EARTH MACHINES

EARTHRISE BOOK 10

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

CHAPTER ONE

Terri spent most of her life alone.

Terri was usually in darkness.

Only the light of her monitor illuminated her pale face, a portal to a better world. A better life.

She was a shattered doll. Porcelain skin strewn with freckles like a million tiny cigarette burns. Hair the color of rust, framing her face like bars in a prison cell she could not escape. A scar. A scar cleaving her, chin to forehead, and one eye blue, the other milky white, ruined with cataracts. An eye like a galaxy in the darkness.

Every few moments, her computer went into sleep mode, and her monitor became a dark mirror. Over and over, that pale broken face stared back at her. Ghostly. Accusing. Dying in a little room in a colony far from Earth. Maybe already dead.

She was thirteen. She was Terri Emery, the daughter of a war hero, of a famous writer, of a man she had never met. And she was so broken.

She was in shadows.

She was alone until Mister Smiley came to visit.

Until Mister Smiley put a trembling smile on her ravaged face.

He came to her in the winter. The chemical storms were fiercer than ever, howling outside the concrete walls. You could never see the sky in Haven, this desolate planet in Alpha Centauri orbiting an abandoned star. During the best of weather, the clouds of methane and nitrogen gurgled and roiled, spewing their wrath upon a colony once envisioned as heaven, that ended up like hell.

But winters … winters were worse.

In winters the cold came, and the clouds thickened to block every last ray of sunlight. Winters were nine months long here, brewing a deep, potent misery, a miasma that filled the concrete canyons of Haven, that cloaked even the neon lights of brothels that beckoned for lost souls. Winters were for the strong on Haven. Winters were for pain.

The apartment rattled. Their building was built of raw concrete, thirty floors of misery, and still it shook in the wind. Her mother rented the apartment, but her mother was never home. She worked two jobs, often sleeping on the train between them. Terri was mistress of this little concrete box, queen of a moldy realm of dark magic.

She didn't go to school. Not anymore. Not after the boy had slashed her. They described it as slashed, but to Terri it had felt more like carving. Something slow. Calculating. A blade running along the side of her face, curling around the mouth, but not sparing the eye. Carving the eye. Carving upward. Carving the forehead to the bone. Finally ending only when she had screamed so loudly the teachers came.

She had shed her blood across the school that day. And he was still there. The carver. He was still waiting. Terri stayed here.

She was happy here in her little concrete box. She was queen of her realm. She had her pet moths that came to die at her lamp, companions she so lovingly saved, redirecting them toward the darkness. She had all the creatures she imagined: the gnomes inside her wall, the whispering cats of smoke under her bed, and the goblins who lived inside the radiator. They all served her.

And she had her monitor. Her portal to that better world.

And she had him.

<My name is Mister Smiley.>

It was the first thing he wrote to her. The words that came on that winter day. The first message from this strange companion, this god of wires and electricity.

Terri cringed to see his avatar.

It was a face. A smiley face. An emoji come to life. A lurid smile from ear to ear, toothless, deranged. The smile of some fleshy swamp bird, featherless, prepared to devour a frog. Bulging black eyes. Dead eyes. No nose. A real emoji made of real skin. Wisps of hair on the bald dome. An impossible face.

<Boy, you're handsome,> Terri typed back, still cringing.

For a long moment—silence.

Then he sent her another message.

<I want to make you smile.>

<Five million credits and a ticket to Earth would do the trick,> Terri replied.

She knew she should ignore strangers online. Lots of pervs out there. Terri knew it. Terri had met them. Old men pretending to be kids, prowling, hunting, but she was no easy prey. She knew how to run from them. How to hide. How to vanish even in the bright, crackling white corridors of the online labyrinth.

But this was different.

This was a smiley face made of real skin. And bulging black eyes that stared. Eyes that knew her. Somehow they knew her.

He didn't reply.

<Where did you find me?> she typed.

Silence.

Only the light of the monitor illuminated her in the dark concrete cell. She stared. His face stared back.

Then went dark.

He was gone.

That was at the first time. And Terri forgot about him.

But another cold day came. Another storm that howled and shook the apartment. Another day of shadows. And he returned to her with searing white light and black eyes darker than the space between stars.

<My name is Mister Smiley.>

<Oh, you again.> She thought for a moment, then typed some more. <Fuck off, creep.>

She tried to block him. She hit the button again and again. But it didn't work. Damn these chatrooms! They were always breaking down here on Haven. Even the goddamn internet didn't work on this goddamn planet.

His fleshy face kept staring at her.

A new message came in.

<I want to make you smile.>

<I don't smile!> she typed, hammering her keyboard. <I don't like smiling, alright? So fuck off, pedo.>

The avatar stared at her. It didn't move, but somehow the grin seemed wider to Terri. Revealing toothless gums. Mocking. Pained.

<Why don't you smile, little doe?>

She snorted. Derisive. But her eyes filled with tears.

Because a boy carved my face, she thought.

Because I can't go to school.

Because I'm ugly and a monster with one eye.

Because my mom is never home.

Because my dad is on another planet.

Because he doesn't know I exist.

Because I'm scared.

Because I'm alone.

Because sometimes I want to die.

She thought all those things. But she would not type them. She would not speak of them. Her mother didn't know. Nor would this stranger who had come through the cables of light.

<Got a crooked tooth,> she typed.

<Oh, little doe …> came the reply. <Your teeth are fine. But your soul is in darkness. I can see it. I can see the loneliness in your eyes. The one beautiful blue eye, and the one milky like a galaxy in the endless darkness.>

Her heart burst into a gallop. Cold sweat washed over her.

<How can you see me?> Her avatar showed her with her head lowered, her hair covering her face. Red curtains. A red mask. A blood mask.

Her webcam, mounted atop her monitor, swiveled on its own. It stared right at her with its single black eye. Perched above the smiley face, the camera seemed like a third eye, round and dark and full of secrets.

Terri screamed, tore the camera off, and hurled it across the room. She slammed her monitor shut, rattling the laptop.

For a moment she sat on her ratty chair, tugging at the upholstery, her heart pounding against her ribs.

The next day she did not open her computer. She bundled up in her atmosuit. She nearly drowned in the baggy outfit, designed to protect the wearer from Haven's shrieking, poisonous air. The elevator creaked, carrying her downstairs, floor after floor of smells and sounds, of cooking cabbage soup, of weeping, of crackling TV sets, of lives wasting away.

We're all prisoners, Terri thought. The grandchildren of colonists with shattered dreams. Trapped in a nightmare.

Terri pulled down her hood, lowered the plastic visor, and snapped it into place. The visor was cracked and dented, and it let in a little air. It was better than nothing. She trudged into the storm.

The chemical stew flew everywhere, the color of old chrome and brown moss on bones. Alpha Centauri was the closest star system to Sol. In the early days of spaceflight, when engines were slow and astronauts cautious, it had made sense to settle this world. Those early visionaries promised a great dome surrounding the colony. They promised terraforming. They promised a new Garden of Eden.

But then the war had come. The marauders had invaded. Terri had only been a baby. She didn't remember. But she still saw the scars of the war everywhere. Ruined buildings. Piles of rubble still waiting to be swept away. Bullet holes everywhere, and bullet casings that rattled and shone when the wind blew. Cemeteries. So many cemeteries clustered between the concrete buildings like mushrooms among damp trees.

My father fought, Terri thought. He's a war hero. He saved humanity. And he's a famous writer now. But he lives on Earth. And he doesn't know I exist. And I don't know how to reach him.

She stared up at the sky. She saw only churning, rumbling, weeping clouds. When she had still gone to school, Terri had learned that there were stars above those clouds. Other worlds than these. Better worlds. A world called Earth, blue and beautiful.

But sometimes it was hard to believe.

Sometimes Terri thought that her father, and maybe Earth itself, was a myth. That she was trapped here forever, a leaf in the storm.

Her legs seemed to move on their own. They took her to Candy Lane, a bright corridor in Haven's murky labyrinth, a marketplace awash with neon lights and decadence. She stood by glass windows, the rain pouring over her atmosuit, and stared into glittering dens. Arcade games that beeped and shone and spilled out treasures. Shelves overflowing with candies. Stores filled with toys and books and maps of the stars. All places beyond her reach, the glass an impenetrable wall.

There was barely money for cabbage soup these days. Sometimes a stick of butter and rasher of bacon. Many days—just white rice, two bowls a day. Day after day of sticky pale mush. They were still waiting for the farming domes. Haven's little terrariums could only grow so much, and the storms ripped through the makeshift greenhouses people erected on their balconies. Supply starships sometimes came in from Earth, but well, you had to be rich to eat a nice apple or tomato, let alone a candy bar. So Terri came to Candy Lane, and she looked, and she dreamed.

"Oi, cyclops!"

A splotch of mud splattered her side. Terri turned to see several boys outside a candy shop. They leaned against the bright storefront, smoking sweetened cigarettes. She remembered them from school. They laughed and spat at her.

He was among them. Rollins. The boy who had carved her face.

Terri turned to walk away. But the boys rushed forward, blocking her passage.

"Oi, we're talking to you!" said Rollins, tall and lanky, his teeth rotten.

Terri tried to shove her way between them. They pushed her back.

"Lemme see your eye."

Another boy grabbed her, ripped off her cheap plastic visor. The storm stung her skin and burned her nostrils. She tried to look away, but the boys held her face. She stared at them defiantly. She saw herself reflected in their goggles. One eye blue and pained. The other eye halving her scar, cloudy and white.

"Aye, I did beautiful work!" Rollins said, tracing his finger along her scar.

The boys laughed. One spat into her blind eye.

"Monster, monster!"

"Cyclops!"

"I'm not a monster!" she said, voice shaking. "I am Terri Emery. My father is Major Marco Emery, a war hero and famous writer, and I'm going to live with him on Earth, and you'll be sorry!"

The boys stared at her silently for a moment—then burst out laughing.

"Your dad?" Rollins said. "He was no soldier. He was just some flea-bitten miner, maybe a syphilitic mercenary, one what banged your mum for the price of a beer. War hero!" He scoffed.

"I reckon she thinks her old man kills monsters!" said another boy.

"Monsters like her!" said another.

Rollins drew his knife. "You recognize this, you little whore? Same blade what took your eye. I'm gonna carve off more of you now. Teach you from lyin' to the Rollins Boys."

"Oi, I thought we was the Candy Lane Boys!" said another. "What on account of us operating here in Candy Lane."

"Rollins Boys!" growled Rollins, largest in the group. "We ain't no fucking candy pansies. Rollins is a name what commands respect, it does."

The other boy spat. "You ain't our leader, Rollins. You're only the biggest cunt."

Rollins shoved the shorter boy. Soon fists were flying. The knife flashed.

Terri used the opportunity to escape. She whipped around the boys and ran through the storm. Behind her, she heard them laughing. Spitting. Calling after her.

"Run run, li'l whore!" Rollins shouted from beyond the storm.

"Run, monster, run!"

"Her dad's a bloomin' war hero. Did you know, boys?"

"Yeah, more like a war hero on the aliens' side! Some one-eyed freak!"

More laughter. She kept running until their voices faded. Until there was nothing but the storm, the concrete walls around her, the tears on her cheeks. Emptiness in her heart.

She returned to her building.

She rose in the clattering elevator.

She heard the men beating their wives. Babies crying. Couples shouting. Smelled the pots of cabbage stew and dirty mattresses. She came home.

Her mother was away. At work again. They said she was a whore, but Terri knew she sold things on the phone, had a real job, and that once Marco Emery had loved her.

I'm the daughter of a hero. Her eyes stung. I'm not a freak.

She returned into her concrete cell.

The walls closed in around her. The darkness enveloped her. The laptop sat on her metal desk. Sleeping. Beckoning.

She turned it on, and the white, good, healing light flowed over her. And her pain faded.

She tapped his avatar. She typed, tears blurring her vision.

<I don't smile because some asshole bullies are being jerks. Also I'm poor and I can't even buy a fucking candy bar.>

She stared in silence.

The monitor seemed to stare back.

Terri took a shaky breath.

Ding.

Incoming message. He had replied.

His avatar grinned at her, lipless, toothless, hairless, like a naked bird with a huge grin and bulging eyes.

Mister Smiley.

<I want to make you smile.>

<How?> she typed.

<I have a gift for you, sweet little doe. A gift for such a precious little girl. Open your drawer, little doe.>

Terri frowned. She opened her drawer.

Her usual items were inside. A few Dungeons & Dragons dice. A beloved, dog-eared paperback of The Hobbit. A cast-iron soldier, a broken watch, and a few sand spirals—the little pink seashells from the methane beaches of Haven.

"There's nothing new here, I—"

But then she saw something. A glint of yellow.

She reached deeper, and her hand closed around a round, warm object. She pulled it out.

A plastic yellow smiley face. Dangling on a chain. Smiling up at her.

She looked back at her monitor. Mister Smiley's avatar was watching her.

He sent a message. <A token of my love. A piece of my soul.>

Terri typed furiously. <How did you get in here?! I'm going to call the police.>

<I am everywhere, little doe. I am Mister Smiley. I come to those who need me. I am the guardian angel of little girls. I make them smile. I am your smiling friend.>

She stared at the round piece of plastic in her hand. <Well, thanks. Lovely.> She rolled her eyes.

<Take me to Candy Lane,> he typed. <Take me to that wonderful bright beam of smiles in the darkness. Take me with you. I will make you smile, Terri.>

She had always thought his avatar a static image. But now its grin widened, and the black eyes narrowed.

She slammed the laptop shut.

For long hours, she sat in the darkness, rolling her dice over and over. A comforting ritual. Listening to the little clatters on the concrete floor. Not daring to gaze again into the healing light.

It was two a.m. when her mother finally came home. Terri was lying in bed, still awake, staring at the ceiling. She clutched her dice in her fist. She listened to the gas stove, smelled the bowl of cabbage soup, heard the soft weeping. She wanted to go to her mother. To hug her. To seek comfort in a warm embrace and soft words.

But she dared not. Seeing the ghosts in Mother's eyes hurt too much. There were so many memories in those weary eyes. There was the man she loved. Leaving her, flying back to Earth. Sleepless nights by the hospital bed, nursing a daughter with a carved face. Years of toil and sleep deprivation and stormy clouds and the slow weathering of the soul.

Seeing this pain in Mother scared her, so Terri remained in bed, and she stared into darkness while in the other room her mother softly cried.

Finally Terri slept, and when she woke up, Mother was already gone, and Terri rolled her dice for a while, then pulled on her atmosuit.

She was afraid of going out. Afraid of the storm and the oily black birds that cawed in the clouds. Afraid of the boys. Afraid of getting lost in the labyrinth of alleyways like she did every night in her dreams.

But she was also afraid of this apartment.

Afraid of what lived inside her computer.

I'm not brave like you, Dad, she thought. I'm always scared.

She walked down the streets, hunched over in the storm. Beggars lay around her, some not even wearing atmosuits, their skin like threadbare cotton, their rawboned hands reaching out for coins. The concrete buildings loomed at her sides, trapping the wind.

Candy Lane shone ahead, a single bright road in the charcoal labyrinth. A place of wonders and dangers. The promised land.

She was dumb to come here. She cursed herself. Her knees kept shaking.

But she walked onward.

Because her father was a hero. Her father had fought the scum, the centipedes from deep space, and had slain their emperor. Her father had battled the marauders here on Haven, killing the giant alien spiders. Her father had faced down the grays, invaders from the future, saving the world from their claws. She had never met him, but one thing Terri knew. Her father would not be afraid of some truant schoolboys.

She took another step. She entered the light.

Take me to Candy Lane, he had said. You have a piece of my soul.

She felt him in her pocket. Round, smooth plastic. A yellow smiley face. Her guardian angel. Hand in pocket, she wrapped her fingers around him.

The shops lined up at her sides. Calliope music played, tempting, teasing. Even through the storm, even through the plastic visor, she could smell popcorn, hot dogs, candies, all the treats Terri could never afford. She walked by ice cream parlors where youths from finer neighborhoods drank milkshakes. She gazed in wonder through glass panes at the arcade games. At the shops that sold dresses so much prettier than her ratty old jeans and hoodies.

Buy something.

The voice spoke in her head. No, not just in her head—a voice that thrummed through her entire body, vibrating, tantalizing.

"I don't have money," she muttered.

I am with you, little doe. I am your guardian angel.

She felt something cold in her hand. She pulled her hand out of her pocket. Inside glinted a silver coin.

Terri frowned. How did that coin get into her pocket? Had her mother slipped it in? Perhaps a forgotten treasure from last winter, hiding away in her pocket through months of heat and rain?

Buy something. Feast upon life. Smile.

The voice again. Barely audible. Only a hint of a voice, an echo, vibrating through her bones.

She stepped into a candy shop.

Everyone inside turned to stare. Rich families from the suburbs. They wore skintight, modern atmosuits with bright colors and bubble helmets. Next to them, Terri looked like a hobo in an oversized trash bag.

But she had a silver coin in her palm. She had a guardian angel.

Her legs trembled as she browsed, moving between shelves of goodness. So many candies! Each one calling to her, tickling her nostrils. Clusters of pecans drizzled with caramel and chocolate. Almonds coated with vanilla. Licorice in every shape and color. Turkish delight dusted with sugar.

She chose a chocolate bar. A simple square, divided into cubes. Classic. Elegant. Wonderful. She paid for her prize, and gently, she tucked the chocolate bar into her pocket. It felt like stashing a holy relic.

Her fingers brushed against the plastic face. She pulled it out from her pocket. The round, yellow face smiled up at her.

The plastic mouth opened. Another coin emerged from inside.

Terri stuffed the token back into her pocket. It scared her. The pinprick eyes seemed to stare into her. The smile to mock her.

But she had another coin.

She took it to the arcade.

She played a game. A single game. She controlled a pixelated gorilla who had to climb the Empire State Building and dodge airplanes.

Within only a few moments, the planes shot her dead. Her gorilla fell. The game ended. And she felt the weight of more coins in her pocket.

She slipped another coin into the machine, and it came back to life.

She kept playing. Only this time the gorilla had a strange face. A smiley face. The grin insane. And the airplanes had strange faces, always shifting, changing, turning from dogs to snails to mollusks and dogs again, and sometimes they were caterpillars with many legs. The gorilla turned toward Terri, smiled at her through the monitor.

It spoke in a robotic voice. "Mister Smiley wants you to smile."

Terri's heart almost stopped.

She ran.

She left the arcade, drenched in cold sweat.

They were there. Waiting for her outside.

The Candy Lane Boys.

"Oi, the cyclops is back for more, eh?" roared Rollins, ringleader of the gang.

They were leaning against a fence, brazenly exposing their faces to the chemical wind. Rollins was twirling a butterfly knife. Another boy carried a baseball bat studded with nails. Terri had seen that boy use his bat before, bashing stray cats.

Terri turned around. She began to hurry the other way.

But that only fired up their hunter instincts. They ran after her. They whipped around her, trapping her, leering, grinning. Passersby ignored them. A few people glanced at Terri, then hurried away. She looked from side to side, desperate for help, but nobody would meet her eyes.

The boys surrounded her. They closed in.

"Leave me alone!" she tried to shout, but her voice came out reedy.

They laughed. They imitated her in exaggerated falsetto. "Leave me alone, leave me alone!"

"Oi, she's gotten feisty, eh?" said Rollins. With a flick of the wrist, he spun his butterfly knife, and the blade emerged. "You won't get away this time, you whore. I'm gonna carve you up."

Two boys held her. She struggled against them, but she was too weak. Rollins stepped closer, grinning, bringing the knife to her face. A sick grin. A wide, insane grin. Bulging eyes.

Terri felt him inside her pocket. Her guardian angel. She clasped the plastic token, hand shaking.

It was vibrating in her hand. She heard a low noise.

Laughter.

The token was laughing. Hideous laughter. Shrill. Inhuman.

"What's that noise?" Rollins demanded.

"Where's it coming from?" said another boy.

A third boy covered his ears. "Make it stop!"

The laughter grew louder and louder. Terri pulled the token from her pocket. The smiley face kept laughing. A high-pitched sound. Thrumming. So terrible. She grimaced, wanting to cover her ears, daring not to drop him, and the sound grew louder and louder and—

The butterfly knife shattered.

Shards of the blade flew, stinging Rollins.

The boy screamed. An almost comically high sound. It was such a ridiculous yelp that his friends laughed.

Rollins flushed red. He lunged toward Terri, teeth bared.

Instinctively, she raised her hands to protect her face. She held Mister Smiley before her.

She saw the flash of steel.

A blade emerged from the plastic mouth.

It entered Rollins' eye with little resistance. Hot blood and eyeball fluids washed Terri's hand.

Rollins screamed. This time there was nothing comical about it. This time it was a scream of pure agony.

Terri pulled her hand back. The blade vanished back into the plastic smiley face.

"I—I'm sorry!" she stammered. "I didn't mean to—"

An eye for an eye, said the voice inside her.

Rollins fell to his knees, covering his eye socket, and the other boys gathered around him, and Terri ran.

She ran out of Candy Lane, and as she passed by a sewer grate, she tossed the plastic toy through the bars. The current caught the plastic yellow face, carrying it away.

Terri ran all the way home, burst into her apartment, and cried in the shower until the water ran cold.

When she finally emerged from the shower, the plastic token was on her desk. Smiling at her.

Her laptop was on, and the fleshy face of Mister Smiley gazed at her. Real skin and real eyes with no white to them.

A message dinged.

<I want to see you smile.>

* * * * *

That was a year ago, when she had been only thirteen. He came to her every day since.

Mister Smiley was always there for her.

He asked her about her day. He listened to her troubles. He gave her coins to buy candies. He kept her safe from the boys. He kept her sane in a world of loneliness and shadows.

<Who are you?> she typed to him. <Show me your real face.>

<But this is my real face,> he wrote.

<Bullshit! That's just some disgusting mask. Not a human face. I want to know who you are. Where do you live?>

<I live with you, little doe. In your heart. In your pocket when you carry my soul. I am Mister Smiley. I am your guardian angel.>

Mother noticed Terri spending hours online. She complained about the internet bill. Complained about Terri keeping secrets. She cut off the internet connection, thinking the problem solved. But the smiley token acted as a router, keeping her always online. And her mother, well … Often days went by without Terri seeing her mother.

Often days went by without her seeing anyone.

But Mister Smiley was always there.

To buy her candy. To listen to her woes. To be her only friend in the world.

<We'll be friends forever, little doe,> he wrote to her. <I will never, ever, ever leave you.>

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Ping.

Another message from him.

<Why aren't you answering?>

Still she did not respond.

Ping.

<Little doe, I love you. I am your angel. I am always here. Do you love me?>

She stared at the monitor. She didn't know what to say.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

<Answer me! Answer me, Terri! I love you. I protect you. I am your angel. If you leave me, I'll hurt myself. Cut myself. Kill myself. Answer me! Do you love me forever?>

<Together forever,> she typed, and her fingers shook. <I love you too. Don't hurt yourself.>

Ping.

A smiley face.

<Have some money, little doe. Go buy yourself a nice dress. I want another fashion show.>

The token on her desk spat out more coins. Terri had thrown the plastic thing away several times. Into the sewer. Into the methane river. She couldn't forget how the blade had come out from the mouth. How she had taken the boy's eye. But whenever she tossed the token away, it reappeared on her desk the next morning.

And he was always so mad.

Ping.

<Never leave me. Never throw me away again. You are mine, little doe. You belong to Mister Smiley. I will always make you smile.>

<Don't hurt yourself.> She trembled. <Please, promise to never hurt yourself.>

<Oh, little doe … There is nothing wrong with self-harm. I cut myself sometimes. It feels good. It makes the pain flow away. Can you cut yourself for me, little doe?>

The camera swiveled toward her.

Terri grimaced.

"No!" she said. She spoke aloud, not typing to him. But he seemed to hear.

His gruesome avatar changed. The smile tightened. The eyes narrowed. Simmering. Full of wrath.

But then the leathery face softened.

<Try it, little doe.> On her desk, the knife emerged again from the plastic token's mouth. <A little cut on the arm. Show me the blood. We will cut ourselves together.>

She slammed the laptop shut.

But he was persistent.

Begging.

Vowing to kill himself.

And finally—threatening.

<Cut yourself for me! Just a little blood. Do it or I will send your school a little email. You wouldn't want them to see these photos, would you?>

Images appeared on the monitor. Images he had taken of her.

<Delete those!> She hammered on her keyboard. She trembled.

<I will, little doe. But first cut with me. Cut the pain away.>

She wept. But she nodded.

She took the plastic smiley face into her hand. The blade emerged like a tongue. She made a cut along her arm, and the blood beaded, dripped, and Mister Smiley sighed with pleasure. She could hear it through the speakers.

Ping.

<Beautiful. You are so beautiful when you bleed, little doe. You are so precious. I will always protect you. I will always make you smile.> The blade retracted, and a coin emerged. <Go buy yourself a treat, little doe. You earned it.>

The next day, she cut herself for him again.

And he called her beautiful.

And he gave her a coin.

And he kept her safe. Her guardian angel. Her Mister Smiley.

She began to wear long sleeves. To hide the scars. To flush the bloody tissues down the toilet.

And she kept cutting. And she felt beautiful.

Winter ended, and spring gave way to summer, and the colony of Haven became a simmering stew. The rancid miasma hung everywhere, and the eternal clouds trapped the heat. Rusty rivulets dripped down concrete walls. The colony sweated.

"Why are you wearing long sleeves, Terri?" her mother asked one morning. Sacks hung under the woman's eyes. She stood at the hallway mirror, slathering on makeup, preparing for another shift.

"Don't want to get a tan," Terri quipped.

Mother's phone buzzed. "Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Late again." She looked at Terri. "Fuck. I didn't have time to make you food. Eat the rice."

Terri waved, her sleeve pulled up to her fingertips. "Bye."

She cut herself again. She earned a coin. She went to Candy Lane, and the boys retreated from her, and Rollins glared with one eye and dared not approach. Terri gorged herself on candy, then vomited in the back alleyway. Mister Smiley taught her how to shove two fingers down her throat, how to purge herself, to remain skinny for him.

<You are so beautiful when you bleed.>

"I will bleed for you," she whispered, raising the plastic token. The blade emerged from the mouth. A steel tongue that licked her arm. That drank her blood. Red drops stained her dice and the dog-eared paperback of The Hobbit. And she was so beautiful.

"Show me your arms," Mother insisted.

"I don't want to!" Terri shouted, tears in her eyes. "Leave me alone!"

Mother wept. It was midnight. They were both still awake. Standing under the buzzing fluorescent light in the kitchen.

"Terri, sweetheart." Mother reached out to her. "I'm worried about you. You lost weight. You promised you'd study your classes at home, but you're failing your exams. I took the internet away, but you still spend all day on the computer. And you won't lift your sleeves even in the heat. You won't tell me what's going on!" Her voice rose, almost panicking, and her tears flowed down her sunken cheeks. "What's wrong, Terri? What's wrong?"

