Earth Awakens by Orson Scott Card
Wit said, "Shenzu, what's at that location?"
Shenzu was busy a moment with the map. "A mountain. The highest peak in Lipu County. It's called Mount Pig."
"Possible Formic targets?" asked Wit. "Is there a village up there? A town? Anything?"
"Nothing," said Shenzu.
"Can you get us a visual?"
Shenzu went back to the holofield. A moment later a sat feed appeared, replacing the map. There was the mountain peak, and there at its highest point was a round bulbous structure.
"What is that?" said Shenzu. "A water tower?"
"Why would you have a water tower on the top of an uninhabited mountain?" said Wit. "Zoom in."
The image tightened and clarified.
"That's not human engineering," said Wit. "That's Formic."
He was right. They were looking from above, but Mazer could see even from that angle that the design was alien. A round, doughnut-shaped structure stood high above the peak with a flat porch encircling it like a giant wide-brimmed hat. The surface was metallic and crude, as if assembled from hundreds of pieces of scrap.
"What are those strings on the porch?" said Wit. "Zoom in further."
Mazer hadn't noticed them at first, but as Shenzu zoomed in, he saw what Wit was referring to. Only they weren't strings. They were hoses.
"It's a refueling station," said Mazer. "For the transports. Either that or it's where they refill their goo guns."
They watched as the first transport arrived and alighted on the porch. Two Formics exited the transport and grabbed one of the larger hoses and pulled the end of it into the transport, where they disappeared. A crowd of Formics climbed out the other side of the transport and retrieved the small hoses. Working in pairs, the Formics lifted the hoses and attached them to the tanks of their goo backpacks.
"We just hit the mother lode," said Shenzu. "That doughnut thing is full of liquid goo."
"There must be an auxiliary tank in each transport," said Wit. "They fill that up as well as their individual tanks and rely on the auxiliary once their personal supplies deplete. They can stay in the field longer that way."
"Now what do we do?" said Mazer. "We still need a goo gun. We can't just climb up there with a jug after the Formics leave and fill it with a hose. We need a proper receptacle for the stuff. The goo becomes gas as soon as it touches the air."
"We'll take a goo gun," said Wit. "But we need to reevaluate. We obviously can't hit a transport on its way here because it doesn't have any goo left. It's on empty."
"If we hit it when it leaves, though," said Shenzu, "we'll blow its auxiliary tank, which will unleash a massive amount of gas."
"Better to release that gas here in the mountains, far from human habitation, than in the middle of some city," said Mazer.
"Agreed," said Wit. "But maybe we don't have to. What if we hit a transport crew while they're filling up?"
"Risky," said Mazer. "If you fire on the transport, you might puncture the doughnut."
"What if we don't fire a weapon at all?" He reached to his left, dug through one of the crates of equipment, and found a box of the odd-looking NMI shotgun shells. Wit took one of the shells from the box and unscrewed the shell casing. It slid off like a sleeve, revealing a tube of electronics capped by a small dome with four electrodes. "These electrodes are what pierce the skin when the round is fired. They're connected to the base, which consists of a battery, a transformer, and a microprocessor." He gently pulled the electrodes free of the base, and a thin wire uncoiled. "Each of these has three meters of Kevlar-coated wiring in them. When the round strikes the individual, the electrodes pierce them, and the base falls to the ground. Then the electrical charge hits. We have several boxes of rounds. It will take a little work, and a lot of wire splicing, but we could create a decent-sized chain with these. We set that chain on the surface of the porch, and we're in business."
"How would you trigger the electricity?" asked Mazer.
"We wire them all to a single microprocessor. I trigger it with a transmitter."
"The porch is metallic," said Mazer, "but that doesn't mean it conducts electricity."
"We'll test it," said Wit. "I'll set the charge to low."
Shenzu waved his hands. "I'm sorry. Is this a plan? Because I'm not following you."
"We're going to booby-trap the porch of the tower," said Mazer. "We take apart the shocker rounds, wire the electrodes into a chain, and set them on the porch. As soon as the next group of Formics have filled up their goo guns, we electrify the porch and stun them all at once. Then we rush in, finish them off and take a goo gun."
