"Prepare to run away," said Bingwen. "Pack what we need, and then bury it where we can get it quickly."
Grandfather laughed. "Bury our belongings? Why? The aliens won't care about our traveling food and clothing and tools."
"We're hiding it from Father," said Bingwen. "Since he told me not to do this, I'm being very disrespectful, trying to save our family's lives by making it possible for us to run away at a moment's notice."
"Your father will be furious when he finds out," said Grandfather.
"He will only find out if and when we need the buried items," said Bingwen. "By then, he will be grateful for them."
They spoke quietly after that, making an inventory of the items they would need. It wasn't until much later, as Bingwen was climbing into bed, his pants long since dried, that he realized that no one had even asked him why he had been wet.
CHAPTER 2
Victor
"Look at them, Imala," said Victor. "They're all going about their business as if nothing is wrong, as if this were another day in paradise."
He was gazing out the window of the track car as it zipped by the buildings and pedestrians of Luna, Imala sitting opposite him, holding her holopad. "The whole world could be headed to ashes," said Victor, "and nobody cares."
Outside, the walkways were crowded with people: men and women in suits, maintenance crews, merchants at kiosks selling hot pastries and coffee. Nearly everyone wore magnetic greaves on their shins, which pulled their feet down to the metal walkway and forced them to move with a steady stop-and-go, robotlike gait. Only a few people were bounce-walking, relying solely on the Moon's low gravity to hop about, and these were getting plenty of annoyed looks from those in greaves, as if to move about in such fashion were indecorous.
"They don't know that anything is wrong, Victor," said Imala. "The vid still only has around two million hits. I checked the numbers before we left."
Victor closed his eyes and let himself gradually sink back into his chair. Two million hits. So few.
"It's been ten days, Imala. Ten. The whole world should know by now. You said it would go viral." He knew he was being unfair; Imala wasn't to blame. But it was maddening to think that billions of people were completely oblivious. It was like being in a burning ship and he was the only person acknowledging the flames.
No. He wasn't the only one. Imala believed him. Everyone in the recovery hospital thought he was certifiably loco, but not Imala. She had accepted the evidence the instant he had shown it to her. And here he was throwing her efforts back in her face.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not blaming you. I'm grateful to you. Honest. I just thought more people would know by now."
"I thought everyone would see what I saw," said Imala. "I thought this thing would explode on the nets. I never imagined people would be this skeptical."
"Skeptical is putting it lightly, Imala." He gestured for the holopad.
"Don't read the comments, Victor. They'll only annoy you."
He gently took the pad from her, pulled up the posts under the vid, and started reading. "'What a joke. This is the worst makeup and costuming I've ever seen. Who put this expletive expletive together? What a load of expletive.'"
"Thanks for the tasteful editing."
"They don't believe us, Imala. They're either dismissive, critical, or downright malicious. They think we made it up."
"There are people who do this kind of thing as a hobby, Victor. They dress up and make fan videos. Aliens, lost underwater cities, magical realms. They invent whole universes. I've followed a few of the links. Some of their vids look nearly as real as ours."
"Yes, but ours is real, Imala. The hormigas are living breathing things. The destruction they cause? Real. The weapons they have? Real. Their ship? Real. This isn't fantasy time."
"Not everyone dismisses the vid. Some people believe us."
"Some, yes. But have you gone to their sites? A lot of them are conspiracy theorists and loquitos. Crazies. They'd believe a cup of sour cream was an alien if someone told them so. They aren't earning us any credibility."
"They're not all conspiracy theorists, Victor. We have over twenty thousand followers now. The vast majority are intelligent, respectable people. They're stockpiling supplies, sharing ideas, alerting local governments, pushing the scientific community to get involved. We're not alone on this."
"We might as well be," said Victor. "Twenty thousand followers, Imala. From two million people that have seen the vid. That's a one percent success rate. And not one percent of the global population, mind you. On global terms, twenty thousand people is..." He paused to do the math in his head. "Point zero zero zero zero zero one six. That's not even a drop in the bucket, Imala. That's a water molecule clinging to the drop in the bucket. No, that's the electron circling the hydrogen atom on the water molecule on the drop in the bucket."
"You've made your point."
"It's why I can't stand to look outside," said Victor. "I see all these people doing nothing, fearing nothing, preparing for nothing, and I think I've failed them. Their lives are in my hands, Imala, and I'm failing. I'm letting them die."