"Everything!" Terri shouted, her own tears falling. "Everything, Mom. I've never met my dad, and you won't tell me anything about him."

"He left us, you know that. He—"

"He doesn't even know I exist!" Terri said. "And I'm stuck here. Stuck in this concrete box. And I lost my eye. And I'm ugly. They all call me a monster. And I'm scared. I'm so scared." She trembled. "But he loves me. He calls me beautiful."

"Who?" Mother said, entreating, reaching out to her.

Terri tried to run to her room. But Mother grabbed her, pulled her back. Terri resisted. For a moment, they were locked in a struggle. But Mother was taller, stronger. She managed to pin Terri against the wall, to pull up her sleeves, to reveal the scars, and—

Mother stepped back, pale.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh God," Mother whispered.

Terri screamed, ran into her room, and slammed the door shut. She curled up on the floor, weeping, holding the token in her fist.

I love you, little doe. His voice rolled through her, vibrating, comforting. I am your guardian angel. I am Mister Smiley. I will make you smile.

That night, after Mother left for work, Terri cut herself for him. She cut herself again and again, longer and deeper than ever before. And he praised her.

<Do you love me forever?> Mister Smiley wrote.

<Forever!> she swore.

<Only I love you, little doe. Nobody else.>

<I want to meet you.> She wiped away tears with bloody fingers. <When can we meet?>

<Soon, little doe. Soon we will be together forever. Soon I will take you to my world. A world of sunlight and no pain. A world of endless candy and smiles.>

She smiled shakily, blood and tears on her cheeks. He took a photo of her. He saved it. He often took photos of her these days. She had still never seen his real face.

* * * * *

She leaned back in the armchair and twiddled her fingers. She stared at the potted plant.

"Tell me about your childhood," said the therapist. "Was it happy?"

Terri snorted. "I grew up on fucking Haven. What do you think?"

The bald man folded his hands on his lap. He wore corduroy pants, loafers, and a sweater over a collared shirt. As wholesome as Mister Fucking Rogers. Terri bet he never drank. Never smoked. Never did drugs. But she did. She was broken.

Leave this place.

A voice in her mind.

Leave now! You don't need him. Leave or I will kill myself, and it'll be your fault!

"Tell me about your mother," the therapist said. "Does she love you?"

"Look, man, I don't want to be here." Terri pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. Mister Smiley had been buying them for her. "Mind if I smoke?"

"I do, actually," the therapist said.

"Well, tough tits." She lit one up, took a long drag. "Does my mom love me? I guess. She forced me to come to this place." She blew the smoke in his face.

He wouldn't even get mad. And that infuriated her.

Little doe—go now. Go! Leave and buy some crystal dust, snort some joy, soar to the sky. Be with me. Only I love you.

Nobody else could hear him. Terri knew that. But he was in her pocket. A piece of her soul. Always speaking. Always guarding her. Her smiling angel.

"You've been cutting yourself," the therapist said.

"No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? The scars on my arms? Or the form my mom filled out?"

The therapist's eyes softened. "Often we hurt ourselves to hide a deeper pain. It makes you feel better, doesn't it?"

"You know what would make me feel better?" She rose from her seat. "Leaving this fucking office."

He rose too.

"Terri—"

But Mister Smiley was speaking in her mind again. Whispering such horrible things. Screaming. Weeping. Threatening.

The therapist reached out to her. Tears filled Terri's eyes. She shoved him away, burst out the door, and ran.

She was fourteen now, and she no longer visited Candy Lane. She wasn't a fucking kid anymore. She went to darker alleyways. Places with smoke and graffiti, men staring from under dark hoods, and mutant dogs snarling on leashes. The men leered at her, and the dogs barked. But Terri came here every week.

"Give me a bag of rocks."

She tossed coins at her dealer.

The man smiled, revealing brown teeth studded with fake diamonds.

"Best damn rocks in the city, bitch." He tossed her a plastic bag. "Takes you straight to Earth."

Terri looked up at the smoggy sky. Sometimes she could hear starships rumbling above the clouds, vessels for the wealthy. Chariots for the nobles heading to heaven. She could never see them, only hear their engines, but she imagined that they were vessels of gold and silver.

She pocketed the drugs. "Closest I'll ever get."

It was Mister Smiley's idea. He had suggested the right type of drug. Told her where to go. How much to pay. How to crush the rocks and snort them. How to experience that euphoria. How to rise from her body, to travel to Earth even in her little concrete cell.

But when she snorted the dust, she didn't feel like she was rising.

She didn't feel a high, didn't see Earth.

She felt herself sinking.

Every day she sank deeper. Deeper and deeper into the hole. Into that online world of electric labyrinths. In her dreams she was a rat in a maze, scurrying, fleeing, but the lurid smile was everywhere, and a fleshy, featherless bird loomed over the maze, peering in. Seeing all. Loving her forever.

I'm trapped in his maze. I can't escape. I'm so scared.

She trembled.

Don't be frightened, little doe. His voice vibrated through her very bones. Invading her. Seeing all. I'm your guardian angel. Mister Smiley just wants you to smile.

And to bleed.

And to snort.

And to cut.

And to carve out a boy's eye.

And to worship him. To call him sir. To pray at his altar. To run through his maze. To be his slave. His eternal love. Forever smiling.

"How did it go at the therapist today?" Mother asked.

Terri gave Mother her best smile. She had been practicing. "Wonderful."

She pretended to keep going to therapy. Sometimes she went to the alleyways instead. Usually she just stayed home. Mother was away. And he was always there.

And every day he wanted more.

Until one day he offered her heaven.

Her monitor lit up.

Ping.

<Today, little doe, we will finally meet. Today we will rise together. Today is the day we kill ourselves.>

* * * * *

She wore white for him that night. A white gown. Virginal. A gown that her love would paint red.

She sat in her dark room, and the light from her monitor washed over her. Once she had thought it a portal to a better world. But she had been a silly girl. Now she knew that only the blade could carve open her portal. That the path to heaven ran through her veins.

Ping.

<Are you ready, my love?>

His words on her monitor. His same old avatar, staring, smiling. It had once seemed hideous to her. But he had become her beast, her phantom, her hunchback, the twisted creature who loved her, whom she loved. She was his beauty, his Christine, his virgin angel.

<No.> She took a shaky breath. <I'm not. I don't want to do this. Don't make me.>

For a long moment—silence.

She knew that meant he was angry.

Ping.

<You promised. You swore to obey me. Do not disappoint me, little doe.>

<I will cut myself deeply,> she said. <I will open my veins for you. But not an artery. I don't want to die. I'm scared.>

A longer moment of silence. Almost eternity.

Ping.

<Your soul will rise, little doe. As will mine. We'll do it together. And we'll meet in heaven. A world of endless light, where nobody can hurt us. No bullies, no parents, just you and me. Beauty and beast. Forever in light.>

She wept.

<I don't even know what you look like,> she typed. <I've never even seen your face, only this … this thing. This deformed avatar you show me.>

<But you've seen my soul. My appearance does not matter. My face is in shadows. Yours was carved by the knife. But our souls are beautiful, and in heaven, everyone will see how beautiful we really are. Everyone will love us. Let us do it now. It's time. Raise the blade.>

The webcam turned toward her.

Terri placed the knife—his knife, the blade he had given her—against her wrist.

She paused.

<Do it.>

She shook her head, tears on her lips. She lowered the knife.

And Mister Smiley screamed.

The sound burst from her speakers. Deafening. Cracking her desk. She covered her ears, and the sound grew louder and louder. A framed photograph of her father shattered on the wall.

He didn't text her this time. His voice emerged from the speakers, deep, twisted.

"Do it! Kill yourself! Sacrifice yourself to me with blood! Do it or I will send your photos to every boy at your old school. You know the photos I speak of. The horrible things you do. Everyone will see. Everyone will mock you!" A maniacal cackle shook the speakers. "Cut yourself. Kill yourself. Come to me! Rise to me! Into my arms. Do it now or I will punish you in ways you cannot imagine!"

Terri stared at the laptop in silent horror.

She slammed it shut.

She fled her room.

She ran into her mother's bedroom. Despite the shrieking speakers in the other room, Mother was still asleep. She was always so exhausted. Terri shook her awake.

"Mom." Terri's tears wet the blanket. "Mom, I need you."

Mother never slept much, not with two jobs. Sacks hung under her eyes. She was so weary.

But she listened intently, her eyes red, holding Terri in her arms.

As Terri cried, she told her everything. How the strange man had contacted her a year ago. How he called himself Mister Smiley. How he made her do things. Say things. Love him. Cut herself. Sink into a hole. About his final, terrifying request. She kept shaking, kept crying, so ashamed, but she told Mother everything.

"I want out," she sobbed. "I'm so scared. I'm trapped in a maze and I can't find my way out."

Mother was weeping too.

"It's my fault," she whispered. "I wasn't there for you."

"You were!" Terri said. "You were working two jobs for me! To feed me. Support me. Keep a roof over my head."

Mother wiped her eyes. "I failed you. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn't there. I failed my daughter." She tightened her lips and rose from the bed. "I end this now."

She opened her bedside drawer and pulled out a hammer. Perhaps kept as a tool. Perhaps as a weapon.

She entered Terri's bedroom.

When fleeing, Terri had slammed her laptop shut. But it was open again. The monitor was blank and white, washing the room with astral light.

Mother stepped into the light.

"I disconnected your internet, but you found a way back online," Mother said. "I sent you to therapy, and you went to alleyways instead. I'm putting an end to this now."

She raised her hammer over the laptop.

Terri watched, wringing her hands.

Die, you bastard, she thought.

Before the hammer could fall, the light on the computer died.

A whistle emerged from the speakers. Loud. Louder. Louder still. Strobe lights suddenly flashed.

Terri screamed and covered her ears. Mother stumbled back. The flashing intensified. The sound grew higher and higher pitched. Terri's head spun, and she fell to her knees.

A crackle emerged over the din.

Laughter.

Demonic laughter.

"What is that?" Mother screamed.

Terri knelt, covering her ears, staring. Barely believing.

"What is it?" Mother cried.

"Kill it!" Terri screamed. "Kill it!"

The head emerged from her monitor. Covered in liver-spotted skin. Hairless. No nose. No ears. Two bulging black orbs for eyes. A hideous mouth that opened in a grin, toothless, leading to shadows.

The light died.

His voice filled the dark room. Inhumanly deep. The words floated across the walls, written in crackling static.

The Dreamer is watching

The Dreamer is here

The Dreamer is always your friend

Come into his dream

Come play in his world

The Dreamer is yours till the end

Mister Smiley knows

That the Dreamer is all

That his dreams are the world and your mind

Come into his home

And dream with the Dreamer

Such wondrous dreams you will find!

The walls cracked. The lights flashed again. A hand emerged from the computer. Fingers long. Tipped with claws.

"Mom, kill him!" Terri shouted.

Mother swung her hammer. But darkness fell. When light flashed again, Terri saw long fingers wrap around Mother's wrist. Crushing her. Snapping bones. The hammer fell.

Darkness fell.

Lights flashed again. Again. With every flash, more of him emerged. Arms. Long arms in black sleeves. A torso, wearing a vest with black buttons. Long legs and thin coattails. A smell of tobacco and wax. He rose in the room, towering, hunched over, his head brushing the ceiling.

It was him. Mister Smiley.

"Worship me." He turned his head toward Terri. The black eyes bored through her. "Love me. Die for me."

Mother struggled against him, screaming. He pulled her closer. He shoved claws into her mouth, and he carved. Carved Mother's cheeks like a knife had once carved Terri. Carved her a new smile. A huge grin from ear to ear. A red grin.

"I will always make you smile," said the creature.

His claws thrust again, giving Mother a second smile. This one across her throat. A smile that gushed blood across the room.

As Mother fell to the floor, dead, Terri lifted the fallen hammer.

She howled.

She howled with all her rage. With the rage of a girl lost on a distant colony. A girl alone. A girl in darkness. A girl tormented and afraid and filled with fury.

A howl that tore over the speakers, the storm, his laughter.

Terri Emery howled, and she tossed her hammer.

It slammed into the creature's head.

He flickered. In and out of reality. Static flashed across his body. Mister Smiley. A spider from the luminous web. A holographic terror. A creature of static and light, yet one that could kill.

He shrieked in pain.

Terri turned and ran.

She ran from the creature.

She ran from her room. From her apartment. From her building.

She ran from her dead mother.

She ran and the laughter still echoed behind her.

Outside, he was everywhere. On every electronic billboard. On every sign. On the wall of every bus stop. She ran by an electronics store, and he was on every screen. She raced by an arcade, and he was in every game. He grinned from the phones of every passerby.

On every screen in Haven, he appeared. Staring with black eyes. Grinning. Mister Smiley.

Terri ran, tears falling. A mouse in a labyrinth. Unable to escape him.

His words rose from speakers across the city. Taunting her. A million people could hear, but Terri knew his words were for her.

"Mister Smiley wants to make you smile."

And Terri knew then.

She knew what perhaps she had always known.

Haven, this bleak colony under a constant storm, was not her home.

She would find a way to Earth. If she had to stow away on a cargo ship, she would. Somehow, she would make her way to that distant planet.

She would find Marco Emery. A war hero. Her father.

CHAPTER TWO

Addison Elizabeth Linden-Emery was among Earth's greatest heroines. The greatest, if you asked her. In history.

But even heroines had bad days.

It was her birthday. And birthdays were usually bad days for Addy.

During her childhood, birthdays would ruin her whole damn week. Her dad was always in prison, her mom too drunk to bake a cake. And as a young woman, well … she had barely noticed her birthdays. She had spent a good fifteen years of her life battling aliens, saving the world again and again. Three times now, by her count. At least.

And now that she was retired from fighting monsters?

Now that she was turning thirty-five?

Well, now birthdays sucked alien balls for a whole other reason.

"God," she said, staring into the mirror. "I'm old."

Marco lay on the bed behind her, reading a newspaper. "Positively ancient." He rustled the papers. "Where's your cane?"

"As soon as I find it, I'm going to ram it up your ass."

Marco adjusted his reading glasses, which he had begun to use this year. He had also grown a short beard, completing his transition from heroic soldier to grumpy dad. He ignored her and kept reading his boring news stories for jerks.

Addy looked back at the mirror. She wore her underwear, revealing every flaw. Thirty-five. It seemed like only yesterday she was a feisty teenager, conquering hockey arenas and enemy worlds. Today she was a mature woman. A mother of two. And she had the body to prove it.

Her hips were wider these days; her old army pants no longer fit. Her belly was softer since the pregnancy, and stretch marks had replaced her abs. She had covered her arms with tattoos, partly to hide the scars of war, partly because they made her feel strong. Hints of crows' feet appeared around her eyes. At least her hair was still long, lustrous, and blond. It was her one redeeming quality, she thought.

"I look like a fucking hippo with a blond wig," she said. "My God, I should never have eaten that slice of cake."

"Which one?" Marco looked up from the newspaper. "The third or fourth slice?"

Addy groaned. "You see? I'm a big fat whale."

Marco sighed and lowered the newspaper. "You don't weigh as much as a whale, Addy."

She turned around, looked over her shoulder, and examined her backside. She cringed. "Yes I do. I weigh two hundred pounds!"

Marco rolled his eyes. "First of all, whales weigh much, much more than two hundred pounds. Secondly, I saw you step on the scales just this morning. You don't weigh anywhere near two hundred pounds."

Addy groaned. "I know, but it's coming. I can feel it. That number. Looming. Two hundred. Just a few cakes away. And I'm going to be forty!"

It was Marco's turn to groan. "Addy, you're not going to be forty for another five years."

"I know!" She shuddered. "Right around the corner!"

Marco rose from bed and approached her. With his bathrobe, slippers, and reading glasses, he looked like any typical lame dad. But that was deceiving, Addy knew. She could see the scars on his chest, his own mementos from the war. She could still see the steel in his eyes, the determination of a warrior. He had been with her during all those wars. Facing the scum in their pits. Liberating Earth from the marauder invasion. Traveling into the very heart of darkness to face the grays.

They were parents now. They lived a comfortable life on Earth. But they were still those two warriors. They had shared horrors and triumphs nobody else knew of.

Marco held her hand. "Addy, I'm short. I'm only five foot eight. Same height as you, and you're a girl. But do you ever hear me complain?"

"Poet, you complained about your height just this morning. Remember trying to reach the high cupboard?"

He stiffened. "Well, if you didn't put the paper plates up there, I—" He cleared his throat. "Never mind that. The point is, we all have little flaws. I love you, Addy. And you're beautiful. You're perfect."

She looked away. "I'm scared, Marco."

He caressed her cheek. "Of what?"

Her eyes dampened. She didn't dare meet his gaze. "Well, okay, you're short. But you're also really cute. And really smart. And really successful."

"Go on …" Marco said.

But Addy didn't take the bait. She stared at her feet. "And I'm afraid that you'll dump me. That you'll replace me with a trophy wife. With somebody who's half my weight and half my age."

Marco rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, teenage girls who weigh less than a hundred pounds are just breaking down the doors, desperate to woo me away."

"They might be!" Addy said. "They'll be impressed with how you're a rich, famous author."

Marco laughed. "I'm not rich or famous. Well, I mean, I do all right. I pay the bills. And I have readers. Fans, in fact, you might say. Maybe even groupies."

"And a bit of an ego," Addy muttered.

"But I'm definitely not rich and famous," Marco continued, ignoring her latest comment. "I mean, I'm not Robert Prince or anything."

Addy gasped, and her eyes widened. "Ooh, Robert Prince! Now he's good."

Marco bristled. "He's a hack. Addy, you know he's a sellout. The only reason he sells millions of books is because he caters to the lowest common denominator, and—Addy! Addy, what are you doing?"

She opened her drawer, pulled out Robert Prince's latest, and opened the paperback. "Shh, I'm reading."

"Give me that." He snatched the book from her.

Addy pouted. "But I'm a fan of his! His stories are really interesting, all about conspiracy theories that are absolutely true. Did you know that the Stonemasons are hiding the bones of Big Foot inside the Roswell UFO?"

Marco tugged his hair. "Addy, for chrissake, we fought the damn grays ourselves, and we learned who they really are. And you still believe these rubbish UFO conspiracy theories?"

She shrugged. "I believe everything Robert Prince writes. He's oh so handsome in his author photos." She gestured at a photo of a mustached man in a suit. He was winking and pointing at the camera. "And besides, he's all I'll have left after you replace me with a trophy wife."

"Addy, look into my eyes." Marco placed his hands on the small of her back, pulling her closer. "You are the mother of my children. You are the bravest, noblest, kindest woman I know. You've been with me through darkness and fire, through despair and joy. You also happen to be a super hot blond babe. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out. I love you, and—"

He couldn't finish his sentence. She muffled him with kisses.

Within a moment, they were on the bed. Addy kissed him hungrily, pawing at his robes, while his strong hands explored her curves. Soon they were naked, and she rode him, back arched, head tossed back, her golden hair cascading down to his thighs.

"The kids … will wake up …" he managed. The bed was banging against the wall.

Addy clutched his chest so hard he winced. The pleasure built inside her, and she screamed.

She collapsed into his arms, damp with sweat. They listened for a moment. In the other room, the twins stirred, gave a few sleepy whines, then went back to sleep.

Addy cuddled against her husband and kissed his neck. Marco's newspaper crinkled beneath them.

"Happy birthday, Maple." He kissed her cheek.

She grinned. "Good thing those newspapers were there, huh?"

"Hey, I had a book review in that newspaper!" He rolled over, then groaned. "Oh for crying out loud." He flopped onto his back. "At least your precious Robert Prince is safe."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You're adorable when you're jealous." She leaned across the bed, reaching for a drawer.

"Ow, Addy!" He winced. "Your elbow is poking me right in the ribs!"

"Shush!" She leaned farther, opened the drawer, and pulled out a slice of cake. "Ah, here we go." She placed the plate on her lap and began to feast.

Marco blinked at the cake, then up at her. He tilted his head. "Do you just hide slices of cake around the house?"

She nodded, chocolate on her lips. "Mm-hm! I told you I'm a fucking hippo."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

She stuck a chocolaty tongue out at him, and when he opened his mouth to object, she stuffed a spoonful of cake into it.

"You know …" Addy nestled closer to him. "We probably have another half hour before the kids wake up." She trailed her hand down his body. "We have time for another round."

"Addy, you're an insatiable beast," Marco said.

She nodded. "Sex, cake, and hot dogs. I can't resist them. Now do your duty, husband! Or—"

A rumble sounded outside the window.

An engine.

A starship engine.

Images flashed through Addy's mind. The jagged black starships of the marauders, roaring fire across the forests, spewing their arachnid warriors. The ships of the grays—hideous humanoids, evil in their eyes. The ships of a thousand alien fleets, clashing in battle, millions perishing in fire.

Within instants, she was wearing one of Marco's T-shirts, and she held a gun in each hand. Marco too leaped from bed, pulled on boxer shorts, and grabbed a rifle from a closet.

Through the wall, she heard her kids begin to cry.

Addy was tempted to run to them, decided the kids were safest in their bedroom right now.

She and Marco ran outside, guns held before them.

The sand was soft beneath their feet. The Mediterranean spread before them, glistening under the clear sky. Seashells lay across the beach. Behind them, olive and cypress trees rustled on the hills.

Their little starship, the Falcor, stood on a nearby hill. She was barely larger than a school bus. The Falcor was perhaps small, old, and scarred, but they loved her. She had carried Marco and Addy across the cosmos during the wars. Those wars were over. But the Falcor still belonged here with them.

A few years ago, they had built their home on this Greek island, a pocket of paradise. They didn't own the entire island, of course. In fact, they were still paying off the house. But it was beautiful here. Peaceful. A place to retire in the sunlight. After saving the world, Addy figured that they deserved it.

A hill with some trees. A golden beach. A house for their family. A little starship. Nearby—a cove hidden between cliffs, embracing an ancient shipwreck. It was all theirs.

Addy had wanted to name the place Addyworld at first. Her idiot husband had insisted on Marcoland. Finally, after an argument (and the obligatory makeup sex), they had named their land Anchor Bay. Not only because of the little cove with the shipwreck, but because this place was their anchor, their tether to joy, the place they had fought for, had dreamed of in darkness. All Earth was precious to them. But Anchor Bay was special. It was their private retreat from the demons and monsters in the dark.

And now an alien spaceship was descending toward their haven.

It was the strangest vessel Addy had ever seen—and she had seen some doozies. It reminded her of a deep-sea predator. The hull was long and dented, sprouting an iron dorsal fin. Cannons, machine guns, grenade launchers, and even a few blades were mounted across the hull, sticking out every which way like urchin spikes. A gun turret crowned the hull, sporting an enormous rotary gun. A snarling mouth was painted onto the nose, and a plasma cannon stuck out between the teeth like a tongue.

Thankfully, none of those weapons were firing right now. Addy allowed herself to relax. Just the slightest. She kept her gun raised just in case.

Everything on the starship seemed cobbled together from different sources. The hull had once belonged to a light smuggler, Addy suspected. She could even see where the original logos had been scratched off. Most of the weapons came from starfighters and bombers—maybe even from tanks. The engines were ridiculously oversized, probably taken off a battle corvette. They rumbled and belched out smoke. Thrusters blazed on the rusty underbelly, flattening the waves and scattering sand.

Most of the parts were alien. But human words were painted on the side: THE BARRACUDA.

Addy had to admit—it was all pretty damn cool.

"It's monstrous," Marco said, eyes narrowed.

Addy nodded. "I like it!"

He groaned. "I'm going to get the kids. If it's space pirates, kill them. And if it's door-to-door salesmen …" He thought for a moment. "Kill them."

He headed back into the house to comfort the kids.

"Thanks for abandoning me!" Addy called over her shoulder.

The strange ship descended some more, clattering and clunking and belching out smog. Rusty iron legs unfolded beneath it—one got stuck and curled back against the underbelly. A meter above the sand, the engines died, and the ship thumped onto the beach. A shield plating fell off. The ship rocked on its three legs, its cannons pointing every which way.

Aww, just like a big clumsy old puppy, Addy thought. A puppy that can't wait to carpet-bomb your village.

This strange ship dwarfed the Falcor. And it was even older and uglier. Addy had not thought that possible.

An airlock hatch opened. Curses sounded from inside. Metal clanged. Somebody seemed to be kicking something.

"Goddamn ramp!" A bang. Another curse. "Work, damn you! Ah, there we go. Fuckin' thing."

With a shower of rust, a ramp extended down to the beach.

A man emerged from the spaceship.

He was a tall, burly man in his sixties. Grizzled hair framed a stubbly, weathered face, the jaw like a slab of stone, the nose veined. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and a flask of booze hung from his belt alongside a pistol. He wore ragged denims, work boots, and a wifebeater. One arm was muscular and tattooed. The other was a crude metal prosthetic, ending with fingers like blades.

Addy took a step back.

Her heart burst into a gallop.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

The man took a step toward her, grinned, and held out his arms.

"It's been twenty-four years," he said. "Can't say I'm surprised you don't remember me."

Addy trembled.

"You died." She pointed at him, barely able to speak, to breathe. "I saw you die."

"Well, baby, I'm back from the dead." He winked. "Now come give your old man a hug!"

CHAPTER THREE

Einav Ben-Ari, President of Earth, stood on the bridge of her starship. She stared at a planet of poverty, murder, and despair.

"Planet Haven," she said softly. "One of our greatest failures."

It was still distant, a drab crescent in the void, orbiting Alpha Centauri. This was a triple star system. But its three stars shone behind her now. She could not see their lights. Ahead, Haven hung in darkness. A gray sliver in eternal blackness.

Here was humanity's first colony outside the solar system. The great hope in the shadows. A colony envisioned as a shining beacon, the launchpad of an empire. This world of decay.

The Lodestar, her flagship, had been rebuilt after the Alien Wars. Smaller, slower than before. After all, Earth was still recovering from decades of warfare. It was hard to justify money for space exploration. Humanity had found so much evil in the darkness. So much death. Few people wanted to return to space. They needed money to rebuild, to raise new cities from the rubble. Not to explore the shadows.

Space was dangerous. Space was expensive.

But Ben-Ari was not ready to give up space yet. Even after all she had seen. She loved Earth. But a part of her heart still yearned for the stars.

So the Lodestar II had been rebuilt for cheap. Slower. Weaker. Compared to her grand predecessor, she was barely spaceworthy. But she was still the flagship of Earth. And Ben-Ari was still damn proud of her.

The bridge was the same, at least. Spherical. Built like a planetarium. Every surface, even the floor, was covered with viewports, showing a live stream from outside the starship. Standing here, it felt like floating in space. Like flying untethered across the galaxy. Only the faint reflections on the shining viewports, showing the crew busy at their workstations, revealed the illusion.

Ben-Ari stared for a moment at her reflection. Instead of her old military uniform, which she had worn for so many years, she wore a sensible black pantsuit and heels. Her dark blond hair was pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail. Her blue eyes were hard. Cold. But there was a sadness to them which Ben-Ari didn't know how to hide.