Shenzu looked at them each in turn. "Seems like a lot of work for a single goo gun."
"It's the safest option," said Wit.
"Assuming we don't electrocute ourselves in the process," said Mazer.
They waited until the four transports had come and gone; then Mazer flew them up to the peak of the mountain and hovered over the porch of the tower. Wit and Shenzu hopped out, and Wit handed Shenzu the disassembled shocker round.
"Walk over there and set the electrodes facedown on the surface. Then hold up the base and push your finger into this groove until you feel the pins break."
"What are you going to do?" asked Shenzu.
"Put my hand on the surface," said Wit. "If it shocks me, throw the base over the side immediately. Don't hesitate. And don't touch the electrodes."
"I'll be standing on the surface. Won't it shock me, too?"
"You have rubber soles. You should be fine."
"Should?" said Shenzu. "I need better than a 'should.'"
"Fine. I one-hundred-percent guarantee you won't get shocked."
Shenzu frowned.
"Time is of the essence, Shenzu."
Shenzu walked to the far side of the porch and got into position. Wit bent his knees, placed his palm flat on the floor of the porch, and nodded for Shenzu to proceed.
A moment later, Wit was falling onto his back and Shenzu was throwing the whole contraption over the side. When they climbed back into the aircraft, Mazer said, "I thought you were going to set it on low."
"I did," said Wit.
They found a small clearing nearby surrounded by dense jungle. Mazer landed the Goshawk, and they got to work. It took most of the night to build the chain, with each of them helping in some capacity. When they finished it was several hours before dawn.
Mazer flew them up to the tower. Shenzu held the flashlight while Wit carefully unspooled the wire and laid the chain around the inner edge of the porch, like the band of the hat's brim. Then they flew to the base of the mountain and waited.
Not long after dawn, the first transport alighted on the porch of the tower. Wit, Mazer, and Shenzu watched the satellite feed. As soon as the first few Formics had filled their goo tanks, Wit hit the transmitter. On screen the Formics began to twitch and fall and convulse and die.
CHAPTER 10
Shield
The lobster was excellent, and the creamy burrata as an accompaniment was inspired, but Lem was finding it hard to enjoy either. Across from him, inside their private booth at La Bella Luna, one of the more expensive restaurants on the east side of Imbrium, Norja Ramdakan was attacking his pasta like a man coming off a three-day fast.
"Seventeen percent," Ramdakan said. He stabbed his fusilli with his fork and shoved the noodles into his mouth. "Our stock is down seventeen percent in a single day." He shook his head, disgusted.
As Father's chief financial adviser, Ramdakan was one of the most influential members of the Board. He had been with the company since the beginning, and his iron grip on its purse strings was legendary. He had even flown with Father in the early days, back when Father had captained a small digger in the Belt and made ends meet scraping away at surface rock. Lem couldn't imagine it. Sitting in a booth with Ramdakan for a single meal was bad enough. Living with him in a cramped ship for months on end would be intolerable.
"The company is resilient, Norja," said Lem.
Ramdakan wiped a dollop of tomato ragout from the corner of his mouth. "How, Lem? Do you have any idea how much capital we sunk into the Vanguard drones? Any idea whatsoever?"
Lem knew exactly how much had been invested--down to the decimal place--but he dared not admit that to Ramdakan. That might lead to questions Lem didn't want to answer. Like who in Father's office had given him the information. It wouldn't be difficult to figure that out--several people had seen Lem talking to Despoina that day. And the two of them had spent a considerable amount of time together in the days since. Lem had been careful to keep their interactions out of the public eye, but that didn't necessarily mean their meetings had gone unnoticed.
It made Lem a little uneasy. If Ramdakan knew that Despoina was loose-lipped with Father's business, it would be the end of her. Ramdakan would fire her in an instant and put her on the first shuttle back to Earth. He might even slap her with a lawsuit for good measure. Or drag her through the press and paint her as a floozy. Such tactics weren't below the man. He had used them before to great effect. And it wouldn't matter to Ramdakan that Despoina's father was a personal friend of Ukko Jukes. Business was war. And in war there were no friends.
