the red stain blossoming on his chest, then fell.

  Three soldiers stepped out from behind pallets in the cargo hold, each of them holding a rifle. Bingwen could hear more gunfire outside. Quick, automatic bursts.

  "Get them out before they bleed over everything," said Li.

  The three Chinese soldiers set their rifles aside. One of them slid open the side door, and a burst of cold air filled the cargo hold. The gunfire was louder now. Bingwen could see nothing but forest outside, but there were flashes of light from the gunfire ahead. The three soldiers dragged the dead men to the door and dumped them outside onto the gravel. It took two of them working together to move Shihong.

  Lieutenant Li tapped something into his wrist pad. "Very clever of you, Bingwen. Distracting them like that, winning their trust. That made this much easier."

  Bingwen stared down at the pool of blood by the pallet. It was thick and black in the semidarkness.

  All was quiet outside now. The four soldier hostages appeared at the door and climbed inside, each carrying a small pistol. More soldiers followed them in, wearing body armor and carrying heavy rifles.

  Li faced Bingwen "You hate me. But governments cannot tolerate banditry. Ever. We can't negotiate with bandits because it never ends. More people turn to banditry because it pays. Still, we did their village a service. Now they have thirty fewer mouths to feed. We may have just saved the lives of the rest of the villagers."

  Bingwen's eyes were vacant, his arms slack at his side. He stared at the blood.

  "And maybe we didn't," said Li. "But I saved the rations my soldiers need. I fed you. I kept you alive. Was I wrong?"

  "There is no right and wrong," said Bingwen. "You decided. You acted. You won. Now we clear the track and get the train moving again."

  Li nodded and holstered his weapon. "I see that you understand war."

  What I understand is you, thought Bingwen. Power without honor, order without civilization.

  He was not going to run away, he decided. He would go to this school. He would become a soldier. But he would not become the monster of war they hoped to make him. He would not become Lieutenant Li. He would become what the world needed. A Mazer Rackham. Decisive, yet kind. Lethal, yet gentle. Otherwise, the Lis of the world would run the military, and it would make no difference if we won or lost this war.

  CHAPTER 21

  Strike Team

  When the MOPs' shuttle arrived on Luna, they all came down the exit tube with such giant, clumsy, bumbling steps, bouncing off the walls and each other, laughing like a bunch of schoolchildren, that Victor was certain the whole operation was doomed to failure.

  "These are our super soldiers?" he whispered to Lem. The two of them were standing in the terminal, waiting to greet the arrivals.

  "They're not used to Luna's gravity," said Lem. "Everyone's like this their first time. They'll adapt."

  Two MOPs collided at the end of the tube and fell into the terminal on top of each other. This seemed like an invitation to the others to add to the dog pile
, and soon there was a mountain of flailing arms and legs in puffy spacesuits, amid laughter and curses and a good deal of shoving.

  "This isn't instilling in me much confidence," Victor said to Lem.

  Three more soldiers appeared in the tube, bringing up the rear. They moved with greater caution, taking measured steps. Victor recognized their faces through their visors: Wit O'Toole, Mazer Rackham, and Shenzu. By the time they reached the terminal, the other MOPs were on their feet and steadying each other.

  Wit shook hands with Lem and Victor. "So much for making a good first impression."

  "You made your first impression long ago, Captain O'Toole," said Lem. "Welcome to Luna."

  There were introductions all around. Victor had already learned their names and faces from their dossiers, but he made a show of learning them now.

  "Space born, eh?" said Cocktail. "We must look like a pack of uncoordinated imbeciles to you."

  "You'll get the hang of it," said Victor. "Right now your mind is accustomed to your body moving in a certain way. The gravity here throws that out of alignment. Once we get in zero-G, you'll find it much easier."

  They loaded into a large skimmer and left the gate, heading back toward the warehouse.

  "There are a few legal matters we must attend to before leaving Luna," said Lem. "I apologize in advance. Our corporate attorneys want to ensure that we don't get sued in the event of an injury or your demise. You'll need to sign a few things."

  "'Your demise,'" repeated Bungy. "I love lawyer-speak. 'Your demise.' It's so polite. In reality it means an alien gutted you and melted your face with toxic goo, but 'demise' is so much more delicate."

  "What's the difference between a porcupine and two lawyers in a sports car?" asked ZZ. After a silence he said, "The porcupine has the pricks on the outside."

  The men chuckled. Victor didn't get it. Apparently prick had multiple meanings.

  "What's the difference between a catfish and a lawyer?" asked Cocktail. "One is a bottom-dwelling, garbage-eating scavenger. The other is a fish."

  The men laughed. They were not at all what Victor had expected. He had envisioned gruff men with steely eyes and serious dispositions, lethal killers ready to snap a neck at a moment's notice. But these men were like his uncles and his father: easygoing, relaxed, a family. To Victor's surprise, this didn't unsettle him. If anything it put his mind at ease. He had worried that soldiers would scoff at his direction and dismiss him as so many others had done. But these men, like the men of home, seemed like the type who would listen to any idea, regardless of where it came from.