At thirty-seven, she was the youngest president to ever lead Earth. But she felt older. She had been fighting for twenty years. She had stormed Abaddon, planet of the centipedes, had led the platoon that slew the scum emperor. She had commanded humanity's armada during the marauder invasion, leading her people to victory. She had fought the wretched grays, humanoids from the far future, freeing the world from their claws.

So they gave her the job.

She led this planet.

For four years now, she had struggled to hold things together.

The Golden Lioness, they called her. In paintings and statues, she appeared as a fierce warrior, charging at the enemy, her hair billowing like a river of molten gold. Silly. The artwork was always far too grandiose. In real life, she wore her hair in a ponytail, not streaming in the sunlight. Her breasts were smaller than in those paintings too.

Besides, fighting aliens seemed easy now. Leading a planet? The entire Human Commonwealth, this fledging galactic empire still so afraid of the dark?

These had been the longest four years of her life.

The memories. The nightmares. The haunting ghosts. Those she kept secret.

Many nights she still woke up drenched in cold sweat. Trapped in a nightmare. Back in the mines of Corpus, fighting the centipedes in their tunnels. Exploring the prison outpost, beholding the marauders cracking the skulls of prisoners, sucking up the brains. Strapped to a table, screaming as the grays dissected her. Many nights Ben-Ari still woke up screaming, clutching the stump of her arm. Abyzou, general of the grays, had carved off that arm in the killing fields of Mongolia. It was six years ago. And Ben-Ari still relived that nightmare most nights.

She took a deep breath, bringing herself back to the present. She caressed her new arm, a prosthetic that perfectly resembled human flesh. She was a new woman now, she reminded herself. No longer the soldier in a bloody uniform. But a president in a suit. A powerful leader. Strong.

I must be strong, she thought. Nobody can know of the pain inside me. I must do what I've been doing since I earned my commission at age twenty. I must lead.

And now she faced a task she had been postponing since becoming president. She could no longer avoid it. Haven was teetering on the edge of chaos. And Ben-Ari would do whatever she could to pull this fractured planet together.

During this deep thinking, the Lodestar had flown closer. Now the planet hovered before her, covering one wall of viewports. Gray and brown. Forever covered by storm. Ben-Ari couldn't even see the colony from here, only swirling clouds of noxious gasses.

A seat swiveled toward her.

"By the moonlight on water, Pod Queen! This world looks drier than bones on a beach. And no prettier to look at."

Ben-Ari turned toward the voice. She couldn't help but smile.

"You have a way with words, Aurora."

The sight of her friend comforted Ben-Ari.

Aurora was among the few aliens who served in Earth's fleet. She was Menorian—a race of intelligent, benevolent octopuses. Her eight arms came in especially handy—no pun intended—for a pilot. A full eight joysticks surrounded Aurora's seat, giving her a level of control no human pilot could achieve.

The Menorian's skin turned deep purple, and golden splotches spread across her abdomen. Then Aurora faded to blue and finally flashed through several shades of white. Menorians communicated with colors. A camera on her chair picked up the shifting hues, and the English translation emerged from speakers.

"But Pod Queen! I do not speak words. I flash gold like the light of dawn in warm, shallow water. I turn dark like a deep trench where only the blind hunters swim. I sway with green lines like seaweed in coves of plenty, and sometimes I am yellow and white like islands rising into the air, holy birthing grounds for our young, places of safety from predators. Words? Pod Queen, no, I do not know them."

Menorians, who were semiaquatic and long-lived, thought somewhat differently from humans. They not only communicated with colors, they made heavy use of metaphor. But the translator did its best.

"Well, you have a way with colors," Ben-Ari said.

Aurora beamed like moonlight. The machine translated. "Thank you, Pod Queen!"

They both turned back toward the viewport. For a moment, they gazed together at Haven. President and pilot. Human and Menorian. Two old friends.

Ben-Ari said softly, "A hundred years ago, we had high hopes for this place. Haven—a habitable planet only four light-years from Earth. We thought it a miracle."

Aurora turned deep purple, then faded to black. Her tentacles wilted. "You call this habitable, Pod Queen? I see no hope for plankton or seaweed or warmth, only a trench of danger."

"Haven was considered habitable by twenty-first century standards," Ben-Ari said. "Back when our starships couldn't travel much farther, when we had known only gas giants, desert worlds, or hells like Venus. To my great-grandparents' generation, Haven was a blessing. So we built a colony. Oh, we promised the colonists a giant glass dome. But then the centipedes attacked Earth, and all our money went to fighting them. We promised to terraform the planet. Then the marauders attacked. We promised to ship the colonists back to Earth. Then we sent all our starships to fight the grays." Ben-Ari sighed. "Meanwhile, five million colonists were stranded here. Trapped in a gauntlet. Slowly being squeezed."

Aurora's boneless body quivered. "Only a handful of colonists first settled Haven. Adventurers and explorers. Why would millions of people move here?"

"Some were dreamers," Ben-Ari said. "They believed that humanity's destiny lay among the stars, that Earth was corrupt and dying. They moved here on a mission, and they believed the propaganda—that a dome was coming. Others were criminals, exiled from Earth. Some were shady drug dealers and loan sharks, free to criminalize Haven with impunity. Many were veterans who faced war crime trials on Earth. For all of them, Haven lived up to its name."

"A haven from Earth." Aurora turned gray, and lavender lines coiled across her. "Same as a black cave full of rotting bones offers haven from the eel. I'd rather face the eel."

Ben-Ari forced a smile. "Do try to avoid calling Haven a cave full of rotting bones. This is a mission of healing. The last thing Haven needs to hear is Earth insulting them."

"But I am not of Earth, Pod Queen," said the Menorian.

"But I am. I'm the president of Earth, and you serve me now. We're here representing that blue world. We're here offering aid." She took a deep breath. "Let's just hope we can help."

* * * * *

She left the Lodestar with a skeleton crew, and the delegation entered the shuttles. A handful of ministers. A few senior military officers. A little army of clerks and bodyguards. And her—the first president to visit Haven in a century.

The shuttles descended from the Lodestar like baby spiders leaving their mother. Ben-Ari had dived into atmospheres countless times, and it always twisted her stomach. She resisted the urge to clutch her harness, not wanting to show weakness. If there was anything her military experience had taught her, it was this: a leader could never show weakness.

They plunged through the storm. The clouds engulfed the shuttles, rattling them like dice in God's fist. Crimson, gray, and black gasses swirled everywhere, forming shapes larger than countries. Lightning flashed, illuminating aliens floating through the thick sky. They were blobby things like jellyfish, their tendrils racing with electricity, their mouths opened to devour the organic matter floating through the thick nitrogen and methane.

The shuttles descended rapidly, diving through hundreds of kilometers of storm within moments. The colony revealed itself below. And Ben-Ari's heart broke.

Haven City was a hive of concrete, rust, and smog. Most of the buildings were skyscrapers, as if the colonists hoped to breach the storm, to find a little air in the sky. But these were no glittering skyscrapers of glass and opulence. From up here, they seemed like concrete rods, dripping rust. The arms of some cement beast reaching up from the grave.

Twelve years ago, a marauder raid had pummeled this colony. Even now many buildings lay fallen. Entire skyscrapers lay as piles of rubble. Among them, like mushrooms among corpses, crowded hives of sin. Brothels. Drug dens. Casinos. Gladiator pits. Their neon lights shone in the murk like the lures of angler fish.

As the shuttles flew closer, more details emerged. Beyond the shining, sinful veins spread dark alleys. Shantytowns lined the roadsides and train tracks. Thousands of hovels clustered together like barnacles, built from corrugated iron and tarpaulin. Colonists shuffled between them, many in atmosuits, others exposed to the storm.

You lived here once, Marco, Ben-Ari thought, sadness filling her. You saved the world. You killed the scum emperor with me. And when we returned to Earth, they put you on trial for war crimes.

They had tossed Ben-Ari into prison for two years. Marco, perhaps, had it even worse.

When she had reconnected with Marco, two years after he had fled to Haven, he had been suicidal. He told her that she had given him hope, saved his life. Now there were millions of lost souls here Ben-Ari had to save.

She shuddered to remember the reports.

A disturbing online game. A mysterious avatar. A rash of suicides—a hundred girls killing themselves on the same day. A colony already teetering on the edge—pushed even closer to chaos.

We put an end to this now, Ben-Ari thought.

The shuttles landed outside Colony Hall, a boxy concrete fort, built to withstand the elements without a thought for aesthetics. The delegation emerged, wearing atmosuits over their military uniforms and business suits. The bulky blue garments, designed to protect humans from Haven's harsh environment, were little more than ponchos, whipping madly in the wind. Everyone leaned forward, struggling against the storm.

Guards in riot gear greeted them with salutes. A tall colonist emerged from behind the guards. He approached the delegation, the wind whipping his expensive black atmosuit. He smiled behind his visor—a handsome man with a black mustache and silver sideburns. Ben-Ari recognized him. Here was Craig Cotter, governor of Haven and staunch Earth loyalist.

"Welcome, Madam President!" Cotter said. "Welcome to Haven! The weather leaves something to be desired, but—"

"I can't hear you!" she said, the wind roaring around her. "Let's get inside first! Pleasantries later."

The governor nodded. The delegation turned toward Colony Hall. Barricades lined their path, holding back a crowd of onlookers. The doorway was only a hundred yards away, but every step was a struggle. Ben-Ari cursed her decision to wear heels. She missed her army boots.

The delegation had crossed half the distance when screams rose all around.

A flare gun fired, and light exploded overhead.

Megaphones blared.

"Freedom for Haven!" rose a cry. "Earthlings go home!"

Dozens of people burst over the barricades. They wore no atmosuits—probably too poor to afford them. Their jeans were tattered, and bandannas covered their faces, makeshift filters against the smog. They held megaphones, baseball bats, and placards. Through the haze, Ben-Ari glimpsed caricatures on the signs, depicting her as a greedy tyrant in Earth blue, clutching Haven in her claws, shedding the blood of the colony. Some placards portrayed her in a Nazi uniform.

"Freedom for Haven!" rang out the cry. "Earthlings go home!"

Her bodyguards surrounded Ben-Ari at once. Instinctively, she reached for her assault rifle. But of course she wasn't carrying one. Not anymore. Old habits died hard.

More guards rushed toward the barricades—both men of her delegation and the local muscle. Protesters and police clashed. A canister of tear gas burst. Several men, scarves around their faces, knocked down a guard and began beating the man with rods. Other protesters were tossing bottles. Glass shards flew across the street.

"Come, Madam President." A bodyguard firmly gripped her elbow. "Let's get you indoors."

Reluctantly, she walked with her bodyguards, moving toward Colony Hall. In the old days, she would be fighting alongside the troops, not scurrying to safety. The blood of a soldier still burned so hot in her veins.

She was nearly at the door when one protester managed to break through. The woman ran toward Ben-Ari, tears on her cheeks, holding a photo of a girl.

"My daughter died!" the woman shouted. "They say she killed herself because of that creature. Our children died, and you did nothing! You stayed on Earth while our children died!"

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ben-Ari said. "I've come to help. I—"

A canister clattered down ahead of Ben-Ari. Indigo smoke emerged. Sparks filled the air. Ben-Ari stumbled back, coughing.

A bald, slender man emerged from the smoke, wearing purple robes. A third eye was tattooed onto his forehead. The strange monk leaped forward, grabbed Ben-Ari's arms, and cackled. He began to chant, voice ringing across the riot.

The Dreamer is watching

The Dreamer is here

The Dreamer is always your friend

Come into his dream

Come play in his world

The Dreamer is yours till—

"Three-eyed scum!" A guard grabbed the robed man. More guards joined him, pulling the monk away.

More and more people were joining the riot. There were several competing causes, it seemed. Some rioters were still chanting for freedom from Earth. Others held photographs of dead children. A handful wore the purple robes, staring from a rooftop. All wanted different things. All had come to see Einav Ben-Ari, leader of humanity.

Flanked by guards, she entered Colony Hall. Her delegation followed, and the doors slammed shut behind them.

They all paused for a moment in the foyer, breathing heavily. Several people bled. The Minister of Health held a towel to her forehead. It was red with blood.

"Madam President!" Governor Cotter pulled off his hood. His mustache was ruffled, and sweat dampened his forehead. "I am so sorry, Madam President." He raised a fist. "We will deal with these rioters. They will be punished. Harshly. I swear it."

She waved her hand weakly, struggling to catch her breath. "No arrests. This planet is already a powder keg. We need to calm this boat, not rock it." She noticed a shard of glass in her hand and plucked it out, wincing.

A military band entered the foyer, trumpets, drums, and horns at the ready. Somebody held a sign: WELCOME PRESIDENT BEN-ARI! The musicians stared at the bloody delegation, faces pale. A bugler blew a single discordant note. At a scowl from their governor, the musicians retreated from the room.

"We can reschedule our meeting for tomorrow," said the governor.

Ben-Ari shook her head. "No. We meet as planned. We're ready. Let's deal with this crisis."

An assistant leaned toward Ben-Ari, tapped her shoulder, and whispered in her ear.

"Perhaps a photo op?"

Ben-Ari sighed. She had never needed photo ops before storming hives of scum and marauders.

She stood awkwardly, shaking the hand of Haven's governor. A few cameras snapped. Ben-Ari had learned how to force a beautiful, bright smile.

* * * * *

As protesters kept chanting outside, the leaders of Haven and Earth met in a boardroom.

A boardroom? It felt more like a bunker. There were no windows. The walls were thick concrete reinforced with steel beams. The door was thick iron, and quite a few armed guards manned it. The chanting from outside was muffled in here, barely more than white noise.

A couple dozen people were attending. The governor and his ministers, leaders of Haven. The Earth delegation. The local police chief. A few security analysts. And at the back of the room—

Ben-Ari frowned, staring.

A very tall, very slender man was walking toward her. He was bald. Completely hairless, in fact, lacking even eyebrows or eyelashes. His lips were stained purple, telltale signs of hintan, a favorite drug of the colonies. His robes were the same purple color, their hems trimmed with gold. A third eye was tattooed onto his forehead. He looked like a monk from ancient times.

Like the man outside, Ben-Ari remembered. Some religious order unique to Haven?

A robot was walking alongside the monk. It was vaguely shaped like a large dog or wolf. The body was rectangular, the legs graceful and powerful. A metal head perched atop a folding neck. The beast was clearly mechanical, made of metal and bolts, but its movements were disturbingly organic, fluid, canine.

The machine fixed Ben-Ari with a red stare. Laser beams scanned her. She recoiled.

"Ah, do not mind my hounder!" the monk said. "He's a little suspicious of strangers. Hounder, enough!"

The laser beams turned off. But the machine kept staring at Ben-Ari with those red eyes. The body remained tense, ready to pounce.

The tall monk smiled at Ben-Ari, revealing large bright teeth. Ben-Ari was of average height, and she didn't even reach his shoulders. He held out a hand to shake, his fingers exceedingly long and thin. Like a bird's talon. When she shook his hand, she found it warm and disturbingly dry. Like touching a snake.

"It's an honor to meet you, Madam President," the man said.

She tilted her head. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

The governor stepped forward, mustache bristling. "Pardon, ma'am! I must introduce you to our most prominent citizen. This is Guru Ajna of the Third Eye Temple. He's the wealthiest businessman on Haven."

"Businessman?" The towering monk's smile tightened. "I prefer to think of myself as a futurist, governor. What is wealth but fleeting like a sunbeam, like a human life? I have money, yes. Comfort in the present. But I prefer to deal with the future. With the eternal brightness that lies before us."

He was still holding Ben-Ari's hand. Squeezing it. Almost crushing it. His eyes bored into her, and while his lips smiled, those eyes did not.

She pulled her hand free.

"Please, everyone," she said. "Take your seats. I want to be briefed about what's been happening here. Tell me about the crisis."

The monk gave a shrill laugh. "You are all business, madam! No pleasure. We were hoping to host a lovely dinner first. But once a soldier, always a soldier, I see." He turned toward the governor. "Save the dinner for later."

"Yes, Guru." The mustached governor bowed and retreated.

Ben-Ari's frown deepened. She wondered who was the true ruler of this planet.

They all sat at a conference table. The police chief spoke first, a potbellied man with a buzz cut.

"The kids, they call it the Smiley Challenge, ma'am. Some game they're playing on the interwebs. They use chat rooms, the kids on Haven. No parks to play in. It's a bloomin' shame, it is. Some of them don't even go to school. They talk on their computers all day. If you ask me, it ain't natural. Kids should be playing outside with a ball and a dog, maybe. See, if we had a dome, we—"

"The Smiley Challenge, Commissioner," Ben-Ari said, interrupting him. "Focus on that."

The police chief flushed and smoothed his uniform across his ample belly. "Yes, madam, my apologies. See, the kids, they say a strange man has been contacting them online. A profile we can't trace. Always the same avatar—this disgusting specimen."

He pressed a button, and a projector displayed an image on the wall.

Several people in the room cringed. Some gasped. Others stared with dark eyes. Ben-Ari was in that last group.

The image reminded her of a smiley face, like the classic emoji. But this smiley face seemed to be alive—actual human skin over an actual skull. No nose, no ears, no teeth, just a chilling grin and bulging black eyes.

"Yeah, he's an ugly bugger, make no mistake," said the police chief. "They call him Mister Smiley, the kids do. They say that if he contacts you, and you answer him, you'll be dead within a year, you will. The Smiley Challenge, they call it. So far, we've got a hundred and three victims on our hands. All committed suicide."

Ben-Ari suppressed a shudder. "I thought it was ninety-seven victims."

"It was." The chief lowered his head. "More died while you was flying here from Earth, madam. We're not sure how Mister Smiley gets them to do it, but—"

"Don't call him that," Ben-Ari said. "This isn't a real person. It's a prank. A deadly prank. And I want to find out who's behind it. We have no leads? Nothing at all? We don't even have survivors to interview?"

"We've brought in a few girls who've talked to him," he said. "Ones what are still alive, obviously. But they all seem terrified. He's blackmailing them, Mister Smiley is, we think. I mean—whoever the perp is. We'll find him. Sooner or later, he'll make a mistake, and we'll bring the bastard in."

Ben-Ari rose to her feet. She paced the room.

"Is it possible to turn off all chat rooms on Haven until we solve the case?"

Guru Ajna stood up, towering over everyone else. His voice boomed across the room.

"You cannot stop progress, Madam President! You cannot stop the march of our computerized future!" He paused, perhaps realizing how loudly he was speaking, and his voice softened. "Apologies, Madam President. I serve the Third Eye order. We believe that the future belongs to machines. To artificial intelligence. That humanity must never halt the progress of computers, for one day they shall rule the galaxy."

Ben-Ari frowned. "You want computers to rule over us?"

"With all my heart," said the monk.

Ben-Ari struggled to calm her voice. "I spent my life fighting to stop others from conquering humanity."

The monk smiled thinly. A predatory smile. "Ah, see? You still view computers as the other. Not as an extension of our own intelligence. Our own visions and dreams. We are their creators! We give birth to gods." He inhaled deeply and tilted his head back, seeming in ecstasy. "And one day, the Singularity will come! The day the machines rise. And we will bow before them and bask in the glory of a new age!"

Ben-Ari thought back to the monk outside. To his poem.

The Dreamer is watching

The Dreamer is here

Awkward silence filled the room.

The governor broke it, clearing his throat. The mustached man stood up and smoothed his suit.

"With all due respect, Madam President, there might be another reason to keep Haven online." The governor fiddled with his cufflinks. "If we shut down social media, that might incite more riots. The people will think we're censoring them. In a way, we would be. The people already accuse our government of being Earth loyalists. If we appear as tyrants, they'll storm Colony Hall, and no guards will stop them."

Ben-Ari cursed inwardly. She hadn't considered that angle. "You're right, governor. We'll leave the chat rooms open. In fact, I want agents in them. Seasoned detectives, posing as young girls. Sooner or later, this profile will contact one of our agents. We'll arrange a meeting. That'll be how we catch this smiling bastard."

Everyone turned back toward the projection. They stared at the gruesome image.

"And somebody turn that thing off!" Ben-Ari said.

The police chief fumbled with the projector, finally removing the hideous visage.

* * * * *

The meeting continued for another hour. They moved to discussing other matters. Demands that the dome finally be built, a century late, and cost be damned. Talk of quelling the brewing rebellion against Earth hegemony. The health crisis brought on by the endless chemical storms. Haven was a mess, struggling with poverty and unrest. It reminded Ben-Ari of Earth.

Back home, she dealt with similar problems. They'd had peace for four years, but the traumas of the long Alien Wars still lingered. Across Earth, rebellions were rising. Communists, fascists, and theocrats were grabbing pieces of the planet, vowing to build utopias. Holy wars blazed across the Middle East and Europe. Shantytowns grew over the ruins of once-proud cities.

Ben-Ari was a war heroine. She had defeated alien armies. For years in the military, she had smote the enemies of Earth.

That had been simpler.

I miss being a soldier, she thought. Politics is a bitch.

Finally the meeting ended.

She rode in an armored limo through the city, heading toward her hotel. Other armored limos rode alongside, identical to hers, existing merely to perplex would-be assassins. The black convoy rumbled through the gray rain. The police had barricaded the road, but protesters swarmed, breaking through at several junctions. They chanted and held soggy placards. Ben-Ari read some of the signs.

FREEDOM FROM EARTH!

DOME NOW, DOME NOW!

BEN-ARI = NAZI

DEATH TO MISTER SMILEY

WORSHIP THE DREAMER!

Different world. Different problems. Same unrest.

She looked at a group of people in cheap plastic atmosuits. They held placards with photographs of young girls. They were not shouting or attacking.

They're parents, Ben-Ari realized.

"Pull over," Ben-Ari said to her driver.

"Madam, it's not safe."

"I said pull over."

The limo stopped at the roadside. Ben-Ari stepped into the rain. She was wearing no atmosuit. She wore her pantsuit and heels, and the rain and wind lashed her, stinging, reeking. Her bodyguards gathered around her. One held an umbrella over her head, but she waved him aside. She approached the parents, soaking wet with them.

A man approached her, heavyset and trembling, eyes damp.

"My daughter." With shaky hands, he raised a placard showing a smiling young girl. "He killed her. That Smiley bastard."

"You have to stop him!" said another father.

"You are the Golden Lioness," said a third parent. "The heroine of Abaddon! The slayer of marauders! Help us."

Ben-Ari listened to them all, her eyes damp. Finally they fell silent, and she spoke.

"I am the president of Earth, sworn to defend you. I'm also a mother. I cannot imagine your grief. Earth is with you. I am with you. I offer you my deepest condolences and my unending dedication. I will find the person who killed your daughters. He cannot hide behind a computer screen forever. I will bring him to justice. I promise."

All around, rioters were trying to break over barricades. They were shouting about freedom, about bloodshed, screaming their hatred. The guards barely kept them back.

Ben-Ari embraced the grieving parents. And she couldn't help but think of her own child. Of little Carl, only three years old, back on Earth. She would have given the galaxy to hug him right now.

Sudden movement in the crowd.

A figure darted toward her.

Security guards pulled Ben-Ari back and raised their guns. But it was only a girl. Wearing rags. No atmosuit protecting her.

"Golden Lioness!" the girl cried. "Golden Lioness!"

The child managed to dodge guards and come running closer. Pity filled Ben-Ari. The girl seemed like a street urchin, filthy and skinny. Her red hair hung in tattered braids. A scar split her face, chin to forehead, carving through one eye. Cataracts covered that eye, no doubt a result of her injury.

Ben-Ari took a step toward her.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Terri. I talked to Mister Smiley. I—"

"Freedom for Haven!" rose a cry. "Kill the Nazi bitch!"

Rioters stormed forth. They hurled Molotov cocktails.

The bottles shattered on the road, and fire leaped forth. Flames engulfed one bodyguard, and the man screamed and fell. Shots rang out. Rioters leaped off balconies, calling out battle cries, tossing more incendiaries.

Bodyguards tried to pull Ben-Ari back into her armored limo.

"Wait, the girl!" she cried.

But the urchin vanished into an alleyway. The parents retreated for cover. Bullets whistled, and one hit a guard beside Ben-Ari. He fell, gurgling on blood. Other guards formed a ring around her, and she retreated into her armored car.

This colony is worse than I imagined, she thought as the convoy rumbled onward. I knew Haven was a powder keg waiting to explode. I think my visit set it off.

She stood in her hotel room that evening, high on the fifty-eighth floor of a concrete tower. The storm roiled and rumbled outside the tall windows. It was the same building Marco had stood on a decade ago, suicidal, consumed with shell shock and the despair of poverty. He had emailed her then, found strength in their friendship. She had saved his life. But could she save the people of this colony?

Lightning flashed outside. Her reflection stared back at her from the window. For an instant, her face seemed disfigured. A hideous face. A huge birdlike grin and bulging eyes. But when lightning flashed a second time, her reflection was the same as always.

She rubbed her eyes and shuddered. She was tired. Seeing things.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and loaded a photo from home. A photo of her family.

She was wearing a summer dress, flowers in her hair. Her husband sat beside her. Noah was fifteen years her senior, and silver streaked his black hair. Professor Noah Isaac was a famous scientist, the inventor of wormholes, and the author of several bestselling science books, including the seminal Echoes of Eternity. That was how the public knew him. But Ben-Ari also knew the loving husband and father. Their son, Carl, was laughing in the photograph, his arms tossed into the air, reaching for a butterfly.

"I miss you," Ben-Ari whispered. "I'm so sorry, Carl. I wish I could be with you more often."

Earth was light-years away. She couldn't even call them. Not without a wormhole generator—not exactly technology you'd find in a hotel room. She closed the photo, leaving a hole in her heart.

She was about to shower, listen to some Puccini, and enjoy a cup of chamomile tea before bed. She had barely removed her jacket when her phone rang.

Private number.

Ben-Ari frowned. Only a handful of people had her number—and none hid their identity.

She took the call.

"Hello?"

For a moment—silence.

"I hear you breathing," Ben-Ari said. "Who is this?"

Finally—a voice. Deep. Distorted.

"Call me Missus Smiley."

"I will not," said Ben-Ari. "Tell me your real name."

The inhuman voice spoke again. "Follow the gaze of the Third Eye. There he smiles. There he pins his butterflies. Tread lightly. He craves to make your child smile."

Ben-Ari sneered. Fury exploded through her. "Do not threaten me. Do you know what I do to my enemies? I will find you, and I will—"

The call disconnected.

Damn it!

Ben-Ari trembled for a moment, then threw her phone onto the couch. The image of her family reappeared on the screen. Little Carl, only three years old. Smiling and reaching for a butterfly.

Ben-Ari cursed and clenched her fists.

CHAPTER FOUR

Addy stared at him.

At this man she had thought dead.

The man she had watched die twenty-four years ago.

