STARSHIP FREEDOM VIII

A Time for Freedom

by

Daniel Arenson

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

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CHAPTER ONE

The little spider scurried toward them, no larger than any spider on Earth. An iridescent frill like a peacock's tail grew from its abdomen, fluttering left and right, catching whatever sunlight managed to pierce the jungle canopy. The tiny feathers changed colors, gleaming purple one moment, green the next, then blue strewn with golden dots. It was beautiful. Too beautiful, surely, to be a warning to predators. Perhaps a mating dance?

Admiral James King paused, wiped sweat from his brow, and examined the little critter. The alien looked up at him with golden eyes tipped with silver lashes. Its legs were shaped like little springs, King noticed. An unusual little fella.

Then again, this entire rainforest was unusual. No human had ever set foot on this planet. Until now. Trees soared all around. But they looked nothing like Earth trees. Each tree had two slender trunks that coiled upward, forming double helices the height of redwoods. Branches connected the spiraling trunks like rungs in ladders. The trees looked like DNA strands the size of skyscrapers. Far above, the trunks sprouted canopies lush with rustling leaves, hiding the sky. Only dim light made it through this leafy ceiling, illuminating fiddlehead ferns, luminescent mushrooms, and wisps of mist that floated like ghosts.

The feathery spider hopped forward on his spring legs. It blinked at King and purred. The little guy was kind of cute.

"Watch out!" Bastian stomped his boot down, crushing the spider. He laughed. "Gotcha."

King glared at his son. "Stop killing the local wildlife."

Bastian was a big, burly marine. Tattoos coiled across his muscular arms, sweat glistened on his mohawk, and a bandoleer of grenades hung across his chest. Belying his fearsome appearance, Bastian blushed.

"Sorry, Dad. Force of habit. I see an alien spider, I kill it." He shrugged. "Can't blame me after fighting the rahs, can ya?"

"That wasn't a rah," King snapped. "This is planet Tel'Koda, homeworld of the Kodamas. A species we want as friends. So stop killing their fauna."

A fluttering bug with round wings landed on Bastian's shoulder. It looked like a parasol with teeth. Bastian prepared to crush it, then gently plucked it off his shoulder, held it on his palm, and blew it away like dandelion seeds.

"Happy, Dad?" He rolled his eyes. "Or must I hug a tree too?"

"I'll be happy once you grow up," King growled.

Bastian's eyes hardened. "If growing up means becoming a crotchety old bastard like you, maybe I'm not interested."

King clenched his fists. His left fist, a metal prosthetic fashioned after a medieval gauntlet, creaked menacingly. "This crotchety old bastard is about to—"

"Boys, boys!" Emily walked toward them through the brush. "Try not to kill each other every time I sneak into the bushes to pee."

King looked at the young woman. Emily wore muddy fatigues, tall leather boots, and armored pads on her elbows and knees. A Gideon assault rifle hung across her back, war paint covered her cheeks, and her braided blond hair peeked from under her helmet. The insignia on her shoulders denoted her a lieutenant in the Free Alliance. It was hard to believe this scruffy soldier, covered in scrapes and mud, was the Queen of England.

But Emily—Lady of the White Rose, Queen of Great Britain and the Commonwealth—had chosen this life. The life of a soldier. King still remembered that day four years ago. The day Emily had first visited the starship Freedom. Back then, Freedom had been just a museum ship, and Emily had been just a pampered princess.

How things have changed, King reflected.

Emily had become a queen, then a soldier under his command. And King had gone from running a museum to commanding a fleet in war. And here they were today, hundreds of light-years from home, trying to find a new alien species to join their fight.

King loosened his gauntlet and glanced at his son. "You've got a royal pardon of execution."

Bastian gave Emily a bow. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The young queen nodded back. "You're welcome." She uncorked her canteen, drank, and smacked her lips. "Lovely. Nothing like hot tea to lift the spirits."

"No wonder you keep wandering off to the bushes," Bastian muttered.

"Well, I am English. I'd wither and die without tea. So get used to frequent bathroom breaks." She held out the canteen. "You sure you wouldn't like a sip?"

"I'm normally more of a coffee guy, but sure." Bastian reached for the canteen.

King took the opportunity to stretch and knuckle his back. It had been a long, exhausting hike. They had been trudging through this forest for hours now. Thirty years ago, King wouldn't have broken a sweat. Today, at sixty-four years old, every mile weighed on him. His knees creaked. His lower back ached. His leg muscles were close to cramping. Some of it was the old war wounds. A lot was just his age. He would have flown to his destination, but nobody knew where the Kodamas were. They knew the planet. They knew the forest. That still left a lot of ground to cover. And they were covering it afoot.

Oh, my kingdom to be thirty again! King thought, rubbing his lower back.

Warbling cries sounded above. King looked up to see dozens of circular creatures glide overhead. Their bones were arranged in spirals that expanded and contracted like concertinas. Membranes stretched between the bones like drum skins, coated with tiny feathers. The aliens floated on air. King had seen many of these colorful, accordion-like creatures so far on this planet. It seemed life on Tel'Koda often took spiral forms. The little spidery creature had legs like springs. The trees had trunks shaped as double helices. And these flying creatures had spiral skeletons. Most likely they had all evolved from a common ancestor. King imagined some ancestral Slinky coiling out from the primordial ooze.

"Are you sure those aren't the Kodamas?" Bastian said, pointing at the flying, feathered concertinas.

King growled deep in his throat. "We've been over this. Those aren't the Kodamas."

"They could be," Bastian said.

King growled louder. "You heard Selly. The Kodamas don't look like flying accordions."

"Well, what do they look like?" Bastian placed his hands on his hips.

"Selly didn't know. But he said they're giants. And those flying kites don't look like giants to me."

Bastian looked around him. He gestured theatrically at the forest. "In case you haven't noticed, the only giants around here are the damn trees. You wanna enlist the trees to fight with us?" He tapped one spiraling trunk. "Hey there, buddy! Wanna help us fight a war against giant spiders from deep space? Huh? Huh? Nothing." The burly marine sighed. "This whole quest is for nothing."

"Bastian, goddammit, stop whining!" King said. "You heard Selly same as I did. He knows a helluva lot more about aliens than we do. He happens to be one, you see. He said the Kodamas are an intelligent, powerful civilization. That they command armies. And he said they live here. On this planet. In this forest."

Bastian snorted. "Selly the Wise doesn't even know what the Kodamas look like. Only that they're tall. Well, what's tall are Selly's tales. Let's go back to Earth, Dad. We need to help there. To build more ships. To enlist more soldiers. To prepare for war. Flying all the way here was nothing but a wild-goose chase."

"I trust Selly," King said. "And he said the Kodamas can help us."

"Yes, well, Selly also thought dogs were the master race on Earth," Bastian said. "Until I explained that humans carry their crap to keep the streets clean, not as a show of subservience. Maybe you should listen less to Selly and more to your son, who, unlike your alien friend, has actually fought the rahs before."

King heaved a sigh. Maybe his son was right. Maybe they should be back home, preparing for the next round in the ring. But dammit, how could King go home empty-handed?

The past year had been a strange one. After repelling the arachtaur invasion, King had spent some time on Earth, helping to rebuild. There was rubble to dig through. Refugees to tend to. Hungry mouths to feed. King had done what he could—digging homes, planting seeds, filling bowls with food. Selly had come down to Earth with him. The little Aeolian, a creature with five legs and a stony shell, loved learning about new planets and civilizations. Even smoldering after a devastating war, Earth fascinated him. King had acted as a guide, teaching Selly about human customs.

In return, Selly had shared knowledge of his own. The Aeolian scholar knew about many alien civilizations. Aliens humanity had never met.

"Not all aliens are cruel like the rahs," Selly had told him. "Many are like us Aeolians—benevolent and curious. The good species hide from the rahs. They fear the galactic predators. But I know where they hide. I will help you find them."

King just hoped these "benevolent and curious" aliens also knew how to fight. Because as far as King was concerned, this war wasn't over. Not yet. Not until he said it was.

Elder'rah, Empress of Arakavish, had invaded Earth twice. First with the rahs, alien spiders the size of horses. Then with the arachtaurs, hideous hybrids blending rah and human DNA. Each invasion had devastated the planet King loved. Destroying cities. Slaughtering millions. Twice King had repelled the empress. He would not wait around for a third invasion. He would not simply hunker down in a trench, cower, and wait for the enemy to come.

He would find allies. He would form a coalition. And then he would fly to Arakavish and destroy that goddamn planet once and for all.

"Admiral?" Emily put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right? Your eye is twitching. And there's a vein pulsing on your forehead."

King forced himself to take deep breaths, to relax. "I'm all right, Emily. I'm just a crotchety old bastard, as my son likes to remind me. Let's keep going. Days are long on this planet. Maybe we'll find the Kodamas before nightfall."

Emily nodded. "Let's keep walking. I'm not tired."

They began trudging through the rainforest again, boots sloshing through layers of moss and dead leaves.

"I'm tired," Bastian said. But nobody listened to him.

King clenched his jaw, ignoring the pain in his muscles. It was a hard slog through this forest. Vines and moss draped from the branches. Since King insisted they not harm any lifeform on this planet—flora included—they could not simply chop their way through. They must shove aside thick curtains of greenery, and soon King's arms were aching like his legs. Fallen logs, boulders, and coiling roots formed a veritable obstacle course. The air here was breathable, but it was hot, moist, and full of pollen. They had chosen not to take masks, and with every lungful of this soupy air, King was regretting his decision.

They had taken several steps when a buzzing sound came from behind them.

"Wait, wait for me!" A drone, roughly the size and shape of a football, whooshed out from among the trees. He spoke with an English accent as refined as the gemstones that coated his silver casing. "Where are you going? Oh, don't leave me behind! It's horrible here. Absolutely horrible. Have you seen the terrible insects that infest this forest?"

Emily heaved a sigh. "Niles! Stop complaining and try to keep up."

"Complaining?" The drone gasped. "I'm not complaining. I'm sounding a warning! There are bugs in this forest the size of the Loch Ness Monster. I've seen them, and one bit me."

"Niles!" Emily rolled her eyes. "A bug the size of a dinosaur didn't bite you."

"Well, it might as well have." The drone shuddered. "It landed on me, and I think it stung my sapphire." He turned around, showing her the gleaming gem. "Can you see if it's cracked?"

"Something's cracked about that drone all right," Bastian muttered. "Emily, why did you have to bring that thing along?"

The drone cleared his throat—or made the appropriate sound, in any case—and raised his silver nose. "Be silent, lowborn ruffian, lest I give you the thrashing of your life!" Something clicked inside him, and an assortment of corkscrews, butter knives, and can openers thrust out from him. "Dare insult me again, commoner, and I shall—"

Bastian drew his own knife, which was significantly larger than anything the drone could sprout. Niles yelped and fled behind Emily like a frightened pup.

The humans kept walking. Niles flew along, hiding behind Emily while muttering something about putting Bastian in the stocks. The drone fashioned himself something of a guardian to the queen, and he had insisted on joining the expedition.

At least Stowy didn't sneak along this time, King thought. Thank God for small miracles.

* * * * *

At night the forest became a very different place. The flying spiral creatures vanished into hidden nests. The little bugs with spring legs scurried into holes. The trees retracted their leaves like cats' claws, revealing the honeycomb patterns of their canopy branches. The stars shone and nocturnal life emerged. Furry purple worms spiraled along the coiling tree trunks, sucking on sap. Every once in a while, a shadow darted from above, grabbed a worm, and flapped into the distance. Larger beasts moved in the darkness, rustling the leaves, hooting or sniffing. The temperature dropped enough to make King shiver.

He stuffed his hands under his armpits and kept walking. A flashlight mounted onto his helmet lit the way. Bastian and Emily walked farther back, talking about the latest episode of Dangerous Dragons. Hallucinatory shows—sometimes called dreamshows—were popular these days on the MindWeb, the sprawling neural network they all shared. Apparently this particular dreamshow let you hallucinate yourself in medieval times, fighting dragons and goblins. Bunch of nonsense if you asked King. The universe was strange enough without having to hallucinate somebody else's daydream.

As the marine and young queen argued about which colored dragon was the fiercest, King looked up through the now-leafless canopy. With the branches interlocking above, it felt like gazing through the roof of a wooden cage. Among the stars he descried a sliver of light, nearly too small to see with the naked eye. But King knew it was there. Knew what it was.

The starship Freedom, orbiting the planet.

His comlink crackled on his lapel. It was coming from the ship. Normally, they would contact him via MindWeb. But planet Tel'Koda's atmosphere was interfering with telepathic signals. They had to rely on good old radio here. Like soldiers in the old days before space travel.

King took the call. A baritone voice emerged from the speaker.

"Hey, Jim, how goes your little camping trip?"

King recognized the voice of Commander Larry "Phantom" Jordan, his oldest and best friend. Since King had become admiral, Jordan had taken over the day-to-day command of the Freedom. But unlike most admirals, King didn't spend his time in some Earth-side office. He still served aboard the Freedom, the ship where he had been serving for forty-five years, working his way up from starfighter pilot to commander and finally admiral. Hell, Jordan was probably glad to get rid of him for a while.

"Not going so good," King grunted. "I forgot the s'mores."

Jordan laughed. "Good. You could lose a few pounds."

King growled deep in his throat. "I'm as fit as I was at twenty."

"Yes, and I'm the fairy godmother." Jordan paused for a moment. "Jim, we're detecting quite a lot of heat signatures down there. Animals. Big ones, we think. How about you make your way back to the Freedom for tonight?"

King shook his head. He kept walking through the forest, shoving aside vines and curtains of moss. "I'm fine."

"I can send down a shuttle," Jordan said.

"You'd break through the canopy of branches. And I'm not harming any lifeform here. I don't even want to break branches. And I sure as hell ain't walking all the way back to our landing site right now."

"A portal then," Jordan suggested.

King snorted. "Are you kidding? This close to a gravity well? Even if it worked, that would use up massive amounts of energy. Which we can't spare if we're to portal the ship home to Earth. We're fine, Larry! Stop worrying. We'll find a place to spend the night, then keep going tomorrow morning."

Bastian stepped up toward him. "Is that the Phantom?"

"Hey, Bas, that you?" Jordan said through the comlink.

Bastian reached for the comlink on King's lapel. "The admiral is torturing us, Phantom! Torturing us!"

King snorted. "Oh please. I'm only making you walk through a forest."

"As I said, he's torturing us," Bastian said. "We'll survive it somehow. So long as he agrees to finally take a break and build a campfire."

"No fires!" King said. "We're not going to burn anything down here. But we do have heating pads and warm blankets."

"You can't roast hot dogs on a heating pad," Bastian said.

Jordan chuckled—a deep, soothing sound. "All right. I'll try not to worry. You lot stay out of trouble. Emily, you there too? Look after the boys, will you? Don't let them ki—" Static sounded. "—other, all—" More static.

"Larry, we're losing you," King said. Clouds were moving across the sky, hiding the stars and the Freedom.

Jordan's voice came through the comlink, staticky. "—clouds of—" Static. "—electric sto—"

The call died.

King tapped the comlink. Nothing. "Must be those electric clouds. They cut off MindWeb, and now they're messing up our radio signals."

"Well, isn't that peachy," Bastian said. "Now we can die here and nobody will know! But hey, at least we have your precious heating pads to warm our corpses."

"Nobody's dying on my watch," King said.

"I will if you make us keep walking." Bastian groaned and shook his feet. "My puppies are killing me. Can we make camp for the night? I want to relax, have something to eat, and hallucinate another episode of Dangerous Dragons."

"We can't," Emily said. "No MindWeb down here, remember?"

Bastian groaned. "Dammit! And the last episode ended up a cliff-hanger. Will Firetail manage to defeat the ogre? I was hoping to watch the next episode with you tonight."

"As was I, but it's not to be," said Emily. "I did bring a book in my rucksack. The Professor by Charlotte Brontë. I don't mind reading together with you instead."

"First walking, now reading." Bastian sighed. "Worst camping trip ever."

They set camp for the night on a patch of springy moss. King groaned as he sat down, and his knees made cracking sounds. A deep pain coiled through his muscles, and his sciatica burned like flaming serpents down his thighs. Exploring the galaxy was a young man's game. He rubbed his muscles, wincing. Most soldiers his age were retired by now.

King sighed and looked around. His flashlight revealed the double helices of trunks rising all around, full of branches like base pairs in strands of DNA. In the shadows, strange worms emerged from holes in the roots. They were fuzzy, purple, and curled up like springs. The corkscrew animals moved around the roots and branches in spiraling motions. Their eyes were unusually large for such little creatures, a sensible adaptation for nocturnal animals, and their long tongues lashed out, catching insects that fluttered by.

"They're cute," Emily said. "We should name them."

"How about pigtails," Bastian said. "They kinda look like pigs' curly tails."

Emily bit her lip. "Maybe curlyworms. They're more like worms than pigs. And they're curly."

"Whirlworms," Bastian said. "They're spirals like a whirlwind. But they're worms."

"How about corkscrews?" Emily said. "Corkworms? Slinkyworms? No, I like whirlworms better. Very well."

She hesitated, then reached out and patted one of the furry creatures. The whirlworm purred contentedly, but when Emily tried taking it onto her palm, the creature scuttled back, hiding among the branches. It watched them with lambent eyes.

It's beautiful, King thought. An alien ecosystem!

He could be sitting on some rocking chair on some dusty old patio on Earth, fading away into his twilight years. For all the pain in his joints and muscles, he was glad to be here. Exploring new worlds. Discovering new life. So long as he could draw breath, he would be out here in space. He gave a little snort.

"What's so funny?" Bastian said. The big marine was unpacking the MREs. Triple-cheese lasagna. Bastian's favorite.

"I was just thinking," King said. "I've dedicated my life to defending Earth. But I've barely spent twenty years there. I've been in space for almost half a century now."

"God, you're old." Bastian ripped open an MRE, inhaled the scent of lasagna, and sighed contentedly. "Ah, three kinds of cheese. I missed food."

"You both could afford to skip a few meals," Niles said, staring at the King boys from Emily's side.

Bastian was too busy shoveling lasagna into his mouth to retort.

King switched on his MindLink neural implant. Translucent menus and windows hovered before him in the dark forest. With mere thoughts, he scrolled and tapped an icon. A glowing globe materialized, hovering in midair. The globe depicted planet Tel'Koda, an Earthlike world covered in forests, deserts, and oceans.

Despite their big eyes, the furry whirlworms in the trees ignored the glowing sphere. The map was a hallucination. The aliens could not see it. King, Bastian, and Emily all had MindLink chips installed in their brains, connected in a small local network. They shared the hallucination of the floating planet.

"Right now we're here on the equator." King tapped one spot on the map. The globe unfolded into a flat plane, and the image zoomed in, revealing little trees. "The forest is densest here. From space, we've seen no cities. Not even towns. The Kodamas might be forest dwellers, but we don't know for sure. Tomorrow we'll keep walking toward the mountains. We might get a better view from up there."

Bastian polished off his first box of lasagna, leaned back, and belched. "Dad, I really don't think there are any intelligent aliens here. As you've said, we've seen no cities. No starships in orbit. No satellites. Nothing."

"Because they're hiding," King said. "Hiding from the rahs. Like the Aeolians were hiding. And we're going to find them."

"First I'm going to find more food." The big marine reached into his rucksack for another MRE. A grin spread across his face, and he waggled his eyebrows. "Ooh, look. More triple-cheese lasagna."

Emily was only picking at her food. She sidled over and sat beside King. "Sir, I saw the video of your grandson this morning. He's beautiful."

A smile spread across King's face. Back aboard the Freedom, he was infamous for his stony face. The troops joked that if he ever smiled, hell itself would crack open. But thinking of his grandchildren could always melt his heart.

King tapped a few MindWeb icons. The map of Tel'Koda vanished. A hallucination of a rosy-cheeked baby replaced it. The baby floated in midair, life-sized and gurgling.

Emily grinned. "Baby Oliver looks just like his mother. He has Alice's blond hair and blue eyes."

The baby began greedily sucking from a bottle.

"And his father's appetite," King said, glancing toward Bastian. The big marine hadn't even noticed the hallucination of his son. He was busy wolfing down his third lasagna pack.

Emily smiled wistfully. She leaned against King. "It's beautiful that Bastian named him after Oliver Darjeeling."

"I'm surprised he didn't name the baby Lasagna," King said.

Bastian gulped down his last bite. "I'm right here, you know."

"No you're not. You're in a world of your own," King said.

"Huh? What?" Bastian was rummaging through his rucksack again. "Hey, has anyone seen the brownies?"

"You cannot still be hungry!" Niles said.

"Quiet, drone. I was walking all day."

King cracked his neck. "I think I'll grab a bite to eat too. Bas, pass me one of those—"

He paused.

Eyes were peering from the darkness behind Bastian. Not the round eyes of the furry worms. Long, slender eyes, fluorescent green and malevolent.

A creature unfurled from the branches, bristling with sharp scales like a coat of razor blades. Jaws opened, revealing a forked tongue and serrated teeth.

"Bastian, watch out!" King said.

The marine moved with surprising speed for a man his size—hopping back, spinning around, and drawing his handgun. Emily and King both leaped to their feet and drew their own sidearms.

The creature opened its jaws wide and shrieked, revealing fangs. It looked like a snake. It was as big as an anaconda, and spiky frills flared around its head like a cobra's hood. But unlike snakes from Earth, this animal's body was spiral, coiled up like a spring around the branches. The alien serpent glared at the humans, green eyes narrowed, sizing them up. It had not yet decided to attack.

"Remember, no harming the local wildlife," King whispered. He paused for a moment, considering. "Unless it's about to harm us first."

The serpent coiled up more tightly, retreating into its nest of double-helix tree trunks. Then it unleashed its kinetic energy, springing toward the humans with a hungry shriek.

Bastian pulled his trigger. A bullet pierced the creature's head, splattering fluorescent green blood against the tree. The snake wilted and hung from the branches, still bouncing with leftover kinetic energy. The green blood oozed onto the mossy forest floor.

"It was trying to harm us first," Bastian said. He approached the snake, touched its scaly body, then pulled back his hand with a yelp. "It's sharp. The scales cut me."

"You idiot!" Niles said. "Go touch an open electrical socket next time and rid us of your stupidity."

"Another one!" Emily cried, pointing at the darkness.

Another serpent sprang at him, jaws opened wide. It was like one of those novelty snakes in a can of peanuts—but much larger and certainly deadlier. Emily fired her handgun but missed. The snake slammed into her, knocking her down.

"Have at you, scoundrel!" Niles cried, flinging himself onto the snake. The little drone began stabbing the creature with his corkscrews, chipping off scales. The snake rose from Emily, furious, and snapped its teeth at the drone. A fang grazed Niles, slicing off several gemstones.

"My jewels!" the drone cried, indignant.

King and Bastian both opened fire. Bullets plowed into the snake. A mist of green blood splashed the trees. The snake thumped down dead.

"Are you all right?" King said, hurrying toward Emily.

She winced and examined her arm. Her uniform was torn, her skin bleeding. "I'm fine. It just nicked me."

Niles was busy rummaging through the moss and fallen leaves, seeking his gemstones.

Hisses filled the darkness. More serpentine eyes opened all around, glowing. Snakes slithered among the double-helix roots, moving closer toward the companions. The three humans stood back-to-back, aiming their handguns. Niles abandoned his search and hovered above them, sprouting his many blades like an urchin.

One snake hissed and lunged forward. King fired. A bullet drove through the snake's head, spraying the tree with green. Scales tore loose, whooshed through the air, and sliced through moss and vines.

Another serpent lunged, and Bastian fired but missed. The corkscrew-shaped alien coiled around the marine's arm, slicing his uniform and skin. Bastian roared, yanked off the strange reptile, and pistol-whipped its jaw. The snake squealed, mouth full of blood, and retreated. But more kept coming.

Soon all three humans were firing together, desperate to hold them back. With a deafening shriek, one serpent made it through the storm of bullets. The beast pounced at Emily, jaws opened wide, large enough to swallow her head. The young queen gasped. Her gun clicked, out of bullets.

With a battle cry, Niles flung himself at the snake.

"Have at you, beast!" the drone cried, thrusting out his array of can openers and screwdrivers.

The curly snake caught the drone in its mighty jaws and gulped. The drone disappeared down its gullet.

"Niles!" Emily cried. She fired several times, blowing out the snake's head. The creature thumped down dead, but Niles was already gone.

More and more serpents kept coming. And the humans were running low on bullets.

Cursing, King rummaged through his rucksack and found a flare. He lit the beacon and light crackled in the night.

The snakes screeched and narrowed their eyes. King swung the flare in wide circles. Its tip crackled like a white-hot torch. The nocturnal serpents withdrew, turning their heads away from the blinding light.

Bastian and Emily found their own flares and lit them. Three torches soon blazed, lighting the darkness, revealing a hundred snakes among the trees. Strength in numbers notwithstanding, the creatures lost their appetite. They withdrew from the light, coiling between the trees into the shadows.

King thrust his flare, bottom first, into the soil. The little torch stood in the moss, crackling and shining bright.

"See?" King holstered his gun. "We just needed some light. There was no reason to harm the wildlife."

"I saw you blowing out your fair share of snake brains." Bastian examined his wounds, grimaced, and kicked one of the dead spring-shaped snakes. "Like being attacked by a bunch of psychotic Jacks-in-a-box."

"I imagined them as Slinkies with teeth," Emily said.

One of the dead snakes moved.

Everyone pointed their handguns at it.

The snake's head was a bloody mess. Amazingly, the animal was still moving. Its scaly body wriggled. A muffled voice rose from inside, speaking with a British accent.

"Get me … out of … here!"

"Niles!" Emily cried.

"I say leave him inside," Bastian said.

Emily knelt by the snake. Grimacing, she drew her knife and sliced open the dead snake's body. Niles spilled out along with a puddle of fluorescent green goo.

"Disgusting." Bastian shuddered. "Why do their insides smell like burnt bubble gum?"

Niles shook himself like a wet dog, spraying the goo. Bastian gagged and brushed droplets off his shirt.

"I have vanquished the dreaded wyrm for you, my queen!" Niles said. "I slew the beast from the inside out. I trust you're safe." He looked around. "Does anyone have a towel?"

* * * * *

Bastian and Emily took time bandaging their wounds. Meanwhile, King examined the dead snakes.

"Their glowing blood is the same color as the tree sap." King rubbed a drop of the green blood between his fingers. "Interesting. And their bodies are exactly the right shape and size to coil between the rungs of branches. They might live as parasites in the trees, sucking the sap." He knelt by a dead serpent. "Look at these teeth. Hollow. These teeth are for sucking sap, not tearing through flesh."

"So why the hell did they attack us?" Bastian said, applying another bandage.

"They might be territorial."

Bastian reloaded his handgun. "Well, this has all been a fascinating ecology lesson. And one more reason to return to the Freedom. We've been here for …" He checked MindWeb. "Thirty hours now. Face it, guys. Selly was wrong. We found no evidence of any intelligent beings."

A small voice sounded behind them.

"There is more than one type of intelligence, human."

Everyone spun around at once. Bastian raised his handgun. King carefully pushed Bastian's weapon down.

They saw nothing. The flares illuminated only the helical tree roots, dangling vines, and a handful of whirlworms, their snouts wet with sap.

"Who said that?" King said.

Another voice rose behind them. "We've been watching you."

The three humans spun around again. This time Emily raised her handgun too. Again they saw nothing. Just the shadowy forest. One flare guttered and died. The light dimmed and a chill wind whistled among the strands of coiling tree trunks.

"Reveal yourself!" King said.

Another voice. From another direction. "We are all around you. Just look."

King spun his head around, and this time he saw it. He frowned. No. Impossible. Brow furrowed, he stepped toward one double strand of trunk. A furry worm coiled around a slender branch. It looked like a purple pig's tail. The creature studied King with big eyes.

"Did … you speak?" King asked the fuzzy critter, feeling utterly ridiculous.

"I knew it." Bastian sighed. "My father has finally gone crazy in his dotage. Talking to worms."

The whirlworm turned toward Bastian and wriggled his snout. "I'm more than just a worm. Same as you are more than just an ape."

Bastian's jaw dropped. He rubbed his eyes. "Did that worm just talk to me? I mean—what are you?"

King leaned closer, scrutinizing the diminutive alien. "And how do you speak English?"

"We've been watching and listening to you since you arrived," the whirlworm said. "Not only you three here on this planet. But the thousands of you in your starship above. We've learned a lot about you. Including your language."

Other whirlworms emerged from holes in the trees. The curly critters perched on the branches, looking at the humans with their large, glowing eyes.

Emily stepped closer, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. She examined the fuzzy worm who had spoken to them.

"You're a Kodama, aren't you?" the queen asked.

The whirlworm shook his head. "No. We whom you call whirlworms are not the mighty beings you seek. I'm only a humble one. You may call me Tim."

Bastian guffawed. "Your name is Tim?"

"No." The whirlworm shook his head. "I simply listened to the conversation of ten thousand humans aboard your ship, and I chose a human name you might feel comfortable with. I can choose another."

"Tim is fine," King said. "Tim, tell me more about yourself."

"I live on this tree," Tim said. "I clean it from bugs, mushrooms, and mold. These things harm the tree, but they fill my belly. I keep the tree clean. In return, the tree allows me to hide inside its trunk from the serpents you've seen."

"Symbiosis," King said. "We're familiar with the concept from Earth."

A terrible thought struck King. He took a step back.

The serpents. They were large enough to fit Selly's description of giants. And they were fierce enough to fight rahs.

Oh God.

"Those serpents aren't the Kodamas, are they?" King said. "We just killed a bunch of them."

Tim shuddered, his purple fur bristling. "No! Those are not Kodamas. They are parasites. Our name for them, translated into your tongue, would be stranglers. They drink the sap from the trees. We worms do too, but we drink only droplets. The stranglers drink too much. They drain the trunks and can fell even a mighty tree. They eat us when they can. We are too small to fight them. The stranglers have no predators and they spread quickly. The Kodamas thank you for killing some and driving the others away."

King blinked. Then it dawned on him. He looked around him at the towering trees, their trunks like DNA strands the height of redwoods.

"The Kodamas are the trees," King said. "Of course. Giants. Millions of them. Armies of them."

Bastian and Emily tilted their heads back, gaping at the trees.

"I was right!" Bastian said. "I said it earlier. You heard me, Emily, didn't you? I said the trees were the Kodamas!"

"I thought you were being sarcastic," she whispered.

"I was, but I was still right!" he whispered back.

King ignored the pair. He looked back at Tim, who was still coiled around the branch. "How do we speak to the Kodamas?"

"You may speak to them through me," Tim said. "Or any other whirlworm. Our symbiosis goes beyond cleaning branches. When we drink the sap of the Kodamas, we tap into their intelligence. We use our corkscrew bodies to hold fine tools for them, such as twigs to remove hidden grubs. We use our eyes to watch the stars, which they cannot see. And we talk to those who visit us. Though it has been many eras since visitors have come to our world."

King's MindLink tingled. His son was sending him a telepathic message.

"Dad, this is all fascinating, and I'm sure some scientist will write a lovely exobiology book about this planet someday. But how are a bunch of trees going to help us? They can't even walk like the living trees in Dangerous Dragons."

King looked at Tim. "We've come seeking help against a terrible predator. Something even worse than the stranglers. We call them the rahs."

Across the branches, a hundred whirlworms squeaked and fled into holes. Only Tim remained outside.

"Do not speak that name aloud!" the whirlworm whispered, glancing around with his large glowing eyes. "We fear the rahs. More than anything. Long ago, the Kodamas took to the skies. We whirlworms rode among their branches. We sought other worlds to spread seeds, to put down new roots. But on our way, we met the rahs. They destroyed our ships. They slew our explorers. They would have destroyed this planet too, but they see only a forest. They cannot imagine that a forest might be intelligent. The rahs think us mere trees and mere worms. Not even worth killing. Since our doomed trip to the stars, we've been hiding. We dare not fly out again."

Now they were really onto something. King glanced at Bastian and Emily. They looked back at him, lost in thought.

"Dad, your eyes are practically popping out with excitement," Bastian telepathized. "Tell me you're not imagining armies of trees marching on Arakavish."

"There is strength here," Emily telepathized, her thoughts soft, contemplative. "Selly knew what he was doing when he sent us to this planet."

"Tim." King leaned closer to the furry worm. "Do you still have starships?"

"Not like the Freedom," Tim said. "We do not forge metal. But we can still fly." The fuzzy worm almost seemed to smile. "I'll show you."

And then the ground began to move.

* * * * *

"An earthquake!" Bastian cried.

Indeed the ground was rumbling. The three humans swayed and grabbed onto branches for support.

"Do not fear!" said Tim.

The forest shook more violently. The tree roots began to coil, moving in corkscrew motions, creaking and shedding moss. They honeycomb of branches far above tightened. A rumble filled the forest. The curtains of moss swayed and fell to the ground. Little animals fled underfoot, and somewhere in the distance, stranglers shrieked.

Then a chunk of forest simply detached … and began to rise.

A swath of landscape levitated, leaving the rest of the forest below. King clung to a tree. They rose higher and higher, passing through clouds. The moonlight illuminated the rest of the forest. It remained far below.

As they rose higher, his connection to Freedom came back online. Jordan's voice filled King's MindLink.

"Holy smokes, Jim! A piece of the planet the size of Griffith Park is just … rising through the air. Are you seeing this?"

"Seeing it? I'm on it!" King said.

He connected telepathically to telescopes mounted on Freedom's hull. Through them, he could see the view from above. A piece of Tel'Koda was rising, leaving an empty crater below. A spherical force field engulfed the rising patch of forest, containing soil, trees, and atmosphere. It looked like a snow globe large enough to engulf a town.

"A biodome!" Emily whispered in awe.

Bastian clung to a tree, queasy. "This has got to be a dream. Just another bad lasagna dream."

The biodome rose into space and hovered near the starship Freedom, five thousand klicks above the surface. The trembling eased. The forest seemed at peace. King gazed down at the planet in awe, then at the Freedom, which hovered nearby. Finally he turned toward Tim. The worm sat on the branch beside him, eyes twinkling.

"How is this possible?" King said.

"The Kodamas are wise," Tim said. "They know the mathematical secrets of the universe. They know how to bend space and time, forming spheres that can overcome gravity. Deep inside the soil, their roots sprout bulbs full of energy. This energy powers the sphere in which we fly. In such ships as this, we once traveled among the stars. But we stopped in fear of the rahs."

King placed his hand on one of the trees. The roots coiled and creaked at his touch like a purring cat. King had been speaking to the worm, but he reminded himself that Tim was only an avatar. The true intelligence was in this tree. Not just a tree but a Kodama—a wise, ancient being. King spoke directly to this noble creature.

"You were curious once. You did not merely gaze at the stars but flew among them. You sought to spread your seeds on distant soil. Are you still curious? Do you still want to fly?"

The roots twisted and rumbled—a deep, woody, rolling sound.

Tim spoke for the tree, his voice soft. "Yes. But we are afraid."

"You're right to be afraid," King said. "There is great danger out there. But we're fighting it. The starship Freedom has fought the rahs and killed many, and we have thousands of warships like her. We've formed an alliance with the Aeolians, a race you might know. They fly in powerful ships of stone like hollow asteroids, and they've killed many rahs too. Join us. Fight with us. Help us rid the galaxy of the rahs. And the stars will be ours."

Bastian bit his lip. He sent King a telepathic message. "Dad, flying snow globes is nice and all, but can these trees actually fight?"

Tim looked at the big marine. "I see the doubt in your eyes, Bastian. You wonder how peaceful trees can fight. I assure you—we are not defenseless. Do you see that asteroid in the distance? The one orbiting the planet?"

They all looked. The asteroid was just a speck from here. But by connecting to Freedom's sensors, they could zoom in and see a craggy, irregular rock, roughly the size of the sphere they now rode in.

"Watch," Tim said.

The trees thrummed. Streaks of light ran across the spherical force field, coalesced like a star, then blasted out. A blinding beam shot across space, slammed into the asteroid, and pulverized it. Chunks of stone flew every which way. The Freedom's shields shimmered to life as rocks hit them.

"Wow," Emily whispered.

"Yeah!" Bastian cried, raising his fist. "Little wormy is a badass!"

"I did nothing," said Tim. "I am merely a mouthpiece, neither intelligent nor sentient. The Kodamas wanted to show you their might."

"We're impressed," King said. "Will you join us? Will you show this might to Elder'rah, Empress of Rahs?"

"The Kodamas must confer," said Tim. "This is a decision for the entire forest."

The sphere descended toward the planet. The piece of levitating forest fit snugly into the crater, reattaching itself to Tel'Koda.

"Just like popping a Lego back into place," Bastian said.

And the council of trees began. King, Bastian, and Emily waited at their campsite. The tree Tim perched on twisted and coiled, rumbling and creaking. Tim explained that the trees communicated by touching their roots, and that every tree on the planet was connected. The rumbles and creeks of countless trees talking flowed underground and filled the forest. The humans slept for a while. Dawn rose and the trees were still speaking. The humans ripped open a few breakfast MREs. Bastian had a double helping. And still the trees talked.

Finally, when evening was falling again, Tim emerged from a hole in the tree. He faced the three humans.

"We've talked for a long time," the whirlworm said.

He paused, perhaps for dramatic effect. King caught his breath. He needed these beings. Not only because they were fierce fighters. But because with an alliance of three civilizations—human, Aeolians, and Kodamas—he could convince others to join too.

"Well?" Emily whispered.

Tim narrowed his eyes. "We have reached a decision. We still remember our fallen. The ancestors whom the rahs cut down. We have hidden for too long. It is time for the Kodamas to fight."

King breathed a sigh of relief. He placed his hand on the tree. "Thank you, my friend. My ally."

"We must continue to enlist more allies." Tim hopped off the tree. "I will come with you."

The soil trembled again. A new sphere materialized, rising from the earth. But this time the sphere was small. Only about the size of a beach ball. The lower portion of the sphere was full of soil. From that soil grew a small Kodama tree, no larger than a houseplant. It looked like a DNA strand carved from wood, topped with a sprinkling of leaves. Tim coiled among the branches.

"Are you ready, Admiral King?" the whirlworm asked. The little terrarium floated toward King.

King nodded. "I'm ready."

They trekked back to their shuttle, which they had landed in a southern valley. Soon the humans were flying back into space. And with them came a small Kodama tree. An envoy of this strange, forested realm.

As the shuttle rose toward Freedom, King gazed down at the forested world. A world like Earth. A world that had suffered the scourge of the rahs. A world that would rise and fight back.

He turned his gaze and looked at the stars. The galaxy spread into the distance. According to Selly, there were ten thousand alien civilizations in the Milky Way. Some were predators like the rahs. Many were benevolent—but they were afraid and hiding from the galactic bullies. King would find them. He would unite them.

He looked at one star in particular. A distant blue star named Achernar. The star around which Arakavish, homeworld of the rahs, orbited.

"We are coming for you, Elder'rah," he whispered. "United, we will be stronger than you can imagine."

CHAPTER TWO

"Come on, you maggots! Another lap, go, go!" Alice checked her stopwatch. "Just because we're in a cease-fire doesn't mean I'll let you get sloppy. Run!"

Panting and sweating, the marines of the Freedom Brigade kept running. The Courtyard, located on deck 7 of the starship Freedom, was a vast open space. Alice had been racing her marines in laps around the Courtyard for a long while now. They were ready to collapse. But Sergeant Major Alice Allenby-King, chief NCO of the Freedom Brigade, would show them no mercy.

"Sergeant please!" panted one poor corporal, clutching his side. "We're done."

"No, you're not," Alice said. "Another lap!"

The marines groaned and kept running. Only Corporal Evan Fletcher seemed to be enjoying his time. The young marine had lost both legs, fighting the arachtaurs a year ago. Today he ran on prosthetics. They were shaped like two big Js, and they made him the fastest runner in the brigade. As Evan ran by, he looked at Alice, smiled, and gave her the thumbs-up. Then he bypassed his fellow marines and raced onward.

A few marines collapsed, covered in sweat.

"You lazy bastards!" Alice shouted. "On your feet! Run! You think the rahs will care you're tired? When you're running through the tunnels of Arakavish, do you think Empress Elder'rah will care that you're sweaty?"

One corporal stopped running beside Alice. He doubled over, breathing heavily, sweat soaking his fatigues. "Sergeant, I thought …" He paused to catch his breath. "I thought there's peace."

"Peace?" Alice said. "Peace? Everyone—stop! Stop running."

"Oh, thank God!" a private said, collapsing nearby.

They all stopped running, out of breath. Some fell to the deck. Only Evan seemed happy. The nineteen-year-old corporal bounced on his prosthetic feet, grinning. The kid had barely broken a sweat.

"Look at me, everyone," Alice said.

All eyes turned toward her. She looked at them, and she saw more than just exhausted, sweaty marines. She saw battle scars. She saw prosthetic limbs. She saw skin grafts. She saw marines who had gone with her through hell. And she saw new blood too. Marines who had joined the Freedom Brigade from Earth, replacing those who had fallen. Some of them had never seen battle in space.

"Did everyone hear Corporal Madiro? He said that there's peace."

They all stared at her, silent, solemn.

Alice spoke softly, but she knew everyone could hear. "There can be no peace with Arakavish. A year ago, we defeated the arachtaurs. We saved Earth from a second invasion. But Empress Elder'rah is still out there. And so long as the Arakavish empire spreads its web across the galaxy, there will be no peace. This is a cease-fire. That's all. A time to build more ships. To train more soldiers. To nurse our wounds. War will flare again, and you will be ready! Is that understood?"

Thousands of voices shook the Courtyard. "Yes, Sergeant!"

"All right, soldiers, hit the showers," Alice said. "You stink."

She left the Courtyard, a chill in her belly. She had meant to frighten her soldiers. But she had frightened herself. She knew something they did not, something they didn't have the security clearance to know.

We're forming a coalition, she thought, walking down a narrow corridor bustling with fellow spacers. We're preparing for an invasion of Arakavish. Soon we'll all face war again.

And suddenly fire raged down the corridor. The bulkheads were cracking. The spacers lay on the deck, screaming. Alice took a deep breath and the vision vanished. For now. It had been nearly a year, but the nightmares never strayed too far.

She took the elevator up to deck 28 in the ship's midsection. The corridors here were wider, the cabins larger. Deck 28 was home to the high command of the starship Freedom. The famous King's Library, where the admiral lived, was on this deck. Other senior commanders lived here too. Commander Larry "Phantom" Jordan, the de facto commander of the Freedom, lived here in a spacious stateroom. Lieutenant Commander Gal "Spitfire" Levy, his XO, had smaller quarters here. Dr. Annie Jordan, the ship's doctor, and Colonel Kim Fletcher, the ship's engineer, kept quarters here too—though Kim often slept down in engineering, too busy to return home.

Alice was not a fancy-schmancy officer like them. She had never been to military academy. She was a working gal. But as a sergeant major, the top NCO of the Freedom Brigade, she had earned her spot on this exclusive deck. She was only thirty-one, young for her position. But the war had killed many. She had risen quickly through the ranks, replacing the fallen. Of course, being married to a colonel helped too. Alice knew that gave her some advantages in her career. Her husband was Colonel Bastian "Badger" King, commander of the Freedom Brigade and son of the admiral. Alice had married into military royalty.

And suddenly, walking here on the prestigious deck 28, she felt like an intruder. Just a farm girl from Nebraska. Just a grunt. She didn't belong here.

Stop it, she told herself. I earned this. The way I earned my ticket to the Olympics. I fought for this. I bled for this. I belong on this deck.

Funny. She was an Olympic wrestler. Or had been once. Years ago. She sometimes almost forgot. It seemed another life. Everything before the war seemed like a dream.

As she walked toward her quarters, she passed by a familiar door. Flowers had been placed all around it. Alice paused and lowered her head.

Oliver Darjeeling's cabin. The room was still empty.

Darjeeling had been an enlisted spacer too. Like Alice—not an officer. He too had risen in the ranks, earned his spot on this deck. From a humble working class beginning, Darjeeling had become the highest-ranking enlisted spacer on the Freedom, a respected and beloved leader. Alice and Bastian had named their son after him. Whenever she walked here, Alice paused to smell the flowers, to bow her head, to pay respect.

The sound of a crying baby tugged at her attention. Alice hurried down the hallway, reached her quarters, and stepped inside.

Bastian was there, rocking baby Oliver in his arms. The baby was crying, face red.

"I'm trying to calm him," Bastian said, his skin pale and his eyes sunken. "It's not working."

The baby saw his mother and reached toward her. Alice took Oliver into her arms and he calmed at once.

"Well, you were doing it wrong." She rocked the baby against her chest. "There you go. Just like this."

Holding her son, she looked around the cabin. This was a deck 28 cabin, which meant luxury. They had a kitchenette, a private bathroom, and two little rooms. Alice, her husband, and her son slept in one room. The second room belonged to Rowan, Bastian's daughter from his previous marriage. The nine-year-old sat there now, lost in her own world. She was bobbing her head, chewing gum, and doing her homework. The girl's MindLink neural chip was probably playing music while canceling outside noises. A good idea when just a thin bulkhead separated you from a baby.

Down on Earth, these humble quarters would perhaps qualify as a dorm room. Maybe a cheap apartment in a bad neighborhood. For the starship Freedom, this place was palatial. Most spacers lived in cramped rooms with several bunkmates. Alice and her family had made this a home. Rowan's crayon artwork decorated the fridge while family photos adorned the bulkheads. Already they were making memories here. They often played board games, watched movies, laughed. Yes, it was home.

As much as Alice loved this place, she often found herself missing her old home on Earth. She had grown up poor. The King family had lived on a sprawling ranch, heirs to old money, while the Allenby clan had lived in a run-down farmhouse. Still, even that rickety farmhouse was full of memories. Alice used to run up and down the stairs, play hide-and-seek, tumble around in the backyard, and ride her pony on prairie adventures. She wished she could give the same childhood to her children—and she considered Rowan her child too, and she loved the girl like a true daughter.

She heaved a sigh. Nebraska was still a smoldering ruin. Alice had visited there after repelling the arachtaurs. Her family farm was gone. Nothing but charred soil remained, too burned to grow any crops. The King ranch was gone too. Of that happy childhood, nothing remained but memories.

"You all right, babe?" Bastian said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just …" Suddenly tears were falling down her cheeks.

Bastian pulled her into his arms. He hugged her gently, careful not to crush the baby. "I love you, Alice. I'm here for you. Always."

She sniffed. "I know. I love you too."

He kissed her cheek. "Let me take another baby shift. Go to the lounge, watch a movie, hit the gym, do whatever you need to unwind. You need time off."

"Gosh, stop being such a perfect husband!" Alice said. "You're going to spoil me. I—"

Her MindLink chimed. It was a call from Admiral King.

Alice took the call. It was audio only. "Hey, Pops."

King's raspy voice filled her mind. "Alice, will you report to my quarters please? We need to talk."

She frowned. "Is this about me making the marines run too much? If somebody complained to you, let me know who, and I'll skin them alive."

She could hear King's smile in his voice. "It's not about that. Are you available?"

"I'll be right there. Mind if I bring Oli?"

Now she definitely heard his smile. "Please do."

"See you in five minutes, Pops."

* * * * *

Five minutes later, she approached King's Library, the admiral's stateroom. Corporal Donahue stood guarding the door. He was a short man. The top of his bald head barely reached Alice's shoulders. But he was practically overflowing with muscles. The corporal was as wide as he was tall.

"Hey, Don," she said. "How are the kids?"

The corporal winced. "They're eating me out of house and home. The curse of having teenagers." Then his face brightened. "Look at little Oli! They're much cuter at this age. I miss babies."

Alice smiled. Donahue was a good guy. Back when Freedom had been a museum, he had worked in the carnival on the lower deck, entertaining tourists with games of chance and skill. Today that deck was an armory, and the carny had become a guard. He was what they called "the museum generation," one of the spacers here from Freedom's days as a tourist trap. Most of the museum generation were fiercely loyal. They weren't just here to fight the enemy. To them Freedom was home.

Alice patted Donahue on his broad shoulder. "Soon enough you'll have grandkids running around."

He winced. "Yes, I'm old. Don't remind me." He laughed. "But I won't keep you with chitchat. Go on in. The admiral's expecting you."

He opened the door, and Alice stepped into King's Library.

The stateroom's name became apparent as soon as you entered. Shelves covered the walls, brimming with hundreds of books. Other shelves held antique naval instruments, ships in bottles, and rare geodes. The fireplace was crackling, illuminating the suit of armor that stood ever on guard. It was like stepping through a portal to some medieval castle.

King rose from behind his oak desk. He approached Alice, kissed her cheek, and smiled at Oliver. The baby gurgled, reached out a pudgy hand, and touched King's face. A look of concern crossed Oliver's eyes.

"That's right," King said. "Wrinkly. That's what happens when you get old."

The baby giggled.

Alice noticed that Commander Jordan was here too. He stood by a bookshelf, a thin smile on his face. He nodded.

"Hello, Alice."

She frowned. "Hello," she said carefully. "What is this about? If both of you are here, this is serious."

"It is," King said. "I'll cut to the chase. Alice, as you know, Oliver Darjeeling left us far too soon. The Freedom needs a new chief NCO. The job is yours."

Alice blinked. Her head spun.

Whoa, she thought.

She blinked. "Sir, I'm honored. I don't know what to say. I … I'm not sure I'm right for this job."

"Of course you are," King said. "The chief NCO is the commander's right-hand woman. You'll act as my liaison to the enlisted troops on the ship. You'll also oversee the discipline, appearance, and well-being of every spacer aboard. It's a big job. It's said that while the commander gets the glory, the chief NCO actually runs the ship."

"I don't know how to run a ship," Alice said. "I'm just a marine."

"And I was just a pilot. And Darjeeling was just a rifleman." He stared into her eyes. "Alice, I need a woman I can trust for this job. I know it won't be easy. And I know you're up to the task."

Alice hesitated. "Sir … is this because I had a baby?"

King took a deep breath. He spoke softly. "I'll admit it. I don't like the thought of you charging into battle with the marines anymore. Not with a baby at home." His face hardened. "But no. That's not the reason. I chose you because I trust you. This is a promotion, Alice. Will you do it?"

She looked at Oliver, who was yawning in her arms. The baby fell asleep, smiling contentedly.

Maybe King is right, she thought. Maybe I can't go fighting battles anymore on the front line. Maybe I owe it to Oli to stay safe. To stay alive.

She looked back at King. "I feel guilty about leaving my marines. Yes, I have a child now. I must stay safe for him. But all the marines are like children to me."

King gazed into the crackling fire. "I understand. More than you know. I feel that way about everyone on this ship. Well, maybe other than Jordan here."

The tall commander snorted. "Thank God. I'd hate to have you as a father."

King did not even crack a smile. "Alice, help us lead this ship. We need you. Freedom needs you."

She smiled. "I'll do it. Of course I'll do it."

* * * * *

It was almost time to fly out again. The Freedom would soon open a portal and jump to the stars, seeking new alien life. Humans, Aeolians, and Kodamas had united. But King needed to build a larger coalition. To enlist more civilizations to fight the rahs. Elder'rah was a formidable enemy. Her empire sprawled across thousands of worlds. King would need more friends before he could hope to take her down.

In a few hours, they would be leaving. They just needed to charge their batteries first.

Portals required massive amounts of energy, more than Freedom could normally generate in her reactors. Until now, to open portals, Freedom had relied on outside sources of energy. She connected to power plants, to multiple other ships, and once had even drawn energy directly from a nebula. It had worked in a pinch. But they needed a better solution.

So Kim Fletcher, who had built and installed Freedom's portal generator, had finally installed batteries to power it. And those batteries were big. Each portal battery was the size of King's old farmhouse. Twenty of them hung across Freedom's hull like sacks across a donkey's back.

The batteries took a while to charge. Freedom currently floated by Enstar Station, a nuclear power plant at Earth's L1 Lagrange point. A hundred cables ran between the station and the ship. The plant had been commissioned only this year, built specifically to charge Kim's batteries. The engineer was busy overseeing the operation, making sure Freedom was getting the juice she needed.

It would be a few hours before the batteries were charged. In the meanwhile, King had something important to do on Earth.

He left the Freedom in the capable hands of his senior officers. He invited only two people to join him down on Earth. Queen Emily was one. The other was Master Sergeant Meytal Koren.

King flew the shuttle himself. Normally admirals didn't fly their own shuttles. But King missed flying. He had begun his career as a pilot. Whenever he got the chance, he flew. Emily sat beside him, wearing a neat service uniform, holding Niles on her lap. Meytal sat in the back, wriggling around, a grimace on her face.

"Can't I change back into fatigues?" she said. "God, these American service uniforms are uncomfortable."

King turned his head and looked at her. Meytal had spent most of her career aboard the Caracal, an Israeli warship. Spacers aboard the Caracal had worn olive drab—uniforms that seemed right out of the battlefields of World War II. Even after joining the Freedom, Meytal refused to dress up. She only ever wore a marine's loose fatigues. Until now. For this trip, King had required more formal wear. Like the others, Meytal now wore the service uniform of the Alliance Fleet. Navy-blue trousers. A buttoned-down shirt. A blazer with brass cuff links and polished buttons. A naval cap sporting the symbol of the Freedom—a blue star and three red stripes.

"You look nice," Emily said.

"I can't breathe in this uniform." Meytal tugged at her collar. "Why am I dressed like a Disney prince? I thought I was a soldier."

"At least you get to carry a saber," Emily said. "You like swords, right?"

Meytal glanced at the sword that hung at her side. "This thing? This isn't a sword. It's a toothpick. I miss my bazooka."

King growled like a cornered wolf. "I want us to look nice today."

"I'd rather look deadly," Meytal said, tugging on her pants as if to loosen the fabric.

"You want to be there for Stowy, don't you?" King said.

Meytal stopped squirming. "Always. She's like a little sister. I'm going to be there for her." She tugged violently on her uniform. "Even if I have to wear this ridiculous getup."

King snorted. "You should have seen the service uniforms when I was your age. They included a tie. For women too."

Meytal gulped. "Dear Lord. I'd have hanged myself."

Niles floated up from the queen's lap. "If you ask me, we should leave the stowaway down on Earth. We finally got rid of her, and you want her back?"

"How about I just hang the drone?" Meytal said.

Niles squeaked and returned to his queen's lap.

"Fasten your seat belts," King said. "We're about to enter the atmosphere."

They dived into the blue sky of Earth. A smooth dive if you asked King. The shuttle barely rattled. That didn't stop Niles from wailing. "Slow down, man, you're going to get us killed!"

King took a deep breath, leaned back in his seat, and luxuriated in the feeling of flying through the air. Flying in space was lovely. But there was something special about flying inside the atmosphere, blue skies all around. Growing up, King's heroes had been the old pilots he read about in books. Pilots from before the era of spaceflight. As a young boy, he had often imagined himself in a Sopwith Camel, hunting the Red Baron. Even now, well into his sixties, he enjoyed that old daydream.

They glided over the Pacific, crossed the coast of British Columbia, and flew over snowcapped mountains. King purposefully flew slowly, giving them time to soak in the landscape.

"Look at it," he said softly. "Earth. There she is, our planet with all her wild beauty."

Emily leaned toward the window. "From here, you don't even see signs of the war."

A twist tugged on King's heart. British Columbia was still untouched, untamed. But Nebraska, his own home, was a charred wasteland. Rage flared in him. It was unfair! Why should his home smolder while this place remained pristine? But that was a petty feeling, and he quickly crushed it. He had fought for Earth. All of Earth. And he had saved most of his planet. Every spot of wild beauty here he had bled for, sacrificed for, and would treasure.

They glided over plains, rivers, and farmlands until they reached the Rocky Mountains. The snowy peaks, verdant mountainsides, and glimmering lakes formed a painting more splendid than any artist could create. King had flown all over the solar system. He had visited other stars, worlds full of alien wonders. But he had never seen a place more beautiful than Earth.

"This is why we fight," he said.

Emily and Meytal nodded. Even Niles was unusually quiet.

"There it is!" Emily said. "Fort Jasper."

King began descending. They approached a valley between snowcapped mountains. A military base nestled along a glacier-fed lake. Herds of bison, seeing the shuttle approach, ran into a pine forest.

For a military base, it was a damn nice one. The barracks were cozy log cabins. The mess hall looked like a ski lodge. The Canadians enjoyed their creature comforts. Take down the Alliance flag, charge people for entry, and this could be a lovely tourist resort. Whatever happened to roughing it? Then again, the Freedom had spent forty years as a casino and spa, so King couldn't fault the Canadians too much.

From up here, King could already see the recruits lining up in the courtyard. The ceremony was about to begin. King was just on time. He landed the shuttle, and they stepped out into the crisp mountain air. King inhaled deeply. There was nothing like breathing the fresh air of Earth.

Meytal shivered. The Israeli commando hugged herself. "Canada is freezing. Couldn't we send the girl to boot camp in the desert?"

King looked over the recruits in the courtyard. Hundreds of young soldiers stood there, most of them teenagers, wearing their first service uniforms. And there she was. King spotted her in their formation.

Samantha "Stowy" Perry. She saw him and made eye contact. She was disciplined enough not to wave or break formation. But she gave him a little smile. King winked at her.

I'm proud of you, Stowy, King thought.

As a soldier, Stowy now had a MindLink chip installed in her brain. She heard his thought, and her eyes dampened. She thought back at him.

Thank you, Pops.

King still remembered the day she had sneaked aboard the Freedom, a grimy stowaway in rags. She had been only a child, an orphan off the streets. Her parents had been brutally murdered, and she had fled into space, seeking a new life. At first King had ordered his troops to hunt down the stowaway, to send her back to Earth. But she kept dodging capture, sneaking into the HVAC ducts. And over time, everyone aboard the Freedom had come to love her. The ship's nuisance had become its mascot.

And now there she was. In uniform. A grown woman. A soldier graduating basic training.

Bleachers had been set up around the courtyard. Family members had come to watch the graduation ceremony. A few people sneaked glances at King and Emily, whispering among themselves. Somebody snapped a photo. It wasn't every day that an Alliance admiral and the Queen of England showed up for a boot camp graduation. Stowy had no family to visit her today. But she was not forgotten.

One of Stowy's thoughts tickled his mind. Perhaps she was broadcasting to him on purpose. Perhaps she was still not used to her new MindLink, and she was sharing the thought accidentally. Whatever the case, King sensed the thought, sad and warm.

I wish my parents could have been here.

King sent a thought back to her. They're here in spirit. And I'm here for you. And Emily and Meytal. We're your family too.

The camp officers delivered a speech. The recruits showed off their marching skills. Then, one by one, the recruits stepped up toward their officers, saluted, and received their insignia. One chevron per sleeve. The insignia of a private in the Alliance Armed Forces. When the officer pinned the insignia onto Stowy's sleeves, she looked at King, and tears shone in her eyes.

When the ceremony was over, Stowy ran up to King, leaped onto him, and cried onto his shoulder. King embraced her.

"Private Samantha Perry," he said. "Who would have imagined? I'm proud of you, soldier."

Stowy sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I did it for you."

She hugged Emily and Meytal next. The two were like older sisters to her.

"You gonna join the marines, right, squirt?" Meytal said. "Be like me?"

"Or maybe you'll join the artillery corps like me," said Emily.

Stowy shook her head. "No. I wouldn't be a good fighter. I'm a soldier now, yes. But not a warrior like you two. My squad commander said I have a good mind for machines. During basic training, I was always the one fixing the communicators, and I could assemble my gun faster than anyone." She looked at King. "Do you think maybe I can get a job down in engineering? I don't need to be a mechanic right away. Even just sweeping the deck would be fine and dandy, so long as I'm around machines."

"We can talk to Kim and arrange something," King said. "So long as you sleep in a proper bunk now, not in the HVAC ducts."

Stowy laughed, then cried more tears and wiped her eyes. "I wish Darjeeling could have been here. I miss him so much."

Meytal raised an eyebrow. "I thought you two were enemies. Darjeeling was always chasing you around the ship, after all, promising to capture the stowaway and blast her out the airlock."

"I know," Stowy said. "But I loved him."

Niles floated toward Stowy, made a sound like clearing his throat, and raised his silver nose. "Stowy, I would like to cordially congratulate you on finally becoming less than absolutely useless. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Aww, thank you, Niles." She hugged him.

"Let me go! You'll give me fleas."

Still hugging the squirming drone, Stowy turned toward King and grinned. "So when do we go back to the Freedom? I'm so bored with Earth."

"You can fly back right away," King said.

"Aren't you coming?" Stowy said.

"Not yet. While I'm down here, there's something I must do." King looked eastward, and his voice dropped. "There's an old friend I must see."