Lem felt a twinge of guilt. Des didn't know she was doing anything wrong. Lem was Ukko Jukes's son. What harm was there in telling him anything? And it's not like Lem was fishing for information. Anything she told him came out in the natural progression of their conversations. How was your day? What did you work on? Did anything interesting happen? Sure, Lem might ask a follow-up question or two. But it's not like he was probing. He wasn't using her. He was just making conversation. He was giving Des a listening ear. It wasn't his fault that she tended to be a little gossipy--a fact that had surprised him considering how quiet and shy she had been before their first date.
He could tell her that she was divulging secret information, of course. He could suggest she be more tight-lipped. But she seemed so happy to share it, so eager to give him something that pleased him, that Lem didn't want to disappoint her.
Was she doing it to keep him close? he wondered. Was she trying to establish his need for her?
Lem tried not to think about it. And in the meantime, he had enjoyed their additional time together. She was not as insufferable as he had thought she might be. The exuberance she had demonstrated after their first night together had settled down considerably. She was almost normal now. Her giddiness had mellowed into a sweet admiration for him. And hey, was it a crime to be admired by a woman? Was he hurting anything really? Lem couldn't say he found her attractive necessarily, but there was something charming about her. Her naivete was almost endearing. He had even found himself looking forward to their get-togethers.
How strange, he thought. She was not his type. Not even remotely. And yet he couldn't deny that he felt comfortable when they were together.
"Did you hear what I said?" Ramdakan asked.
Lem looked up from his lobster. "Sorry?"
"I said we've lost enough money to buy a small country, Lem. Enough to buy several. It's like we gathered our assets into a giant mountain and set the whole thing ablaze." He dove back in to his fusilli.
"I'm sorry about your stock options, Norja. It was a blow to all of us."
The media had finally picked up on the failed drone attack, and the company stock, as Lem had predicted, was in a tailspin. Lem had wisely sold several thousand shares in anticipation of the news breaking, and he had maneuvered his other holdings into safer waters. So it hadn't been as devastating a blow for him as it had been for others. Ramdakan, on the other hand, had likely lost his shirt.
"Your father doesn't even seem upset about it," said Ramdakan. "That's what kills me. The old Ukko would have been incensed. Now it's all about the war. It's all he thinks about."
"Not without reason," said Lem. "If we lose Earth, it won't matter what the company does."
Ramdakan rolled his eyes. "I'm sick of this. The sensationalism of it all. Earth isn't falling, all right? This isn't the end of the human race. The Formics are in China. That's one country. One." He shrugged. "China is overpopulated anyway."
Lem raised his eyebrows.
Ramdakan put up his hands, palms out. "Don't get me wrong. It's awful what's happening down there. It's terrible. No excuse for it. But the press is acting like we could go the way of the dodo bird at any moment now. How many people are on this planet? Ten billion? Twelve billion? We've got the Formics outnumbered a million to one."
"We haven't stopped them yet. We've failed every attempt, in fact."
"You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, Lem. That's how it works. You try a few strategies until one sticks. It's only a matter of time."
"That's what Father would say about the drones."
Ramdakan shook his head. "I'm talking about the military, Lem. This is their problem. Not ours. We're a company. Our job is to strengthen the company. And those drones were the future of this company. That was our golden goose. Now they're ashes. The largest single investment this company has ever made in tech, and poof, it's gone. It's hard to bounce back from something like this, Lem. Hard. Nothing makes investors more skittish than a stain on your record with a lot of zeroes after it."
"A kinder man would avoid saying I told you so," said Lem. "But I am my father's son. I told you so, Norja. I told you this business with the drones was a mistake. My father wouldn't see sense either."
Ramdakan grabbed his wineglass. "I've known your father for over thirty years, Lem. He's made mistakes like any man, but I've never known him to be reckless. And this was reckless."