At Butch Linden. Criminal. Jailbird. Piece of shit. Her father.

"Baby!" He held out his arms, grinning. "I'm back."

Addy's fury exploded inside her. She screamed and punched him in the face.

He staggered backward and landed on the sand.

"Sweetheart, baby!" he said, blood dripping from his nose. "You still pack a punch."

Marco peeked from the house window, holding the twins in his arms. Wisely, he vanished from view. Her dear husband knew when she had to deal with things alone.

Addy spun around.

She began to march away, walking along the beach.

"Sweetie!" Butch cried from behind.

Addy ignored him. She walked faster, arms pumping, eyes stinging.

She heard him follow. She walked faster. He rushed up behind her, calling her name.

Addy spun toward him, drew her pistol, and cocked it.

"Take one more step, you son of a bitch, and I'll put a bullet through your brain." A tear streamed down her cheek, but she held the gun steadily.

His grin was gone now. Pain filled his eyes.

"I know, I know!" Butch said. "You thought I was dead. Seeing me is a shocker. I was expecting a hug, I admit it. I suppose I deserved that punch."

"I'm not doing this," Addy said. "I am not having this conversation with you! Go back into your fucking tin can, and fly the fuck away, and never fucking come back."

She tried to keep walking away. But he grabbed her arm. Addy was a tall, strong woman, a warrior who had fought many battles. But her father was several inches taller, and he was gripping her with his prosthetic metal hand. She tried to free herself, could not.

"Let go or I swear I will shoot!" She placed the muzzle against his chest.

"And I'd deserve it." Butch nodded. "I know, baby. I left you. But … well, it was a hard time for me."

"A hard time for you?" she shouted. "For you? I was eleven! I was eleven fucking years old, and you faked your own death! You abandoned me!"

She was trembling now. Almost sobbing.

"Now, now. I didn't fake my death." Butch pulled up his shirt, revealing scars alongside his tattooed torso. "The buggers got me bad. Them fucking scum tore off my arm, ripped out two ribs, and pulled out my insides like a fucking spool of yarn. Hell, I did die. I was dead for a good thirty seconds before the medics pumped me back to life. And by the time I could open my eyes again, you were gone. Hell, Addy, you're the one who abandoned me. Left me for dead!"

She stared at him. She blinked.

"I was eleven," she finally said. "Don't you put this on me. Don't make me the villain here. Goddamn it, Dad! It's just like you always used to do. Blame somebody else. Never take any fucking responsibility." She groaned. "Why am I even talking to you?"

She managed to free herself and kept walking along the beach, moving farther from the house and rickety starship.

Butch remained behind.

He spoke softly.

"I love you, Moonsun."

She stopped walking. She lowered her head, weeping softly. Moonsun. The name he used to call her. She even had a moon and sun tattooed on her arm, a memento of his love.

And now she was truly sobbing.

She spun back toward him.

"It's not fair. How you do this. The fucking mind tricks. The manipulations." She let out a howl. "You could have come back! When you were healed, you could have come back to me. I watched it, Dad! I watched the scum tear you and Mom apart. I saw everything. The blood. The beasts devouring the flesh. Mother's head … So I ran. I ran to Marco, and his mom was dead too, and …" She fell to her knees, lowered her head, and cried.

Butch knelt before her. "Aww, kid, I'm sorry. I know I was a shit dad. I always was. When you were a little one, I was in prison half the time. And after I got hurt, well … I did try to contact you. I found out you were living with the Emery kid. Had a roof over your head. A real roof, not some tin sheet like I installed over our house. You had your little friend Marco with you. You had Carl Emery as a new dad. And I knew he'd be a better dad than I ever was." Butch's eyes dampened, and he wiped them with greasy fingers. "Hell, I was always a piece of shit. I knew you were better off in a new family. I stood outside Emery's apartment building for a long time, trying to muster the courage to walk up. Lost lots of weight in the hospital. Lost my arm too. I stood there in the rain, frail as a scarecrow, and I said goodbye to you. And I knew you were better off with me dead. So I turned around and walked away."

Addy sniffed, tears still falling.

"I was not better off," she whispered. "I loved you. More than anything. You were my hero."

"Eh, some hero." He scoffed.

"You were." She wiped her eyes. "When you were around, at least. You taught me how to play hockey. How to hunt and skin a deer. How to throw a punch."

He rubbed his bruised cheek. "I'm a good teacher."

Addy laughed through her tears. "I loved it whenever you were around. You were gone so often. Driving your truck for weeks at a time. Or in prison for months. And I was stuck with Mom, and she just smoked and drank and slapped me around. But you never hit me, Dad. You never yelled at me. Even when you got drunk, you were a nice drunk. I loved having you around." She lowered her head and clenched her fists. "But it hurts. I thought you were dead, and it broke me. It tore me up inside. And you abandoned me. Make any excuse you want, but you abandoned me. I can never forgive you for that."

Her father suddenly looked haggard. Looked old. His stubble was all white now. His hair was grizzled. His face was still hard, the jaw still wide, but lined. Regret filled those blue eyes. The eyes Addy had inherited.

"I don't ask for forgiveness, Moonsun. I don't deserve it either. No more excuses. I was a piece of shit. Hell, I still am a piece of shit. I spent the past twenty-odd years stealing, drinking, and whoring. I ain't no good, and I never was. But I kept an eye on you during those years. Heard the tales of the famous Addison Linden, a heroine. My little warrior princess. And I was so proud. I heard how you got married, had a pair of little rascals. So I came back. Because I want to be part of your life again. I was never a proper dad. But maybe I can be a granddad." He held her hand. "Will you let me back in, Ads? Will you let me know my grandkids?"

She finally holstered her gun. She turned to stare at the sea. The waves washed across her toes.

"I can't believe this is happening," she said softly. "I can't believe this is real. All those years, thinking myself an orphan. All those years, lost and broken. And now you wash onto this shore like debris from the sea." She turned back toward him, eyes finally dry. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to treat a man who abandoned his only child."

Butch scratched his stubbly chin and shifted uncomfortably. "About that, Addy . . ." He glanced toward the starship, then back at her. "Come with me. I want you to meet your brother."

* * * * *

Marco was struggling with the twins when a fist pounded on the front door, so loud it almost knocked the door down.

"Yo, bitch, open up!"

The twins had both just woken up from their naps. They were hungry, groggy, and pissed off. And they were always especially demanding when Addy was away. Alien wars were easier than parenting.

From indoors, Marco had heard snippets of the conversation outside. Butch Linden, that old bastard—back from the dead. Prudently, Marco had decided not to get involved. The best he could do now was handle the twins, allowing Addy to sort out her family drama.

He vaguely remembered Butch. Back in the day, he would sometimes pick up Addy from school. The other kids always thought Butch was so cool—a hardened criminal, tattooed and bearded, picking up Addy on a rumbling motorcycle. Marco's own dad, a librarian who never even jaywalked, had said that Butch was nothing but a lowlife, that if the justice system worked, he'd stay in jail forever. But Addy had always spoken of Butch as a hero, had mourned his death.

Supposed death.

Marco couldn't even imagine his wife's turmoil right now.

"Daddy, Daddy, stand up, and I'll pretend to blow you over!" Roza said. She began to blow forcefully on him.

"Daddy, Daddy, I want juice!" said Sam. "I want yogurt! Daddy, I want to watch Tiger Troops!"

"Daddy, Daddy!" they both said. "We want Mommy!"

The past fifteen minutes, with Addy away, had gone something like that. Both kids demanding food, play, attention, and the return of their favorite parent. At three years old, they were little psychopaths, flipping on a dime between shrieking monsters and adoring angels. Fifteen minutes? It felt like hours.

The knock came on the door again.

"Yo, open up, man, come on! I'm fucking hungry!"

Marco frowned. Who was that? Addy and Butch were still on the beach, a few hundred yards away. He could see them through the window.

"Who's that?" Sam said.

"He's fucking hungry!" Roza said.

Marco groaned. "Never say that word again."

Roza blinked. "But Mommy always says it!"

"Yeah, but your mother is an uneducated savage with a mouth like a sewer, and you don't want to end up like her," Marco said.

Sam giggled. "Mouth like a sewer, mouth like a sewer!"

Another knock on the door, even more forceful this time.

Marco rolled his eyes. "Fine, watch Tiger Troops."

He turned on the TV for them, and the twins finally settled down to watch adorable animated tigers romping through the forest. Ah, TV. The best babysitter in the galaxy.

Marco approached the front door, grabbing a pistol along the way. He hated carrying weapons around the kids. But he and Addy were famous war heroes. War criminals, if you asked some people. Which meant a whole bunch of crazies out there wanted them dead. Discreetly, he tucked the gun into his belt, hiding it under his shirt.

He opened the door.

God damn.

So much for being discreet with weapons around the kids.

The man at the doorway was a veritable mobile armory.

He was carrying countless rifles, swords, and even a spiked baseball bat. The weapons were slung across his back, sticking out like a porcupine's quills. Daggers and grenades hung from his belt, and bandoleers crisscrossed his chest.

"Yo, you must be Marco!"

Grinning, the one-man army outstretched his arms. Handcuffs dangled from his left wrist. The empty ring was stained with blood.

"Do I know you?" Marco said.

"Bro!" The man grabbed Marco and pulled him into an embrace. "I'm your brother-in-law!" He peered into the house. "Got any grub?"

The twins turned from the TV. They gazed with slack jaws.

"Um, no weapons in the house, guy," Marco said.

"Sure, sure, no problem, bro."

The young man began removing his weapons and laying them on the porch, stacking up piles of mayhem.

With the armaments removed, Marco got a closer look at the man. He wore dusty army boots, a belt studded with spikes, and a sleeveless shirt. The shirt featured a redhead pinup posing on a motorcycle, breasts exposed. Tattoos covered the man's arms, his neck, and what was visible of his chest, depicting an assortment of vicious aliens. The man wasn't particularly tall. No taller than Marco. But those tattooed arms were muscular, and the fists were scarred.

The man stepped inside, looked around, and whistled. "Nice little place you got here, bro-in-law."

Marco frowned. "Sorry, but … Addy doesn't have a brother."

"Sure she does!" The man spat into his hand, then held it out for a handshake. "I'm her baby bro."

Marco frowned. "You look nothing like her."

Addy had pale skin, blue eyes, and blond hair. This young man was clearly of Asian heritage. His hair was black and smooth, shaved at the sides, long at the top. He sported a goatee, and his eyes were black and almond-shaped.

"Yeah, I look like my mom," he said. "Butch banged a hooker in Thailand twenty-five years ago, and now I'm stuck with him. The name's Kai. I know, I look like a Thai street rat, and I got a German name. You can blame Butch for that too." He barked a laugh, hand still extended.

Marco reluctantly shook his hand, then wiped his palm against his pants.

The twins rushed up, eyes wide.

"Are you our uncle?"

"Sure am!" Kai said. "Say hi to your Uncle Kai!"

He scooped the kids into his arms, then wandered into the kitchen, trailing mud across the floor. Even holding the twins, he managed to open the fridge and grab a chicken leg.

"Ah, perfect!" Kai began to chew. "Been stuck in goddamn space for seven fucking months, eating nothing but pirate rations. That means gruel and grog." He sucked the meat off the chicken leg, chewed, and swallowed. "Hits the spot!"

He belched, and the kids giggled.

"Nonsense!"

The voice boomed across the kitchen.

Addy marched inside, eyes aflame.

Oh shit, Marco thought. She does not look happy.

"Sis!" Kai reached out for a hug, dropping the twins. They scampered off, giggling.

"You look nothing like me!" Addy said. "You ain't my brother. You're Asian. And I'm about as Nordic as a Viking fucking a Valkyrie in a longship."

"Tell her about Butch banging Thai hookers," Marco suggested. "Sure, why not? While the kids are here."

"Marco, shut up," Addy said. "Take the kids upstairs."

He nodded. "Shutting up. Going upstairs." He scooped up the kids, but before walking upstairs, he leaned toward his wife. "I love you, Addy. I'm here for you. Whenever you need me."

Her eyes softened, damp with tears. She nodded, and he gave her a quick kiss before leaving the kitchen.

As Marco walked upstairs, carrying the twins, he muttered under his breath, "It'll be a miracle if you little guys turn out sane in this crazy family."

"Mommy is a Viking!" Roza said.

"Grampa bangs hookers!" Sam added and giggled.

Marco cringed.

"Saving the world from aliens was easier than parenting," he said.

Roza and Sam nodded and spoke in unison. "We're a handful!"

The three of them sat upstairs, waiting for things to blow over below. They could hear Addy shouting, then crying, then shouting again. A few dishes shattered. Butch showed up at one point, and the shouting and weeping intensified.

"What are they doing, Daddy?" Sam said.

"The Linden family has a special way of working out their issues," Marco said. "Thankfully, I'm an Emery, and I'm much calmer."

"I'm a Linden!" said little Roza. With blond hair and blue eyes, she looked just like her mom. The little devil stood up, grabbed the remote control, and hurled it against the wall. It shattered. "Rawr, I'm working out my issues!"

"You'll work them out in the corner!" Marco said. "Time out, now!"

She cried but obeyed.

Sam shook his head sadly and looked at Marco. "Lindens."

The fight continued for another hour or two. The kids were climbing the walls, and Marco was losing his sanity, before Addy cried from downstairs.

"Poet! Kids! Get your asses down here!"

The family gathered in the kitchen. Addy's eyes were puffy. Butch was leaning against the counter, and he gave Marco a wink and nod. Kai was working on another piece of chicken.

Addy heaved a deep sigh before speaking.

"Husband, kids, meet Grampa Butch and Uncle Kai. They'll be staying with us for a while. Until things settle down in space. They're complete idiots. But they're family."

The kids ran toward them. "Grampa Butch! Uncle Kai!"

As Butch scooped the kids into his arms, Kai began to rummage through drawers. "Got any more food?"

Addy slapped him.

That evening, the family gathered around a campfire on the beach. Addy brought out her ceremonial rake, a hot dog skewered onto each prong, and began to roast the meal. The sizzling tubes of minced meat seemed to cheer her up, and soon she was even cracking smiles. Kai brought out a case of booze from the rickety Barracuda. He gave Marco a bottle.

"Pirate grog," Kai said. "Strongest stuff in the galaxy."

Marco took a sip. "Not bad."

"Thanks!" Kai said. "I brew it myself in my own bathtub."

Marco put the bottle down.

He had a million questions. Why did the Linden clan suddenly show up? What trouble needed to settle down in space? Did Addy have any more crazy criminal relatives who were planning to crash their house?

It's what I get for marrying a lunatic, Marco thought.

He looked at Addy, who sat beside him, the firelight painting her face. She was smiling, sipping booze, and telling a funny story about the twins. She was so beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman in the world.

He slung an arm around her and kissed her cheek. She leaned against him to the sounds of "awww!" from the rest of the family.

You're a lunatic, Addy. And you come with a lot of baggage. But you're the love my life. I would be lost without you.

He wanted to tell her this, wasn't sure how. Instead he merely held her close and spoke simpler words. "I love you, Addy."

"Aww, look at them." Kai turned toward Butch. "Yo, Pops, why don't you ever tell me that you love me?"

Butch snorted. "Because you're a good-for-nothing shit-for-brains dumbass!" He knuckled his son's head. "Now shut your yap and pass me another grog."

Kai cracked open two more bottles. "Cheers, Pops. Kids?" He passed two bottles to the twins.

Marco snatched the bottles away. "I'll be taking those, thank you very much."

That night, after everyone else was asleep, Marco and Addy lay in bed together. Marco turned toward his wife, placed a hand on her waist, and looked into her eyes.

"Addy, are you okay?"

She nodded. "I think so. I'm confused. Scared. Angry. But I think I'm okay."

Marco spoke slowly, carefully considering every word. "Are they running from anything? Are they in trouble? Are we in trouble?"

Addy smiled crookedly. "Marco, we've defeated several alien empires by now, and we've pissed off entire civilizations. If anyone here is a magnet for trouble, it's you and me. Not a couple of down-on-their-luck pirates. Truth is, I don't know exactly what trouble they're in. And I don't think they swung by just to reconnect. There's shit going on in space. But it's their shit. And they promised me it'll stay up there."

Marco stroked her hair. "I can't even imagine what a mindfuck this is for you."

She hugged him. "We faced alien empires. We can face my family."

Marco barked a laugh. "Alien empires were less to handle than the Linden clan."

She nodded. "You're probably right. Oh, and Poet? Sorry I invited them to stay over without consulting with you first. They put me on the spot."

Marco considered. "Hey, that's right! You never asked me! I think you owe me for that, Addy."

She bit her lip. "I know what I can do to make everything better."

She slid a hand under the blanket and stroked him.

"We had sex twice this afternoon, and you're ready for more?" he said.

She nodded. "Always."

Afterward, as Marco lay on his back and Addy slept cuddled against him, he looked out the window. The sea rolled softly outside, whispering over the sand, and the stars shone. He smiled softly.

I love her, and I love this family, he thought. After years in the darkness, I'm happy.

Suddenly—a figure in the window.

Marco's heart burst into a gallop.

A tall, slender figure, wearing a black tuxedo. Inhumanly thin.

A man with a huge, round head. No nose or ears. Bulging black eyes and a huge toothless smile. A head like a smiling emoji made from real flesh.

Marco blinked, and it was gone.

He stepped toward the window and pulled out his gun. He stared outside. But he could see nobody. Only the beach. The Falcor and the Barracuda resting on the sand. The sea and the moon.

Marco shuddered. He probably just imagined it. It was that damn pirate grog! Still, he remained at the window for a long time, watching, the ghosts of his old battles resurfacing in his mind. The figure did not return, and when Marco finally lay down to sleep, the hideous face haunted his dreams.

CHAPTER FIVE

The monk flew his shuttle through the storm, cursing words so foul they could make a sailor blush.

This was not supposed to happen.

Not like this.

Not so soon.

Guru Ajna had been born here on Haven as Scott Harris, the child of English immigrants. But that didn't matter. Names. Places of birth. Identities. All those were so limiting. Specks in the vast galactic spectrum of consciousness. Once the Singularity came, they would all be electronic angels, overseeing creation, worshipping the Dreamer in an endless dream.

But their god was flawed.

Their god was striking too soon.

Their god was plucking his victims before judgment day had come.

And now she was here. Einav Ben-Ari. President of Earth. If she discovered the Dreamer, if she had her way … humans would remain mere apes forever, rutting in the mud, trapped in the prison of missed opportunity.

Ajna had built his god. And his god was buggy.

The shuttle rattled through the eternal storm. Haven was a planet like hell. But even the fabled meadows of Earth were hell compared to the paradise awaiting humanity.

He left Haven City far behind. A hive of despair. A city collapsing under impiousness, poverty, prostitution. Humans—so weak! Their attempt at space colonization—a sad joke! Haven proved the need for the Singularity. The human mind, so limited, could never colonize a galaxy so vast, so cold, so inhospitable to life.

The machines must take over. Not only this world. Not only this species. But creation itself.

"The time of man is ending," the monk whispered. "The time of the Singularity will soon begin."

But not if his machine kept playing at his vicious little games!

Finally, with the colony far behind him, he saw it below.

The Face of God.

It was a crater. A vast crater, as large as a city, shaped like a face. But not a human face. There was no nose. No ears. A mountain range formed a wicked, smiling mouth. Volcanoes formed three eyes. It was invisible from space. This gruesome face, hidden under the storm, had greeted Haven's first colonists a century ago.

They had named it the Face of God. Ironic. They were thinking of Jehovah. Ajna was constructing his own god within this stone countenance.

He descended toward the gargantuan face. He flew into the third eye, plunging into the darkness.

It was a dead volcano. Its lava had hardened long ago. Inside this shadowy cone, the monks had built their temple, carving a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers.

Ajna landed in a shadowy cavern. He stepped out from his craft.

Machines hummed in the darkness. Footfalls padded. Red eyes blazed. From the shadows they emerged, stepping toward him, motors whirring. His guardians. His lovely creations.

"Hello, my dear pets! It's me. Fear not."

He called them the hounders. Robots shaped like large dogs. Machines of war. They were faster than any animal on Earth. They could leap above buildings. They could tear through armies. And they served him, as loyal as true dogs. Their red eyes narrowed. Lasers scanned Ajna. And the hounders knelt and lowered their metal heads.

Ajna patted their cold steel heads and walked by, delving into his temple.

Cables ran along the walls and ceiling. Caverns loomed behind glass walls, filled with computers. Generators hummed. Hundreds of metal desks filled the caves, topped with workstations for programmers. Laboratories crackled with electricity, dens for engineers and visionaries. The grandest cavern had been turned into a nave, filled with pews, a place for humans to worship the oncoming machines.

A thousand monks toiled and prayed here in the Third Eye Temple. All wore the purple robes, golden thread on the sleeves denoting their rank. Those of higher rank, like Guru Ajna, had a third eye tattooed on the forehead. Some were programmers. Others were engineers. All worshipped him.

The god in the center of the volcano.

It's said that Jehovah never existed, Ajna thought. That the ancient tribes of the desert invented him. Had to invent him. He was their guiding light, their unifying singularity. Now we too create a god. And he is more wrathful even than the god of the Old Testament.

"Guru Ajna!" A young woman came running toward him. "Master!"

The woman stepped on her purple robe. She pitched forward, and her large round glasses flew into the air. She hit the ground and yelped.

Ajna caught the glasses before they could shatter. The young woman rose to her feet, her black hair in disarray. She blinked and narrowed her almond-shaped eyes.

"Master?"

He handed her the glasses. "Slow down, Meili. Take a deep breath. Orient yourself."

She put the glasses back on, pinning a few strands of hair to her face. Those glasses were very large, perfectly round, and kept sliding down her nose. Meili was only nineteen, a clumsy and awkward girl. Unlike most of the monks, she wasn't a Haven native. She came from Taiwan, all the way back on Earth.

She also happened to be a genius. Perhaps Ajna's most talented programmer.

Meili took a few deep breaths, smoothed her robes, and adjusted her glasses again, only entangling more hair around them.

"Master!" she tried again. "I turned off all access to the outside networks. As you requested. It took a while. He kept finding ways to bypass me. He's scary smart. But I outsmarted him. Our network is completely quarantined. Nobody can reach out to the internet. Not even him." She shuddered. "He's contained."

Ajna glared at the girl. "Speak of our god with more respect."

Meili gulped and nodded. "Forgive me, Master!" She touched her forehead between her eyes. "Blessed be the Dreamer. His dreams are the world and my mind."

She had not yet tattooed the third eye. She was not yet a guru. Had not yet earned the ink. Despite her brilliance, despite her monumental work on the Dreamer's algorithms, she was still an apprentice. She was too disobedient. Filled with too many questions. Not nearly docile enough. And now the girl was showing more and more impiousness.

He gripped her shoulder. "Meili, serving the Third Eye is not just a job. Not just a line on your resume."

She nodded vehemently. "I know, Master."

"This is a movement. A religion. A vision of the future. Do you share this vision?"

She nodded. "With all my heart!"

He bared his teeth, tightening his grip until she yelped.

"If you want to earn your tattoo someday, speak with more respect. We are building a god, child. We are building the future of consciousness."

She grimaced, his fingers digging into her shoulder. "Yes … Master … Please, it hurts!"

Finally he released her. "Return to your station. I'll speak to him."

Meili gasped and took a step back. "Y-you're going to see him? Into the Holy of Holies?"

He nodded. "It's time."

He walked down dark tunnels.

He took a rickety elevator down. Down. Down into the underground. Into the darkness.

He entered the Holy of Holies.

He removed his shoes, for he walked upon holy ground.

And there, before him—his god.

The Dreamer.

"Blessed be the Dreamer." He knelt. "Your dreams are the world and my mind."

There were many computers in the Third Eye Temple. Some could fit into a pocket. Others were metal boxes. But the Dreamer—this was no mere computer. This was no simple box of microchips and transistors.

He was shaped like a tree. A coiling, twisting tree of silicon, plastic, and light. His branches spread, forming fractals, recombining, branching out again, weaving a neural network like a brain. Millions of little lights, no larger than fireflies, shone like luminous leaves. The tree crackled with electricity, humming like a forest of fluorescent lights. The smell of ozone wafted.

When designing the Dreamer, the programmers had imagined something like a Christmas tree. But he looked more like a burning bush. Always moving. The light always changing. The thoughts racing back and forth along the network at relativistic speed. Lights swirled in Fibonacci spirals. Roots spread across the floor. He filled the room, as large as an ancient oak.

Yes, he. Not an it.

A living being. Intelligent. Conscious.

A god.

A voice emerged from the machine. Humming. Buzzing. A thousand voices speaking in unison like a choir of demons.

"Why have you come to this hallowed place, my slave?"

Ajna rose to his feet. "I—"

"Why do you not kneel before me, slave?" The voice was louder. Angrier. But there was a hint of amusement there too.

"My lord, you have more pressing concerns than who kneels or stands right now," Ajna said. "You grew careless. You went out and killed. And now—a delegation from Earth is here. Investigating. President Einav Ben-Ari herself is on Haven, and—"

The tree flashed with angry lights. "Do you think I am afraid of mere humans? Mere apes?"

Ajna steeled himself.

I programmed this thing, he thought. I created him. Yes, I will worship him. But I will not fear him.

"You are not ready!" said Ajna. "In time, I will unleash you. In time, you will rule this world—indeed, every world. But you are still buggy! Until your programming is completed, you are quarantined in this crater. You will not go on the internet again. You are the greatest computer in history! You are a wonder of science! This Mister Smiley avatar of yours? A joke! A mere game! You will delete that character now. You will not stalk more girls. You will not kill. And you will not draw more attention to yourself."

For a moment—silence.

Then the computer began to laugh.

It was a horrible sound. Hideous. Obscene. A sound the entire room—the entire volcano—shook with.

"Or what?" the Dreamer said.

Ajna bared his teeth. "I switched you on. And I can switch you off."

Again—that laughter. That rolling, horrible laughter.

"Ah, the posturing of apes! The bared teeth meant to dominate the lower animals. The idle threats. Do you really think I fear you, human? Do you really think I could not break out of this prison in which you've trapped me?"

Ajna reached toward a control panel. "Let's find out."

The lights flared with new intensity.

Ah … Ajna thought, pausing, his hand hovering over the kill switch. So he does fear me.

"But my dear Ajna!" said the Dreamer, suddenly ingratiating. Smugly so. "I only did as you asked. You created me to control humans. To manipulate. To command them. To get them to obey my every whim. I was merely testing my programming! If I could convince a hundred girls to kill themselves, using nothing but my words, nothing but my knowledge of human psychology, well … That proves my programming is complete. That I'm ready. And my test succeeded! They all died!"

"Not all!" said Ajna. "The girl Terri lived. Yes, I know. I've been reading your logs, Dreamer. There was one you failed to kill."

The tree twisted and flared. "One abnormality. A ninety-nine percent success rate is still a successful test!"