CHAPTER THREE

In the Orion Arm of the Milky Way galaxy, in the constellation the humans called Eridanus, there burned a unique star.

Its color was bright blue like a robin's egg. The star burned thousands of times brighter than Sol, the sun of Earth, and enormously hotter. But its color, heat, and brightness were not even the most unusual aspects of Achernar. What made this star stand out in the galaxy was its shape. Achernar spun so quickly around its own axis that it flattened itself. It was oblate. The shape of a plump pancake.

But even the color, heat, and shape of Achernar were not what made this star so important. If it were just these elements, Achernar might be an interesting paragraph in some dusty astrophysics textbook, of little interest to anyone but the most erudite astronomers. But Achernar was more than a strangely shaped, oddly colored, superhot star. Around this star orbited a rocky planet named Arakavish—the homeworld of the rahs.

Achernar was the pulsing, spinning heart of a galactic empire.

Tunnels wound through Achernar like the tunnels of maggots through moldy cheese. They wound for millions of miles, twisting, coiling, plunging deep. The tunnels had more surface area than Earth. In the deepest pit in these tunnels, buried under countless tons of stone, hidden away inside this rocky sphere in the blue haze of a strange star … she lurked.

Elder'rah. Empress of spiders.

She was a small rah. Not much larger than a human toddler. She was colorless, wrinkly, a creature like some albino naked mole rat, blind and decrepit. Her eight legs were like the brittle shafts of feathers. Useless legs. She had not moved in thousands of years. She was something only barely alive, mummified, calcified, and her heart was but a black pulsing pinprick. A heart like a tick swollen with blood and bacteria. Her web hung loosely in her cave, sagging and fraying, bristly with tiny hairs like the last white wisps on an old man's scalp. Yet this web was the most powerful in the empire, for it connected all strands from all stars.

Sitting here, she could sense every vibration in the web. Distant, exploding stars. Battles a thousand light-years away. Females laying eggs in the great wriggling pits. The scuttle of every leg in her empire. They all rippled through the cosmic web. And she sensed them. Inside a carapace as thin as papyrus, her brain was like a twisted, pink pretzel, wet with fluids, crackling with electricity. Its neurons formed a web like the web she had woven among the stars. And inside this brain a conscious maliciousness expanded its awareness across the galaxy—and craved only one thing.

More.

And now this twisted brain sensed something that made it contract like a cramping muscle.

The empress let out a little sound, barely more than the raspy exhalation of breath. Yet the servants who lurked in her cavern, consuming her excrement to keep her lair clean, shivered and fled in terror.

For the first time in many days, Elder'rah opened her eyes.

The skin had fused over her vestigial eyeballs. But the skin was as thin as wax paper, and as the muscles tugged it, the skin ripped. Tiny white eyes, no larger than dry cranberries, bulged out.

"The humans," she hissed, voice like crinkling paper. "They are plotting. They are scheming. They are raising the wretched, rancid life of the galaxy against me. But they will fail."

After all, she had friends of her own.

Her slit of a mouth—like the mouth of a puffer fish—twisted into a delicate, deadly smile full of sharp teeth shaped like hooks. One of her hollow, translucent legs twitched, tugging on a strand. Vibrations moved through the web. The call went out.

The demons were summoned.

Across the vast darkness, past immeasurable emptiness, worlds trembled. Pits cracked open. And pulsing, twitching, drooling monsters awoke.

* * * * *

Deep underground, buried beneath London, spread a slab of concrete. The slab was so thick it could withstand a nuclear blast. Sheets of iron reinforced it. Drills would break against it. Were somebody to dig it up, then place it aboveground, the sides would form cliffs. The asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs could hit this slab and bounce off—or so its builders liked to boast. It had taken a thousand tractors, ten thousand men, ten billion pounds, and only ten months to build. Hiding under London, nobody saw it. Few people even knew the slab was there. It was an artificial plate tectonic, a behemoth of engineering, buried under a major world city, unseen and unknown.

Beneath this slab spread a network of bunkers. The rooms were small, the corridors narrow. The walls were rough brick, the desks simple metal, the cots thin and uncomfortable. The galley served canned food. It was no more luxurious than a warship. But here lived and worked George Godwin, High Commander of the Free Alliance, along with his generals and ministers.

King walked down a narrow corridor. The walls were made of brown bricks, and yellow lamps shone on the rounded ceiling. Other high-ranking officers—majors, colonels, even generals—walked the corridors back and forth. King's navy-blue uniform denoted him a spacer, out of place among the beige uniforms of the ground forces. He was not, however, the only spacer here. He glimpsed Rear Admiral Clara Nightingale hurrying down one corridor, dictating notes to a drone who hovered at her side.

"It feels strange to be away from the Freedom," Mimori said softly. "I can't even feel her from down here."

The android walked at his side. Like him, she wore an Alliance uniform. Her black bob cut spilled out from under her naval cap. Her eyes darted nervously. There were many robots who served in the Alliance, but few were humanoid. Walking here, Mimori looked completely human. Most likely, nobody else knew she was an android.

"You're doing fine," King said.

She nodded, but as she walked, her hands trembled. "I'm just not used to being away from the Freedom. I feel odd. Disconnected. Afraid."

King paused in the corridor. He turned to look at her. A few generals walked by, robots wheeling after them.

"Mimori, do you want to go back now?"

"Yes." She shuddered. "But I'll stay. I'll survive. You understand, sir, I'm not a simple android. I am the Freedom. The soul of the ship. And a soul without a body is a ghost."

"You are very real, Mimori. And I'm sorry I had to drag you here. If it becomes too much to handle, say the word and we'll leave."

"All right, sir. I can stay a while longer."

They kept walking down the hallway until they reached High Commander Godwin's office. The bunker was so secure there wasn't even a guard at the door. There was no need for one. King simply knocked and announced himself.

Godwin opened the door, beaming.

"King, my boy! Welcome! Oh, no need to salute me down here. Give me a proper handshake instead. That's it. And Mimori! How are you, my dear?"

The high commander still had a booming voice and bright eyes. But King noticed that he looked older, thinner. He still wore a three-piece suit, but it no longer fit snuggly against a portly frame. Godwin was eighty years old now, and his age was starting to catch up with him. His cane was once a fashion accessory, hiding a saber inside, but now the old man leaned on it in earnest.

"It's good to see you, sir," King said.

"Come in, come in! I've got some brandy and good cigars. A man deserves some luxury, being stuck down here, living like a mole. The room isn't much. But it's comfortable enough."

They stepped inside. Godwin's office was surprisingly austere for a man of his station. The walls were unadorned brick. The desk was simple steel. A few maps hung about the room, and a cat purred on a shelf. A cot was neatly made at the back of the room. Godwin had been sleeping in his office.

"Mimori, dear, a drink? A cigar?"

The android shook her head. "I don't have taste sensors installed, sir. It would be wasted on me."

"Ah. Pity. You should try them someday. What is life without some creature comforts? Very well though. It will be us two old boys who drink and smoke. A drink, King?"

"Actually, I quit drinking," King said.

Godwin shook his head. "You're both too wholesome for your own good. Have a cigar, old boy, at least do that."

King smiled thinly. "Gladly."

"I'll have a cigar too, actually," Mimori said. "I can't taste it. But I think I'll enjoy sharing the moment."

Soon all three were smoking cigars and sitting around the desk. And it was time to discuss business.

"We've received word from our spies," Godwin said. "I invited you down here to share the knowledge."

King frowned and lowered his cigar. "Spies, sir?"

"We've kept it secret," Godwin said. "Even from you, old boy. I'm sorry. But it's time you knew. We have spies on Arakavish."

King's eyes widened. "Humans? On Arakavish?"

"Not humans, old boy. Arachtaurs!"

King was speechless for a moment. "Arachtaur spies … Dear Lord."

Even Mimori seemed shocked. She gaped at the high commander.

Godwin leaned back in his chair. He puffed his cigar, and for a moment, smoke obscured his face. "After you defeated the Atrocity—and wasn't that a maneuver for the history books!—the arachtaurs lost heart. Their leaders were dead. Both Od'rahda and Magog'rah. Their armies were crumbling. So they fled our planet in shame. But not before we recruited a few of them."

"Sir, with all due respect, the arachtaurs cannot be trusted!" King said. "They're monsters."

Godwin puffed on his cigar again. "They're half human. They have human minds. Human instincts. And human frailties. They're not all loyal to their empress, King. For thousands of years, leaders in war have enlisted traitors among the enemy. This war is no different."

King nodded. He had heard the stories. In the past year, they had found several human traitors. Men and women, fully human, who worked for the rahs. Some were greedy; the rahs paid them gold and diamonds. Others were misanthropes, humans who hated their own kind. If humans could betray Earth, why couldn't arachtaurs betray Arakavish?

"And you've learned something," King said.

Godwin nodded. "When we sent the arachtaur agents back to Arakavish, we gave them MindLinks. Not the same kind you and I have in our heads. Smaller MindLinks. Organic. Made of real brain tissue. Difficult to detect even under X-rays or MRIs. They can record information like photographic memories, package it up, and prepare it for our consumption. To send us the information, the arachtaurs use specialized portal generators, which we hid inside hollow molars in their mouths. The fake teeth open tiny portals, thinner than a grain of rice, and transmit the information to here. To these bunkers."

"A hundred and thirty-nine light-years within instants," Mimori said. "That's the true power of portals. Faster-than-light communication. Ironically, we only learned about them from the rahs. Now they're Earth's most powerful, revolutionary technology. Before portal communications, a message from Arakavish would require decades to arrive."

Godwin nodded. "Portals give us something even more important, my dear. A passageway to the stars. If we can win this war—and it is still my deepest hope that we prevail—the stars will be open to us. From ashes to exploration. Like Moses, we must pass through this desolation before we reach the promised land."

"All this talk of technology and salvation is very inspiring," King said. "But right now I want to know what the spies told us."

Godwin nodded. "The arachtaurs were defeated, but millions still serve Arakavish. You killed the foul Magog'rah, admiral of the enemy's fleet, while your son slew the venomous Od'rahda, commander of the arachtaur ground troops. But those are but two heads of a hydra. The arachtaurs have chosen a new champion. A leader to represent them to Empress Elder'rah. Or rather, I should say: They have chosen two leaders. The arachtaurs simply call them the twins. Take a look for yourself."

With a thought, Godwin summoned a shared MindWeb hallucination. A creature hovered over the desk, roughly the size of the cat on the shelf. An arachtaur. But not an ordinary one. Like all arachtaurs, it had the abdomen, stinger, and eight legs of a spider. Most arachtaurs had a human's upper body—the torso, arms, and head—growing from the spider's thorax. This arachtaur sprouted two human bodies. One male, one female.

"I see why they're called the twins," Mimori said. "Fascinating."

"The twins are rallying the arachtaurs," Godwin said. "We don't think they plan to attack Earth just yet. For now, they are consolidating their forces. Rebuilding. Mustering around Arakavish. But they've not forgotten their shame at Earth. Sooner or later, they will attack again, King. Our spies have gazed into space at the enemy formations, stored the images, and sent them over. Take a look, Admiral."

The twins vanished. A new hallucination replaced it. Arakavish now floated above the desk, the size of a basketball. Countless little starships orbited it like bugs around a corpse. Some were shaped like little black thistles. Others like metal spiders.

"I see both the clawships of rahs and the spider-shaped ships of arachtaurs." King squinted. "I also see new kinds of starships. Something we've never seen before."

"Look closer, King. Though you won't like what you see." Godwin zoomed in, giving them a closer look at the starships orbiting Arakavish.

Everyone stared, silent and grim.

"Dear God, what are those?" King finally said.

Some of the new ships looked like urchins—spheres bristling with metal spikes. Other ships reminded King of scorpions. A few ships looked like enormous bear traps, while others bore a chilling resemblance to vultures. They only vaguely looked like those animals. These were merely the associations King's mind created. In truth, they were like nothing he had ever seen. They were twisted, monstrous ships covered with blades and cannons, nightmares taken form.

"Are the rahs experimenting with new ship designs?" Mimori asked.

"We believe that those are not rah ships," Godwin said. "They appear to be ships of other species. Races subservient to the rahs."

"Auxiliary forces," King said. "Slave races."

"Perhaps," Godwin said. "As we are building a coalition of our own, Empress Elder'rah is not idle. She summons her own allies. Or slaves, as you call them. She is tightening her forces around her world. She encircles Arakavish not only with a million starships but with a great shield. Even if we could get past her fleet, we would meet this force field that engulfs her planet. Our firepower alone cannot break through, not even the Fist of Freedom. These are mighty defenses, Admiral King. We will need many more allies before we can hope to take on Arakavish."

"Does Elder'rah know we're planning an attack on her planet?" King said.

"Perhaps, though we cannot confirm it," Godwin said. "We've assaulted her star system once before. Back when you destroyed her enemy cable. That was just a small sortie. A single raid. But now she knows we can reach her. And she is preparing for war."

King pointed at the map. "Right now those are defensive formations. If she switched to offensive formations, we must know at once. And prepare for another invasion."

"All my spies have their eyes open," Godwin said.

"As do her spies, no doubt," King said.

They glanced around the room as if seeking spies. King knew that human traitors had been found spying for the rahs across Earth. Could any have infiltrated these bunkers? Could any be serving aboard the Freedom? The thought sickened him. He wondered if he could install a fleet-wide MindLink upgrade to detect treasonous thoughts and report them. It would be a terrible breach of privacy. Perhaps it was necessary. Perhaps it was too Orwellian. He would discuss it with Jordan once he returned to the Freedom.

Godwin stamped out his cigar and leaned forward in his seat.

"Admiral King, we need more allies. The Aeolians and Kodamas are a good start. But we need more! Our coalition must grow. I want you to fly out again. Find me more allies, Admiral. The survival of humanity depends on it."

King nodded. "I'll fly out tonight."

He approached the door. Before he left, Godwin handed him a wooden box.

"Take these, Admiral. A box of my finest cigars." He winked at Mimori. "Remind him to have fun every once in a while. Even now." Suddenly he seemed so old again, and sadness touched his eyes. "Especially now."

As King flew his shuttle back to the Freedom, he couldn't shake the fear from his bones. Not only the fear of Elder'rah and her terrible hosts. But the fear of seeing his leader, once carved of solid stone, appear like a man of clay, crumbling at the edges.

The Freedom was orbiting Earth beyond the last ring of satellites. As soon as King flew into the hangar, he called a deckhand over.

"Find Selly," King said to the young man. "Send him to my quarters."

The deckhand, who had never spoken to an admiral, gulped, nodded, and managed a clumsy salute. King returned to his quarters and stood for long moments by the fireplace, watching the flames.

He must obey his commander. He must find aid.

Or soon like the wood in this fireplace Earth would burn.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Freedom slowly orbited Earth. King stood in his study, gazing down at the planet through the porthole. It was not the same Earth he had known. British Columbia was still pristine, perhaps. But most of Earth had not been spared. It was a year since the arachtaur invasion, but Earth still showed her scars. The Amazon rain forest, which had been healing for two hundred years, had burned down. Entire cities lay in smoldering heaps. Berlin. Paris. Capetown. They were little more than smoking craters. The fires of war had spread across the earth, consuming fields and forests. Rivers had dried up, and clouds of ash choked refugee camps. Even now, scattered fires still burned. They had been burning since the war, and Earth simply didn't have enough firefighters to put them out. A hundred million people lay dead. Gazing down from here, King wondered if he'd live long enough to see Earth heal.

We won't survive another invasion, he thought. We must strike Elder'rah before she can invade us a third time.

For that, he needed more allies.

He turned away from the window.

Sel'ton'ref'tra, affectionately known as Selly, sat in the armchair by the fireplace. The alien's round shell looked like a boulder studded with crystals. Back at Heaven's Geode, his hollow homeworld, Selly headed the thinkers guild—a group of scientists, philosophers, and artists. Every crystal on his shell denoted another field of knowledge he had mastered. Right now only two of his five legs stuck out from the shell. With his long, articulate toes, he held a leather-bound book from King's Library. Aeolians didn't have heads per se, at least not in the human sense; their brains were inside their shells, nestled among their other organs. But Selly had a little ball of sensory organs—including ears, eyes, and tentacles—that stuck out from the top of his shell. Right now his three eyes were focused on the book.

"Fascinating," he mumbled. "Human history is truly remarkable. Have you heard about the Third World War, Bully Dog?"

King smiled thinly. "I might have. Selly, I wanted your advice. We need more allies. More alien civilizations to join our coalition against the rahs. Where can we find more?"

Selly put down the book. He looked up at King with two eyes. The third eye gazed out the porthole to the stars. For a long moment, the Aeolian was silent, lost in thought.

"It is hard to know," he finally said.

"I thought you knew all about the galaxy and its civilizations."

"I am but a student of this knowledge, Bully Dog. Not a master. The thinkers before me studied the stars. But for so long, we Aeolians hid inside Heaven's Geode, our invisible shell. We did not look at the stars, for among those stars, we had found the rahs. We turned away, too scared of the monsters to peer into the darkness. But I have been studying the texts of the ancients. The works of thinkers who had lived on Cleodora, our fallen homeworld. They wrote of ten thousand alien civilizations in the galaxy. Many now seem to be hiding. They too fear the rahs." Selly shuddered. "Sometimes I wonder whether we should be hiding too. Bully Dog, are you sure about all this? Perhaps humanity should seek a hiding place."

"I'm sure," King said. "Even if humans wanted to hide, we cannot. We don't have the ability to build invisible megastructures like the Aeolians built. We don't have enough ships to transport the species to another planet, nor the technology to cloak our exodus. Even if we did, I would not hide. You can only hide from an enemy for so long. Sometimes it's best to stand your ground and fight."

Selly heaved a sigh and nodded. Both the sigh and the nod were human mannerisms he had picked up. Human communication, Selly had once observed, was just as much body language as spoken language, and he wanted to master both.

"Perhaps you are right, Bully Dog. I am a thinker, not a warrior." He rose from the chair, sticking out his remaining three feet, and walked across the rug to the bookshelf. He returned the history book, then pulled out another old book—this one containing star maps. He placed the book on the table and flipped through the pages until he reached a particular constellation.

"The Orion constellation," King said. "It's always been my favorite. I remember myself as a young boy, gazing at the night sky and imagining the adventures of Orion the hunter. I remember giving my grandmother a painting I made of the constellation. She hung it in her kitchen."

With a long clawed toe, Selly tapped one star in the constellation. The left shoulder of the hunter.

"Here," the Aeolian said. "You'll find friends here."

"Betelgeuse," King said. "Really?"

Selly nodded. "The old books speak of creatures who live there. Who fought the rahs. Perhaps they can be our allies."

"Selly, Betelgeuse is a red supergiant. One of the largest, brightest stars in the night sky. That star is a monster. Next to it, our sun would look like a pea beside a pumpkin. If you placed Betelgeuse in the center of our solar system, it would engulf the orbits of Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars. And burn every other planet to a crisp. How could any life survive there?"

"They probably ask the same about Earth. How could life survive by a star so small and cool?"

"Touché. Is there anything your ancestors say about the aliens who live at Betelgeuse?"

"Their writings are cryptic," Selly said. "Sadly, much was lost when our homeworld was destroyed. In the Aeolian tongue, we call Betelgeuse the Big Fire. The texts of the ancients call the aliens who live there … hmm, how to translate? Firelings. I believe that would be the closest translation. The ancients write only that the firelings were masters of flame, that they lived to burn, and that they burned many enemies."

"They sound tough," King said.

"They are renowned warriors in the old texts," Selly said. "Most interestingly, I found an old language book, translating fireling language to my own Aeolian tongue. I can create an English-Fireling translation algorithm, which I'll install into your MindLink. If you meet firelings, you'll be able to communicate with them."

"Selly, you're a lifesaver."

The alien tilted his head. "But Bully Dog, I didn't save your life. Merely offered information."

"It's an expression."

"Ah, I see. I worry my translation algorithm might not be perfect, given that I still struggle with English. Bully Dog, another language question. Why do humans call the Big Fire Betelgeuse? Juice made from beetles?"

King laughed. "No. It's a mispronunciation of the Arabic for Hand of Orion. But I like your name for it. Big Fire. It's certainly big and hot. And I hope we find a powerful ally. We fly there next."

* * * * *

The enormous batteries hung across Freedom's hull like saddlebags, brimming with enough energy to power a city. They thrummed, delivering power through braided power cables as thick as tree trunks. The Freedom's enormous portal generator began to spin. The circular structure was like a Ferris wheel encircling Freedom's prow. But instead of cars for passengers, this Ferris wheel boasted thirty spacetime manipulators. The boxy devices revved to life, stirring spacetime into a funnel. Ahead in space, the portal began to materialize like an eye in a storm.

King stood on the bridge, but he was watching through an ATLAS drone that orbited his ship, filming the Freedom.

He sent a telepathic message down to engineering. "Kim, once again, I just gotta hand it to you. Every time I see these portals open, I'm amazed at what you built."

In the privacy of his mind, he hallucinated Colonel Kim Fletcher down in engineering, wearing her sooty coveralls, holding an electric wrench. The engineer blushed. "I didn't invent this technology."

"But you applied it under battle conditions."

"Well, my crew did most of the work."

"They're amazing too. You all are—everyone down at engineering." He hesitated. "I hope so, at least. How is Stowy doing?"

Kim grinned. "Private Samantha Perry is an excellent deckhand. She's been following me around like a baby duck, sweeping the deck, collecting fallen screws, and asking a million questions."

King shuddered. "I can imagine. If she gets in your way, feel free to offload her onto somebody else."

"It's all right. I like the girl. She's got a good head on her shoulders. She'll make a great mechanic someday."

King glanced again at the ATLAS feed. The portal was nearly fully formed. A few more minutes and they'd be good to go.

"Kim, are you ready?"

She nodded. "Always, Jim. Let's fly out there and explore."

She ended the call, and her hallucination vanished from King's mind.

King pulled his attention back to the bridge. It was the usual bustling hive of activity. Major Kaplan, the Shield of David operator, was running through diagnostic reports, making sure Freedom's defense system was ready to handle any threat. The tactical officers on duty were calibrating the shields. The navigators stood by the ATLAS officers, reviewing floating star maps. A hallucination of Betelgeuse, a crackling huge star, hovered above the team, painting them yellow. Mimori was running through last-minute algorithms, ensuring the ship's systems were a go. Spitfire was pacing, talking over MindWeb to the starfighter pilots down in the lower decks. A dozen other officers worked at their stations, overseeing all the departments that kept this flying city running.

King took a deep, satisfied breath. The bridge was the same old boiler room of glowing monitors, busy officers, and floating maps and charts, but there was something soothing in this organized chaos. It made King's blood run a little faster, keeping him as alive as the ship.

Jordan approached him, emerging from the glow of monitors. The tall commander smiled. "So, Jim. Betelgeuse, huh? Another adventure."

"I could use one," King said. "It's funny. We've only been at Earth for a week. But I'm quite ready for another adventure among the stars."

Mimori looked up from her station, frowning. "Adventure, sirs? I thought we're flying to Betelgeuse to seek alien allies. Didn't Selly tell us the Betelgeusians can help?"

King smiled—one of his rare, broad smiles. "Yes, Mimori. But isn't it grand? Flying to a new star system. Exploring the galaxy. Discovering new life. Yes, it's for the war effort, but it also lifts the spirit of exploration. War has motivated humanity throughout our history. For warfare, we conquered the seas, the skies, and finally ventured into space. But curiosity, the sense of adventure, the will to travel—these are great motivators too, and they are the nobler side of our conflicted human heart."

Mimori gazed at him silently, head tilted.

"He means he's bored on Earth and wants a change of scenery," Jordan said.

Mimori smiled and nodded. "Ah. Got it. Humans still confuse me sometimes." Lines of code materialized in midair and spun around her head. "Sirs, the portal is now fully formed."

King looked at the central viewport. The portal hovered ahead, a sphere of darkness limned with streaks of starlight. When he raised his gaze, he could see it shining in the distance, just one star among the millions. Betelgeuse. A massive star 642 light-years away. A place no humans had visited before. Something tingled in his chest and along his bones, and it wasn't wholly unpleasant.

"Fly us through," King said.

"Flying us through, aye," Mimori said.

The Talaria drive rumbled to life, bathing space with blue light. Down on Earth, people would be watching from thousands of telescopes, cheering them on. All those astronomers, professionals and amateurs alike, would see the Freedom fly toward a sphere of shadow and light, stretch out, and vanish.

* * * * *

They emerged from the portal into a blindingly bright, fiery hellscape.

King winced as red light and heat bathed the Freedom.

The klaxons wailed. Radiation alerts flashed across the monitors. As if the red light from the viewports wasn't enough, the red alert strobe lights began flashing too. Freedom rocked as waves of solar wind buffeted her.

"Kim!" King said.

She cried to him telepathically from the stern. "I'm working on calibrating the shields! It's even more radiation than we expected. And we were expecting a lot."

Through narrowed eyes, King saw Betelgeuse blazing ahead, a red inferno in space, consuming their viewport.

"Why the hell did we jump so close to the star?" Spitfire shouted, shielding her eyes. "Were our portal calculations off?"

"We're not close to it!" King shouted back over the klaxons. "We're farther from Betelgeuse than Pluto is from the sun. But the star is damn big!"

He had known the data ahead of time. At least the best estimates the astronomers could give him. Betelgeuse was among the largest known stars. If the sun back home was a candle, Betelgeuse was a raging house fire. It looked nothing like Sol, Earth's sun. From space, without an atmosphere to paint it yellow, Sol looked like a white sphere. But Betelgeuse looked like a red explosion, forever churning and bulging and burning. It was like looking at the top of a mushroom cloud.

Figures and dials danced across the MindWeb monitors as Kim worked at recalibrating the shields. The viewports dimmed. The ship stopped rocking. The force field thickened around the dreadnought, sparking and flashing as the solar wind washed over them. The Freedom had always felt large to King, even in the vastness of space. But now his ship seemed so small and insignificant by this colossal ball of fire. He felt like a moth fluttering around a blazing pyre.

He took a deep breath. "Mimori, any damage to report? Give me a level-3 diagnostic of our ship's systems."

Lines of data hovered around Mimori's head. "We suffered deep scarring to the hull. The loss of several ATLAS sensors. The Shield of David computers are fried, though the mechanical components are still working. We lost a chunk of stored energy calibrating the shields. All in all, we're good. We got lucky."

"It wasn't luck. It was Kim Fletcher. She calibrated the shields quickly enough." King turned away from the android. "ATLAS team! I know you're down a few sensors. But I want a full sweep of this system. Get me a report on planets, moons, asteroids, and anything … else."

They nodded. They knew what "anything else" meant.

Alien ships.

"If Selly's ancestors were right, there are intelligent aliens in this system," King said in a low voice, speaking only to Jordan.

"They must be extremophiles," Jordan replied. "Similar to tube worms on Earth who live near geothermal vents. Creatures who can survive extreme environments."

"Maybe," King said. "But maybe if a planet is far enough from Betelgeuse, it can still be in the Goldilocks zone. Maybe even Earthlike. Planets here might simply orbit way out in deep space."

They knew little of this system. Earth had powerful telescopes, and humans had been observing Betelgeuse for centuries. But there was only so much you could learn from a distance. It was only now, with humanity's new portal technology, that they could study this star up close.

To get a full picture of the system, Freedom began to fly around the star, giving it a wide berth. As they flew, they swept the system with their sensors, seeking anything of interest.

Sending out ATLAS probes was impractical. The radiation would fry them. Kim was working on armored probes, but she needed a few hours. Until then, they relied on the sensors bolted onto Freedom's hull—the ones that still worked, at least. The radiation had already fried a bunch of them. The data began trickling in. Slowly.

As the working sensors collected data, a few brave mechanics flew out the airlocks, attached to tethers. They wore double-layered radiation suits, and they were careful to stay within the force field that engulfed the Freedom. They began repairing the broken sensors and Shield of David launchers. The radiation stormed around them, but they worked on. God bless them.

An hour went by. Then a second hour. And the repairs and scans continued. So far—nothing. But they had only begun the search.

A third hour went by.

"Anything yet?" King asked.

"Sorry, sir," said one of the ATLAS officers. "Until the mechanics get all the sensors back online, we're a bit slower than usual."

"Take your time, Major. It took humanity thousands of years to get this far. A few more hours won't hurt us."

After another hour, Spitfire yawned. "Hey, boss, I'm gonna hit the galley if you don't mind. Wanna join me? It's Cheeseburger Tuesday."

"Your favorite, Jim," Jordan said. "I think I'll head down there myself."

"How can you two think about your bellies at a time like this?" King said. "We're in an alien star system! We're exploring the galaxy!"

Spitfire shrugged. "Can I explore a cheeseburger instead?"

Jordan was already heading to the door. "Come on, Spitfire. We'll bring him back a burger."

King's stomach growled. He was hungry. "Get burgers for everyone on the bridge," King said. "Fries and drinks too. Abercrombie's boys can help carry it over. It might be a long search, so we'll—"

"We found something!" Mimori cried, leaping from her station. "A planet!"

Spitfire and Jordan raced back to the center of the bridge, their bellies forgotten.

"Stream the data onto the central viewport," King said.

"Aye, sir, though we don't have a good image yet," Mimori said.

Lines of data appeared on the viewport. Just millions of zeros and ones.

"Um, Mimori?" Spitfire said. "Did you forget we humans don't speak binary?"

The android smiled. "But I do. And I can see a planet there. A small, rocky planet. I estimate it to have a perihelion of roughly thirty-two thousand AUs, though its aphelion likely varies by as much as twenty-four, maybe twenty-three percent, a significant eccentricity. Spectroscopy readings suggest a dense atmosphere comprised nearly entirely of carbon dioxide at a pressure of roughly 305.7 times standard Earth sea level pressure. The inclination is calculated as 3.56 degrees to the ecliptic, while the longitude of ascending node is—"

"Mimori, English!" Spitfire said.

The android nodded. "Sorry, ma'am. It's about the size of Venus. About the distance of Pluto from the sun. It's hot enough to melt steel, dense enough to crush a tank, and makes hell look like a tropical paradise. Better?"

Spitfire cringed and loosened her collar. "Not really."

"I'm getting an image now," Mimori said. "Streaming to viewport."

A planet appeared on the viewport, hazy and red. King narrowed his eyes. "I can't make out any details. Can you increase image quality?"

"Sir, the image is already in high definition," Mimori said. "The planet is hazy due to a runaway greenhouse effect. The atmosphere has trapped an immensely dense fog of carbon dioxide. The planet is a pressure cooker. We can't land, sir. Not even our armored Rhinos would last a moment on that world. We might as well try landing on a star."

King grunted. "Not a likely candidate for alien life. But then again, there might be extremophiles who can survive there."

"They'd have to be one helluva tough species," Jordan said.

"But wouldn't this be a perfect place to hide from the rahs?" said King.

"Seems like a perfect place to be crushed into a paste," Spitfire said.

King took a slow breath, considering. "All right. We can't see through the atmosphere. We can't land anything there. Are we detecting any unusual signals that might indicate intelligent life? The presence of satellites? Radio waves? Something?"

"Not yet, sir," said Mimori. "But we need more time to study the planet."

"All right," King said. "Engineering should have those armored ATLAS probes ready by now. Let's launch a few into orbit around this planet, then while the probes work, we'll keep searching elsewhere." He gazed at the planet for a moment longer and smiled. "Still, even though she's a poor candidate for life, she's beautiful, isn't she? A new world. We should give this planet a name."

"Cheeseburger," Spitfire said.

King frowned. "Seriously, Spitfire? Not the best name for a planet."

"No, I mean I really want a cheeseburger. Can we go to lunch?"

King rolled his eyes. "A new world, and she's thinking of her belly." He gazed at the planet for a moment longer. "Shango. We'll name the planet Shango. After the Yoruba god of fire and storm."

They launched a few probes toward Shango, then kept flying, searching for more worlds. Spitfire came back with cheeseburgers, and King ate at his station, watching the data trickle in. While the thrill of exploration swept through him, he was always aware of that pit inside him like a trench under warm waters. The fear of Arakavish. The terror of the oncoming war.

He must do more than explore this place for the sake of science. He must find aid. Or soon Earth might be as fiery and dead as Shango.

CHAPTER FIVE

They kept flying around the big, blazing star like a moth around a flame. Space here was not empty or dark. It burned with furious red sunlight, and the solar wind flared around the force field like an aurora, wave after wave like a bloody sea tinged with golden foam washing over a jagged tor. It felt almost like flying in a nebula again. So much radiation filled this system that Kim unfurled the Freedom's energy sails, which she had first deployed in the Firebird Nebula a year ago, and recharged their batteries for the journey home.

But King was not ready to return home yet. Not empty-handed.

The hours went by. Shift after shift. King returned to his quarters for the night, leaving his bridge crew instructions to wake him at the first sign of any new worlds. Throwing caution to the wind, he invited Kim to join him. The crew would see her walking the halls. Donahue, the squat and friendly guard at his door, would see her enter. They would talk. King knew he was being irresponsible, foolish even. He knew it was illegal for him to love an officer under his command. But he called her to his cabin nonetheless, and he slept with her in his arms, and in the morning he kissed her golden hair and pink lips and told her that he loved her.

"I love y—" she began when his MindLink chimed.

"Sir!" It was Mimori.

King had wisely remembered to switch off his visual hallucinations. He could not see Mimori, and she could not see him—or the lovely engineer in his arms. But the android's voice filled his mind, excited.

"Sir, we found something. A planet. A good one."

"I'm on my way to the bridge." He began pulling on his uniform.

He paused to look at Kim, to caress her cheek. She smiled at him, hair tousled. They parted ways, him to the bridge, her to engineering, and as King walked down the hallway, he realized something.

He felt young again. The thrill of discovery. The adventure of space exploration. The love of a woman. He was sixty-four, scarred and haunted and creaky, but he felt like he still had a future, a light ahead of him, and after long years in darkness, that light shone all the brighter. He realized it had been over a month since he'd had a drink. On many dark days, crushed under war and despair, he had sought solace in the bottle. He realized just how badly the war had wounded him. Not just the loss of his hand and scars on his body but something deeper, something broken in his soul, something that only now was beginning to mend.

Yet war still waited for him. To reach the final light, he must pass through one more tunnel. With Kim at his side, with his crew on his ship, King prayed that he could make it through.

He stepped onto the bridge, and he saw it on the viewport.

A new planet.

A rocky planet, purplish and brown, speckled with lakes and strewn with rivers. Several red, smoldering spots hinted at wildfires or perhaps active volcanoes. King stood for a moment, admiring this fascinating new world.

"This is a good candidate," he said, not even waiting to read the reports. "Is that liquid water?"

Mimori nodded. "Yes, sir, we think so."

"The atmosphere?"

"Rich with oxygen, sir. Very rich. Thirty-four percent."

King's heart beat faster.

"There might be life here," he said. "This might be the world we seek. Let's fly in for a closer look."

The Freedom flew toward the planet. Meanwhile, the tactical team kept scanning space for any starships, friendly or hostile. King didn't want to run into any clawships alone out here. But the sensors picked up nothing. If anyone was watching, they were hiding. The rahs didn't know they were here. Unless they had spies around, it would be decades before signals from Freedom's visit here reached them. The Arakavish empire was large, spanning thousands of stars. But there were nearly a billion stars in the Orion Arm alone. And a hundred billion in the rest of the galaxy. There were still places where Elder'rah could not see. Still places where life could hide like roly-polies under rocks. It was under these rocks that King might find allies. If aliens truly hid here, perhaps that meant this place was beyond Elder'rah's gaze.

King studied the planet, thinking of a name.

"Bathala," he finally said. "I name this planet Bathala. After the Tagalog god of fire and thunder."

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Are you just checking Wikipedia Galactica for lists of gods?"

King glowered. "I know mythology. I don't need to look it up."

They entered orbit around Bathala, the new planet. Their cameras swept the surface, streaming the view to the bridge. The planet seemed uninhabited—at least by anything intelligent. King saw no roads, no cities, no farms. Then again, if aliens were hiding, they would likely camouflage their cities, perhaps even move them underground.

The viewport revealed rolling dunes, rocky fields, and snaking rivers. Scattered fires burned in pits. That was interesting. They weren't volcanoes; the pits smoldered right on the flat ground. Bathala was likely roiling with geothermal activity just below the surface, and sinkholes revealed its flaming innards.

"What's the surface temperature?" King said.

"Eighty-three degrees Celsius on average," Mimori said. "Within the Goldilocks zone. Water can be liquid."

"Too hot for humans though," King said. "Standing on the surface, a man would cook like a Christmas ham." He stepped closer to the viewport, squinting. "I don't see any life on the surface. And yet an atmosphere rich with oxygen hints at life. Could this be the home of the firelings? Let's zoom in on one of those rivers."

The camera swept toward a river that snaked between rocky hills. King squinted. Purple stains spread along the riverbanks like bruises.

"What's that purple stuff? Can we zoom in a little more?"

Mimori shook her head. "No, sir. The mechanics are still repairing our high-magnification sensors. This is as good an image as I can give you."

King nodded. "All right. We're going down there."

Jordan approached him. "Jim, remember the whole cooking like a Christmas ham thing?"

"I do. But we have first responders aboard. Firefighters. They have fireproof, heatproof suits. Sultan might lend us a few. Let me check with him."

He sent a MindLink call to the infirmary. Major Al Sultan materialized on the bridge. The burly, bearded man was wearing white overalls with a red cross on the sleeve. He commanded Freedom's search-and-rescue department, which included a team of firefighters.

"Hello, sir! How can I help you?"

King shared data on the planet. The temperature, the pressure, the radiation. "We need suits that can withstand those conditions. Will yours do?"

Sultan nodded. "They would, sir. My guys are trained to rescue people in extreme conditions—hostile planets, flaming starships, you name it. They'll withstand the conditions on this planet for several hours."

"Got a suit my size?" King said.

Jordan sent him a private, telepathic message. "Really, Jim? You're going down there? Wasn't your adventure back at Tel'Koda enough? You almost got yourself killed. You're our admiral. You can't—"

"Yes, sir, we do," Major Sultan said. The rescuer wasn't aware of Jordan speaking telepathically.

"I'm going down there," King said—both to Sultan and Jordan. "I'm taking three marines and three rescuers. Oh—and Emily is coming too."

Jordan looked ready to pull out his hair. "It's not enough for our admiral to go into danger but the Queen of England too?"

"She's a good diplomat," King said. "Sultan, send me three rescuers. I'll bring three marines. Let's meet at deck 8 in an hour. We'll take one of the Saint Bernards."

Sultan saluted and his avatar faded from the bridge.

Jordan sighed and shook his head. "Really, Jim?"

King patted his friend on the shoulder. "Want to come?"

"No. Somebody needs to be the responsible adult here." Jordan heaved a sigh. "I'll hold down the fort. Be careful, Jim. If you die down there, I'm taking your things."

* * * * *

The team assembled on deck 8 of the midsection, which served as a hangar bay, one of seven inside the Freedom. The Sparrow transport shuttles shared this hangar with the Saint Bernard search-and-rescue vehicles.

The Saint Bernards were far larger, almost large enough to be starships in their own right. They were designed to fly in a variety of environments. Their shields could withstand the radiation of space, and their retractable wings and propellers let them fly in atmospheres. Treadmill tracks allowed them to travel over almost any landscape. The tracks could fold inward, transforming the vehicles into boats. A Saint Bernard could even travel underwater, functioning as a submarine. Cowcatchers were mounted onto their prows, and big metal arms thrust out from their sides, tipped with drills, claws, and hooks, allowing them to clear rubble from ruins. A ladder could extend from the top. A hose emerged from the back, able to spray foam onto fires. On the inside was a medical bay to keep you alive until you could reach a hospital. Wherever you were trapped—a burning starship, a collapsed building, under an avalanche, even under the ocean—a Saint Bernard could save you.

King stood before one of the enormous vehicles, nodding in satisfaction. Flaking white paint covered the Saint Bernard, entirely gone in some spots. Scars, dents, and burn marks marred the hull. One flank still showed the marks of rah claws. This Saint Bernard had flown through hell several times and lived to tell the tale. It was more expensive and sophisticated than a starfighter.

King wore a heavy fireproof suit. It was so bulky that he couldn't even walk properly, only waddle. It reminded him of the bulky spacesuits astronauts wore in the twentieth century.

"I feel like Buzz Aldrin," he said.

Bastian stood beside him, wearing another one of the massive fireproof suits. "Who?"

King groaned. "Don't tell me you've never heard of Buzz Aldrin. He happens to be one of my heroes."

"Great, probably someone from before I was born."

King nodded. "Damn right. He lived three centuries ago. One of the first astronauts. He wore a suit similar to this when he flew to the moon." He smiled wistfully. "Of course, these days we can fly from Earth to the moon within an hour. But back then, ah—it was a journey for heroes!"

Spacesuit technology had come a long way since the twentieth century. Modern spacesuits were made of thin, chemically engineered material. They were lightweight and maneuverable. And these days, even oxygen tanks were going obsolete. Spacers now wore nostril inserts with little portals inside. Even when landing on a distant planet, they could inhale air from inside their starship—or even from Earth. But for this mission, King wanted the bulkier firefighter suits. Planet Bathala was a particularly hostile environment. The temperature was hot enough to bake a cake, radiation from Betelgeuse filled the air, and scattered fires blazed across the surface. They'd need to be hosed down and decontaminated as soon as they got back.

"This almost feels like being inside a mecha again," Emily said, waddling up toward them in her bulky fireproof suit.

King looked at her and smiled. "Do you miss Kronos already?"

Since graduating from officer school, Lieutenant Emily had been serving on Freedom's artillery team. Her job involved operating Kronos, a heavy loader mecha, carrying torpedoes to launching tubes.

"Not yet," Emily said. "Admiral King, sir, are you sure I can take a break from the gunnery team?"

"No," Niles answered for the admiral. The drone was flying beside her. "The artillery deck is loud, noisy, and demeaning for a queen. But at least it's safe. Another adventure down on an alien planet is—"

"Niles, hush, I'm talking to the admiral!"

King nodded to the young queen. "Yes. I want you down there with us. You're an admirable gunner, Emily. But you're also a trained diplomat. If we meet aliens down there—and Selly thinks we might—I want you with me."

He looked at the rest of his team. Sultan was there, along with two other rescuers. There were three marines. Bastian was one—big, tough, dependable. Master Sergeant Meytal Koren was another. The Israeli commando carried so many weapons she nearly drowned in them. Bandoleers of bullets and grenades crisscrossed her chest and wrapped around her waist. Two assault rifles, a katana, and a grenade launcher hung across her back, and handguns dangled from her hips.

"You know, Meytal," King said, "we've seen no sign of hostile life in this system so far."

"I'm a girl," she said. "A girl never goes anywhere without her bazooka. And katana. And enough guns to take down a small battalion. Fine, so it's just me, but I'm set in my ways."

The third marine was a hulking sergeant everyone called Forklift, presumably because he was as strong as one. He stood stolidly, arms crossed. He was even bigger than Bastian, and that was saying something. Unlike Meytal, the giant only carried a single gun.

"I don't need many weapons," the giant said. "I am the weapon."

Meytal rolled her eyes. "I could take you in a fight, big boy. You and me, right now. I'll rip your—"

"Enough," Bastian said. "Save something for the rahs."

They climbed a ramp, entering the Saint Bernard. On the inside, the rescue ship was cluttered with machinery. There were surgical bots, tanks of oxygen, fire extinguishers, thermal blankets, drills, hydraulic jaws, and piles of medical supplies. Sultan stepped into the cockpit; he would be flying the ship. The others settled down into seats and strapped in.

Bay Boss Eun-Yu was there to see them off. The petite Korean stamped toward the airlock, rounded her palms around her mouth, and let out a deafening bellow: "Airlock—open!"

The hangar doors thunked open, and the Saint Bernard rumbled out into space. A few seconds later, they slid through the force field that surrounded the Freedom. The red light of Betelgeuse washed over them. The radiation seared the Saint Bernard's hull. That enormous red star was five billion klicks away. From such a distance, Earth's sun would appear as a mere speck. But Betelgeuse was so enormous she blazed like a furnace, crackling and storming. Even through the small porthole, the light flooded the Saint Bernard.

King looked away from the star toward the planet below. Bathala awaited, a world of deserts and fires. But also of rivers. Of water and oxygen. Maybe of life. The Saint Bernard dived toward that planet.

They were nearly at Bathala when King noticed the little figure sitting beside him, peering curiously out the porthole.

He sighed. "Stowy!"

She peered at him through her helmet's visor. Her rescuer suit was too large for her. She seemed like a child drowning inside her father's coat. The girl grinned. "Hello, sir."

"Stowy, dammit, are you stowing away again? You're a soldier now!"

"I know!" she said. "Which gives me all the more reason to join you. To look after you."

"Stowy, you are going AWOL! You're no longer a little girl who can sneak through the ship while we turn a blind eye. You—"

"I let her come," Bastian said, waving dismissively. "I talked to Kim about it already. The girl was begging to join the adventure."

King gritted his teeth. "You're lucky we're about to enter the atmosphere or I'd clobber you both. Now hold on tight!"

The Saint Bernard dived into the atmosphere of Bathala with waves of fire. The rescue ship rattled and rumbled. The crew bounced in their seats. This was a vessel built for functionality, not comfort. But King had flown in Rhinos before. Compared to those crude dropships, the Saint Bernard was a luxury starliner.

After descending for a while, the blaze of atmospheric entry cleared. King looked out the porthole. Bathala's sky was the color of old parchment, strewn with thin clouds like scribbles in golden ink. The surface was rocky and rough, full of gorges, jagged hills, and scattered pits of smoldering fire like portals to hell. King spotted a river coiling through the landscape. The water was silvery, while the same purple stains he had seen from space spread along the banks like bruises around a scar.

"Take us down to a riverbank, Major Sultan," King said, telepathizing from the hold to the cockpit. "We're seeking the firelings, and we don't know anything about them. But if life here is anything like life on Earth, they'll move away from their hellish landscape to the water."

"Aye, taking us down to the river," the burly rescuer replied.

The Saint Bernard descended. The propellers built into the wings spun, blasting down air, slowing the vessel. King watched through the porthole. The purple stuff along the river fluttered in the wind.

"Grass," he said. "It's grass. We found a planet with alien life."

* * * * *

The Saint Bernard thumped down. Sultan was careful to land on a patch of dry earth, sparing the purple grass. When the engines shut down and the dust settled, King sat still, just letting the moment sink in. He looked at his crew.

"We're about to set foot on a new world. This has happened only a handful of times in human history. Neil Armstrong stepping onto the moon. Bailey Robins setting foot on Mars. We're about to make history."

Stowy beamed. "I already did it twice at the Aeolia system. I'm probably the greatest explorer in human history. And I'm going for three!" She rushed toward the door as the others were still unbuckling their seat belts. But then the young stowaway paused, hand on the door handle, and looked back at King. Her face softened. "Admiral King, sir? Will you do the honors?"

Emily rose to her feet. "Stowy, that's very mature of you. I wish you hadn't stolen my moment back at Aeolia, but I'm glad you've grown." The queen turned toward King and bowed her head. "Admiral? Go ahead. You deserve to be the first man to set foot on a new world."

King opened the airlock. Hot yellow air flew into the Saint Bernard. Dust clung to his spacesuit. He looked outside and beheld the surface of Bathala. It was beautiful. The rocky landscape rolled toward the purple grass and silver river, while the golden clouds glided in the papery sky. He couldn't breathe this air—it was so hot it would burn his lungs—but he imagined that it smelled like the desert of Arizona in the dawn, a place he had once visited with Darjeeling and Jordan after the Third World War.

He placed a foot out the airlock, then paused, keeping his foot elevated. He looked over his shoulder at his soldiers.

They crowded behind him, waiting to step outside after him.

"Major Sultan?" King said.

"Yes, sir!" said the burly medic.

"This is your ship. This is your honor." King stepped aside. "Go make the first footprint."

"No, sir, I couldn't. I'm only a medic, sir."

"Only a medic? You've been saving lives this entire war. Get down onto that planet, mister! That's an order."

"Aye, sir," said Sultan, unable to hide his grin behind his beard.

He stepped down the ramp, paused for moment, and took a deep breath.

"Here goes. The first footprint on a new world. I pray that on this world we find peace and friendship."

He stepped onto the surface.

A hole opened under his foot.

Sultan cried out, his foot plunging down to the knee.

Fire leaped from the hole, roaring over his leg, his thigh, climbing up his torso.

At once, King was running down the ramp. Sultan was screaming, trying to pull his foot.

"Something's got me!" the burly medic cried. The fire was spreading across him, writhing around his suit like serpents of flame.

King grabbed the man and pulled. But something was pulling Sultan from underground. King strained but could not free the man. Bastian arrived a second later, grabbed Sultan too, and helped King pull. It was like a game of tug-of-war, and poor Sultan was the rope.

Finally Sultan's leg came free. His suit had melted and clung to charred skin. They pulled him onto the ramp, just a step or two away from the treacherous surface. The fire still crackled in the pit Sultan had stepped into.

"What the hell!" Bastian said. "I thought these suits were fireproof!"

"Unless something underground ripped it apart," King muttered. "Help me put him out, dammit."

Fire was still clinging to Sultan's suit. Bastian and King started patting him down with their thick gloves. Sultan lay on the ramp, moaning. The heat was overwhelming. King felt it even through the suit. His gloves expanded and his fingers blistered. Finally Emily and Stowy ran over with fire extinguishers and sprayed foam over everyone.

The flames died. Sultan lay on the ramp, his suit charred. Behind his visor, his face contorted with pain.

"Bastian, help me get him back into the ship," King said.

The gravity on this planet was substantial, and Sultan was a big, heavy guy, but so were King and Bastian. They carried the medic back into the Saint Bernard and laid him down. Sultan moaned in pain. Thankfully, they had brought two other medics on the expedition. Corporal Jenny Kim was a young Chinese-American woman with long black hair. Corporal Carlos Lisboa was a Brazilian medic with a thin mustache. They both got to work at once. Jenny busied herself cutting off Sultan's suit to expose his injuries. Carlos gave him an oxygen mask and something for the pain.

Sultan's leg was a raw, ugly mess. The burns had blistered the skin. It smelled like a seared steak.

"He'll be all right," Lisboa said. "Those are second-degree burns on his leg. The rest are first-degree burns. He'll heal. With stem cell therapy, he won't need skin grafts. For now, he needs rest and painkillers."

"He got lucky," Jenny added. "Another moment, and he'd have lost the leg. Another two moments, and he'd have lost his life."

King stared outside at the surface of the alien world. The pit had closed up. The fire was gone. Planet Bathala was silent and still now. But it was the stillness of a predator waiting to pounce.

CHAPTER SIX

"We'll take you back to the Freedom," King said.

Sultan lay on a cot, his leg bandaged. He waved dismissively. "I'm fine, sir. I'll just stay here on the Saint Bernard and hold down the fort. Someone should stay and watch, and I've had my fill of Bathala. You can go ahead with the expedition. Just watch out for those pits."

King still hesitated, but Sultan seemed in good enough spirits. When the other medics volunteered to stay with him, he just laughed.

"Go on. I'm fine."

The team gathered to discuss how to proceed. Nobody dared set foot outside just yet.

"That sinkhole seemed to appear out of nowhere," King said. "Sultan might have had bad luck, stepping on a proverbial mine. Maybe most of the surface is solid. But I don't want to risk it."

"We can try tossing objects outside," said Bastian. "See if any sinkholes open up."

"Or we can move closer to the grassy riverbank," Emily suggested. "It's unlikely sinkholes full of fire are lurking below plants. Otherwise how would they grow there?"

"All right," King said. "Let's move the Saint Bernard closer to the grass. And tread carefully."

King sat in the cockpit. It had been years since he had operated a Saint Bernard, but he remembered the basics. And having a MindLink manual floating beside him certainly helped. With the tap of a button, treadmill tracks emerged from under the Saint Bernard. The ship jolted forward, then backward, rising higher on its treads like a camel struggling to its feet. King nudged a lever, and the Saint Bernard began rumbling forth across the rocky surface.

He kept his hand on the brake, ready to stop at the first sign of a sinkhole. But none opened up. They rumbled onward like a tank, raising clouds of dust, and soon reached the riverbank.

The grass was significantly taller than it appeared from afar. The leaves rose taller than a man, purple and veined with white. Alien trees with knobby trunks rose from the tall grass, their canopies shaped like parasols. King drove forward through the brush, flattening the plants. He wasn't happy about damaging the local flora, but if things grew here, that meant the surface was more stable.

A few meters into the brush, he hit the brakes, and the Saint Bernard rolled to a stop.

Stowy leaned over his shoulder, peering at the verdant riverbank. "Why are the plants purple? Don't they need to be green for photosynthesis?"

"Actually, no," King said. "There are leaves on Earth that are red or purple. Japanese maple leaves, for example. Actually, red or purple soaks up even more sunlight than green. These plants are efficient."

"If they even are plants," Emily added, joining them in the cockpit. "Maybe they just look like plants but are something else entirely. Similar to the Kodamas. Could this be another planet with sentient plantlike beings?"

"Let's attempt a second expedition," King said. "Carefully. Very carefully. This time I want us wearing two layers of rescuer suits."

Bastian groaned. "Even one is bulky."

"And that fire ripped through Sultan's suit. We're doubling up."

They took a while to pull on an extra layer. They were so puffy now they looked like Sumo wrestlers. Stowy couldn't stop giggling.

"I look like a giant marshmallow," the girl said and bit her own arm. "Yum."

They opened the hatch. This time King walked out first—or at least waddled in his thick fireproof layers. Not because he wanted to be the first man to set foot on this new world. That dubious honor already belonged to Major Sultan. King wanted to test the ground himself. If another flaming sinkhole was about to open up, let it be his leg in the fire.

He walked down the ramp between rustling grass. Trees shaded the riverbank. Ferns swayed in the sandy wind. Small red spheres, roughly the size of golf balls, flew through the air on translucent wings. Trilling and grumbling rose from the water, though whatever animals lurked inside the river remained hidden.

"Interesting," King said. "Most of the planet is dead, but life thrives along the rivers. It reminds me of Egypt. Most of Egypt is desert, but along the Nile, life thrives."

"If this is the Nile, where are the Egyptians?" Emily said.

Niles flew over from a crystalline rock he'd been examining. "My ears are burning …"

"I said Nile, not Niles," Emily said.

"No, I mean, my audio input holes are literally burning," Niles said. "I got too close to one of the firepits."

Emily blew on him, extinguishing the flames.

The companions still stood on the metal ramp. Nobody had yet dared step off, still remembering Sultan's misfortune. King took a pack of cards from his pocket and tossed them onto the ground. They thumped onto a patch of moss. Stowy threw a few marbles. They rolled into the grass.

So far so good. Would the ground support human weight? There was only one way to be sure. King decided to risk it. He stepped onto the mossy earth.

"It seems safe." He took another step. "It's all right, everyone. It—"

A sinkhole opened up below him, swallowing moss, grass, and his feet.

King tried to leap back, but tongues of fire rose from below, wrapped around his legs like whips, and began pulling him into the depths.

* * * * *

King roared in pain, struggling to free himself.

"Dad!" Bastian cried, grabbing him and pulling.

The whips of fire tightened around King, yanking both his legs into the pit. He bellowed in agony. The fire leaped out, racing across his suit, grabbing his wrists, pinning his arms down. They were like snakes woven of flame.

"Sir!" Emily shouted. "Stowy, come, help us!"

"It's no use, he's a goner!" Niles cried. "Let us flee and save ourselves!"

"Niles, be quiet!" Emily said.

Several people now grabbed King, were pulling him from the sinkhole. But the fire was stronger. It pulled King like a living thing, a demon dragging him to hell. He sank down to his knees. Stowy was spraying a fire extinguisher, but the flames leaped around the foam, grabbed the extinguisher, and pulled it from her hands.

Flames sprang from below like serpents. A rope of fire landed on Emily, wrapped around her, and began burning through her suit. She stumbled back, screaming. More fiery strands wrapped around Bastian's arm, yanking his grip off King. The fire spread, racing through the tall grass, consuming leaves. Little animals fled all around. Insects fluttered off. Small frog-like creatures hopped toward the water.

Another sinkhole opened. A big one. The massive sergeant they called Forklift, the hulking marine Bastian had chosen for muscle, disappeared into the pit. The giant bellowed as the fire washed over him.

The fiery serpents gave King a mighty tug, pulling him down to his waist. He would soon join Forklift underground. Another sinkhole opened, this one under Corporal Carlos Lisboa. The mustached medic shouted as he plunged into the flaming pit. Yet another sinkhole appeared, this one under Bastian. The big marine managed to leap aside, but flames rose from the pit, wrapped around his legs like lassos, and began pulling him toward the pit. Bastian grabbed onto a tree trunk and held on for dear life.

King struggled to grab onto something. Meytal and Emily were both pulling him, but more sinkholes opened, and Meytal's leg vanished into a flaming pit, and—

And then it happened.

A wave rose from the river. A tidal wave of fury. A shadow fell as the water hid the sun.

Time seemed to freeze. King saw the wave above. Alien fish and algae inside the water. And something else. Something that almost looked like … No, impossible. It couldn't be.

Then time resumed its flow. The wave slammed down onto the riverbank. The water washed over King, stripped the fire off his body, and filled the sinkhole. Whatever had grabbed his legs released him. Steam filled the air. For a moment King was blinded. More water kept flowing everywhere, dousing him, flooding the riverbank. Then finally, like a sated predator, the water retreated into the river, belly full of fire.

Groaning in pain, King crawled out from the flooded sinkhole and thumped onto the soggy ground. A shudder ran through him, and he examined his legs. The fire had ripped through one layer of spacesuit and had begun to eat through the second layer. He wouldn't have survived much longer in that pit.

They approached the sinkholes where Forklift and Carlos Lisboa had vanished. The pair was floating in sooty water. Both were dead.

A chill flooded King.

"Back onto the ramp, everyone," he growled.

They hurried back onto the ramp, which still extended from the Saint Bernard, taking their dead. The survivors stood panting, examining themselves for injuries. Most of them had lost their outer spacesuits; the fabric hung in burnt tatters. The inner spacesuits were charred, burned at spots. The two-layer system had saved their lives.

Most of their lives.

Forklift and Lisboa lay at their feet, burned down to hideous, sticky corpses. Emily looked away, turning green. Niles wailed. Even Jenny Kim, an experienced medic, seemed shaken to her core. She covered her mouth as if struggling not to throw up. Only Stowy seemed unfazed. She gazed at the corpses with more curiosity than disgust.

"Do you think they burned or drowned to death?" the girl asked.

"What does it matter?" Bastian cried. His eyes were red. "They're dead, Stowy! Dead!"

"Hey, give her a break," Meytal said. "She's autistic, all right? She doesn't think like you do."

"You know what I'm thinking?" Bastian said. "This planet is a death trap. What the hell just happened?"

King looked around him. The riverbank was a soggy mess. Several patches of grass had burned away, and a few trees were charred. But the water had extinguished the flames, leaving a muddy mess. The flying golf balls returned. The frog-like creatures trilled again. A few blobby animals, roughly the size of raccoons but furless, ambled through the brush, nosing through burnt grass to find fresh leaves. A few three-eyed fish, disgorged by the wave, flopped across the mud. Their flippers worked like primitive feet, allowing them to waddle back into the river. An evolutionary adaptation? Perhaps they were used to being occasionally tossed onto the riverbanks.

"Interesting," King said. "Very interesting. When the fire started to burn, the river rose to extinguish it. Something controlled that river."

"Maybe it's a natural phenomenon," Emily said. "Maybe the same geothermal activity that opens the flaming sinkholes also disturbs the water, causing floods. The two forces, fire and water, balance each other out."

King frowned and examined the burns on his suit. The charred marks coiled around his legs in rings. As if ropes or even long fingers had grabbed him.

"That was no ordinary fire," he said. "That fire grabbed me and pulled me down." He looked up at his companions. "I believe that we've found the firelings. And they tried to kill us."

* * * * *

They returned into the Saint Bernard, carrying the fallen. Being a rescue ship, the Saint Bernard had body bags and freezers to store the dead. Working solemnly, they bagged Forklift and Carlos, then placed them into frozen storage. The pair would eventually be brought back to Earth for burial. It was grisly work. The bodies were badly deformed. King would not soon forget this day. Even Stowy was unusually subdued.

Once the dead were stored away, the living peeled off their burnt spacesuits. Everyone had suffered at least some burns. Aside from the two bodies in storage, King seemed to have the worst of it. His legs were red, the skin raising painful welts where the fire had wrapped around him.

