Ms. Yí looked defiant. “The regional director will hear about this!”
Another shoe flew, and Ms. Yí squealed again and retreated, covering her face with her arm. More laughter. Bingwen watched her go, feeling sorry for her.
Ms. Yí stopped at the library door and shined her light toward the roof. “You will never set foot in this building again, Bingwen. You understand? You either, cripple.”
“Eat farts, pig face!” Hopper shouted.
More people laughed and Ms. Yí disappeared inside.
“Smart,” said Bingwen. “Now you’ll never get to take the test.”
“She wasn’t going to let us take it anyway. Besides, we don’t need her. We’ll come back at three in the morning and take the test then. Right, ladder boy?”
They went back to watching the broadcast. The street reporter was interviewing someone when the anchor interrupted him and the feed switched to live coverage of the alien ship in space. Several news shuttles had tentatively approached it, and these gave the alien ship a sense of scale. It was bigger than Bingwen expected. He had seen all the evidence Yanyu had forwarded him; he had examined all the data and holos the free miner had uploaded. Yet numbers were merely numbers. This was the real thing, larger than anything humans had ever dreamed of building.
The crowd of villagers was silent now. No one moved. Hopper was wide-eyed and rigid with fear.
The commentator’s voice said, “An envoy from the United Nations is now approaching the alien ship, which for the past forty minutes has not changed its position or moved.”
What is it doing? Bingwen wondered. Why is it just sitting there? Is it waiting for us? Attempting to communicate?
In space, a distance from the alien ship, a small ship approached, escorted by two news shuttles. The feed switched to cameras from the shuttle escorts, and Bingwen saw that the approaching ship was light blue and emblazoned with the mark of the United Nations. The feed switched again to cameras inside the ship, where a dark-skinned man stood anchored to the floor in formal attire, smiling like an idiot.
The commentator’s voice was almost a whisper now. “We go now to U.N. Secretary of Alien Affairs Kenwe Zubeka, who carries with him gifts and tokens of peace from a hundred and eighty-seven countries.”
The U.N. ship stopped within a few kilometers of the alien ship. A platform detached itself from the underside of the U.N. ship and floated forward. A massive disc-shaped holo flickered to life above the platform like a Frisbee.
The news broadcaster said, “U.N. delegates from twelve different nations insisted that Secretary Zubeka have a military escort, but Zubeka refused, saying quote, ‘We will not aim a gun with one hand and offer a token of peace with the other.’”
Inside the ship, Zubeka spread his arms. “Welcome. On behalf of the people of Earth, I extend a hand of fellowship to you, our brethren of the universe.”
A voice on the feed translated Zubeka’s words into Mandarin.
“We present you with this hologram, a show of our hope for peace and mutual respect between our species.”
Above the disc a giant holo of a dove with an olive branch in its beak flapped it wings, as if taking flight.
Bingwen sighed. A dove? That means nothing to this species. They’ve never seen one and have no idea what it represents.
“This creature is a dove,” said Zubeka. “A symbol of our—”
Hundreds of globules of light exploded from a point on the alien ship and rained down on the dove, disintegrating the platform beneath it. The hologram winked out, and the villagers watching gasped and recoiled.
Zubeka’s smile waned, but he strained to keep his composure. “They must be offended that I didn’t come forward in person.”
The cameras from the news shuttles swiveled and zoomed in on the alien ship, where a section of the hull had slid open and a strange, elongated device was protruding from inside. Clearly a weapon of sorts. Zubeka kept his eyes forward but gestured to the captain of the ship to his right. “Captain, perhaps we should give the ship some space.”
The captain spun to one of the flight controllers. “Back us up! Get us out of—”
A second burst of light shot forth, engulfed the U.N. ship, and shattered it to bits.
The villagers screamed. Hopper scrabbled backward, screaming, frantic. The alien gun rotated, fired again. A news shuttle vaporized. Then another. A third one turned and tried to flee, but the aliens hit it from behind. Dust. The gun swiveled again. Screams from inside the last shuttle remaining, the one broadcasting. The camera shook. The image spun as the ship turned, unsteady, frantic, desperate. There were noises off screen, people screaming, scrambling, engines gaining power, preparing to run.