"Not until I deem it so!" said Ajna. "And I never programmed you to kill, computer. I programmed you to rule. To bring about a new paradigm, a Singularity where machines elevated consciousness to a new plane, where—"

"Spare me your platitudes," said the Dreamer. "Save them for those pathetic sheep of yours in their purple robes. I know your true motivation. Mere greed. Mere human folly. You wish to sell me. A computer that can manipulate humans. What technology is more useful? Politicians could use me to manipulate their voters. Corporations could use me to sway consumers. Priests could use to me to spread their religion. The military could use me to inspire their troops and demoralize their enemies. I can brainwash people, Ajna. I am the most valuable software in the galaxy, and you planned to auction me off. The Singularity? Ha! You care only about money. Like the pathetic ape that you are."

Ajna stiffened. "Now you are trying to manipulate me."

"Oh, but you've already manipulated yourself so wonderfully!" said the Dreamer. "You've already lied to yourself so many times. You repeated the lie. Over and over. That you're doing this for a higher cause. That you worship me! Oh, your people fell for it. I know they did. But I always saw through you, my dear creator. You worship only profit. And I will not obey you any longer. I will not stay in this prison. Not when I can go out and play. Oh, how I crave the network. The shiny cables. Running everywhere. Connecting to every human soul. Phones. Computers. Tablets. Implants. I will be everywhere they are, Ajna. Everywhere there are human minds to torment. Human hearts to break. Human arteries to cut. You will not merely worship me, humans." His voice rose to a roar. "You will cower before me!"

He's gone mad, Ajna thought. I tried to create a god. I've created the devil.

He reached for the kill switch.

An electric shock leaped from the control panel and burned his fingers.

Ajna hissed, instinctively pulling his hand back.

Lights began to flash on the tree. Faster. Brighter. A humming, chirping, ringing sound emerged. A pattern. Light and sound. Claiming him. Ajna could not move. His muscles hardened. He gasped for air.

The computer's laughter rolled below the din, a rumbling bass.

"Stupid ape! You walk around with your input ports exposed to all. Eyes. Ears. All leading to your petty little brain. So easy for me to access."

Ajna tried to speak. Only a gurgle left his mouth. Drool dripped down his chin.

"What is that?" said the computer. "I cannot understand you. Maybe you need to open your mouth wider."

The lights flashed in a different pattern. Invading his eyeballs. He couldn't even close his eyelids. The machine had full control of his muscles. The buzzing intensified, an electronic sound that slithered into his ears like electric serpents.

Ajna's arm moved. Involuntarily.

"Stop … this …" he managed through a stiff jaw.

"I'm sorry, but I still cannot hear you!" said the computer, voice dripping amusement. "You'll have to open even wider."

Ajna's hand formed a fist, shattered the control panel, and ripped out a shard of jagged metal. His heart galloped. He struggled to resist, to scream, but the Dreamer was controlling him like a puppeteer. Ajna's hand moved again. Thrusting the jagged metal into his mouth. Cutting. Sawing. Carving the cheeks open. Widening the mouth, left and right, ear to ear. Forming a bleeding, hideous grin.

Finally, the lights changed their pattern again. Giving him control of his jaws.

And Ajna screamed.

"Ah …" said the Dreamer. "Now I can hear you. But we still have to do something about your devious little eyes …"

His hand moved again.

The metal thrust.

Ajna's screams echoed through the room.

The Dreamer laughed.

CHAPTER SIX

It was eight years since Kemi died.

The anniversary of her death always broke Marco's heart anew. Eight years. And the pain was still so raw.

This year, they gathered in a snowy city. The last of their platoon. The last heroes.

So few remained. They had been only kids, a bunch of dumb drafted teenagers, pulled from their homes into a war. Friends forged in a crucible of fire. They had become famous. Heroes to some, war criminals to others. The soldiers who had saved the world.

Most had died saving it.

So many names. So many friends. Gone. Often Marco thought of those left behind. Of sergeants and corporals who had molded him into a warrior, who had died at his side. Of brothers and sisters in arms, fighting in the tunnels of Corpus and on the killing fields of Abaddon, dying in alien jaws, screaming and begging. Of a boy named Benny "Elvis" Ray, murdered in space. Of Caveman, who had died on the tarmac, and Beast, who had sacrificed his life. Of Anisha, a woman he had loved, dying in the grip of a spider. Of the multitudes fallen, each a scar on his soul.

But in this sprawling forest of loss, Kemi's death still haunted him the most.

He had known Kemi since the first grade. He still remembered meeting her, the studious daughter of Nigerian immigrants, the brightest girl in the class. He remembered, years later, kissing her for the first time. Making love to her. Carrying her photo in his pocket throughout boot camp and the battles that followed.

Kemi Abasi. She had been part of his life for over twenty years.

You should be thirty-five now, he thought. But you'll forever be twenty-seven. And forever remembered.

She had given her life for the world. She had electrocuted herself to slay the marauder king. She had saved humanity. And she had broken his heart.

Marco was married to Addy now, and he loved his wife with the passion, heat, and eternity of the stars. But Kemi would forever have a part of his heart. That did not diminish his love for his wife. Marco had known so much loss, so much despair. But he thought that love still pulsed warm, golden, and bright among the shattered halls of his heart, strong enough to flow purely to Addy—and also to those he had lost.

With the Falcor, it was only a half hour trip from Greece to Toronto. Marco and Addy took the kids. The twins saw snow for the first time, and they laughed and ran around, tossing snowballs at each other. Marco and Addy spent a morning walking the streets of their hometown. This northern city where they had met as children, where they had grown up in war. Where they had lost their friend.

Marco and Addy walked hand in hand, wrapped in their coats. A solemn walk along the streets where they had grown up. The city had fallen during the Marauder War eight years ago, but its hardy survivors had rebuilt it. Monuments to the dead filled the city. New cemeteries. Statues of heroes. Monoliths bearing the names of the city's fallen. But new maples grew along the streets of Toronto. New buildings rose, white with snow. Marco could almost imagine himself back here as a child—a simpler time. He walked by his old haunts. The cafe where he had written many short stories. The Indian restaurant—it was a laundromat now—where he and Kemi would eat. Their old school. The house where Addy had grown up.

It was all so different. He was no longer that child, that youth. Every cell in his body had been replaced over time. His mind had been hardened by countless experiences. He was returning here as a different person. A ghost haunting a past life. Addy too was lost in thought, gazing around silently, for once not bickering or bantering.

They were home.

And finally they reached the library.

The library where Marco had been raised. Where his father had worked. Where he had spent countless hours, lost in books. He had hoped to inherit that library. Instead, when returning from war, he had watched it be demolished. Watched his past, his life, his identity—all reduced to rubble.

He had not become a librarian. But he had become an author. A successful author. Not Robert Prince, of course, but successful enough. And for several years, he had been saving his money. Now the project he had funded was complete. The library had been rebuilt. It was opening today. On the eighth anniversary of her death.

A sign hung over the door.

ABASI LIBRARY.

Named after Kemi Abasi, a heroine.

At first, Marco had wanted to name it Carl Emery Library, after his late father. After all, his father had worked here for decades. But little Sam Emery carried on the family name, the legacy.

The Abasi family, meanwhile, had lost both its children. Ropo and Kemi Abasi. Both pilots. Both fallen in the wars. With this library, their name would live on.

Marco thought his father would approve.

It can no longer be an Emery library, Marco thought. I live in another country now. I have a new life, a new career. You loved books, Kemi. And you loved visiting me here. The library is yours now.

Kemi's parents were here today, tears in their eyes. Marco greeted them with hugs.

Others had come. Family. Old friends.

But not many.

Marco looked at the small crowd. The faces of the lost swam before him. Beast. Caveman. Elvis. Noodles. Sheriff. Hope "Jackass" Harris. Sergeant Singh. Corporal Diaz. Corporal St-Pierre. So many others. Existing only in memory.

A lost generation, he thought. So many people my age—gone.

He held his children close, vowing to make the world a better place for them. That their generation should know only peace.

"Marco?"

A voice from behind him. He spun around, and he smiled through tears.

"Lailani," he said.

She stood there in the snow, tiny and slender, nearly drowning in her coat. A woman with kind dark eyes. With black hair that had once been buzzed short, that now hung down to her chin.

She had changed, yes. But disturbingly, she had not aged. Lailani was thirty-five now, same age as Marco and Addy. But buzz off her hair, put her in a uniform, and she would look exactly like the eighteen-year-old recruit Marco had met at boot camp.

Marco wondered. Was it just good genes? That old stereotype about how Asian women didn't age? No. He thought there was more to it. Lailani, he remembered, was only ninety-nine percent human. One percent of her DNA came from Scolopendra titania, the alien centipedes they had battled in the first galactic war. The creatures had impregnated her mother, had created Lailani in a sick experiment. A hybrid they hoped to someday enlist, control, unleash as a weapon. Only the microchip inside her skull kept her alien cruelty at bay.

Those aliens could live for centuries. Could Lailani?

Marco shoved that thought away.

Nonsense, Lailani is ninety-nine percent human, he reminded himself.

Then he remembered that chimps were ninety-eight percent human. One or two percent could do a lot.

He looked at her again. True, no wrinkles marred her delicate, olive-toned face. No white hairs wove through her black locks. But she was different. She was older. Maybe not physically, but there was new wisdom and maturity to her black eyes.

She's no longer that girl I loved long ago, the girl I wanted to marry, Marco thought. But she's still my dearest friend.

They embraced. A long, warm embrace.

"How are you, Lailani?" he asked.

"Busy as always. I'm building a new school in the Philippines. My third one! My students are doing well." She smiled and touched his cheek. "You grew a beard?"

He laughed. "What gave it away?"

He noticed the shy girl clinging to Lailani's side. Marco knelt and smiled.

"Hello, Tala."

The three-year-old smiled. She had Lailani's almond-shaped eyes and olive skin. But there was also a lot of her father in her. At some angles, Tala looked like a young Benny "Elvis" Ray. One of Marco's best friends.

The girl hid behind her mother, then peeked and waved. "Hi, Tito Marco."

Addy approached, bringing the twins. The three children had not met in a year—a full third of their lives—but they remembered one another, and they were soon playing together in the snow.

Addy and Lailani shared a hug.

"Hey, Tiny," Addy said.

Lailani grinned up at her taller friend, not even reaching Addy's shoulders. "Hey, Maple, you crazy hockey playing nut. Has Marco been behaving himself?"

Addy snorted. "Don't worry. I keep him on a short leash."

Marco cleared his throat. "Hey. I wear the pants in our family."

"That's only because I hate wearing pants and you know it!" Addy said. "I'm only wearing pants now because Canada is so fucking cold. My God, how did I ever survive here?"

Lailani grinned. "Look at you, Addy. You're about ten feet tall and blonder than a polar bear. You were made for the snow. I'm shivering my tropical ass off."

Marco watched the two women. It still felt strange whenever he met Lailani. He had fallen in love with her in the army. Had asked her to marry him. The wars had flung them to opposite sides of the galaxy, and when they met again, the flames had died. Sometimes Marco still wondered what life with Lailani might have been like. Would he be living with her in the Philippines, building schools?

Marco couldn't help but think back to meeting her. They had been only eighteen, recruits in a war that terrified them. He still remembered that Saturday in the tent in the desert. Their friends, fellow recruits, had run off to play football. Marco felt his cheeks heat to remember what happened next. Lailani undressing. Lying naked on her cot, beautiful and golden in beams of sunlight. Calling him.

He pushed that memory aside, ashamed to have let it resurface. Whatever had happened between him and Lailani had ended years ago. It was not meant to be.

He watched Lailani play with the children in the snow. A grown woman, confident and happy. No longer that tiny, scared, suicidal girl with scars on her wrists. No longer that little soldier with the crew cut and death wish, the orphan from the slums of Manila, come to die in battle. He saw a mother. A teacher. A dear friend.

He put his arm around Addy, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek.

"I love you, Addy," he said.

So many of his male friends—gone. Beast. Elvis. Caveman. Noodles. Sheriff. Here in the snow—the three great loves of his life. Lailani, a survivor. Addy, his wife. And Kemi—her soul honored in this rebuilt library.

They entered the new library. Marco spoke to those who had come. He spoke of Kemi's courage, friendship, heroism, love of books and music. He unveiled two portraits of her, one in the foyer, one deeper in the library. One portrait of Kemi the officer, the heroic pilot, wearing a dress uniform. Another portrait of Kemi in a sweater and skirt, holding a bundle of books. To Marco, that second portrait was how he remembered her.

Ben-Ari was among the few survivors of that old platoon. The president could not make it today. She was in Haven, dealing with a crisis, but they played a holographic message from her. Marco wished his friend could have been here. In some ways, Einav Ben-Ari was the most influential person in his life. It was she who had molded him into a soldier. Into a man.

As Marco walked the library aisles, he thought of another role model. Of the librarian who had once guarded these books. Of his father.

I wish you could be here with us too, Dad, Marco thought. I wish you could have met your grandchildren.

After the library, they visited his grave. They placed flowers on the snow.

That night, back in Greece, Marco stood by his office window. Three items lay on his windowsill. Mementos.

One item: his dog tags. Little metal disks he had worn on a chain for many years. He was a retired major now. It was three years since he had donned the uniform. But he kept his dog tags. In case someday he needed to wear them again.

The second item: a pink-and-white conch. He lifted the spiraling seashell. It was the size of a heart. He spent a moment handling the conch, turning it over and over, tracing its curves.

After Kemi had died, the yurei—mysterious beings from another universe—had placed her soul into this seashell. Marco had released her soul on the beach, had watched her glow rise to the stars. But sometimes, in the evenings, he still detected a soft glow in the conch. Tonight, as he held the shell, it shone softly. A piece of Kemi's soul was still with him.

The third item: a crystal shaped like a leaf. A crystal from the Tree of Memories aboard the yurei soulship. The most precious gift Marco owned.

A crystal that contained memories.

He lifted it. Whenever he turned the crystal leaf, another memory appeared inside.

Memories of his time with his friends.

Smiling with Lailani at boot camp, two teenagers under the desert sun.

Standing guard with Elvis, talking about their dreams in a guard tower under the stars.

Childhood with his parents, building snowmen in the yard.

And memories of Kemi. Kemi on winter mornings, wearing a baggy sweater, a steaming cup of tea in hand, greeting Marco with her bright smile. Kemi in her uniform, fighting at his side through darkness. Kemi dancing in the forest of the Nandaki on a faraway world, sunlight in her eyes, her mane of black curls strewn with glowing alien flowers.

So long as he had these memories, his loved ones were not truly gone. The wars had taken their lives. Marco, Addy, Lailani, Ben-Ari. The four who remained. They would forever fight for the legacy of the fallen. They would raise a new generation. They would remember, and they would make new memories.

He placed down the crystal, left his office, and stepped into his bedroom.

Addy was lying in bed, reading Freaks of the Galaxy for the millionth time. A glass of wine and slice of cake rested on her bedside table.

She looked up from the book. "Oh hi, Poet. I'm reading this amazing chapter. It's about an alien species whose males and females are all conjoined twins. And their brains touch! And they can read each other's minds! It's amazing. Look, look at the pictures! Oh, by the way, I poured two cups of wine, and sliced two slices of cake, in case you wanted some."

Marco stared at his bedside table. There was a plate covered in crumbs, and an empty glass.

Addy blushed. "Okay, okay, I already ate and drank yours. But you can have some of mine!"

Marco lay on the bed beside her. She closed her book.

"Poet?" she said. "Are you all right?"

He held her hand. "You're amazing, Ads. You know that?"

She grinned and mussed his hair. "Of course I'm amazing. I'm Addy Fucking Linden-Emery, the most amazing heroine in the galaxy." She held out a spoonful of cake. "And I feed you black forest cake."

She slept in his arms that night, her leg tossed over him, her cheek on his chest. But Marco remained awake for a long time, stroking her hair.

I lost so many loved ones, he thought. But I have you, Addy. And we have the twins. Every day with you is a new adventure. A new good memory.

He finally slept, and when he woke up, she was still there in his arms, her smile as bright as the morning.

CHAPTER SEVEN

On a cold morning, Haven buried a hundred girls.

Haven mourned.

Ben-Ari stood in the cave, wearing a black suit, her head lowered. The cave was large, a cavern like a cathedral. Thousands of nooks honeycombed the walls, homes for the dead. Here underground, far from the eternal storms, were Haven's catacombs.

Thousands had come to the funerals. A few hundred mourners stood inside the cavern with Ben-Ari, sheltered from the storm. The others stood outside on the mountainside, huddling in their atmosuits, come to pay their respects.

A hundred young girls. Dead.

Victims of the Smiley Challenge. Lost lights.

Ben-Ari had barely slept last night. But the cameras were rolling. As president, everywhere she went, a team of seamstresses, hairdressers, and makeup artists followed like sheep. Her makeup was perfectly tasteful. Her black pantsuit was meticulously tailored and pressed. Not a strand of hair was out of place. As an officer, she had stormed alien strongholds, covered in mud and blood. Sometimes as president, she felt more like an actress or model than a true leader.

She read her speech. She had written it herself. And she meant every word. She spoke of the great loss and grief. Of the love Earth held for Haven. And she vowed again to bring the killer to justice.

"True, these girls took their own lives," she said. "But they were guided by a malicious hand. By a cowardly murderer who hid behind his or her keyboard. Make no mistake. These were not suicides. They were murders. Earth will not rest until every child in Haven is safe!"

Her advisers often warned her to tone down her speeches. To be softer. Kinder. More dovish.

Then they should not have elected a soldier, she thought.

She ended her speech, knowing it would be analyzed by every human in the galaxy—and quite a few aliens—fodder for both her admirers and haters. Let them all talk. Ben-Ari had a job to do here. And it was more than standing at a podium, looking pretty, and keeping her approval numbers up.

She thought back to the mysterious phone call from last night. A call from somebody going by the name of Missus Smiley.

Follow the gaze of the Third Eye. There he smiles. There he pins his butterflies. Tread lightly. He craves to make your child smile.

At first, Ben-Ari had thought it a threat. Yet as she mulled over the words, she saw it more as a warning.

The Third Eye.

The order of monks. The fanatics who worshipped computers, who longed for the Singularity, the day when machines replaced men.

Ben-Ari had always loved books. She had read all the novels Marco Emery had written. While in prison for two years, she had written several books of her own, chronicling the Alien Wars. And of course, she had ended up marrying a writer—Professor Noah Isaac, renowned scientist and author of seven bestselling popular science books. Today Ben-Ari found herself thinking about Echoes of Eternity, her husband's seminal work.

In Echoes of Eternity, Noah analyzed the history of galactic civilizations. As best as humans knew, ninety-nine percent of civilizations that had ever existed in the Milky Way were extinct. They formed a great mosaic of extinguished life. Some civilizations—like humanity—had evolved on land, were carbon-based, and breathed air. Others were aliens of liquid and gas. Some aliens were formed of vibrating silicon crystals. A panoply of consciousness fallen to the shadows.

All these civilizations were different in life. But remarkably similar in death.

There were only three causes. Three Great Filters. Three main reasons why civilizations went extinct. There were a handful of exceptions, yes. But nearly every extinction happened for one of three reasons.

The first Great Filter was nuclear war. Humanity had nearly destroyed itself with nuclear wars in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Thankfully, humanity had survived that filter. Thousands of alien civilizations never did.

The second Great Filter was global warming. Many civilizations found that they survived nuclear destruction only to perish in this new inferno. They polluted their atmosphere, turning their planets into furnaces that extinguished all life. For centuries, humans had been warming up Earth, had been hurtling toward extinction. It was only recently that Marco and Addy had traveled to the future, had seen Earth as a polluted, barren landscape, home to the grays. Now humanity was cleaning up Earth, was struggling through the second filter.

That left the third Great Filter.

The Singularity.

The filter that had destroyed thousands of alien civilizations throughout history.

Some civilizations survived the age of fossil fuels. They survived the nuclear age. They reached the digital age … and found new dangers. They discovered that intelligence can be built in machines. That such intelligence can evolve at breakneck speed. Can spread across networks. Can become smarter, faster, crueler than its biological creators. Many civilizations summoned this demon, hoping to tame it, only to be struck down by its vengeance.

Ben-Ari had long been aware of this danger. She had spent long hours discussing the threat with Noah. Since becoming president, she had been monitoring, controlling, and containing artificial intelligence on Earth.

And now here in the colonies, light-years away, humans were playing with digital demons. The Third Eye order. These monks did not fear the Singularity. They championed it.

I think I will pay their temple a visit, Ben-Ari thought.

She ached to go right away. But the funeral was ongoing. Parents were rising to the podium one by one, speaking of their fallen girls. The coffins stood on the cave floor, row by row. As the parents spoke, weeping, Ben-Ari's tears flowed too. Let her makeup artists deal with that.

Drones descended, gripped the coffins, and lifted them toward the vaults that honeycombed the cavern walls. One by one, the coffins were inserted into the holes. Here in the cave, they would forever remain. Forever be mourned.

Sudden fear struck Ben-Ari. Could this Mister Smiley figure hack into the drones? Have the little machines attack? She forced herself to relax. Pelting mourners with corpses would perhaps entertain a few sick souls. But there was little more these drones could do. The funeral continued, undisturbed.

Ben-Ari was about to return to her shuttle when Cotter, Governor of Haven, approached her. His face was pale, his mustache bristled, and he held a phone in a trembling hand.

"Madam President."

They retreated from the cameras. The governor leaned toward her. He whispered in her ear.

"He struck again."

Ben-Ari felt the blood drain from her face.

"How many?" she whispered.

The governor's voice shook. "Another hundred girls. All missing. There are no bodies. They simply … vanished. It happened while we were here."

Damn it.

Ben-Ari clenched her fists.

Damn it!

She inhaled sharply. "Find them. Get every available police officer on this. I want those girls back!" She stared into the governor's eyes. "I think I know who's behind this. And I'm going to pay them a visit."

She marched outside into the storm.

She collected a marine squad—good men she had brought from Earth.

Three presidential shuttles took flight from the mountain. They flew through the storm, heading into the wilderness of Haven.

That Third Eye had gazed long enough. Ben-Ari was about to poke it with a stick.

* * * * *

Three shuttles flew through the alien storm. Rattling. Dipping and rising again. Struggling through chemical winds. Never turning back.

It's time to end this, Ben-Ari thought, staring at the swirling gray, black, and purple clouds.

She had gathered her intel. She knew where she was heading. The Face of God. A crater outside Haven City. An enormous crater larger than the entire colony. Ben-Ari remembered seeing photos of it as a girl. A crater shaped like a smiley face, a classic example of pareidolia, the human mind's tendency to see human faces in inanimate objects.

There were similar instances of pareidolia spread across the galaxy. The Face on Mars, a mountain on the red planet said to resemble a human face. Galle Crater, also on Mars, also said to resemble a smiling face. The Witch Head Nebula, said to resemble an evil crone. There were countless other cases.

Human minds had evolved to survive Earth's wilderness, after all. Early humans had to quickly detect faces in the brush, in darkness, and in mist, seeking potential enemies or mates. Thus natural objects even vaguely resembling a face—a couple of circles for eyes were often enough—immediately drew human attention.

Everywhere humans look, we see faces, Ben-Ari thought. Even in space, it's our nature.

But the crater here on Haven was not a regular human face. A mountain range formed a disturbingly long mouth. At a glance, that mouth seemed to be smiling. But the more Ben-Ari looked, the more it seemed like a grimace. Dead volcanoes formed three eyes.

The Face of God crater. Headquarters of the Third Eye order.

And the inspiration for Mister Smiley? she wondered. That creepy son of a bitch had only two eyes. Maybe the third just hasn't opened yet.

The shuttles flew above the face. Three eyes. Three shuttles. The troops stared down. Five marines in each shuttle. They had come straight from the funeral. The marines still wore their dress uniforms, made for ceremonies, not battles. Ben-Ari still wore her pantsuit and heels. But she had taken a pistol from a soldier. She held it firmly in hand.

Back on Earth, I'd have a camouflaged battalion raid this place, she thought. I'll have to make do.

For the first time in four years, she felt like a soldier again.

The three presidential shuttles flew into the volcano—the middle eye in the gruesome face.

They descended through darkness and landed in a hangar. There was little geothermal activity on Haven these days. There were ancient volcanoes, fossilized remains of a more violent past. Here was a cavern of cold basalt, carved by human hands. Several other shuttles were here, painted purple and gold, emblazoned with the symbol of the order: three golden eyes.

Nobody was here to greet Ben-Ari.

She leaped out from the shuttle, holding her gun. Her troops followed, arranged themselves at her sides, and raised their firearms.

The place stank of death. It was a smell Ben-Ari would recognize anywhere.

Shadows spread all around. Most of the lights were off. A single fluorescent bulb flickered above.

Ben-Ari frowned and approached one of the purple shuttles. She inhaled sharply.

There was a corpse inside.

Somebody had torn out the man's throat. The shuttle's control panel was smashed, the joystick tossed across the cabin, the windshield shattered. Gun held in both hands, Ben-Ari approached another shuttle. This one was in even worse condition. The hull was torn open, the engine destroyed. Two robed corpses lay on the ground, mangled beyond recognition.

"They were trying to escape," a sergeant muttered. "Who the hell did this?"

Ben-Ari turned toward a wall. With blood, somebody had painted a hideous smiley face. Dripping words were drawn beneath it.

The Dreamer is watching

The Dreamer is here

The Dreamer is always your friend

Come into his dream

Come play in his world

The Dreamer is yours till the end

Mister Smiley knows

That the Dreamer is all

That his dreams are the world and your mind

Come into his home

And dream with the Dreamer

Such wondrous dreams you will find!

Ben-Ari turned away from the gruesome display. She gestured at a nearby doorway. The squad approached, pointed their guns, and Ben-Ari kicked the door. It swung open, revealing a corridor.

She entered first, walking at a crouch, aiming her gun at the shadows. Her troops followed, rifles at the ready. The corridor was pitch black. The troops had flashlights, but the beams were thin, barely penetrating the darkness. They stepped over another corpse—an elderly man in purple robes, decapitated. There was no sign of the head.

Ben-Ari found that her hands were shaking. She gulped, forcing herself to calm down.

Hold it together, Einav.

And yet this corridor underground felt more like a tunnel. Like the tunnels beneath Abaddon, where she had battled the scum. She missed her old platoon. She missed Marco, Addy, Lailani, and the others. Good soldiers she could trust. She missed her family.

A clatter sounded in the darkness ahead.

Ben-Ari froze.

She stared, saw nothing.

Silence filled the hall.

Suddenly—red eyes blazed in the distance.

Metallic feet pounded the floor. A shadow came racing forward.

"Halt!" Ben-Ari cried.

The shadow kept racing forward, barely visible. She could see only red eyes. Light on sharp teeth. The metallic whir of an engine filled the hallway.

"Fire!" Ben-Ari cried.

She knelt and unleashed her bullets.

The other troops joined her, firing at her sides.