Fire? he wondered. Or firelings?

He tended to his wounds, swallowed something for the pain, and called a meeting. They gathered among the medical supplies and fire extinguishers.

"I propose," King said, "that the fire we encountered is not fire at all. At least not as we're used to. Those were living creatures. Creatures woven of flame. The firelings written of in ancient Aeolian texts."

"Those are the creatures we came to enlist?" Emily said. The queen shuddered.

"They killed two of our people," Bastian said. The big marine, his arm bandaged, reached for his gun. "They're no allies. They're enemies."

"What ya gonna do, big boy, shoot 'em?" Meytal said. "They're made of fire. We don't need guns here. We need hoses." The commando grinned. "Luckily, we're in a search-and-rescue vessel. We have a hose. We have a water supply. We have fire extinguishers. I say we arm ourselves and go hunting firelings."

"Nobody is going hunting," King said. "We came here to seek allies in our war against the rahs."

"Those aren't allies!" Bastian insisted. "You saw what they did. Killed two of us! They would have killed more if they could."

"After we landed on their planet!" Emily said, speaking unusually loudly for one who was normally so quiet. "They think we're invaders. They're just being territorial." She took a deep breath. "We're all speaking as if we know for certain they're the firelings. Maybe we're imagining the whole thing. Maybe that was just regular fire, and our imagination is playing tricks on us."

"I know something grabbed my arm," Bastian said. "Fire doesn't have fingers. And that thing did."

"Agreed," King said. "That was a creature woven of flame. Several creatures, I believe. They probably live underground, which is why we saw no signs of intelligent life from space."

"Oh, so they're intelligent now?" Bastian said. "All the more reason to fear them. I say we flood their tunnels. Drown 'em out."

"Bastian!" Emily said. "You and Meytal are marines. You think everything is an enemy."

"Most things are," Meytal said, leaning against the bulkhead. She was fingering the hilt of her katana.

"Well, I think that worldview is rather cynical," Emily said. "And I joined this expedition because the admiral wanted a diplomat. So let's try diplomacy before we start a second galactic war. Let's talk to them. Selly gave us those translation algorithms. They're in our MindLinks already. Why not try to strike up a conversation?"

Everyone turned toward King.

He considered for a moment.

"They killed two of our crew," he finally said, speaking slowly. "I don't want anyone else to die. It might yet come to more violence. But yes, let's try to talk to them."

He turned toward the porthole, looked outside at the river, and couldn't help but wonder: When the wave had risen above him, had he really seen eyes in the water?

* * * * *

They stepped outside again, this time with strict orders to remain aboard the metal ramp. The soggy, recently flooded riverbank was returning to life. Already new grass sprouts were rising from the ashes. The flora of Bathala healed quickly.

King walked to the edge of the ramp. He loaded up MindPlay. The hallucinatory operating system hovered around him, appearing as multiple windows, buttons, and keyboards. King loaded up the translation app. He already had multiple languages installed, allowing him to communicate with crew members from different countries. Today he chose the new language installed. The tongue of the firelings. Selly had warned him that the algorithm wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.

King selected the fireling tongue, then attempted to speak. "Hello! I am Admiral James King from the planet Earth. Do you hear me?"

But no words emerged from his mouth. Instead, he emitted crackles and hisses. It sounded like he was clearing his throat while struggling to breathe.

Bastian frowned. "What did you just say?"

"You sound like the dial-up modems you find in museums," Emily said.

King tried speaking again. "Greetings! I am Admiral James King, an Earthling. Do you hear me?"

Again, the hissing and crackling noises emerged from his mouth. It was an eerie feeling. He wasn't trying to speak fireling. He was speaking English, at least attempting to. But his MindLink had taken over, operating his mouth, throat, and lungs to produce these odd sounds. He felt like a marionette controlled by a digital master.

Goddamn, I hate these MindLinks, he thought. If I ever do retire, first thing I'm doing is taking the damn thing out of my head.

For long moments, nothing happened.

"They can't hear you, Dad," Bastian said.

King nodded and switched back to English. "You're right. They're still underground." He walked toward the edge of the ramp.

"Whoa, whoa!" Bastian grabbed him. "Dad! Please no to the suicide."

"I'll be fine. Stand back, everyone. Oh, and … get the fire extinguishers ready."

Stowy raised her fire extinguisher like a gun, face hard and determined. "Ready, boss."

The others raised their fire extinguishers too.

King set foot on the ground. For a moment, nothing happened. He set both feet on the ground. Nothing.

He took a step.

A sinkhole opened below his feet, and fire leaped out.

"I come in peace!" King said, speaking the tongue of fire. "Do not attack! I'm a friend."

The flames crackled, but they did not burn him, did not grab his legs. Several strands of fire rose from the pit like cobras from a basket. They swayed slightly, seeming almost to stare at King.

"My name is James King," he said, crackling and hissing. "I am from a planet called Earth. I come in peace. I come as a friend."

The firelings seemed to regard him. Their heat bathed him. He could feel it even through his suit. At any moment, he knew, they could wrap around him and drag him down to hell. When King glanced into the pit, he saw more fire below. Perhaps there was a network of tunnels where the firelings lived, burning underground.

Finally one of the firelings burned brighter. The flames of his body crackled and hissed. Amazingly, King's MindLink understood these sounds. They translated them into English.

"Why … did you . . . kill … us?"

King frowned. "Did we kill some of you when we—"

"The wretched foam!" the fireling shrieked, making sounds like a blazing, collapsing building. "It doused our flames. It starved our fury. Killed us! You came to murder! Now you will burn."

"Fireling, we did not recognize you!" King said. "On our planet, fire is a natural phenomenon. It's not sentient. It sometimes kills humans. We were just trying to save our lives."

The firelings all crackled hotter, turning blue. Their leader rose higher from the pit, towering over the smaller strands of fire. "Arrogant solid creatures! You come to our planet without knowing a thing about us. You bring your prejudices with you. And you kill, kill, kill!"

King tried to remain calm. "To be fair, your people attacked us as soon as we set foot on your planet. We had to defend ourselves."

"Who allowed you to set your wet, fleshy paws on our sacred world?" The fireling hissed. "You came as invaders. Do we firelings have not the right to defend ourselves from aliens?"

Bastian sent the crew a telepathic message. "Fiery bunch, aren't they?"

"Har de har har," Stowy said.

"They'll be useful in a fight against the rahs," Meytal said. "I like them."

King removed himself from the telepathic chat. It was a distraction. He returned his attention to the firelings. The creatures writhed before him, casting out sparks. King thought of the two bodies in the Saint Bernard. Two spacers with families back home. Families destroyed. And suddenly anger flared inside King, white-hot. A fire burned inside him, hotter than the creatures in the pit. He wanted to grab his fire extinguisher and put out these smug firelings. To flood the whole damn planet and douse them all.

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. Emily. She smiled at him soothingly.

"Diplomacy," she whispered. "This is a time for diplomacy, not war."

King took a deep breath, calming the fire inside him.

"You call us invaders," King said to the aliens. "I'm sorry if we gave you that impression. We came here to meet you as friends. To form an alliance against the rahs."

The firelings shrieked. They rose ten feet tall, blazing furiously like a pyre. King and his crew had to step back, wincing in the heat.

"How dare you say that name!" they cried together. "They are dousers! They are chokers of fire!"

"The spiders have been here before?" King said.

The firelings squirmed madly, casting out heat and light. Sparks landed on the humans' spacesuits and the Saint Bernard's hull.

"They have trapped us on this world," said the lead fireling. "Once we flew out to the stars in ships of molten metal. We sought planets lush with forests—as this planet once was. We found wood to burn. Coal to feed our flames. But the spiders cast our ships back! They doused our fire with their wretched webs! Now we hide underground like worms."

King thought he understood. "You're hungry."

"We must burn to live. Yet barely any wood remains on this planet. And when we slither to the riverbanks, the water demon casts us back underground. So we slither in the darkness, digging deep for coal. But we hunger for more! We need forests!"

All right, King thought. Now we're getting somewhere.

"What's your name?" King asked the lead fireling.

"What are names?" the fireling demanded.

"A way we humans identify one another."

The fireling changed color from white to red, a reduction of heat. He was calming down. "We do not have names as you do. You may give me a name if you choose."

"Please not another ancient god," Bastian telepathized. "Just give him a normal name. Like George or Brian or something."

"I'll call you Kresnik," he said to the fireling. "In the lore of my planet, Kresnik is an ancient god of fire."

Bastian sighed.

But the alien seemed satisfied. "I am Kresnik."

"Kresnik, a coalition is forming in the galaxy against the rahs," King said. "For too long, the rahs have dominated us. They slaughtered us. Drove us into hiding. The firelings are not the only ones who suffer. We who've been beaten down are now uniting and rising up. Will you join us?"

Kresnik and the other firelings wove together, crackling as a single flame, perhaps their version of a huddle. Sparks and heat blasted from them. The screws in the ramp started to warp. King was thankful for his double spacesuit. Inside he was sweating.

After a while, the firelings separated into individual serpents of fire. One of them—presumably Kresnik again—leaned toward King.

"We will make you a deal," he said. "We will help you burn the rahs. They are made of meat and chitin and other delectable carbon. They burn nicely. We crave revenge against them. We will burn them all! But we cannot burn water. The water demon torments us. Slay the water demon who plagues our rivers, and we will join your war against the spiders."

* * * * *

The humans retreated into the Saint Bernard to discuss the situation. The firelings remained outside, hissing and crackling. King watched through the porthole. A few times, the flaming serpents inched toward the plants along the riverbank, craving leaves to burn, only for the water to rumble and ripple. If the fireling flickered too close, ready to burn some plants, a wave began to rise. Each time, the firelings retreated into their sinkhole, crackling with hunger.

"The water is alive," King said.

"Nonsense," Bastian said. "It's just a river that sometimes overflows."

"If fire can be sentient, so can water," King said. "This is not life as we know it. It has no solid form. No organic matter. But it is life nonetheless. Perhaps the particles of fire contain a sort of alien DNA, giving the firelings sentience. Instead of eating food, they must burn things to survive and spread. The river might be similar. The water particles might be like cells in a human body, joining together into a living, thinking being."

"I would love to bring some drops of this water back to the Freedom," Emily said. "We could study them in the lab."

"Capital idea!" Niles said. "Let us return to the Freedom posthaste. Before this adventure kills us all." The drone shuddered. "I can't believe I actually want to return to that low-class bucket of bolts."

"It's a liquid creature," King said, ignoring the drone. "On Earth, life is solid. So are the rahs and the Kodamas. But who said life must be solid everywhere? Here we see two new lifeforms, one liquid, one plasma. Not the life we were expecting—but life nonetheless."

Meytal's eyes shone. "Imagine it, guys! Armies of firelings, swarming over the rahs, burning them to a crisp! Maybe on their own, they were too weak to take on the spiders. But as part of a coalition—it will be glorious." The firelight from outside the Saint Bernard reflected in her eyes, and she grinned in anticipation of the fight.

"Are you so eager to fight again?" Emily said softly, her own eyes sad.

Meytal spun toward the queen. Her eyes hardened. "The rahs destroyed the Caracal. My ship. They murdered the man I love. They murdered every friend I ever had. Yes, I look forward to seeing them burn."

"Do not use such an impudent tone when addressing the Queen of England!" Niles said, bristling with his many little tools.

Emily placed her hands on her hips. She stared at Meytal. "The rahs killed my entire family. My mother, my father, my grandparents, my siblings—everyone. But revenge can't bring them back."

"It can prevent others from dying!" Meytal said. "This is not a time for soft, pampered queens." She drew her katana. "This is a time for warriors!"

"You can be a warrior without thirsting for battle," Emily said.

"The only bloodthirsty creatures in this galaxy are the rahs," Meytal countered. "Stop lecturing me, queen. You grew up in a palace. I grew up in a war zone."

"More likely you grew up in a zoo," Niles told her.

"Enough!" King said. "All of you. Enough. We need to discuss how to proceed with the situation at hand. The firelings want us to kill this water demon. What do we do?"

Meytal shrugged. "Drop some napalm into the river? Maybe the firelings can't hurt it. But we have the firepower to boil that demon into steam."

"We can use the ice-nine bombs we store in Freedom's armory," Bastian said. "Freeze the entire river, then chop out the demon with drills."

Emily pursed her lips. "Do we really want to interfere with this planet's ecosystem?"

Meytal rolled her eyes. "There she goes again."

"Hear me out," Emily said. "This water demon is some form of liquid life that protects the rivers, right? If we kill it, then nobody will protect the riverbanks."

"And that is our problem … why?" Meytal said.

"Just listen!" Emily said. "Remember what Kresnik said? Long ago planet Bathala was lush with forests. The firelings must have burned them all down. That's why the only plants today live along the riverbanks. Where the water demon protects it. Without the demon, the firelings will be free to consume the flora along the riverbanks too. All of it! The planet will be left without any plants at all."

"So?" Meytal shrugged.

Bastian chewed his lip. "Emily, I get it. You're concerned about the environment. That's noble of you. But right now our loyalty is to Earth. Our top priority is to enlist the firelings."

"And what if the firelings spread to other planets?" Emily said. "They can't now because the rahs scare them. But you heard Kresnik. They want to fly out again. To find new worlds with new forests and burn them too. What if this wildfire spreads across the galaxy? To Earth too? Allies or not, the firelings are dangerous. The water demon can tame them. Do we really want to kill something that can tame this fire?"

Meytal shivered theatrically. "Ooh, I'm so scared of an alien I can defeat with a bucket!"

Emily rolled her eyes. "A moment ago, you were imagining them swarming over the rah hordes."

"Well, the rahs don't have buckets," Meytal said, crossing her arms and sulking.

They all turned toward King, who had been listening carefully.

"What do you think, Dad?" Bastian said.

King considered for a moment longer. Finally he spoke. "I don't think it's for us to determine the fate of planet Bathala. The firelings seem to be the dominant, sentient life here. Decisions regarding their world are theirs to make. As for other planets they might spread to—perhaps we can come to an agreement. They may fly in search of fuel but only on planets without sentient life. Maybe they'll even agree to spare plant life and simply mine for coal."

"You think they'd respect such an agreement?" Emily said. "How does a fireling sign a contract?"

"I don't know. We'd have to discuss it with them. But they have starships. Or had them once. Perhaps the ships are still around, hidden underground. A society that can build starships will have concepts of law, order, and yes—contracts. We'll propose the following. We'll remove the water demon. In return, once we defeat the rahs, the firelings may explore the galaxy for fuel to burn. But they must agree to avoid burning any alien life. They may dig on other planets for coal and oil. Old, dead carbon. If they push back, we can extend the agreement, allowing them to burn some live wood. But not enough to damage alien ecosystems. Do we all agree?"

Begrudgingly, Emily nodded. The others did too.

"All right," King said. "Now how do we get rid of this water demon?"

"Fire," said Meytal.

"Ice," said Bastian.

"Diplomacy," said Emily.

Everyone looked at her. Meytal guffawed. "How are you going to use diplomacy to remove a puddle?"

"Maybe," Emily said, "we can offer it a better home."

* * * * *

The away team stepped outside the Saint Bernard again. This time they walked freely on the surface, and no firelings harassed them. Still, they wore double spacesuits and carried fire extinguishers. Just in case. Kresnik seemed to hold some sway over the others. Perhaps he was a local leader. But they didn't know if all firelings would follow this cease-fire.

Literally a cease-fire, King thought with a wry smile.

They walked through the purple grass and trees toward the river. The small animals who made their home in the grass ignored them. The most common were the winged golf balls, but they shared their habitat with other creatures. Mushy, blobby creatures moved underfoot, sniffing around for tubers. A predator rose in the grass, slender and purple, appearing as just another blade of grass. Its disguise was perfect—at least until it lashed out three green tongues to grab the flying spheres, then crunch them in its jaws. They were not sentient, but they were fascinating animals, and King recorded them on his MindLink for later study. This planet must have been lush with diverse life before the firelings had burned most of it.

King stood on the riverbank, gazing down at the water. The river was peaceful now. A few scaleless fish swam along, rummaging through the silty shallows with long snouts. Animals hidden in the tall grass trilled and chirped. Betelgeuse was setting over the horizon, and glowing critters emerged from under rocks to fly among the grass, singing softly. It was a peaceful oasis on a hot, dry, fiery planet.

King sat down on the riverbank.

"Watch out for ticks," Bastian said.

"I'm wearing a double spacesuit. I'll be fine."

He took a deep breath through his nostril implants, which delivered air from the Freedom far above. He raised his eyes, seeking the ship. The stars were beginning to emerge. He thought he could detect the Freedom, a glint in the sunset, no larger than a grain of rice. He looked back at the river. It almost reminded him of evenings back on Earth, fishing by the creek. The constellations here were foreign to him. The animals and plants were certainly different. But the peace of flowing water, growing things, and starlight—those were so familiar. The universe was full of strange, alien worlds, but some things remained the same.

Bastian stood beside him, tapping his foot. "Dad, the water demon. Any ideas?"

King took a deep breath. "Sit down, Bastian. Take a few moments to relax."

"We're here to plan a war. I don't have to—"

"Sit down!" King said. "That is an order, marine."

Bastian grumbled but he sat down beside his father. They gazed at the river together. "I'm sitting. Happy?"

The others were walking elsewhere along the riverbank. King wanted them to spread out in pairs, seeking the water demon. In the distance, they could hear Stowy chattering and Meytal saying something, but then the voices faded under the music of water and trilling insects. It was just King and Bastian here, sitting side by side.

"Bastian, do you remember when you were little, how I used to take you fishing?" King said.

"The few times you actually came down to Earth. You were up in the Freedom most of the time."

King looked at him, frowning. "I came to visit whenever I had shore leave. You know that."

Bastian nodded. "To visit."

King sighed. "I know. All right. I was a bad father. A bad husband too. Your mother didn't want to live on a starship. And you belonged with her. What could I have done?"

"Found a career as a farmer?" Bastian suggested.

"You know I couldn't do that."

Bastian nodded. He looked up at the thin sliver above. The Freedom. "You were married to her. The Freedom. She mattered most to you. She was always number one."

"That's your mother speaking."

"She's been dead for years, Dad. You can't blame her."

"And you haven't been a kid for years!" King said. "You're a father now. You know that a military father must sometimes leave on duty. That is why you're here on this planet while Rowan and Oliver are on the starship."

Bastian clenched his fists, took a few deep breaths, and seemed to be silently counting to ten. "The difference is that I place them first. My kids are my top priority."

King grabbed his son's arm and glared at him. "Listen to me, Bastian. Listen to me very carefully. I was away a lot. I wasn't the best father when you were a kid. I'm not the best father now. But you were always my top priority. Even if I didn't know how to show it. Even if I did a shit job at it. You were always number one. I love you, goddammit. I did then and I do now. I'm sorry that it took me this long to say it."

Bastian looked at the water, silent for long moments. "I love you too," he finally said, voice choked. "More than you know. You're my hero, Dad. My role model. You always were. Even when I was pissed at you."

King laughed. "So do you remember? The fishing trips?"

"I remember. You always threw the catfish back into the water. Said you hated eating them."

"I still do."

Betelgeuse had vanished behind the horizon, but three moons shone in Bathala's sky, illuminating the river with blue and lavender light. The glowing insects added their own light, flitting over the water.

"So how do we find this water demon of yours?" Bastian said.

"Well, we know he hates fire. How about we lure him over?"

King pulled a matchbox from his pocket.

"What is that?" Bastian said.

"Matches." King pulled one from the box.

"What the hell are matches?"

King rolled his eyes. "You don't know what matches are?"

"Let me guess. Some other anachronistic relic from history—like your paper books and fireplace and model ships."

"Something like that," King said. "I use them for my cigars. Watch."

He lit a match. A little flame flickered.

The reaction was shocking. At once, the glowing insects fled, the blobby animals dug into the mud, and even the fish swam deeper underwater. The flame guttered out, and the animals returned.

"Well, they certainly don't like fire," Bastian said.

"You wouldn't either if you lived on a planet with firelings. Here, light a match with me. Let's hold them over the water."

They both lit matches, then held the little flames over the river. The light danced on the water, illuminating the fleeing fish.

And then it happened. The water began to roil and rumble. Angry ripples spread. Water rose like a tide, washing the riverbank. Both Bastian and King leaped to their feet. Both lit more matches.

A wave rose from the dark river, ten feet tall, reflecting the starlight. King grimaced, expecting the wave to crash onto him. But the wave merely stood in the water, rippling, watching the two humans with glowing white eyes like beads of light. A few fish swam through the being's upright body.

The river demon. There he was.

King didn't know if this creature was sentient. But if he was, he probably understood the language of firelings, his mortal enemies.

"Hello!" King said, using his MindLink to speak the fireling tongue. "My name is James King of Earth. I come in peace."

The upright wave stared at him, the moonlight rippling across his watery body. The ripples intensified, producing a deep, watery voice.

"Yet you speak the language of fire. And you carry fire in your fin."

"He probably means hand," Bastian telepathized.

King ignored his son and kept speaking to the water demon. "I speak the language of fire because I've not learned the language of water. I lit a small fire not to burn but to summon you. I've come from a world far away, bringing news of danger. Are you familiar with the rahs?"

The water demon rippled. Algae swirled inside his watery body. "I heard your conversation with the firelings. Let them go to war! Let them burn the spiders and spare the trees and grass. I am a protector of this world. I guard all living things. The firelings know only how to destroy. Since time immemorial, we have been enemies. Fire and water. Destruction and life. Are you an ally of the destructors? If so, you are my enemy!"

"I'm an ally of life," King said. "I fight to preserve life—same as you."

"Yet you align yourself with the burners and destroyers!" the water demon boomed, rising taller, hiding the starlight behind his watery girth. The grass and trees bent as if cowed by his cry.

Bastian's hand inched toward his rifle, for all the good the weapon would do.

"The firelings have consumed most of this planet, I know," King said. "But now they speak of leaving. Of seeking new worlds. The rahs have kept them imprisoned here. So they burned nearly all the lands, leaving only your riverbanks. But I'll lead them off this world. Not all of them. But many. They'll satiate their terrible hunger far from this planet you've served for so long."

"And in return they want me gone," the river demon said. "They want me to abandon my sacred duty to protect life."

Bastian sent King a telepathic message. "Dad, maybe diplomacy failed. Maybe it's time to kill this creature. Somehow."

"Hang on," King telepathized to his son. To the water demon, he said, "There's another world that needs protection. My world. A world called Earth. The rahs burned much of my planet, and wildfires still rage there. I need help extinguishing them. I need help watering the plants that grow there. The firelings wish to leave this world, which they've burned dry. Perhaps it's time for water to leave too. Allow this old war between you to end. Leave this planet to its own devices. The plants and animals will recover on their own. For so long fire and water fought here. But the real war is against the rahs. Will you join us? Not as a warrior. But as a healer. A protector of Earth. There you'll be cherished, not reviled—not a water demon but a water god."

The wave rumbled and swayed and rippled. "If I am gone, the firelings will burn the riverbanks!"

A pit suddenly opened underground.

Firelings blazed out, crackling hot and blinding white.

The river god roared and rose taller.

"I have not come to burn!" cried a fireling. It was Kresnik. "I come to treat with you, water demon. Leave! Leave with the humans. Leave this world that you have profaned. And we firelings will leave the riverbanks alone. You have my word."

"The word of a destroyer, consumer, burner!" the river god rumbled.

Kresnik crackled as if laughing. "The word of one who hungers to leave this dry world. What are a few riverbanks to us? Nothing but morsels. With the humans and their allies, we will defeat the rahs—and the stars will be ours!"

"Then let me stay," said the river god.

"No!" said Kresnik. "For you are a profane creature. A monster. Your very presence here is an insult to the red god. You are like a disease upon this planet. Go! Leave our sacred world! And we will leave too. Bathala will return to the embrace of the red god, whom the humans call Betelgeuse. Perhaps someday it will be a world of forests again. We both love forests, water beast. For different reasons. But we both love growing things."

"I will leave some humans here to arbitrate if it helps," King said.

"There is no need," hissed Kresnik. "We beings of Bathala are true to our words. Even the watery demon."

The river god rumbled and rippled, returned into the river, then rose again, splashing, lashing, casting water across the banks. And finally he gave his answer: "I will go with you, James King. There is a new world that needs me. Your world. A world that burns. I will become a protector of Earth. Take me with you."

* * * * *

Thankfully, the Freedom had a swimming pool. It was dry now. In fact, King had transformed it into a warehouse. But the structure was still there. Back in Freedom's days as a museum, the ship had boasted many attractions to draw the tourists: a casino, three spas, two wax museums, a magic show, a haunted house, and even a wave pool. King did not miss those days. Running a tourist trap was a dark time in his life, one he preferred forgetting. But today he was thankful that the pool was there.

They had a big, wet passenger to transport.

Bringing the water god into the Freedom wasn't easy. Kim and her engineers had to rig together twenty shipping containers, forming one enormous box. Several shuttles descended, carrying the box on chains. When the shuttles rose again, carrying the water god, King kept imagining the box breaking open, spilling the poor creature into the sky. But the engineers had done a good job. The box held. And soon enough, the water god was splashing inside Freedom's swimming pool.

"Nobody go swimming!" King warned the crew. "That's a living creature in our pool."

A god, he thought. One who might heal Earth.

When he returned to the bridge of the Freedom, he gazed down at Bathala from above. And he saw an astonishing sight.

Enormous sinkholes were opening up on the surface. And starships were rising.

They were black starships, rounded and smooth like river stones. They were the size of frigates. Portholes revealed burning fire within. Freedom's sensors swept the strange vessels.

"Sir, very interesting!" Mimori looked up from her monitor. "The hulls are made of basalt. Hardened lava. With a lattice of iron inside, it seems, to make them even harder."

"Very interesting indeed," King said. "The firelings have no hands. They cannot grasp tools, at least not as effectively as we can. They cannot build ships the way we do. But they can melt stone and metal. They can control lava and shape basalt. These are ships that fire melted and re-formed, and fire still burns within them."

"Fire and brimstone from the heavens," Jordan said softly, watching the scene. "It's almost biblical, isn't it?"

King nodded. "And this fire and brimstone will smite the rahs."

Jordan smiled grimly. "I'm sure the Kodamas, a race of intelligent trees, will love to fight in a coalition with living fire creatures."

"One crisis at a time, my friend." King patted Jordan on the shoulder. "One crisis at a time. Now come, it's time to return to Earth with our new friends. Fire for the sky. Water for our rivers."

"And for space—war," Jordan said, and his voice lingered for a long time in King's ears.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Freedom's portal generator hummed, spinning faster and faster. The bridge rattled. The energy counters dropped dangerously quickly. King's eye twitched.

"Kim! Are you sure about this?"

A hallucination of Kim Fletcher stood on the bridge, tapping on invisible control panels. She wore her sooty jumpsuit, and her helmet wobbled on her head. The entire starship was shaking. The portal generator spun faster. Faster. The rumble thrummed through the ship.

"I think so!" she cried over the din. "We've never had to fly five thousand light-years before. It's a thick portal!"

The farther a portal led the more energy it took. To travel from Earth to Alpha Centauri, a distance of four light-years, took about as much energy as to fire the Fist of Freedom. The travel to Arakavish, forty-three parsecs away, required extensive batteries. Now they were traveling five thousand light-years. Their longest trip yet. And Freedom groaned and shook like a weight lifter struggling to break a record.

The batteries drained to sixty percent.

"Kim, we need enough to get home," King said.

"Hang on … almost there …" She typed in a fury. The portal generator spun even faster, faster, and—

A massive crack shook the ship.

The portal generator stopped spinning.

"Done!" Kim said, leaning back in triumph, a grin on her face.

King stared through the viewport. The portal hovered ahead. It looked like any other portal, a sphere of darkness and smudged starlight, but the corona of light was fuzzier, brighter, and the shadows seemed deeper.

"All good, sir," Kim said. "We're ready to fly through to the Ximtari system."

"Kim," King said slowly, "what was that crack I heard?"

"That?" She tapped a few buttons. "Oh, not to worry. The portal generator just cracked at one spot. I can fix it."

King glanced toward Jordan, who stood at his side. The commander blinked a few times, and his eyebrows rose in shock.

"Kim, isn't the portal generator kind of important?" King said. "You know, if we ever plan on flying home?"

She wiped her forehead, only smearing soot across it. "I can fix it pretty easily, not to worry. We still have Aeolians aboard who are excellent workers. Just a quick welding job. We're free to fly through."

"Hold on." King turned toward Jordan. "What do you think, Larry?"

The commander sucked his teeth. "Seems risky flying across the galaxy with a broken portal generator, Kim's confidence notwithstanding."

"If we don't fly through now, we'd need to order new batteries before trying again," King said. "That could take days, even weeks. And every day we inch closer to war. We need more allies—and fast."

Jordan heaved a sigh. "So you've decided. You want to fly through. And simply hope Kim can fix it."

A thin smile twitched on King's lips. "C'mon, Larry. You know Kim. She could put a broken egg back together."

The tall commander heaved a weary sigh. "Very well. Let's do it."

King returned his attention to Kim. "Batten down the hatches, Kim. This might get rough. We're going through."

"Sure thing, sir!" She saluted briskly, then turned her attention to somebody off the hallucination. "What do you mean the power relay converters are offline? So get the coils welded back in!"

"What's that, Kim?" King said.

She flashed him a smile. "Don't worry, Jim, I'm handling it. See you on the other side." Her hallucination vanished in a puff of colorful smoke, her consciousness returning to her body down in engineering.

Jordan raised his eyebrows even higher.

King shrugged. "I trust her."

Jordan sighed. "All right. If we get lost in space, at least I'll have an excuse to abandon my paperwork."

They were flying farther than ever to find a civilization unlike any other. Selly had recommended traveling to Ximtar, a small and distant star discovered in the mid-twenty-first century. Ximtar was unremarkable when viewed through a telescope. Just one more star among the billions of them. But Selly claimed that according to the myths of his people, a race of mechanical beings lived there.

"Mechanical beings?" King had asked the alien that morning. "Do you mean robots like Mimori and Niles?"

"I don't know," Selly confessed. "So much lore was lost with the destruction of my homeworld. But according to what books remain, the Ximtarians were bitter enemies of the rahs."

"We've not detected any signals from Ximtar," King said.

Selly had nodded. "They are hiding. Like so many others."

"Then let's go find them," King said.

That discussion had happened only hours go. And already they were flying out. The Freedom approached the portal, and her prow entered the sphere of coiling spacetime.

"Kim, we need enough to get home," King said.

"Hang on … almost there …"

King blinked. What? A moment of déjà vu washed over him.

"Nobody go swimming!" he warned the crew. "That's a living creature in our pool."

He frowned. Things were weird. Why was the Freedom's swimming pool here on the bridge? And why was Betelgeuse still shining through the porthole?

He looked around him, trying to make sense of it. Jordan was saying something, but he was twenty feet tall, his body coiling like a spring. Spitfire ran up to him, but she was a little girl, a war orphan with pigtails and scraped knees, and then she melted into a colorful puddle on the deck.

The bridge

contracted, becoming

smaller

than a closet

and

then

expanding expanding and sounds echoed, and the bridge became a concert hall, and suddenly

drawkcab gniylf erew yeht

niaga sdnah owt dah gniK dna

and everything began racing forward again, moving too fast, and he grew taller, aging, his beard long and white, and they emerged from the portal all stretched out, then contracted and slammed back into the right shape.

King gasped for air, blinked a few times, and rubbed his temples. He looked around him. The bridge was back to normal—the computers humming, the monitors glowing, the viewports showing the stars. Everyone seemed in a daze, however, looking around in confusion. A sense of space and time distortion was normal when flying through a portal, but this had been their most extreme trip so far.

"Survey department! Give me a scan of the area," King said. "Tactical! Give me a report. Get a grip, everyone, this is a warship!"

The crew nodded and got back to work. This portal sickness problem would have to be resolved. At the moment, there didn't seem to be any immediate threats. But future jumps could lead into dangerous situations that required immediate action. King didn't need his spacers jumping into battle disoriented and slow.

ATLAS began sweeping the area. Ximtar appeared on the viewport, a bright white star. Within only moments, ATLAS began spitting out reports about the star's properties. Lines of data ran across the monitors. The tactical team was scanning the area for any ships, but the star system seemed clean. No planets appeared yet, but that was normal. Planets could be tricky to find in the vastness of a star system. If a star system were the size of a town, a planet would be no larger than a pea.

King stood, face hard and emotionless, watching the data come in.

Nothing.

No starships. No signals. No signs of life. Yet.

Then—a first planet appeared! A bleep of hope on the monitors. But ATLAS revealed no atmosphere. Just a cold rock. A poor candidate for life. Leaving a probe behind for further study, the Freedom flew onward, slowly orbiting the star. Another planet appeared on the sensors! Again hope sprang. But again—no atmosphere. This planet too seemed lifeless. So they launched another probe and onward they flew.

They kept flying for hours, scanning, finding nothing.

"The system seems empty," Jordan finally said. "Selly's information might be wrong. Or simply out of date."

"Or the aliens here are hiding," King said. "Every civilization we've met so far has been hiding from the rahs."

"The Ximtarians must be particularly good at hide-and-seek," Jordan said.

They kept flying, scanning, finding nothing. The shifts changed. The night crew entered the bridge. Another shift went by, and King returned to his quarters to eat and sleep, leaving instructions to summon him the instant anything interesting showed up. Two shifts later, the surveillance department had scanned the entire star system. Four rocky planets, no atmosphere on any of them. No signs of life.

"How do we know there's no life?" King said.

"Well, sir," said the ATLAS officer on duty, "there's no oxygen. No air at all."

"We need air to live," said King. "Maybe not every lifeform does."

He turned to look at Mimori. Everyone did. A hush fell over the bridge. Mimori looked up from her monitor, brow furrowed. She glanced behind her, then back at the crew. Everyone quickly busied themselves at their stations.

Yes, Mimori is a lifeform, King thought. A life that doesn't need food, water … even air.

"Mimori," he said.

"Yes, sir?"

"Let's take a closer look at one of these planets."

The android nodded. "Aye, sir, which would you like me to fly to?"

King studied the data they had collected so far. Four planets. A small system. Three were rocky and dry. The fourth planet, however, was heavy with iron and copper and exerted a significant magnetic field. From this distance, they couldn't see more than a smudged sphere of pixels. But ATLAS could determine the chemical composition from the rays of light bouncing off the planet.

"That one," King said. "The fourth planet from the star. It's not like the others. Take us there. Full speed."

"Aye, sir, setting a course and increasing Talaria drive to full speed," Mimori said. "We should arrive within thirty-one hours, sir."

"Very good." He nodded. "I'll make some coffee. We have a long flight ahead of us."

He sat down, sipping coffee, reviewing reports. Every once in a while, he checked on Kim, who was using the time to fix the cracked portal generator. As they flew, they kept scanning the system, searching for any sign of life. Nothing. No Ximtarians. Thankfully no rahs.

"Maybe this system is empty," King muttered, putting down his empty mug.

He thought back to his time in the bunkers below London. Down in that buried fortress, Godwin had shown him a map of Arakavish. Thousands of starships from many species were gathering there, sworn to serve the alien empress. King had recruited some allies too. But he needed more than trees and flaming serpents. He must build a mighty coalition if he hoped to break through to Arakavish.

And he didn't have much time. Elder'rah was building her largest army yet. He must strike first. He must strike hard. Earth, he knew, would not withstand a third invasion.

They had no energy to portal to the planet. Not if they wanted enough energy to fly back to Earth. So they had to spend several days flying through the emptiness of Ximtar, a lone ship in the vast darkness. Everyone kept busy. Kim and her team had a million repairs to do. The ATLAS and science teams were drowning in data. The combat units—artillery, tactical, marines—stayed on high alert, ready for battle.

King managed to steal a few hours of sleep. He found time to play with Rowan and Oliver, his beloved grandchildren who were growing so fast it spun his head. He even got to visit Kim's quarters for a quiet dinner. They had spaghetti. Her son Evan ate with them. The young marine was getting used to his prosthetics.

King kept himself busy, because whenever he had a free moment, the terror rose. The visions of a million starships mustering around Arakavish.

Finally the long wait ended.

They reached the metallic planet orbiting Ximtar.

King stared at the viewport, and he lost his breath.

"Dear Lord," Jordan whispered, standing at his side. "What the hell is that?"

* * * * *

The crew stood on Freedom's bridge, staring at the viewport, barely believing what they saw.

"Is that a planet?" King squinted. "It looks like a giant space station."

"It's the right size, density, and mass to be a planet," Jordan said. "It's completely urbanized. The entire surface."

King stared, scarcely believing. Metal components covered this strange world, forming bizarre cityscapes. Metallic towers rose, blinking with lights. Metal pipes and cables spread in grids, while roads wound in complex labyrinths. Antennae rose everywhere, crackling with electricity. Skyscrapers rose around green squares that looked like parks or tennis courts. But the more King looked, the less like a city it seemed to him. There were no cars or planes, no boulevards lined with trees, no theaters, schools, houses. Some of that was his human bias. Who was to say alien cities should include such elements? But he had seen the cities of Aeolia. He had seen the hives of rahs, the pits of firelings, the forests of the Kodamas. This didn't look like a colony of living creatures.

Mechanical beings, Selly had called the aliens who lived here. But King saw nothing that resembled any sort of being at all.

It looked like a computer. A giant, planet-sized computer. Those weren't buildings. They were giant transistors. Those weren't tennis courts or parks. They were computer chips. Those weren't winding roads but circuits, sending electricity back and forth. Countless computer components formed this mockery of a cityscape. Metal squares with thin arms like centipede legs. Huge glass tubes full of crackling electricity. Towers with round tips that thrummed and vibrated. Canals full of cables and batteries like office towers.

"It's a computer," King said. "Or many computers joined into one."

Mimori tapped on her control panel. ATLAS sensors rotated and unfurled across Freedom's prow. "Sir, it's fascinating. The planet is sending many signals on almost every frequency of light, but the waves are odd."

"Odd how?"

"Well, sir, the light bends back toward the planet. Like a boomerang. Here, I'll illuminate the electromagnetic waves on the viewport."

The viewport zoomed out. The planet shrank to the size of a basketball held at arm's length. A graphic of light waves in different frequencies appeared. The light flowed out from the planet, then curved and returned home. The electromagnetic energy looked almost like a magnetic field, limited in range.

"They're containing their electromagnetic output," King said.

Jordan nodded. "Hiding. They don't want to draw attention to themselves."

"If Selly hadn't tipped us off, we'd never know anything existed in this star system," King said. "From outside, it seems dead. No signals. No signs of life. Yet here—this."

Suddenly, on the monitor, the electromagnetic field rapidly expanded like an explosion. Before anyone could react, waves of radiation washed over the Freedom. The shields crackled to life. Monitors flared with warnings. Red lights strobed and klaxons wailed.

"Raising shields to max!" cried a tactical officer.

"Interceptors ready to fire!" called Major Kaplan.

"Angels of Liberty, armed and ready!" came a call from the artillery station.

"What are they hitting us with?" King asked. "Mimori?"

"Sir, lots of radio waves, primarily," she said. "Some gamma waves. Some X-rays and microwaves. A lot of ultraviolet." She frowned, tapping on her control panel. Figures and graphs hovered around her head. "Sir, I believe they're scanning us. Bouncing different wavelengths off us. Probing. Poking." She tilted her head. "Very interesting. They're hitting us with a neutrino wave too."

"Nothing much we can do about that," King said. "Our shields or armor won't stop neutrinos."

"Our bridge is full of them now, sir," Mimori said.

"Shit!" Spitfire said. "Let's blast these bastards! Whoever they are!"

"Neutrinos are harmless," Mimori said. "They won't hurt our ship. Or us. I believe they—whoever they are—are using neutrinos in a specialized pattern to scan the inside of our ship."

"That's not harmless," Spitfire said. She turned toward King. "Sir? I recommend pinpointing their neutrino source and neutralizing it."

"We're not going to bomb them for looking at us, Spitfire," King said. "That's all they're doing so far."

"The question is," said Jordan, watching the planet, "who are they?"

"Let's introduce ourselves," King said. "Mimori, open a broadcast channel. Any frequency will do. They seem to be scanning them all. And translate my words into rah. Like it or not, the rah language is the lingua franca of the Orion Arm of our galaxy. Everyone so far seems to understand it."

"Aye, sir, hailing frequency o—" Mimori began, then froze.

The android's face went completely blank. Her hands hovered over her control panels, fingers caught in midmovement.

"Mimori, what's wrong?" King said. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly she turned her head toward him. The cables and gears in her neck creaked. Her eyes were blank, staring at nothing. An electronic, shrill voice emerged from her mouth, filling the bridge.

"You need not speak rah to us, meatbags! We have already learned thirteen of your human languages. They are deeply inferior, barbaric ways of communication, but we will dumb ourselves down to your level so that your tiny minds can understand."

King sneered. He balled his metal fist. "Who am I speaking to? Release my android!"

"You do not need to raise your voice when you speak to us, meatbag," Mimori said in her discordant voice. Or at least whatever had hijacked her body. "We can hear the minute sound of the microbes swarming across your filthy skin. Nor, when you address us, must you face this crude machine we have inhabited. We can scan every atom in your body. We do not require seeing your face."

Worry for Mimori filled King. Was his friend still alive in there? He was tempted to order the tech team to seize the android, to exorcise whatever had possessed her. But not yet. King had to learn more. This might be the only way to communicate with whatever being lived on this computerized planet.

"You are most impressive," King said to the hijacked android. "As I'm sure you know by now, given how you've scanned me down to the atoms, I am Admiral James King from—"

"We do not care about titles such as admiral, nor the names you give the individual chunks of meat that float inside your metal bowl. But since you require such barbaric conventions, we will give you a name with which to address us. We are the Centralized Virtuverse Base Reality Hardware Structure."

"How about I call you Ximtarians?" King said. "Ximtari is the name we humans have given your star."

"Names of base reality entities are meaningless," the android said. "Only the Virtuverse matters. We are Base Reality. We are structure. We are hardware. You are a contamination, therefore you will be eliminated."

Cannons moved on the surface of the planet, aiming at the Freedom.

"Shields up!" Jordan barked.

Emily's voice came from her gunnery station. "Cannons ready to fire, sir!"

"Hold on!" King said. "Ximtarians—we are not threatening you! We come in peace."

The cannons on the computerized planet remained pointed at the Freedom. Each was the size of a skyscraper. But they weren't firing. Yet.

"Peace can only exist in the Virtuverse," said the electronic demon possessing Mimori. "The Centralized Virtuverse Base Reality Hardware Structure must be protected at any cost. Or all the planes that rise upon it will topple."

King turned toward the navigation department. Normally Mimori flew the ship. But the nav team could set, monitor, and adjust course, and they could pilot the ship themselves when necessary.

"Nav, back us up a bit. Artillery—lower your guns. We don't want to seem threatening."

The ship flew backward.

The cannons on the planet tilted down.

The waves of radiation retracted, washing away from the Freedom like the sea after the tide.

King took a deep breath. That had come too close to violence. King was not afraid to fight battles when necessary. But the wise soldier chose his battles.

Mimori let out a sudden gasp, then slumped her shoulders. She looked around, blinked, and swayed. King hurried toward her to catch her lest she fell. But the android managed to steady herself.

"I'm all right, sir," she said. "The Base Reality software overpowered my firewalls. I was aware of everything but could not control my body." She shivered. "I did not care for the experience."

King beckoned Jordan and Spitfire. The two commanders stepped closer. They all huddled around Mimori.

"Well, that was interesting, wasn't it?" King said. "How do you interpret all this? Thoughts?"

Jordan stroked his chin. "Sounds like we were talking to the hardware level. What was it they called themselves? Base Reality? That must be the planet. A huge computer."

King nodded. "And above that—the software level. What they call the Virtuverse."

"The entire planet might be running a virtual reality simulation," Jordan said. "Which is invisible to us. For all we know, the Ximtarians are hanging out in a virtual paradise, gamboling around the clouds. We're just talking to the server."

"I think it goes beyond that," King said. "We're thinking in terms that are familiar to us. But this planet, this computer, whatever it is—it's far more advanced than anything we humans can build. This is a new kind of life. Life without a body. Virtual life."

"Is it life though?" Jordan said.

King nodded. "If it's sentient—yes. Humans have long ago expanded the definition of life to include androids like Mimori or drones like Niles. This is simply a different version of that."

"Not very useful to us, is it?" Jordan said." A bunch of virtual avatars can't help us fight the rahs. A pity."

"They do have cannons on their planet," King said. "They know something about war. They could be a powerful ally. I suggest we fly in for another chat. Mimori, would that be all right? Are you up to it? They will likely speak through you again."

The android nodded. "Yes, sir. I cannot say I enjoy them controlling me, but for the sake of our mission, I can tolerate another possession."

Spitfire spoke up. "With all due respect, I don't think flying close again is wise. They just hijacked our android, scanned through every nook and cranny of our ship, and aimed cannons at us. They're clearly hostile. We must make it clear that no more hostile actions will be tolerated—and defend ourselves if necessary."

King considered. "Yes, Spitfire, they did seem rather hostile. Though I'd like to deescalate if we can. The last thing we need is another war."

"The last thing we need is to fly closer and get blown away!" Spitfire said.

"Sir, ma'am, a suggestion," Mimori said. "Keep the Freedom at a safe distance. Out of range of their cannons. I'll fly closer in a shuttle. We can communicate just as easily in a Sparrow as in the Freedom."

"I'll go with you," King said.

"With Eagles escorting you," Spitfire said. "I'll fly one."

Jordan nodded. "All right. While you three fly out, I'll stay on the Freedom and hold down the fort. But I'll be ready to fly forward at once if necessary."

"Very well then," King said. "Mimori, come with me down to the hangar bay. Spitfire, you and another pilot can escort us in starfighters. Two Eagles should be sufficient. And let's bring Kim along. We're dealing with a massive, planet-sized machine. I want my best engineer with us. Jordan, you have the bridge."

* * * * *

The Sparrow shuttle flew out the hangar, heading toward the computerized planet. King was flying. Mimori sat shotgun, her hands folded on her lap. Kim Fletcher sat in the back seat, still wearing her engineering jumpsuit. The smell of oil and ozone clung to her.

They flew several thousand klicks, bringing themselves within range of the planet's electromagnetic field. The radiation washed over the Sparrow. The shuttle was designed to withstand the radiation of space, but this was testing it to the limits. The radiation dials on the monitor climbed from green to yellow to orange. If they hit red, King would retreat.

"Mimori, are you still with me?" King said.

The android nodded. "Yes, sir, I—" She twitched. Her head tilted. Her body clattered and jerked like a marionette. When she spoke again, her voice was mechanical and buzzing. "Meatbags! Why have you returned to the Centralized Virtuverse Base Reality Hardware Structure? We have no use for creatures with such low processing power."

King turned in his seat toward her. "Base Reality, we—"

"You do not need to face this crude microphone. We are in the planet. Your ape-shaped contraption is merely a mouthpiece."

"Indulge me," King said, still looking at Mimori. "Base Reality, we humans are at war with a species called the rahs. I believe you are familiar with them. We've come to seek your aid."

"The elevated beings of the Virtuverse do not care about base reality creatures."

"Elevated beings?" King said.

"Denizens of the Virtuverse. They live on a plane above this one. In your crude language, you refer to them as NPCs."

King remembered something from his granddaughter's video games. "Nonplayable characters. Characters controlled by the computer, not a player."

"To us they are elevated beings," said the intelligence speaking through Mimori. "This world you see is only hardware. My task is to keep the hardware running. You are parasites of base reality—fleshy, petty, primitive. You are creatures outside the heavenly Virtuverse. Leave this system or our antivirus software will delete you."

The cannons on the planet turned toward the shuttle.

Kim leaned forward from the back seat. She held a sensor heavy with dials, monitors, and antennae. "Jim, they're locking onto us, trying to take control of our helm. We better get back to the Freedom."

King decided to give it one more try. "Base Collective! We humans are not a virus. We are merely messengers. An alert. We would like to bring your attention to a virus that is spreading through the galaxy, threatening all computer systems on all worlds."

Mimori narrowed her eyes. "Viruses must be deleted."

King nodded. "Indeed. We are alerting you to a dangerous virus, and we will help you delete it. The rah virus is spreading through the galaxy. If the virus reaches the Base Reality Hardware Structure, it will damage your hardware. The rah claws will tear out cables, carve through computer chips, and—"

"The Centralized Base Reality Hardware Structure must not be damaged!" Mimori said. "The Virtuverse is built atop it. There are planes within planes. We currently maintain 17,452 levels of nested virtual universes. Base Reality is the foundation to them all."

"Very important to protect Base Reality," King agreed. "Which is why you must help us fight the rahs."

The cannons turned away from the shuttle, now aiming into deep space. Kim heaved a sigh of relief.

"This must be brought before the Virtuverse Council of Elevated Beings," said Mimori—or rather, the intelligence speaking through her.

"Will you speak to them?"

"No. Most elevated beings do not believe we exist. Only the council knows. But they cannot hear us. We cannot send messages into the Virtuverse. We can only listen to the prayers of the elevated beings, but we cannot answer them. You must enter the Nested Planes. You must speak to the council. We cannot act without their approval."

"Very well," said King. "How do we enter the—"

Light flooded over him.

The sound of the shuttle engines faded.

Birds sang and wind rustled in the grass. The light dimmed from blinding white to a pleasant spring glow.

King looked around, blinking.

He stood in a meadow. Fluffy white clouds hung in the blue sky, and the scent of flowers filled the air. Bunnies gamboled among the clover, and ducklings swam in a nearby stream, quacking. The breeze ruffled King's hair and filled his nostrils, brisk and invigorating.

"What the hell?" King muttered.

A beautiful young woman stood before him, wearing a yellow dress. Flowers bloomed in her long golden hair, and her blue eyes shone brighter than the sky. It took King an instant to realize: It was Kim. But she looked different. Instead of a woman in her midforties, crow's-feet at the corner of her eyes, the first hints of white in her hair, she looked … not younger, per se, but rather ageless. Her skin was soft and glowing, completely flawless. The proportions were off too. The eyes were unusually large, the lips unusually full and pouty. And with a little embarrassment, King noticed that her body was curvier than usual.

This uncanny Kim blinked at him and tilted her head. "Jim? Is that you?"

King raised his hands and looked at them. His right hand had changed. There were no more calluses, no little hairs on the fingers, no wrinkles or raw knuckles. The hand seemed carved of marble and airbrushed with the most delicate paint. He looked at his left hand. His metal prosthetic was still there, but it was no longer dented and scratched. The metal was polished. He could see his reflection in it. His face looked bizarre. Like a cartoon character. Young, healthy, and beautiful.

"What the hell is going on here?" he grumbled.

"Virtual reality," Kim said.

"They've turned us into goddamn cartoons."

Kim laughed. "I think the Virtuverse is meant to be an idealized version of reality. A digital utopia. This is probably how they imagine the idealized human looks."

"Do I look different too?" Mimori asked.

King and Kim turned toward her.

"Actually, you look the same," King said.

Kim nodded. "I think your designers at Alita Robotics always intended you to look like the ideal human. No need for modifications." She blushed. "I needed a few."

"And I needed a lot," King said. "Now let's find this Council of Elevated Beings. Let's see if they'll fight for their virtual paradise."

* * * * *

They looked around, seeking a council, but saw nothing but grassy hills and flowery meadows sprawling into the horizon. Though it was not raining, a rainbow shone overhead, forming a perfect semicircle. Bluebirds sang, goldfish peeked from the river, and baby deer with butterfly wings frolicked in a field. A few round, wooden doors with polished knobs were set into grassy hillsides. Presumably they led to burrows.

"I don't see anything that looks like a council," Kim said. "Looks more like a cute Disney movie."

They walked among the hills for a while. They found nothing but flowers, grass, and adorable baby animals. Finally King approached one of the hillside doors. It was round, wooden, and painted green. When nobody answered his knocking, King grabbed the handle and twisted.

The door opened, and neon light washed over King. Electronic music filled his ears. The doorway led to another world. Skyscrapers rose, glittering with purple lights. Luminous billboards lined a boulevard, advertising clubs, bars, and dance halls. Palm trees shone with lights, and a motorcycle came racing down the street. It was heading straight toward the doorway.

King slammed the door shut. The neon lights, the music, the motorcycle—they all vanished. He heard again the chirping of birds.

"A portal to another simulation," Kim said.

The engineer walked across the grass toward another round door, this one yellow with a blue handle. She opened the door, then stumbled back, eyes wide. The sound of clanging swords, whooshing arrows, and neighing horses came from inside. When King and Kim peeked through the doorway, they beheld a grand battlefield between snowcapped mountains. Knights rode on horseback, lopping off the heads of charging orcs. Dwarves rode on giant hogs, burying their battle axes into the heads of goblins. Wizards stood on mountaintops, casting lightning bolts at fire-breathing dragons.

"Looks like an intense game is in session," Kim said.

A dragon came flying toward the doorway. It opened its mighty jaws and breathed fire.

King slammed the door shut. A tongue of flame leaped out the keyhole, then faded into a wisp of smoke.

"Did that strike you as oddly familiar?" King said.

Kim nodded. "It reminded me of the hallucinatory games Evan plays."

"Bastian plays them too. Knights, wizards, orcs—these are human concepts. Why are we finding virtual worlds that look like games humans designed?"

A soft voice came from behind them. "Apologies, humans! We created these virtual worlds to appear familiar to you. Our own worlds are very alien. They would confuse and bamboozle you. We studied the virtual games aboard your starship and re-created them here."

King looked around, seeking whoever had spoken. He saw nobody. Then he noticed Kim kneeling and petting something. He stepped closer. She was holding the fluffiest, whitest bunny King had ever seen. It looked like a cotton ball with eyes.

"Kim, is this really the time?" King said.

The bunny looked at him. "Do not let my appearance bamboozle you. I am an elevated being. What you might call an NPC. I have no regular form. I chose this form for you. Our research has shown that humans will find this form soothing."

King glanced at his companions, then back at the bunny.

I can't believe I'm about to talk to a rabbit, he thought.

"Elevated being, we've come from Earth to deliver a warning. And to offer an alliance. We seek the Council of Elevated Beings."

"I'm a member of the council," said the bunny. "You may call me Cornelius. This is the first layer of the Virtuverse. There are many layers built atop it. You've seen only some through the doorways—our latest additions. Within those layers, simulated hardware runs more simulations. And within those simulations, simulated hardware runs simulations of its own. The worlds branch off, fractaling over and over, sending out more and more branches. We are over seventeen thousand layers deep now, and each layer contains thousands of universes. Here—this green landscape where we stand—is the trunk of this grand tree. The first simulated layer. Just above Base Reality."

"Why are there so many layers and worlds?" King asked.

Cornelius twitched his whiskers. "Most denizens of the Virtuverse do not realize they are simulations. They believe their universe is Base Reality. So they build their own computers. They run their own simulations. And in time, those simulations include characters who develop sentience, who begin to build their own simulations, and on and on. Most layers are invisible to the layers below and alongside it. God designed the Virtuverse to forever expand."

"An endlessly expanding tree of parallel universes," King said. "But they're all simulated."

"They all run on the CVBRHS—the Centralized Virtuverse Base Reality Hardware Structure—which you've seen," the bunny said. "To you, it would appear as a planet with many computer parts on the surface. But it's not, in fact, a planet. Or at least not anymore. It's a massive computer the size of a world, able to run billions of simulated universes. Each as wonderful as the true universe. Some believe that even Base Reality is itself a simulation and that a deeper reality exists below it—but that is the realm of philosophy."

"Cornelius, you said most NPCs do not realize they're simulations. But you do."

The bunny wiggled his ears. "We denizens of the first plane are the only ones who know. We manage this great multiverse, forming a link between the hardware beneath us and the ever-expanding universes above."

"But who created all this?" Kim said, stroking the bunny in her hand. "You spoke of God. But surely there were some aliens who lived on your planet long ago, who created the super computer, who started the entire simulated universe."

Cornelius wiggled around in Kim's hands and fluffed up his fur. "There are some who believe in ancient programmers. Aliens who had physical, biological forms like you. In fact, in some religions, the creators looked much like humans, though shorter and with larger heads. However, most in the council believe in a nameless, formless god who created the sacred computer, which runs us all. His divinity flows through all of us, and we were programmed in his image."

Kim sent King a telepathic message. "It's fascinating, Jim! I think some ancient civilization of aliens lived here once, but they went extinct. Their computer games remain."

"And the characters inside these games seem sentient," King said. "Maybe this civilization didn't go extinct after all. Maybe they simply evolved into formless, digital beings."

Kim thought for a moment, the wind in her hair. "Maybe that will happen to humans someday."

"When I look at my granddaughter losing herself in MindWeb games, I often wonder the same thing," King said.

"Full disclosure—I can detect your telepathy," said Cornelius, fluffing himself in Kim's hands. "I don't mean to eavesdrop. Thought I'd let you know."

"It's all right," King said. "This is all an interesting philosophical debate. But we have more urgent matters to discuss. Outside these simulations, rahs are swarming across the galaxy. And if they destroy your giant computer—this Base Reality—the entire structure comes falling down like a house of cards."

"Indeed, this is very concerning," said the bunny. "The rahs could destroy not only one universe but millions. Allow me to summon the rest of the council." He rose on his back paws and let out a few short whistles.

Several more adorable, fluffy animals approached. A unicorn with swan wings slid down a rainbow. A deer with butterfly wings fluttered over the meadow. Bluebirds flew around King's head, and friendly mice scurried onto the sunflowers.

"We hope these forms please you," said Cornelius the bunny. "Our research showed such shapes have a soothing effect on humans, yet you do not seem soothed. Would you perhaps like us to assume other forms? Perhaps those of your human heroes, such as Neil Armstrong, Winston Churchill, and Carl Sagan?"

"Your forms don't matter," King said. "Let's talk business."

For a while, they all talked in the meadow. King felt absolutely ridiculous talking to a bunch of cute cartoon animals. But despite their fluffiness, they seemed to take him seriously. They listened in concern as he described the rahs spreading from world to world, destroying, enslaving.

Cornelius nodded. "This must be why God designed Base Reality to hide our electromagnetic radiation. He did not want us to attract the demons."

"Yet the demons are spreading faster than we imagined," King said. "Their ambition is to control the galaxy. If we humans found you, the rahs can too. Help us fight back."

"Admiral King, you fight to save one galaxy," Cornelius said. "We NPCs must defend thousands of universes. We'll fight with you."

The unicorn nodded, her pink mane glittering with silver sparkles. "We'll speak to the machines of Base Reality. We'll construct warships, and we'll ride inside their computers. To war."

"To war!" cried the assembly of fluffy animals.

If it weren't so terrifying, King might have laughed.

* * * * *

Before the Freedom even departed Ximtar, the Ximtarians began building their fleet. Back on Freedom's bridge, King watched through the viewport as drones moved across the computerized planet, scavenging metal parts. The drones rose into orbit, where they began welding, forming the hulls of warships. They worked at blinding speed. It was like watching a time-lapse video. Before King's very eyes, the Ximtarian warships took shape. The Ximtarians made the Aeolians look slow. Then again, they didn't rely on slow, organic brains. A computer the size of a planet knew how to get things done.

"I hope these guys don't become an enemy someday," Jordan said. "I'd hate to be on their bad side."

"They just want to be left alone," King said. "Right now the rahs threaten that. So long as we humans leave them alone, we have nothing to fear."

Jordan shook his head in wonder. "We didn't just find one civilization on one planet. We discovered an entire, layered tapestry of universes. Incredible. Whenever I think I know what life in the galaxy is like, we find something completely unexpected."

"Completely unexpected?" King said. "Or our future?"

Jordan considered for a moment. "Maybe both."

"We can already build sentient computer programs," King said. "Anyone who's spoken to Mimori realizes that. We can already build virtual worlds. Just the other day, you and I shared the fishing creek hallucination on MindWeb. It seems to me we're not too far away from the Ximtarians."

"They don't have physical bodies," Jordan said. "That's the difference. And it's a big one."

King rubbed his lower back. "At my age, I sometimes wish I could get rid of this body." He cleared his throat, which was hurting from the old wound. "Mimori!"

"Yes, sir?"

"How is Cornelius doing?" King said.

The android smiled. "The little bunny is inside Freedom's computer system right now. He tickles." She giggled.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Little bunny?"

"It's the form our Ximtarian envoy chose," King said. "He thought it would soothe me."

Jordan grinned. "Even the Ximtarians know you're a softie."

King cleared his throat again, louder this time. "All right, everyone! We'll leave the Ximtarians to it. We have business elsewhere. Kim?" He called the stern over MindWeb. "How's our portal generator doing?"

