Earth Unaware (First Formic War)

not taking letters. A letter is what husbands write to their wives when they don’t think they’re coming back. And he was coming back. This wasn’t good-bye. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought. She shook her head, pushed the letters back into his hand, and closed his fingers around them.
    “You can read me that when this is over,” she said. “And you can give that letter to our son someday.”
    He smiled but seemed a little hurt.
    “I’ll make you dinner,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Then we’ll squeeze into a hammock, and you can read me every word. Nothing would make me happier.”
    “Aren’t you curious to know what it says now?”
    She put a hand on his cheek. “I already know what it says, mi cielo. And I feel the same way.”
    He nodded. His true smile returned. He put the letters back in his jacket. “I get to pick the hammock,” he said. “A very small hammock. It may be crowded. You’ll have to float very close.”
    She embraced him, holding him tight, wetting his shirt with her tears.
    The line was moving. Half of the people were already gone.
    “You better go,” he told her.
    She cleared her throat and composed herself. What was she doing crying like this? She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. This was absurd. She was overreacting. Everything was going to be fine. He took her bag and offered her his arm.
    “I can carry my own bag, silly,” she said. “It’s weightless.”
    “Never deny a man his chivalry,” said Segundo.
    She shrugged, relenting, then linked her arm in his and let him escort her to the hatch.
    When they reached the hatch, he gave her back her bag. The line never stopped moving. Their arms parted. She was going through; there was no time to stop. She looked back and saw him once before she was forced to turn a corner. A hand took hers and gently pulled her into the WU-HU ship. It was a female member of the crew, young and Chinese and beautiful. “Hu ā nyíng,” the woman said. And then in English, “Welcome.”
    “Thank you,” said Rena.
    The lights on the WU-HU ship were brighter than she was accustomed to. She squinted, letting her eyes adjust. The ship was sleek and modern, with tech everywhere, nothing like El Cavador. She moved to where the other mothers and children were gathered, giving words of comfort and embraces where she knew they were needed.
    The hatch closed. The two ships separated. The crew moved Rena and the others to their quarters. The rooms were small, but everyone would have a hammock at least, and besides, it was only for a few days. Rena moved to place her bag in the designated compartment and saw that the bag was open. Odd. She was sure she had closed it. She looked inside and found items she hadn’t packed. Two sealed envelopes. One addressed to her, the other addressed to Victor.
    *   *   *
    Mono wasn’t getting on the WU-HU ship. Of that he was certain. He had come to the docking hatch with Mother and all of the other women and children, but just because he was nine and small and technically a child didn’t mean he couldn’t help on El Cavador. Hadn’t Victor told him that he would have to step up and help Segundo more? Wasn’t that his job? Who would do the small-hand work for Segundo if the ship needed repairs? No, he was staying. He had a duty. Except for one problem. Mother. She was holding his hand like a vice. For this to work, Mono was going to have to lie. And he hated lying, especially to Mother.
    He watched as the docking hatch opened, and the WU-HU captain floated into El Cavador. The man spoke briefly with Concepción, and then Concepción made an announcement. Show the captain respect. Be good. Blah blah blah. The same instruction every adult always gave. Of course everyone would be good. We’ll be staying on someone else’s ship. Guest rules. Everybody knows that.
    Except Mono wouldn’t be staying there. He’d be staying right here. He turned to Mother and saw that she was crying. Not openly, not big tears like girls his age would shed just so an adult would come running, but real tears, quiet tears, the ones Mother never wanted Mono to see.
    He squeezed her hand and spoke gently. “It’s going to be all right, Mother.”
    She wiped her face, smiled, and lowered herself so they were eye to eye. “Of course it will, Monito. Mother is being a blubbery boo.” It was a word she used whenever he caught her crying this way, and he smiled. He knew he was probably too old for such