Earth Unaware (The First Formic War 1)

Chubs grinned. "You could say that."

"My father sent you on this mission to protect me. To keep me from getting myself killed."

"Basically," said Chubs.

Lem nodded. "Good. Keep it up." Lem turned to the gathered crew and spoke loud enough for all to hear. "My apologies, everyone. Our stay here is cut short. But frankly, if your day on this dump was half as unpleasant as mine was, getting back on this ship probably feels like a good idea."

Lem opened the airlock. Two of the crew went in first, carefully escorting Dr. Dublin inside. The other crew followed.

Podolski took another moment at the terminal then turned to Chubs. "Scanner's clean. We were never here."

Two crewmen came out of the ship wearing free-miner clothing.

"I took the liberty of choosing two of our best men," said Chubs.

"Good," said Lem.

Podolski looked frightened. "I've been thinking about this agreement we made," he said. "And I don't think it's a good idea anymore. This place isn't safe."

Chubs slapped him on the arm good-naturedly. "You'll be fine. Mangler and Wain here will provide all the security you need."

Lem regarded the two men. They stood there expressionless, like two cold soldiers. No, not like soldiers; they were soldiers. Father had loaded this ship with security personnel and Lem hadn't even known it.

"You can't leave me here," said Podolski. "What if these people think I'm responsible? What if they know I'm a corporate?"

Chubs and Lem joined Benyawe in the airlock.

"You'll be fine," said Chubs. "Think of this as a vacation."

Podolski opened his mouth and shouted a response, but the airlock door was already closed. Lem watched the man through the small window. Podolski looked panicked and furious. The two security personnel stood behind, not moving. Farther down the tunnel, Staggar and the other corpses stood with their boot magnets stuck to the floor and their arms out loose beside them.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me why we're abandoning three of our crew," said Benyawe.

"Couldn't you tell?" said Chubs. "They wanted to stay."

*

Edimar flew down the corridor on El Cavador without looking at anyone. There were people all around her, going about their business, brushing past her, hurrying along their way, but Edimar pretended not to notice them. She couldn't bear to see their faces. Among them would be one or two people who still looked at her as if she were a fragile child. It had been months since Father's and Alejandra's deaths, yet there were still some in the family who always gave her that pitying look that said, "You poor thing. Your father and sister dead. You poor, poor child."

I am not a child, Edimar wanted to scream at them. I do not need your pity. I do not want your sympathy. Stop professing that you "know" what I'm going through or that you "know" what it feels like it or that you "know" how hard this must be for me. You don't know anything. Was it your father who was ripped open by an hormiga and left to bleed to death? Was it your sister who had likely been blown to bits or had the air sucked from her lungs? No, it wasn't. So stop pretending that you're some fountain of emotional wisdom who understands everyone's grief and pain. Because you don't. You don't know a thing about me. And you can jump in a black hole, for all I care.

She didn't mean it. Not that last part anyway. But she did hate the sympathetic looks and the mournful sighs they gave on her behalf, as if all life was hopeless now, as if nothing mattered in the world and she was resigned to spend the rest of her life wallowing in misery.

The single most infuriating moment had been when her aunt Henrika had told her, "It's all right, Edimar. You can cry." As if Edimar needed permission from this woman. As if Edimar had been damming back all of her emotion and was just waiting for some grown-up to cue her to open the floodgates. Oh thank you, Aunt. Thank you. How kind of you to grant me the right to cry in front of you and humiliate myself just so I can prove to you and your snotty, gossiping sisters that I am in fact sad. Happy, Auntie? Look, here's a tear, dropped from my very own eye. Take note. Spread the word. Edimar is sad.

It was so hurtful and demeaning and presumptive when her aunt had said it that Edimar almost had cried, right then and there in front of everyone in what would have been a burst of immediate tears. She had come so close. She could feel herself there at the precipice, so close to sobbing that the tiniest change in her breathing or the slightest tightening of her throat would have pushed her over the edge into uncontrollable sobs.

Yet fortunately, in some miraculous display of willpower, Edimar had kept her face a mask and not betrayed the horror and shock and pain she felt at Aunt Henrika's words. How could people, in an effort to be helpful, be so clueless of heart, so thoughtless and cruel?

It was especially infuriating because Edimar did cry. Every day. Sometimes for an hour at a time. Always alone in the darkness of the crow's nest where no one could see or hear her tears.

Yet apparently for the likes of Aunt Henrika, unless you're crying in front of everyone, unless you wore your grief on your sleeve and paraded your tears for all the world to see, you had no tears to shed.

Edimar turned a corner and pushed off a wall, shooting up the corridor. She knew she shouldn't be so petulant. No one was feigning sympathy. They all had her best interests in mind. Even Aunt Henrika, in her sad, condescending way. The problem was, the people who should shut up were the ones talking the most. It made Edimar grateful for people like Segundo and Rena and Concepcion, people who didn't baby her or even broach the subject of Father's and Alejandra's deaths but who simply asked her

about her work and told her about theirs. That's all Edimar wanted: to be treated like a person who could handle her situation instead of being expected to act like a sad, blubbery sack.

Dreo was waiting for her outside the dining hall. They had agreed to meet here before going on to Concepcion's office to give their report. After Father's death, Concepcion had asked Dreo to assist Edimar with the Eye whenever she needed it, and Dreo, like the eager commander he was, had relished this new authority. Edimar didn't need his help and certainly didn't want it, but Dreo still found opportunities to insert himself into her work. For propriety's sake, Dreo wasn't to visit Edimar in the crow's nest without another adult with him, and fortunately this had mostly kept Dreo away. Which was best. He knew next to nothing about how the Eye worked or how to interpret its data. He understood the operating system and nothing more. But just because you know how an oven works doesn't mean you can bake a souffle.