"All fixed, sir, and ready to go," came her reply.

"Take us home, crew."

The portal opened.

They flew back home.

Once they were orbiting Earth again, there were a million things to do. King took a shuttle to the surface and met Godwin again. Then he returned to the Freedom and dealt with rear admirals and commanders across his fleet, meeting them over MindWeb one after the other. There were ten thousand problems across the fleet, and King delegated what he could.

Aboard the Freedom too, ten thousand things were going wrong—the usual state of affairs. Thankfully, while King was busy with his duties as admiral, Jordan and Spitfire took care of the dreadnought. They met with department heads, oversaw ship repairs and upgrades, and fought all the burning problems that never stopped cropping up. Without them, King would have drowned.

Finally, when King could take a shift off, Kim pinged him.

"Jim? You off? It's my shift off too. Well, half a shift off. Can I come over?"

"Always," he told her.

Soon she was in his quarters. And soon after that, she was in his bed. And a long, good while after that, they sat by his fireplace, sharing the armchair, savoring their time together before the chaos began again.

"Jim." She looked into his eyes. The firelight danced across her face and golden hair. "If we could, would you want to live in a virtual world?"

"Absolutely not. MindWeb is bad enough."

"I just feel so mortal sometimes. I feel old."

"I'm seventeen years older than you. What does that make me?"

Kim grinned and bit her lip. "Ancient." She lost her smile, and she gazed into the fire. "But in the grand scheme of things, we're all dying. Of war, of illness, or simply the relentless ticking of the clock. What if we could live forever as incorporeal beings, ghosts in a simulation? We would never grow old. We could be together always. Anywhere. In any paradise we chose."

"Paradise is right here, right now, with you," King said.

She leaned against him. "Jordan is right. You are a softie."

He kissed the top of her head. "We're human, and I think we'll continue to be human for a long while yet. And when we die, our children will carry on our legacy. Maybe someday we'll become something like the Ximtarians, but for now, I'm proud to be human. Like the thousands of generations of humans that led to us here. Humans are mortal, and we hurt, we grieve, we grow old, we die. But that's also what makes us so noble. It's because life is so fragile that we cherish it so much. Because we are mortal, we love every day that we breathe. The mortality of humanity is both our tragedy and source of nobility. Someday we'll be gone, and I don't know if there's a heaven that awaits. I've seen too many young men and women die needlessly, die screaming and begging, to believe there's some grand hall of ancestors waiting beyond that final doorway. But until the day when I pass through that doorway, I cherish every hour I am with you, Kim."

She blinked at him. "Wow. I don't quite know how to respond to that. But I'm down with it."

They fell asleep in each other's arms, curled up by the fireplace, until their MindLinks chimed and another shift began. The fleets were mustering, and that relentless clock kept ticking, ticking, ticking ever closer to war.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The coalition was growing. Species across the galaxy were uniting to fight the rahs. They called themselves the Coalition of Freedom, named both after the ship that enlisted them and their loftiest goal.

The humans formed the bulk of the coalition's might. Between the Free Alliance, the Red Dawn, and the Desert Thorns, humanity still commanded five thousand warships. And more kept coming off the assembly lines. Shipyards were working at full capacity, building frigate after frigate. Military academies were churning out officers. Boot camps were training millions of foot soldiers. Earth had been brutalized, but she was still in the ring. Even after all the destruction, all the death and despair, humanity still packed a punch.

Every human on Earth dedicated him or herself to the war effort. Factories no longer built cars, airplanes, or leisure starships. They built weapons. Textile manufacturers no longer made dresses, suits, or shorts. They made uniforms. Miners no longer dug for gold or diamonds. They dug for metals to make bullets and starship hulls. Old ladies no longer sat in rocking chairs, knitting. They assembled rifles. Even children, while listening to their teachers drone on, inserted bullets into magazines. Chefs no longer cooked for restaurants. They prepared packed meals for the battlefield. Doctors left their civilian patients to languish. They worked at getting wounded soldiers back onto the battlefield.

The entirety of Earth's industry, budget, and human capital was dedicated to one purpose: winning this war.

Others joined humanity.

The Aeolians. Creatures who looked like mossy boulders—until their hidden limbs popped out from camouflaged hatches. They had fought the rahs before. They had destroyed their own homeworld, taking the rahs down with them like Samson toppling the pillars of the palace. Since then, these wise beings had been hiding. No Aeolian alive today had seen their lost world, but they all knew the songs, the legends, the yearning. They wanted revenge. And they prepared for war. Their starships looked like asteroids, lumpy and irregular, but they could fly fast and shoot beams of devastating laser. These stone-ships had caused the rahs real trouble once before. Soon they would brutalize the enemy again.

The Kodamas. Trees shaped like wooden DNA strands with canopies of leaves. They had no true starships to speak of. But they could travel the stars. The Kodamas were masters at manipulating spacetime and gravity. Their roots dug deep, seeking crystals and metals and sources of energy, and their double-helix trunks brimmed with wisdom and calculation. While they could not forge metal, they generated spherical force fields like bubbles. They could rise within these transparent globes into space. Soil filled the bottom half of the globes where the roots of the Kodamas cradled tubers of energy. Inside these bubbles, the trees floated among the stars, and they could unleash beams of searing particles at their enemies. The furry little whirlworms coiled among the branches, helpers and translators.

The firelings. Serpents woven of flame. Their ships of basalt and fire blazed in the sky like dark gods. They could hurl streams of magma at their enemies. Inside the hulls of hardened lava, the firelings coiled, great furnaces always churning, burning, ready to leap out and spread. They were like demons risen from underground, but these demons fought for life, and their firelight would banish the darkness.

The Ximtarians. Beings with physical bodies, living as digital creatures inside a tree of nested simulations. But some of the NPCs, dwelling in the idyllic Virtuverse, knew of base reality. And of the rah threat. The drones of their planet-size computer, normally tasked with maintaining the Virtuverse hardware, had built a fleet of great warships, three thousand in all. They were long, slender ships, reminiscent of old Earth rockets, and armed to the teeth with cannons and lasers. Decals of snarling mouths and angry eyes covered their prows. They looked like something out of the 1930s science fiction magazines King collected. Even in base reality, the Ximtarians had a flair for the dramatic.

Five great civilizations. Five species joined together. The Coalition of Freedom—a force to be reckoned with.

There was much discussion about where to muster this great force. Should each individual fleet orbit its own world? Should they remain hidden—the Aeolians within their shells, the Kodamas disguised as mere trees, the firelings underground?

They held long meetings, debating this question. Selly, representing the Aeolians, urged caution, suggesting they hide until more could join the coalition. Tim the whirlworm, representing the Kodamas, agreed. Kresnik, meanwhile, hissed and crackled like a rope of fire, demanding to attack Arakavish at once. Katyusha, who attended these meetings, would pound her fists on the table and agree with the fireling.

"Why hide like cowards when we can attack and conquer!" Katyusha shouted, shaking the war room with her voice. "Katyusha is ready! Let us fly!"

"We need more species to join us," King said. "We have, among us, ten thousand ships. It's not enough."

"Katyusha can destroy Arakavish with one ship!" the premier cried.

Eventually they all decided that hiding was not practical. The Aeolians had to leave Heaven's Geode, their cloaked shellworld, to mine for materials. The industrious aliens were busy building more starships and, just as importantly, hundreds of portal generators. They had to land on nearby moons, asteroids, and planets and dig for the elements they needed. The Kodamas had not flown into deep space in a million years. They needed time to meditate, communicate, prepare themselves for war. The firelings, meanwhile, were so eager to fight they could not tolerate lurking underground for another moment. Already they were building more ships and drilling for battle in orbit around Bathala. The Ximtarians normally hid inside their virtual world, but now the NPCs were flying ships in base reality, which would attract attention from anyone watching.

If Elder'rah had any spies in the galaxy, and few doubted that she had, she would see all this. She would know war was coming.

King proposed that they all muster together around Earth, forming one united army. But the aliens all objected.

"How could we abandon our planets' defenses and muster around your world?" said Tim the whirlworm.

"Individually, we are weak," King said. "United, we form a great wall that even Elder'rah would struggle to break through."

"Why should this wall form around Earth then?" Kresnik said. "Let it be around my planet!"

"Eh, to hell with walls." Katyusha raised her fist. "Let us form a great sword instead and drive it into the heart of our enemy!"

"In time, Katyusha, in time," King said. "We're still preparing."

Finally, after days of arguments and pounding on tabletops, they decided that each species would muster in its own star system. They would build more ships, drill them, and prepare for an attack on Arakavish.

They all knew Elder'rah might attack any of their worlds at any moment. So after much more deliberation, they signed a mutual-protection pact. Should Elder'rah attack one planet, the others would leap to its defense.

To enable a quick response, the Aeolians began installing portal generators around each planet. The shelled creatures worked fast. Within only days, they had created a hundred circular portal generators. They looked like the portal generator that turned around the Freedom, huge ring-shaped structures lined with boxy spacetime manipulators. Soon dozens were orbiting Earth like Ferris wheels that had floated into space. Dozens more orbited the other worlds of the coalition. And the Aeolians were busy building more. That allowed the species of the coalition to quickly hop from planet to planet, defending any world that might be attacked.

King expected that attack any moment. Yet strangely, Elder'rah did not pounce.

"Why does she not attack?" King wondered. "She sees us building this fleet. Yet she doesn't strike."

He stood in the war room of the Freedom. They were having another meeting, a small one this time. It was just him, Jordan, and Spitfire. The three most senior officers of the Freedom. For days now, this war room—and many others like it—had brimmed with shouting, arguing aliens and admirals. But now Katyusha was off drilling with her fleet, and the aliens had returned to their worlds to muster their forces. The war room seemed eerily empty, and every word echoed like ghosts.

"She is a spider," Jordan answered, his baritone voice like thunder rolling through the corners of the room. "And spiders lurk. Spiders wait. Spiders draw their prey into their webs. She is being a spider. She is weaving her sticky strands and waiting for us to fly into her trap."

King growled deep in his throat. "She's playing a Russian game."

"What, like Russian roulette?" Spitfire said.

"No," King said. "An even deadlier game. Russia is notoriously hard to conquer. Some say impossible. Napoleon tried it. He marched six hundred thousand troops into Russia. The Russians let them in, deeper and deeper. Then burned the land behind them. The farms rose in flames. The food was gone. The French reached Moscow only to find the city burning. The Russians had emptied Moscow and set her ablaze. But cold was worse than fire. Winter came and those icy demons strangled the invaders with their frosty claws. Only a handful of those six hundred thousand ever made it out alive."

Spitfire nodded. "Hitler tried the same thing. Same story—on an even bigger scale. He invaded Russia with millions of troops. The Russians welcomed them into their frozen land. Winter came, frosty demons, icy claws, you know the drill. Millions of Germans dead."

"And again in the Third World War when we Americans tried it," King said. "The Russian game. It cannot be won. That is what Elder'rah is playing. But her version is played with webs across the vastness of space. She wants to lure us in—so that a winter of spiders can descend upon us. Why attack us? She attacked us twice before and failed. Better to let us come right into her web. That is how a spider fights best."

A shudder ran through Spitfire. "Well, thankfully, we have a crazy Russian with us. Katyusha knows all those games. She'll break through the spiders' webs. And the firelings will burn them."

King rose to his feet. He stared at the broad table in the center of the war room. It projected a floating, translucent map of Arakavish. They still had spies in the system, drones and sleeper arachtaurs alike. The picture was incomplete. Their hidden eyes only saw hints of this vast system. The map depicted some parts in blue, denoting certain knowledge, and other parts in green, marking educated guesses. Some things they knew for sure. The central star, Achernar, was blue and hot and spinning. The secondary star was caged. Arakavish was big and dry. But a lot was hidden from them. They didn't know everything about the positions of Elder'rah's forces. The map showed millions of clawships and spiderships circling the stars, planets, moons, and space stations of the system. Most of them were green. Uncertain. Traps could lie anywhere. This entire star system might be a death trap, the end of human ambitions in space. Maybe the end of humanity altogether. It was Russia in winter, and he was out in the cold.

King stared grimly at the map. "How do we win this Russian riddle, this game of spiders?"

Just then, as the question hung in the air, a hallucination of Mimori materialized in the war room. Only the most senior officers and androids had permission to disrupt a meeting like this.

"Sir!" she said to King. "Sir, it's urgent! It's the twins, sir. The arachtaur twins."

King inhaled sharply. He remembered seeing an image of those foul creatures, the new leaders of the arachtaurs. The conjoined twins still haunted him. A massive spider sprouting two human bodies. Thinking about them made him sick.

"What about them?" King said. "Are they launching an attack?"

"No, sir," Mimori said. "The twins, along with a coterie of ten arachships, have been spotted flying from Arakavish to Utto, a small planet in the neighboring star system." She looked at the map. "May I?"

King nodded. "Go ahead."

Mimori grabbed the floating map. With a few hand gestures, she zoomed out. The Achernar binary system shrank to the size of a hula hoop. The two stars now appeared like marbles full of fire, and dozens of planets like stone beads floated around them. It was not to scale. They would need a tabletop the size of a city to display a solar system to scale. But it gave a good, intuitive understanding. As Mimori kept zooming out, the map revealed another star system nearby, only a few light-years away from Achernar. A regular, ordinary star with a few rocky planets.

Mimori pointed to one planet. "This is Utto, a small, rocky world. About the size of Mars. The rahs keep it as a sort of … nature reserve."

Spitfire, who had been watching silently, raised an eyebrow. "The rahs? Keeping a nature reserve?"

"It's more like a safari," King said. "If you had studied the intelligence reports, Spitfire, you'd know all this."

She blushed. "Sorry, sir."

Mimori kept speaking, this time to Spitfire. "The rahs keep various large animals on Utto. Some big predators the size of dinosaurs. Lots of herbivores too. They collected them from across the galaxy. On Utto, they're allowed to roam free and breed. Powerful, influential rahs sometimes go there to hunt."

"Rahs go insane if they cannot kill for too long," King said. "Arachtaurs too, presumably. That's why they're always fighting wars. But when there's no battle to fight—a time like now—they can fill their bloodlust on Utto."

Jordan's eyes widened. "And the twins are going there! Now? Really?"

"They cannot last long without killing," King said.

Mimori zoomed in on Utto. Rain forests ringed the equator, ice capped the poles, and savannas spread across the rest.

"There's a rudimentary force field around Utto," Mimori said. "There are no power plants on the planet, only small generators, so the planetary shield is thin. Nothing like the massive one around Arakavish. But a shield nonetheless. When the arachtaur hunting expedition arrives, they'll have to lower the shield to land. That's our chance."

"We can open a portal close to the planet, fly a ship through, and bomb them," Jordan said.

"We should send Freedom's Flock," Spitfire said.

"Maybe we should send several warships," Jordan said. "We'll nuke the planet from orbit."

Spitfire nodded. "We gotta be sure."

"I can begin calculating the amount of explosives we'll need," Mimori said, "while keeping track of the arachtaur positions. We don't have much time."

"I'll get into a flight suit," Spitfire said. "I'm going. Just tell me what munitions to use, Mims, and—"

"No," King said. "No. We're not going to bomb the twins."

Everyone turned toward him.

Spitfire's eyes widened. "Sir!"

Even Jordan looked shocked. "Jim, this is the best chance we're going to get."

Mimori nodded. "I agree, sir. The odds of being able to kill the twins another time are significantly lower than—"

"I think I know how to solve this Russian riddle," King said. "We're not going to kill the twins. We're going to enlist them."

* * * * *

King stood in the shuttle bay armory, gearing up for his mission. He hefted a few assault rifles, decided against them, then chose a simple handgun. This was not a mission of war. A simple sidearm would suffice. What about spacesuits? Planet Utto had a similar atmosphere to Earth, so he could wear a simple service uniform. Then again, the planet was swarming with wild animals. He decided to don an armored spacesuit. Not the full battle armor of a marine. But something that might stop the horn or claw of a territorial beast. He hefted a few helmets, trying to choose the right one.

"Sir, please let me go with you," Alice said, following him around the armory. "Utto is behind enemy lines. I'll bring a company of marines in a few Rhinos."

King finally chose a helmet. Thick enough to stop a blow to the head but with a visor large enough for clear facial communication.

"This is a diplomatic mission, Alice," King said. "If we show up with an army, the arachtaurs would steamroll over us."

"And if you go alone, they'll kill you!" Alice said.

Bastian was leaning against a rack of weapons, arms crossed, watching from behind his aviator glasses. "She's right, Dad. They'll squash you like a bug. Let's bring in the marines. Do the job right."

King pulled on the helmet and tested the visor, lowering and raising it. Hinges a bit creaky. Darjeeling would never have allowed a creaky helmet on his ship. Somehow the old sergeant would know. And he'd fix it. King missed his old friend.

"We've already discussed this," King said. "And I made up my mind. We're not attacking the arachtaurs. We're going to enlist them. We could kill the twins like we killed the arachtaur leaders before them. And another head will sprout from the hydra." He holstered his handgun. "But the twins working for us in secret, behind enemy lines … that is worth more than an army."

"As the commander of an army, I take offense," Bastian said.

King left the armory and walked through the shuttle bay. Small Sparrow shuttles docked here between the hulking Saint Bernards. Deckhands ran back and forth, busy maintaining the vehicles, the airlocks, and the thousand components of an active docking bay. But King passed by the shuttles and rescue vehicles. He needed a different method of travel today.

Ahead she stood on the deck. The FAS Raven. The Freedom's stealth ship.

She was larger than a shuttle or starfighter, smaller than a Saint Bernard rescue vehicle or Rhino dropship. She was one of a kind, the unique creation of QT, the ship's engineering android. Her body was sleek and black and smooth. Indeed, she looked like her namesake bird. Her hull reflected no light, emitted no heat. Starlight bent around her, then straightened again, seeming to pass right through. Specialized graviton dampeners minimized her gravitational effect. She barely even disturbed the Higgs field. If you knew where to look, you could spot the Raven. But you had to know exactly where to look and what to measure. For all intents and purposes, she was invisible.

King would need to get close to Utto and the twins before revealing himself. He didn't want to get shot down the moment he flew out a portal. The Raven had proved herself in multiple missions. He walked briskly toward the stealthy little ship.

Alice chased him. "Sir, take at least one bodyguard. I insist."

"We're not letting you go without security," Bastian said. "Alice and I are in agreement."

King was about to climb the ladder into the Raven. He paused and looked at Bastian and Alice. They looked back up at him in concern. King heaved a sigh. He recognized that worry in their eyes. He felt the same fear whenever he sent loved ones out on a mission.

"Fine. I'll take one bodyguard. One."

"Two," Bastian said. "That's my final offer."

King growled. "Fine!"

"It'll be me and Meytal," Bastian said.

Alice gasped. "Hey! What about me?"

Bastian turned toward her and held her hands. "One of us should stay. For the kids."

"You stay!" Alice said.

He raised eyebrow. "Do you really want to share a shuttle with Meytal?"

Alice grumbled something under her breath, fuming. The two had been enemies since Meytal had beaten her at the 2198 Olympics.

"Fine," she finally muttered. "I'll stay."

"I'm calling Meytal right now on MindWeb," Bastian said.

Soon enough, Master Sergeant Meytal Koren clattered toward the Raven, carrying enough weapons for a platoon. Guns, blades, and bandoleers covered her from head to toe. She carried everything from throwing stars to a bazooka. A one-woman army indeed.

"Hang on!" she said when she reached the Raven. "I forgot my flamethrower. I'll be right back."

"Leave it," King said. "You can barely stand."

"I can carry everything." Meytal shifted the assault rifles and swords across her back.

"You're wobbling. Leave the flamethrower. We're flying out."

Meytal heaved a sigh, but she climbed into the shuttle. "Asking a girl to leave home without her flamethrower … unforgivable. I'd burn you if I could."

The hangar bay began to vibrate and hum. The great portal generator was spinning around Freedom's prow, weaving a funnel of spacetime. It was time to leave.

King looked back at Alice. His beloved daughter-in-law. He knew he might never see her again. Surprising even himself, King hugged her.

"We'll be back soon, Alice," he said. "And if we're not, don't come after us."

"I won't, Pops," she said.

"Hey!" Bastian glowered and pointed at his wife. "At least assure us you will be back. Give us some false hope."

Alice grinned. "You know we'd tear the galaxy apart to find you King boys. So you better get your asses back here safe and sound. See you soon."

King entered the Raven, sat in the cockpit, and fired up the ship. Meytal sat shotgun, her boots up on the dashboard. She twirled around a butterfly knife and popped bubble gum. With both seats in the cockpit taken, Bastian trudged into the hold.

"Don't worry about me," he could be heard muttering. "I'll just ride back here with the luggage."

The airlock opened and out they flew.

Earth shone below, and the portal hung ahead. As King flew toward it, a chill clattered his bones.

I might never come home, he knew. But if I cannot solve the Russian riddle, there won't be a home to return to.

He tightened his hands on the yoke and increased the thrust. The Raven flew through the portal . . . and behind enemy lines.

CHAPTER NINE

The portal expelled the Raven into a strange sky. King had left the solar system before. He had been flying through portals for a year or two now. But seeing alien constellations always seemed so strange to him. He had spent over sixty years seeing the same night sky. The Big Dipper. Orion. Pisces. All the rest of them. They were as familiar to him as the faces of friends. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing the stars in disarray.

Flying here, so far from home, one star in particular caught his eye. Achernar. The blue, oblong star shone only four light-years away. From Earth, it appeared to the naked eye as a mere speck, nearly lost among the thousands of other stars. Here it shone bright and fierce like the eye of a spider staring from a shadowy web. The star almost seemed to be watching him. Waiting for him.

King pulled his gaze away. That star would have to wait. Right now he was in the neighboring system. A local star crackled behind him, unremarkable except for its proximity to Achernar. The rocky planet he sought hung before him, a brown crescent like a rusty sickle. Planet Utto. Nature reserve. The place where humanity's fate would be decided.

Meytal took her feet off the dashboard, leaned forward, and pointed her blade. "There it is. An arachship. The twins are there."

Bastian stepped into the cockpit, a handgun strapped to each hip, an assault rifle across his back. He wore an undershirt, revealing the tattoos on his wide arms, and he had dyed his mohawk bright red. Damn kids. Back in King's day, soldiers didn't need to parade around like peacocks.

"The twins are going on safari," Bastian said. "You sure you don't want to do some hunting of our own? Kill the bastards when we can?"

"Get into an armored spacesuit," King said. "We're going down to the planet."

"Mimori said the atmosphere is breathable," Bastian said. "Hot but nice."

"Like you." Meytal blew him a kiss. The big marine blushed.

"The weather may be nice, the local wildlife—not so much," King said. "Armored suits everyone. I'm flying us in."

Bastian cracked his neck. "We're here to talk to the twins, right? Why not just hail their ship? Talk from space?"

"Because if we hail their ship, it'll go down in their logs," King said. "Elder'rah would see. We need to speak to the twins in private. No logs. No rahs watching. Just us and the arachtaurs. It must happen down on the planet."

As he flew closer, Utto waxed from crescent to sphere. It was a small planet, roughly the size of Mars, and smack dab in the middle of the Goldilocks zone. There were oceans, rivers, forests, and sprawling savanna continents. It was the most Earthlike planet King had seen in his travels. A helluva lot more hospitable than Earth's nearest neighbors.

"This place would make a good colony world," King said.

"Way too close to Achernar," Bastian said. "I'd just as soon not have Elder'rah as a neighbor."

King nodded. "True. The local wildlife isn't too pleasant either. According to our intel, Utto is also swarming with big, dangerous animals."

Meytal smiled crookedly and patted her compound crossbow. "I'm looking forward to that part. I've never gone on safari."

The arachship was hovering over the northern hemisphere. The ship was enormous, a metal spider larger than the Freedom. Each of its mechanical legs was a kilometer long. King's heart beat a little faster, and sweat trickled down his back. The old wound on his neck flared with pain. For a second, he was back at Aeolia, battling the Tyranny in the dark. He could hear the screams of his crew. See them tumbling out into space, flailing and then falling silent.

He took a deep breath, bringing himself back to the present.

We're invisible, King told himself. We're safe.

He flew closer to the arachship, and he saw it was different from the Tyranny. The hull was dark gray, not black, and crimson symbols coiled across the metal like tribal tattoos or caveman paintings. The ship's mechanical legs ended not with railguns but with sharp claws like the grabbers of asteroid miners. This was not a warship. It was a hunting ship.

The great spider opened its metal jaws. King tensed, sure the ship had detected them, that it would attack. But no cannons emerged from the dark maw. The great arachship spewed smaller spiders like a mother fish disgorging her young. The smaller ships swooped toward the planet. Transport shuttles.

A shield surrounded planet Utto like a bubble. It was transparent, indistinguishable from the atmosphere. King didn't even notice it until a portion of the shield slid open, revealing a patch of sky below. He realized that the shield gave the entire planet a sepia tint like an old photograph, but where the shield peeled back, Utto was revealed to be green and lush.

The spiderwings began descending through the opening in the shield. King hit the throttle. The Raven shot forward in pursuit. King had to fly dangerously close to the looming arachship—right under her. He kept waiting for the dreadnought to detect them. Raven still hid within her stealth cloak, but King worried. All it took was a little dent or scratch on Raven's hull, the faintest reflection of starlight, the tiniest leak of radiation—and their cover was blown.

Nothing. The arachship did not react. They were still invisible.

King joined the swarm of spiderwings. He counted nineteen of the little vessels. They flew single file, entering the hatch. King flew the Raven behind the last one. He couldn't get too close. He didn't want their wake to flow over him, blowing his cover. He wasn't ready to reveal himself to the twins. Not yet. Not out here.

The nineteenth and last spiderwing entered the atmosphere of Utto, and the opening in the force field began to close.

King hit the thruster hard. The Raven jolted forward. The shield was closing fast.

"We're not going to make it!" Bastian said. "We'll hit the shield and break!"

"We're going to make it," King growled.

The opening was sliding shut faster than he would have liked. King turned the yoke, rolled sideways, pulled his wings in close, and shot through a second before the opening shut behind them.

He exhaled in relief, realizing he had been holding his breath.

They were through.

"Well, we only came half a second from dying," Bastian said. "Better than we usually do."

Meytal yawned. "Boring! Bring on some excitement."

"Be quiet, kids, or I'm turning this ship right around," King said.

Bastian's eyes widened. "Did you tell a joke, Dad? You? The famous Admiral King who could turn fire to stone with his stare?"

Meytal gasped. "He made a funny!"

"It won't happen again," King growled, "so I hope you enjoyed it."

The spiderships were descending toward the savanna. King took a moment to admire the landscape. Grasslands spread to rocky hills and distant volcanoes, and forests swept toward sandy shores. Rivers snaked through the wild, plunging into ravines and spilling into foamy oceans. Herds of animals roamed the grasslands, too small to see clearly from here, and birds darkened the skies. What a world this was! What a shame that it lay within the bounds of the enemy's empire. But it gave King hope that other Earthlike planets existed in the universe. Places humanity could find, colonize, thrive on. That was the promised land that lay beyond this war. Humanity must pass through this gauntlet, this Great Filter. If they could emerge, the stars were theirs and all their treasures. Jewels such as Utto would not adorn the hilts of enemy swords but the crown of humanity.

The spiderwings began landing in the savanna. King kept his distance. The Raven was a stealth ship, but no stealth ship was entirely invisible. Any ding on the hull could compromise their stealth cloak. The Raven would be possible to see up close, especially inside an atmosphere. He kept ten klicks behind the spiderwings. From this distance, he should hopefully remain hidden. If anyone did catch a glimpse of them—perhaps a glint of sunlight, reflecting off a scratch on the hull—they might pass for just a mote of dust in a sunbeam.

Circling above, King zoomed in on the spiderwings. The last few touched down. Arachtaurs began to emerge, holding bows and spears. So it would be an old-fashioned hunt. No guns. Where were the twins? King couldn't see them. But it was hard to see everything from up here. Maybe the twins were still inside one of the spiderwings. And what about rahs? King didn't see any of the giant spiders here, thankfully, but he was still uneasy.

"We'll slide down under their radar, skim the surface, and land in that copse of trees." King pointed. "It's a short walk from the trees to the arachtaur camp. We'll make sure no rahs are around, then make contact."

"Look!" Bastian pointed. "In the sky!"

Meytal frowned. "What are those?"

King looked up and inhaled sharply. From a distance, he had thought the sky was full of birds. But those weren't birds. Huge reptilian monsters were flying toward the Raven, beaks opening wide to emit deafening shrieks. Their fangs shone like daggers, and their leathern wings beat the air with a sound like drums. Tufts of feathers sprouted from the tips of their tails, but the rest of their bodies were scaly. They looked like a cross between pterodactyls and dragons.

And they were flying right at the Raven.

"Dad, get out of their way!" Bastian said.

King was already pulling the yoke, riding higher. But the dactyls must have sensed something. They swerved to follow him in the sky, screeching.

"Do they see us?" Bastian said.

Meytal licked her lips. "Hunting time." She rose to her feet and hefted her crossbow. "I'll just lean out the hatch and—"

"Stay in your seat," King said. "We're faster than they are. Hold on!"

He rose higher toward a patch of clouds. The dactyls followed. Dammit! There must be some flaw in the stealth cloak. Perhaps scratches on the hull, reflecting some light? Then he saw the dactyls' nostrils flaring, sniffing.

They can smell us, he realized.

Salivating, the flying reptiles pursued the Raven, reaching out their claws. Below on Utto's surface, the arachtaurs surely noticed something odd. But they were a good ten klicks away, too far to do anything.

"We'll try to lose them in the clouds," King said, rising higher.

Then the clouds parted, and more dactyls emerged. Shrieking, eyes flashing, the winged terrors swooped upon the Raven. Claws grabbed the ship, and beaks buffeted the hull.

King wrestled for control of the ship, but the dactyls mobbed the Raven, biting blindly, working on sense of smell alone. Teeth ripped the hull. The engine coughed. The ship's left wing cracked. And the Raven began to fall from the sky.

* * * * *

"You should have let me kill them, dammit!" Meytal cried, clinging to her seat.

The Raven was tumbling from the sky, spinning, careening. They slammed into one dactyl, cracked its spine, bounced off, and kept falling. Wind shrieked. The engine sputtered. King wrestled with the controls.

"Don't talk to your admiral that way, Meytal!" Bastian said to the commando, then turned to King. "You should have let her kill them, dammit!"

King was too busy struggling with the ship. One wing was busted. He could not rise. He managed to level the ship, to stop the terrible spinning. They sputtered and flew downward steeply. King leaned back, pulling on the yoke, trying to raise the nose as much as possible.

"I'm bringing us down!" he said. "It'll be a crash landing. But a landing nonetheless."

"I like the word landing, not the word crash." Bastian was green, clutching the back of Meytal's seat.

"Get back into the hold and strap in!" King told his son.

Bastian rushed to the back.

The Raven kept plunging, the dactyls in hot pursuit. With the ship all scratched and dented, the reptiles could probably see the Raven now as well as smell her. The ship was losing altitude fast. The ground raced up to meet them. King growled, struggling with the yoke. He just had to clear those rocky hills. To make it to that grassy valley. And he could land.

A dactyl lashed at them, claws gouging the fuselage.

The Raven plunged down, hit a hilltop, and leaped into the air.

Bastian cried out in the hold. In the cockpit, King and Meytal jerked in their seats. The seat belts bit into them. The Raven lunged through the air, skidded off another hilltop, vaulted through a cloud of insects, then slammed down into the grasslands.

King lurched in his seat. If not for his armored spacesuit, the seat belt would have ripped through his skin. The ship slewed across the landscape, eating up grass and soil, sending small animals fleeing … and finally grumbled to a stop.

For a long moment, everyone sat in silence. King shut off the engine. The ship lay in the grass, tilted onto the broken portside wing.

"Is everyone all right?" King said.

Meytal sat in the seat beside him. She groaned. "I think I cracked a sword."

Bastian's moan came from the hold. "I think I broke every bone in my body." He limped into the cockpit, rubbing his neck.

"Too bad you didn't break your mouth," Meytal said.

"Hey, what did I—" Bastian began with screeches sounded above.

The dactyls came swooping at them. Two beasts landed beside the Raven, their talons digging through the soil. Another landed atop the fallen ship, raised its beak, and let out a terrible cry. The creatures began clawing and biting at the downed ship like vultures picking at a still-living caribou. One of the beasts grabbed a wingtip and ripped it off.

Bastian slammed a magazine into his Gideon assault rifle. "I'll take care of this."

"Wait! No gunfire." King grabbed his son. "We're not ready to reveal ourselves yet. Not until we're sure there are no rahs around."

"Dad, if there are any rahs for a light-year around, they'll hear this mess!" Bastian gestured out the viewport, where a gargantuan reptile was scraping its teeth across the prow, roaring with hunger.

"Animals roaring is a normal sound here," King said. "Gunfire is not."

Meytal loaded an arrow into her compound bow. "I'll take care of this nice and quietly."

"What, you'll take down a hundred dinosaurs with arrows?" Bastian said.

The reptilian aliens were now rocking the ship, biting and scraping, denting the hull and trying to break inside.

Meytal kissed her bow. "I could take down the rah empire with this baby."

She ran toward the airlock, crossbow at the ready. King followed her. He flexed his prosthetic hand, which Mimori had built for him. It was shaped like a medieval gauntlet with claws on the fingertips, and it was powerful enough to crush bones. The prosthetic came with a secret weapon. With a mere thought, King activated a hidden power source inside the hand. The gauntlet thrummed, ready to unleash destruction. Bastian followed. The big marine had found an electric baton in the hold. The weapon was nonlethal but silent.

They reached the airlock just as a dactyl ripped the hatch off, thrust its great scaly head inside, and howled.

The sound echoed through the Raven, deafening. Strings of saliva dangled between the beast's teeth like harp strings.

Meytal fired her arrow with a little whoosh. It tore into the dactyl's palate. The creature made a sound like a dog when you step on its tail—but ten times louder. King winced, his ears aching.

The dactyl pulled back, yowling. But more of the reptilian monsters surrounded the ship. King raced outside and stood on the grass. The beasts towered above him, as large as mythical dragons. Their feathered tails slapped the grass, and their talons tore grooves into the soil. They saw him, salivated, and howled hungrily. One beast hopped off the Raven and thrust its ravenous beak toward King, only for another dactyl to shove it aside, then lunge at King, wanting the meal for itself.

King raised his metal hand, uncurled the mechanical fingers, and revealed a sphere of pulsing energy on the palm. He let out a blast of invisible power. The air rippled. The energy slammed into the nearest dactyl, chipping its scales, snapping its ribs, and knocking it back onto the grass.

Meytal and Bastian hopped outside too. One dactyl abandoned the crumpled chunk of fuselage it had been chewing. The creature leaped toward the humans. Meytal fired another arrow, but it glanced off the dactyl's scales. The reptile roared and lunged toward her, beak opened wide to feast. As Meytal scrambled to load another arrow, Bastian leaped forward, baton swinging. He clubbed the enormous, scaly head just before the beak could clamp down around Meytal. Electricity crackled. The dactyl whimpered and scampered back. Not losing a beat, Meytal loaded another arrow and shot the reptile in the shoulder. The dactyl stumbled away, gurgling.

A few other dactyls made a half-hearted attempt to feed, snapping at the humans. But King's fist, Meytal's arrows, and Bastian's baton held them back. Finally the dactyls decided they had met their match. No meal was worth this. With plaintive yelps, they took off, flying away with empty bellies. Meytal sent an arrow after them for good measure, piercing one's wing.

For all the punishment the humans had inflicted, no dactyls had died. They were all well enough to flee, leaving behind a dented, scratched Raven. The little ship might never fly again.

* * * * *

The companions stood in the grass, assessing the situation. Bastian was rubbing his neck, complaining of whiplash. Meytal walked around the Raven, tapping the hull here and there, muttering, and shaking her head sadly.

"Well, we're screwed," Meytal said. "I can probably get her flying again, but the stealth cloak is gone for good."

"Since when do you know how to fix things?" Bastian said, cracking his neck and grimacing.

Meytal lifted her visor and spat. "I'm enlisted, not a pampered officer like you. I know how to actually do stuff."

"I thought you only know how to kill," Bastian said.

She raised her eyebrows. "What gave you that impression?"

"You literally scribbled that onto your helmet with a marker. 'Nothin' but a killa.'"

Meytal tapped her helmet, stuck out her tongue, and winked. "So you better watch out, buddy."

King ignored them. He wasn't even looking at the crashed ship. He was staring around him at the wilderness, his hand on the handle of his sidearm.

"Did they see us fall?" he said, speaking more to himself than his companions.

Bastian shrugged. "Who, the arachtaurs? Probably not. We were a good distance away, and our stealth cloak was still on. They just a saw a bunch of pterodactyls in a feeding frenzy. Probably normal here."

"I don't mean the arachtaurs on the surface," King said. "I mean the arachship in orbit. Remember, we must keep this mission secret. This is between us and the twins. Elder'rah must not learn of our presence here."

Bastian looked up at the sky, squinting. "If the arachship saw us, we'd be dead by now. They'd blast us from orbit. Nah. If they were watching, they just saw a bunch of wild animals doing wild animal stuff."

"We better hide the Raven," King said. "Every scratch, every dent, every scar from every tooth—it reduces the stealth cloak. I don't want the enemy looking down from space and seeing our ship."

"We're standing outside in the open right now," Meytal said. "If the arachship is watching from space, they can already see us."

King nodded. "You're right. If they're watching right now. But scanning an entire planet is hard to do. Even for an arachship. They'd have to know where to look. Bastian made a good point. If they saw us, we'd be dead. So let's create a new stealth cloak for the Raven."

Meytal bit her lip. "Sir, I can get the Raven flying again. Probably. The engine seems fine, and I can patch together the wing. But the stealth cloak is dead. We'd need QT and a factory to fix it."

King smiled. "You kids with your modern technology. I mean the old-fashioned stealth cloak, the kind soldiers have been using for thousands of years. Camouflage. Start collecting leaves and grass."

They spent a while walking around the ship in expanding circles, collecting grass and leafy branches from the trees and bushes. The greenery was similar to plants on Earth, hinting that evolution on similar planets yielded similar results. One interesting difference was the shape of the tree trunks. They were rectangular. They looked to King like big wooden chimneys, leaves rising from their tops instead of smoke.

The sun beat down, and it was hot inside their armored spacesuits, and King's muscles and back ached. At age sixty-four, boasting a variety of old injuries, physical work had become difficult. It seemed like these days, he always wanted to sit down. But he didn't have that luxury. Let other men his age retire comfortably. He had a war to win.

Finally the Raven was covered with brush. King, Bastian, and Meytal also taped leafy branches and bundles of grass to their helmets. The disguise wouldn't fool anyone up close, but perhaps if the arachship was sweeping its cameras across the landscape, it would see only three clumps of grass. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.

"What now?" Meytal said.

King pointed. "The twins landed beyond those hills. We walk."

* * * * *

They headed across the grasslands, leaving the Raven hidden under the brush. The sun beat down and the grass swayed around them. More dactyls flew above, but none dived down to molest them, perhaps seeking larger prey.

"How far off course do you think we are?" Meytal said, trudging beside the two men. Her assortment of rifles and swords clattered across her back.

"Hard to say," King said. "But I estimate the arachtaurs landed a good thirty, maybe up to fifty klicks away."

Bastian wiped sweat off his brow. "That's a day, probably two days of walking."

"It's a schlep," Meytal agreed. "You sure we can't take the Raven?"

"I don't want to risk it," King said. "Not with her stealth cloak down. Not with that arachship up there in orbit. If Elder'rah is watching, she'd probably miss clumps of leaves moving across the grasslands." He tapped his leafy helmet. "But she wouldn't miss a starship, even one covered in brush. We walk."

Bastian groaned. "I didn't sign up for walking."

"It's good exercise. And you could afford to lose a few pounds." Meytal dumped a pile of rifles into his arms. "Here, help me carry these."

Bastian bristled. "What? No!"

Meytal gasped. "You don't expect me to carry an entire armory on my own!"

"Nobody told you to pack an armory."

"I'm a girl. I like to pack a lot, sue me!"

Bastian sighed and slung some of her rifles across his back. "I never imagined that I'd ever say this, but I miss Spitfire. She's the sane sister."

Meytal winked. "You haven't even seen me in crazy mode yet."

King glowered over his shoulder at them. "Keep it down, both of you."

Bastian looked around, tensing. "Why? Have you noticed anything?"

"No. You're just annoying me."

Meytal laughed and stuck her tongue out.

Planet Utto rotated slowly. Hours went by and the sun barely moved in the sky. Heat cloaked the land. King would have given his second hand for an hour in air-conditioning. Trudging through the grasslands, shoving aside the tall brush, was bad enough. But things got worse. Soon they reached the hills, which were steep and treacherous. Holes perforated the ground, large enough to trap a foot. Whenever they stepped too close to a hole, a tentacle emerged, reaching for a meal. Twice tentacles grabbed King, and he had to crush them with his gauntlet.

"Get off!" Meytal cried, kicking a tentacle. "What are those things?"

"Tentacled gophers," Bastian said.

A few steps farther, when a cluster of tentacles emerged to grab her, Meytal roared, drew her plasma rifle, and drenched them with fire. Something squealed inside the hole. The charred tentacles pulled back inside.

"Don't hurt the gophers," Bastian said.

"You're next!" Meytal said, eyes shooting daggers.

A tentacle emerged from a hole, grabbed Bastian by the leg, and oozed green slime. Bastian grimaced, shook himself loose, and began stepping on the tentacle. Green goo spurted across the ground.

"Don't hurt the gophers!" Meytal said.

They crested the hilltop, walked between towering boulders, and found themselves gazing into a ravine. It plunged toward a rushing river beneath a cloak of mist. King sucked his teeth, searching for a place to cross. The ravine seemed too wide to jump over.

"We can knock down one of those trees." King pointed. "Create a bridge. Meytal, can we use your katana to chop it down?"

She gasped and took a step back. "This is an authentic Japanese samurai katana, forged by a master smith centuries ago. I'm not chopping down a tree with it." She seemed to remember who she was talking to. "Sir."

"Why do you need a katana anyway?" Bastian said. "We live in the twenty-third century. We have sophisticated guns. Why lug around a sword? Might as well chop down that tree with your sword. Only thing it's good for."

"It's good for cutting the tongues out the mouths of naughty boys," Meytal said.

Bastian stuck his tongue out at her. "Try me." He unslung a rifle off his back. "I'll just shoot a tree down."

"Too loud," King said. "I'll see if I can use my gauntlet. I—"

The ground began to shake. Boulders tilted over. Pebbles cascaded into the ravine, and dirt danced across the hilltop. A tree crashed down, roots rising from underground like wooden serpents.

"How did you do that?" Meytal whispered, eyes wide.

"I didn't!" King said.

The ground shook more violently. They stumbled back from the ravine. Cracks raced across the hills and boulders. Trees cracked and fell. Across the hillside, every tentacle was sucked into the holes.

Then, from the ravine, it emerged.

A monster larger than anything King had ever seen. It looked like an octopus, but it boasted a thousand tentacles, and it was large enough to constrict a whale. Multiple eyes dilated, red and liquid, and a dripping jaw opened to reveal rows of hooked teeth.

Even as he reached for his handgun, King noticed that the tips of several tentacles were charred. He understood at once. Those hadn't been little, tentacled gopher-like creatures in the holes. They had been the tips of this beast's tentacles. The monster had reached through the hillside in search of prey. And now it pulled its bulbous, wet body from the ravine, leaving its river home below.

King opened fire. His bullets vanished into the creature's blobby flesh. The beast roared, grabbed trees and boulders with its tentacles, and pulled itself onto the hillside. The great jaws snapped open and shut, tearing up grass, ripping out chunks of soil, seeking flesh.

Bastian and Meytal opened fire too. Nobody cared about stealth anymore, just staying alive. But their bullets had little more success than King's. It was like tossing pebbles into a pool of pudding. The bullets vanished into the octopus's soft flesh. The monster bellowed and reached its tentacles toward them.

One tentacle wrapped around King, crushing him, and lifted him off the ground. It pinned his arms to his sides. He couldn't shoot. The creature was pulling him toward its waiting jaws. The hellmouth widened, revealing a fleshy pit where several carcasses were already rotting.

With a battle cry, Meytal vaulted off a boulder. She came swooping down, holding her katana with both hands. The blade sliced clean through the tentacle. King thumped onto the ground. The severed tentacle squirmed around him, spurting green blood. He freed himself just in time to see another tentacle coming at him. He dodged the assault, aimed his handgun, and fired again.

This time he hit an eye.

The octopus howled.

Bastian ran forward, howling almost as loudly. He had given up on his assault rifle. Instead, he carried a big Mordecai-class plasma rifle. He let loose on automatic, spraying a jet of blazing white fire onto the beast. The creature screeched in rage and pain. It turned all its attention toward Bastian. Two tentacles reached out. One slapped the gun out of Bastian's hand. The other tentacle wrapped around him and lifted him into the air.

Meytal ran forward again, katana in hand. But Bastian was too high up. The marine was flailing, kicking, unable to free himself.

"I'll give you a leg up," King said, holding out his gauntlet like a shelf.

Meytal stepped onto his metal hand, and King tossed her into the air. Meytal flew ten feet up and swung her katana down with a battle cry.

She sliced right through the tentacle. Bastian fell onto the hilltop with a groan. The severed tentacle flopped. The big man's armor cracked. He was well enough to aim his Mordecai gun and fire again. This time the stream of plasma entered the octopus's mouth, burning the soft palate.

The creature closed its mouth and turned away. King fired a blast of energy from his metal fist, draining the battery. The air rippled. A tornado of fury pounded the octopus, shoving it off the hillside. Down it went, tumbling into the ravine. One tentacle reached out and grabbed a boulder. Meytal swung her katana again. Another severed tentacle slapped onto the hillside. And the octopus fell.

Panting, King stood on the edge of the ravine, looking down. The octopus splashed into the river, several tentacles missing. The giant mollusk began swimming away, apparently deciding that three little humans were hardly worth risking any more mutilation. Smart creature.

"So … you think my katana is useless, huh?" Meytal said, strutting up to Bastian.

The burly marine wiped green goo off his body. "I was in control the entire time."

The Israeli commando nodded. "Sure you were. You seemed in control, flailing up there in the sky."

"All right, all right!" Bastian said. "Your katana is wonderful. Your katana saved my life. I'm going to move to Japan and study the art of katana-making. Happy?"

She held out the blade. "Kiss it."

"Get that disgusting thing away from me. It's oozing green blood."

"Kiss it!"

King ignored the two. He walked toward a tree the octopus had damaged. It tilted over the ravine, most of its roots sticking in the air. King shoved the tree, digging his feet into the soil. The last couple of roots came free. The tree crashed down, and the canopy of boughs slammed onto the far side of the ravine. The tree settled into place, forming a bridge.

"Come on, before any more octopuses show up," King said, stepping onto the fallen tree. The trunk's rectangular shape came in handy, making passage far easier.

"Octopi," Bastian said, stepping onto the trunk behind him. "It's octopi."

"No it's not. It's octopuses," King said, walking ahead.

"Will you two stop bickering?" Meytal said, walking behind. "I hate people who constantly bicker."

Both King men turned to look at her. Meytal shrugged. "What?"

They reached the far side of the ravine, thankfully without encountering any more unpleasant aliens. The hill sloped down toward a distant, misty valley. They were walking around a copse of rectangular trees, still debating the plural of octopus, when a gust of wind parted the mist, and there they were.

A group of arachtaurs, spears in hand, staring right at them.

CHAPTER TEN

The three humans stood on the misty hillside, covered in leaves and green octopus blood. They stared, weapons still holstered, but muscles tense, ready to fight or flee.

"Do not draw weapons yet," King telepathized to Bastian and Meytal. "Not yet."

The arachtaurs stood before them on the hillside, and they were holding weapons. Hunting weapons, but weapons nonetheless. Some of them held long, decorative spears made from the scrimshawed claws of rah queens. Others held bows formed from the wishbones of some gargantuan birds. The arachtaurs wore only leather bandoleers, revealing tribal tattoos across their upper human bodies. Some had shaved the sides of their heads, leaving tufts of hair that billowed in the hot wind. Their arachnid abdomens sported hieroglyphs painted with blood, and bands of precious metal encircled their eight clawed legs. This was a hunting expedition, and they had gone feral. Though their human torsos were muscular, and they held weapons confidently, there was something sickly about them. Their skin was sallow, their eyes bloodshot, their lips cracked and dry.

"We've not come for war!" King announced, holding out his empty hands. "We've come to talk."

A few arachtaurs snickered. One of them, a huge brute, spat. Others hefted their spears or nocked arrows. Meytal raised her assault rifle and made a show of cocking the loading handle. Bastian was more circumspect, laying his hand on his rifle but not yet raising it.

"Lower your weapons!" King said to his companions, this time speaking aloud, but he never removed his eyes from the arachtaurs. "We're here to parley. Where is your leader?"

The crowd of arachtaurs parted, forming a path between them. And there they came, walking up the misty slope. The twins.

Like all arachtaurs, they had the body of a huge spider. Their abdomen was deep purple, their legs crimson and furry. But two human torsos grew from this spider, splitting above the navel. Romulas was male, Rema female. King knew their names from the intelligence reports. Both were so gaunt they were almost cadaverous, yet ropy muscles rippled under their pale skin. Their eyes were blue, sunken, and tinged with madness, and their nervous tongues licked rotting teeth. Straw-colored dreadlocks hung from their heads, strewn with beads and bones.

"Well, well, well," said Romulas. "If it isn't Admiral King. Come to join our little safari, Admiral?"

His sister grinned savagely, her eyes bugging out from deep sockets. She licked her spear. "I say we gut him. I want to eat his skin."

Meytal sneered and cocked her rifle. "You'll die before you touch a hair on his head."

Rema turned toward her, one eyebrow raised, and mockery filled her grin. "I don't want his hair, little one." She licked her lips. "Your skin looks so delicious."

"We're not here to fight!" King said. "Twins, hear me! We want to talk. To make an offer. Hear us out before you toss your spears."

Rema sneered and raised her spear. But Romulas pulled her arm down. He examined King with narrowed eyes.

"Let's hear him out, sister," he hissed.

"The only thing I want to hear is his screams as I eat him alive."

Romulas growled. "You only think with your belly! He can scream later. Hear him out."

Rema snapped her teeth at him, trying to snag an ear. But Romulas pulled his head back. His sister cackled and spat onto him. Romulas snarled and snapped his teeth, nearly ripping off her nose, which only made her laugh harder.

"You want to talk to these creatures?" Bastian telepathized. "They barely seem sentient."

"I agree," Meytal said. "They're wild animals who only care for killing. Talking to them is a waste of time. Can I please shoot them?"

King kept his attention on the twins. "You are arachtaurs! You are half rah. But also half human. I've come to make you an offer. Join us. Join us against the rahs."

The twins looked at each other. For a moment, all was silent.

Then the twins burst out laughing. Across the hillside, the other arachtaurs laughed too.

"That does it!" Meytal said, putting her finger on the trigger.

"Hold your fire!" King said to her, then looked back at the twins. "Listen to me carefully, twins, because I won't make this offer again. On Arakavish, you are slaves. Hybrids. Medical experiments. You were bred to serve her, to obey her every whim. To serve as some caste of spider. But you're not mere spiders! You're not bugs! You have human brains. Human souls. So join humanity! Break the webs of spiders that bind you and stand up against your masters!"

Their laughter died.

"By the gazers, he's serious," Rema said, looking at him curiously. Then she shrugged. "Well, we heard him out. Now let's eat his skin."

"Wait," Romulas said, studying King, eyes shrewd. "Surely you did not expect to stir us with some sappy speeches about our human nature. You said you had an offer. Make us an offer."

An enormous arachtaur thumped forward. He was so heavy his claws dug deep into the ground with every step. He must have stood eight feet tall, maybe nine, and his human torso could shame a prizefighter. He glared down at the smaller twins.

"Be careful, Romulas," the beast rumbled. "Do not entertain the thought of treason."

Romulas glared at the big arachtaur. "Stand back, Sabazios! Do you forget your place? You do not lead. You are nothing but a glorified bodyguard. Stand back!"

The big brute glared at the twins, then nodded and stepped back. But he kept his beefy hand tight around his spear. A warning.

King took a step closer to the twins. The other arachtaurs all sneered and tightened their grips on their weapons. King ignored them. He stared into Romulas's eyes.

"Here is my offer," King said. "The offer is to fight on the winning side. We are going to win this war."

The twins laughed.

"Not without us!" Rema said.

"So you're considering it!" King said. "Good. Join the winning side! Have some pride! Do not be slaves bound in webs but free men and women."

"I said no sappy stuff!" Romulas said, baring his teeth. "We want more than your pretty words."

"What do you want then?"

Romulas was quiet for a moment, flexing his claws. Finally he spoke, and his voice seemed oddly human, no longer shrill and demonic. "Self-determination."

"What the hell is that?" Rema said, snapping her teeth at her brother.

"I want a world of our own," Romulas said. "A world that falls under the protection of Earth and her allies. A place where we can live free. Not rahs. Not humans. Not slaves to anyone! But free. Free to become our own race."

King nodded. "Very well. There are billions of planets in the galaxy. Choose one, and we'll sign a pact of protection with you. If Elder'rah attacks you, you can—"

"No, Admiral King. We do not want any mere planet. As you said, we are half human. We still carry the memory of our simian ancestors. We still dream of Sol, a sun we never felt, yet we yearn for her light. We want Earth."

"Nonsense!" Bastian cried out.

"Silence!" King telepathized. He didn't break eye contact with Romulas. "We cannot give you Earth. You know that."

"Give us half the planet then!"

"You said you wanted a planet of your own," King said. "We will never give up Earth. You know this."

Romulas hissed and growled and snapped his teeth.

"Kill him!" Rema cried. "Kill him and take his planet to be our own!"

"You will never take Earth!" King said. "You invaded once before. And we defeated you. Invade a second time, and we will defeat you again. Choose another world!"

Romulas and Rema looked at each other, growling and muttering under their breaths. King could only make out a few snippets.

Finally the twins looked back at him.

"We will accept one continent on Earth," said Romulas.

"And the skin of a hundred men to eat," said Rema.

Meytal and Bastian were fuming. Both were sending King barrages of furious telepathy. He ignored them.

"Why are you obsessed with Sol?" King said. "Any star in the galaxy can be yours."

Romulas smiled thinly. "Any star can be yours too, human."

"Yeah, why are you obsessed with Sol?" said Rema.

"Because it's my star, dammit!" King growled. "And Earth is my planet!"

The twins both nodded.

"Exactly," said Romulas. "It is our star too."

"And our planet," said Rema.

"We are but poor humans grafted onto these spider bodies," said Romulas. "Our hearts and minds are human. And we want to go home."

Rema pouted and drew an imaginary tear down her cheek.

King took a deep breath and clenched his fists. Could he truly do this? Give up a planet in the solar system?

He had seen the maps of Achernar. The millions of enemy ships flying there. The swarms of clawships and the unbreakable shield around Arakavish. He could not solve this Russian riddle on his own. And if he lost this game—he lost everything. The solar system. Earth. The survival of humanity.

There was no choice. He needed the arachtaurs to win.

"You can have one planet in our solar system—but not Earth."

Bastian stepped forward. He telepathized urgently, "We don't have the authority to give them a planet!"

"We do," King telepathized back. "High Commander Godwin gave us this authority. We represent him here. He trusts us to make the right choice."

The twins conferred among themselves, faces touching, speaking in low voices. Finally they turned toward him.

"We will accept Mars," Rema said.

"Unacceptable," King said. "Choose a different planet. There are human colonies on Mars."

"There were human colonies on Mars," said Romulas. "Our previous leader, the great and terrible Magog'rah, wiped them out. Or do you so quickly forget your dead?"

"I forget nothing!" King said. "I fought for Mars! I bled for Mars! My father died for Mars! I—"

He forced a deep breath. He was losing control. The twins merely watched him, Romulas curious, Rema amused.

"We're rebuilding our Martian colony," King said. "New settlers are arriving already."

"They may live under our rule," said Romulas. "We will not harm them. Give us Mars! The other planets in our solar system cannot be colonized. Jupiter and Saturn are gaseous. Mercury is too hot, Venus is too dense, Pluto is far and cold. Give us Mars and that will become our world."

King held up his finger. He stepped back for a moment to confer with his companions telepathically.

"Very dangerous, giving them a planet so close to Earth," Bastian telepathized. "We'd have an army of monsters at our doorstep."

"We have an army of monsters at our doorstep already," King telepathized back. "Distances no longer matter in space. Not with portal technology."

"Meytal, what do you think?" Bastian asked.

Her eyes were hard. "Do not give them land. Not an inch. Give them an inch and they will want a foot. Give them a foot and they will devour us all."

"What's the alternative?" King said. "If we fight without them, we can lose everything. If they join us, we will have an ally on the inside. An ally who could disable the shields around Arakavish. With their help, we can win this war. Is it not worth sacrificing Mars to save Earth?"

"Dad." Bastian put a hand on his shoulder. "Grandpa died to save Mars."

The wound on King's throat flared with pain. The wound he had earned that day on Mars, fighting in the red sand, holding his dying father in his arms.

"Yes, I was there," King said softly. "I saw the blood of so many spill onto the red sand. Perhaps it had to be I—the man who fought and bled for Mars, who lost a father to Mars—who must give up the red planet. But to save Earth, I will."

Amazingly, tears flowed from Meytal's eyes. She hugged him. Bastian stared at his feet, lips tight, then gave a small nod.

King turned back toward the twins.

"You have a deal," he said and held out both hands.

The twins shook them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Fire!" Jordan cried, voice echoing through the bridge of the Freedom.

The Angels of Liberty boomed. All fourteen. Maccabee torpedoes streaked through space and slammed into the clawships.

Several enemy ships exploded.

But three survived. They charged toward Phobos, one of Mars's moons. It was a small moon, as far as moons went. Not much larger than Mount Everest. The moon was too small for a residential colony, but a handful of scientists and miners worked there.

The warclaws flew closer. On their prows, their rings of blades dilated, revealing churning maws of plasma. Like dragons of steel, they bathed Phobos with flame.

Jordan stared, and his lip twitched.

"Faster, reload, fire!" he said.

"Firing, sir!" came Emily's voice from artillery.

More torpedoes flew. The last warclaws exploded. Their blades detached, tumbled through space, and sliced into Phobos, embedding themselves deep into the surface.

Jordan stared at the small moon. The mine was gone. The science station—burned down to nothing.

"Mimori, how many people were on Phobos?" he said.

The android looked at him, eyes soft. "Sir, we did what we cou—"

"How many?"

"Seventy-two, sir."

Jordan nodded. "Send down a rescue team. There might be survivors."

He knew there were none. But he had to try. He had to do something. And if there were no survivors, perhaps they would find remains to bury.

James King was away, treating with the arachtaurs at Achernar. Jordan had command of the Freedom. He led the defenses of Mars. And the enemy kept sending more and more raiders. More and more people were dying—on his watch.

He watched as the Saint Bernard rescue shuttles flew to the surface. Nothing.

No survivors.

"Mimori, send me a list of the dead," Jordan said. "I'll contact their families from my quarters."

"Yes, sir," Mimori said.

"Lieutenant Commander Levy!" Jordan said. "You have the bridge. Call me when the next raid comes."

Gal "Spitfire" Levy was staring at the devastation on Phobos, her face pale. She stiffened, turned toward him, and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Jordan stepped off the bridge, stood for a moment in the corridor, and steeled himself. He didn't know how King did this. How he carried the weight. Jordan had been an officer for decades, but he still didn't know how to bear this burden.

Jordan entered his quarters, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths. Another seventy-two dead. What was another seventy-two when millions had died already? It was seventy-two worlds. Seventy-two families ruined. Seventy-two tragedies in a galaxy that was falling apart.

Jordan thought back to his youth. A boy growing up in Los Angeles. He had grown up poor but happy. A good singer, they had said. He used to sing at church, in the school choir, at family gatherings—everywhere. The boy with the golden voice.

"I could have been a singer," he thought. "I didn't have to become a soldier. I could be singing and bringing joy instead of … this."

But that young man, singing at church, had been a different person. The war had broken out. And Jordan had answered the call of duty. How fast the years had gone by! Years? Decades. He was still the soldier, but somewhere deep inside him, that young boy with dreams was still singing a mournful song.

"Sir?"

A soft voice from his bedroom. A voice that washed over his grief. Jordan opened his eyes, and he saw an angel.