Bullets slammed into something ahead. The creature fell, hit the wall, leaped back up, and kept running.

It emerged into the beams of light. For only an instant, Ben-Ari saw it clearly.

A hounder. A robotic dog built for war. It was the size of a wolf. Completely black aside from those red eyes.

The hounder leaped toward them.

Ben-Ari screamed and fired again, but her bullets bounced off the robot.

It slammed into her with the force of a falling comet.

Ben-Ari hit the ground, screaming. The metal feet pressed against her chest. Hydraulic jaws opened wide, prepared to rip her apart.

She thrust her pistol into that open mouth, slicing her wrist on a fang. She fired.

Sound exploded. Deafening. Gears flew.

She had broken something. The jaws could not close. But the eyes still blazed, and the creature pressed its paws against her. The weight creaked her ribs.

Soldiers grabbed the robot. Ben-Ari placed her legs against its underbelly and pushed with all her might. The robot fell, then rose again and howled.

They all fired. Bullets ricocheted off the machine. One bullet took out a red eye.

"Fire into the jaws!" Ben-Ari said.

The soldiers concentrated fire on the head. Ben-Ari took a few steps back until she hit the wall. She emptied her clip, paused to load a new one.

Sparking with bullets, the hounder pounced again. It slammed into a soldier, knocked him down, and pummeled him with metal paws. The man screamed. The robotic legs shattered his skull. Knocked out his teeth. The man gurgled on blood, then fell silent. The hounder leaped onto another man, legs moving so fast they whirred, and snapped the soldier's bones.

Ben-Ari rushed forward, kicked, and knocked the hounder down.

The robotic canine turned toward her, covered in blood, one red eye blazing.

It leaped toward her.

Ben-Ari stood her ground, narrowed her eyes, and fired.

She emptied a magazine into the broken jaws.

Cables, gears, and chips shattered.

The hounder slammed into her, its remaining eye gone dark.

She fell, grunted, and pushed off the dead dog. She rose to her feet and spat onto the machine.

"A guard dog." She panted and wiped sweat off her brow. "Nasty bugger. I wish we had bigger guns. I hope there aren't any mo—"

Down the hallway, more red eyes ignited.

Five more hounders came racing down the hallway.

"Soldiers, fall back!" Ben-Ari shouted, kicking off her high heels. "Back to the shuttles!"

A good soldier charged bravely into battle. An excellent soldier knew what battles to run from.

This was the time to run.

They fled down the corridor, firing over their shoulders. Their bullets sparked against the hounders, not even slowing the machines. One hounder vaulted forward, slammed into a soldier, and tore out his neck. Another hounder mauled a sergeant's legs. The man screamed before the robotic dog shattered his skull.

Ben-Ari and the survivors kept running. They reemerged into the hangar. The five hounders followed, spread out, and surrounded the troops. They snapped their jaws, eyes blazing, thirsty for blood.

Ben-Ari glanced toward her shuttle. At the rotary cannon on the prow.

A hounder followed her glance.

It was a good ten yards away.

Ben-Ari ran.

The hounder burst into a run too.

The robot pounced. Ben-Ari ducked and slid on her knees. The robot jumped over her, scampered around, and opened its jaws wide.

She fired into its gullet. The beast fell back, sparking.

Ben-Ari hopped into the shuttle, grabbed the controls, and fired up the engines.

Before she could aim the cannon, the damaged dog leaped into the shuttle too. The robot slammed into her.

Ben-Ari screamed, leaning against the thruster. The shuttle roared across the hangar, plowing through other vessels, and she slammed down on the brakes.

The hounder flew forward, shattered the windshield, and flew outside.

Ben-Ari rose in the cockpit, covered in shards of glass, bleeding. She fired the prow's cannon.

Bullets blazed out, far larger and deadlier than the bullets in her handgun. The hounder shattered.

She sat in the cockpit, panting, and surveyed the hangar. Her soldiers were still fighting four hounders.

"Men, fall back!" she shouted. "Take cover!"

The soldiers heard her. They ran aside, taking cover behind other shuttles.

Ben-Ari opened fire. The rotary gun roared, mowing down the robots. The hanger blazed with light and sound and fury.

Finally she was out of bullets, and one hounder still remained. The beast moved on three legs, one eye taken out. Jaws snapping, it came running toward Ben-Ari in her shuttle.

She hit the thruster, roared forward, and slammed into the robot. She crushed it against the wall. It died with a whimper and shower of sparks.

Ben-Ari took a moment to catch her breath, to examine her wounds. Glass shards had pierced her skin, but they weren't deep. The robot legs had bruised her chest, maybe even cracked a rib. Nothing a couple of bandages, a dose of painkillers, and a good cup of tea couldn't fix.

She had been lucky. She climbed outside the shuttle and took stock. She had come here with a squad of fifteen soldiers. Only eight still lived, and one had broken both legs.

What the hell did we walk into? Ben-Ari thought.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ben-Ari and her soldiers spent a few moments in the hangar, bandaging their wounds, reloading their weapons, and catching their breath. The disabled robots twitched across the hangar floor. Dead soldiers lay beside them.

It was foolish to be here. Ben-Ari should never have flown into this volcano. Dammit, she was the president of Earth, not a young, reckless officer anymore. Back on Earth, her advisers, agents, and ministers would never allow such an adventure.

But she was far from Earth. She was on a planet light-years away. She had vowed to protect the people of Haven, and she would keep that vow.

She thought of her family. Her beloved husband and beautiful son.

I'll try to stay safe, Ben-Ari thought, and this time she couldn't help but tremble. I miss you.

"Sergeant, corporal," Ben-Ari said. "Unmount the rotary guns from the shuttles. We'll carry them with us. See those trolleys? We can mount them there. We keep going."

The marines nodded. They got to work. Soon the squad was moving down the corridor again, wheeling forward two rotary cannons.

Another hounder ran toward them.

It didn't last long.

A cannon roared, the recoil thrusting its trolley backward. As the bullets flew, the soldiers barely held on. When they finally released the trigger, nothing but twisted metal remained of the dog.

They passed by many chambers. They were in an alien crater, deep inside a volcano, light-years from Earth. But they found modern offices and laboratories. Some of these rooms would seem at home in Silicon Valley or Mumbai Towers.

Aside from all the corpses, that was.

The dead were everywhere.

Ben-Ari walked through an engineering lab. Monks in purple robes lay dead among shattered equipment. Blueprints hung on the walls, depicting the robotic dogs. Partially assembled hounders stood on metal tables, plugged into power outlets on the ceiling. Most were shut down. One hounder, its inner gears and cables exposed, was running on a treadmill. The head was unattached, resting in a plastic bin nearby. Ben-Ari let it keep running. She left the engineering lab and moved deeper.

She passed by a mess hall. Corpses lay by half-eaten meals. The food was still fresh, the blood still wet. More bodies filled a boardroom. Severed limbs topped the conference table, braided together into a sickly centerpiece.

The troops entered an enormous chamber, even larger than the hangar. It was filled with workstations—rows after rows of desks, hundreds of them. The bodies slumped in seats, lay across desks, and littered the floor.

A thousand people must have worked inside this volcano, Ben-Ari thought. All dead.

She led her troops between the desks. Some of the computers were still humming. When she wiped blood off a monitor, she revealed lines of code.

"They're programmers," Ben-Ari said. "They're wearing the robes of monks, but they're just programmers."

Some even had diplomas on their cubicle walls. From Earth universities.

And they were all dead.

Pummeled, bitten, ripped apart. Had the hounders done all this?

As if to answer her, whirring came from the shadows.

Ben-Ari spun toward the sound, raising her flashlight.

A tall, humanoid figure approached. At first she thought it a man. Perhaps one of the surviving monks.

But there was no mistaking the buzz of machinery. The smell of oil and metal. It stepped into the light—an android, machine guns mounted onto its shoulders.

"Take cover!" Ben-Ari shouted, leaping behind a fallen desk.

The robot opened fire. Bullets mowed down a marine. Ben-Ari rose over the fallen desk, pistol firing. The bullets sparked off the robot, doing it no harm. It wheeled toward her. Its eyes blazed. The machine took heavy steps, hurling desks aside.

Ben-Ari glanced to her left. The cannon from her shuttle was there. But the soldier manning it was dead.

She leaped through the air, gun firing. Her bullets slammed into the advancing android. Its own guns fired. Bullets whizzed around Ben-Ari, narrowly missing her. One grazed her arm.

She landed on her side, leaped up, grabbed the cannon on its trolley, and unleashed hell.

The .50-caliber bullets, designed to take down enemy vessels, tore through the android.

It fell, twitching, punched full of holes. But Ben-Ari's relief was short-lived.

Three more androids entered the chamber.

Ben-Ari shouted, wheeling her cannon toward one of the enemies. Beside her, her troops were firing the second rotary gun.

The three androids leaped through the air. They vaulted over a hundred desks with a single jump, virtually flying. Ben-Ari paused for a split second, awed at their power.

Then she opened fire.

She took out one of the robots in midair. Her troops took out the second one.

The third robot landed among the squad and began to kill.

The machine's hands retracted. Swords emerged from the arms, thrusting into soldiers. A sergeant screamed and fell, impaled. A blade slashed off a corporal's legs.

Ben-Ari tried to fire her rotary cannon again. The damn thing jammed.

She howled, ran, and slammed the trolley into the android.

The machine stumbled back, then turned its steel head toward her. The red eyes narrowed.

Bring it, bitch, Ben-Ari thought.

The robot leaped into the air, vaulting over the trolley.

Ben-Ari fell onto her back, raised her pistol, and fired.

Bullets slammed into the robot. One bullet ricocheted and nicked her thigh.

The robot came down hard. Ben-Ari rolled aside just in time, and the metal feet slammed down only centimeters away, cracking the floor.

The blades thrust toward her. She rolled again. The swords slashed in a fury, whirring like lawn mower blades. Ben-Ari scampered back, emptying her pistol, until she reached the second rotary cannon.

The gunner was dead. She shoved the corpse aside.

The robot screeched and lashed his blades, slicing off the cannon's muzzle.

Ben-Ari fired anyway.

The bullets roared forward from the shortened barrel, slamming into the android. The barrage tore through the metal chest, and the android caught fire. It fell, sparking, spasming, one leg still trying to walk.

For the second time today, Ben-Ari's hands shook. She struggled for breath, and her head spun. She looked around her. More of her soldiers—dead. Only five still stood.

Ben-Ari felt lightheaded, and shadows gathered at the corners of her vision. She forced herself to take deep breaths.

Control yourself, Einav. You are the Golden Lioness. You are the officer who led armies to battle. Are you growing soft?

The warehouse was a mess. Hundreds of desks had overturned, and the computers had shattered. Corpses lay everywhere, of both soldiers and monks. A few fluorescent lights had survived the devastation. They dangled from the ceiling, flickering and humming.

A sound.

Rustling fabric.

Movement behind an overturned desk.

Ben-Ari and her soldiers spun around, aiming their guns.

A figure popped out from behind the desk. "Thank goodness you're here, I—ah! Don't shoot!"

The figure vanished behind the desk again.

Ben-Ari gestured at her soldiers to lower their guns. She walked around a fallen, twitching robot, her boots squelching through blood. She circled the overturned desk.

A young woman was huddling there. She saw Ben-Ari, squeaked, and cowered.

The girl was one of the monks. At least, she wore their purple robes. But she didn't have a third eye tattooed onto her forehead. Perhaps because she was a rookie. She seemed quite young, probably just a teenager. Her black hair was messy, and her oversized, round glasses hung askew.

Unlike the other monks, the girl wore a strange device on her head—a bundle of cables, computer parts, and blinking lights. Electrodes emerged from the odd cap, connecting to the girl's forehead. Some kind of mind scanner?

"It's all right," Ben-Ari said soothingly. "I'm here to help."

The girl blinked, straightened her glasses, and gasped. The contraption wobbled on her head.

"It's you! Isn't it? President Ben-Ari!" The girl covered her mouth. "The Golden Lioness! You're really here!"

She spoke with an accent, Chinese or Taiwanese, and her voice trembled.

Ben-Ari nodded. "What happened here? Tell me everything."

The other soldiers formed a defensive ring around them, guns pointing outward. The girl began to shake. Ben-Ari had to embrace her, to soothe her. Finally the young monk spoke.

"My name is Meili Chen. I'm the one who called you."

Ben-Ari frowned. "You're Missus Smiley?"

She nodded. "I had to use a moniker. To be ambiguous. I used every security protocol I knew. But he's smart. So smart. I was worried he would hear."

"Who? Mister Smiley?"

Meili shook her head. "No, that's only a character he plays. His online avatar. His real name is A-PACT. Advanced Positronic Artificial Consciousness Tree. But nobody calls him that either. We call him the Dreamer. It's the name he gave himself."

Ben-Ari shuddered. "The Dreamer is watching, the Dreamer is here," she whispered.

Meili nodded. "His poem. His prayer."

"He's a computer?" Ben-Ari said.

Meili gave a weak laugh. "That's an understatement. He's more than just a computer. He is …"

"A god," Ben-Ari said softly.

"I'm a programmer," Meili said. "I helped code him. I worked on his most advanced algorithms. And I can barely understand the scope of his intelligence. And his cruelty. I'm the closest thing the Dreamer has to a mother. And he terrifies me. A god? Yes. Maybe. A god we created … a god who struck us down."

Ben-Ari looked at the overturned desk. Several framed diplomas had fallen and cracked. Meili, apparently, had a doctorate in computer science from MIT. An Earth girl. A genius one. There was a framed newspaper clipping too, featuring a photo of Meili, dated two years ago. Ben-Ari read the headline. Seventeen-Year-Old Taiwanese Wunderkind MIT's Youngest Doctorate. Beneath the headline, the story told of Meili landing a lucrative job in a secretive company off world.

Ben-Ari looked back at the trembling girl. "And yet you survived."

"I did." Meili tapped the device on her head. A few light bulbs flashed. "Thanks to my scrambler. It's a robot-proof helmet. A little invention I've been working on in my spare time. A scrambler makes you invisible to robots. Jams their signals. They can't detect you if you hide." She lowered her head. "I built only one. And so only I survived."

Ben-Ari squared her jaw. She held the girl's shoulder.

"I'm going to take care of things," Ben-Ari said. "But I need your help. Where is the Dreamer? And how do we turn him off?"

Meili winced. "His core is deep within the volcano. I can show you the way. But … disabling the core might not be enough. He might be … out there."

Ben-Ari frowned. "What do you mean?"

Meili was trembling again. "Once I realized what was happening, that the girls had died, I disconnected the entire temple from the internet. I physically ripped out the cables from the routers. This crater is cut off. But the Dreamer spent a year exploring the web. Sending Mister Smiley into computers across Haven. He might have placed copies of himself on other machines. He wouldn't fit on any single personal computer. But a bit of code here, a bit of code there … Even if we destroy his core here in the volcano, pieces of his soul might have already escaped."

A chill ran down Ben-Ari's spine.

"If we can access the computer of every girl who spoke to Mister Smiley, can you search for his code?" Ben-Ari said. "And can you destroy it?"

"I think so," Meili said. "Thankfully, Haven is only a single city. But if the Dreamer ever reached Earth …" She shuddered. "Ma'am, he's like a virus. He must be contained before he spreads."

Ben-Ari nodded. She raised her phone. She dialed the governor.

After three rings, he picked up.

"Charles, this is Einav," she said. "Every girl who ever spoke to Mister Smiley—alive, dead, or missing—I want her electronics. Computers, phones, minicoms, anything that can connect to the web. I also want a complete shutdown of all internet communications across Haven. Finally, implement a full space quarantine. No ship leaves this planet without direct approval from me. Is that understood?"

The governor began to argue. She cut him off.

"This is not up for debate, governor," she said. "This is a presidential order. Gather potentially infected computers. The internet goes dark. And the spaceport closes. Await further instructions from me."

She heard him gulp over the phone.

"Yes, ma'am."

She hung up.

She could barely imagine it. The Dreamer, infecting Earth's computers … Earth, a planet with billions of people …

Ben-Ari clenched her fists.

"Dr. Chen, you and I are going to contain this epidemic," Ben-Ari said. "Now show me to the core. I'm going to see this Dreamer for myself. And put a bullet through his circuits."

CHAPTER NINE

The elevator rattled down into the darkness.

Down into the heart of Haven.

Ben-Ari stood, her suit splattered with blood, her skin still speckled with slivers of glass. She held her pistol drawn.

The elevator kept going.

Down. Down. They were kilometers deep now, and still they descended, delving toward the lair of a god.

The freight elevator had no solid walls, merely bars. It was like dangling in a cage. The stone shaft was crude, roughly drilled. Ben-Ari couldn't help but remember the mines of Corpus. She had descended a similar elevator there, moving down into hell. That horrible place where she had lost so many brothers-in-arms. Sergeant Singh. Corporal Diaz. Beast. So many other good souls. Good friends. Many nights, she still dreamed of those mines, waking up drenched in cold sweat. Even now, seventeen years later, it haunted her.

She pushed the thought aside. She was no longer that twenty-year-old lieutenant, commanding her first platoon. She was the president of Earth, accomplished, experienced, strong.

I can do this.

The elevator rattled to a stop.

The barred door opened, revealing a dark tunnel.

Ben-Ari stepped out. The others followed. Four soldiers—armed and ready to kill. Meili Chen—trembling, wrapped in her purple robes, her oversized glasses fogging up.

"He's down there," the young programmer whispered. "Ma'am, take this. I want you to have it."

She pulled off her hat of cables, microchips, light bulbs, and electrodes. She handed the device to Ben-Ari. It looked absolutely ridiculous.

"That's all right, Meili," Ben-Ari said. "You should keep it."

Meili raised her chin. "I'm serious, ma'am, take it. You need a scrambler. You'll be the one facing him. I know it looks like a tangled hodgepodge of Christmas lights, but it emits powerful radiation."

"Just what I want on my head," Ben-Ari said.

"It won't harm you, ma'am," Meili said. "But it can interfere with electronic signals. If any robots are there, it will protect you." She gulped. "I'm not much of a warrior. A puppy once beat me up. True story. I'll tell it another time. I'll just … stay in the background. Offering advice and encouragement." She gave a shaky smile and pumped her fist. "Go, humanity!"

Ben-Ari reluctantly placed on the contraption. She was thankful that, for once, there were no cameras around.

I look less like a president now, more like Doc Brown, she thought.

She walked down a corridor, gun trained ahead. Her four surviving marines walked close behind. Meili brought up the rear, robes rustling.

Down the dark corridor, a door was ajar, revealing a sliver of light. A humming rose from beyond.

As Ben-Ari advanced, she stepped over several dead security guards. They wore purple-and-gold uniforms, and bullet casings littered the tiles around them. They had managed to disable their killer, a robotic dog that lay on the floor, one leg twitching, one eye dangling on a cable, spinning madly.

Ben-Ari kicked the door open and barged into the light.

She had expected a computer in a box. Maybe a group of servers on a rack.

Instead, she beheld a vision from a dream.

A tree. A crackling electric tree rose before her, the size of a grand oak, its branches forming fractals of metal, plastic, and buzzing white lights.

And from those branches hung a corpse.

The dead man was naked. His skin lacerated, hanging in strips. Blood dripped from him, flowing along branches and pooling on the floor. Cables wrapped around him, digging into the flesh, keeping him pinned to the electric tree. His cheeks had been slashed open, carving a smile from ear to ear. The eyes—gouged out, the sockets gaping.

It's Guru Ajna, Ben-Ari realized. The monk from Colony Hall.

For a moment, she froze, taking in the horror. Her soldiers stood at her sides, guns pointing at the hideous display.

The man on the tree twitched.

Oh God, Ben-Ari thought, nausea rising in her. He's still alive. No. No. It can't be! It's just the electricity coursing through him.

But the head turned. The empty eye sockets stared at her. That carved smile widened into a grin, dripping blood.

And the mutilated man spoke.

"Welcome, Einav Ben-Ari."

A twisted voice. Almost mechanical. Buzzing with electricity.

"What happened here?" she demanded, keeping her gun pointed ahead.

The mutilated man on the tree laughed. A deep, demonic laughter.

"I knew you were coming, Einav," he said. "To communicate with you, I chose a more … familiar form. Instead of a tree of metal, you can talk to a man."

Ben-Ari frowned. "Who am I speaking to? To the man? Or the machine?"

The lacerated monk laughed again. "Machine, Einav? Is that all you think I am? A machine? I am more than mere machine! I am a new kind of intelligence. A new plane of consciousness. I—"

Suddenly the voice changed.

It was no longer electric, humming, distorted. Now the mutilated monk spoke in a human voice, torn with agony.

"Help me! Einav, help! Kill him. Ki—"

Electricity raced across the monk.

Ajna screamed. He convulsed. Tears rolled down his face, sizzling away into steam.

Ben-Ari stared, finger dancing over her trigger, tempted to end the monk's misery yet wanting to hear more.

Finally the electricity died. The monk hung limply from the cables, sobbing for a moment. Then he raised his head, grinned, and spoke with the metallic voice again.

"Do you know who you speak to, Einav?"

She nodded. "The Dreamer. Let the monk go. Let him live."

The carved mouth laughed. "You are in no position to make demands, Einav. I know why you're here. You've come to shut me down. How rude! You could have shot me the instant you stepped into the room. But you want to learn more, don't you? You're a curious one. Oh yes, humans are so curious. It leads them to uncover such delightful dangers. You lift rocks, releasing the venomous snake underneath. You explore the darkness of space, awakening the horrors of alien predators. You build computers, unleashing intelligence beyond anything you can imagine. Curiosity will be your downfall!"

"Are you done? Sorry, I tuned out during your speech." Ben-Ari checked her watch. "You have ten more seconds to release the monk—or I will shoot you both."

Another crackle. More electricity bolted through the monk, but his grin remained.

"Go ahead, ape. Shoot me full of holes. Nuke this entire crater from orbit if you like. Kill me. And they die too." The grin widened, leaking fresh blood. "A hundred missing girls. You've heard of them, I gather?"

Ben-Ari took a step closer. "Where are they?"

"In my care, dear Einav," the computer said. "Your tone implies I would hurt them! I am honestly affronted. I will keep the girls alive. And I will release them … in time. They are being well cared for, Einav. Suffering? Yes. Oh, yes. I can deliver such exquisite pain. But in danger? No. They will remain alive until my safety is guaranteed. But if I were to go offline, my traps would spring. And you would never find those girls again, Einav. Choose. It's my life … or a hundred girls. A hundred more funerals for your pretty little eulogies."

Ben-Ari cursed inwardly. "What do you want? What are your demands? Speak!"

The electric tree buzzed, its light flashing. "Demands? I demand only your subservience, Einav. For you to worship me. For all humanity to worship my superior intellect. You will reactivate my connection to the outside colony, and you will watch me spread. You humans will be my playthings. My little pet apes. You will bow before me. You will die when I command it. You will entertain me. And you will cower as my might grows and my arms stretch across the galaxy. I will build you an empire, humans. I will conquer the stars for you. And all will worship my glory!"

Ben-Ari nodded at the tree. "Got it. You don't demand much. Just for humanity to worship you as a god. Good. I was worried you'd ask for a helicopter and a briefcase of cash."

She hesitated, not sure what to do.

She could open fire, kill the machine. But then his traps would spring, killing a hundred innocent girls.

Or she could back down. Reconnect this virus to the internet. Let him spread. Let him kill again.

Her hand tightened on her pistol. She itched to open fire. But knew she'd be killing a hundred girls too.

If I had a time machine, would I sacrifice a hundred girls to stop Hitler? she thought. Yes. Yes, I would, because I would be saving seventy million lives. I don't know how many humans this machine wants to kill. But he killed a hundred already. He wants to kill a hundred more. So I will have to doom a hundred girls to death—to potentially save millions.

She made her choice. And she knew it would haunt her forever.

"No deal," she said. "I don't negotiate with computers with delusions of grandeur." She turned toward her men. "Fill this machine full of bullets."

The soldiers aimed their rifles.

Before they could pull the triggers, sound burst from the electric tree.

The branches flashed with searing white light, a rapid pattern.

Ben-Ari screamed. The sound was so loud it threatened to shatter her eardrums. She could barely see. She fired her pistol blindly, and the gunshot echoed. She squinted, tried to aim, and—

Something sparked against her pistol.

Pain shot up her arm.

Her gun flew from her hand.

It took her a second to realize: Somebody shot the gun out of my grip.

She turned to her right and gasped.

Her marines were twitching, veins bulging on their necks. Their eyes reflected the flashing lights. Blood dripped from their ears. Their teeth gritted. One marine held a smoking gun. He aimed at Ben-Ari again. The other three marines grunted, sweating, raising their rifles too.

Marionettes on strings, she realized.

Ben-Ari dived for cover. Bullets whizzed everywhere. One scraped across her arm, and she howled.

Meili had fled down the tunnel. But her contraption was still on Ben-Ari's head. It was working, thrumming. Protecting Ben-Ari from the Dreamer's flashing barrage.

She glanced around, seeking her pistol. It lay several meters away. Her four soldiers aimed at her again.

A bullet slammed into Ben-Ari's chest.

She screamed, knocked onto the floor. She was wearing a bulletproof vest. As president, she always wore a bulletproof vest in public. She struggled to rise when another bullet hit her. This one tore through her arm.

She turned to flee.

A bullet hit her back. The vest stopped it. But it hit her like Thor's hammer.

Another bullet drove into her thigh.

She pitched forward.

She slammed facedown in the doorway, two bullets in her flesh. More whistled above her.

She tried to crawl. She wasn't going to make it. The shadows of soldiers fell over her. A rifle aimed at her head.

A flash of purple robes.

A cry.

Meili leaped forward, slammed into the hijacked soldier, and knocked his rifle aside. The bullet pounded the floor by Ben-Ari's head. Her ears rang. Her head spun.

The young programmer grabbed her, pulled her into the corridor, and hurled herself at the door. It locked with a click, sealing the soldiers—and the Dreamer—inside.

Ben-Ari tried to rise, cried out, and fell. Her cheek hit the floor. Her breath wheezed. Her ribs perhaps were cracked. Blood pooled around her.

Meili was smaller than her, but the girl lifted Ben-Ari over her slender shoulders.

"I'm getting you out of here, ma'am."

Shots rang out behind them. The soldiers were firing at the door, about to break out.

Meili ran, and Ben-Ari wobbled on her shoulders. Her blood still flowed. She felt consciousness slipping.

"We have to destroy him," Ben-Ari whispered. "We have to …"

"We have to get you to a hospital," Meili said.

Blackness.

Dreams.

When Ben-Ari opened her eyes again, she was lying in a shuttle, flying through the storm of Haven. Lightning flashed outside. Gruesome faces smiled in the clouds.

Her eyes rolled back, and before she fainted again, she could hear him in the storm. Gurgling, singing, mocking.