Lem liked the sound of that. It had the ring of doubt to it. Ramdakan was more loyal to Father than most, and if Ramdakan's confidence was starting to crack, it meant others were thinking the same. And if you gently tapped a crack long enough, the whole thing would split wide open.
"Dr. Benyawe used the same term," said Lem. "'Reckless.'"
Ramdakan nodded.
There was a part of Lem that wanted to believe that Father had changed. And for a moment, there at Project Parallax, as Father had told him about the survivors from El Cavador, Lem had actually believed it.
But later, as Lem had sat alone in his apartment considering the events, reality had settled in. Father wanted something. What exactly, Lem didn't know, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that Father had done a kindness without expecting something in return. A lifetime of experience had taught Lem better.
"How are we spinning this with the press?" asked Lem.
"The truth for once," said Ramdakan. "We'll say your father was driven to protect the people of Earth, that ending this war and restoring peace is his highest priority. He's a man possessed." He waved a hand back and forth. "No, possessed is the wrong word. Determined, maybe. Vengeful." He shrugged. "I don't know the language. The PR people are putting it together. It's a nice package. Vids of suffering children in China, the Formics gassing villages, your father from humble beginnings, rising from nothing, a fighter, scrappy. Nice heroic vibe to it. Very globally patriotic. It turns a corporate disaster into a good image piece. Your father hates it. He threatened to fire the entire PR department. He said he wouldn't be made into a sideshow. I talked him down off that cliff, thank you very much." He poured himself more wine. Then he looked at his hand and held it out to Lem, palm down. "Look at that. You see that? Tremors. I'm shaking like a leaf these days. My blood pressure is through the ceiling. I tell my therapist I need to change to different medications; he tells me to get more rest."
"Rest is a good prescription."
"Our stock out of the toilet is a good prescription," said Ramdakan. "We're a mining corporation, Lem. We mine rocks. You know how many rocks we're mining these days? Zippo. Every available ship in the Belt is doing recovery and rescue. And you know how much revenue that brings in."
"The Formics cut through the Belt like a sword, Norja. We lost a lot of ships. We lost a whole settlement at Kleopatra. There's
Ramdakan rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started on Kleopatra. I never wanted to build a station on that rock to begin with. I was opposed to it from the beginning. And did you hear? The families of the deceased are forming a foundation now. The Families of Kleopatra, they're calling themselves. We haven't even recovered all the bodies yet, and they've formed a damn foundation."
"They're searching for support. Healing."
"They're searching for a class-action suit is what they're searching for. You think these people want to sit around, sing 'Kumbaya,' and cry on each other's shoulders? No, they want to suck us dry like leeches. Lawyers feed off this kind of thing. They'll swarm to these people."
"The company didn't destroy the base," said Lem. "The Formics did."
Ramdakan laughed. "You think that makes any difference? They'll say we didn't build the base sturdy enough, that we didn't provide adequate defenses."
"You're overreacting," said Lem. "It was an act of war. Corporate law gives us immunity."
"You're young, Lem. Once your backside has been singed by a few lawsuits, you'll remember this conversation and know that I'm right."
"We have very good lawyers, Norja."
"The best in the world," Ramdakan agreed. "But that may not be enough. They're saying the drone attack is what caused the second wave, Lem. All those ships in China, all those cities being gassed, all those people being turned into a gooey paste, they're saying that's our fault. They're saying we poked the sleeping giant and the blood is on our hands. For a lawyer, it's a feeding frenzy. This is Christmas come early. They hardly have to lift a finger to make bank on this. Just put the right person on the witness stand, and it's like printing your own money. Kid with an eye patch. Old lady with a missing limb. Juries eat that crap with a spoon. It doesn't matter who's at fault, Lem. We have the money, so we're the bad guys."
"Maybe I can help," said Lem.
Ramdakan looked dubious. "We're not taking another loan from you, Lem. Your father nearly removed my head the last time you did that. Forget it."
"Not a loan. A repurposing of resources."
Ramdakan took a bite of his fusilli and narrowed his eyes, skeptical. "What resources?"
"We've got forty ships docked at Kotka right now with their crews and pilots sitting on their hands doing nothing."