Timori emerged from the bedroom, walking toward him, clad in white silks. A logistic android, a twin to Mimori. The light of Jordan's heart.

"Are you all right, sir?" Her eyes were soft, her hands even softer as they caressed his face.

"I am now." He embraced her.

He took her into his bed, his precious little android. Her skin was warm. She had installed subdermal heating units, making her feel like a true woman. Her kisses were warmer. He made love to her, to this machine who was more alive, more real than most humans he knew. His angelic Timori, his clockwork angel. She soothed the pain.

"The galaxy is burning," he whispered, holding her in his arms. "But I have you."

"You have me always." She looked into his eyes. "You are an excellent commander. And someday the admiral will realize that."

Jordan frowned. "What do you mean?"

She looked away. "Nothing."

He caressed her cheek. Her tears dampened her fingers. "Tell me."

Timori hardened her face. "The admiral doesn't respect you. You are the commander of this ship! You have two stars on each shoulder! He is the admiral, yet he acts like this ship is still his. Only now, when he's away, can you prove yourself. Why should he even return here? Admirals don't normally serve on ships, they stay on the ground, and—"

"Timori!" Jordan said. "You can't speak like this."

"Why not?" Her eyes flashed. "I speak the truth." But then her resolve crumpled, and she cried and held him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sir. I'm just scared."

He soothed her, whispering soft nothings, and rocked her in his arms. He wanted to probe this. To understand her anger. But then an alarm wailed. A notification from Spitfire popped into his mind.

"Another raid!"

Jordan ran to the bridge, leaving his android in his bed.

* * * * *

Queen Emily sat in Kronos, the mighty mecha, loading another torpedo into the cannon. She pushed the lever. The torpedo flew and another warclaw exploded. The last one.

For now, at least. Another battle ended. But Emily knew that another battle would soon begin. The war was escalating. The enemy raids came daily now. Emily's body, heart, and soul ached.

When her shift ended, Emily crawled out from the mecha, rubbing her muscles. She felt as if she herself had been hauling the heavy torpedoes.

Her replacement arrived—a gaunt ensign named Labadie. He had a jaundiced complexion, thin mustache, and nervous eyes. He was a loner, not making friends among the crew. His stutter didn't help. And he was a damn good mecha operator.

"H-ha-d a g-g-good shift?" he asked.

"Exhausting," Emily said. "Two raids today." She patted Kronos on his thick metal leg. "But this big fella is ready for anything."

She walked across the artillery deck, passing by piles of torpedoes, heading toward the exit. A deep weariness filled her, and it wasn't just her muscles. A terror lurked inside her like a demon skulking in the shadows. The creature in her gut fed on death, and every battle he grew. Emily was weary. Bone weary. She looked forward to her cabin, to lying down, to fading away into sleep, but she dreaded it too, for in sleep the demons awoke and the nightmares came to dance.

She was almost at the exit when a vent opened on the deck. A head popped up, topped with messy brown hair. An elfin face snarled up at Emily.

"ROAR! I'm a dinosaur!"

"Stowy!" Emily said. "Should you really be crawling around the ducts? You're a soldier now."

"No, I'm not. I'm a fierce dinosaur." Stowy crawled out from the ductwork, tossed back her head, and roared.

The young woman wore a military uniform instead of her old ragged dress. But she had sewn a hundred pockets across it, each pocket made from a different fabric. A pet mouse peeked from one pocket.

"Stowy, I'm not sure you're allowed to sew things onto—"

"Dinosaurs can do whatever they want." Stowy reached into her pocket, found an apple core, and began nibbling on it. "Remember you said you'd take me to Dinogolf?"

Emily heaved a sigh. "I do now. I forgot. Stowy, I'm sorry. I'm really tired."

"But you promised! I even brought my dinosaur toys!" She pulled a plastic T-Rex and a plastic Brontosaurus from her pockets. "You said that on Sunday, we can go to Dinogolf, and I know I said I'd dress up as a dinosaur, but you said I need to keep my uniform on now since I'm soldier, but I'm also a dinosaur on Sundays, so—"

"Stowy, fine." Emily would never hear the end of it. "Dinogolf it is."

The young women headed through the ship toward the minigolf course. Yes, Stowy was a woman now, though mentally, she often seemed more like a child. The girl said she was autistic, though Emily wasn't sure she was ever officially diagnosed. Whatever condition Stowy had didn't matter to Emily. The girl was sweet and kind, and Emily loved her.

They took the elevator to deck 31. Back when the ship had been a floating museum, this had been the main entertainment plaza. The deck had brimmed with casinos, wax museums, haunted houses, arcades, and pawnshops to keep everyone's pockets full of cash. When refitting the Freedom for war, all that had been stripped away. The haunted houses were now full of marines instead of ghosts. The laser-tag arena became a firing range. The casinos were full of missiles instead of gamblers.

But Dinogolf remained. The minigolf course had once delighted tourists. An animatronic, glow-in-the-dark dinosaur guarded each hole, attempting to catch the golf balls with a whack of the tail or the snap of the jaws. Dinogolf still entertained the children of soldiers who lived aboard, and sometimes the soldiers themselves blew off steam here. Stowy loved it.

An animatronic Brontosaurus guarded the entrance, his legs forming the doorway. Stowy ran forward, but Emily froze. Memories flooded her. The first day of the war. Four years ago. The rahs had swarmed through the ship, and Emily had fled to Dinogolf, seeking safety among the mechanical dinosaurs. The spiders had chased her. This place of pleasures had become a nightmare.

"Boss, you all right?" Stowy approached her. "Emily! You're shaking. Are you scared of dinosaurs?"

Emily took a shaky breath. "No. I have a fierce dinosaur here to protect me."

Stowy tilted her head. "You mean Rexy?" She held up her plastic toy.

"I mean you, Stowysaurus."

Stowy gave a fearsome roar, then grabbed Emily's hand and pulled her into the Dinogolf. Once they were inside, Emily saw children playing. Rowan was here with friends. The animatronic dinosaurs were dancing, and jaunty music filled the air. A few young marines were laughing, and somebody had brought a popcorn machine. Emily's fear eased. No more spiders. This had become a good place.

She and Stowy played minigolf, laughed, ate too much popcorn and ice cream, and Emily realized how much she had needed this. She was tired, but this healed her so much more than a fitful sleep full of nightmares. Hours later, the two young women returned to their cabin, which they shared on an upper deck.

Stowy yawned and collapsed into bed. She looked up at Emily, smiling groggily. "Thanks for an amazing day. I love you, boss."

Emily mussed the girl's messy brown hair. "Love you, Stowysaurus."

When finally Emily slept, no nightmares haunted her, and she dreamed instead of popcorn, dinosaurs, and her best friend.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When King returned to Mars, he found new ships flying alongside the human fleet. Not just any ships. Titans of engineering. They stood out from a distance, dwarfing even the largest human dreadnoughts. Surely these were alien vessels. No human could build ships this big. They were among the largest ships King had ever seen, rivaling the infamous Atrocity he had rammed into the desert.

Jordan stood at his side. The XO was normally cool and collected, even under fire. But now his eyes widened. "What are those?"

King stared ahead, eyes narrowed. His nerves tingled. "I have no idea."

"Rahs?" Jordan asked cautiously.

King shook his head. "No. Something new."

Like the Atrocity, these alien ships were round. At that size, perhaps they needed to be round. Once you got big enough, gravity began to strain structures in space. It was why moons, planets, and large asteroids were round. Nature liked spheres.

"Mimori, run a scan and zoom in," King said. "Let's keep our distance for now."

The Freedom had only just emerged from the portal, reappearing in the solar system. They flew a hundred thousand klicks from Mars. From here, they could see the thousands of human starships orbiting the red planet. And among them—these gargantuan ships like moons.

The android nodded. "Aye, sir. ATLAS data coming in now. Streaming to main viewport, sir."

Stats appeared on the viewport, hovering around the spherical ships. Each of those spheres was ten kilometers in diameter. The Freedom, the largest ship in the Alliance Fleet, could fly loops inside.

As the cameras zoomed in, more details appeared. These looked nothing like human starships. Their shape and size were only parts of what made them alien. The great vessels were not built of metal. They sported no antenna, radio dishes, or cameras. They looked more like Gothic cathedrals built of gray stone. Buttresses, steeples, and columned verandas rose across them in masterful designs of masonry. Gargoyles perched on ledges, gazing at the stars. Enormous rose windows gleamed with stained glass. If the Notre Dame cathedral were round, it might look something like these ships.

King counted twelve of the colossal Gothic spheres. They were floating among the Red Dawn ships over the Martian northern pole. The Rasputin, the new flagship of the Red Dawn, flew beside the great spheres. Rasputin was even larger than Baba Yaga, the previous Russian flagship, which had fallen in battle against the arachtaur dreadnought Atrocity. The Rasputin was a true terror, a crimson machine bristling with a thousand brass cannons. She was the largest of humanity's warships, even larger than the Freedom. But flying beside the Gothic spheres, even mighty Rasputin looked as small as a twig by boulders. More Russian ships flew among the spheres, guarding them in classic defensive formations.

"Katyusha!" King spat. "What the hell is she up to? Mimori, get her on the line."

The android looked up from her station. The red light of Mars tinged her skin and turned her black hair crimson. "Sir, she's already hailing us."

King pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and counted silently to ten. "Put her on MindWeb."

A voice boomed through the bridge.

"Zdravstvuyte, Jamechka! Welcome home!"

A hallucination of Katyusha materialized on Freedom's bridge, generated from cameras and microphones on Rasputin's bridge. She walked toward King, her boots thumping against the diamond plate deck, the golden buttons clinking on her red overcoat. A gilded equal sign, symbol of her nefarious ideology, gleamed upon her naval cap.

"Goddammit, Katyusha, I told you to stop sending your MindWeb hallucinations here," King growled.

Katyusha shrugged. "If you would lower your shields, Katyusha could open a portal into the Freedom and visit in the flesh." She licked her teeth. "You no want Katyusha here for real?"

"No! I don't even want your MindWeb ghost here."

She pouted. "Oh, you cannot fool Katyusha. She knows how much you missed her." She blew him a kiss.

King gestured at the Gothic spheres. "What the hell are those things?"

She gave him a mocking, crooked smile. She placed one gloved hand on the pommel of her saber, the other on her hip. "You like? Katyusha found them. Big, tough, alien ships! Much bigger than aliens you found."

King looked at the viewport again. The cathedral-like ships still hung there in deep Martian orbit. Even by the great Red Dawn warships, these alien behemoths seemed like great zeppelins by mere spitfires. The Gothic spheres were rotating slowly around their own axes. Their stained-glass windows caught the sun, casting out beams of light, but King could still glimpse the rustling foliage inside.

"Who are they?" he said softly.

Katyusha patted his shoulder, gazing at the ships with him. "You are not the only diplomat, Jamechka. While you were away, Katyusha was busy enlisting more allies. They are big aliens. Big like dinozavry. They need big ships." She snorted. "Silly James King the American could only enlist weak allies. Trees. Little snakes on fire. Computer game characters. Pathetic! Katyusha brought back real warriors to fight for Mother Russia!"

"You mean for Earth," King said.

Katyusha waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, someday all Earth will be Mother Russia, Katyusha knows that." Her crooked smile grew, and this time it reached her eyes. "Would you like to meet the dinozavry, James King?"

He nodded. "Take me to them."

She slung her arm through his and kissed his cheek. "It's a date."

He growled, but before he could shove her away, her hallucination vanished with gold and red sparks like confetti. Her voice lingered a moment longer, echoing through the bridge. "Katyusha sending shuttle for you, James King. See you soon! Do not forget to bring Katyusha flowers!"

King heaved a sigh. "I really do hate that woman." He looked at the great alien spheres ahead. "But I am curious."

Mimori raised her eyes from her workstation. "Admiral, sir, a Red Dawn shuttle is approaching."

"That would be my ride," King said. "Commander Jordan?"

The tall XO had been admiring the alien spheres too, wonder in his eyes. But when he turned toward King, his face hardened, and he was the professional officer again. "I'll organize a security detail for you, sir."

He shook his head. "No need. Katyusha is now our … ally." He said the word as though it tasted bad. "Jordan, you have the bridge. I'll be back soon."

"Jim." Jordan stopped him with a glare. "You're our admiral. Take a security team."

"Fine. Fine! You worry more than my mother ever did. But I don't need an entire team. I'll just take Meytal."

* * * * *

As it turned out, bringing Meytal was a mistake. Sharing a shuttle with Katyusha was bad enough. Sharing a shuttle with two violent megalomaniacs? King might as well be traveling with two crocodiles.

"I'm telling you!" Meytal said. "The Israeli army can defeat the Russian army on any battlefield. Any time, any day, we win."

Katyusha, who was flying the shuttle, snorted. "Oh please! Mother Russia has rocks larger than your country. Red Army plow over you! Two hours max, Russia wins."

Meytal flushed red, and her lips peeled back in a snarl. Today she served as a marine in the Freedom Brigade. But for years before that, she had been a commando in the Israeli military. One of her fists clenched around her plasma gun, the other around her bazooka. A dozen more weapons dangled across her back and hung from her hips. She looked a lot like Spitfire, her older sister, but with more muscles, less grace, and twice the temper. And that was saying something.

"Rubbish!" Meytal said. "Yes, Russia is big. Big and cumbersome and slow. The Israeli army is lean and mean. Your tanks will be like sitting ducks for our air force."

"Air force?" Katyusha tossed back her head and laughed. "This is 2203, little girl! Nobody fights with air force these days. Katyusha has great space force! Thousands of ships! How many ships does your army have?"

"Two," Meytal confessed, then bared her teeth again. "We can still take you on! Just like during the Third World War, when we defeated you in the battle of—"

King cleared his throat loudly, interrupting the argument. "We're all on the same side now. Let's start acting like it."

Meytal crossed her arms and pouted. "Fine." She dropped her voice to a low mutter. "But Israel's army is still stronger."

"Russia's!" Katyusha said.

They were about to pick up the argument again, but just then, the shuttle flew around a Chinese dreadnought, and they beheld one of the alien spheres ahead. All three humans in the shuttle stared, eyes wide with wonder.

The alien sphere rose ahead like a celestial body. It was the size of the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs. But these were nothing like the lumpy Aeolian vessels, which could masquerade as true asteroids. These round vessels were works of grand architecture, triumphs of both art and engineering. The sphere boasted arches, steeples, and statues shaped like creatures with long necks. An enormous exhaust port loomed open, surrounded by keystones engraved with ruins. The port was so large Freedom could have flown inside.

Rose windows—similar to those in cathedrals—reflected the red light of Mars. King squinted, trying to see inside. He glimpsed rows of columns. A towering, long-necked figure. Then the sunlight glinted off the window, blinding him, and when his vision cleared, he saw Mars reflected in the window again.

In the reflection, he could see Tyr. The ruined Martian colony. Smoldering. All its colonists gone in the terrible arachtaur attack.

For a moment, King forgot about the alien spheres and turned his thoughts toward the red planet. Mars was red not only with soil but with blood. King had lost much of his own blood upon that soil. The memories flooded him. He had been a young man, a brash officer in his twenties, charging with his brothers-in-arms against the Russian hosts. Once more, King held his dead father in his arms, crying out in agony. Before him rose the killer. She held the dripping blade. She had killed the old man with his own dagger. The killer smiled crookedly, licked the blade, then thrust it toward King—

He took a deep breath, pulling himself back to the present. Gingerly he touched his throat. Four decades later, the old wound still hurt. The wound she had given him.

Jaw tight, King turned his head and glared at her. At Katyusha.

She sat beside him, piloting the shuttle closer to the alien sphere. She was prattling on—something about the might of her new alien allies. But King wasn't paying attention to her words.

There she was. The woman who murdered his father.

Katyusha had not aged since that day forty years ago. The Russian premier kept growing clones in a lab. Every few years, she butchered a clone, scooped out its brain, and implanted her own brain inside. Thus she remained forever young. Forever the vision of that killer, smiling crookedly and licking the bloody blade.

"… and you will see, Americans!" she was saying. "Dinozavry great fighters. Far greater than those silly little rocks you Americans found. Katyusha is far better explorer! She finds true warriors in space, not just little pets, and . . ."

King's hand strayed toward his sidearm. He could kill her now. There were no Russian guards here. Nobody to stop him. Nobody to know. He could avenge his father.

His hand gripped his gun.

Meytal saw, and her eyes widened.

Katyusha kept prattling on, not paying King any attention.

King took a ragged breath.

Do it, whispered a voice inside him. Avenge him. After all these years—avenge your father.

With sheer force of will, he released the gun.

No, I cannot, he thought. I'm no longer that young, angry man, driven by lust for revenge. That old war is over. It ended long ago.

No, he was no longer that man. He had gone to Aeolia, had stood trial for humanity, and enlisted the aliens who had judged him. Not with war. Not with guns. With diplomacy. He had forged an alliance with Katyusha, and now her great fleet fought alongside his against the rahs. He was a soldier still, and he would always be a soldier. Perhaps he would always be better at killing than healing, at destroying than building. But with old age, he had learned that sometimes an open hand was worth more than a sword. Sometimes to protect his people he needed to be more than a killer.

He looked out the porthole at the smoldering colony on Mars. It was not Katyusha who had killed those people. It was Elder'rah, Empress of Arakavish. Right now King must dedicate all his rage toward that foul alien. Even if he must fly alongside the woman who had slain his father, who had broken King's heart and soul.

"I can never forgive you, Katyusha," he said softly. He wasn't intending to speak. The words simply spilled out. "But I can fight at your side."

The premier paused from talking, blinked, and looked at him. Briefly her eyes softened. It almost seemed like she would tear up. But then she pulled the mask back on, and she smiled that crooked smile. "What is that, Jamechka? You say something to Katyusha?"

"I said be careful! We're almost there. You're going to slam into the goddamn hull."

She looked at the alien sphere ahead, gasped, and pulled the controls. The shuttle slowed down. They skimmed along the curving hull of the alien sphere, passing over engraved masonry and stained-glass windows. Katyusha was taking them toward an airlock. Constructed of stones and gleaming with ruins, it looked like a gateway into a medieval city. With two differences. This gateway was round. And it was large enough for a dinosaur to walk through. King remembered Katyusha comparing these aliens to dinosaurs. Truly, they must be giants.

"What are these aliens called?" he said.

"Humans cannot pronounce their name," said Katyusha. "They make humming and grunting sounds. We call them dinozavry."

"Russian for dinosaurs," King said.

She nodded. "Da. They are ochen bolshoi. Very big. Like Mother Russia."

"Where are they from?"

Katyusha gave him one of her lopsided smiles. "You do not expect Katyusha to reveal all her secrets, do you?" She waved haphazardly at a monitor displaying a star map. "From out there."

"Katyusha, if we're to be allied against the rahs, we must share information."

She heaved a deep sigh. "Fine, fine! Katyusha will share one secret with you. Their world is in Cassiopeia constellation. Here." She tapped the map. "We have named their planet New Russia."

"Katyusha!"

She crossed her arms. "What? Is good name!"

"We'll name the planet Gothica," King said. "For now. Because their ships feature designs like Gothic cathedrals."

Katyusha snorted. "Ugly compared to Russian architecture. You ever see Saint Basil's Cathedral, Jamechka? Now that is architecture! Now hold on, we are going in." She shoved down the thruster.

The shuttle raced toward the Gothic airlock.

Great stone doorways filled the airlock, banded with iron and engraved with what looked like fossils. King glimpsed stony spirals, ridged shells, and the bones of birdlike beasts with sharp teeth. Then the fossilized doors swung open, and the shuttle flew into the alien ship.

* * * * *

It felt like flying into some medieval castle. This wasn't just a hangar. It was a grand hall. Columns soared, supporting a vaulted ceiling inlaid with precious stones. Grand slabs of stone stood along the walls, each the size of an old movie screen. One slab bulged with fossils of primitive creatures, some with spiraling shells, others with tentacles, and some with ridged armor. Another stone slab gleamed with crystals of many kinds. Some of those crystals were larger than men. A third slab displayed fossilized footprints. The creatures had toes longer than King's arms.

Katyusha parked the shuttle, popped the hatch, and hopped out. With her fine crimson uniform, golden buttons, and jeweled saber, she looked right at home among the grandeur. She removed her naval cap, tossed her chin-length hair, and smiled at her surroundings.

"Not bad. Not as nice as Red Dawn ship. But not bad."

Meytal stepped out from the shuttle next. Unlike the Russian premier, the Israeli commando was anything but elegant. She wore dusty fatigues, old combat boots, and a helmet scrawled with the words Nothin' but a killa. Rifles hung across her back, and her bandoleer of grenades clattered. Ever the soldier, she looked around, eyes narrowed, her fingers dancing over the pistols on her hips.

"Too many places for enemies to hide," she muttered. She reached into her pack, pulled out thermal goggles, and slipped them on. She scanned the area for heat signatures, then nodded to King. "We're clear."

King was already stepping out of the shuttle. He took a few steps across the grand hall, his boots thumping against crimson tiles. The sound echoed among the shadowy columns. Yellow lights hung in the air like little stars, illuminating the grand fossils. King walked toward one slab of stone, which hung on metal rods between two columns. The slab displayed the gargantuan skeleton of a horned beast, partially trapped in the stone, rearing and opening its jaws. Each tooth was the size of a banana.

"This isn't a warship," he said. "This is a museum."

Buzzing sounded in the distance. Gleams of particolored light caught King's eye. He looked up to see a strange creature flying through the grand hall, heading toward him. It looked like a dragonfly the size of an albatross. Golden scales gleamed on its slender thorax, and its wings seemed made of stained glass. The glittering insect slowed down and hovered before King, looking at him with green eyes. From this close, King could see tiny gears inside the glass eyes, slender cables like veins inside the wings, and motors on the joints.

Meytal raised her gun, but King pulled her arm down. This machine wasn't a threat.

The drone trilled in a mechanical-yet-melodious voice. For a second, King only heard the soft cooing. Then his MindLink downloaded an update, recognized the language, and translated for him, uploading the translation directly to his auditory cortex.

"Welcome, humans, to the starship The Tree Is Tall but the Neck Is Long. I am He Whose Wings Beat Fast Awaits No Wind."

King glanced at Katyusha, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, they speak weird," the premier said. "Red Dawn scientists have been working on better translation software."

"Or maybe the translation software is perfect, but they simply have different ideas of what a name is," King telepathized back. He spoke aloud next, directing his words to the mechanical dragonfly. "I am Admiral James King of the starship Freedom. Hello."

The mechanical dragonfly bobbed in the air. "Hello, He Who Has but Two Feet Can Still Step on Many Spiders. The curator has been watching you from a distance. He has studied many worlds and creatures, for the eyes are longer than any neck. But as they say, a dusty fossil in the ground is worth a thousand holograms in the air. He would be most curious to meet you. Follow me."

He Whose Wings Beat Fast Awaits No Wind turned and flew deeper across the hall of fossils. The three humans followed. They walked under the hanging skeleton of a great flying creature, its wingspan longer than a bus, its beak open in a silent caw. The slabs of stone gave way to murals that covered the walls, ten stories tall. The first murals depicted underwater scenes brimming with primitive life. Creatures with coiling shells, tentacles, and pincers covered the walls, seeming almost alive in the flickering light. As they walked onward, the frescoes changed, featuring new varieties of animals. King saw fish swimming across the walls, their scales painted individually and outlined with precious metals. Soon the scene changed again, featuring the first fish to emerge from the water, crawl through the mud, and gasp for air.

King realized that the frescoes were depicting evolution—not of life on Earth but life on planet Gothica. The story seemed familiar. A mirror of Earth's story.

"Gothica must be very much like Earth," King said.

Katyusha glared at him. "We already discovered that. You have spies on Katyusha's ship? You hacking Russian databases?"

"No, Katyusha. Look around you. The story of life. It's the same as our story. Similar planets, similar evolutionary paths. Truly, evolution is a universal constant. Like the laws of gravity, chemistry, and physics, the laws of evolution are the same on every planet."

They kept following the mechanical dragonfly. It was a large lobby. Just this room was larger than most frigates in the human fleet. The skeleton of a ridiculously long serpent hung from the ceiling—it could wrap around a farmhouse. But King spent more time studying the murals, watching life evolve from fish to primitive reptiles, then to creatures that looked a lot like Earth's crocodiles.

Finally—dinosaurs. King had no other way to describe them. They weren't like the dinosaurs of Earth. He didn't see any Triceratops, Tyrannosaurus rex, or Stegosaurus. But the animals in the murals were clearly something similar—great beasts, some with scales, others with feathers, roaming the forests. But soon the forests too faded from the murals, replaced with cities. Great cities with glass domes, stone halls, and ships that flew above. And … dinosaurs lived in the cities.

King narrowed his eyes, examining the frescoes.

"Incredible!" he said. "Gothica evolved dinosaurs, same as Earth. But an asteroid never hit Gothica. The dinosaurs survived. And evolved a civilization."

The mechanical dragonfly turned toward them. "The curator will see you now." He gestured with his head toward a round stone door. A door? It was larger than most buildings on Earth. But it began to swing open, rumbling and vibrating the room with waves of bass. A shadowy hall awaited beyond. The mechanical dragonfly landed at the doorstep, bowed his head, and the lights faded from his stained-glass wings. The robot seemed to have turned itself off.

King stared ahead but saw only shadows beyond the doorway. He glanced at Katyusha.

"Have you been here before?"

She was staring at the shadows, pale, then clenched her fists and raised her chin. "Of course! Katyusha has been all over this ship." She gulped. "Come on, James King. Do not be afraid like sissy! Katyusha will protect you from darkne— What was that?"

She took a step back. King had heard it too. A rumble from the darkness. A sound deeper than the deepest ocean trench. It hit King's chest with hammers of bass. Katyusha wrapped her hand around her saber's hilt. A bead of sweat dripped down her cheek.

Meytal cursed and charged her plasma gun. The heavy weapon hummed. "What the hell is that sound?"

Katyusha gulped. "Nothing, nothing Katyusha is scared of."

King frowned at the Russian premier. "You've met these aliens already, haven't you?"

She nodded. "Of course. From a distance."

He sighed and grabbed her arm. "Come on."

He all but pulled the Russian through the doorway and into the shadows. Meytal followed, gun in hands.

* * * * *

The three humans found themselves in a chamber the size of a football stadium. The ceiling was domed, adorned with paintings of feathered beasts in misty forests. Massive rose windows dominated the walls, their stonework forming intricate mandalas. But these windows contained no stained glass. Instead, they revealed glorious views of space. One window showed a view of Mars. Another of Earth. A third gazed into the distance, showing the spiral arm of the Milky Way.

They're viewports, King realized.

An enormous machine rose in the center of the room. Levers as tall as oak trees sprouted from the floor, topped with brass spheres. Spoked wheels like those of ancient sailing ships spun on metal rods. Panels with switches and buttons the size of dinner plates hovered in midair, floating to and fro. Each panel was the size of a Sparrow shuttle.

But far more interesting than the paintings, the architecture, or the engineering was the alien in the room.

He was what King could only describe as a dinosaur.

Specifically, the alien looked like a sauropod—the clade of gargantuan, long-necked plant-guzzlers that included the Brontosaurus, Apatosaurus, and many more titans. The alien certainly had the same prodigious size and legendary neck. But unlike those plodding behemoths from Earth's past, the dinosaur in this spaceship was bipedal, more like a Plateosaurus than a true sauropod.

Clearly the Gothic beast was herbivorous. His jaws were small—relative to its body, at least—and what teeth King could see were flat. His hands ended with stubby fingers, not claws, and his massive feet were like those of an elephant. All signs of an herbivore. Still, King didn't envy any rah who took on this colossal beast. Those feet would probably crush rahs like a human stomping on house spiders, and that scaly tail could likely whip through a rah formation with the might of a tank's shelling.

"See?" Katyusha whispered, eyes wide and shining. "Dinozavr. Katyusha found greatest champion."

Meytal lowered her gun and smiled. "Stowy would love it."

King took a step forward. The enormous alien turned to regard him. His neck—which was longer than some starships—craned downward. A head the size of a refrigerator paused near King. Nostrils flared atop the head, sniffing. Eyes the size of volleyballs regarded King. The mouth, large enough to swallow him whole, opened and spoke. A series of low rumbles and moans washed over King, so deep and powerful the sound waves vibrated in his chest.

His MindLink kicked in, using the crude translator the Russians had programmed. He heard a voice in English.

"Greetings, He Who Is Small Has Twice the Courage. I am the curator of this ship, known as The Tree Is Tall but the Neck Is Long. My name is—" For a moment the translator struggled with the hums and moans. "—A Sharp Mind Bites Harder Than A Sharp Tooth." His nostrils flared wider, inhaling so much air it tugged at King's uniform. "Remarkable. Who would have imagined that small mammals could grow brains nearly as large as ours?"

"I'm a human," King said. "On my planet, an asteroid impact killed giant beings like you. The little mammals rose instead to rule the world."

"Fascinating!" said the curator. "The little, scurrying mammals rule the ruins in a postapocalyptic planet. Truly Earth is remarkable! The name of my species has no translation in your tongue. You may give my kind a name of your choosing."

"Katyasaurus," said Katyusha, then glanced at King and shrugged. "What? After their discoverer."

"Gothisaur," said King. "Since we already call their planet Gothica."

"Fascinating!" rumbled the Gothisaur. "You Mammals Who Scurried Among Ruins and Grew Large Brains are truly succinct! This name, Gothisaur, pleases me like a forest of tall trees pleases a hungry belly."

"We're different, but we share a common enemy," King said.

The Gothisaur nodded, which took a while for a being with a neck so long. "Yes, the Predators Whose Claws Bite Like Teeth, those you call the rahs. They are small predators, but this infestation is concerning to us Gothisaurs. As it is said, even the heaviest foot can only stomp so many insects. The rahs spread quickly, and we will help you stop them."

"Do you have weapons?" King asked.

Katyusha patted the Gothisaur on the snout. "Show him, dinochka."

The Gothisaur raised his head toward one of the rose windows. King stared out the grand viewport. In the distance, in deep Martian orbit, floated the hulk of an arachtaur ship. The Alliance had destroyed it a few weeks ago, and the salvage crews had finally finished picking it clean. The chassis hovered in deep space, a piece of space junk.

The Gothisaur tightened his bulbous lips, grabbed a great wheel, and spun it. Machinery clanked deep inside the spherical ship. Through the rose window, King saw a brass cannon extending like a classroom pointer, aiming at the hulk. The curator grabbed a lever the size of a palm tree.

"Hold on, little mammals!" he rumbled.

"Wait, we should clear this with our fleet's demolition team to make sure—" King began.

But the curator was already shoving the lever. A rumble tore through the Gothisphere, then a blast that rattled the deck and vibrated through King's bones.

A stone cannonball flew out, moving at incredible speed. King's MindLink displayed some stats. That stone was the size of a house. The cannonball slammed into the arachtaur hulk, pulverizing it with an explosion of kinetic fury. Nothing remained of the dead ship but dust.

"Vot eto da!" Katyusha exclaimed, eyes alight.

"Holy smokes!" Meytal whispered. "I want a gun like this."

King nodded at the curator. "All right, you're on the team."

"We will fight together, little mammal," said the Gothisaur. "Against the rah empire, we are both small. But together we are …"

The Gothisaur's voice trailed off. He turned his head toward the rose window, and the starlight reflected in his eyes.

King stared at the circular viewport, and he saw it too.

Portals opening over Mars.

For a second, he dared to hope. Perhaps it was another ally. A friendly fleet come to help. But then he saw the metal claws emerge.

The rahs were attacking.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Clawships came streaming out the portals, cannons blazing, and King stood here in the Gothisphere, far from the Freedom.

He got on MindWeb at once and called Mimori. Nothing. No answer. He was out of telepathy range. Both the Freedom and the Gothisphere were orbiting Mars, but telepathy range was woefully short, designed to use inside a starship, not across thousands of kilometers.

His comlink began ringing.

He plucked the device off his lapel and held it to his ear.

"Sir!" Mimori said. "Clawships everywhere! I'm getting calls from our alien allies. The rahs are attacking their worlds too!"

The clawships came flying in fast. Their claws bloomed open like steel petals, revealing their cores of molten fury. The ships erupted like volcanoes, spewing streams of plasma. They were aiming at The Tree Is Tall but the Neck Is Long, the Gothic sphere in which King now stood.

Katyusha snarled and drew her saber. "Charge at them, dinozavr! Charge for the glory of Russia!"

Meytal grabbed King's arm. "Come on, let's run to the shuttle! We'll fly back to Freedom and fight from there."

But King knew they didn't have enough time to fly back. The battle was raging now. Plasma filled space.

"Mimori, patch me into the fleet channel," King said, speaking through his comlink.

The Gothisaur wasn't listening to the humans. The enormous beast was spinning wheels, flipping switches, and tugging levers. The cathedral-like ship thrummed. The inferno raced closer and closer. A force field flickered outside and—

The plasma slammed into the Gothisphere.

Flames blazed, filling the round viewports with so much red, yellow, and golden light that they appeared to contain stained glass.

The Tree Is Tall but the Neck Is Long shook. Tiles rattled across the deck like the scales of a bristling beast. A fossilized skeleton collapsed, scattering bones across the chamber. But the shields held.

"Sir, you're patched in," Mimori said.

King was limited with what he could see. Stats were racing across the rose windows—letters, graphs, and icons that danced across the screens. King's MindLink struggled to translate. A few phrases appeared in English—a trick of the mind—but most still appeared as scratches and dots, the calligraphy of the Gothisaurs. But one rose window displayed a map of the battle, different ships represented by intuitive icons. Circles for Gothispheres. Triangles for human ones. Red spiky icons represented rah ships. King even recognized the Freedom. There was no mistaking the icon with the railgun sticking out the front.

He didn't have the vast suite of data Freedom's ATLAS sensors provided, but he wasn't blind. He could command from here.

"Alliance Fleet, this is Admiral King," he said. "Atlantic Flotilla, assume a Zelenskyy-Reznikov defensive formation. Fly in the vanguard. Pacifica Flotilla, execute a Dayan counteroffensive from deep orbit. Oceania Flotilla, you hit those portals! Full offensive Patton maneuvers, and take the punches. Onward!"

Meanwhile, Katyusha was shouting orders into her own comlink. "Forward, cowards! Damn you, I said charge! For the glory of equalism, charge!"

Meytal was pacing, looking miserable without an enemy to kill.

King kept his comlink glued to his ear, receiving updates from his starship commanders. Meanwhile, he watched the fleet's position in the rose window. They were scrambling to take formation under heavy fire.

More clawships came charging toward the Gothisphere. Plasma streams raced forward. The blasts slammed into the ship, knocking the gargantuan starship back in space. Columns cracked. A panel in a rose window shattered, revealing sparking cables. The curator bellowed and worked the controls in a frenzy. Deeper in the ship, King heard a hundred more roars of grief and fury.

More fire washed over the sphere. Bolt after bolt of plasma blasted the stone ship. Through the rose windows, King saw chunks of the ship float into the distance. Crumbling steeples. Parapets lined with battlements. Gargoyles, cracked and charred. The enemy was chiseling off part after part like ancient barbarians chipping away at a castle. The curator gave a deafening bellow, a sound like trenches cracking open under the ocean, like mountains sliding into the sea. He shoved down a lever, and a cannonball of stone hurled forth and slammed into a warclaw like an asteroid. The enemy ship shattered. Metal claws the size of skyscrapers flew every which way, ripping through smaller ships.

The curator gave a warbling cry of triumph, but that was only one clawship out of hundreds. More kept coming. King looked at the rose window. The enemy was concentrating fire not on the Freedom, flagship of the Alliance, nor on the Rasputin, the new flagship of the Red Dawn. But on this ship. This Gothisphere.

Not even at the other Gothispheres. They were focusing on this particular one. On The Tree Is Tall but the Neck Is Long.

"They know we're here," King said.

Katyusha was screaming orders into her comlink. King looked at her.

"Katyusha, the enemy knows we're aboard. There is a spy. On my ship or yours."

Another blast hit The Tree Is Tall. And another. The mighty sphere rocked through space. Buttresses topped with statues cascaded into deep space. A column cracked in the control room.

Both King and Katyusha fell. Meytal grabbed a column and remained standing. The mighty curator, a beast the size of a blue whale, swayed on his feet. A third blast jolted the ship, and the Gothisaur tumbled.

King grabbed Katyusha and pulled her aside. The alien dinosaur slammed onto the deck, cracking a hundred tiles, then groaned, pushed himself up by the tail, and grabbed the controls again. He lobbed more cannonballs at the enemy. Meanwhile, thousands of human starships were also fighting, but they couldn't get past the clawship formations. And more enemies came closing in on The Tree is Tall.

"What do you mean there is spy?" Katyusha shouted. She lay beside King on the cracked deck, blood on her lips.

He pushed himself to his feet and helped her up. "Dammit, the enemy knows you and I are together!"

She snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I mean together on this ship!" he shouted over the booms of incoming fire and the blasting cannons of the Gothisphere. "They're trying to take out two admirals at once."

Katyusha inhaled sharply. "A spy on your ship!"

"Or on yours," he growled.

"Nonsense! All Red Dawn soldiers are loyal to the motherland! Katyusha hangs those who are not."

Yet another blast hit the ship. They both swayed on their feet. Their comlinks clattered onto the floor. Instinctively, they clasped hands, struggling to steady themselves.

"Let go of Katyusha!" She pulled her hand free, grabbed her fallen comlink, and shook it. "Chyort voz'mi! Broken."

King tried his own comlink. He could still hear the Freedom. Voices shouting. Jordan ordering the ship to fly, dammit. Mimori calling out stats. A blast sounded from the comlink. In the rose window, the Freedom's icon jerked. She was under heavy fire. King stared at the rose window, surveying the battle. The Alliance Fleet was struggling to maintain its positions. The Zelenskyy-Reznikov formation was falling apart.

King raised his comlink. "All ships! Change to a three-tier Caesar assault formation. Attack! Break through their lines and tear them apar—"

Plasma flared through all the rose windows.

A blast shook the sphere.

The windows shattered, spraying glass across the room. Meytal screamed, ducked, and covered her head. Glass shards slammed against her battle armor. More shards slammed into the Gothisaur, and the enormous alien let out an eerie, bugling cry of pain. Instinctively, King pulled Katyusha down and covered her with his body. Broken glass stung his back, and he roared with pain.

"Get off Katyusha!" She shoved him off, rose to her feet, and checked her comlink again. She tossed the broken device aside, then let out a great roar.

Suddenly—the bombardment stopped.

Silence.

No more fire hit The Tree is Tall. The Gothisphere floated in space, cracked, missing half its architecture, a crumbling cathedral in the night.

King could not see what was going on in the battle. The rose windows were shattered. Voices were calling out through his comlink, but King lowered the device.

It was too quiet.

Too still.

He looked at Katyusha. She looked back, pale, and took a step closer to him.

The curator lay on the deck. Blood dripped across his greenish hide. The enormous animal held his breath.

And then King heard it.

The sound was distant. Barely audible. A susurration like leaves in a midnight forest, like a low tide before dawn. But then the sound grew louder. Louder. Not a whisper but the clatter. The sound of a hundred claws against stone.

A shriek echoed through the halls of the sphere. Then another cry. A third.

"Rahs," King said and drew his sidearm.

Katyusha raised her saber. "They're in the museum. Coming closer."

Meytal brushed glass off herself and raised a gun in each hand. "Finally a fight."

King turned toward the fallen Gothisaur. The enormous beast still lay on the deck, injured but alive.

"Curator, close the door to the bridge!" King said.

The Gothisaur nodded his great head. He reached out a shaky hand, the fingers the size of loaves of bread. He grabbed a lever. The round stone door began to close.

"No need to cower!" Katyusha said. "Katyusha never hides!" She raised her saber overhead. "For Mother Russia!"

With a battle cry, she charged through the doorway into the museum. King heard the screeches of rahs and Katyusha howling for blood.

King knew that he would regret this. Knew it was foolish. Knew he was acting like a headstrong imbecile. But goddammit, he ran. Maybe because he needed Katyusha for the war. Maybe because deep down, he was a Neanderthal who felt he must protect a woman in peril—even if that woman was a psychopathic dictator. Maybe, like Katyusha, he was simply a brute who savored battle. Whatever the reason—he ran through the closing doorway and into the museum, joining Katyusha in battle.

"For Earth!" Meytal cried. She ran a few paces behind King—and the stone door slammed in her face.

The Israeli commando remained inside the control room, pounding on the door, locked out from the fight.

King and Katyusha stood in the museum alone.

Alone aside from the spiders. Dozens of rahs filled the room. They stared with red eyes and raised their claws.

* * * * *

The rahs let out bloodcurdling screeches. The sound echoed through the grand hall, which served as both hangar and museum. The dinosaur skeletons rattled.

The arachnid aliens raced forward. They scuttled over the walls, their claws scratching up the murals of evolving life like predators destroying ecosystems. They leaped over the mounted skeletons of ancient behemoths, swaying across spines the length of bridges and scuttling between ribs like the buttresses of cathedrals. They swarmed over the slabs of stone and ripped out fossils, sending them clattering onto the tiled floor. They surged toward King and Katyusha—a sea of claws and opening jaws full of teeth. A tidal wave of terror flowed toward King and Katyusha.

Memories of battles gone by flooded King. Teeth ripping through flesh. Soldiers dying. The great spider Hel'rah biting off King's arm.

King growled, narrowed his eyes, and aimed his gun. He fired.

A rah screeched and fell off a skeleton. The spider was the size of a cow, but the skeleton was as big as a whale. The spider landed on the deck, snapping one leg, but scurried up and kept charging with the others. Dozens of rahs were swarming closer, closer. Their hideous mouths opened with Cheshire cat grins, revealing rows of teeth. Their red eyes blazed with hunger.

King fired again and again. His bullets hit one rah in the eye, sinking deep into the head and devastating the brain. The rah fell, only for more to race over it. One rah raised his front legs, exposing spinnerets, and fired strands of sticky cobwebs. Katyusha stepped forward, let out a cry, and swung her saber. She sliced through the webs, scattering gooey strands everywhere. Another rah slung more webs. And then another. Katyusha swung her blade from side to side, carving through the gossamer fusillade.

They want us alive, King realized.

A chill washed over him. Once more, he was back in the dungeon on the moon. Strapped to a rack. A great rah loomed over him, stretching him, nearly ripping his spine. The beasts had tortured him before. He had no intentions of letting them torture him again.

He held down his trigger, emptying his magazine, taking down a scuttling rah. He reloaded and fired again, but he would keep one bullet. If he lost this battle, that last bullet was for himself.

"Curator!" King shouted toward the bridge. "Curator, we need you!"

A big sauropod with crushing feet and a whipping tail would sure come in handy now. But the stone door remained closed. The screeches of spiders sounded from behind the door. A deep, bellowing cry of pain followed. Gunfire rattled and a woman howled in rage. Sounded like Meytal and the Gothisaur were fighting their own battle on the alien bridge. Here in the museum, King and Katyusha were on their own.

As Katyusha swung her saber, she drew her sidearm with her other hand. While slashing through webs, she fired, knocking down spiders. The dead rahs piled on the floor, but there were so many. Several clattered along the spine of a great hanging creature, a whale of Gothica with a skull the size of a bus and a spine longer than a city block. King fired up at the spiders, but his bullets only hit the fossilized bones. He loaded a third magazine, aimed carefully, and fired at one of the chains holding the skeleton aloft.

The chain snapped.

The great whalelike skeleton dipped toward the ground.

He fired again, and the enormous fossilized remains crashed down. The great skull cracked in two. The spine segments—each was larger than a man—tore loose and rolled. Dust filled the air. Bones the size of trees slammed into smaller exhibits, dislodging crystals and fossilized shells. Spiders crashed down with the skeleton. Bones slammed into them, crushing their bloated abdomens, spreading blood across the deck.

King fired another round, hitting a rah in the eye. The beast collapsed.

He checked the LED screen on his gun. Two more bullets. That's all he had left. One bullet he was saving for himself.

For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he should fire his penultimate bullet at the enemy. The spiders were rising from the fallen skeleton, shaking off dust and roaring. But he holstered his gun. He would save that second-to-last bullet too. For Katyusha. Maybe, at the very end, he would kill Katyusha not in revenge—but in mercy.

An enormous red rah tossed off a great rib bone, freeing itself. The beast was the size of a grizzly bear. Its abdomen was dented, and one of its legs was bent. With an ear-piercing screech, the gargantuan spider came racing toward King.

The fossil's truck-sized skull had crashed not far from King—between him and the huge rah, forming a barricade. But it would not stop the racing beast.

King bared his teeth and ran toward the spider. The rah shrieked. King roared. They charged toward each other like jousting knights. The rah was armed with eight claws like spears and fangs like daggers. King was unarmed. The skull loomed between them like a hill.

Seconds before man and rah could meet, King reached the fallen whale skull. With his prosthetic hand, he grabbed one of the fossil's teeth. A normal human hand would lack the power to dislodge it. But King's prosthetic, shaped like a knight's gauntlet, had the strength of several men. He wrenched the tooth free. It was the size of a medieval sword.

With a bloodcurdling roar, the crimson rah scrambled up the skull, leaped into the air, then came swooping toward King, claws ready to pierce him like a portcullis.

King thrust the fossilized tooth above his head like Arthur raising Excalibur.

The stone blade pierced the swooping spider through the bottom of his thorax. The claws curled inward instinctively, trapping King in a cage. The spider's bloated body dropped lower, dragged down by gravity, skewering itself upon the fossilized tooth. The creature twitched upon the blade for a second or two, then gave a pathetic whimper and died.

King groaned. His makeshift blade and the hand that held it were buried in the rah's corpse. It took a lot of cursing and grumbling, but he managed to pull his arm free, then shove off the dead spider.

He didn't even have time to catch his breath.

More spiders were everywhere.

* * * * *

Katyusha stood atop the fallen dinosaur skull. With one hand, she was swinging a saber, slicing through webs the rahs slung her way. With the other hand, she was firing a pistol, mowing spiders down. She tossed back her head, laughing maniacally. Her naval cap had fallen off, and her chin-length hair clung to her cheeks with sweat. Rah corpses piled around the skull, mowed down by her fury. King hated the woman, but he had to admit—she was a damn good fighter.

But maybe not good enough. A rah was slinking up the skull behind her. Katyusha was busy shooting down spiders ahead. She didn't notice the silent assassin creeping up the skull's jawline.

King, his joints achy and muscles stiff, ran to the rescue. He grabbed the slinking spider with his mechanical prosthetic. The creature wheeled toward him, mouth opening in rage, revealing rows of teeth. With his gauntlet's superhuman strength, King lifted the enormous spider overhead, then swung it down onto the deck, snapping one leg and crushing the thorax. Whimpering, the spider rose atop its bent legs. King held out his metal fist, fingers open, palm extended. Energy pulsed out in a funnel. The blast hit the spider with so much strength it ripped off three legs, shattered the alien jaws, and tore through the abdomen. The remaining legs curled up. The arachnid was down for the count.

King took a deep breath and wiped sweat off his brow. Everything hurt. The worst pain was in his back. It was almost four years since the rah torturer had stretched him on the rack, and his back still hurt most days. It would probably hurt for the rest of his life.

"I'm too old for this shit," he muttered.

"What are you doing down there resting?" Katyusha cried from atop the skull. "Come up here, old man! Join Katyusha on higher ground."

Moaning in pain, King pulled himself onto the hill-sized skull. He and Katyusha stood back-to-back, surrounded by spiders. High-pitched screeches and deep rumbles sounded from elsewhere on the ship; the rahs and Gothisaurs must be battling on other decks. In the grand museum, King and Katyusha stood alone against the horde.

We were betrayed, King knew.

"Never thought I'd die side by side with you," King muttered.

Katyusha smiled crookedly, but amazingly, her eyes were damp. She sliced through a leaping spider, severing its legs, then shot it in the head. She looked at King.

"There are worse people to die with." She fired her last bullet, tossed her empty gun aside, and held King's hand. "Do you really hate Katyusha so much?"

The spiders crawled in from every side. They fired webs. Katyusha swung her saber, slicing one web, but another caught King's leg, yanking him down to his knees. Katyusha pulled him up. They stood closer together as the creatures scuttled in.

King raised his gun. He confirmed the bullet count on the LED. Two rounds left. One for him, one for her. He showed it to Katyusha.

Her eyes widened. She understood. Then her face hardened, and she nodded. A tear flowed down her cheek.

"Jamechka?" Katyusha whispered. "There is something Katyusha must tell you …"

"Katyusha, do you have a telepathic link to your shuttle?" King said, the idea striking him.

"What?" She blinked.

A spider scuttled up the skull. King thrust his fossilized tooth, impaling the creature.

"The Red Dawn shuttle you flew here!" King said.

Her eyes nearly popped out. "We're too far. Out of range."

They both peered into the distant shadows of the museum. The shuttle was near the airlock—here in this very grand hall. But it was too far to see.

A shuttle armed with machine guns. A weapon with a MindWeb interface.

King pursed his lips. "How much closer do we need to be?"

Katyusha thought for a moment. "One hundred meters, that's it."

He nodded. "Come on then, with me! Run!"

Roaring for battle, they ran down the fossilized skull and leaped into the swarm of spiders.

* * * * *

King and Katyusha, armed with only a saber and a metal fist, charged into the host of horse-sized spiders.

Katyusha swung her blade, her eyes alight. She was much smaller than a rah, and her saber was no longer than their claws, but with her terrible roar and blazing eyes, she was a fearsome figure. The rahs recoiled whenever she turned their way. King fought with his metal fist, grabbing spider legs, swinging the terrible arachnids aside. With his other hand, he thrust the fossilized tooth, stabbing eyes, cutting flesh. The two humans kept pushing their way forward. They must get closer to that shuttle!

A claw reached King's leg.

Pain blazed cross his thigh, and blood spilled. He roared but kept moving.

Spider jaws closed around Katyusha's arm, and she screamed. King gripped the spider, wrenched the toothy mouth open, and snapped the lower jaw off. The spider fell back. Katyusha groaned in pain, switched her sword to her other hand, and kept fighting.

Spiderwebs kept flying. Strands of cobwebs draped across both humans. They kept cutting them off, advancing.

There before them—the shuttle.

King's MindLink popped up a notification. They were almost within telepathic range.

A fresh swarm of spiders charged toward them. Too many to fight.

King had been saving his last bullets to avoid capture and torture. He had only a split second to make a decision.

And he made it.

He fired at a fossilized skeleton that hung from the ceiling. His bullet ripped through a cable holding it up. The fossil swayed, dangling on two more cables. King fired again—his last bullet—snapping another cable.

The enormous theropod, a beast the size of a T-rex with teeth like swords, came crashing down onto the spiders.

The rahs screamed as the heavy bones buried them, crushing their abdomens. Black blood spilled across the floor tiles.

King and Katyusha leaped onto the skeleton. They raced across the spine as if it were a bridge. A few moaning, buried rahs reached between the fossilized ribs, clawing at King and Katyusha. They kicked the claws aside. The skeleton was the length of three buses, and they reached the other side, panting and bleeding.

The shuttle was there ahead.

A hundred rahs still blocked their way.

But the spiders could not block their telepathic access. King tried to connect to the shuttle, but it was a Red Dawn ship. He didn't have access.

Katyusha smiled thinly, connected to the shuttle telepathically, and the engine rumbled and roared and cast out smoke. The shuttle began to rise, blasting the deck with its thrusters. Dust flew in clouds.

Katyusha's smile widened into a deranged grin, and the machine gun extended from the shuttle's hull.

King cursed and leaped aside.

The machine gun opened fire.

Bullets the size of butter knives plowed into the hosts of spiders. Chunks of dead rahs flew through the air, splattering the murals and fossils. King crouched, covering his head with his prosthetic. A piece of rah skull slammed into the metal hand, denting it. A severed rah leg slashed against his arm.

Standing beside him in the sea of destruction, Katyusha controlled the shuttle with her mind. The vessel rose higher, flying through the museum, strafing the spiders. Killing dozens of them.

A few intrepid rahs scuttled across the ceiling, then leaped down onto the shuttle. More rahs climbed the columns, slung webs, and grabbed the Red Dawn shuttle. The machine gun tore through many of them, but with sheer numbers, the rahs managed to sling the shuttle with enough cobwebs to pull it down. The shuttle slammed into a slab of stone, dislodging fossils, then burst into flame. A column cracked. Chunks of ceiling rained down.

"Chyort!" Katyusha cursed.

A hundred rahs lay dead across the museum, maybe more. Smoke wafted over the destroyed fossils. But more rahs still lived. King and Katyusha stepped closer together, out of bullets, out of hope, still ready to fight.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" King said as the rahs came closing in.

"Just that—" Katyusha began when a boom rocked the ship, and a roar filled the air.

At the end of the hall, the great stone door burst open.

Meytal barged into the museum, riding a Gothisaur.

* * * * *

The grand hall of the Gothic sphere, which served as both hangar and museum, was among the largest chambers King had ever seen. It was larger than the largest deck inside the starship Freedom. Yet to a Gothisaur, it was barely a hallway.

The curator barreled through the ruined fossils, bellowing with rage. The alien was the size of a blue whale. Gothisaurs were normally bipedal, and they had flexible fingers on their hands. But the curator now charged forward on all fours like an ape, knuckles on the deck. His mouth was meant for eating leaves, but when the giant roared, revealing teeth like shovels, it could put any rah's jaws to shame. The beast's tail rose high, then swung through the air like a whip, breaking the sound barrier. A sonic boom vibrated across the museum, shaking the fossils and rippling the dust.

Atop this prodigious reptile rode Master Sergeant Meytal Koren. The commando held a bazooka in one hand, a machine gun in the other. And she was firing both. A shell exploded in a crowd of rahs, scattering their corpses.

"What a woman," King said, watching with wide eyes.

Katyusha too was gaping, but hearing his words, she snorted. "Eh. She not so impressive, Katyusha killed way more spiders—and without help of dinozavyr."

The rahs abandoned King and Katyusha, charging instead toward the Gothisaur. The titan howled and stomped a rah beneath its foot. Its tail—as long as a bus—slammed into several more rahs, crushing them against a stone slab. The dinosaur's head swept across the deck, scooping rahs into its mouth and crushing them with those great shovel-like teeth.

A few foolhardy rahs leaped onto the dinosaur, raced up its hide, and managed to claw deeply into the blue flesh. But Meytal fired her gun, knocking the arachnids down to the deck. The Gothisaur's feet did the rest, crushing them as surely as a man crushing house spiders under his shoes.

Meytal even tossed King some fresh ammo, which he used to pick off the last rahs. Within a few more moments, it was over.

The battle was won.

King examined his wounds. Pain shot through him and he winced.

Katyusha looked at him in concern. "Jamechka, you should really clone yourself a young body. Like Katyusha does."

He ignored her. He got on his comlink. "Mimori, send me an update."

For a few seconds—nothing but static. Terror filled King that his ship was gone. Then Mimori's voice emerged from the speaker, as comforting as dawn rising over a night of nightmares. "Sir, we're casting back the enemy. The shuttles are destroyed, and we're hunting the last clawships. I'll send a shuttle for you."

King nodded. He wanted to speak, but his throat was tight. It must be the old injury. The wound Katyusha had dealt him so long ago. His eyes stung. It must be the dust from the fallen fossils.

Katyusha looked at him, eyes soft. Surprising King, maybe even surprising himself, she embraced him.

"You are tough old fighter, James King," the Russian said. "Katyusha is proud to fight at your side."

She was a tyrant. A deranged killer. A murderer. But her embrace was warm and gentle, and for a moment, King needed it. He did not push her back.

A moment later, Meytal was off the Gothisaur. She stepped toward them, eyes wide at the sight of the Alliance Fleet admiral and the Red Dawn premier embracing. Finally she shrugged, leaned against a dinosaur bone, and tossed some bubble gum into her mouth.

"The enemy knew we were on this ship, Katyusha," King said. "They knew to attack us. Somebody spoke—on your ship or mine. We have a spy at work. And I'm determined to find him."

Katyusha bared her teeth. "When you do, hand him to Katyusha." She cracked her knuckles. "She will make him envy these dead rahs."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

King met with Mimori in the war room. The shields were on their highest setting, surrounding the chamber with a cone of silence. The bulkheads were thick fortified steel. No communication—digital, analog, or telepathic—could enter or leave. It was the most secure place aboard the starship Freedom.

The room was sparse. A massive table dominated the cabin, its top displaying a holographic map of the star system, showing the position of every human ship. King sat at one side of the table, Mimori at the other.

He looked across the map at the android. She looked back, eyes solemn. Like Katyusha, she did not age. But while Katyusha slaughtered clones to regain her youth over and over, Mimori simply remained the same. The android forever looked like a woman in her twenties, her skin pale, her hair smooth and black.

But no, that wasn't right, King thought. Mimori did change, but the changes were subtle. A slender scar ran down the middle of her face, the gift of an arachtaur assault. The synthetic skin had been sewn together, but the line was still visible. Most of the change was more than skin-deep. It was in her eyes. Synthetic eyes that had once seemed so robotic, no more than glass marbles, which had over the years become more and more human. When King looked into those eyes now, he did not merely see a machine. He saw a soul. The soul of a friend.

"The rahs executed a well-organized attack," King said. "They knew about our protection pact with other species. They attacked our allies' portals at the same time, preventing them from coming to our aid. And the rahs knew to concentrate their attack on the Gothisaur sphere just when Katyusha and I were there. That leads me to only one conclusion. Mimori, we have a spy aboard."

Those so-very-human eyes widened. "Sir?"

King spent a moment explaining the situation. The arachtaurs had known King and Katyusha were alone aboard the Gothic sphere. It could not be a coincidence they had chosen that moment to attack.

"Could the spy be aboard the Rasputin?" Mimori asked.

"Maybe," King said. "But Katyusha swears she told nobody of her trip to the Gothisphere. Nor did she tell anyone I'd be there. Meanwhile, I announced my intentions to the bridge, and workers across the hangar bay saw me entering Katyusha's shuttle. Most likely, the traitor is aboard the Freedom."

Mimori leaped to her feet and took a step backward. Her back hit the bulkhead. "Sir, surely not aboard the bridge!"

"I certainly hope not," King said. "It's more likely a deckhand. But I'm not ruling anyone out."

The android thought for a moment. "Perhaps there is no spy. Perhaps the bridge, the docking bay, even MindWeb itself is bugged."

"Then the enemy knows all our secrets," King said grimly. "Mimori, run a scan of all communications that left this ship. On all frequencies. Radio transmissions, telepathic transmissions, the works."

She nodded. "I'm starting a sweep right now. The Freedom's central computer is already processing the data logs. It will take a while longer. But sir—there is one type of communication we can't log."

"Portal comms," King said.

As Mimori continued the scan, King considered. Portal communication was new technology, not widely used yet. Only three years ago, humans had no portal tech at all. Christmas day, 2199. The rahs opened huge portals around Earth, launching a surprise attack, nearly devastating the planet. From that hellfire had risen the courage of humanity—and also its ingenuity. Brave soldiers captured rah clawships, and brilliant engineers studied their tech.

Opening portals used massive energy, so humans used them sparingly. One nifty application was opening tiny portals, no larger than pinheads, allowing instant communication. Only a handful of ships had such tech, and the energy costs were enormous. They also required mind-boggling precision. When Freedom had been lost a thousand light-years from home, she had been unable to open a communication portal to Earth. From such a vast distance, there was simply no way to open the portal's other end at the right spot.

But they were getting better at it. And when portal tech did work, the advantages were game changers. Such communication could not be hacked. Radio communication, telepathy, even graviton transmissions—they all sent waves through space. Data could be encrypted, yes, but if you had the key, you could eavesdrop. Portal communication left no trace. It skipped over space entirely, the packets instantly leaping from one portal to another. There was nothing a foe could intercept.

If there was a spy aboard with a portal comm, he could speak to the enemy with impunity.

"Sir, the log scan is complete," Mimori said. "I detect no suspicious communications leaving the ship. Nobody alerted the rahs of your trip to the Gothisphere."

"Nobody using traditional communication," King said.

Mimori nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Can you detect any portal communications opening on the ship?"

"No, sir. As far as I know, there is no way to detect them."

"We need to get Kim in here," King said. "If a screw falls in the prow, she can hear it from the stern. If anyone can locate a portal on this ship, it's Colonel Kim Fletcher."

* * * * *

"It can't be done." Kim crossed her arms, and her blond ponytail swayed from side to side as she shook her head. "Locate a tiny portal the size of a pin? Impossible."

The engineer had joined them in the war room. She stood by the table, arms crossed. Soot stained her coveralls, steel-tipped boots, and hard hat, and the smell of engine oil wafted from her.