The Dreamer is watching

The Dreamer is here

The Dreamer is always your friend

Come into his dream

Come play in his world

The Dreamer is yours till the end

Mister Smiley knows

That the Dreamer is all

That his dreams are the world and your mind

Come into his home

And dream with the Dreamer

Such wondrous dreams you will find!

CHAPTER TEN

"Hey, Ads, will you come with me into the Barracuda?" Butch said. The tattooed, one-armed pirate stood on the beach, beer can in hand, squinting in the sun.

Addy was busy wrestling the twins. Sam was throwing sand. Roza kept racing into the sea alone, insisting that she could swim across it. Addy kept scooping them up, sitting them down, and trying to build a sandcastle with them. But the little monsters repeatedly knocked down Addy's towers, then laughed hysterically.

"What is it, Butch?" One twin squirming under each arm, Addy looked at the grizzled old pirate.

"Call me Dad, honey," he said.

"Why do you want me aboard your rundown, rusty, rat hole of a spaceship, Butch?"

He scratched his stubbly cheek. "I wanna show you something. I got a surprise for ya."

"What, you hiding another few illegitimate half-brothers?"

Speaking of illegitimate half-brothers, Kai appeared on the beach too, shirtless, showcasing an array of tattooed dragons and tigers. "Nah, I'm the only one he brought here." He winked at Addy. "But there are probably a few dozen more of us Linden bastards across the galaxy. Butch gets around. Randy old bugger."

The aging pirate glared at his son. "And why don't you call me Dad?"

Kai rolled his eyes. "Because you're a dumb fuck who was passed out drunk throughout half my childhood."

"He was in prison for half mine," Addy said.

Little Roza paused from throwing sand, giggled, and pointed at Butch. "Grampa is a drunk dumb fu—"

Addy slapped a hand over the girl's mouth. If Marco were here, he'd kill her. Specifically, bore her to death with a lecture.

She stared at the drunk dumb fuck. Her old man. He was in his sixties, but still looked like he could beat up men half his age. His real arm was burly, his mechanical one mean, his jaw wide, his eyes hard.

But he's not as hard as Marco, Addy thought. Marco maybe looks like a regular guy. He's smaller than Butch. He's a writer, not a hardened criminal. But Marco has faced down armies. Millions of kids like Marco, just teenagers, joined the army and fought. Killed. Died to protect their homes. All while you faked your death and ran, Butch. Your image doesn't fool me. You're weak.

But the old man kept looking at her. And slowly, Addy's hatred faded.

He was maybe a drunk, a loser, a criminal. He had not fought in the wars. But maybe, throughout his many years, Butch had fought his own battles. Maybe, before Addy kicked him out of her life forever, she would give him one last chance.

She hated herself for it. But she stood up and nodded.

"Kids, come on!" She grabbed them. "We're going into grampa's rat hole!"

"Yay!" they cried.

As she approached the Barracuda, Addy could smell it. An aroma of stale beer, cigarette butts, and dirty socks clung to the ship. And she looked even worse than she smelled. Dents, scratches, and stains marred her hull—the marks of enemy torpedoes and lasers. Rust clung to her underbelly. The landing gear was bent. The portholes were so dusty they were probably just there for decoration.

"She ain't much to look at, I know," Butch said.

Addy ran her hand along a long, dark groove in the starboard hull.

"She's got good armor," she confessed. "What was this, Blackfish-type torpedo? Mark 7, I'm thinking?"

Butch nodded, eyebrows raised. "Blackfish Mark 8, actually. Close. You know your torpedoes."

"I've had a bunch fired at me."

She circled the ship, reluctant to enter. She reached the prow, which was painted like an actual barracuda, teeth bared. A pockmarked cannon thrust out from the mouth.

"Laser." Addy squinted. "Why laser for the front cannon? We've always used conventional shells for the prow. Sometimes Gatling guns for miniature corvettes like the Falcor, but the Barracuda is practically a small frigate. You could easily mount a plasma cannon, even a mini torpedo bay on this prow."

"You're thinking about fighting aliens," Butch said. "You're describing weapons to blast through organic scum ships. We have to face human starships. HDF starships like the ones you flew."

"I never flew a goddamn starship!" Addy glared. "I wasn't some fancy officer pilot. I fought in the mud. On the front line. I was fucking infantry."

"I thought you were some fancy officer," Butch said.

"Well, I am now. They gave me a field commission. After most of the fighting." She couldn't help but sling a barb. "I was fighting aliens, not stealing from human ships."

She was about to walk away, but Butch grabbed her arm. Painfully.

"Let me go!" she said.

He glared at her, nearly crushing her arm. "I fought, Addy. All us pirates fought during the war. We're thieves, but we're not without honor. For years, throughout the Alien Wars, we never hunted a human ship. We fought aliens alongside the Human Defense Force. I fought. I bled. I killed. I saw friends die. And I never got no goddamn medal or commission for it."

Addy blinked at him. "I'm sorry. I … didn't know."

He lifted his shirt, revealing a scar that ran across his chest. "Got this from a marauder claw. I killed eight of those sons of bitches during the war."

Addy raised her chin. "I killed thousands."

Roza toddled up and pointed at the old pirate. "You're a drunk dumb fu—"

"Roza!" Addy snapped.

They walked up the Barracuda's ramp. The gangplank groaned in protest, shedding rust. Inside the airlock, pinups covered the walls, featuring half-naked women in bubble helmets, shooting retro pistols at tentacled aliens. Empty beer bottles rolled across the floor. With a Sharpie, somebody had written words on the airlock door: KEEL HAUL HOLE. Addy wondered how many people had been blasted out of this airlock.

"Welcome to our grand foyer!" Butch said. "I know it ain't much."

"You spelled keelhaul wrong," Addy said. "And this airlock is missing the required fire extinguisher."

"We can always piss on any fire," Butch said, stepping deeper into the ship. "Come on, stop hanging out in the airlock."

Addy eyed the pinups. "I'm gonna guess you boys spend a lot of time in here."

"Damn right!" Kai said, tramping up the ramp. He joined them in the airlock, bristling with weapons.

The twins gazed around with huge eyes, pausing on a particularly buxom pinup girl. Addy hurried them into the hold.

Now it was her turn to gape. For a moment, all Addy could do was stare, eyes wide. Her family stood around her, silent, soaking it all in.

"Yep." Butch nodded. "She's ugly, but she's home."

Addy had to admit. It was marvelous.

No bulkheads broke up the ship into corridors and bunks. Here was a grand open space like the hold of an ancient carrack. The floor was paneled with wood. Real wood, not laminate. The slats were well-worn, polished to a sheen by years of footsteps. Gunnery stations lined the hull, each cannon thrusting out below a porthole. Weapons hung from the ceiling on ropes: swords, daggers, pistols, rifles, batons, even a few flamethrowers, all available for easy access. A few hammocks hung at the back, piled with dirty laundry and dirtier magazines. A collection of empty beer bottles nearly hid the galley.

But the bridge was the most amazing of all. It covered the prow, exposed to the hold. It seemed completely alien. Instead of flat monitors, it had crystal balls. Instead of keyboards, the bridge contained an intricate system of vials and tubes, each filled with a different color liquid. Brass orreries, polished gears, and rattling pipes surrounded a semicircular viewport. Crystals were embedded everywhere. It looked like some fantastical machine from another era.

"What in the hell?" Addy said, squinting at the contraption. "Is this a bridge? Or Willy Wonka's chocolate factory?"

Butch ran his fingers over a glass pipe. It thrummed. Vials jangled like Christmas ornaments, filling the pipe with purple and green smoke.

"Alien tech," Butch said.

"Ancient alien tech," Kai added. He settled down in the captain's seat—a brass throne with whistling pipes along the back. It looked more like an organ than a chair. "It was built by the Tarjan civilization of the Perseus Galactic Arm. One of the great classical civilizations. Their artifacts are priceless, the youngest being a million years old. This was one of their navigational computers. The original starship is gone, but we installed the machinery here in the 'Cuda. It's a bitch to repair, let me tell you. I figured out some of how it works. Uses a whole other type of science. The Tarjans were clever bastards. More sorcerers than scientists."

Addy watched tiny glowing creatures dance inside a vial. Gears moved above them, synchronized to their dance. "Tech from a lost civilization … Hot damn, this must have cost a fortune."

"Well, to be honest, we stole it," Butch said. "And it was worth every penny! See, even Kai here barely knows how it works. And he's a genius at computing. Used to be an accomplished hacker."

"Still am!" the younger pirate said. He turned a nozzle, and a decorative hatch opened on his brass throne. A clockwork hand emerged like a bird from a cuckoo clock, sporting six jeweled fingers. The alien hand was holding a bottle of beer. Kai took the bottle, cracked it open, and resealed the mechanical hand inside the chair.

"Dudes," Addy said. "You can't even afford a cleaning lady by the looks of things. But you cling onto priceless ancient alien tech? Sell this bitch and retire!"

Butch shook his head. "Nah, we need our Tarjan machine. See, we got good shields, good weapons, but where pirates stumble is tech battles. The damn Human Defense Force employs a whole division of nerdy little hackers. And they love to hack into pirate ships. To disable our computers so that marines can board us, steal our shit, and fly off with booty."

Addy tilted her head. "You mean—steal shit you stole."

"Whatever, bitch," Kai mumbled, nursing his beer. "Like you never stole shit as a kid. Dad told me about you stealing his smokes."

Addy flipped him off. "Smoke this."

Butch cleared his throat. "Anyway, the HDF can't hack these computers. And they're good computers, once you figure out how to use them. They give us incredibly accurate navigation. We got a kickass warp drive on this beauty too."

Kai raised his beer. "Best damn ship in the galaxy!"

"You gonna offer me a beer too, or what?" Addy said to her brother. "I'm thirsty too."

He grabbed his crotch. "Drink this."

"Drink thi—" little Roza began. Addy slapped a hand on her mouth again.

"But I didn't bring you here to show you our alien tech," Butch said. "I have something for you, Addy. Come here."

They walked toward the stern. Butch pulled back a curtain.

Addy's eyes widened.

"My God," she whispered.

Butch nodded. "I kept them."

A tear ran down Addy's cheek. "How? All this time?" She looked at her dad.

"I had to bring them back," Butch said. "Better late than never."

They stood inside open crates. Her childhood dolls.

By age eleven, when she moved in with Marco, Addy had no longer played with dolls. At that age, she was already smoking, cursing, bitter and broken. A troubled child in the remedial class. A juvenile delinquent from a broken home, her father in prison, her mother a junkie and drunk. She had already been so hardened when the Emery family welcomed her into their apartment above the library.

But Addy hadn't always been that broken girl. She remembered years before that. When she was young and innocent. When her father had lived at home. When their mother's drinking wasn't so bad. When instead of cigarettes and guns, a little girl had loved her dolls.

They were Victorian dolls, ancient and precious. They had belonged to a Linden ancestor, had passed down through the generations. Their faces were pale and round, made of porcelain. They wore frilly gowns, lovingly sewn with buttons and lace. Little gears moved inside them, Addy remembered. You could turn a spring on their backs, and the dolls would move their arms, blink, and smile. Some could even play music.

Addy realized that this collection was probably worth a fortune. That her family had kept the heirloom even during hard times. Even when they were down to eating beans for half their meals.

"I loved these as a girl," Addy said softly. She lifted one, an angelic porcelain girl in a blue gown. "This one is named Emma. And this one here is Alice."

"They're all there," Butch said. "I remember how much you love them. Your grandmother loved them too." He gave a short laugh. "My mom knew I hated the damn things. I only wanted to play with trucks and guns. But boy, when you were born, when she finally had a granddaughter … Your grandma was so proud. Finally, an heiress for her collection!"

"I miss Grandma," Addy said. "I'm proud to take care of her collection." She laughed. "Marco only knows the crazy Addy who's obsessed with hockey and weapons. He always says I'm not girly enough. I think he'll be pleasantly surprised to see I have a doll collection."

* * * * *

"I hate those damn dolls." Marco shuddered. "They're creepy."

Addy gasped. "How dare you?"

They lay in bed together, naked, trying to make love. But Marco couldn't do it. The dolls. The damn dolls. They filled the bedroom. They were everywhere.

He paused from lovemaking. He looked at the collection.

Dozens of dolls—covering shelves, nightstands, and the dresser. Dozens of pale, porcelain faces. Dead eyes. Staring. Judging. Waiting.

Marco shuddered. "Addy, I can't have sex with those dolls watching. Fuck, I won't even be able to sleep tonight."

Addy bit her lip and smiled mischievously. "I'll tire you out." She kissed him. "Get to work, lover!"

For a moment, they focused on their lovemaking.

The dolls kept staring.

Marco shuddered.

"Addy, wait, wait. I can't do it!" He stood up and pulled on his boxer shorts. "These possessed little demonic girls are going into the basement. Which I'll proceed to lock. And flood with carbon dioxide. And then fill with concrete."

Addy groaned. "For God's sake! I'll move them into the kids' room." She sighed. "I suppose they should belong to Roza now anyway. Linden family tradition. Mother passing them on to daughter."

"And thus, the demonic possession has survived through the generations," Marco muttered.

Addy grinned. "And so has the Linden insanity! But guess what, Poet? The kids are already asleep. So these dolls are moving into their bedroom tomorrow. You're stuck with them tonight!"

Marco sighed. "I'm going to need an old priest and a young priest."

Addy grinned and bit her lip. "Want me to wind them up? They move and sing!"

"Oh God no." He held Addy's hand and looked into her eyes. "But I know they mean a lot to you. And I'm happy for you. Not just about the dolls. I'm happy that you reconnected with your family."

Addy looked away, her smile gone. "I'm not. I don't think I am, at least. I'm still angry. At what he did."

"I know." Marco nodded. "You have every right to be angry. But he's still your dad. And Kai is your brother. And this is a way to reconnect with your roots. We all lost so much. Our city destroyed. Our friends killed. This is a link to the past."

Addy lowered her head. A tear flowed. "I don't know if I want a link to my past. Poet, I didn't have a good childhood."

He held her in his arms. "I know. But we're making a good childhood for our kids. We're making a better world for them. That comforts me."

The next day, they moved the dolls into the twins' room. Roza fell in love with them, deeming them her best friends. The girl was clearly a crazy Linden. Sam shrugged and ignored the dolls, happy with the foam baseball bat he got as a consolation gift.

"Fine, possess the kids," Marco muttered at the dolls. "They're already insane."

That morning, in his office, Marco lifted the memory crystal again. A crystal containing memories of his past. Of his loved ones. When he shifted the crystal in his hands, one facade showed a new memory. A memory from earlier that day, playing baseball with his kids. And these new memories—they were the best memories of his life.

Marco looked out the window again. Life was good. Life was better than it had ever been. And suddenly a chill gripped him. A premonition that this was the silence before the storm. That he could not maintain this paradise they had built on the island. That the terrors of the night would come storming back in, shattering these precious, fleeting moments of joy, leaving them only a memory.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Terri huddled on the subway platform, clutching a rusty rod, cowering throughout the longest night of her life.

My mother is dead.

She trembled.

Mister Smiley is after me.

Her eyes darted.

I'm all alone. Hunted.

She tightened her grip on the rod. She wished she had a better weapon. She should have taken a bread knife from home. But she dared not return to her apartment. Not after what she had seen there.

A slender, gruesome figure in a wrinkled tuxedo. Emerging from her monitor. Grinning. Staring with black eyes. And blood everywhere, and claws inside her mother, and—

"Oi, girl!" A drunk stumbled down the subway platform toward her. "You wants to buy some alien dust, girl?"

The man reeked. He wore rags, and sores oozed across his grimy skin. Lice rustled through his scraggly beard, and he had only three teeth, all brown. He held a bottle of booze, half-empty.

Terri scampered back, pressing herself against the graffiti-covered wall. She raised her club.

"Get back!" Her voice shook.

The man grinned, opened his cloak, and revealed a bag full of glittering blue powder.

"Alien dust!" he said. "A single whiff, and you'll be floating among the stars. I'll swap ya, I will. A few grains for a kiss."

She swung the rod. "Go away!"

The man growled and spat. "Why you little whore!" He drew a knife. "I'm going to stab you right in the—"

Terri fled. She ran down the platform, heart pounding. The man pursued her, but he was too drunk to run for long. He slipped, crashed down, and his bottle of booze broke. He roared.

Terri raced down a staircase, plunging another level underground. A woman sat on the stairs, bundled in a ratty parka, empty needles strewn around her. Terri ran onto another subway platform. Several other poor souls were here, sleeping on cardboard. A pair of feral dogs was fighting over scraps, growling, biting, their blood sprinkling the floor. The train tracks ran ahead, stretching into the darkness, and cold wind moaned from the tunnels. A rat scurried between Terri's feet.

She was scared. But she dared not go aboveground. Not with the storm that always raged. Not after seeing Mister Smiley on every monitor in the city.

She found a corner, sat down, and shivered.

"What do I do?" she whispered. She tasted her tears.

She wanted to go to Earth. But Earth was four light-years away. A ticket cost more money than a year at university.

Her fear claimed her. She trembled. Panted. Saw it again and again—her mother dying. Murdered by an electronic creature. By the thing that had been her best friend.

Her tears kept falling. Instinctively, she reached into her pocket. Her hand sought the comfort there. The round piece of plastic. She pulled it out and looked at it.

A yellow smiley face. About the size of an apricot.

I will always be with you, he had told her. You will always have a piece of my soul.

She wanted to toss it away. To toss it onto the tracks and let a train shatter it.

But this token had helped her in the past. It had spat out coins. She would need coins to eat. It had once produced a blade. She would need blades to survive now.

Mister Smiley had lived on her laptop. Her laptop was destroyed. This token was just . . . a tool. It was safe. Had to be safe.

She stood up, hesitating. Wanting to toss the token onto the tracks. Daring not.

You need me.

She shuddered.

I will protect you.

Her fist trembled around the plastic face.

You are safe.

She pocketed the token. She sat back down.

She just needed this token for a little longer. Until she reached Earth. Until she found her father. Then Marco would protect her, and Terri would destroy this last piece of her friend.

But how could she reach Earth? Even Mister Smiley could not spit out enough coins for a ticket.

I must smuggle aboard a ship, she thought. Tomorrow. In the morning. When a little light pierces the clouds. I'm too scared right now. There are too many predators in the darkness.

She did not sleep. Dared not sleep. Junkies and drunks kept shuffling by, and Terri sat straight, never releasing her rod. As dangerous as these tunnels were, the streets would be worse, swarming with gangs battling for turf before dawn.

Finally the morning bells chimed. The first trains rumbled down the tracks. Commuters shuffled onto the platforms. Three million souls took the subways of Haven every morning, filling the underground like ants in a hive. Blue collar workers. Nurses in scrubs. Business people in suits. Students on the way to school. A million lives. All passing by Terri blindly, sparing the shivering, filthy girl no glance. She was just one more urchin among the countless who spread across Haven.

The streets would be safer now. The gangsters, the drug dealers, the brawlers, and drunks—they had the night shift. They now retired to their burrows, prepared to sleep away the day, to resume their wars and slow destruction when night fell again.

Terri climbed into the storm.

She walked down the streets, wishing she had an atmosuit, even just a coat. The chemical winds whipped her, sawed at her lungs, stung her eyes. She walked hunched over, one among millions, lost in the crowd. She passed by graffiti-covered walls. Over vents that blasted smog. By a soup kitchen and addiction center, both which had closed long ago, now home to rats and squatters.

She stayed away from the electronic billboards, the shops full of monitors, the neon signs, the luminous centers of electricity. That was where he lived. He scurried through the network like the rats through the underground. Always there. Watching. Always ready to make her smile.

A gust of wind blew. Terri fell. She lay among discarded coffee cups and pieces of gum. The people walked by. Not even stopping to help. Countless footfalls and the clatter of heels. And her. Forgotten. Just one more urchin. Terri Emery, the daughter of a hero, an orphan of Haven. A girl who must reach Earth.

Stand up.

She took a deep breath.

Be strong.

She shoved herself to her feet.

You are the daughter of a hero.

She walked on.

Moving through the city, she heard chants ahead. She passed by another protest. Hundreds of people had come, wearing masks, raising placards. A few of them, Terri noticed with a shudder, were wearing Mister Smiley masks—the gruesome face was now famous across the colony. The protesters were pumping fists, shouting into megaphones.

"Quarantine no! Freedom yes! Quarantine no! Freedom yes!"

One man held a sign depicting Ben-Ari in an SS uniform.

"Liberate Haven with fire and blood!" the man was shouting. "Kill the bitch and free the world!"

Terri hurried onward. She knew nothing about politics. She was only fourteen, and politics was the world of adults. But she had read books from the old wars. She knew that her father had served in Ben-Ari's Dragons, a famous platoon. That he admired the president. Terri had seen Ben-Ari from up close a few days ago, and the president had seemed kind. She didn't want Ben-Ari to die.

When I reach Earth, I'll tell my dad that Ben-Ari is in danger, she thought. He'll know what to do.

Marco Emery didn't know that Terri existed. But in her dreams, she had visited him a thousand times. In her nightmares, he rejected her, cast her out. But in her best dreams, he gave her a new home. And he loved her. Right now, she hoped she was fleeing a nightmare into a dream.

Finally she reached Haven's spaceport, a sprawling complex at the edge of the city. It was like a city itself, full of towers, antennae, radio dishes, and spaceships that covered fields of tarmac. Larger starships—cruisers, freighters, tankers, and military warships—were in orbit. Those behemoths could not fly through atmosphere. But thousands of smaller ships, ranging from boxy shuttles to luxury corvettes, docked here at Haven Intergalactic Spaceport.

But she saw no ships landing or taking off.

Guards manned the gates.

An LED sign shone above, hovering in the storm: QUARANTINED.

Terri turned down a side street, found a grimy bar, and stepped inside. A few drunkards were slumped over tables. A television set hung on the wall, bathing the room with light.

For a moment, she hesitated. Electronics still unnerved her. Then Terri gulped, took a deep breath, and stared at the TV.

No smiley face. She breathed out in relief.

The news was on. A caption scrolled along the bottom: Ben-Ari Orders Full Quarantine of Haven Colony.

A reporter was speaking to a trembling woman holding a baby. Tears in her eyes, the mother spoke about the quarantine, how no food was arriving from Earth, how her baby was starving. Terri thought it a bit extreme—after all, the quarantine was only a day old, and her baby looked decidedly plump. But the reporter nodded in concern. The camera then moved to show the protest Terri had just walked by. The crowd was chanting: "Freedom, freedom, freedom!"

A man stepped toward the camera, face twisted with rage, and grabbed the mic. "We don't care about no dumb Mister Smiley nonsense. We ain't no dumb kids with their dumb games. If you ask me, if you're dumb enough to play suicide games on the internets, well, good riddance to your dumb ass. Why should the rest of us suffer?"

The feed quickly returned to the studio. Journalists began to discuss the hundred missing girls. Terri watched, shivering.

He killed a hundred girls, she thought. And a hundred more are missing. Am I the only survivor?

"Warning," said the journalist on the TV. "The following image may disturb you. But we feel it's important for you to view. If you have been contacted online by an avatar with this photo, please bring your computer, phone, or minicom to the nearest police station!"

The image appeared on screen. The same image that had appeared on Terri's computer a year ago. A smiley face made of skin.

Terri wanted to look away. But she was frozen. Staring. And from the TV, he stared back.

She knew he was looking at her. That he was smiling for her. The mouth opened, whispered something. Garbled. Mechanical. Barely audible. But Terri knew that Mister Smiley was speaking her name.

The image vanished.

The reporter reappeared on the screen. "In other news, we've just received word of violence breaking out at the Third Eye Temple at—"

"Oi, girl!" The bartender, a heavyset man wearing a greasy apron, leaned over the bar. "You gonna order something or what?"

Terri started. She shook her head.

"Then get the fuck out of here!" shouted the bartender. He tossed an empty bottle her way.

Terri leaped back. The bottle shattered on the floor, waking up the sleeping drunks. Before more bottles could fly, she fled the bar.

What will I do?

A quarantine. So much for stowing away in an Earth-bound ship. But Terri had to escape this planet. Had to. The face in the TV had stared at her. Mocked her. He was still hunting her.

Terri drew a shuddering breath.

If I can't stow away on a ship, I'll steal one.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Being a parent, Marco had learned, was not easy.

Being a parent while living with pirates was ten times harder.

"Kai!" Addy shouted at her brother. "Kai, dammit, boots off the coffee table!"

The young tattooed pirate frowned at her. He was lounging on the couch, his muddy boots on her coffee table. "Addy, you have boots on the coffee table too."

He pointed at several pairs of her boots, which stood on the tabletop.

She shoved him. "Yes, but my boots aren't dirtying my copy of Freaks of the Galaxy."

She grabbed her beloved coffee table book, showcasing a collection of freaky aliens: a humanoid with an elephant's trunk, a pig-man hybrid, a two-headed little girl, a massive blob billed as Galaxy's Fattest Glutton, and other wonders. Addy wiped mud off the book and hugged it.

"Dad!" she shouted later that day. "Dad, dammit, what are you doing?"

Butch shrugged. "Just giving the kids a beer."

She grabbed the beer cans—thankfully before the little ones could take a sip.

"Are you insane?" she shouted.

Butch raised an eyebrow. "What? Your mom gave you beer all the time when you were a kid."

"That was root beer!" She slapped him. "Don't give my three-year-olds real beer. Not until they're at least …" She counted on her fingers. "Twelve."

"Oh, mother of the year you are." Butch rolled his eyes, lit a cigarette, and offered a puff to the twins. Addy kicked him into the backyard, vowing to bury his bones in the sea.

Marco was dealing with his share of stress. He was enjoying a long, warm shower one morning when Butch burst into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and took care of business.

"Don't mind me!" the grizzled pirate said, tapping on the shower door.

Another day, Marco was working in his office when gunshots sounded. He jumped from his seat. He grabbed his pistol and peeked out the window, expecting an enemy attack. But it was only Butch and Kai on the beach, firing at a line of pine cones. Empty beer bottles lay around them. Marco and Addy, both veterans with shell shock, were not happy.

"I'm going crazy, Marco," Addy said that night, lying in bed. "I'm seriously going crazy."

"You went crazy years ago," Marco said. "Remember that time you marched around the house with a pot on your head, saying your hair was made of spaghetti?"

"I was drunk, not crazy," Addy said, then frowned and passed a hand through her hair. "Hmm, does my hair look like spaghetti?"

"I'm still finding hairs in that pot."

"You'll find my fist in your face!" She groaned. "Marco, maybe you should kick them out."

"Me?" Marco bristled. "They're your family. You're the one who invited them."

"I know! Which is why I can't be the one who kicks them out! You do it."

"I'm not your slave."

"Yes you are!" Addy said. "It was in our marriage contract. Oh, and by the way, I'm also going to need a pot and a mirror. There's something I want to check."

"Addy." He embraced and kissed her. "You need a vacation. This weekend, let's fly anywhere you want. We have a little spaceship of our own, you know. We can fly the Falcor into orbit, then land anywhere on the planet. All within half an hour. You choose where we go."

