“Caution is their action, Vico. Or at least that’s their justification. They’re sitting tight to see what happens. Everyone is hoping this will resolve itself. They’re acting like humans always act when war seems inevitable and most of the variables are still unknown. They’re playing the good-guy card and waiting for the other guy to shoot first.”
“The Formics don’t shoot first, Imala. They rip apart. They find life and they destroy it. They’re not interested in diplomacy or gathering around a table and making friends. They’re interested in breaking us wide open and bleeding us dry.”
They read on, but the situation only worsened. Riots were springing up all over the world—people taking to the streets to demand that governments take action. Deaths were reported. Governments continued to call for calm. The media discussed the vids Victor and Imala had uploaded as well. Experts scrutinized every detail, spending far too much time excusing the media for initially ignoring the vids. The vids did, after all, look like so many spookers out there.
When they finished reading, Victor said, “We can’t move on, Imala. We’re not leaving this depot. Not yet. Not until we see how this plays out.”
None of the other ships at the depot moved on either. And over the next few days, the number of ships only grew. Victor and Imala programmed the monitor to alert them whenever a new message came through, regardless of whether they were sleeping or not.
They stayed for days, reading the reports aloud to each other the moment they came in. Sometimes Victor became so frustrated with the idiocy of governments or the press that he would tell Imala to stop reading. Then he would retreat to the back of the shuttle to cool off.
“All that effort,” he told her, “all that time spent in the quickship so that Earth could prepare, so that countries could muster enough resources to take action, and nobody is doing anything.” He wanted to cry. He wanted to reach down through space and shake someone. “How can they be so fundamentally wrong?”
“Because the world doesn’t think like a free-miner family, Vico,” Imala said. “We’re not one people. We’re splintered, too concerned about our own people and agendas and borders. We’re one planet, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at us.”
Among all the idiocy, there were voices of reason as well. Several governments were as incensed and baffled by the inaction as Victor was. Germany, Australia, New Zealand, Argentina, South Africa. All were advocating forming a coalition to build an immediate defense. But Russia and China and the U.S. beat down the idea in the U.N. Security Council. Further provocation would only lead to further violence.
On the fourth day, with a small cadre of STASA ships acting as escorts, the hormiga ship reached Earth’s geosynchronous orbit and came to a full stop.
CHAPTER 10
Mothership
“What do you see?” said Bingwen. “Are they letting people inside the library?”
Above him, Hopper clung to a drainpipe on the side of one of the village houses. Even with his gimp leg, Hopper had always been a better climber. It was the position of his bad foot that gave him the advantage. Since the foot was turned slightly inward, Hopper got more of the sole of his foot on the surface of things without having to bow his legs. It allowed him to scurry up rickety pipes like this one despite it being wet and narrow. “There’s got to be at least four hundred people here,” said Hopper.
It was dark, well into evening, and the crowd was dotted with lanterns. Nearly everyone from the nearby villages had come to the library to see what would happen when the alien ship arrived. Bingwen’s parents were somewhere in the crowd, as was Grandfather. Bingwen had been standing with them, clinging to Mother’s hand. But as the crowd grew and shuffled forward toward the library, bodies began to push against each other, and Bingwen felt as if he might be crushed. Before Mother could stop him, he had ducked down and crawled through people’s legs behind him until he came out the back and found Hopper.
“Ms. Yí’s got the door closed,” said Hopper. “She’s getting up on a chair.”
Bingwen was desperate to see. He looked around him. There was a rain barrel to his right below a windowsill. He grabbed a fruit box from the trash pile and used it as a stepping stool to climb up onto the barrel. From there he pulled himself up into the windowsill. He didn’t have nearly as good a view as Hopper, but he could see over the crowd well enough.
Ms. Yí, the librarian, was motioning for quiet. “Please. Everyone, please. The library is closed. We will reopen tomorrow for the news feeds at normal business hours.”
The uproar from the crowd was immediate. “Let us inside!” someone shouted.
“We want to see the feeds!”
Ms. Yí waved for quiet again. “Even if I could let you in, we don’t have enough machines. You wouldn’t fit. If we hear any news, I’ll post it on the door.”
“You’ll open the door!” someone shouted.
“This is our library!”
“Push her out of the way.”
“They’re going to rip her arms off any second now,” said Hopper.