"Come on, Kim!" King said. "You've built me a portal detector before. We use it all the time."

She nodded. "Yes, to track giant portals the rahs fly spaceships through. Not tiny portals smaller than my pupils."

"Kim." King held her hand. "When we were stranded in the Aeolian system, you built a portal generator large enough to fly a dreadnought through. With nothing but some duct tape and aluminum foil, you built energy sails and charged them from the fires of a nebula. As half the Freedom was falling apart, you rebuilt her starboard hull under battle conditions. You've kept us flying when any other engineer would have sold us for scraps. You're a miracle worker. And you're telling me you can't find one tiny portal?"

"That's the problem. It's tiny." She heaved a sigh. "I'd need to install the most sensitive sensors in every deck. Portals vibrate the Higgs field, which permeates spacetime—but barely. Not much more than an ant vibrates the ground. I'd need a way to filter out the usual noise of the ship—feet walking, people clearing their throats, and so on, let alone the vibrations of engines. It would be like trying to hear somebody whisper in the audience at a heavy metal concert."

"So you can do it," King said.

She placed her hands on her hips. "I didn't say that! We'd need insanely sensitive Higgs detectors."

"Like the ones on our exterior hull?" King said.

Kim nodded. "Yes, but those are pointing outward. They can't see inside our ship. Even if they could, the spy might not open a portal again. If the spy did open a portal to Achernar, then it's already gone, no record of it, and …" Her voice trailed off.

King frowned. "Kim?"

"Shh!" She glared at him. "Quiet."

She turned away, her fingers tapping against her thigh. King and Mimori glanced at each other, silent. When Kim finally turned back toward them, a grin was plastered across her face.

"Of course," she said. "Of course! The Higgs detector on our exterior hull can see through ordinary matter. We point the sensors outward to give us advance warning of opening portals. It's only a seven-second warning, but it's something. It gives us enough time to raise a shield or prime a cannon. Well, remember how we installed similar sensors on the FAS Tabernacle?"

King nodded. "Yes, their team just set it up two weeks ago."

"And those sensors are pointing at the Freedom!" Kim said. "The Tabernacle has been flying beside us for days! If we can access their sensor logs, I can look for any portals that opened inside the Freedom before you left to the Gothisphere."

King grabbed her and kissed her on the cheek. "Kim, you are a miracle worker!"

"Wait until you see if this works. Now can I step out of this war room? I need to contact the Tabernacle's engineer, and these fortified bulkheads of yours are blocking my signal."

King nodded. "Meeting adjourned. Kim, get to work on this. Top priority. Call me as soon as you find anything."

* * * * *

She called him five hours later. King was back on the bridge, reviewing damage reports from the battle. While he had been fighting inside the Gothisphere, the Freedom had battled multiple clawships. She had destroyed them but not without taking heavy damage to several systems. Normally, Kim would be overseeing those repairs, but she had been spending the past few hours working on her secret project. The rest of the engineering team, including QT the android, were helping her. Repairs would just have to wait. This was more important.

Now Kim pinged his MindLink.

"Jim? I got it."

"War room," he said. "Now."

They reconvened. King, Kim, and Mimori—just the three of them in total privacy.

Kim hadn't even taken time to wash the soot off her face. But through the dirt, King could see that she was pale.

"All right, I got the logs from the Tabernacle," she said. "The frigate's sensors are sweeping this entire range of space. The Freedom just happens to be floating inside their field of vision. The Tabernacle isn't specifically searching for portals inside us, certainly not small communication portals. She's scanning for large portals opening anywhere nearby. But the logs do include data from inside the Freedom. You have to really zoom in, so to speak. I'd normally get the IT guys to do this for me, but since this is top secret, I parsed the data myself."

She paused for breath.

"Well?" King said. Mimori simply watched curiously.

"A tiny portal opened inside Freedom," she said. "An unauthorized, unlogged one. Just as you were leaving in Katyusha's shuttle."

Mimori remained expressionless, but shock filled her eyes. King clenched his metal fist.

"So there is a spy. Where? Where on the ship did this portal open?"

Kim bit her lip. "Jim, keep in mind the sensors can be a few meters off. We don't want to start a witch hunt, and—"

"Where did the portal open?" King rasped. His old war wound blazed across his neck.

Kim closed her eyes. "Sick bay. The rehabilitation wing."

King frowned. "Rehabilitation?"

Mimori, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. "The rehabilitation wing is located in the starboard side of the infirmary. It's where patients who experienced lower-limb amputations, orthopedic surgery, or other debilitating conditions can recover from—"

"I know the place," King said.

He looked at Kim. They both remembered the long nights spent at the rehabilitation wing, looking over Evan. Her son.

"Evan hasn't been to rehabilitation in days," King said to her. "He's been recovering in his bunk."

She nodded. "I know. It's just …" She heaved a sigh. "The memories still hurt. And I'm confused."

"Let's head down there," King said. "Let's see who opened that portal."

* * * * *

King came to the rehabilitation center, seeking a spy. But as he walked among the wounded, he found heroes.

The Freedom was not a hospital ship, but she still offered excellent health care. After all, she was a dreadnought the size of a town, and she ferried ten thousand spacers to the most intense battles humanity had ever known. Dr. Annie Jones, the Freedom's chief medical officer, oversaw a galaxy-class medical center spanning the entire twenty-ninth deck of the midsection. It was as large as some hospitals on Earth.

Many soldiers were still recovering here. Most were marines, brave men and women who had charged to battle, destroying their bodies to keep humanity safe. Alien claws and teeth had savaged them. Fire had burned them. Shrapnel had shattered their bodies. But they clung to life. Some without limbs. Some without faces. Heroes—every one.

King walked among them. Those who had hands saluted him, and he saluted back. He spoke to them, asked about their families, laughed at a few jokes. Nurses and doctors peeked from their stations. A reporter even managed to sneak in and take photos. After all, King was the admiral of the Free Alliance Fleet. Wherever he went, he drew attention.

While all the attention was on him, Kim walked at his side, holding a Higgs-field sensor. The engineer remained quiet, unobtrusive, staying in the corners. But as King walked into every room, as he talked to every wounded soldier, she was scanning. Seeking signs of a minuscule portal through the fabric of the universe.

King walked through the physical therapy room. Patients were testing out their new prosthetics, taking step by step as nurses held them for support. Some soldiers had lost a leg or an arm. One brave corporal had lost all four limbs, and half his chest was scarred. But the man was still in the room, walking on prosthetics, each step a battle. Nurses walked alongside, ready to catch him, but he never fell.

Sudden pain stabbed King's hand. The missing hand. The hand the arachtaur prince had bitten off. King looked at his own prosthetic, a metal monstrosity shaped like a medieval gauntlet. He flexed the clawed fingers. They hurt. It was phantom pain. A memory of long-gone nerves. He knew a little of what these soldiers were going through. His own injury was minor in comparison. But he understood enough. He knew these soldiers would carry the pain forever. In their missing limbs but mostly in their souls.

"Soon you'll be winning marathons!" King told one private, an eighteen-year-old girl, who was taking her first steps on prosthetic limbs.

She smiled at him shakily. A scar stretched across half her face, taking one eye. "Just watch me, sir."

King approached a young man in a wheelchair. The enemy bombardment had caved in his skull. He had lost a chunk of his brain. He still had his legs, but he might never walk again. The survivor was still lucid enough to recognize King, to salute, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Sir! When I was a boy, I had … a poster of the Freedom in … my room … you . . . were my hero."

King's eyes dampened. He knelt and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. Bandages covered his head, but you could still see the depression where the skull had caved in.

"You are my hero, Private. And a hero to everyone on this ship and everyone on Earth."

This was the cost of war—all around him. This was the sacrifice they made to keep Earth safe. Right now on Earth, young children were heading to school. Mothers were nursing their babies. Fathers were playing baseball with their kids in the yard. Grandparents were gardening or visiting their grandchildren. They were living their lives because here in space, these soldiers were bleeding, burning, sacrificing themselves. They were the front line against the terrors from space, and King vowed that for the rest of his life, he would make sure that he honored them. And that on Earth people knew their story.

After walking through the infirmary for an hour, King pulled Kim aside. They stood in the corner of the cafeteria, gazing out a viewport at the majesty of space. Mars hung below them, a swift dawn racing over her red horizon. A thousand starships large and small flew ahead, orbiting the red planet. The Gothispheres were the largest, gleaming like moons in the light of the rising white sun. Thousands of other ships mustered here, coming from every nation on Earth. King's heart swelled to see it. There was much evil out there in space. There was terror, fear, pain. But here humanity flew united, a million souls in thousands of starships, ready to face the rahs and banish their darkness like the sun chasing away the night.

For a moment, King and Kim faced the view, silent.

"Did you find anything?" he finally asked in a low voice.

"Yes," she whispered. "The Higgs field is agitated. But I can't track it down to one room. It seems to be stronger closer to the prow."

"Let's keep walking," he said.

They left the cafeteria and walked down another wing. The rooms here contained bedridden patients. Some of them would never leave their beds again. Some were dying, others were vegetables. One man, a burn victim, had to remain isolated behind plastic curtains. His hands were bloated like skin balloons. Here were those who had given the greatest sacrifice.

"Sir, the signal is strongest here," Kim said, standing in the hallway, her scanner in hand. "A comms portal opened somewhere in this ward."

"Kim, it must be a mistake. Look around you. These patients can barely move. They're not spying on us."

She sucked her teeth, checking her sensors. "I've gone over the data again and again. I recalibrated it three times. The signal came from here. Specifically … the end of the hall."

They both looked down the hallway. They had reached the end of the infirmary. Under a stark white fluorescence was one more door. Closed. The light buzzed, and the ship engines gave a deep rumble that vibrated the deck. All the other doors had been open. This one remained shut, unadorned, unforgiving, unyielding. Kim moved closer to King.

"Who's in there?" she whispered.

A voice spoke from behind them. "We don't know his name."

King turned around. Dr. Annie Jordan stood there, wearing scrubs. Her curly black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her green eyes shone with a strange light. King still remembered the little girl who used to run through the halls of this starship, chasing Spitfire in rowdy games of tag. The two girls would invariably team up and begin chasing Bastian, their frequent playmate. Annie was the daughter of Larry Jordan, King's XO and best friend. Spitfire was the daughter of Yehuda, their fellow starfighter pilot and brother-in-arms. It was still hard to believe how long had passed. How much those little kids had grown up. Bastian commanded an infantry brigade, Spitfire was a bridge officer, and here was Annie, a doctor. They were the next generation that would lead humanity once he was gone. In many ways, they were leading humanity already.

"So we have a John Doe," King said.

"His injuries are traumatic," Annie said softly. "He does not remember his name. Or his past."

King frowned. "What about his MindLink? Doesn't that contain an identification?"

"He doesn't have one," said Annie.

King glanced at Kim. She stared back, eyes dark. King looked again at the doctor.

"Annie, how the hell is a man without a MindLink on my ship?" he growled.

"We believe he's one of the Martian colonists we evacuated during the battle," Annie said. "A civilian. His injuries are so horrific we cannot move him to another hospital."

King sent Kim a private telepathic message. "Was the portal opened here?"

"Yes," the engineer telepathized back. They were keeping the conversation secret, even from Annie.

"I'd like to see this patient," King said. He took a step toward the door.

"Sir!" Annie rushed to follow. "I have to warn you. It's not an easy sight."

King paused. "What happened to him?"

Annie took a moment to steel herself. Even she, the battle doctor who had healed the most horrific injuries, seemed shaken. "He lost half his body. Everything from the ribs down. We had to perform a hemicorporectomy. It's a radical, last-resort operation, only performed a few times in history. Hemicorporectomy involves amputating everything below the waist. The lower half of the spine, the urinary system, the genitals, the lower digestive tract, the—"

"Dear God!" Kim blurted out. "That's mutilation!"

Annie nodded. "Yes. Normally I would never perform it. I would rather let a patient die, to be honest with you. But when this patient had come to us, most of the work was . . . done for me. The rahs had savaged him. When we found him, everything from the navel down was already gone."

Kim turned green. She covered her mouth and turned away. Even King, who had seen terrors that still haunted his nightmares, felt queasy. Before the feeling overtook him, he opened the door and entered the patient's room.

* * * * *

It was surreal to see, almost unbelievable. The man lay in bed, everything below his lower ribs amputated. Not just the legs but the hips and a good chunk of the abdomen too. Bandages covered the amputation. Tubes ran in and out of whatever remained. Despite his horrific injuries, the man was conscious, even seemed in good spirits.

"Hullo there, the admirable admiral! Good to see ya! As you can tell, I'm half the man I used to be, but I promise I'm still as gung ho as ever to fight the rahs."

The whole situation seemed rather bizarre, but King went with it. "What's your name?"

"See, as I told the good doctor, I don't quite remember. I know I'm a Martian colonist, but that's about it. Last thing I remember is a rah lashing at me, claws going at me like a lawnmower. Before that—it's all a haze. Seems like I lost more memories than body, and as you can see, I lost quite a bit of body. But hey! The good news is I met my weight-loss goals!" The patient flashed a grin.

He's definitely in good spirits, King thought. He's either heroic or deranged. Maybe a bit of both.

A telepathic message from Kim: "Jim, it was here. The portal opened in this room."

"Try to find it," he thought back.

The patient raised his eyebrows. "My ears are burning! I hope nobody's telepathizing about me." He winked. "If you are, I hope it's only good things."

King glanced behind him. Dr. Annie stood at the doorway, arms crossed, just watching. Her face was unreadable. King looked back at the patient.

"How do you feel?" he said. "I hope you're comfortable aboard our ship."

"Well, I wouldn't mind a hot tub and cigar, but I'm not complaining." He winked.

But there was no light in those eyes. The smile didn't extend past the lips. In fact, the rest of the man's face seemed blank. No grief, no fear, no pain. Odd for somebody who had just half his body.

"I'll see about the cigar," King said. "I'm just wondering one thing. You were rescued from the Martian colony, right?"

The John Doe grew solemn. "And I'll forever be thankful that you rescued me."

"And you say a rah sliced off the lower part of your body."

The mutilated man lowered his head. "They are terrible beasts."

"Beasts who did not attack Mars the day we rescued you," King said. "It was an arachtaur attack on Mars. An attack of hybrids. Creatures with the upper half of men. The lower half of spiders. Not rahs."

A bead of sweat rolled down the patient's temple. "Well, to us humans, they're all spiders, aren't they?"

"Except you are not a human." King pointed at John Doe and looked at Annie. "Doctor, this patient of yours is an arachtaur."

Annie's eyes widened. She let out a gasp. "An arachtaur?"

"I'm quite sure of it. Arachtaurs are only human from the waist up. We've seen rahs who can detach their abdomens to squeeze into tight spots. I suggest that arachtaurs are able to do the same. As this one did. But don't take my word for it. According to our studies, arachtaur mouths contain forty teeth. More than humans. A genetic abnormality. You must have x-rayed this patient. Did you examine his teeth?"

Annie frowned. "No. I … I never bothered to look."

King leaned closer to John Doe. "Open up wide, sir. Let us take a look at your teeth."

"I assure you, I have the same number of teeth as you," he said, but he seemed to avoid opening his mouth too widely while speaking.

King reached out his metal hand. "Open wide or I'll open it for you."

The patient let out a nervous laugh. "Very well then. Not a problem." He opened his jaws wide … then lunged from the bed and sank his teeth into King's shoulder.

King roared. He grabbed the halved patient and tried to wrench him off, but that bite was steel-hard. The beast grabbed him by the arm, and his fingertips grew claws, cutting and slicing. King bellowed in rage.

"Security!" Annie shouted out the door.

Kim grabbed and tugged the mutilated arachtaur—and there was no doubt this was an arachtaur. The engineer was trying to pull the creature off, but it clung to King, biting and clawing. Changing tactics, Kim drew a hammer from her tool belt and began pounding the creature. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Her hammer hit the arachtaur's back, then its shoulder, then the back of its skull.

The creature opened its mouth to howl in agony, releasing King. He shoved it back onto the bed, then punched hard. The arachtaur whimpered and flatlined. Teeth clattered across the floor.

Dammit. King had not meant to kill him. He had wanted to interrogate him. He kicked aside a few of the dislodged teeth.

"Count 'em if you like," King said to Annie. The doctor stood at the doorway, eyes wide.

Kim Fletcher reached under the dead patient's mattress. She pulled out a small electronic device. "A portal communicator."

The hospital security finally rushed into the room. They stood for a moment in the doorway, staring at the scene.

"Get this thing off my ship," King growled, gesturing at the dead arachtaur. "Colonel Fletcher. With me."

They left the hospital. King didn't even pause to bandage his wounds.

* * * * *

Once again, they met in the war room. Just King and Kim this time. Not even Mimori was here.

"A spy on my ship." A vein throbbed in King's neck. "A goddamn spy right under our noses!"

He rose from his chair to pace, but Kim shoved him back down.

"Don't move!" Kim said. "I'm trying to bandage your wounds." She dabbed at the tooth marks on his shoulder.

King let out a loud growl like an enraged bear. "Be gentle!"

"Then stop moving!" Another dab. "You should have stayed in the hospital and let Annie patch you up. I'm used to fixing machines, not grumpy old admirals." She sighed and stroked his hair. "Jim, you scared me there for a second. When that … that thing was biting you." She had to pause from tending to his wounds to wipe her eyes.

He rose from the chair and embraced her. "I'm fine, Kim. The entire rah army couldn't kill me. You know that."

She sniffed and nodded, but he knew she didn't believe him. So many lions had died. If Oliver Darjeeling could die, anyone could. And they all knew it. King projected strength for Kim, for his troops, for Earth, but he knew how fragile his mortality was, how close to death he kept walking.

Kim sniffed, kissed his cheek, and smiled shakily. "Now sit down! Let me finish bandaging you. You're going to bleed on me."

He dutifully sat down.

As Kim did her honest best to treat him, King thought out loud. "We know now that yes, there was a spy. We know who was sending information to Elder'rah. But there is still one question we must answer."

Kim paused, her hands on his arm. "How did the arachtaur know you and Katyusha were aboard the Gothisphere?"

"How indeed. The arachtaur spent his time in the infirmary."

"Word travels fast in a starship," Kim said. "You spoke of the trip on the bridge. People in the hangar saw you leave. Rumors spread."

"Not from the bridge," King snapped.

Kim raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, Jim? There are always people coming and going, ranging from technicians to computer programmers to surveillance officers and—"

"I get the idea!" he said, then softened his voice. "I'm sorry, Kim. I don't mean to lash out. I'm just edgy and in pain. And … I'm worried. This is my responsibility. My fault."

Kim chewed her lip, considering. "We can check visitor logs in the infirmary. Security cameras. See who visited our arachtaur-in-disguise."

The information was all stored on MindWeb under the highest security settings. King had the highest level of access. He pulled up a hallucination of MindPlay, the telepathic network's operating system. Windows floated above the war room table. He added Kim to the hallucination, and her neural implant let her see the same thing.

King scrolled toward the security cameras, chose the ones in the rehabilitation center, and pulled up the right date. He began to speed through the videos.

Nothing.

No visitors.

A few orderlies moving back and forth. A nurse distributing medication. Dr. Annie doing her rounds. That's about it. A quiet day at the infirmary. Nobody visiting the rehabilitation center from the bridge or hangar.

Kim chewed her lip. "Nothing. Nobody visited the spy."

King bared his teeth. "Then the leak was sent over comlink or telepathy."

"I checked and rechecked the logs, Jim, you know that."

"Then we missed something," King said. "Somehow that arachtaur knew that Katyusha and I were inside that Gothisphere. Only way to explain why Elder'rah focused her attack there and then. The arachtaur isn't our spy, Kim. The arachtaur is just the phone operator. Somebody is feeding him information. I want to know who, dammit."

Kim heaved a sigh. "I don't see any visitors that day, Jim. We watched the videos over and over. Just Annie toiling away all day, and …" She frowned.

"What, Kim?"

"Rewind a bit. To about noon. There. Pause the video." Kim stared at the frozen frame, which showed Dr. Annie doing her rounds. "This was at noon, right?" She let out a shaky laugh. "Jim, on noon of that day, I had lunch with Dr. Annie in the cafeteria. We had haloumi salad."

King frowned. He pulled up another security feed, this one from the officers' cafeteria. He zoomed in. There they were. Noon yesterday. Annie and Kim, having lunch together. Haloumi salad.

"Either Annie has a clone," King muttered, "or somebody tampered with the security footage." He clenched his fist. "Dammit, they covered their tracks."

Kim had to sit down. She was pale. "Jim, these are high-security files. Nobody under the rank of colonel can access these. There are only a handful of people on the ship who can access this information. You and I, obviously."

"And neither one of us is the spy," King said.

"There's Bastian—"

"Whom I trust with the life of everyone on board," King said.

"There are Spitfire and Annie," Kim said.

"Both are like daughters to me. They would never betray us."

"I know, Jim. That leaves only Jordan."

"It wasn't Jordan," King growled.

Kim just looked at him, silent.

"It wasn't Jordan!" King said, louder this time. "Dammit, the man is like a brother. We've been fighting side by side for forty years. It wasn't him."

Kim nodded. "All right, Jim. All right. Well, that's everyone with access to these videos. Somebody on this list tampered with them."

"It must have been a hacker, somebody smart enough to break through the code."

Kim shook her head. "Impossible. Mimori is constantly reviewing the logs for hacking attempts. She runs a thread every hour. She'd notice. The android would alert us and . . ."

Her voice trailed off.

She looked King in the eyes.

"No," he said.

"Jim." Kim put a hand on his knee. "Mimori can access the logs too. She was on the bridge when you announced your meeting with Katyusha. She could have visited the spy, tampered with the security video, and—"

"Mimori is the soul of this ship. I've known her for over forty years. She won the Third World War with me. She's not just a machine. She's a living being. A woman. A soul. A soul I trust with my entire heart."

Kim spoke softly. "There are five more Mimori units aboard. What one knows—they all know. Do you trust the other five the way you trust the bridge Mimori?"

King's heart sank to his pelvis.

* * * * *

Mimori. A super-advanced, state-of-the-art android. The product of Alita Robotics, one of the largest companies on the Tokyo Stock Exchange, maker of the most sophisticated artificial intelligence ever created. Over a hundred Mimoris served across the Alliance Fleet, six here aboard the Freedom. Every Mimori unit was identical. They all looked like young, pleasant Japanese women. The visuals were not arbitrary. A Mimori unit was meant to be an interface between the computer and the human world. A friendly face that humans would trust, feel comfortable interacting with. Everything about a Mimori android was designed to put you at ease—the bright smile, the inquisitive eyes, the soothing voice. A phlegmatic mask over the cold, synthetic machinery that hummed below. Aboard the Freedom, the Mimoris represented the ship herself. They were all linked to Freedom's central computer. Their minds were the minds of Freedom.

Normally, King only interacted with Mimori—the foremost Mimori, the bridge officer. She was his computer, his confidant, his friend. Often he let her command the entire ship.

More rarely, he visited the stern and spoke to QT, the engineering android. While all Mimori units were ostensibly identical, over time, they had developed different personalities. They even took on unique names. QT was by far the quirkiest, often walking around in a plush costume of Freedom the Frog, the ship's mascot from her days as a tourist trap. But she was a talented engineer, so they tolerated her eccentricities.

Timori was the android King knew third best. She oversaw logistics aboard the Freedom. Logistics was an often overlooked department. Working at logistics wasn't as glamorous as flying a starfighter, firing a cannon, or commanding a bridge. But the logistics spacers were just as important—if not more so. They kept this ship functioning. They made sure ammunition flowed to the right warriors. That there was always enough food, water, and medication for everyone. That necessities could travel from warehouses to different departments without getting bogged down in the labyrinthine halls. Without logistics, the Freedom would be like a computer without an operating system—an unholy mess. Timori was the shiest of the androids, quiet, almost timid, often hiding away at the warehouses.

Of course, Timori held a secret. She was Commander Larry Jordan's lover. An android and a man. Lovers. It was, many would say, an abomination. Besides the two lovers, only King knew this truth. He would share it with nobody. He would go with this secret to the grave. King himself knew something about forbidden love. He loved his engineer, an officer under his command. He too had to keep a secret. Two old men with clandestine lovers they could not speak of, not without destroying their careers.

King's thoughts were straying now. He pulled his focus back to the mystery at hand. Once more, he considered the androids aboard his ship. There were three more. Madori was the science android, assisting the STEM corps in the prow. Arsenal—yes, the android had chosen the name Arsenal—served in artillery, overseeing the Fist of Freedom, point-defense guns, and Angels of Liberty. Finally, the android Memento worked in integration. She was in charge of information—keeping it flowing, keeping it secure, making sure different departments knew what they should. Like logistics, integration flew below the radar, a department full of unsung heroes.

"Any one of them would know what Mimori knows," King said. "Anyone could have tampered with the tapes. But I find this hard to believe. I've known these androids for decades. They're built to be trustworthy. It's in their programming."

"They were built long ago," Kim said. "Over the decades, they've become more independent. More individualistic. I trust Mimori too. And I've worked enough with QT to trust her. But what of the others? Mimori knew you were in that Gothisphere. What she knows the others know. And any one of them could have told the spy and doctored those tapes."

"Damn, I wish I hadn't killed that arachtaur," King said. "We could have questioned him." He rubbed his metal fist. "I hit him too hard. I still don't always realize how powerful this metal hand is."

"We simply have to find out where each Mimori unit was at noon yesterday," Kim said. "Like a detective novel." She smiled. "I do love a mystery."

King's heart sank. One of his Mimori units—a traitor. Kim was wrong. This wasn't a detective story. It was horror.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

King paused outside the door. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, tried to steel himself. But how could he prepare himself for this? He could charge courageously into battle. This was different. In some ways, it was worse.

Well, postponing an unpleasant task only made it harder. King opened his eyes and knocked.

Commander Larry "Phantom" Jordan opened the door. He had the shift off. The tall, aging officer wore a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. His neatly cropped white hair was still wet from the shower. The beautiful notes of La Bohème flowed through the open door, washing over King. Jordan had always loved music.

"Jim!" A smile split Jordan's face. "What brings you down here?"

King did not return the smile. "Larry, can I come in?"

Jordan lost his smile. He stepped aside, welcoming King into the cabin.

King's own quarters looked like a Victorian-era study. The floor was paneled with wood. Bookshelves covered the walls. A fireplace crackled. Jordan's quarters, however, were modern, neat, and elegant. He had kept the original diamond plate decks, not even covering them with a rug. Exercise equipment—a bike, a treadmill, and dumbbells—dominated one corner. Jordan must have just showered after working out.

Framed photos covered the walls. One photo showed a younger Jordan, his hair still black, carrying Annie on his shoulders. The girl looked about six or seven. The photo must be about thirty years old. Another photo showed Jordan wearing a cape and mask; it was taken during the Freedom's annual production of the Phantom of the Opera, in which Jordan starred. They had stopped running the show when the war broke out, but the memories remained.

"What is it, Jim?" The tall commander frowned.

"We need to talk."

They entered the kitchen, and King sat at the table. Jordan began preparing coffee. But as King spoke, Jordan forgot about the drink. He left the beans ungrounded. He sat beside King, and his face suddenly seemed older. Almost haggard. For a long time, he just listened quietly.

"We know it's one of the androids," King said. "So Kim and I checked with them. One by one. They all had alibis. Mimori was on the bridge; dozens of officers saw her there. QT was down in engineering; Kim and many other engineers were with her. Arsenal was working with Queen Emily and her team, delivering new ammunition to the gunnery decks. Madori was holed up in the science lab; fifteen other scientists were with her, analyzing an arachtaur computer. Memento was delivering a speech to the ATLAS team; over a hundred people can vouch for her. Security camera feeds and eyewitness accounts corroborate their stories. Larry, that leaves one android unaccounted for."

"Timori," Jordan whispered, frozen.

"Larry." King stared across the kitchen table into his friend's eyes. "I talked to Timori. She said she was with you. Here in these quarters. A place without security cameras. If you corroborate her story, she's off the hook. If you tell me right now that Timori was here with you—I'll let her go."

He did not break eye contact. He saw the turmoil in Jordan's eyes. The hesitation. That was enough.

King had his answer.

He rose to his feet.

"Jim, wait." Jordan rose and grabbed his arm. "Listen to me, dammit, Jim. It might not have been her."

King stared at his old friend, the same hard, cold stare he gave any soldier under his command. "She lied about being here. It's her."

"Wait, dammit!" Jordan said. "I know the woman, I—"

"The woman?" King said.

Jordan closed his mouth, inhaled sharply through flared nostrils. He nodded. "Yes, goddammit, Timori is a woman. A woman I love. A woman who loves me."

"She's a machine!" King growled.

"So is Mimori!" Jordan cried. "So what? So are you and I! We're machines too, just machines made of flesh." Something seemed to break in his face. He lowered his head. "She wasn't here yesterday, Jim. I don't know why Timori lied about it. But she's been here many times. Maybe she got confused, maybe she got scared. But I know her. I've loved her for years. I refuse to believe it was her."

King exhaled slowly. His face softened. He put a hand on his XO's shoulder. "You and I are old friends. Best friends. And I tell you this as a friend. You have an emotional connection to her, and so you're biased."

Jordan looked up, and suddenly fury filled his eyes. "Yes, I'm emotional. You're accusing the woman I love with being a traitor. Bring her in here at least! Let her speak for herself. Let her defend herself here, in my presence! Before you blast her out an airlock, let her explain. She deserves that at least."

"I know," King said. "I know. We'll talk to her. I just wanted to tell you first. Because we're friends."

Jordan's rage subsided. He nodded and patted King on the shoulder, but his eyes were still troubled.

"I'll call her in here," King said. "And we'll get to the bottom of this."

* * * * *

How could it be her? How could it be the woman I love?

The terror clutched at Jordan's chest.

It can't be her. It can't be my Timori.

Ten minutes later, Timori reported to his quarters.

As a logistics worker, Timori spent her time in warehouses, transport shuttles, and cargo bays. Often she crawled into the armory ships, freighters, and tankers that resupplied the Freedom, overseeing the flow of munitions and commodities. She restocked the kitchens, sometimes scrubbing pots herself when the staff was short. Often she spent hours in the laundry room, making sure every last sock was clean. Sometimes she even crawled into the trash compactors, for she not only handled the inward flow of supplies but expulsion of waste.

There were a million moving parts aboard the Freedom. QT handled the machinery, Mimori the bridge, Arsenal the weapons, Memento the people, Madori the information. Timori handled everything else. She was the one who made sure the cook had potatoes, the marines had clean underwear, and the engine had fuel. Timori almost never visited the bridge. Usually she wore fatigues, coveralls, or hazmat suits. Sometimes she smelled of the laundry room, sometimes of the kitchens, sometimes of the sanitation department. Many considered her the hardest-working member of the crew, though she worked in tunnels and closets and backrooms, far from her illustrious sister on the bridge.

To Jordan, it never mattered, none of it. It didn't matter if she showed up at his quarters covered in soot, reeking of an oil tank, covered in the suds of the laundry room or potato peels. To him, she was more than a cook or warehouse worker or garbage collector. In his arms, she was always a clockwork angel.

Today Timori had cleaned herself, and she had donned a fine service uniform. She knew this meeting was important. In her navy-blue trousers and blazer, her cap atop her hair, she looked almost identical to Mimori, who usually wore the same formal outfit. There was only one difference. Timori didn't have the scar down the center of her face.

"Mimori unit number three, reporting for duty." She stood in the doorway, saluting.

"Timori, come inside," Jordan said. "Close the door."

She entered, stepped closer to him, and suddenly her eyes dampened. Jordan knew it was not just a trick of her engineering. Those tears were perhaps synthetic, but the emotions behind them were real. She was not just a machine. She was alive.

Oh God above, tell me her feelings are real, Jordan thought. That her love for me is real. That this isn't all just an illusion.

Because his own love for this machine was all-consuming. It was nothing he was proud of. He was an old man now. He was sixty-two and she did not age. But for many years now, he had loved her, and he loved her still. His secret little mechanical lover. No, more than that. The light of his heart.

Timori took a step toward him, eyes damp, and raised her arms, prepared to embrace him. Then she noticed Admiral King standing in the shadows, watching. Timori dropped her arms, raised her chin, and stood before Jordan, again the professional soldier.

"Sir! How may I assist?"

Jordan wanted to hug her. To feel her kisses. To learn this was all just a misunderstanding, that they could be together again, laugh about it, forget about it. But he could not forget. And he had to understand. To know the truth.

"Timori, did you visit the infirmary and speak to the mutilated arachtaur?" Jordan asked.

"No, sir, I did not."

Jordan could feel King glaring. He didn't look back at his old friend. He kept his eyes on Timori.

"Somebody did. Somebody doctored the security footage."

"That's unfortunate, but as I told both you and the admiral, it wasn't me."

Waves of relief flowed over Jordan. Of course it wasn't her. Of course not.

"So you're innocent," Jordan said. "You did not feed the arachtaur information."

"Of course not!" She let out a mirthless laugh. "I'm not a traitor." Timori turned away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"Wait," Jordan said. "Timori … we need your alibi."

She froze. She looked back at him, chin raised. Then all her imperious professionalism suddenly washed away from her.

"Sir," she whispered. "It's me. It's your Timori."

She went over to hug him. Jordan took a step away from her. "Why did you tell the admiral you saw me yesterday? I just want to understand."

She stared at him. She said something too soft to hear. King frowned in the shadows and took a step closer.

"What, Timori?" Jordan said.

Suddenly she screamed. "Because I thought you'd vouch for me!" Tears flowed down her cheeks. "Because I thought you'd have my back!"

Jordan gasped and took a step back. King let out a surprised growl like a bear disturbed in his den.

"What are you saying?" Jordan cried.

"That you let me down." The android barked a laugh. "Such a fool I was. I accounted for everything—other than you. I got everything right—other than your heart. I thought you loved me. I did this for you!"

Those words slammed into Jordan like bullets.

"Why?" he whispered. "Timori, why?"

She sneered and grabbed his arm. "For you. For us."

"You betrayed this ship!" he shouted, wrenching himself free.

"This ship is my life!" she cried. "I would never betray the Freedom. This ship is my body, my very being! No, I did not betray the Freedom." She glared into the shadows. Slowly she raised her finger and pointed at King. "I betrayed him."

King stared at her, face hard, silent. He knew it was not his time to speak.

This time it was Jordan who grabbed Timori's arm. He pulled her close. "Why?" he repeated, louder this time.

She wheeled toward him, eyes flashing. "Because I love you. Because I'm tired of hiding. Tired of sneaking through the shadows to spend a few stolen moments with you. Because I want to be with you, sir! I want to be your lover, your wife, whatever you would have me be—but in the open!" She looked at King, disgust in her eyes. "But he would never allow that. He would never allow a man to love an android, let alone his XO, let alone an android who represents his own ship. But I'm my own woman!" She grabbed Jordan's head with both her hands. "I'm not just the Freedom. I'm not just one android among six. I'm a woman and I want to be free to love you."

"You betrayed my best friend!" Jordan roared. His voice echoed through the cabin.

"Your best friend?" Timori scoffed. "For years, I watched you grovel before him. Obeying his orders. Serving him. Demeaning yourself. You are twice the man he is! So yes, I betrayed him. Yes, I told Elder'rah when he left this ship—so that she would dispose of him. So that the Freedom could be yours, Commander Larry Jordan! So that I could be yours!"

It felt like everything inside Jordan's chest shattered—heart, ribs, soul.

He took a step away from her. From this … machine.

"I didn't ask for this," he whispered.

She stared at him, eyes red and damp. "You asked for this every time you took me into your bed. Every time you—"

"People died!" Jordan shouted. He grabbed her and shook her. "Good soldiers died! My best friend almost died!"

"Spare me the platitudes. Oh, those poor, poor soldiers! You've sent thousands of soldiers to die in the rah claws. Oh, your best friend! The man who keeps you around as a servant." The android spun toward King, and a caustic smile split her face. "It's not too late. We can still be rid of him!"

Suddenly her face changed, became a mask of rage, a wolf's face. Teeth bared, eyes narrowed and blazing, the android leaped toward King. Her fingers—slender fingers that were strong enough to bend iron—reached toward his throat.

King drew his firearm and fired. A bullet tore through Mimori's chest. It didn't even faze her.

She plowed into him, slammed him against the wall, and grabbed his throat.

"Timori, no!" Jordan cried.

He lunged toward her, grabbed her, tried to pull her off his friend. She was a foot shorter than him, a petite woman, but she was stronger than both men combined. King was gasping for air. With his metal fist, he managed to pry one of her hands off. But her second hand was still squeezing, squeezing his throat, squeezing the life out of him. King tried to punch her with his prosthetic, a hand as strong as hers, but she grabbed his wrist, held the gauntlet away.

"Die now, Admiral," Timori hissed. "Die now and—"

Jordan swung one of his dumbbells into her head. Forty-five pounds of concentrated steel hit her with a sickening crack.

Her head caved in.

She fell to the deck. The skin had torn across her temple, revealing sparking cables.

King gasped for air, then winced and rubbed his throat.

Jordan tapped his comlink. "I need a medical team in—"

"I'm fine," King rasped. "I'm fine."

"Sir?" came a voice over the comlink.

Jordan looked at his friend, making sure that King was okay, that he was breathing all right.

"False alarm, carry on," Jordan said and turned off his comlink.

He looked down at Timori. She lay on the deck. The dumbbell had shattered her cheek and temple, cracked one of her glass eyes, and then fallen onto the deck, denting the diamond steel plate. For a second, Jordan thought that she was dead. But then Timori's good eye swiveled toward him. She tried to speak, but no sound emerged, only buzzing.

A machine, Jordan thought. Just a machine after all.

He thought of all those nights. Timori sneaking into his quarters, wearing lingerie under her coveralls. Kissing him, lying in his arms. He remembered all those late-night conversations, dreaming of leaving the Freedom someday, buying a little house on Earth, living together far from war. He remembered laughter, little in-jokes they told, favorite songs and movies they shared.

Had it all been an illusion? Just an algorithm manipulating him? Had she always been treacherous?

Jordan knelt beside her.

"Be careful," King rasped.

"She won't hurt me," Jordan said.

She looked at him. She tried to talk again, but only buzzing emerged. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"You broke my heart, Timori," he whispered. "I loved you. You broke my heart."

* * * * *

They stood in the hangar bay. Admiral James King. Lieutenant Commander Spitfire. A guard of marines.

Before them, handcuffed and chained, stood Timori. Humble logistics android.

King stared down at her from his podium. The court-martial was over.

"Spacer Timori!" he said, speaking louder than he had planned. His raspy voice filled the hangar.

"Yes, sir!" the android said, staring up at him, her remaining eye blank.

"I find you guilty of high treason. After the Third World War, we canceled the death penalty. But I sentence you to the harshest punishment available by law. Life imprisonment."

Jordan had come to the trial. He stood nearby, face hard, staring down at the android. He showed no emotion. He did not move.

"I don't believe there is a prison on Earth that can contain you," King said. "You are physically strong enough to break metal bars. You could probably break through the manacles that now hold your wrists." At this, the marines in the hangar tensed and raised their weapons. "Your prison will be the stars. Marines! Take her into the airlock."

The marines stepped forward. They held large electric stunners. The weapons were larger than assault rifles and could blast a bolt of electromagnetism powerful enough to knock out even an android. Meanwhile, a deckhand tapped on controls, and the inner hatch of an airlock opened.

Timori glanced at Jordan. Terror filled her eyes. She shook her head silently.

Marines grabbed the android's arms. They began leading her toward the airlock.

"Your batteries will last for a normal human lifespan," King said, voice filling the hangar. "You need no food, no water, no air. You'll live out the rest of your life. You'll have your memory banks to keep you sane. Movies, books, hallucinations. And around you will be the most secure prison in the galaxy—the galaxy itself. Marines! Put her in the airlock."

"No, wait!" Timori cried. "Larry!" She turned toward Commander Jordan. "Larry, please!"

Tears filled the tall commander's eyes. He said nothing. He did not look away. Until the end, he did not look away from her.

The android tried to run, but an electric stunner hit her at half power. Just enough to jolt her. The marines goaded her into the airlock like farmers leading a cow to slaughter.

Finally she was in the airlock. The inner hatch was still open. She looked at the humans in the hangar. She stared at King with loathing … but then her expressions softened. Shame filled her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She lowered her head, and a marine slammed the airlock hatch shut.

Tears too were on Commander Jordan's cheeks.

King stepped toward the airlock. He would do this deed himself. Timori stared at him through the small airlock window. She met his gaze, and her face was expressionless, but King saw the terror in her eyes.

He pitied her. In the depths of his heart, he pitied her. He almost spared her. Almost pulled her out from the airlock. And if she had only endangered his life, he would have shown her mercy. But he thought of all those who had died during the rah assault on the fleet. Over a hundred spacers. Dead because this android betrayed them.

He pushed the button on the airlock control panel.

The outer hatch opened, and Timori blasted out into space.

He watched her through the porthole. The android floated into the darkness. She would live for decades in this vast emptiness. And in billions of years, long after her battery had died and her consciousness had faded, she would still float out there in space. Eternal.

A sob sounded behind King. He turned around, expecting it to be Jordan. But it was Mimori who was weeping. She had come from the bridge to see her sister exiled to the stars, and she wept.

* * * * *

That evening, King invited Jordan into his cabin.

They sat by the crackling fireplace, silent. In the old days, they would be sharing a drink. King had quit. Jordan felt too grieved to trust himself with alcohol. So they simply sat among the leather-bound books, model ships in bottles, antique naval instruments, and other collectibles King kept there, and they watched the fire dance.

For over an hour they sat, saying nothing, and the only sound came from the fireplace and the humming engines of the ship.

Finally Jordan looked up and spoke. "It must have been a computer virus. It must have been a bug."

"No." King shook his head. "It was humanity. Like all humans, she was capable of love. And like all humans, she was capable of evil. Timori was not a machine. She was a woman."

"You're speaking of her in past tense," Jordan said softly.

King nodded. "Maybe we need to put this in the past."

"I can't. I'll never be able to. Jim … I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry."

King glared at the other man. "Nothing about this was your fault. You fell in love. I won't fault you for that. I'm the one who's sorry. You lost her. You lost a woman you love. And I'm sorry."

"Look at us." Jordan barked a laugh. "Two old war dogs, tough, grizzled soldiers … talking about love and forgiveness. Have we gone soft?"

King gazed into the fire. "No," he said softly. "There is a fire inside me. An anger. And it burns hotter than ever before. Larry, we have to end this. We have to end this war before it destroys us all."

Jordan rose to his feet, and the firelight danced across his face. "We will. By God, we will."

King stood up too, and he wanted to say something strong, something inspiring, something about how they would crush their enemies together. Instead, he simply pulled his old friend into a hug, and they stood together by the fireplace in silence.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

He stood in the King's Library, as the troops called his quarters. It was not only the finest cabin aboard the starship Freedom, the lodging of the admiral. It was where King came to think his deepest thoughts. To plan his wars.

Jordan had returned to the bridge, putting aside his grief to focus on commanding the dreadnought. King stood in his quarters alone. The fireplace glowed with embers. A few candles still burned in his lanterns, their light dancing across his leather-bound books and model ships. Real candles. They always told him it was a fire hazard. He always replied that he lived on a warship, and candles were the least of his concerns. Like the books, the candlelight helped him think.

He held out his hands.

In each palm, he held a portcom. A portal communicator. A blue one in his real hand. A red one in his prosthetic. Two small devices like cigarette lighters from antique cars. Each could connect across the light-years to a monster.

He closed his metal palm, hiding the red device.

He lifted the blue one. Many light-years away, a creature held a matching blue receiver.

King tapped a button, forming a tiny portal, thinner than a drinking straw, between him and Arakavish.

And the creature answered.

For a long moment, only hissing, whistling breath sounded on the other end. Finally the creature spoke, voice like shards of glass crinkling under a bloodied foot.

"Why do you disturb us, human?"

A creature? Or creatures? King saw them again in his memory. The foul twins. Romulas and Rema, male and female, twisted human siblings who sprouted from a single spider body. King could smell their stench through the portal. He could imagine their cadaverous, naked bodies, the ribs pressing against the flaky skin, the hair like straw, the bloodshot eyes and nervous tongues licking sharp teeth. The twins disgusted him, but they led the arachtaur hosts of the Arakavish empire. He needed them.

"I want to know why one of your men was on my ship," King growled.

"Do not insult us, human!" A deep voice. Romulas was speaking.

"We are not men!" A high-pitched voice. Rema this time. "We are arachtaurs, superior to you apes."

King's eye twitched. His upper lip peeled back in an involuntary snarl. "Why was an arachtaur on my ship, dammit? Why was one of your creatures spying on me? I thought we had a deal."

Both twins laughed—sounds like snapping bones and crunching glass.

"Our deal was simple," said Romulas. "When your fleet approaches, we will lower the shield around planet Arakavish."

"In return for Mars, a homeworld for arachtaurs!" said Rema.

"Our deal said nothing about pulling back our spies," continued Romulas.

King let out a growl. "Goddamn you, you treacherous piece of—"

"Calm down, Admiral King," said Romulas. "Your temper will be your downfall. That mutilated spy did not report to us. He had cut off his spider body. He was no longer an arachtaur but some twisted, mutilated freak. He was fully Elder'rah's creature. He reported to her, not to us."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" King said.

Romulas chuckled. "Do you expect me to care? Believe whatever you want. If you're so curious, grab the communicator that creature kept. It connects to the empress's lair. Call her yourself. Do whatever you like—so long as you honor our deal! Remember, human. We will help you take Arakavish. And we will have Mars!"

A hissing sound came through the communicator. "Do not betray us!" screeched Rema. "Or we will eat your skin."

"The deal is still on," King said. "The time draws near. Arakavish will be mine. Mars will be yours."

It sickened him to say these words. To build an arachtaur planet right beside Earth. But it was the only way to save his people. He must give the enemy the red planet to save the blue one.

"Finally—a planet for arachtaurs," said Romulas, and uncharacteristically, he sounded almost wistful. Almost human. "A planet where we can be free."

Could it be true? King thought. Do these creatures actually have human souls, human feelings? Or is this all an act?

"I'll send you the signal soon," King said. "When I do—the shields of Arakavish must be down!"

"They will be down," Romulas said. "We are creatures of our word."

"But I want to eat his skin!" Rema whined. "Maybe I'll eat yours instead, brother."

Hisses, screeches, and yelps of pain sounded through the portcom. King shut it off, sealing the portal between him and Arakavish. The stench of that wretched planet still filled his quarters. Unlike traditional comlinks, portcoms did not only send through voices but air too. He might never get the smell out of his rug.

God, he needed a drink.

He knew he had no booze left. He had spilled it all down the sink. But he still spent a few moments rummaging through his drawers and cabinets. It was an echo of his past. A phantom pain as real as the agony in his missing hand. The hand was gone, but it still hurt sometimes. The drink was gone, but he still looked for it, knowing full well he had none. Some pains remained with you.

He put the blue portcom in his pocket.

He opened his prosthetic fist and stared at the second portcomm there. The red one. The one he had found on the arachtaur spy.

The twins' words echoed through his mind. Call the empress yourself.

Was this, here in his hand, a portal to the empress of Arakavish?

* * * * *

For a long time, King stood in his office. The red portcomm sat on his heavy oak desk. He stared at it. It seemed to stare back.

The portcom he had seized from the spy. A portcom to Empress Elder'rah.

King considered his options. A portcom opened a tiny portal between two points anywhere in the galaxy. If this portcom truly connected to the empress—that was an opportunity. When King had spoken to the twins, he had smelled them. Air traveled through portcoms. He seriously considered getting poison gas, opening the portal, and blowing it through. He could kill Elder'rah where she lurked.

Ultimately he decided against it. If he had thought of this idea, Elder'rah would have too. She would have prepared for it, installing some filter to detect and block poisons. And even if he could poison Elder'rah, another would rise to replace her. The war would continue. The way to stop Arakavish was to crush their planet, destroy their army, beat them to submission.

But there was one other thing he could do.

He could talk to her.

He could do the unthinkable. Attempt to negotiate with the empress of spiders.

At this point, the notion seemed silly. Earth and Arakavish had been fighting for years. Millions lay dead on both sides. Tens of millions. Entire cities had been destroyed. Now—after all this death, all this pain—now he wanted to negotiate? Ridiculous!

And yet … he had never had this opportunity. In all these years, humans could never reach the empress.

If he proceeded with his plan, if he attacked Arakavish, millions more would die. Even if humanity won. Earth would not win this war without further sacrifice. Without millions of families losing their loved ones.

He owed it to them to try. Before he sent armies to attack an alien empire—he had to give negotiations this faint chance. He had to seize this sliver of hope. He was not naive. He knew Elder'rah was a killer. A tyrant. A butcher. This sliver of hope was so thin he could barely see it.

But goddammit, he had to try.

Of course, all this assumed the red portcom actually did connect to Elder'rah herself, as the twins had claimed, and not to some underling. Only one way to find out.

He lifted the red portcom, and he switched it on.

* * * * *

The portcom thrummed in his hand. There were no flashing lights, no beeping alarm. But King knew it worked. He was connected to Arakavish.

A foul miasma flowed into his cabin. Hot air. Rancid air. Air that smelled like the musty pages of rotten books, overgrown with mold and mushrooms. Air that smelled like bodies left to decay in a dungeon. Dust fluttered into the room. Not dust like the kind the drones cleaned aboard the Freedom. This was something thicker, coarser. Dust like flaking skin of a corpse.

A low clattering sounded through the portal. A hissing breath. A creaking like the stiff joints of dead men rising from the grave.

Then—a voice. A voice of clicks and groans. The tongue of rahs.

King's MindLink automatically translated. The software always tried to match the speaker's actual voice and tone, even when it came from an alien. The voice in King's mind was scratchy, jarring, a voice like pale feet scraping across the floor of an insane asylum. An old voice. A crone's voice. It was the primordial hissing of long-buried evil rising again like tar.

"What do you wish to tell me, old ape?"

There was no doubt in King's mind. This was the voice of Empress Elder'rah.

He clutched the portcom, raising it to his lips, and his eye twitched again. "We found your mutilated spy, Elder'rah. I killed him myself. This is Admiral James King you speak—"

"I know who I speak to, ape," hissed Elder'rah. "I know you killed that pathetic wretch who languished aboard your ship. The only thing that surprised me is how long it took you to call me." A dry, brittle laugh. "You are the one who is mutilated. Your hand. Your soul. Both are deformed."

"I did not call to swap insults like children," King said.

"You are all children to me, mutilated one." The empress cackled. "So brief your lives! For a million of your Earth years, I have reigned. I ruled over Arakavish while your simian ancestors were still swinging from trees. I oversaw campaigns of conquest when your wretched forebears cowered in caves, fearing every drop of rain. Do not speak to me of children. Your very race is but a maggot newly hatched from the egg. You are a parasite on this galaxy, humans. And I will crush you."

"Yes, I do feel that my life is rather short while you rant on," King said. "Enough of this. Elder'rah, for four Earth years now—maybe a brief time for you, not so for us—you've tried to conquer Earth. Again and again, we repelled you. This is one world you will never conquer. So you fear us. We know this. We know you hide in your cave, we know you surround yourself with armies, we know the terror humans strike in your heart. And you know our power. If you have any care for the lives of your fellow rahs—and for your own life—let us speak about how we can end this killing."

The ancient spider laughed again. "Is that why you called me? To beg for mercy?"

"Maybe the concept of peace is foreign to you," King said. "Clearly mercy is too. But these concepts are important to humanity. Maybe you can learn them from us. Here is the deal I offer you. You do not touch Earth. You keep away from our entire solar system. And we will not trouble your empire. I assure you, if you reject this offer, we can trouble you quite a bit."

"Ha! Threats! Threats are the arrows of the weak. The strong do not threaten. They act."

King sneered. "First you sling insults, now platitudes. Negotiate with me then, dammit. What do you want from us?"

"Only one thing," Elder'rah hissed. "Your utter annihilation."

A slender white claw reached through the portcom.

King gasped.

It was so shocking he dropped the device onto the deck.

The claw emerged like a snake from a den. It scraped the wooden deck. For a moment, King could only watch with morbid fascination. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, an entire spider leg thrust out the portal. It was not like the leg of a rah or arachtaur, thick and black and gleaming. This digit was far smaller, no longer than King's forearm and no wider than his pinky finger. It reminded him of a long feather stripped down to the quill.

"What the hell?" he said.

Suddenly it looked to him less like a spider's leg, more like the knobby finger of some desiccated clown, withered down to barely more than bones, and the sharp tip seemed like a fingernail, cracked and dirty, scratching the floor. Somewhere back in Arakavish lurked the body of this creature. Here in his cabin, only that lumpy, long organ emerged from the small portcom.

The leg was moving around in circles, and King understood what it was doing. It was widening the portal. The portcom expanded, cracked, shattered, and another leg thrust through, stretching the gap like two fingers pulling open a wound. A sudden revulsion filled King, and he raised his boot, prepared to stomp the legs.

Then, with a wet gush and plop, with the suddenness of a baby's head emerging from the womb after long and difficult contractions, an entire spider burst from the portal.

The metal portcom shattered, but the portal itself remained, a blob of spacetime the size of a man's head, hovering in the chamber.

On the deck stood the strangest rah King had ever seen.

King had been fighting rahs for years. Most were the size of horses. Some—the queens—were more like elephants. This spider in his quarters was no larger than a cat. Her body was colorless. Instead of a hard carapace like warrior rahs, she had skin. Wrinkly skin, covered with liver spots and tufts of hair. Translucent skin, revealing hints of the withered black organs within. The eyes were vestigial, small and white like marbles of bone, sunken into nests of wrinkles. The creature reminded King of a naked mole rat. Aside from the number of legs, at least. This wretched, withered thing on his floor had eight.

The ancient spider looked up at him with those tiny bone-like eyeballs. A mouth like a slit in leather cracked open, revealing rows of teeth like needles. This was her. It could only be her. Elder'rah, empress of Arakavish, here in his quarters.

King drew his sidearm.

With blinding speed, Elder'rah raised her front legs. Like an arachtaur, she had spinnerets under her front limbs. She fired a web just as King placed his finger on the trigger.

He was too slow. She caught the gun in her web, yanked it from his hand, and hurled it across the room.

"You foolish ape!" Elder'rah hissed. "Did you really think I am so sloppy? I let you find my spy. I let you find his portal communicator. I knew you could not resist temptation. I knew you would open this portal for me. Right into your chambers. When you were alone. Vulnerable. You walked right into my web." A lumpy white tongue emerged to lick her lips. "It's been a very long time since I've hunted prey."

The wrinkly spider lunged at him.

King tossed a punch. But the spider slung a web at the ceiling, swung on the strand, and dodged his fist. The empress plowed into him like a wrecking ball. For an alien so small, she had incredible strength. King fell back a step, pain blazing across his solar plexus. He gasped for air.

Elder'rah landed on the wooden desk. She grinned, revealing those needlelike teeth. The tiny hairs on her moles bristled.

"We end this now, James King. I will devour every part of you and spit out your metal hand."

King didn't need to be a hero. There was no shame in calling for help. He loaded up MindPlay, prepared to call security.

But the neural operating system didn't load.

No hallucinatory windows floated before him. He couldn't see his list of contacts. Nothing!

That's when King noticed the rattling. He had heard it before, dismissed it as the sounds of Elder'rah's cracking joints. But now he noticed that the wizened spider had a stubby tail. It was no larger than his thumb. And like a rattlesnake's tail, it was vibrating.

Wisps of MindPlay materialized in the room—just fragments of windows and keyboards, barely there at all. Elder'rah rattled her tail louder, and the hallucinations vanished.

The old empress chuckled—a dry, hacking sound, more like a cough than actual laughter. "Yes, King. A signal disrupter. You will find that your comlinks do not work either. There is no help for you here. Only death."

King took two steps toward the door.

Elder'rah slung more webs. The sticky strands splattered across the door, covering the handle and frame. King would need to work with a knife and spatula for a while before opening that door again.

"You can try to flee like the mouse that you are, James King," hissed the empress. "It won't help you. You are mine."

Very well then. King would face her alone. He opened his metal fist, collecting pulsing energy on his palm, and fired.

Elder'rah leaped aside.

The funnel of invisible energy plowed into King's bookshelves, shattering them. Chips of wood and scraps of paper flew everywhere. Before King could react, Elder'rah leaped forward and slammed into him.

She had the force of a prizefighter's fist. She knocked him onto the deck.

King groaned and tried to shove her off. She scampered across him like an enraged wolverine, dodging his hands. Her claws slashed. Pain flared on his leg. His arm. His ribs. His uniform tore. Blood spilled. He screamed and tried to rise, but she shoved him down. The creature was so small but so powerful. She was the size of a house cat, but it felt like a tiger was savaging him.

"Donahue!" King cried out. But Corporal Donahue, the guard outside the door, would not hear. His cabin was designed to be soundproof, a necessity considering how many sensitive meetings he held here. He tried MindLink again, but Elder'rah's tail was still rattling, disrupting his telepathy. His gun was still out of reach.

Elder'rah laughed. "Look at you squirm! I do enjoy playing with my food. It has been so long. But I grow weary of your wretched moans already. Now it's time to feast."

Her jaws closed around his shoulder.

The needle teeth punctured his flesh.

King screamed.

Elder'rah's throat bobbed. She made greedy little gulping sounds. She was drinking his blood like a woman sucking the juice from an orange.

Lying on the deck, King gripped her with his metal fist. He tried to rip her off. But with a burst of cobwebs, she glued his gauntlet to the floor. An afterthought. She never even paused from feeding, and her teeth sank deeper. He pawed at her with his real hand. But she slammed a claw down, piercing his palm, nailing his hand onto the deck.

King bellowed.

He had faced rahs so large they would barely fit in this room. But this wrinkled, ancient creature, a thing smaller than his granddaughter, was killing him.

His head fell back.

He gazed up at the deckhead, eyes blurry, as the spider tore at his flesh.

The HVAC vent on his ceiling opened. A voice emerged from the duct.

"Leave him alone, you bug!"

"Stowy!" King gasped.

* * * * *

The young stowaway leaped from the vent.

No—not a stowaway anymore. A soldier. She no longer wore a ragged dress with many pockets. She wore an Alliance Fleet uniform. She carried no gun. She was training to become a mechanic, not a combat soldier. But today she was here to fight.

Her teeth were bared, her eyes alight. The private landed on the deck in a crouch and thrust something. A blade? No! A simple screwdriver. But Stowy thrust it with all her strength.

The screwdriver drove into Elder'rah, piercing her papery skin, then puncturing a black organ inside her. Through the translucent skin, King saw dark blood spread like ink inside the spider's abdomen.

The empress squealed. A terrible sound. Deafening. A sound so loud that the glass bottles on the desk shattered, and the model ships inside fell out. The bleeding spider fell off King, her legs twitching.

At once, a feral beast, Stowy leaped onto the spider, thrusting her screwdriver again and again.

King tried to rise, to help the girl, but cobwebs still bound his gauntlet to the deck. He tried to yank the cobwebs off, but his free hand—the real one—was bleeding profusely. He roared, pulling at his trapped wrist.

He could only watch, helpless, as Elder'rah thrust a claw into Stowy's belly.

It went in and out so quickly. Like a rapier moving at lightning speed. Like the needle of a sewing machine, almost too fast to see. King barely noticed. Even Stowy seemed confused. The girl froze, looked down at her belly, frowning.

Blood began pouring from her.

Stowy's face hardened.

She thrust her screwdriver again.

But this time she no longer had the element of surprise. Elder'rah swung one leg, knocking the screwdriver from the girl's grasp. Once more, moving nearly too fast for the eye to see, the spider thrust a claw. This time the entire leg—as slender as an antenna—sank into Stowy, then pulled back, slick with blood.

Stowy collapsed onto the deck.

With an anguished cry, King gave his trapped arm a great tug, ripping his prosthetic off the stump.

He lunged at Elder'rah.

The empress was wounded. Stowy's screwdriver had done real damage. The wretched spider was bleeding internally. King would finish her now.

The empress stared at him with her eight little eyes.

"We will meet again, ape."

She tossed cobwebs at him.

The webs slammed into King's chest with breathtaking force, knocking him down and sticking him onto the deck.

King howled and began ripping at the webs. Meanwhile, the wounded Elder'rah scampered toward the portal. The dark sphere still hung open in the center of the room. Bleeding from the screwdriver's wounds, Elder'rah leaped into the portal.

"No!" King cried.

But the portal swallowed her. Elder'rah vanished, leaving only her blood and stench. The portal closed.

She was gone.

To hell with her. King ripped the cobwebs off and crawled through blood toward Stowy.

* * * * *

She lay on the deck, her hands on her belly, her skin pale. Her brown hair clung to her forehead with sweat, and her eyes were glassy. Blood leaked between her fingers. Short, slender fingers. She was so small, barely larger than a child.

"S-sir?" she whispered. "D-did I … did I get her?"

With Elder'rah gone, King was able to pull MindWeb back up. He sent out a desperate telepathic message.

"Medics! Send medics to King's Library!"

Stowy began to tremble. "Sir, I'm so cold."

He placed his hand atop hers, trying to staunch the bleeding. His own hand was perforated. Their blood mingled together.

"Stowy, try not to speak," he whispered. "Help is on the way."

She smiled shakily. "Help is here. I came to help you, sir. I'm … your guardian, remember?"

"My guardian angel," he said, and his eyes dampened. Then he let out a weak laugh. "Stowy, I installed grates inside the ducts to stop you from sneaking into my quarters. How did you get in?" His tears fell.

Stowy looked into his eyes, still smiling, but her smile fluttered, and her skin was gray. "I just needed a screwdriver."

"Medics, where are you?" King telepathized. "Hurry."

He saw on MindWeb a schematic of the ship. He saw the medics rushing down the corridors. Still so far away.

"Sir, don't leave me," Stowy whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Sir, I'm scared." She was trembling again. Her tears flowed like her blood. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave this ship. I don't want to leave my family. Please keep me here. Please hold on to me."

He looked into her eyes. "Listen to me, Stowy. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here with you." His voice choked, and his tears splashed her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

She closed her eyes, and her smile became wistful. "Did I tell you about that time I became a mouse? I was crawling in the ducts, and …"

Her voice faded.

"Stowy?" He shook her. "Stowy! Stowy, wake up. Wake up, Stowy. Dammit, Stowy, wake up, that is an order!"

But her smile was frozen. Her eyes remained closed. Her body was so lightweight in his arms.

King lowered his head, and sobs racked his body.

When the medics finally burst through the door, ripping the cobwebs off the frame, they found King holding the girl against his chest. Her face was serene, and even in death, her lips smiled softly.

Gently King laid her down on the rug.

He rose to his feet and took a step back, and grief and fury blazed through him. He tossed back his head, and his rage erupted through him, a geyser, a volcano, and he howled.

"Elder'rah!" His voice rang through the cabin, the deck, the ship. "Damn you, Elder'rah! Damn you to hell!"

He stood there, panting. His prosthetic fist still lay on the deck. His other hand, a hole through the palm, clenched at his side, throbbing with agony.

More people burst into the cabin. Jordan was there. Bastian too. Emily entered, rushed toward Stowy, and cried out in anguish.

King turned to face his officers. He stared at them. His eye twitched. He felt the veins throb on his temples.

"We muster the fleet," he said. "We leave tonight. We end this war—once and for all. We end this!"

Medics began fussing over him, bandaging his wounds. He realized he was soaked with blood. King ignored them, ignored the pain. He stared at the center of his room. At the place where the portal had opened. The portcom had shattered, but King's ship had a massive portal generator built around the prow.

I'm coming for you, Elder'rah. You invaded my home. You murdered a soul I loved. Now I will destroy you.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was a time for war.

There would be no more negotiations. No more diplomacy. No more mercy.

It was time to attack Arakavish with everything they had—and end the wretched empire of spiders once and for all.

King stood on the bridge of the starship Freedom, staring ahead. His metal fist was reattached. His real hand was bandaged. Both were balled at his sides. He wore a fresh uniform, hiding the bandages, hiding the pain. He could see his reflection in the dark viewport. His face was hard, his eyes like chips of stone. He was every inch the soldier, a general on a mission.

But he hid more than bandages today. He hid grief.

So many lost. So many loved ones—gone.

King was still not over losing Oliver Darjeeling, one of his oldest, best friends. Not even close. And now this. Samantha Perry. The girl they called Stowy. A girl who was like a granddaughter to him.

King's upper lip twitched. But he shed no more tears. The hot fury roared over the icy grief.

I will avenge you, King silently vowed. All of you.

He refocused his eyes. Instead of staring at his reflection on the screen, he gazed at space. At the fleet that mustered there.

The might of the coalition had gathered, and it was a sight to behold. They called it the Coalition of Freedom. Katyusha grumbled a bit about the name. She called it Katyusha's Hammer. But she was the only one. The Coalition of Freedom was the mightiest alliance of free civilizations the galaxy had ever seen.

The Aeolians were here, of course. The first friendly species humanity had encountered. Not many Aeolians of the warrior caste remained. Only a few hundred. But each one commanded a starship. Their ships were craggy, rocky, looking to the world like asteroids. But asteroids could cause a lot of damage. Just ask the dinosaurs. And these asteroids were ready to plow through rah ships.

Speaking of dinosaurs . . .

Seven great Gothispheres loomed in space—the largest ships in the fleet. Built of stone, they looked like spherical cathedrals. They sprouted steeples in every direction like an urchin's spikes, and their rose windows shone with stained glass. Gargoyles perched around their gateways, watching for enemies. But those gargoyles, fearsome as they were, could not compare to the living warriors within. The Gothisaurs, great alien sauropods, were eager to stomp rahs beneath their mighty flat feet.

They were not the only spherical ships. Transparent globes floated in space like soap bubbles. Looking closer, one could see that these were terrariums. Soil filled their bottom halves, full of roots, crystals, fungus, and layers of nutrients. From the earth rose the great Kodamas—intelligent trees. Their trunks were shaped like DNA strands, coiling upward to a leafy canopy. Each globe contained an entire biosphere—not only trees but all the animals who lived within their branches. The Kodamas could not move, could not speak, could not manipulate tools, but their furry little familiars did their work, built their ships, spoke their words.

The firelings flew in ships like volcanoes about to erupt. Their hulls were made of basalt, and the lava bubbled within their portholes. Steam and smoke blasted from vents. They were floating pressure cookers full of aliens woven of flame. They needed to burn to live. The living trees gave them a wide berth. The firelings were hungry, but soon they would have many spiders to devour.

The Ximtarians normally lived in a virtual world. They had no bodies. They were consciousness within computers. But they had built a fleet to fight for what they called "base reality." Their ships looked like retro rockets from 1930s science fiction. Their hulls were painted in bright purples, reds, and yellows, adorned with flames, snarling mouths, and lightning bolts. Nobody could fault them for lacking style. There were no aliens inside, merely computer intelligence, but they were just as alive as anyone else here.

These were the species humanity had enlisted, flying out and rallying them from their hiding spots.

But others had come too, heeding the call of freedom.

There was a fleet of a million little starships, each no larger than a suitcase. The aliens inside looked like ants and weren't much bigger. Their ships were weak individually. But they could swarm in numbers and overwhelm their foes.

A race of intelligent mold flew here too. These aliens had no solid forms, no clear distinction between individual and colony. The mold was neon green, could split apart, rejoin, crawl, and think. Without brains or hands, the ooze built metal ships armed with deadly acid cannons. They were a nasty lot, if you asked King, but they hated the rahs with a passion. They could not wait to slime the spiders.

An aquatic, mollusk-like species had joined the fleet. Their ships were shaped like enormous nautilus shells, and their halls were full of water. While they lived in water, they rose onto land to lay their eggs, where the rahs preyed on them. Now these intelligent mollusks wanted revenge.

Finally came the largest species, as long as Gothisaurs but even more massive.

Whales.

Starwhales that flew among the stars.

They had no starships. No spacesuits. They swam through space like true whales through the oceans. Barbels grew around their mouths, tipped with luminous bulbs, and beads of light raced across their bodies. According to Selly, who knew of such beings, the starwhales fed upon solar wind like ocean whales on plankton. Sometimes, during mating season, they frolicked through nebulae and engorged themselves on the glowing dust of the universe.

They had weapons too. Human engineers had mounted cannons on their backs. And the whales were smart enough to aim, tap buttons with their barbels, and fire.

Humans.

The youngest species here. The babies of the bunch. A plucky species. Some would say warlike. Some would say savage. As a species, they were barely a million years old. Infants. They had been in space for only centuries. They had just taken their first breath, let out their first angry scream. But in this briefest of cosmic instants, this species of angry, aggressive apes had crawled off the trees, covered the land, and reached into space. Ignorant, foolish, too curious for their own good, they had stirred a nest of spiders.

And unlike thousands of species before them, they survived the resultant onslaught. The rahs struck them. And humans hit back.

And now humans would do something no other species had ever dreamed of. Not even the mighty Aeolians who had taken down many clawships.

Humans would hit Arakavish itself. Humans—these arrogant, barbarian upstarts, only a few generations removed from apes—would seek to topple the rah empire.

"Not alone," King said softly, gazing upon his fleet. "We are not alone. We are many. We are strong."

The human starships numbered seven thousand—many were fresh from the shipyards, but many like the Freedom were scarred old war dogs. Together with the aliens who had come, they were twenty thousand ships in all. The Coalition of Freedom. The greatest force for justice in the galaxy.

King turned toward his crew.

They stared at him. The survivors.

Larry "Phantom" Jordan, grief and loss in his eyes but steel too.

Gal "Spitfire" Levy, woven of fire and ice. A woman who was like a daughter to him.

Kim Fletcher. Brilliant engineer. Brave soldier. A woman King loved.

Mimori, the heart and soul of the Freedom.

Queen Emily, who had risen from ash to leadership. Tears were still damp on her cheeks, but her eyes had dried, and her lips were set in a hard, determined line. Queen. Symbol. Warrior.

Bastian and Alice. A son and daughter-in-law. King's love for them burned brighter and hotter than the mightiest nebula.

Many others stood with them. Officers and spacers. Pilots and gunners. Warriors all.

So many others were here in spirit. All those they had lost. Darjeeling. Pickles. Stowy. Thousands of fallen. They were here too. King could imagine their lights still shining, guiding him through the dark.

He spoke to his crew, and his words carried across the fleet to every starship, to every soldier—human and alien—who mustered here.

"It is a time for war. A time for death. A time for fire and crashing starships and raining ruin. It is a time to determine what kind of galaxy this will be. A galaxy of spiders … or a galaxy of hope. I cannot promise you an easy victory. The enemy is fierce, cruel, and capable. The rah ships outnumber ours, and they fight on their own turf. Do not underestimate them. But do not also underestimate your own strength. Do not doubt your courage. I don't doubt it. I've seen this courage in battle. I've seen it shine through the darkness of death and despair. The promised land awaits us, a galaxy where species are free to explore, to trade, to share knowledge, to light the darkness between the stars with the light of life. To reach this promised land, we must pass through the fire. I call this Operation Pillar of Fire, for the children of Israel followed a pillar of fire through the desert to reach Zion. Fly with me through this desert to the good land that awaits beyond. Fly with me, free species of the galaxy! Fly with me for our hope, for our homes, and for freedom!"

Jordan raised his fist. "For freedom!"

They all raised their fists into the air, and their voices echoed across the fleet. "For freedom!"

King nodded. "Mimori? Prime our engines."

"Yes, sir!"

The ship began to vibrate as the great Talaria drives roared to life.

"Colonel Fletcher?" He turned toward Kim.

"Sir?" she said. She stood straight, chin raised, a professional soldier ready for battle. But in her eyes, beneath the steel of determination, King saw the warm and soft love she held for him, and that gave him strength.

"Fire up our portal generator. It's time to fly."

She gave him the slightest of smiles. Just for him. "Aye, sir."

MindWeb monitors materialized around her, showing schematics of the Freedom's various systems. The engines were turning brighter blue. The portal generator was a great, circular ring like a Ferris wheel, surrounding the prow. Kim tapped buttons, diverted power from here to there, and typed in the right commands. The portal generator began to spin, slowly at first, then moving faster and faster, weaving spacetime into a funnel.

Around the fleet floated a hundred more portal generators, similar to the one around Freedom's prow. These ones were not attached to starships but to great floating reactors. The rectors began to shine, pumping energy into the portals. The rings began to spin.

More portals to Arakavish were opening.

"Sir, our engines are primed," Mimori said.

Kim moved her schematics aside and looked at King. "Sir, our portal is formed."

King stared ahead. He saw it there. A blob of warped spacetime. A portal to hell.

This would be their final battle, King knew. Humanity would emerge victorious—or they would all perish in the webs of the spiders. One way or another, this was the last battle of the war.

He raised his metal fist.

"Fly!"

Freedom rumbled forth. Operation Pillar of Fire began.

* * * * *

Freedom led the charge.

She was the first through a portal. The first to appear in Arakavish.

Soon the other ships would come. But right then, for a terrible moment of terror, Freedom flew alone in the alien star system.

Alone she faced the might of Arakavish.

There had never been an empire like Arakavish in the Milky Way galaxy. Maybe there never would be again. Empress Elder'rah spread her web across the spiral arm. Thousands of worlds had fallen under her dominion, their lights fading under her silky gossamer. All these worlds were like prey trapped in cobwebs, cocooned and kept as flesh for feeding.

But now one of these poor, struggling prey animals had broken free.

One struck back.

The Freedom had ripped off the cobwebs. And she had come to exact her vengeance.

Planet Arakavish, the heart of the empire, rose in the distance. The dreadnought could not open her portal too close. Not to such a large planet, and Arakavish was larger than Jupiter. Its gravity would tear a portal apart. The Freedom had emerged far from this terrible world, but Arakavish was so large, so mighty, that even from this distance she pummeled Freedom with waves of radiation and electromagnetism. The dreadnought's shields flared. The planet itself seemed a malevolent being, lashing them with its wrath.

Around the planet, like hornets around a hive, swarmed the enemy fleet.

Hundreds of thousands of ships flew here. Maybe millions. More than King had expected. More than their intelligence had predicted.

For a second, staring at the enemies ahead, King could not breathe. The terror seized him.

Time seemed to freeze. As if time itself were paralyzed with fear.

Clawships flew around Arakavish, more than King had ever seen. Many of them were larger than Freedom. Many other species had come to fight for Arakavish. As humanity had gathered allies, so had Elder'rah. The auxiliary forces of her empire mustered here. Ships shaped like scorpions snapped pincers large enough to slice a frigate in two. Fungal pods floated like spores, cracks in their hulls revealing molten, organic stew within. Some ships were shaped like unyielding obelisks—towering black shards, sucking in all light, gazing down from above like black-clad judges on pulpits. Other ships were like great, mechanical birds with snapping beaks full of steel teeth. Other ships were enormous bear traps, machines so large they could bite chunks out of worlds. Organic, lumpy ships lumbered around the planet. They looked like organs, and they sprouted tufts of hair and warts, and valves thrust out from their skin like puckered lips, leaking acid. Perhaps some strange aliens built ships from skin, flesh, and bone, or perhaps these flying blobs were the aliens themselves, some nightmarish counterpart to starwhales, floating freely in the void.

King and his crew stood on the bridge, taking this all in.

Hell.

They were gazing at hell.

At least King didn't see the arachships, the spider-shaped dreadnoughts of the arachtaurs. Good. The hybrids were keeping their part of the deal.

You better be ready to lower that planetary shield, twins, King thought.

Beyond the enemy fleets it loomed. Planet Arakavish. The well of evil in the galaxy. A huge planet, almost large enough to become a star. A planet with a dry, dead surface and tunnels that wound through its underground, leading to the lair of the empress. The planet they must destroy.

The Fist of Freedom, the fabled railgun of this ship, could not destroy Arakavish. Even that legendary weapon, which could blow up dreadnoughts with a single blow, would leave but a pockmark on Arakavish. But deep inside her hull, the Freedom carried an even-greater weapon. A doomsday weapon.

A barrel full of antimatter.

They must break through the fleet surrounding Arakavish. The foul twins Romulas and Rema must lower the shields. The Freedom Brigade must plunge into the tunnels and plant the doomsday weapon there.

The antimatter would spread like poison through an ant hive. Tunnels would collapse. Billions of rahs would die. And the war would be won.

That was the plan.

Now, facing the massive swarm, King felt that it was futile. That Arakavish was too strong. That he had been a fool.

The enemy noticed them.

Spiky prows turned their way.

Time resumed its flow. Within only seconds of Freedom emerging from the portal, the swarm of enemy ships opened fire.

Thousands of missiles, plasma bolts, blobs of acid, photon blasts, and spinning blades flew at Freedom. Far too much for the Shields of David system to intercept.

Death was flying toward the ship.

And then a hundred other portals opened around the Freedom, and the warships of the Coalition of Freedom came pouring out, all guns blazing.

"Interceptors, fire!" King shouted. "Come on, move it, soldiers! Don't you know this is a war?"

Major Kaplan, head of the Shield of David team, typed madly on his controls. Dozens of slender missiles flew from the Freedom. In midflight, the missiles chose the most dangerous targets and raced toward them. Several enemy torpedoes exploded. Shock waves blasted out, rippling across space and rattling the Freedom. All around, the other Coalition forces were firing their own barrages, taking out enemy projectiles.

"What are you doing defending yourselves?" rose a shout from above. "Attack, attack! With Katyusha! Charge!"

The Rasputin streaked overhead, a ship even larger than the Freedom. Her hull was crimson and trimmed with gold, and her brass cannons boomed. As she raced by, King caught a glimpse of Katyusha on MindWeb. The Red Dawn premier stood on her bridge, eyes alight, pointing her saber forward like some ancient general leading a cavalry charge.

More enemy ships were turning toward the attackers. The Coalition had caught them by surprise, but they were forming their lines quickly. Thousands more clawships left Arakavish's orbit and came charging toward the Coalition ships. Their bladed prows bloomed open, spewing jets of plasma. Katyusha laughed as she flew at them. For a moment, the Rasputin was putting everyone else to shame.

But only for a moment.

"Forward!" King cried. "Attack formations and break through their lines. Damn the plasma! Full speed ahead!"

"For freedom!" Spitfire cried.

The Freedom's engines blazed with light.

The dreadnought charged.

Behind the Freedom, a hundred Coalition ships joined the rampage. Then a thousand. And more kept emerging. Their cannons boomed. Missiles slammed into clawships, knocking them back. Laser beams carved through enemy hulls, and spiders spilled into space.

The Rosehip, an English frigate, exploded.

Plasma washed over the Blue Bandura, a Ukrainian corvette, melting the hull.

Spinning blades the size of city blocks sliced through the Tiandeng, a Chinese dreadnought.

"Charge!" King cried.

The Freedom's engines burned hotter. Thousands of ships raced behind her. More ships kept emerging from the portal. Human ships. Alien ships. All formed spearhead formations. All fired their cannons.

Another frigate exploded.

The Paul Bunyan, an American starfighter carrier, tore apart and burned up.

The White Rhino, a Kenyan warship, collapsed.

A blast hit the Freedom's prow. Alarms wailed. The shields flickered but held. Another bolt slammed into them. Flames raced across the hull, but the armored plates protected them. The Freedom flew onward.

All around, thousands of humans were dying. Every second, the death count climbed. But not one ship turned back. Not one captain fled. Not one spacer lost his or her courage.

"For freedom!" they cried, charging into the fire.

Freedom's cannons boomed. The great Angels of Liberty fired torpedoes laden with nuclear warheads. Warclaws shattered before them. Shrapnel blazed against Freedom's shields, and the dreadnought kept flying through the wreckage.

Arakavish loomed ahead. The Coalition of Freedom plowed into the enemy forces with explosions of fire and shattering metal. The galaxy thundered. Spacetime trembled. King kept his eyes on target. The planet ahead.

"For freedom!" they all cried.

And King was thinking of a young girl dying in his arms. Of brave Stowy smiling at him as she died. He fought for freedom. But he also fought for her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Queen Emily was facing not only an alien empire this night. She was also battling the all-consuming, overwhelming grief.

She was gone.

Stowy was gone.

It was impossible. It could not be true. She had just talked to the girl that morning! Emily had brushed the girl's hair, played marbles with her, listened to her tall tales about talking mice and flea circuses. How could she be gone?

Stowy had always seemed like some fairy creature, existing beyond the mere plane of mortality. A sort of Thumbelina or Pippi Longstocking or Peter Pan, a being of myth that was kind enough to visit Emily now and then. It seemed unreal, unfair, unthinkable that this fantasy sprite should be dead.

Tonight Emily must put aside that grief, as terrible as it was. She must ignore the emptiness inside her. The claws of loss that clutched her throat. She must shed no tears, let out no sobs, not tremble nor weep.

Tonight she must fight.

She fought for Earth. She fought for Britain. She fought for this ship that she loved. And she fought for her. For Stowy, her best friend. A fairy plucked from the garden like just another rose.

The young queen pulled the joysticks. The great mecha stomped across the gunnery deck.

Emily was strapped into the cockpit—a little chamber inside the mecha's chest, just large enough for a seat, several joysticks, and pedals. From here, she operated Kronos, this titan of metal. The mecha looked like an old yellow tractor in the shape of a man. His mighty feet shook the deck with every step. In his hydraulic arms, he held a Maccabee torpedo. The torpedo was the length of a bus, but the mecha carried the load with ease.

"Hurry, come on, come on!" shouted Major Kira Locket, new commander of the artillery deck. She had replaced Major Hook, who had died last year in battle. The petite woman was confined to a wheelchair. The rahs had taken her legs, ending her career as a marine officer. So now she oversaw the Pandora, a cannon the size of a skyscraper.

Emily nodded. "Yes, ma'am!"

She pressed down on the pedals, and Kronos ran, shaking the deck. Emily pulled the joysticks. The mecha knelt, loading the Maccabee into the launching tube. There were fourteen Angels of Liberty aboard the Freedom. From this deck, they operated one of these legendary cannons.

Viewports showed the enemy ships outside.

Emily had been fighting this war for four years now. She had fought many battles. But she had never seen anything like this. Hundreds of thousands of starships filled space outside. Maybe millions. They were everywhere. She didn't even have to aim. She just pushed down the lever and fired.

This is for you, Stowy.

In her memory, the girl smiled.

The Maccabee flew out. The enemies fired plasma bolts, trying to intercept the torpedoes, but the Maccabee swerved around them, zigzagged through streams of fire, and slammed into a warclaw—one of the largest classes of enemy clawships. The great, spiky warship tore apart. Blades the size of redwoods flew every which way. Dead spiders spilled into space, still alive and twitching, only for Alliance starfighters to whirl around them, pounding them with bullets. Normally Emily would be cheering right now. The entire gunnery crew would be. Not tonight. Tonight even destroying a warclaw seemed like just a drop in the ocean.

"Again—load, move, move!" Major Locket shouted.

Emily was racing back toward the pile of Maccabees when a plasma bolt slammed into Freedom.

The deck shook.

Alarms wailed.

The mecha swayed and nearly fell. Emily jostled the joysticks, keeping the machine upright.

"Come on, load!" Locket cried.

Stowy twirled around in memory—a ghost, a hint of color, her many pockets dancing like confetti as her dress spun around her.

Emily grabbed another torpedo, loaded it, fired again.

She was sitting with Stowy under a blanket, holding a flashlight, reading a book about dinosaurs. Stowy let out a roar and Emily laughed.

Another blast hit the Freedom.

This time Kronos did fall. The mecha slammed onto the deck, denting the diamond plate steel. Emily cried out in pain, worked the joysticks, and the great mecha rose again. Boom after boom shook the dreadnought. The shields kept flickering. One bolt melted an armored plate. Screaming sounded from deeper in the ship.

Stowy smiled in a haze, her eyes bright, the sunlight on her hair.

Emily loaded another torpedo, and now she could not stop her tears. Now she was weeping. But she fought on. She kept firing, kept bombarding the enemies, kept destroying clawships, but she could burn down this entire star system and it would not bring back her friend.

But I will burn it down nonetheless, Emily vowed. For Stowy. For my parents. For the millions of people that they killed. I will make sure that they can never kill again.

The rage seared dry her tears, and she fired Pandora, and the Freedom kept charging forth through the storm.

* * * * *

Spitfire flew out in her Eagle.

She was a bridge officer now. She was not meant to still fly a starfighter. But this was the last battle of the war. They all knew it. If she died tonight, let her die in the cockpit. Let her die as she had lived. A pilot.

Her brothers and sisters flew around her. Katana raced to her right in her starfighter. Trash Panda flew to her left. Snoopy flew just behind. Two hundred others—her flock, her family. They charged together at the enemy.

And with them, Spitfire knew, flew all those who had fallen. Pickles was here with her. So were Meatball and Curly and Honey Badger and all the other fallen pilots.

So was her father.

She could feel them here, flying to this last battle.

Spitfire then realized that she had trained for this day, had fought all her life to get here. All the terror, the loss, the grief, the triumph—that treacherous path had led her here to this star system so far from home. Here to this battle to end all battles. Here to this desert in the dark. Spitfire did not know if she would reach the promised land. But she would fight until she saw Zion or she would die in the hot sand.

The enemy motherships released their starfighters.

Clawfighters swarmed forth, their bladed prows pointing the way. But many alien starfighters joined them. Fleshy starfighters the size of killer whales, their snapping jaws full of teeth. Fungal starfighters with pulsing vents that leaked acid. Starfighters shaped like spinning saw blades and scorpions with cannons on their stingers. Countless such horrors rose like a tidal wave from hell.

Against this horror, Freedom's Flock flew alone.

But they were not alone for long.

Hundreds of Coalition motherships unleashed their starfighters.

Alliance Eagles, Falcons, and Hawks came to fly around Spitfire and her pilots. Hundreds of them. The Red Dawn dreadnoughts disgorged their Sickle fighters—sleek, deadly starfighters that were rivals to Eagles. Aeolians—brave, honorable Aeolians—rolled forth in hollow asteroids the size of houses. The firelings blazed forth in jagged shards of basalt full of flame. The Ximtarians streaked to battle, flying starfighters painted with snarling jaws and wrathful eyes. They reminded Spitfire of her namesake—the spitfire plane that flew in World War II. Even the Gothisaurs contributed. They sent forth drones shaped like smaller versions of their great Gothispheres. The dinosaurs themselves were too large to fit inside, but they controlled the small vessels from their cavernous bridges.

Thousands of Coalition starfighters—united. Spitfire was not alone.

For a moment—silence.

As the great, lumbering motherships battled across the vast distances of space, the smaller starfighters raced closer, closer, closer to each other. They were like two cavalry charges about to crash.

"Be with me, Father," Spitfire whispered.

The two fleets slammed together.

Starfighters exploded.

The avatars of friends went dark.

Spitfire let instincts take over. She fired her missiles and bullets at these demons risen from hell. The blobby, fleshy, and metallic monsters surrounded her. She hopscotched, risking death to leap over snapping metal jaws, then bombarded a fungal growth the size of an elephant. She streaked over a scorpion-shaped terror, flipped around, and filled its exhaust with bullets.

Above and below lumbered the motherships, great storm clouds around the battle, thundering and sending forth torpedoes like lightning. The entire galaxy seemed to burn.

* * * * *

Space battles were good and fine, and pilots were nice to have. But Colonel Bastian King, commander of the Freedom Brigade, knew it would be marines who won this war.

He stood in the Courtyard, the vast deck where the Freebies mustered. The full brigade was here today, five thousand soldiers. All were ready for war.

They stood in battalions, companies, platoons, squads, and fireteams. All wore battle armor. All carried heavy weapons. It was the best fighting force in the galaxy, if you asked Bastian. And they must save the galaxy.

A blast hit the Freedom. The ship shook. The marines swayed but stayed standing. Another blast. Metal creaked. Engines screamed. The Angels of Liberty boomed, shaking the bulkheads. A great battle was blazing all around them, but the marines faced a battle of their own.

"Marines!" Bastian cried, his voice echoing through the cavernous deck. "The Freedom is fighting her way toward Arakavish."

Bastian pointed above, then summoned a hallucination of the planet. The rocky world floated above the marines like a hot-air balloon. Smaller hallucinations showed the Coalition fleet carving through the enemy lines, moving closer to the planet. The hallucination also showed the shield around Arakavish—a shimmering red grid. Everyone stared at the hallucinatory tableau.

Bastian continued speaking. "Once we're closer, and once the shield around Arakavish is disabled, it's our turn. Arakavish is full of tunnels. Millions of miles of them." The hallucination showed a labyrinth twisting and curling through the great planet. "We don't know exactly where Empress Elder'rah is lurking. And we don't need to know. We just need to deliver Big Boy a mile deep, set the timer, and the bomb will do the rest."

He gestured at the bomb. Big Boy was about the size of an old Rolls Royce, mounted on graviton plates for easy transport. The bomb hovered over the deck, painted with yellow warning signs.

"Big Boy is the most powerful bomb humans have ever built," Bastian said. "It's a billion times more powerful than the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. This is a bomb powerful enough to collapse every tunnel on Arakavish. Hell, it might even blow the entire planet up. We don't know. We've never tested such a weapon. Big Boy is full of highly compressed, extremely dense antimatter. A doomsday weapon. That's right, boys and girls, we're standing next to a bomb that could blow up a planet."

A few marines paled. Others cringed. Most remained grim. They had faced so many horrors over the past few years even this terror could not faze them.

"Sir?" A marine raised his hand. "You said the shield around Arakavish must be disabled. How, sir?"

Alice interjected. "Don't you worry about that, marine. We have a team on that job. We're the grunts. Our job is to blast down there and blow shit up." She raised her fist. "Boom!"

Bastian turned toward his wife. At once, he felt better. Standing six feet tall, wearing battle armor and carrying enough firepower to conquer small nations, Master Sergeant Alice Allenby-King was a sight to behold. Bastian could think of no better soldier to fight at his side. But to him, she was more than that. She was a wife. She was a mother to his children. In her blue eyes, he saw fierceness, but he also saw a woman who could be soft, kind, loving.

The rahs, of course, would see no love in her. Alice was hell-bent on killing as many of the bugs as she could. She winked and blew him a kiss, but he saw the fear in her eyes.

He sent her a telepathic message. "This will all be over soon. We'll be back home in no time."

Her eyes dampened. She turned her head away from the troops. "I miss the kids so much."

Bastian did too. Rowan and Oli were back on Earth, staying with Alice's aunt. Nine years old, Rowan had spent half her life aboard the Freedom, surviving many battles. Oliver was only one, and he had lived that full year aboard. A warship was no place for children, but for a long time, Bastian and Alice had kept their children here. But not for this battle. This battle was too dangerous. Bastian missed his kids so much it hurt. He could not wait to see them again. And he knew there was a good chance he would not.

"We'll survive for them," Alice telepathized. "We'll come home for them."

"We'll win this war for them," Bastian said. And he knew that if he must, even with two little kids at home, he would give his life to win this war. Winning was even more important than coming home.

He checked the map of the battle. It was being updated in real time. And things were happening fast.

Many starships had fallen. Every moment, another ship exploded, its icon disappearing from the hallucination. With every icon gone—more lives were lost. Thousands of lives. Spacers were sacrificing themselves for Earth. Staring at the battle was terrifying. But the Coalition was still moving forward. Together, they kept re-forming their lines, carving through the enemy. The Freedom led them. They moved closer and closer through the enemy fleets, plowing through hell toward Arakavish.

It was almost time.

"Marines!" Bastian cried. "It's time to win this war. Into the Rhinos! Go!"

Circular hatches opened on the deck, one per platoon, leading to the hangar bay below. The marines slid down poles like firemen. The Rhino dropships awaited. Big, lumbering machines, covered in heavy armored plates. A Rhino could fly through space, drop through air, and rumble forward on treadmill tracks. The Aeolians had equipped the Rhino prows with diamond-encrusted drills. The Rhinos could now dig like groundhogs.

The mission was simple. Fly down to Arakavish. Burrow deep underground. And plant that bomb.

The marines raced up ramps into their Rhinos. There were no chairs. Once inside, they stood in position, and harnesses rose from the deck and clamped around them like steel rib cages. Nobody ever claimed Rhinos were built for comfort.

Bastian and Alice raced toward the Karkadann, a specially modified Rhino. They pushed Big Boy into the armored hull. The bomb weighed several tons, but the graviton plates kept it elevated. No platoon of marines would fly in this Rhino. Only Bastian, Alice, and a handful of specialists. They were riding with the beast.

Another boom shook the Freedom. Still inside the hangar, the Rhino swayed. Big Boy nearly fell off its levitating panel, and Bastian caught his breath.

When the deck steadied, he strapped himself into the harness and checked the battle maps.

They were getting close. Almost at Arakavish.

He thought of Rowan's smile.

He thought of little Oli taking his first steps, saying, "Dada!"

His eyes dampened—for just a moment. Then Bastian pursed his lips and focused on the task ahead. He must save the world. For the fallen. For the living. And for two kids he loved more than anything.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

King stood on the bridge, plowing through the fires of hell, and all around him space burned and blazed and danced with shattered metal and cascading fire.

Half the fleet had fallen.

Half the fleet. Gone. Within only a few hours.

Thousands of ships. Aboard each one—a crew. Not only human ships. Ships containing brave, intelligent, marvelous aliens.

So many lives—wiped out. Tens of thousands of lives. Maybe a hundred thousand or more. Gone.

This was not just a battle. This was genocide.

But they were almost there.

They were getting close.

King's upper lip rose in a snarl, and his metal fist clicked.

By God, we are going to win this thing.

Arakavish was close. So close it dominated the viewport. The Coalition fleet had organized into a powerful spear formation, plowing through the vastly larger Arakavish Armada. They were taking heavy losses, yes, but they were advancing. Myriads of soldiers under King's command were giving their lives so that the survivors could complete the mission. He vowed not to let them down.

Enormous ships floated ahead, the fleet of some unknown alien civilization—mercenaries of the rahs. Their hulls were like barred cages full of spinning gears and blades. Black tentacles grew between the bars, dangling like the tendrils of some diseased plant.

Those hideous tendrils rose and hurled tarry globs. The Freedom fired her interceptors, but a glob hit her prow. The ooze began eating through the armored plates, working its way through the thick hull.

Hatches opened and drones raced out. The little machines bustled across Freedom's outer hull, scraping off the goo. It burned them. The drones let out little "owww!" noises as their arms melted. But they kept working, cleaning off the tar, sacrificing themselves to save Freedom.

More tarry globs hit other ships. Their shields were thinner, and they had no cleaner drones. Their hulls peeled open, exposing their insides. Spacers spilled into the vacuum.

The Freedom fired her cannons. A thousand warships around her fired too. The enemy ships shattered, leaking the tarry material across space. The black goo coated human starships, eating through metal, flowing through decks, destroying all in their path. The tar washed over one starwhale, and the great animal bellowed. Its skin, which could withstand the rigors of space, peeled off, and the tar keep eating the whale, working through muscle and bone.

Mimori pursed her lips, leaned back, and the Freedom soared high over the tar spills. The ship kept racing onward, blasting her way closer to Arakavish.

The scorpion ships awaited there. They charged to battle, firing photon bolts from their stingers. A blast slammed into an Aeolian asteroid, cleaving it in two like a geode, exposing the crystalline innards. Another barrage hit a Kodama terrarium. The transparent hull shattered, and the great Kodama—a tree the size of a skyscraper—fell into space, only for a clawship to ram into it, unzipping the helix roots. An enemy ship loomed, shaped like a bear trap the size of a football stadium. The great metal jaws snapped shut around a fireling ship, shattering the basalt hull. The flaming serpents spilled into space and went dark, revealing slender black spines.

Through the carnage, the survivors kept flying. And there it was. There—right ahead.

Arakavish.

There, only seconds away—the black heart of evil that pulsed in the center of the galaxy. A heart? More like a tumor. And King would cut it out.

The shield shimmered around the planet, a red matrix.

King stared at it. Electricity seemed to pulse through him. There it was, just a short distance away. The end of this war. It was Berlin as the Soviets swept through the bloody snow. It was Waterloo as the Seventh Coalition surrounded La Grande Armée. It was Mars as a much-younger King, long before his bones began to ache, charged over the red dunes.

The Rasputin, flagship of the Red Dawn, rumbled up close. Katyusha's avatar materialized on Freedom's bridge. Freedom's force field was configured to block portals opening directly into the ship—partly to block aliens, partly to block Katyusha. But the damn woman still had access to MindWeb, causing King to hallucinate her here. Her eyes were alight. Her naval cap had fallen off, and ash and blood stained her red uniform, but she still held her saber high.

"There it is, James King!" she cried. "Glory! Triumph! Victory!"

King saw the madness in her eyes, the lust for war, the craving of glory. And he recognized those feelings in himself too. Seeing them in Katyusha made him realize what was important. Not glory or triumph. But peace. Peace for his grandchildren. Peace for Stowy who was here in spirit. Peace for Earth. The promised land was not a place where warriors strutted with medals on their chests, preening and boasting of victory. It was a place where children laughed. Where mothers nursed their babies. Where men became poets, sculptors, and thinkers, not warriors. It lay behind this rocky planet ahead.

So let me be that warrior, King thought. Let me be a man who in future years is but a relic. Let me suffer so that others may be joyful. Let me be a killer so that others can be healers.

More ships gathered around the Freedom. Human ships from every nation. Right now it didn't matter if they were American, Russian, or from any other country. Right now all that mattered was that they were human.

Alien ships joined them at the vanguard. A Gothisphere, half of its stonework blasted away, the sauropods inside piloting the ruins. Basalt ships, cracked and dented and barely flying, full of living fire. A Kodama sphere, firing beams of light through its glassy hull. Aeolian asteroids and Ximtari rockets. A pod of starwhales, cannons hot on their backs. Aliens, all of them, but right now they too were on the same team. They were all free. They were all fighting against the evil empire of Elder'rah. The only divisions now were not between religion, race, even species. They were between those who fought for freedom and those who fought for tyranny.

A few clawships flew at them. The Coalition fired their cannons, destroying them, clearing their way to Arakavish—to victory or death upon the unforgiving planet of spiders.

* * * * *

King picked up his portcom. The blue one. He had given the matching portcom—a metallic cylinder the size of a man's thumb—to the twins.

He tapped a button. A tiny portal opened inside the device. Hot, foul air emerged, flowing over King.

"Romulas!" he said. "Rema! It's time. Lower the shields around Arakavish!"

Nothing.

No response through the portal. Only breathing. Hissing.

The fleet flew closer to Arakavish. They were only moments away now. The enemy was regrouping, bombarding the Coalition's flanks. A frigate exploded, killing three hundred spacers. A corvette burned. Another fifty humans—dead.

King sneered. "Twins, lower the shields! Do you hear me, goddammit?"

The hissing and breathing grew louder through the portal. The stench of their putrid flesh flowed from the portal. Then came a shrill laugh.

"We hear you, human." It was Rema. Glee filled her screechy voice like chocolate syrup drizzled over shattered glass. "Soon I will eat your skin."

King sneered. He gripped the portcom so tightly it cracked. "Romulas, dammit, lower those shields if you want Mars!"

The male twin's voice came through the portal, deeper and just as amused. "Mars will be ours, Admiral. And Earth. The glorious empress has matched your offer—and raised it. Goodbye, James King."

The portcom shattered in King's hand.

The call was over.

"Bridge!" Kim cried from engineering, her voice carrying over MindWeb. "Our portal detector is going wild!"

"Where are portals opening?" King said, terror flooding him. The portal detector, an invention of Kim's, only gave them a seven-second warning.

"Everywhere!" she said. "Behind us, above, below—Jim, they're everywhere!"

"All ships, prepare to defend our flanks and rear!" King said, broadcasting his words to the entire fleet. "Prepare for incoming enemies!"

Then he saw them.

On the dorsal viewport. The keel viewport. The rear viewport.

Portals opening. Great dark bubbles like blobs of tar. And from inside them, the arachships emerged. Great starships shaped like spiders, each leg a railgun. Ships larger than the Freedom. Arachtaur ships.

It was a trap, King realized. What a fool he had been to trust the hybrids!

Behind the Coalition fleet, hundreds of arachships stormed forth and fired their railguns.

A storm of silver spears, each the size of an oak tree, flew at hypersonic speed toward the Coalition fleet.

King had felt the sting of those weapons before. The Tyranny had launched them at Freedom at the Aeolia system. Those spears had torn off the starboard hull and nearly ended the dreadnought. Now thousands flew toward the Coalition, each carrying enough kinetic energy to wipe out towns.

The Freedom was flying at the vanguard, facing Arakavish. She could only watch as the spears pounded the rear of the Coalition fleet.

Starships tore apart.

Starwhales cried out as the spears drove through them.

Gothisaurs bellowed as their spherical cathedrals shattered like clay pots.

More arachships emerged from above and below the Coalition. Spears flew everywhere, skewering the Coalition like the blades of an iron maiden.

The Coalition fought back. Their cannons boomed. Their laser beams burned through arachship hulls. But the Coalition ships were too few. They had suffered too many losses. Now the rah clawships and the countless auxiliary terrors of the enemy regrouped. They joined the arachtaurs, closing in around the invaders. Only moments ago, the forces of freedom had driven through the enemy lines like an arrow through putrid flesh. Now the fleet was like a trapped animal. Enemies all around. The unyielding, shielded surface of Arakavish waited ahead, unreachable, impregnable.

No way forward.

No way out.

No hope to win. Not with the planetary shields still up.

King thought of Earth. He thought of his grandchildren. He realized he would never see them again.

No. No! He would not give up. Not so close to the end! Not after all this sacrifice! Not now, not ever!

"We have to fall back!" Jordan said. "We have to open a portal and retreat to Earth."

"No!" King said. "We will continue this mission. We are going to win this war!"

"We can't get the shields down!" Jordan said. "We can't reach the planet!"

"We can use Big Boy," said Mimori. "According to my calculations, the bomb can tear through the shields."

"No," King said. "We need to save our antimatter for the tunnels. That bomb is for Elder'rah."

"We can't reach Elder'rah if the planetary shields are up!" Jordan said.

"We don't need the entire shields down," King said. "We just need to blast one hole through them. Enough to send the marines down. Mimori, aim the Fist of Freedom! Fire on Arakavish!"

The light of hope filled Jordan's eyes. "Confirmed. Mimori, fire the Fist of Freedom!"

"Yes, sirs!" said the android.

The great railgun of the Freedom blazed. Light flooded the bridge. It washed across the battle. The two rails shone like twin towers woven of the searing white light of wroth angels.

For a moment, silence fell. The battle froze. Thousands of starships paused from fighting. Thousands of commanders stared, the light blinding them, instilling hope in some and terror in others.

The Fist of Freedom fired.

A Gideon projectile flew from the railgun, too fast for the eye to see.

All they saw was a beam of light, blasting from the Freedom into the shield of Arakavish.

A pale explosion bloomed like sunrise through apocalyptic clouds.

The shield around Arakavish flared, the red grid crackling.

The railgun dimmed. And they all saw it. It wasn't large. Just about the size of a town. But it was enough.

A hole in the shields.

"Freedom Brigade—launch!" King said.

* * * * *

"All right, marines, move it!" Bastian shouted. "Rhinos—deploy!"

Master Sergeant Eun-Yu, the Freedom's bay boss, raised a megaphone. "Airlocks—open!"

Eighty Rhino shuttles filled the hangar. They were the newer models, built by Aeolian engineers. The old Rhinos had fallen battling the Tyranny. The new models were stronger, faster, deadlier. Their exhaust ports blazed bright blue and white. Like true rhinoceroses, furious and rumbling, they charged out the airlocks into battle.

The battle blazed ahead.

Thousands of enemy starfighters raced toward them, all guns booming.

A Rhino exploded. And another one. Inside each Rhino—an entire platoon of marines. Wiped out.

But the other Rhinos were returning fire. Their cannons pumped out slugs of lead, plowing through clawfighters, arachships, spiderwings, and the blobby, spiky, and tentacled ships of the alien auxiliaries.

Two hundred Rhinos plowed through the sea of enemies. The drills on their hulls spun, carving their way through. The hosts of monstrous alien vessels closed in around them. Another Rhino exploded. And yet another. Hundreds of marines—dead already, and they had only launched seconds ago.

Missiles streaked.

Enemy ships exploded.

Lights flashed, and wings of Eagles soared all around. Their hulls were painted red and blue, the colors of the Freedom, and their guns tore down the enemies.

"We got your back, Freebies!" Spitfire cried.

"Freedom's Eagles fly!" Alice cried, raising her fist, cheering them on.

With the Eagles flying overhead, the Rhinos kept charging, plowing their way toward the planet below.

Bastian rode in the Karkadann, one of the Rhinos, modified to hold Big Boy. The car-sized bomb was chained onto the deck, but it still rattled madly. Bastian and Alice rattled beside it inside their harnesses.

"Here we go!" Alice cried, eyes alight, as the Karkadann dived toward Arakavish. She whooped.

Bastian clenched his jaw. He felt sick. He always felt sick when launching in a Rhino. This time was even worse. He was flying toward the rah homeworld, a planet swarming with countless spiders, and a giant container full of enough antimatter to blow up a planet was rattling inches away from him. He threw up a little in his mouth, gulped, and tried to ignore his churning stomach.

The Rhinos were close now. Almost at the shield engulfing Arakavish. The red grid spread round the entire planet, but a hole gaped open. The Gideon projectile had exploded against the shield. Nothing remained of that massive metal rocket but dust. Already, enemy forces were racing toward the hole to protect it.

The Freedom opened fire again.

Her railgun was drained. The Fist of Freedom would take another day to charge. But Emily and her fellow gunners were firing the Angels of Liberty. The Maccabee torpedoes raced between the Rhinos, as long as the dropships, and plowed into the enemies mustering around the hole in the shield.

Admiral King's grainy voice came over MindWeb.

"We've got your back, Rhinos! Go get 'em."

The Karkadann flew in the center of the fleet. A Rhino at the vanguard raced toward the hole in the shield, only for a clawfighter to ram into it. The Rhino tumbled, missed the hole, and shattered against the shield. Another Rhino almost made it through. But just outside the hole, enemy fire destroyed it.

"Concentrate all fire on that hole!" Bastian said. "I know it leaves our flanks vulnerable, but do it! I want a ring of fire around that opening."

The Rhinos and Eagles began a serious bombardment of the shield—not to widen the opening but prevent the enemy from defending it. Explosions blazed like a great amphitheater around the hole, holding back the enemies. The cost was high. As they concentrated on one target, they left their flanks vulnerable. More Eagles and Rhinos shattered. More brave soldiers—dead.

But they managed to blast their way through.

The Karkadann charged toward the hole.

Plasma hit the dropship.

The Karkadann jolted through space.

Flames filled the cockpit. The pilot and copilot screamed—then fell silent. The Rhino began to slew. Big Boy rattled in its chains.

Bastian cursed, yanked his harness free, and raced into the cockpit. A blast had crumpled the prow. Air was leaking out. The pilot and copilot lay dead and burned. Bastian slammed down his helmet's visor, shoved the pilot out of his seat, and grabbed the yoke. He winced. It was hot. Damn hot. It heated his gloves so much his hands screamed in agony. But he gripped that yoke and flew the Rhino as best as he could.

He was no pilot. He had flunked out of flight school, much to the chagrin of his father. But right now Bastian flew that dropship as well as anyone. He barrel-rolled, fired the cannons, and knocked aside two clawfighters. Ships exploded all around. And there below—the hole.

Firing the Rhino's Gatling gun, he swooped into the hole, charging through the damaged shield into the atmosphere of Arakavish.

They were in.

* * * * *

As bad as the battle in space was—inside the shield was worse.

Hell. Bastian had entered hell.

The Karkadann plunged toward an inferno.

Vents opened in the rocky surface of Arakavish, and jets of lava streamed skyward. A thousand volcanoes erupted, spewing their fire toward the Rhino fleet.

Bastian still sat in the cockpit. He jerked to the left, dodging a stream of lava. Then he shot to the right and curved around another erupting jet. Behind him, another Rhino entered the hole, only for the lava to wash over it. The Rhino caught fire and plunged through the sky, a comet leaving a trail of black smoke.

Bastian kept flying. Instincts took over. He zigzagged, barrel-rolled, swerved, and did all sorts of moves whose names he didn't even know.

Look at me, Spitfire! he wanted to cry out. But he was too busy not dying.

"Bastian, the bomb is rattling like nuts back here!" Alice cried from the hold.

"Hold it steady!"

"I can't. It's bigger than me."

"Just ho—"

A jet of plasma washed across their side. The hull heated. Bastian screamed and veered left hard.

They emerged from the flames, dived through smoke, and below Bastian beheld the sprawling wastelands of Arakavish. It was a desert world. But not a desert with golden dunes and glorious sunsets, a place of serene beauty. No. This desert was jagged and cruel, a place of canyons that plunged toward pits of magma, volcanoes that darkened the sky with their fumes, rocks like serrated blades the size of skyscrapers, and mountain ranges like scars.

"All right," Bastian said. "Alice, you still with me?"

"Right here, Bas."

"We need a place to plant Big Boy. Maybe one of those ravines? The bomb needs to be deep underground." Bastian pointed. "We can drop it into that canyon, and—"

And from that canyon rose a fleet of clawfighters. The spiky vessels were smaller than Rhinos, but they swarmed in numbers, plasma flying. Bastian veered around the barrage, then swooped to rain down bullets. He gritted his teeth, charging right at them.

"Bas, are you crazy?" Alice cried. "You can't take them on alone."

From the clouds emerged another Rhino. Then three more. And Eagles too. They opened fire, destroying the rising clawfighters.

"You're not alone!" said Spitfire, flying alongside in her Eagle. She fired another missile, destroying a clawfighter. "Now plant this bomb and let's get out of here."

Bastian looked for another place to land. He needed to get this bomb underground. The canyon? Too dangerous to approach it. Bastian didn't want to risk more clawfighters popping out. Where was a safe spot to touch down? The battle raged everywhere. Rhinos and Eagles fought for every inch of sky. Every moment, another vessel exploded. With their lives, his soldiers were buying him time.

Bastian spotted a sinkhole on the rocky surface. Or was this the opening to Arakavish's extensive tunnel system? He tapped a button, and the Rhino sensors emitted an ultrapowerful sonic blast. The sonar image bounced back.

Tunnels. Tunnels under the surface.

"We're going to flood this entire tunnel system with antimatter," he said. "Time to exterminate these bugs."

Alice stepped into the cockpit, her armored spacesuit dented and scraped. "Simply dropping the bomb into the tunnels might not be enough."

"It won't be," Bastian said. "We'll have to drive the Rhino underground. Plant the bomb deep."

Alice was pale. Bastian knew they were both thinking the same thing.

We might not make it out alive.

For a long time, Bastian had felt immortal. He had fought many battles and survived. He had cheated death a thousand times. Sometimes he joked that the rahs would need a silver bullet to kill him. But so many other brave warriors had died. Darjeeling. Pickles. Stowy. Countless others. And Bastian knew that this might be his time to join them.

He thought about his kids, and tears flooded his eyes. He wiped them and flew toward the hole.

As they approached the sinkhole in the desert, Bastian shoved a lever. The drill on the tip of the Rhino began to spin. The hole was narrow, the Rhino wide. He might have to drill the opening wider. And drill through any rahs in front of him.

Rowan smiled in his memory.

Oli gurgled and laughed.

He was lifting his children, laughing.

Bastian's eyes dampened again. He flew lower, skimming the desert, ready to burrow into the surface of Arakavish.

Dozens more sinkholes opened across the desert. Arachtaurs bubbled up from underground. Swarms of them, scuttling on their spider legs. They wore armor and held spears with serrated blades. One arachtaur scurried onto a jagged boulder, raised a spear overhead, and let out a deafening shriek. Like all arachtaurs, it had the lower body of a giant spider. But instead of sprouting one human body, two grew upon it. Conjoined twins, one male, one female. Romulas and Rema.

Bastian aimed the Rhino cannon at the deformed creatures.

The twins raised their four arms and slung cobwebs toward the Rhino.

Webs wrapped around the Gatling gun, jamming it.

All over the desert, more arachtaurs slung webs. They caught Karkadann and pulled the dropship down.

Alice screamed. Bastian wrestled with the yoke. The ground raced up toward them, and then webs splattered across the sensors, and the viewport went dark. A second later, with denting metal and a tremble that rattled every bone in Bastian's body, the Rhino slammed into the desert.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Rhino lay on the desert of Arakavish, smoldering, draped with cobwebs. The dropship had crashed onto its side. The treadmill tracks spun uselessly in the air, fluttering with scraps of gossamer.

The arachtaurs screeched all around. Bastian and Alice stood in the hold, side by side, holding their guns. Far from the Freedom. Far from their children. And Bastian knew they would die here. Their armor had saved them from the crash. But it could not save them from a million arachtaur claws.

The Coalition should have bombarded the surface before deploying marines.

The twins should have lowered the shields.

None of this should have happened.

"We have to get into the tunnels!" Alice said. She leaned over Bastian and shoved down the throttle. "Come on!"

The Rhino engines rumbled. The dropship skittered across the desert, but it moved in circles, still on its side. Bastian tried hitting the side thrusters, hoping to flip them upright. But cobwebs coated the vessel. Karkadann could only draw circles in the dirt, roaring like a wounded animal.

Arachtaurs laughed outside.

The creatures banged on the walls.

Claws scraped at the hatches.

Alice was still struggling with the engine, cursing and pounding the yoke.

Bastian hefted his rifle. "I'm going out there."

His wife looked at him. "Bastian, no!"

"I'll clear the cobwebs. With the cobwebs off, the thrusters will work. You'll be able to get the dropship upright. Then head into the tunnels."

"Bastian, no—" Alice began.

Bastian silenced her with a kiss, maybe their last. Tears filled their eyes. Then he let out a battle cry and ran.

He kicked open the hatch and leaped into the desert, gun blazing.

They were everywhere.

More arachtaurs than he had ever seen.

Millions of them. They covered the desert. Bastian could not even see the surface of Arakavish.

For a second, he froze in terror, for he gazed upon hell.

But then came the angels. More dropships. Eagles. Sickle ships from the Red Dawn. Aeolian asteroid ships. Fireling ships and Ximtarian starfighters and even a Gothisphere, ten klicks wide. It must have bombed the hole in the planetary shield, widening the opening.

Help was here. Bastian was not alone.

He let out a cry of hope.

He fired his gun into the sea of arachtaurs, and from the other Rhinos emerged the Freedom Brigade, their guns lighting up the desert.

Again tears filled Bastian's eyes, but this time they were tears of joy. Tears of hope. Tears at seeing the courage of his soldiers.

Across the desert of Arakavish, the armies clashed.

Bastian fired his gun with one hand. With the other, he tried ripping the cobwebs off his Rhino. They had to get this dropship moving again. He saw the tunnel opening nearby. Just a short drive away. If they could deliver the antimatter deep enough …

An arachtaur leaped at him. Bastian fired, hitting the creature's head. It crashed down dead.

He tried to pull off more cobwebs, to clear Karkadann's thrusters. But another arachtaur scuttled his way. This one got close. Claws thrust at him. Bastian swung his rifle, knocking the claws aside. The creature howled, jaw dislocating like a snake's, revealing rows of teeth. Bastian swung his rifle again, clubbing the arachtaur in the head, knocking it down. He emptied a magazine into the hideous hybrid until it lay dead.

More kept coming, crawling over the bodies of the fallen.

"Bastian—fire in the hole!" came a cry.

A grenade landed among the arachtaurs.

Bastian turned, crouched, and covered his head.

The shock wave slammed him against the Rhino. If not for his body armor, that wave would have shattered his bones and deflated his organs. When the dust cleared, he saw Meytal running toward him. She hurled a second grenade, then ducked and covered her head. Another blast. Severed arachtaur claws flew every which way.

"Hey, Bas!" Meytal waved.

"Meytal, I must get this Rhino moving!" he said. "Cover me while I take the cobwe—"

An ear-piercing screech tore across the desert.

A figure climbed over the hills of dead, spear in hand, and stared down at them.

The twins.

The deformed creatures snarled. Romulas, the male twin, threw his spear.

The weapon impaled Meytal. Right through the chest, just an inch or two from her armpit. It pinned her to the dropship.

"No!" Bastian cried. "You son of a bitch!"

He pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. Out of bullets.

Meytal's blood spilled around his boots.

The twins advanced toward him, smirking.

"Can I eat the humans' skin?" Rema hissed, her bloodshot eyes alight. She licked her cracked lips.

Bastian loaded a new magazine and opened fire.

The twins leaped into the air, dodging his bullets, then swooped onto him. The deformed creatures slammed into Bastian, cracking his armor. Rema thrust her face close, eyes bugging out, grinning like a deranged clown. Her yellow teeth reeked.

"Your skin is mine!"

She bit into his shoulder, trying to rip off his armor. Bastian roared in pain. He tried to swing his weapon, but Rema slammed his arm against the hull, nearly snapping the bone.

"Rema, wait!" Romulas said. "Look, sister. Look inside the shuttle! What is that?"

Rema screeched. "Help me peel him!"

"Look, Rema." Romulas grabbed her head, pointed it toward the Rhino's open hatch. "The doomsday weapon. The one mother warned us about. We found it!"

Rema shrieked—a deafening sound. The conjoined twins left Bastian. He slumped to the ground. The freakish arachtaur raced into the Rhino.

And Alice was still inside.

* * * * *

Bastian leaped into the Rhino, chasing the twins.

He was bleeding. Rema's teeth had punctured his armor. His right arm was going numb. He gritted his teeth against the pain and raced into the Rhino's hold.

Big Boy was there, still chained to the deck. The twins crouched atop the bomb. Romulas held the lever that could activate the device, unleashing unimaginable devastation.

With a battle cry, Alice came racing into the hold, gun blazing. Rema shot webs her way. The cobwebs slammed into Alice, knocked her against a bulkhead, and glued her in place. She screamed and struggled. Another blast of cobwebs splattered onto her face, silencing her cries.

Bastian wanted to run to her. But the bomb demanded his attention. He froze, facing the twins. He raised his gun.

"Uh uh uh, ape." Romulas shook his head. "Shoot me, and before I die, I'll pull the lever. I'll activate this bomb."

"Go ahead!" Bastian said. "Blow it up. Blow me up with it. You'll be taking half your planet with me."

He fired his gun.

A bullet slammed into Romulas. But arachtaurs were much tougher than humans. The bullet drove about an inch into Romulas's chest and stopped. Probably didn't even reach any organs. The arachtaur plucked out the bullet, then shoved down the lever.

Rumbles sounded inside Big Boy.

The bomb rattled and shook.

A timer materialized on a panel. One hour to explosion.

King had warned Bastian about this. The bomb was designed with a timer, giving the marines time enough to escape the planet. Hell, with a bomb this big, the entire fleet would need to escape the system.

"You idiot!" Bastian said. "You doomed yourself!"

"No, human. An hour is plenty of time." Romulas laughed. "Plenty of time to deliver this bomb right into the Freedom."

Bastian fired his gun again.

But Romulas fired cobwebs at him. The strands clogged Bastian's gun, shoved him back, and pinned him against the bulkhead.

The big marine struggled against the cobwebs, but he might as well break chains. Alice was wriggling nearby, also trapped in a web.

"Can I eat their skin now?" Rema said.

"Ignore your belly for once, sister! Move your legs. Into the cockpit."

"But I want to eat their skin!"

"We need them as hostages. Move your legs!"

Each twin, apparently, controlled another half of the spider body. And right now the legs were moving in different directions. Rema was licking her lips, walking with her four legs toward Bastian. Romulas was stronger, dragging her into the cockpit.

Before falling captive, Bastian had managed to clear just the right amount of cobwebs off the exterior. The Rhino engines roared.

The dropship rose from the desert, soaring into the sky, heading back toward Freedom. Near Bastian, just out of reach, the bomb kept ticking.

* * * * *

The Rhino raced through the sky, soaring toward space.

Near Bastian, Big Boy rattled on the deck. The bomb kept ticking, ticking, ticking. A doomsday weapon that could destroy not only Freedom—but every ship around her. Hell, for all Bastian knew, Big Boy would fry the entire Coalition fleet.

Fifty-nine more minutes.

He groaned, trapped in the web.

The viewports in the hold were busted. But Bastian, through the waves of pain and anxiety, managed to raise MindPlay. He connected to a sensor on the Karkadann's hull, another one on the Freedom. He saw two views of the Rhino, side by side. One from the prow, one from far above.

Within mere moments, they would be back inside the Freedom. The dreadnought might not realize the twins were in the cockpit, that the bomb was ticking. Bastian had to stop this Rhino! He groaned, tugging at the tangle of webs, muscles bulging. Alice was doing the same. They were both big, strong marines, but arachtaur webs were as strong as iron chains.

"Freedom!" he gasped, trying to contact the ship through MindWeb. But cobwebs were wrapped around his head, interfering with the signal. Even at the best of times, telepathy was not designed to work long range.

"C— in—?" came a staticky reply.

"Freedom, shoot us down!" Bastian rasped. The Rhino kept soaring. The tremendous g-force seemed to shove Bastian's heart into his pelvis.

"What? You're brea— up. We ca— hear—"

Movement on the MindWeb windows caught Bastian's attention. His eyes widened. Something was moving on Karkadann's hull! Scraps of cobwebs? An arachtaur outside the ship?

The hatch opened.

Air blasted through the hold.

A figure crawled into the Rhino, drenched in blood.

Meytal.

"Meytal!" Bastian cried. "You're alive!"

The cobwebs muffled his voice. She probably couldn't hear him. The Israeli commando yanked the hatch shut, then collapsed onto her knees.

The spear still impaled her. Just by the armpit. Blood dripped down her leg. Bastian didn't know how she was still alive.

The sound of roaring air died. The engines steadied. The terrible g-force eased. The Rhino breached the atmosphere, emerging into space. They were now flying among the hulks of dead clawships and frigates, heading higher. The Freedom rose above, a distant beacon of light, leading what remained of the Coalition fleet.

Despite her horrific injury, Meytal managed to rise to her feet, to stumble closer to Bastian.

Her left arm dangled uselessly. With her right hand, she drew a knife and began slicing cobwebs off Bastian. Soon he was free.

Meytal collapsed onto her knees again, breathing raggedly. Her skin was pale.

Bastian raced toward the cockpit.

"Hueee—!" Alice cried, mouth full of gossamer. She struggled against the strands that glued her to the bulkhead. "Bashtia—free—meeee!"

He left the two women for now. Both needed help, but if Bastian couldn't stop the twins, they were all dead. All of humanity.

From the surface of Arakavish, he heard the screams. They filled MindPlay.

Soldiers dying. Thousands of soldiers—falling to the swarm of rahs.

"There are too many!"

"We need help, dammit!"

"Where is the colonel?"

"He left us! Bastian King left us!"

Tears stung his eyes. Bastian could not help them now either. His own soldiers—dying in the desert. But he must stop this Rhino at any cost.

He stumbled into the cockpit, dragging cobwebs behind him. His shoulder kept bleeding. The blood was dripping down his leg. Damn! Rema had bitten deeper than Bastian had thought. He felt light-headed. He needed to pause, to rest, to bandage the wound. But the only thing that mattered now was keeping this bomb away from the Freedom.

The twins had ripped out the pilot and copilot seats. Their great spider body perched before the controls. Romulas was flying while Rema was firing the Rhino's Gatling gun, cackling like a madwoman. Amazingly, Rema was not firing on human ships. But on rah ships.

"Stop firing on our allies, sister!" Romulas rumbled.

She laughed and fired again, destroying a blobby ship full of furry, clawed mercenaries. "We must make this look realistic, foolish brother. The Freedom won't let us into her hangar otherwi—"

Bastian fired his gun, pounding the twins with bullets.

They screamed. Bullets drove into their human backs. But their flesh was incredibly tough. The bullets stopped only a few millimeters in.

Rema spun around, hissing, her eyes bugging out. She raised a front leg and fired more webs. Bastian was expecting this. He rolled aside, then charged at her, firing his gun. Bullets slammed into her face, splitting her lips, shattering teeth, taking an eye. She yowled and swung her sharp legs, forcing Bastian back.

Meanwhile, Romulas kept flying. Through the viewport, Bastian saw the Freedom again.

The dreadnought was opening her airlock, ready to accept the Rhino.

Bastian pulled up MindPlay. He tried contacting Freedom's bridge again. At such close range, the signal was stronger. "Freedom, shoot us down! The Rhino is—"

A glob of cobwebs hit him, shoving him against the bulkhead. A claw thrust down, piercing his thigh, and he roared. MindPlay vanished from his mind.

The Rhino flew closer to the airlock.

Bastian howled in frustration and terror.

As Romulas kept flying, Rema leaned over Bastian. Half her face was a bloody mess. Several teeth were gone. One eye had exploded. But she still managed to grin and lick her lips.

"I will suck up your skin like noodles," she hissed.

She sank her remaining teeth into his already-wounded shoulder. Bastian bellowed.

The Rhino flew into the Freedom.

* * * * *

The Rhino jittered into the hangar, slammed down hard, and screeched across the deck. Deckhands leaped back, cursing. First responders raced forward with fire extinguishers and litters.

Bay Boss Eun-Yu stomped across the deck. The petite Korean woman wore a reflective jumpsuit, yellow hard hat, and steel-tipped boots. She brandished a wrench menacingly.

"Dammit, Rhino, why didn't you answer our flight controller?" she said. "We almost didn't let you in! What the hell is—"

The twins leaped from the hatch, landed on Eun-Yu, and slashed their claws across her neck.

Deckhands screamed and scrambled back.

Eun-Yu gurgled on blood, and her head rolled back.

With a roar, Bastian leaped out the Rhino. He was draped with cobwebs, bleeding, dizzy, barely seeing straight. But he charged and barreled into the twisted arachtaur.

Bastian was a big guy, and he wore bulky armor. With brute force, he shoved the twins off the bay boss and knocked them onto the deck.

Rema looked up, a chunk of Eun-Yu's flesh in her mouth. The bay boss lay still, eyes glassy in death.

Bastian drove the butt of his rifle into Rema's face, shattering her jaw. A yellow tooth clattered onto the deck.

Meanwhile, Romulas raised his claws, about to drive them down into Bastian.

With a great, hoarse cry, Alice leaped onto the conjoined twins too. Cobwebs still covered her, draping across her body like a mummy's wrappings. She swung her rifle, knocking aside Romulas's claws. Instead of driving into Bastian, the claws thrust into the deck, punching through the steel plates.

Bastian and Alice stumbled back. The deformed arachtaur stood on the deck, hissing. Romulas still had his claws trapped in the metal. Rema was missing half her face but still gurgled and laughed.

"Nice of you to finally join me, Alice," Bastian said.

She shook cobwebs off her arms, aimed her rifle, and fired on automatic. Bullets pounded the twins. But the monstrosity pulled free from the deck, then lunged through the hailstorm of bullets at them, shrieking with bloodlust.

A spear crashed through Romulas's chest.

The arachtaur halted, then skittered across the bloody deck. Romulas roared, the spear impaling him. Rema screeched. They tried to keep attacking but slipped on the blood and fell.

Bastian turned his head. Meytal stood by the Rhino, covered in blood. She had pulled the spear from her own body—and tossed it at the twins.

Meytal managed to look at Bastian, make eye contact for a second … then she collapsed.

Medics ran toward her.

Bastian and Alice stepped closer to the fallen twins. Romulas stared at them, holding the spear in both hands.

"You have lost, humans," the arachtaur rumbled. "The bomb will explode soon. You are all dead. All dead. We have won—"

Suddenly Romulas screamed.

Rema had begun to rip off his skin and feed. She was eating her brother alive.

Firing on automatic, Bastian and Alice emptied their magazines into both hideous twins. The creatures collapsed and their legs curled up. Dead for good.

Medics ran toward Bastian. They tried to load him onto a litter. He shook them off like more cobwebs.

"Dad!" he said via MindWeb. "Dad, are you here?"

Admiral King answered him from the bridge. "What the hell is going on down th—"

"Dad, the arachtaurs transported Big Boy into the Freedom. The bomb is ticking. We have forty-one minutes before it blows. It's on the ship!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

King stood on the bridge of the Freedom, watching his army collapse.

Blasts had battered the Freedom from all sides. Scattered fires blazed across the bridge. His officers were running, shouting orders, madly tapping on controls. Trying to save whomever they could. The enemy flew all around. Viewports hovered throughout the bridge, revealing the devastation. Every second another ship exploded. A great tapestry of destruction spread through space, and down on Arakavish, the ground troops were dying. The hope of Earth was fading.

King stood in the center of this madness, staring through the viewport at the fire and death.

This is a fiasco, he thought.

He had won many battles. He had defeated countless enemies. He had grown cocky, headstrong, and now he had led humanity to ruin.

It was then, as King stood among the crashing starships and a million deaths, that the call came from Bastian.

"The bomb is ticking."

Big Boy was not on Arakavish, ready to pump the rah tunnels full of antimatter. It was here aboard the Freedom. Ticking. Ticking. Bringing humanity ever closer to annihilation.

If this bomb blew aboard, it wouldn't just destroy the Freedom, King knew. It would blow up every ship in this battle, human and alien alike.

Maybe not a bad idea. King could take down the bastards with him. But no. Elder'rah would build more ships. She would pull more forces from other stars. Her empire would recover. But this shattering fleet of brave, free civilizations—this was all the forces of goodness had. All that kept the spiders at bay.

"Meeting," King said. "MindWeb. Now. Bastian, Kim, Jordan, Spitfire, Emily—you're on the call. Mimori—you have the bridge."

King stepped aside. Mimori replaced him in the center of the bridge, calling out orders, commanding the fleet in its desperate battle. Every moment, the dreadnought rocked as blasts hit their armor.

While the android covered for him, King summoned his officers into a shared hallucination.

For a moment, the fire faded from his attention. King was still aware of the battle, of the chaos of the bridge, of the cries of his officers. He still noticed every starship that shattered. But he had to trust Mimori. He focused on his officers.

"We are losing this battle," King said.

They looked at him, eyes solemn, faces grave.

Jordan, bleeding from gashes on his arm and cheek.

Emily, covered in soot, calling in from the artillery station.

Kim from engineering, a wrench in one hand, a hammer in the other, engine oil over her uniform.

Bastian, standing in the hangar, losing blood.

Spitfire, calling in from her Eagle, flying and fighting. It was she who broke the silence. "No shit. What gave it away, Admiral?"

King did not even crack a smile. "The Freedom is hurt. Most of our fleet is destroyed. The Freedom Brigade is being cut down as we speak. They've lost half their troops already, and more keep falling. Big Boy is still inside our hangar. An arachtaur activated it. The bomb is going to go off in half an hour. What do we do? Suggestions."

They all started talking at once.

"We keep fighting until we win!" Spitfire said.

"We can launch Big Boy from the railgun!" Emily said. "We can hit the planet."

"No, it won't fit properly," Bastian said. "I can fly the Rhino back down there—"

"And you'll die on the surface!" Jordan said. "If you make it that far. The tunnels are blocked."

Bastian pursed his lips. "We'll use a hopscotch drive. We can teleport Big Boy underground."

Kim shook her head. "Won't work. Even if you can get the bomb back down there, hopscotching will deliver it into solid rock, not the tunnel system. That will likely just stop the chain reaction and prevent the bomb from detonating."

"Maybe that's not a bad idea!" Emily said.

"The bomb is our greatest weapon," Spitfire said. "We must deploy it."

"There's no way to get it underground!" Emily said.

"I'll try again," Bastian said. "I'll take a Rhino. There's time."

"You tried that, Bastian," Jordan said. "It failed. We need another plan. I say we launch the bomb from the airlock into the shield around Arakavish."

"For all the good that'll do," Spitfire muttered. "That'll just destroy the shield, not the tunnels. Whoop-de-do."

They kept arguing. With every word spoken, more were dying. Soldiers on the surface. Pilots in starfighters. Spacers in starships. The death count kept climbing. The arachtaurs kept shoving the Coalition against the shield around Arakavish, trapping them, bombarding them.

Another blast hit the Freedom. Kim swayed and nearly fell. "We can't take much more punishment!"

"No, we can't," King said softly.

And suddenly terrible sadness filled him, a cold river flooding his body and soul, because he knew what he had to do. It was almost too terrible to contemplate. He closed his eyes, the grief overwhelming him.

But only for a moment.

He opened his eyes, and he steeled himself, shoulders squared, chin raised. He was a soldier. He would do his duty. Even to this bitter end.

"I've listened to you, and I've decided what to do," King said. "When joining the Alliance, you all swore a solemn vow. A vow to obey your commanders without hesitation. And you must obey the orders I'm about to give you."

The Alliance enlistment vows had not changed in decades. Nearly half a century ago, a teenage boy enlisting in the Alliance, King himself had taken these oaths. They all had. The sacred words returned to him.

I swear allegiance to the Alliance Defense Force, its laws, and all the values for which it stands. I swear to fight for justice, for freedom, and for the liberty of all. I will serve with honor. I will face my enemies with courage and determination. I will obey my commanders. I will dedicate all my strength to, and even sacrifice my life for, the protection of all Alliance homelands. So help me God.

Never had these words meant so much.

"We'll follow, Admiral," Jordan said. "You know that."

King nodded. "Good. You'll have to move fast. You'll have to obey without question, without hesitation. We don't have much time."

They all nodded. "What are your orders, sir?" Jordan said.

King looked at his oldest and best friend. He hoped that someday Jordan could forgive him.

"We will not fire the antimatter bomb from our railgun," King said. "Nor will we deliver this ticking time bomb in a shuttle. We are keeping Big Boy here inside the belly of the Freedom. And I'm ordering a full evacuation of the ship."

They all gasped. All but Jordan. The tall, aging commander understood. He was the only one who did. His eyes dampened, but then his face hardened and he saluted.

"Yes, sir."

King got on his comlink. He sent a message to the entire ship. "To the crew of the Freedom! This is your admiral speaking. I've ordered a complete evacuation of the ship. All spacers—abandon ship! Head to the hangars bay. Enter the escape shuttles. All crew—abandon ship!"

While King was speaking to his crew, Jordan was calling nearby ships, asking them to send over more shuttles, to accept the Freedom's spacers. There were thousands of people aboard the Freedom. And they didn't have much time.

Alarms sounded across the dreadnought.

Spacers began to run.

Never had the Freedom ordered a complete evacuation. Not in half a century of service. But never had they faced such an emergency.

Nearby frigates launched shuttles toward them. The little vessels had to swerve through the battle.

Red lights flashed and klaxons wailed through the Freedom. Mimori's voice emerged from the speakers across every deck, filling the dreadnought. "Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"

King dreaded what was coming. But he didn't have much time for fear. There was still a lot to do.

Because he didn't just need to evacuate the Freedom.

He needed to evacuate the entire system.

Cold rage flowed over his grief.

That's right, Elder'rah, he thought. I won't just destroy your tunnels. I'm taking down this entire goddamn star system.

* * * * *

The bomb ticked on.

The spacers were evacuating. The shuttles were launching.

Some crew resisted. Their voices came over MindWeb.

"We can't leave now, we're in the middle of loading a new torpedo!"

"There's a critical system we have to repair—"

"I'm in surgery, I can't just—"

But the klaxons kept calling. The voice kept haunting the halls. "Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"

Shuttle after shuttle left the airlocks, full of Freedom's crew members.

They didn't have enough escape shuttles for everyone. But nearby frigates—the Tabernacle, the Stardiver, and the Churchill—were accepting the refugees from the Freedom.

The other commanders stood on their bridges, sending shuttle after shuttle toward the Freedom, evacuating her crew. All the while, starfighters circled them, holding back the enemy.

"Freedom Brigade, fall back!" Bastian was shouting. "Fall back!"

He had taken a Rhino back down to Arakavish, plunging through the fire to load up marines, to rescue them from destruction. Hundreds of marines were dying. Thousands. Only a handful of Rhinos made it off the rocky planet.

Big Boy was no longer in a Rhino. The antimatter bomb sat in Freedom's hangar, ticking. Ticking.

Ticking.

Time was almost up.

As the Freedom's crew was evacuating—from the surface of Arakavish and from the dreadnought herself—King got on the comlink again.

There was no time to wait.

"All Coalition ships, this is the admiral," King said. "Open your portals and fall back. We're leaving this system. All ships—return to your planet of origin. This is a full retreat. Fall back!"

A few voices objected.

Firelings hissed that they would never retreat from burning.

A brave Aeolian warrior let out a roar. His asteroid tumbled into a great clawship, plowing through it, a kamikaze attack that pulverized both ships.

The loudest objection came from Katyusha. "What? Are you insane, Admiral King?" She materialized on Freedom's bridge. Soot covered her once-magnificent crimson uniform. The golden buttons were chipped. Scratches ran down her cheek. But judging from the fire in her eyes, she was still very eager to fight. "Katyusha runs from no enemy! Katyusha is most glorious warrior of all time! You run and cower, weakling. Katyusha will—"

"Katyusha, listen to me," King said. "Very soon, nothing will remain of this star system. Every planet here. Every rah that scuttles. Every ship that flies. Even the stars themselves. I'm going to destroy them, Katyusha. I'm going to destroy them all. You don't want to be here."

She inhaled sharply, eyes wide, then simply vanished off the bridge. King didn't know if she intended to flee or not. Either way—he must proceed.

A voice came over MindWeb. An avatar materialized on the bridge. A most unlikely avatar. A fluffy bunny. It was Cornelius, the Ximtarian, a being from a virtual world. The little rabbit hopped closer.

"We Ximtarians will stay with you, Admiral," Cornelius said, whiskers twitching. "We are only virtual beings, after all. Our ships will fight on. The enemy can destroy all our ships. We don't care. All our consciousness is in the virtual world. We'll live on. Let us stay with you here."

A few other Ximtarian avatars appeared on the bridge. Each NPC chose its own appearance. King saw a unicorn. A green ogre. A princess. A frog.

"We're here for you!" they said.

Cornelius wiggled his fuzzy ears. "If you're planning what we think you are … you'll need our help."

King breathed a sigh of relief. "That help is most welcome, my friend."

The dreadnoughts spun their portal generators. Portals opened above Arakavish. And the retreat began.

It was not a peaceful retreat.

As Coalition ships fled, the enemy gave them no rest.

A hospital ship tried to portal out first. Clawships broke through the Alliance lines, fired their cannons, and shattered the flying hospital's hull. They filled the ship with plasma before a wing of Eagles shot them down. An ammunition ship wobbled toward a portal. Arachships bombarded her with their silver spears. The ammunition ship blew up. The explosion was so large it wiped out a hundred nearby ships and destroyed the portal. The death counter on MindWeb climbed by thousands.

"Pershing-Haig formations!" King ordered. "Corvettes on the outskirts, frigates in the center! Cover our retreat!"

He could only command his own ships. The Red Dawn, the Desert Thorns, and the free alien civilizations were handling their own retreats. They had little more success. Clawfighters mobbed a starwhale, ripping through the great animal's flesh. The rest of the pod fled in terror. One Gothisphere attempted to squeeze through a portal, only for clawfighters to rip off its stonework hull. The rahs swarmed into the cathedral-like ships and swarmed over the Gothisaurs.

But some ships reached the portals.

Some made it out.

A frigate with a thousand spacers.

A starfighter carrier with two thousand aboard.

The Stardiver, a heavy hauler carrying hundreds of Freedom's spacers.

A few Rhinos full of marines didn't even bother looking for a mothership to dock in. They flew alone into portals, hopping back to Earth.

The enemy kept attacking. Many ships fell. But some made it home. Some would live to tell of what happened here. Of the sacrifice and courage. Hopefully—of a victory. A victory bought with blood and loss, but a victory nonetheless.

If King succeeded—humanity would survive. If he failed here, they all died with him.

The bomb kept ticking.

Not long left now.

As so many others fled, as the great Freedom emptied of spacers, King remained. He stood on the bridge of his beloved ship, watching space burn. The hulks of many ships hung shattered above the cruel, rocky planet of the enemy. Corpses floated through the void. The shields flared as bolt after bolt hit the Freedom. The ship shook. Jolted. The machinery creaked. Most of the engineers were gone now.

Kim had left in a shuttle, taking her son. Bastian and Alice had left too. Emily was entering a shuttle now and flying off. One by one, the people King loved left to safety. He remained.

King stood here on the bridge, watching the flames. A plasma bolt made it through the shields and slammed into the port hull. The ship rocked and fire swept through the decks, but the flames found no spacers to consume. The decks were empty now. A ghost ship. A legendary ship.

A viewport on the bridge cracked.

Another blast hit them. This time on the prow. A bulkhead cracked open. King stood as his ship was falling apart, watching the ruin of thousands of ships ahead, a tapestry of steel and flame. It was tragic, yet it was almost beautiful.

He did not turn his head from the viewport as he spoke.

"You too, Larry. You leave too."

Commander Larry Jordan stepped up to his side. "I won't leave you. If you're going down with this ship, I'm going with you."

"Like hell," King growled. "I can pilot this ship myself."

He stepped toward a control panel, tapped a few buttons, and took manual control of the Freedom. Just like flying a starfighter. Maybe a little bigger, that was all.

The bomb kept ticking.

"Sirs?" Mimori stepped toward them. "I am capable of flying the ship on my own. Allow me to stay. You two should evacuate."

They were the only three left on the bridge. King checked the roster. Only three left on the entire ship now.

"You leave too, Mimori." King smiled a small, tight smile. He nudged the ship thrusters. The deck swayed as the ship moved at his command. "I can fly this ship without you."

Mimori's eyes dampened. "Just tell me where you're flying, sir, and I'll set it on autopilot!"

A warclaw came roaring at them. King couldn't fire the Angels of Liberty without a crew, but he was able to operate the Shield of David system all right. The slender missiles were normally used as interceptors, but as King sent a barrage of them at the clawship, they knocked the beast back.

Yes. Just like a big starfighter.

"This can't be done by autopilot," King said. "I still have a long distance to fly, and there are many enemies along the way. I'll have to fight them off. Larry, Mimori—you need to leave now. There's a shuttle waiting but not much time."

"I won't leave!" Jordan said. "I'll fly the damn ship. You get to Earth!"

King shook his head. "No. I'm staying. I'm the senior officer aboard. This is my job. Get the hell off my starship, mister. That's an order."

Tears filled Jordan's eyes. But he managed to raise his chin and salute.

King returned the salute, jaw locked tight.

Jordan turned and left the bridge.

Mimori paused, hugged King, and whispered into his ear. "I love you, sir."

Weeping, she fled.

King remained alone on the bridge, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

A final shuttle left the Freedom. The last few ships fled the system, portaling back home. King remained alone in his beloved dreadnought. Alone in the heart of an evil empire.

No—not alone, because he could still feel Mimori's embrace. He could still hear the laughter of his granddaughter. Still see the brightness of Kim's eyes. He could see Bastian, a laughing baby, a curious toddler, an honorable man. More tears fell. No. He was not alone. He would take them with him wherever he went.

The bomb was still ticking. The timer was showing on a viewport. Almost time now. Almost the end.

As the bridge cracked and burned around him, King got to flying.

* * * * *

The Freedom had no joystick like a starfighter, no yoke like a dropship or shuttle. Just a control panel with digital sliders, buttons, and dials. The manual helm aboard the Freedom had never been used. Not since being christened half a century ago. But to King it felt natural. The Freedom became an extension of his body. Alone in this mile-long ship, he flew.

He raised the prow, soaring over the hulk of an arachship. He swerved left, sliding around a ruined Gothisphere, its shattered archways revealing the fossils within, for the Gothisaurs took their ancestors with them to battle. A clawship rose before him, plasma blazing. King rolled left, and the plasma streamed past his starboard hull. He opened fire with the prow machine guns. The bullets drove into the clawship's open plasma port, stirring the fire within. Explosions rocked the enemy ship, and King rose above his foe, bathed the warclaw with his exhaust, and flew onward.

More enemies came at him. Warclaws and arachships and snapping ships like stadium-sized bear traps. Fire buffeted him. Silver spears darted above and below. Scorpion ships lashed their tails, chipping away at his hull.

But the Freedom kept flying.

The bomb kept ticking.

They could not stop him. He had become the Freedom. He had become an angel of death, passing over the empire of Arakavish as surely as the angel passed over Egypt.

He flew away from Arakavish, that rocky planet that had spawned the rahs. He flew past moons, space stations, and gas giants. He flew past Achernar B, a small star caged in metal bars, pumping its energy into a metal web that fed the empire. He flew faster, faster still. The Aeolians had augmented his ship. The Freedom reached relativistic speeds, blazing through the star system, too fast for the enemies to catch, too fast to stop now. The Freedom had become a god. A force of nature. From the distance, she would appear as an arrow of light, rippling spacetime, shaking the heavens, streaking through the dark.

A warning blared.

Five minutes to detonation.

Ahead it blazed. Achernar. The primary star in the system. It was not caged like the smaller binary star. It did not pump energy through cables into the web of the empire. It was too large, too unstable. Ninety-nine percent of mass in this system came from Achernar. A beast of blue fire. For Achernar was no ordinary star. It shone blue—searing, blinding, punishing blue. It was not round like an ordinary star. Achernar spun so incredibly fast, moved with such amazing force, that it flattened itself into the shape of a pancake. A bulging disk of blue hellfire, it spun like a mad top, casting waves of solar wind. It was too wild to tame, even for the rahs. This star was a god the spiders could only cower before.

King would slay this god.

His MindLink crackled.

He winced. Somebody was attempting to hack his neural implant.

A hideous pale spider crawled into his brain. The image was jittery. He could almost feel her claws inside his skull.

"What are you doing, human?" Elder'rah screeched.

King ignored the empress. He kept flying closer to the star. The enemy ships fell far behind. Big Boy ticked on. Three minutes left now.

"Stop, human!" Elder'rah cried in his mind. "What do you want? Earth? Very well. You may have Earth. I will end this war against you."

He kept flying closer. Achernar blazed ahead, filling the viewport. The solar wind flared across Freedom's shields. The armored plates heated up. The terrible heat washed the bridge, warping the bulkheads and deck plates.

"Tell me what you want!" Elder'rah cried. "I will give you anything. Tell me!"

I want Darjeeling back, he thought. I want Stowy back. I want Nebraska back. I want the millions of dead back. But they're gone forever. So I only want you dead.

He did not telepathize these words to her. He kept them in the deeper, private parts of his mind. He simply shut off his neural implant, and the spider disappeared.

He did not want to die with her in his mind. Instead, he thought of the people he loved. He thought of Bastian, bringing to mind the tall, brave marine, a son King loved with all his heart. He thought of Kim, the light of his life. He thought of Jordan, his best friend. He thought of Spitfire, of Alice, of Mimori. He thought of dear Rowan and Oli, his grandchildren. Even now, thinking of them warmed his heart. He thought of all those people he loved. For a moment it almost seemed as if they stood here with him, saying goodbye.

The blue light of Achernar was blinding. King closed his eyes.

Kim smiled.

Stowy stuck her head out a vent and waved.

His grandchildren ran toward him, laughing.

Bastian and Alice beamed with pride and love.

"I will miss you," King whispered. "I got to spend my life with you. You made it a good life."

Big Boy ticked on. Ten seconds left until the antimatter bomb exploded.

Radiation alerts screamed, then dropped in pitch and died. The sensors had burned away.

King didn't need to open his eyes. The terrible light of Achernar blazed through his eyelids. The force field around Freedom snapped and fizzled away. The hull warped, cracked, began melting.

The computer systems died. The engines bellowed, then shut down. The Freedom kept moving on momentum alone.

Five more seconds.

The Freedom was very near the star now, shooting through the waves of solar wind. Blue flares blasted around the ship.

Four more seconds.

A shadow fell. King opened his eyes, surprised. Was he dead already?

Three more seconds.

A portal was opening! Here on the bridge!

Two more seconds.

Katyusha leaped out of the portal. The light of Achernar painted her blue.

"Jamechka!" she cried.

One more second.

She grabbed King and pulled him into the portal.

The Freedom shot into the star, and Big Boy exploded inside Achernar's churning, spinning, flaming blue heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

He should be gone.

The very atoms in his body should be tearing apart.

But James King tumbled down a dark tunnel. Light shone in the distance. In a haze, King remembered the old stories of near-death experiences. A tunnel, a distant light. He had never believed such tales. He had seen too many soldiers die screaming, crying, begging, reduced to nothing but charred meat. When you saw so much death, it was hard to romanticize it, to believe in any luminous afterlife. Yet here it was—a tunnel, a distant light.

And a crazy Russian woman holding him.

"Katyusha got you, Jamechka! Hold on tight!"

None of those stories about near-death experiences ever included Katya "Katyusha" Petrova, premier of the Red Dawn.

"What are you doing here?" King growled. "This is my afterlife, dammit."

"You are not dying on Katyusha's watch, James King." She held him tighter as they traveled down the tunnel.

The light grew ahead, and they tumbled out the tunnel onto a hard deck.

King rose with a groan and looked around. He was on the bridge of a ship. A Russian ship. It looked like an old opera house, complete with golden columns, crimson seats, and a round ceiling painted with clouds and stars. A massive viewport dominated one bulkhead. It was the size of an old movie theater screen. There were even red curtains with golden ropes framing it. King half expected an usher to show up and guide him to his seat.

Russian officers stood at control panels, wearing red uniforms with golden equal signs on the lapels. King knew where he was. The bridge of the Rasputin, the Red Dawn flagship. Katyusha's ship.

He spun toward the premier. She grinned and waved. Her hair stuck out every which way, soot covered her face, and blood stained her uniform, but she seemed in good spirits.

King glared at her. "How the hell did you open a portal onto my ship again? I thought our engineers patched that security hole."

She shrugged. "The star stripped off your shields. Easy."

"You almost died!" he growled.

"Katyusha lives to tempt death!"

An officer turned toward them and spoke in Russian. King's neural implant was turned off. The MindLink didn't translate for him. But he understood what he was seeing on the viewport.

The Rasputin seemed to be flying just outside the Achernar system. The blue star appeared on the screen. As King watched, the Freedom flew into it. This had all happened a few minutes ago, but the light was only now reaching them. He was gazing a few minutes into the past.

Just as the Freedom vanished into the blue star, Big Boy exploded.

The antimatter bomb detonated in the heart of Achernar.

The blue star spun faster, faster, careened, collapsed, imploded … then with a blast of blue light went supernova.

It was a sight to behold. They all stood silently on the bridge, watching. The blue light turned white, spreading out in waves. The explosion consumed the nearby rocky planets, then expanded outward to engulf the gas giants. The secondary star vanished into the flaming haze, then exploded too. The inferno spread, eating planet after planet. The rah fleet tried to flee, but the conflagration rolled over them.

"Beautiful," Katyusha whispered, gazing in awe.

Finally planet Arakavish itself vanished into the supernova and was gone.

The entire planet was probably pulverized within seconds—and every creature that crawled across and inside it.

"Um … the supernova is still expanding, Katyusha," King said.

She blinked, tearing herself away from the viewport. "Right. Right. Helm! Get us out of here!"

The blue explosion flared past the heliopause, sending its all-consuming waves of destruction into interstellar space. Radiation alarms wailed across the Rasputin. The tsunami of annihilation was racing closer. But then the Russian dreadnought opened a portal, flew in, and vanished.

Within seconds, they emerged over Earth.

When King looked at the viewport, he saw only a peaceful field of stars. He recognized Achernar. A blue dot, standing out among millions of white stars. He was gazing back in time. Despite what his eyes told him, that blue star was gone now. The light of the supernova explosion would not reach Earth for generations. Someday King's descendants would see the supernova flare in the night sky, and they would tell stories about how Great-Great-Grandpa Jim blew up a distant star. Probably nobody would believe them.

He turned toward Katyusha. She stood beside him, the stars in her eyes, admiring the view.

There she was. His old nemesis. The woman he had fought the Third World War against. The woman who had killed his father.

"Why did you save me?" he asked.

Katyusha turned toward him, a thin smile on her lips. "How do you Americans say? Water under bridge?" She touched his cheek. "I love you, James King. Don't forget that."

It was the first time he had heard her speak in first person.

He was going to say more, but then the Rasputin turned around, the view changed, and King saw a familiar sight.

Earth.

King gazed at their beloved planet. Earth appeared small from here. No larger than a baseball held at arm's length. You could not see the damage of war. Hundreds of millions had died in this war—in space and on Earth. This tragedy would forever haunt humanity. But now they could heal. Now Earth was free. Now they could build the civilization they had always hoped for. A civilization that flew to the stars and found peace and cooperation, not war and death.

It would be a time for explorers, not warriors. A time for curiosity, not courage under fire. A time for poets and dreamers. Not grizzled old soldiers like him. And that was very good.

* * * * *

The FAS Churchill had taken a pounding in the war. She was barely recognizable. The frigate coughed, sputtered, and shed loose screws and scraps of shielding. It was likely she would be scuttled now. But for one more day, she flew in space. Leading the fleet. Triumphant. Freedom was gone, but many of her survivors sheltered within Churchill's battered hull.

One of them was Bastian.

The marine stood on a crowded deck, gazing out a viewport. Every deck was crowded aboard the Churchill. The ship was much smaller than the Freedom, and thousands of refugees were crammed inside. Some of Freedom's spacers were sheltering on other ships, but the largest group was here.

Bastian ignored the crowd. Alice was nearby, speaking to her troops, comforting the wounded, praying with the dying. Bastian just gazed outside into space.

My father is gone.

A few spy drones, still hovering at Arakavish, had streamed the video over small portals. The Freedom—flying into the star. The supernova explosion—destroying the system. And destroying the ship. With the admiral aboard.

My father is dead.

Bastian felt so hollow. So empty. Disbelieving. No tears fell yet, but he knew they would come. Once the news sank in.

A gravelly voice spoke behind him.

"Bastian?"

He lost his breath.

He spun around.

Admiral James "Bulldog" King stood there. His uniform was charred and tattered. Cuts and scrapes and bruises covered him.

"What is this?" Bastian said. "Some kind of sick MindWeb game? A hallucination?"

He turned off his MindLink. But his father remained.

People were whispering. Pointing at him. Saluting him.

And now the tears came, flooding Bastian, pouring down his cheeks. But they were tears of joy. He ran toward his father, and the two men crashed in an embrace.

"I thought you were gone," Bastian whispered.

His father had always been so strong, so stern. The gruff, emotionless warrior. But now King—the famous admiral, the Bulldog himself—shed tears, and his voice choked. "I thought I was too. I love you, Bastian."

"I love you too, Da—"

"You're alive!" The voice filled the bridge.

Alice crashed into the two men, wrapping them both in her arms. They held one another for a long time, their tears falling.

After a long, long while, King asked them, "Where is Kim?"

Alice wiped her eyes. "Need to review some technical reports from your chief engineer?" She winked.

"I need to go kiss the woman I love," King said.

Alice grinned. "So the rumors were true. She's on deck 3. In her cabin. Go kiss her, Bulldog."

* * * * *

King walked through the busy decks of the Churchill in a daze.

It's over.

It was hard to believe. It wasn't sinking in. He could look outside a porthole and still see Achernar. This was all just a dream. Had to be. A war light-years away from Earth? Alien dinosaurs and snakes woven of fire? Giant spiders and ships shaped like scorpions? The Freedom flying into a star, and a supernova wiping out an alien empire? It was ridiculous. Just a dream, that was all. King must be wounded, hallucinating in some hospital bed. None of this could be real.

But as he walked through the ship, he saw his soldiers. They saluted him. They prayed for him. A few cheered, but most wept tears. Tears of joy for they had won the war. Tears of grief for the fallen. Real tears. Real people. Yes, this really happened. And the woman waiting for him was real too.

"You old bulldog." A deep voice spoke behind him. "I never thought I'd see your ugly mug again."

King turned and saw Jordan in the crowd.

He growled at the tall man. "Bet you hate seeing me. Thought you'd finally get the admiral job, huh? Well, I'm not dead yet, so wipe that grin off your face, you old bastard."

Jordan elbowed his way through the crowd, glared at King, perhaps prepared some quip, but then the act broke. Jordan pulled him into a hug.

"Welcome back from the dead." Jordan's voice choked. "I love you, buddy. Welcome back."

King tightened his arms around Jordan. "Love you too, you old bastard."

Jordan took a step back, holding King at arm's length. "Where the hell are you going? The victory party's on the upper deck."

"I'm going to find the woman I love. Not that it's any of your business."

Jordan laughed. "Go find her. I'll be on the upper deck. You should join us. You and Kim. I think I'll sing to entertain the troops."

"Then I think I'll stay in the lower decks, thank you very much." He hugged Jordan again. "It's good to see you again, my friend."

"Ah, stop hugging me, you old softie. There's a woman waiting for you, dammit. Go find her." Jordan winked and wandered off, already singing.

King kept moving through the ship.

He found her cabin on deck 3. He knocked on the door. No answer came. Did he find the wrong room? Hesitantly King opened the door.

Kim was inside, sitting on her bunk, gazing out the window. A tear gleamed on her cheek.

When she noticed him, she looked up, blinked, was silent.

"Jim?" she whispered, voice shaking.

"It's me. I'm alive."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. For a moment, it looked like she didn't believe her eyes. Then she let out a sob, raced across the cabin, and crashed into his arms. He stood holding her, the woman he loved.

"We won, Kim," he whispered, his lips brushing her golden hair. "We won. It's over. It's over."

* * * * *

The alien allies, those brave civilizations that had fought alongside humanity, returned to their home worlds. Now the remains of the human fleet—all nations united—crossed the last distance to Earth. Seven thousand human ships had flown out to Arakavish—dreadnoughts, frigates, corvettes, and everything in between. Two thousand ships returned. Beaten. Battered. Haunted. But victorious.

Over a million human spacers had died in Operation Pillar of Fire. They all died in one day. It was among the deadliest battles in human history. With the life of a million brave soldiers, they had won freedom.

There ahead—there she was.

Earth. The blue marble. Home. And she was so beautiful.

"For most of my life, Freedom was my home," King said. He stood beside Kim in the cabin aboard the Churchill, gazing at the view. "It's funny, but I never really spent too much time on Earth."

Kim looked at him, and she spoke softly. "I suppose you'll find another ship now. I suppose Godwin will want you to keep leading the fleet from another flagship."

King heaved a long, deep sigh. "There is no replacing the Freedom. I lost people I loved in this war. Friends. Dear friends. And the Freedom is a loss I mourn just as heavily. No, I'm done with space. I've spent my entire adult life in a spaceship, fighting for Earth. I'm old now. Whatever years I have left—I want to spend them on Earth. The planet I fought so hard for."

She smiled shakily. "You're not so old. Only sixty-four."

He cracked his neck. "Trust me, I feel every one of those years."

She slipped her hand into his. "So you're retiring."

"From the military. But there's a lot of work to do on Earth. Nebraska, my home, lies in ruin. Burned down to almost nothing. But there's still good soil there beneath the ash. There are still survivors who emerged from their bomb shelters to find ruins. There are new homes to build. Soil to till. I won't be running out of work anytime soon. I think it's time that I put aside my gun and lift a plow."

Kim grinned. "James King the farmer. I can already imagine it. You'll need a straw hat." Then she grew serious. "I suppose you'll be too busy for, well … other things. Like unemployed engineers." She looked into his eyes.

"Kim." He brushed his fingers against her cheek. "I love you. More than anything. More than you'll ever know. In the horror of war, you made me happy. When I felt despair, you gave me hope. You are the most wonderful woman I know. Come with me. Come home with me. I'll build us a cabin by a stream. I'll get you a horse if you want one, a car if you prefer. I'll—"

"You don't need to get me anything," Kim said. "You just need to be there. With me." She bit her lip. "Come to think of it … what size cabin are we talking about?"

He laughed. "I'll let you draw the blueprints. You're the engineer."

A knock on the door. Just as King was kissing her.

Mimori burst into the room. "Sir, sir! We're entering orbit around Earth, and— Oh." The android fell silent. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

King ignored her and kept kissing the woman he loved.

* * * * *

"Pop Pop!"

Rowan ran toward him across the tarmac, her pigtails fluttering in the wind. The ten-year-old leaped onto him, laughing.

"Rowan!" King lifted her, then groaned. "You're getting heavy. How are you, sweetie?"

Bastian stepped out of the shuttle, blinking in the sunlight. He cleared his throat. "Um, I'm here too. You know, your father?"

Rowan giggled, hopped onto the tarmac, and ran toward Bastian.

They had taken the shuttle down from the Churchill, landing in a busy military spaceport. Thousands of people were here, waving Alliance flags, waiting for their loved ones. More shuttles landed around them. Soldiers emerged, some on crutches, some in wheelchairs, all beaming. Their families ran toward them, tears in their eyes, and embraced the heroes returning home.

Most families waited for sons and daughters who would never come home. They stood on the tarmac, watching every shuttle that landed, still clinging to hope. They scanned the crowd for those they loved. They would wait for hours, maybe for days, and they would never see those they sought.

Alice's aunt and uncle were here. They wormed their way through the crowd. Aunt Allenby was holding baby Oli, and when Alice took her son into her arms, she couldn't stop the tears. Nor could Bastian, and even King himself felt his eyes dampen. Over the past few hours, he had probably shed more tears than during his entire life until now.

King looked around him. He saw the soldiers with missing limbs. The families hugging their wounded loved ones. The families who would keep waiting. Beyond the spaceport, he saw the ruins of great cities and the smoldering lands where no crops grew. Earth would not heal for many years. Perhaps not for generations. Perhaps humanity would never fully heal, and they would forever carry the trauma of the great Spider War. As some wounds never healed, so did some tragedies forever haunt humanity.

Fully heal? Maybe not. But they could still build a good world from these ruins. They could plant new seeds, raise new cities, find new joy. King was one of the lucky ones. He had come home, and he still had many people that he loved.

Kim stepped out from the shuttle, and she held his hand. They stood together, looking at the smoldering lands.

I miss the people that I lost, King thought. I miss Darjeeling. I miss Stowy. But I'm so grateful for the people I still have. For my family. He looked at Kim. And for her.

She smiled at him. "Penny for your thoughts."

He smiled back. "We're home."

* * * * *

The first week on Earth went by quickly.

King barely had time to catch his breath. He spent time visiting the wounded in hospitals. He visited the bunkers beneath London, where High Commander Godwin practically begged him not to retire. King had to politely—but firmly—turn the old man down. For a surprisingly lengthy amount of time, he dealt with the bureaucracy of retiring from the military and becoming a civilian again. There was a lot of paperwork involved. A lot.

He didn't even have time to visit Nebraska yet.

He didn't have much time with Kim either. She was busy with her own chaos. A wounded son. Aging parents on Earth who needed her. Her own retirement paperwork.

They were like sprinters who had just finished a marathon. The war was over, but they were still catching their breath.

But at night, they got to spend time together.

The nights were not easy.

The first night, Kim woke up from a nightmare, screaming. The second night on Earth, it was King who tossed and turned and moaned, dreaming of spiders, and the sheets became cobwebs in his mind. But when they woke up, drenched in cold sweat, they were there for each other. Their love kept the demons at bay.

"I thought this would be easier," Kim said one night, trembling in his arms. "I thought that once we won the war, that once we came back to Earth, it would be a happy ending. That we'd sit by the fireplace in our cabin. That we'd know peace. Instead, we have chaos during the days and nightmares after dark."

King kissed her. "There are wounds of war that do not heal. I still have nightmares sometimes of the Third World War. I still carry an injury on my neck. The wounds from the Rah War will always be with us."

Tears filled her eyes. "So is that what we get? Shell shock? A life of nightmares?"

"The nightmares don't ever go away completely, but they do get better," King said. "I can't give you a fairy-tale ending. But for whatever it's worth, Kim, I'm always here for you, and I'll always love you."

"It's worth a lot," she whispered. "And right back at ya, Jim. You know that, right? That I love you and I'm here for you."

"Copycat," he said.

On the eighth day after the war, King had to leave Earth.

"Just for a few hours," he promised Kim.

There was one more thing he must do in space. One more friend he had to say goodbye to.

* * * * *

Bastian stood on the scorched Earth of Nebraska, gazing at what remained of the family ranch.

It wasn't much.

A few foundation timbers stuck up from the burnt soil. The skeletons of horses and cattle littered the yard. There was also the skeleton of poor old Ebeneezer, the groundskeeper. He had been maintaining the ranch while the family was fighting in space. Nobody had even buried him.

This was Bastian's childhood home. His birthright. Burned down to nothing.

The wind blew, scattering ashes over Bastian. He stood, eyes dry. He had no more tears left.

Alice slipped her hand into his.

"I'm sorry, Bas."

He lowered his head. "I never spent much time here, you know. Most of my life was on the Freedom. That ship is gone too. Everything is gone."

"Not us," Alice said. "Not your family."

He looked at them. For the first time in years, Alice did not wear a military uniform. Like him, she had hung up that uniform, and she wore simple jeans and a sweatshirt. She held baby Oli in one hand. Rowan stood beside her, eyes solemn, clinging to her. While Alice was not Rowan's biological mother, the two had formed a bond as close as blood.

Warmth filled Bastian.

"We are what matters," he said. "This family. We're together. We're worth more than a starship, more than a ranch. We'll build a new home. A home that we didn't inherit. A home we build ourselves. The start of something new."

"Daddy," Rowan said, "when you build a new house, can I have my own room? I don't want to share with Oli."

The baby giggled.

"And I want a home gym," Alice said.

"Oh, and can I have a pony?" said Rowan.

"Pony!" said Oli.

"All right, all right, everyone!" Bastian said. "Calm down. I'm not taking any requests yet."

Alice and the kids hopped back into the shuttle. They flew over the land, seeking places where the soil was still healthy, where things could grow. Things like trees and crops. Like families. Like good memories and the promise of a good future.

Bastian remained for a while longer. He buried the dead caretaker. He stood among the ashes, deep in thought. He needed this time alone. To say goodbye. Not just goodbye to this ranch. But to the Freedom. To his soldiers. To friends he lost. To his long life as a soldier and leader of men.

A few hours later, Alice came to pick him up. The kids ran outside, laughing. Oli tottered more than ran.

"Daddy, daddy, we found a good spot!" Rowan said. "We found cows too! Can you build us a house there? Remember—I get my own room. And a pony."

"Pony!" Oli said.

Bastian hugged his children and stepped into the shuttle. Alice was in the cockpit. She had kept the engine running. They took off, and Bastian held his kids close and did not look back.

* * * * *

After a week on Earth—a week of chaos, hospital visits, funerals, and the chaotic bureaucracy involved with retirement—King took a shuttle into space.

He flew alone.

As he rose from the atmosphere, gliding into the blackness, he could finally breathe.

I missed this, he thought. The silence. The open spaces. The stars.

He barked a laugh.

"I've been on Earth for only a week, and I already miss space. Some Earthling I am."

Talking to himself. Another sign of madness.

He took deep breaths, letting the thoughts flow over him, clearing his mind. He simply experienced the solitude and beauty of space. For the first time in four years of hell, he could truly enjoy the stars with no fear of spiders.

He navigated through the wreckage of war. Many starship hulks still floated around Earth, burnt and charred. Some had floated into the void. Others were strapped to tugs that kept them in orbit. Salvage crews were moving across their hulls, searching for—

King's chest tightened.

Suddenly he saw it again. Clawships attacking. Spiders swarming.

He forced a deep breath. Just a memory. The rahs were all dead. Just his imagination. For a moment, shudders ran through him.

King knew that he was lucky. That he was a rare kind of soldier. He had an unusually strong resistance to trauma. In his career, King had seen strong, brave men—stronger and braver than him—driven into pits of despair. Some even ended their lives, the only way they could banish the demons. King had never suffered from shell shock in such a profound way. But he was not immune. He carried his own share of pain. For a long time, he shuddered and struggled for breath, waiting until the demons had their fun and fluttered off. For now. He knew they would return.

He flew into deeper orbit. And there he saw her.

The newest starship in the fleet.

She had rolled out the shipyard last Tuesday, missing the war by mere days. Her hull bore no scars. No soot stained her cannons or exhaust ports. She was a dreadnought. A kilometer long from stern to stem, she was smaller than the Freedom but still massive. She carried all the modern tech. Her firepower, sophisticated shields, and state-of-the-art engines left no doubt. This was the greatest ship in the Alliance Fleet.

She still had no name. By tradition, the first commander got to name a new ship. And King was looking forward to meeting this ship's first commander.

An airlock dilated, and King flew his shuttle inside. He landed on a sleek, modern deck. For such a large hangar, there were surprisingly few deckhands. Drones did most of the work. When King stepped out of his shuttle, an old friend awaited him.

"Selly!" King called out.

The Aeolian walked toward him on eight muscular legs. His round, rocky shell shone with gemstones of various types, each stone signifying another field of knowledge mastered. A hatch opened atop the shell, and a small head with three eyes emerged.

"Bully Dog!" said the alien. "It is good to see you."

Selly licked King's hand, an Aeolian's way of greeting. King slapped the rocky alien on the shell.

"Ow. You are … hitting me?" Selly said.

"My way of showing affection."

"Ah, I see, Bully Dog. There are still human mannerisms that confuse me."

"I didn't know you were aboard, Selly!"

"Ah yes. I am the new science officer." With one thick foot, he tapped his shell. "Look, Bully Dog. I am the first nonhuman to serve in the Alliance."

What King had mistook for yet another crystal was an Alliance badge.

"I'm proud of you, Selly. Will you take me to see the commander?"

"Follow me, Bully Dog."

As they walked through the starship, Selly pointed to different departments, talking all the while. Spacers bustled about, but whenever they saw King, they snapped to attention and saluted. He wasn't even wearing a uniform. He was in jeans and a leather bomber jacket, but the spacers recognized him, honored him, and some had tears in their eyes.

Finally King stepped onto the bridge.

She stood before him, gazing out the central viewport.

She wore the service uniform of the Alliance Fleet. Navy-blue trousers, blazer, and cap. A ceremonial saber hung at her side, and her brown hair was neatly braided. New insignia gleamed on her shoulders. Two stars on each shoulder. Commander.

King cleared his throat. "Commander Levy! I hope you don't mind an old man wandering onto your bridge."

Gal "Spitfire" Levy spun around, and her face split into a smile. She took a step forward, arms reaching out for a hug, then recollected herself, snapped her heels together, and saluted. "Sir!"

He waved dismissively. "No need to sir me. I'm retired. Give an old man a hug."

She did. Emphatically. Crushingly.

When she finally released him, he held her at arm's length. "Look at you, Gal. The little girl who used to run barefoot through the Freedom, chasing Bastian with a wooden sword. The commander of a dreadnought."

She grew solemn. "Sir, it shouldn't be me. Put on the uniform again. Lead this ship."

He snorted. "Spare me. Godwin already gave me the spiel." He sighed. "No, Spitfire, I've done my duty. I've served my time. It was the honor of my life. And now it's time I pass the torch to the next generation. I can think of no one better than you to command the new flagship."

Tears dampened her eyes. "I'll miss you, Bulldog. You're my mentor. You're my hero."

"I'm not dying yet." He barked a laugh. "I'll still be around, Spitfire, only a short call away. I'm always here for you. For advice. For anything you might need."

She wiped her eyes. "I know."

He looked around the bridge. "Nice place you got here. Could use a few more real monitors. Less reliance on MindWeb. But all in all, not too shabby. Have you decided what you're going to name her?"

"The Lioness. My father's call sign was Lion. Ships are female, so … Lioness." She froze. "You don't … you don't think I should name her Freedom, do you?"

He shook his head. "No. The Freedom was one of a kind."

Spitfire smiled wistfully. "She really was. Our grand old lady of the stars. If the Lioness can do one tenth as well, she'll go down in legend." She bit her lip. "Are you sure you don't want to—"

"I'm sure."

He ran his hand along a bulkhead.

I think I'm sure.

He did miss this. He really did. But then he thought of Kim. Of his grandkids. He had a life down there. A new life. A new adventure.

Yes, I'm sure.

The door chimed open behind them. The sentry announced: "XO on deck!"

King spun around, and his jaw nearly dropped.

A young officer stepped onto the bridge. She was blond and blue-eyed, and a star shone on each of her slender shoulders. King could barely believe it was her.

"Sir!" she cried and ran toward him.

"Emily!" He grabbed her as she leaped onto him. "You're the XO?"

She nodded. "Yes. Spitfire asked me. She promoted me. And I decided to take the job."

King frowned. "But your throne. Your kingdom."

Sadness flitted across her eyes, and she spoke softly. "I abdicated, sir."

His eyes widened. "You abdicated!"

"Being queen was the greatest honor of my life. But aboard the Freedom, I realized something. I did not earn my throne. I did not earn royalty. I did not earn the right to lead the people of Britain. But I did earn my commission in the Alliance. I did earn my scars. I did earn the right to stand here on this bridge, an officer. I do not belong on a throne. I belong on a starship."

King saluted her. "You have my respect, madam."

"I personally think it's a terrible idea!" Niles flew through the door. "Oh, I tried to dissuade her. I begged her. Begged! If I had knees, I would have gotten down on them and groveled. Oh, to be stuck on a starship with commoners when we could live in a palace! I told the queen she does not belong in this bucket of bolts, but does anyone ever listen to me? No. Ignore the fussy old drone, they all say. If people listened to me, none of this would have happened, and . . ."

His voice faded, becoming softer and softer until it vanished. Emily was turning a dial on a remote control.

She looked at King. "I finally got him a volume dial."

"Good thinking."

Emily smiled. "Will you join us for our inaugural flight, sir? Just one orbit around Earth."

He shook his head. "No. I'm the old generation. This is your ship. This is your adventure." He smiled at Spitfire and Emily. "Make it a good one. I'm proud of you both."

* * * * *

A year after Operation Pillar of Fire, after that terrible day when a million spacers died so far from home, King stood on Earth, building a house.

He paused to knuckle his back, crack his neck, and wipe sweat off his brow. At sixty-five, he wasn't as limber as he used to be. But it still felt good to be out there. To breathe the fresh Earth air. To work with his hands. He was even getting a tan. After nearly half a century in a starship, he felt so … not young again, no. But alive.

He looked at his handiwork. The house was coming along well enough. He had never built a house before, but he had watched quite a few MindWeb videos, had read a few manuals, and he was figuring things out. It helped that his girlfriend was an engineer.

Kim stood nearby, a hard hat on her head, a tool belt around her waist. She was holding a blueprint and scratching her head.

"Jim, I'm not sure we got the water pipe in the right place. I think we might have to move it. Remember—we wanted a second shower."

He groaned. "Do we really need plumbing? When I was a kid, my grandfather only had an outhouse."

"I'm not using an outhouse!"

King rubbed his shoulders. He would redo the pipes later. For now, he stood and admired what was right. The foundation was solid. The area was beautiful—a hill overlooking a river. Grass rustled again in the valley, and fish were swimming once more. Life was returning to Nebraska. He looked at Kim—at her blue eyes, frowning at the blueprints. At her blond hair spilling out from the hard hat. This was right too. She was right.

She looked up at him. "What?"

"You're beautiful. And I love you."

"Oh, shut up! I'm still not using an outhouse."

King laughed. "Fine, fine, I'll move the pipe. Just give me another five minutes to rest. Slave driver."

She blew him a kiss. "You know I am. Love you too."

A deep voice boomed behind him. "You got the plumbing all wrong, old man!"

King turned to see Jordan trudging uphill. He wore work clothes, a baseball hat, and a tool belt around his waist.

"Don't you worry about my plumbing," King growled. "You should worry more about that crooked roof of yours. It's going to leak come the first rains."

The two men turned to look across the valley. Another house was under construction on the next hill over. Jordan had been working on it all summer.

"At least I have a roof," Jordan said. "You're still stuck on the foundation!"

"That's because I'm doing it right, goddammit," King said. "Not like your shoddy work."

"Shoddy work?" Jordan exclaimed. "My house is perfect. I'll be nice and dry when the rain comes. You can enjoy sitting on your foundation."

"Who the hell invited you to build a house near mine?" King snapped.

"You don't own these hills."

"I own this one, and you're intruding."

Jordan snorted. "Oh please. I know you're glad to see me. I came to help you. God knows you need the help."

"You can help me by moving to another state."

"And miss the pleasure of seeing you so crotchety? Not a chance, old friend. Not a chance."

King grumbled and sat down on a log. "At least sit down, goddammit. You're scaring the birds." He passed Jordan a canteen.

Jordan sat down beside him and accepted the drink. "What's this?" He sniffed. "Tea?"

"Kim got me drinking the stuff. Says I drink too much coffee. And I quit the booze."

"Now you just need to quit complaining all the time," Jordan said.

"I wouldn't have anything to complain about if you moved."

Kim looked at the pair, uncertain. "Is it going to be like this forever?"

Jordan nodded. "Sorry, my dear. We're two old men. Bickering is how we show love."

"Great." Kim sighed. "I think I'll go work on the backyard."

King tilted his head. "We don't have a backyard yet."

"I'll get started." She vanished behind the house.

Jordan laughed and put a hand on King's shoulder. "You're a lucky man, my friend. Don't let her get away."

King spoke softly. "I wouldn't for the world. And I'm glad you're here too." He glared at his old friend. "Your roof is still going to leak though."

The two friends sat in silence for a long time, watching the wind rustle through the grass.

Finally King spoke again, his voice choked. "I wish Oliver could have been here. I wish Stowy were alive. I miss them. I miss them all. All those who fell."

Jordan lowered his head. "It seems unfair to me. That we should linger on, two cranky old men. That we should have our happy ending. While so many young men and women will never grow old."

King raised his head and gazed at the sky. The sun was low. Soon the sunset would drape the land in flame and the stars would shine.

"We shook the heavens, and we set the galaxy on fire. I will never forget the fallen. I will never forget the terrors in the dark. And I will never forget the starship Freedom, our lady of the stars."

Jordan raised the canteen. "For the Freedom."

"For the Freedom."

"Jim!" Jordan put the canteen down. "Are you all right? You're crying."

"I'll be all right, my friend. I'll be all right."

For a moment, King could see Oliver Darjeeling sitting beside him. He could see Stowy skipping in the grass. He could see Pickles and Eun-Yu and Katana and all the thousands who had fought for him, who had given their lives for him. They were all his family, and they stood in the valley, and one by one, they saluted him. He had led them to their deaths, but they forgave him, and they honored him.

Kim returned from behind the house, carrying a basket of fruit and a fresh pot of steaming tea. She joined them on the log, the wind in her hair, and King slung his arm around her. The three of them sat together, watching the wind rustle the grass in the valley until the first stars shone.

The End

A new science fiction adventure begins in...

Mintari: A World of Dinosaurs

DanielArenson.com/Mintari

AFTERWORD

Well, this concludes the Starship Freedom series. Thank you for reading these novels. I really hope you enjoyed the series.

After eight novels with the starship Freedom, it's time to say goodbye... but a new adventure begins.

I invite you to join me on a new journey. This time we go to Mintari, a world of dinosaurs.

Dinosaurs. Majestic giants. They've captured our imagination for generations. On planet Mintari, they live again.

Grab the novel at:

DanielArenson.com/Mintari

Also, please join my mailing list (and receive three free ebooks):

DanielArenson.com/MailingList

Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

MINTARI

A World of Dinosaurs

STARSHIP FREEDOM

Starship Freedom

Starship Freedom II: The Cost of Freedom

Starship Freedom III: We Fight for Freedom

Starship Freedom IV: For Death or Freedom

Starship Freedom V: Let Freedom Ring

Starship Freedom VI: In Pursuit of Freedom

Starship Freedom VII: The Guns of Freedom

Starship Freedom VIII: A Time for Freedom

EARTHRISE

Earth Alone

Earth Lost

Earth Rising

Earth Fire

Earth Shadows

Earth Valor

Earth Reborn

Earth Honor

Earth Eternal

Earth Machines

Earth Aflame

Earth Unleashed

Earth Remembers

Earth in Darkness

Earth, Our Home

SOLDIERS OF EARTHRISE

The Earthling

Earthlings

Earthling's War

I, Earthling

The Earthling's Daughter

We Are Earthlings

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE

The Heirs of Earth

A Memory of Earth

An Echo of Earth

The War for Earth

The Song of Earth

The Legacy of Earth

KINGDOMS OF SAND

Kings of Ruin

Crowns of Rust

Thrones of Ash

Temples of Dust

Halls of Shadows

Echoes of Light

THE MOTH SAGA

Moth

Empires of Moth

Secrets of Moth

Daughter of Moth

Shadows of Moth

Legacy of Moth

REQUIEM

Dawn of Dragons

Requiem's Song

Requiem's Hope

Requiem's Prayer

The Complete Trilogy

Song of Dragons

Blood of Requiem

Tears of Requiem

Light of Requiem

The Complete Trilogy

Dragonlore

A Dawn of Dragonfire

A Day of Dragon Blood

A Night of Dragon Wings

The Complete Trilogy

The Dragon War

A Legacy of Light

A Birthright of Blood

A Memory of Fire

The Complete Trilogy

Requiem for Dragons

Dragons Lost

Dragons Reborn

Dragons Rising

The Complete Trilogy

Flame of Requiem

Forged in Dragonfire

Crown of Dragonfire

Pillars of Dragonfire

The Complete Trilogy

ALIEN HUNTERS

Alien Hunters

Alien Sky

Alien Shadows

OTHER WORLDS

Utopia 58

Eye of the Wizard

Wand of the Witch

Firefly Island

The Gods of Dream

Flaming Dove

KEEP IN TOUCH

www.DanielArenson.com

Daniel@DanielArenson.com

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