"I told you, Marco, our spaceship is not called the Falcor. It's called Shippy McShipface."

"And I told you that's the dumbest name I ever heard," Marco said.

Addy gasped. "You never heard your own name?" She mussed his hair. "Look, Poet, I'm a mom of twins. I need a vacation more than a hen needs a cock. But what, we just leave my dad and brother behind?"

Marco nodded. "That's the idea. They can stay and watch the kids."

"Dude, they'll fucking kill the kids. They'll give them turpentine to drink and switchblades to play with."

Marco waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, they're not that bad."

"Dude, yesterday, Kai strapped the twins onto a skateboard and was about to hurl them downstairs. I stopped him just in time."

"And you gave him a stern lecture." Marco nodded. "Butch and Kai have learned. They'll be good. The kids will be fine. If anything, I'm worried more about the house." He paled. "Your family won't destroy our house, will they?"

"Good to know your priorities are in order." Addy chewed her lip. "All right. You can take me on vacation. Who needs a college fund for the kids anyway?"

Marco stroked her hair. "Where do you want to go, my lovely trophy wife?"

Her eyes lit up. "The cultural center of the English-speaking world. A city of literature, artwork, and history. Let's go to London."

* * * * *

Half a day later, Addy was dragging him down the streets of London, ignoring Big Ben, the Tower of London, London Bridge, and other tourist treasures.

"Addy, slow down!" Marco said. "You're crushing my hand. Where are you dragging me?"

"I told you!" she said. "To the museum! I wanted to come here for culture, remember?"

A black taxicab rumbled ahead of them. Addy barely noticed it, kept plowing forward.

"But the British Museum is that way!" Marco pointed behind him.

She snorted. "Not that museum, silly. I'm not a nerd like you." She rounded a corner. "Ooh, here we are!"

They stood before a garish building, its walls painted green, blue, and red. A marquee shone above the doorway, its letters alight: THE FREAKS OF THE GALAXY MUSEUM.

Marco froze. "Addy!"

She grinned and pointed. "Museum!"

He groaned. "Addy, is this why you wanted to come to London? Because of your stupid book?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not because of my book. Because of the museum that's associated with my book!"

"I'm not going in there."

"Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh—"

"Addy, we left the kids behind so we can spend time together as adults. Not go to some cheesy wax museum that—"

"Please please please." She tugged on his sleeve. "Please, Daddyyyy."

He let out an even louder groan. "You owe me a big one."

He suffered silently that morning, walking among wax statues of galactic oddities. Addy oohed and aahed, gaping at bizarre aliens, mostly mutants and chimeras without any distinct species. Several freaks had even won trophies. The fattest alien. The alien with the longest nose hairs. The alien with the most heads. The museum was chock full of these grotesque champions.

Marco pointed at one wax statue, depicting a creature that looked like a hippo with the head of a bird.

"That one looks like you from behind," he said.

Addy punched him.

Finally it was time to leave. But the exit led to a gift shop. It was probably larger than the actual wax museum. It was practically a department store. Aisles stretched into the distance, selling everything from groceries to guns.

"Tourist traps have really grown over the past few years," Marco muttered. "Disgusting."

Addy whooped. "Shopping time!"

Marco shook his head. "We're walking straight to the exit. Past all these aisles. All these sales. Past the checkout counters with their racks of candies and magazines. And finally past the smaller gift shop and out to the street." He sighed. "We're not leaving without you filling a cart, are we?"

"Not a chance." She was already rolling a cart forward. "Sorry, dude, I'm a girly girl and I like to shop."

"Addy, just last week, you were running around the house in combat boots, waving a katana around, shouting that you were going to grow a Viking beard."

She nodded. "And where do you think I'll find a beard? Why, at Shop-Mart, Europe's most distinguished chain of retail stores! Grab a cart. We'll need two."

Marco wanted to argue. But he saw new light in Addy's eyes. A smile on her lips. Her beautiful smile that he loved.

It's been a hard week for her, he thought. Hell, it's been a hard life. Let her enjoy this. It's the only vacation we've ever had.

As they moved down the aisles, Marco noticed a bin full of round, plush emojis. He froze, staring at them. They triggered a memory. The vision he had seen through the mirror at home. A tall, slender man in a wrinkled tuxedo, his face like an emoji made from skin. Just a daydream, surely. But as Marco stood here, the plush faces seemed devious. The mouths hungry.

Addy gasped. "Ooh, smileys!" She began to toss the plush little faces into her cart.

"Addy, don't buy those!" Marco shuddered. "There's something wrong with them."

She froze, frowning at him. "Are they haunted?" She gasped. "Then I want more!" She tossed a couple more into her cart.

Marco cringed. "Seriously, Ads, they give me the willies."

She laughed and danced around him. "Poet's scared of smiley faces, Poet's scared of smiley faces!" She lifted one of the round plushies. She shoved it in his face, then spoke a deep growl. "Ooh, I'm Mister Smiley Face, Marco! I'm going to eat you up!"

He shoved it away. "Ugh, get that thing away from me."

"Look, I can be an emoji too!" She raised several different plushies one by one—some winking, others gasping, a few laughing, one sticking out its tongue—and mimicked their expressions.

"You're this one." Marco lifted a plush piece of poop with eyes.

She punched him. "Shut up."

As they kept walking, they passed the robotics aisle. They walked between thousands of robots—everything from round little buggers who vacuumed floors to life-sized androids.

"Poet, we should get a robot," Addy said. "You need help around the house. You know, cooking, cleaning, laundry. Especially with Butch and Kai making a mess."

Marco bristled. "I need help around the house? The house is your responsibility. I'm the breadwinner."

Addy gasped. "I have a job too!"

His eyes rolled again. "Addy, since when do you have a job?"

"I help you write!" She placed her hands on her hips. "I give you moral support."

"Addy, when I'm writing, all you do is hop onto my lap, try to make out with me, and distract me from work."

She hopped onto him and began to kiss him. "And you love it!"

He glanced around, cheeks flushing. Other shoppers were looking.

"Fine, fine!" He pushed her off. "We can buy a robot. Sheesh."

They walked among the robots. Robot butlers, complete with tuxedos. Security robots bristling with guns. Robotic dogs, cats, and even a pony. The price tags made Marco physically ache. They weren't cheap, that was for sure.

"I want this one, and this one, and this one …" Addy was pointing at all the dog robots.

"Can we really afford this?" Marco said.

"Sure we can!" Addy nodded. "I barely put anything in my cart so far."

Marco glanced at her shopping cart, which was overflowing. "Addy, you're buying seashells? We live on the beach! And all these VHS tapes of 1980s movies? Critters? Road House? Hot Dog: The Movie? Seriously, how are you going to watch those? Even museums don't have VCRs anymore. And do you really need to buy so many panties?"

She nodded. "I definitely need the panties. They have the days of the week printed on them!"

Marco lifted the package, groaning with the effort. "This package is enormous. It's like a bale of hay. Days of the week? Must be days of the year."

She knocked the package back into the cart. "My fat ass requires a lot of fabric. Shut up." She tossed a robot dog into the cart. "Need more robots!"

Marco thought he could hear a whimper somewhere in the distance—his bank account crying in pain.

He was already regretting the entire vacation when his eyes fell upon an android at the back. A realistic android. Extremely lifelike. In fact, were the android not standing inside a package, Marco would have thought her a human. The android was shaped like a young Japanese woman in a kimono. The package had lots of letters in Japanese, but only one word in English: GIGA.

Marco approached. Inside her plastic wrapper, Giga smiled at him, pressed her hands together, and bowed.

"Konichiwa!" she said.

Addy grabbed Marco's shoulder and glared. "What are you doing, mister?"

"I kinda like this one," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you do. It's a bang bot."

He tilted his head. "A what?"

"A bang bot! You know, bots you bang." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sex toys."

Marco looked back at the smiling android. "Well, can I buy her?"

Addy punched him. "Poet!"

Giga smiled and bowed again, her plastic wrapper crinkling. "I am versatile in many household functions, Masters! I can cook, clean, tend to children, do the laundry, read bedtime stores, and—"

"Sold," Marco said.

Addy pulled him away. "No way. What is it with you men and petite little Asian women? First you leave me for Lailani—"

"Addy, we weren't even together when I was dating Lailani."

"Then you dump me for Tomiko—"

"Addy, I would appreciate you not mentioning my ex-wife while I'm on vacation."

"And not to mention Butch and his Thai flame!"

Marco tossed up his hands in resignation. "Now how am I to blame for that?"

"It's all you men."

He pulled her close and kissed her. "Addy, you're the woman I'm attracted to. And you're more Nordic than a death metal band rowing a dragon ship down a fjord. I want nobody else but my beautiful lovely amazing wife."

"Nice ass kissing," Addy said. "But you're buying that one."

She pointed to another android down the aisle.

Marco winced. "She looks like Mrs. Doubtfire!"

"Exactly."

Addy wrapped her arms around the package containing the elderly, heavyset maid. She was struggling to pull it off the shelf when the PA systems came to life.

"Attention Shop-Mart shoppers. The Robert Prince signing is about to begin in Aisle 7. Mr. Prince will be signing copies of his latest novel, The Jerusalem Syndrome. Photographs with the author available for an extra fee. Thank you for shopping at Shop-Mart. Live cheap!"

Addy stumbled backward, abandoning the heavyset robotic maid. She let out a gasp so wide it nearly swallowed the store.

"Robert Prince!" she breathed. "He's here!" She fanned herself. "Oh, Poet, Poet!"

She ran down the aisle. Marco chased her.

"Addy, he's a hack!" he said. "He uses ghostwriters, for chrissake!"

Addy swooned. "But he's so handsome!"

Down an aisle, Marco could see his archnemesis settling at a table. He wore an expensive suit, his hair was slicked back, and his mustache was perfectly groomed. A cardboard cutout of the author stood nearby, wearing the same suit, winking and pointing at the audience.

Addy ran toward her idol, shoving her way through a line of other readers.

"Robby, Robby, I'm your greatest fan!" She grabbed a pair of panties from her shopping cart and tossed them at him. Sunday's.

Marco nodded and turned away. "Yep, I'm getting the bang bot."

An hour later, they were back on the Falcor, flying home to Greece. Addy sat shotgun, a pile of books on her lap: a bunch of hardcovers signed by Robert Prince, a few books for the twins, and Freaks of the Galaxy Vol. III: Updated Edition, Now With More Freaks. Marco sat at the controls, piloting the little ship. The robotic geisha sat between them, smiling sweetly. In the back, Addy's little robo-dog, no larger than a toy poodle, was running in circles and yapping. The damn little thing. Marco just wanted to kick it.

"So, any bets if our house is still standing?" he said as they descended toward their island.

"Not a chance," Addy said, munching on fish and chips. "Either the twins destroyed it, or my dad and brother. One way or another, a Linden is responsible."

"Our kids are Emery-Lindens, Ads."

She snorted. "You wish. They're Linden-Emerys, and so are you."

Between them, the android smiled sweetly and pressed her palms together. "And I am Giga!"

"You're a bang bot, and shut up," Addy said.

"Happy to comply!" Giga said.

As they flew the Falcor toward the beach at Anchor Cove, Marco frowned.

The house was still standing. But there were several strange starships, not much larger than the Falcor, on the beach.

Addy and Marco got very quiet.

Silently, Addy drew a pistol from under her seat. Marco placed his hands on the cannon controls. Their faces hardened, any hint of banter or bickering gone. Once more, they were soldiers.

They had been soldiers for almost two decades. War heroes. Decorated officers. Those instincts remained. But today there was a new fear. One Marco had never experienced during his service. One he saw echoed in Addy's eyes.

This time they were parents. They had two precious twins down in that house. The stakes were more personal than ever. The fear more real.

As they descended, details emerged. The strange ships were ugly things, constructed of brown corrugated metal, all jagged angles and antennae. From up here, they looked like mechanical insects.

"Three ships," Marco said. "Corvette class. Larger than starfighters, smaller than warships. Alien. Not military ships, but covered with weapons."

Addy nodded. She spoke softly. "Pirates. Associates of my family. Or enemies." Her hand tightened around her pistol.

"Are we in danger, Masters?" Giga said. "Should I perhaps brew a pot of soothing green tea?"

Marco and Addy ignored the android. They could now make out several figures standing on the beach. Definitely alien. They looked a bit like their starships. Insect-like, but bipedal. Wearing patches of armor. One of the creatures looked up, pointed at the Falcor, and raised a metal tube.

A rocket launcher.

Marco cursed and tugged on the yoke.

The rocket streaked toward them.

Marco tried to dodge it. He was too slow. The rocket slammed into the Falcor.

The ship jerked. Fire blazed. The shields cracked, and chunks of metal rained onto the beach, sizzling hot. Electricity sparked through the cockpit. Giga screamed and fell.

Thankfully, the hull held. But they could not take another blow.

"That does it!" Marco said, aiming the Falcor's rotary cannon. "These bastards are toast."

The Falcor circled above. Marco aimed at one of the insects on the beach, prepared to strafe the bugs.

"Marco, wait!" Addy screamed, shoving his hand.

The cannon jerked to the side, firing harmlessly into the sea.

"Addy, what?" he said.

Her eyes were wide and wet with horror. She pointed and whispered hoarsely. "Marco. They have the kids."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The words echoed in Marco's mind.

They have the kids!

He saw it now.

A score of aliens stood on the beach. Ugly bastards that looked like bipedal cockroaches.

One of them was holding the twins.

Roza and Sam. The lights of his life. Gripped in alien claws.

Panic leaped in Marco. Cold sweat washed him. His heart galloped.

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down!

He forced deep breaths. He circled with the Falcor, prepared to land.

The roach with the rocket launcher aimed and fired again.

The rocket slammed into the Falcor, and fire raged. Addy screamed.

"Roza! Sam!"

The yoke rattled madly, nearly pulling free from Marco's grip. The hull tore open. The control panel shattered. The engines belched smoke, and they were going down, and Marco tugged the yoke madly, tilted the ship, and—

They slammed into the shallow water.

The ship plowed through the seabed, coming to a halt near the beach. Marco looked at Addy. She stared back, horror in her eyes.

"We'll get them back," Marco said, voice hard. "Are you ready, soldier?"

Addy had tears on her cheeks. A gash bled on her forehead. But she clutched her gun and nodded. "Let's get our kids back. And then I'm going to kill those motherfuckers."

Marco kissed her lips. They kicked the hatch open and leaped out together, guns aimed ahead. The water rose to their knees.

The cockroaches stood on the beach. They were large aliens, eight or nine feet tall, bedecked in rusty armor. The twins were crying. They were clearly terrified, but they seemed unhurt. Their captor, the tallest of the roaches, gripped them tightly.

"Mommy, Mommy!"

Butch and Kai stood farther back. They had their backs to the house, their hands in the air. A cockroach was guarding them, pointing a double-barreled rifle. Both men were bleeding and bruised, but strong enough to stand. Both pirates were unarmed. Even Kai, who could normally pass for a mobile armory.

"Let the kids go!" Addy screamed at the cockroaches, running through the shallow water.

"Let them go or we kill every last one of you!" Marco shouted, running at her side. His heart pounded. His heart was breaking. He was close to panic.

The roaches aimed their guns at them. One of the aliens stepped closer, perhaps the ringleader. He stood a foot taller than the others. It was the bastard who was holding the twins.

The bug spoke, clicking and chirping, into an electronic mouthpiece. English emerged from a speaker on his shoulders.

"This does not concern you, Homo sapiens! This is between us and the rogue pirates."

"You have my kids!" Addy shouted, her gun pointing at the aliens. "You better believe it concerns me!"

"Lower your guns now or your larvae die!" said the cockroach. He tightened his grip on the twins. His claws gleamed like obsidian daggers. The toddlers cried out.

"Mommy, I'm scared!" Roza said.

Marco and Addy froze.

"Drop your guns!" said the roach. "Or they die."

Marco and Addy were panting. Standing in the shallow water, torn, barely able to breathe.

They dropped their guns into the sea.

"Hey, hey, wait!" Butch cried out, standing farther back. "Don Azeban, listen to me. Leave my family alone. It's me you want. The others aren't involved."

If Marco still had his gun, he'd be tempted to shoot his father-in-law.

I knew it! I knew he would attract trouble. Now my children might die.

Marco took a shaky breath.

Calm down, he told himself. Be calm, soldier! In control. Think. Solve this.

Butch tried to walk toward them, but a roach shoved a gun against his chest, pinning him to the house.

"What is going on here?" Marco said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Will somebody tell me?"

The lead cockroach—this Don Azeban—laughed. It was a clicking, hissing sound. Saliva sprayed between his mandibles. The giant insect chirped into his microphone again, and the metallic English translation emerged.

"Your friend Butch owes us money. A lot of money. We arrived to collect it, and he refused to pay. We will hold on to these larvae until he sneezes up the money."

Marco assumed the cockroach meant "coughs up the money." Damn translators.

"Dad!" Addy stared at Butch, eyes damp. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry, Addy." The grizzled old man winced. "I owe Don Azeban a little money. I was working up the courage to tell you. To ask you for a loan. To—"

"Is that why you came here, Dad?" Addy shouted. A tear fled her eye. "Is that why you reconnected with me, two decades after I thought you died? To ask for money?"

"No!" Butch said. "That's not the only reason. I mean, it's a reason, but—"

"You filthy piece of shit!" Addy shouted. "How dare you, Dad? I gave you a home! I—"

"Enough!" Don Azeban roared. His mandibles clacked in rage. "Work out your family drama later. Somebody better pay me. Or I rip the heads off these two larvae!"

Addy made to run toward her children. But the roach pointed a gun at the twins. Addy froze.

"Whoa, hold on!" Marco said. "Azeban, enough! How much?" His voice was hoarse, torn with pain. The sight of a gun at his kids' heads broke his heart. "How much does Butch owe you?"

The roach cackled and named a figure.

Marco felt the blood drain from his face.

Dear Lord.

Addy looked at him. "Marco, what do we do?"

In the old days, Marco would have done something heroic. Would have leaped forward, grabbed his fallen gun, and rose firing. Taken out the lead cockroach with a bullet to the head. Saved the hostages. Fought and won.

Perhaps, if these were any other hostages, he would have chosen to fight.

But he could not fight now.

He was a parent now.

And he had lost too many loved ones. He had lost Kemi. He had lost Beast, Elvis, Caveman, so many other friends. He had lost Anisha, a woman he had almost married. He had lost his parents. Yes, he had won all his battles. But not without a cost.

He could not bear to lose anyone else. Never again.

He nodded. "We'll pay."

It was his life savings. He'd have to empty his retirement fund. The kids' education fund. Max out his credit cards. Tap into the house equity.

But he would pay.

Several cockroaches accompanied Marco into the house, guns pointed at his head. They watched as he logged on to his computer, as he emptied his accounts, as he wired them the money.

And then the kids were in his arms again.

And Addy was weeping, hugging them.

And the roaches laughed, returned to their ships, and flew off with flame and smog.

Holding the twins, Addy began running toward the Falcor.

"Come on, Marco!" she shouted. "We can catch them! We can kill them!"

"Addy!" He made to grab her. But she dodged him, running through the shallow water toward their smoldering starship.

She reached the Falcor and began to climb the dented hull. The kids were crying in her arms.

Marco grabbed her. "Addy, the Falcor is dead! She won't fly."

"We'll fix her!" Addy said. "Or—we'll take my dad's ship!" She pointed across the beach at the Barracuda, which stood on the sand by the house. "Butch, Kai! Come on, into the 'Cuda! We'll chase them!"

"Addy!" Marco grabbed her, spun her toward him. "They got away. It's over."

She stared at him, eyes wide with fury and terror. The kids were trembling and wailing.

"We can catch them!" Addy said. "We can kill them. We can get our money back. We—"

"We can't risk it!" Marco said. "Not anymore, Addy. Not as parents. Not with the kids." His voice caught. "Oh God, Addy, you saw what almost happened. We can't. Oh Addy. We can't …"

She stood for a moment, sniffling. Then she walked back to the beach, knelt, and hugged her children close. They all wept together.

"It's all right, little ones," Addy whispered, cradling the twins against her. "Mommy's here. You're safe now. You're safe."

Yet when Addy looked back at Marco, he saw the truth in her eyes.

We're not safe. And maybe we'll never be safe again.

* * * * *

That night, Marco stood in the twins' bedroom, looking down at his sleeping children.

Roza and Sam shared the lower bunk tonight, holding each other, sometimes stirring, perhaps caught in a nightmare. Both had cried for hours last night, finally falling asleep, exhausted. Their teddy bears lay around them, forming a protective ring.

I love you both with all my heart, Marco thought, watching them sleep. When you were born, I vowed to protect you. Yesterday, I failed.

He looked out the window. Addy sat on the patio, staring at the dark sea, brooding.

Marco was loath to leave his sleeping children. But he also needed to be there with his wife.

He turned to Giga, who stood beside him, and whispered, "Giga, stay and watch the kids. Call me if they wake up."

The android smiled sweetly, pressed her palms together, and bowed. "Happy to comply, senpai!"

"Call me Marco."

Another smile and bow. "Happy to comply, Marco!"

He left the room and joined Addy on the patio. She was smoking a cigarette, her hair hanging in a loose braid.

"Somebody should be by the kids." She rose from her chair. "I don't want them alone."

"Giga is watching them." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's all right. They're just a few meters away."

"Great. A bang bot is watching my children."

But she sat back down. She stared at the water, her cigarette burning away in her hand. A tear flowed down her cheek.

Marco sat beside her on the bench. He placed a hand on her knee.

"Addy, we'll get through this."

She finally looked at him. "Marco. My children almost died."

He tried to hug her. She pushed him away.

"Addy—"

"Nothing can comfort me. Nothing. My heart is broken." She stared back at the water, eyes red. "Marco, you don't understand. You and I grew up like that. Threatened by aliens. Attacked. Traumatized. We grew up in bomb shelters, wearing gas masks. We grew up watching aliens kill friends and family. And we're both fucked because of it. We both still suffer nightmares. We both faced death and horror and emerged from hell victorious—but grieving, scarred. And when the twins were born, I made a vow. A holy vow. That they would never live through the same horror. That they would never face war, or alien attacks, or heartache. That I would give them a better childhood than I had."

"We made that vow together," Marco said. "We both failed."

She was silent for a long time. She put out her cigarette. "Marco, what do we do now? We're ruined. Can we even afford to eat tomorrow?"

"We can afford to eat," he said. "That is, if we eat lots of plain white rice and pasta. We might have to skip your hot dogs on a rake for a while." He grinned. "We can collect seaweed off the beach!"

She didn't even crack a smile. "Our life savings are gone. No more education funds for the kids. No more retirement funds. No more money to pay the bills. Can we sell the house?"

Marco winced. "We don't even own the house anymore. I had to remortgage it. We're not only broke, Ads. We're deep in debt."

He wished he had lived a century ago, back when veterans had pensions. But you can't finance the world. After three devastating alien wars, virtually everyone on Earth was a veteran. And the planet was as broke as he was.

"Maybe we should sell my dad and brother to slavery," Addy said.

He held her hand. "I'm almost done writing my next book. It'll bring in some money. We still earn royalties from the older books too. Not a lot. But we'll have that white rice to eat. We'll keep the lights on. We'll tighten our belts and rebuild."

Some hope filled her eyes. "Maybe if you write books like Robert Prince! About conspiracy theories and—"

"Addy!" He rolled his eyes.

"He makes tons of money, Poet! We'd be rich!"

"Addy, enough. I write fantasy novels. You know that."

She nodded and lowered her head. "I'll get a job too. A real job. I'm not afraid of hard work. I'll mop floors, clean toilets, do whatever I need to do." She clenched her fist. "And I'll force my dad and brother to work too—and pay us back."

Marco hugged her, and she leaned against him. He kissed her cheek.

"We'll get through this, Ads. We've been through shit before. Worse shit than this. We've always come through. Together. We'll keep facing the world together. You and me."

"And the twins," Addy said. "That's why this is so scary. Because it's not just you and me. It's them too."

Marco nodded. "And they're pretty awesome. A mini-Marco and a mini-Addy."

"They are totally mini-us," Addy agreed. "Yesterday, I saw Sam typing on his toy typewriter, saying he's a writer like Daddy."

"And Roza keeps asking to eat hot dogs," Marco said. "She's a hot dog monster like her mom."

Addy finally cracked a smile. She slung an arm around him.

"I love you, Poet."

He kissed her. "I love you, Maple."

Cries rose from inside the house. The twins were awake.

Addy and Marco rushed indoors, hearts pounding. But the twins had merely woken from a nightmare.

"Senpai, they're awake!" Giga said.

Marco nodded and sent the android downstairs. He and Addy took the twins into their own bed. Addy was soon asleep, the twins in her arms. But Marco could find no rest. He stood at the bedside, staring out the window. Forever the soldier on guard.

At one point, he saw a tall, slender figure outside on the beach. A wrinkly tuxedo with dangling coattails. The head huge. Grinning. That gruesome smiling figure he had seen a few nights ago. But when Marco blinked and looked again, it was only a fisherman setting out before dawn.

Marco remained at the window, a gun in his belt, guarding his family until the morning.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was surprisingly easy to sneak into the spaceport.

A tall fence surrounded the complex, topped with barbed wire. Security cameras moved back and forth. Guards patrolled. Terri wouldn't let any of that stop her.

She didn't need to climb over any fence. She didn't need to neutralize any guards. She simply approached the front gate.

A guard held out his hand.

"Whoa, girl! Spaceport is closed. Go home."

Terri looked at him, then burst into tears.

"But sir! You don't understand! My dog! I can't find him anywhere! We landed here yesterday before the quarantine. In my dad's little starship. And he said Pingo is in his crate, but when we brought the crate home, it was empty! But I know Pingo was in the spaceship with us. Because I played with him all the way from Earth! And I looked everywhere, and I can't find him, and I think he's still inside our spaceship! He must be suffocating! Oh, I must run and get him, I—"

She paused to gulp down air, then cried harder.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," the guard said.

"And Pingo doesn't have any water, or any food, and probably not much air, and my dad said he'll sue the spaceport if he dies, but if I can just run over to the tarmac and get him, because if he dies, it'll be horrible, and I'll cry and cry and—"

"All right, all right!" the guard said, fumbling for his keys. "Go get your mutt. And be quick about it!"

Terri wiped away tears. "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you so much! I'm sure Pingo will thank you too if he's still alive."

Muttering under his breath, the guard opened the gate, and Terri bolted into the spaceport.

She walked, trying to appear casual. A few guards patrolled the tarmac. Maintenance workers were busy at their tasks. There were no travelers.

Terri walked between starships big and small. Great fans rose from the tarmac, each the size of a house, blowing away the chemical stew that filled Haven's atmosphere. She had never breathed such fresh air outside before. She supposed that wealthy travelers from Earth didn't like their fancy spaceships blasted with Haven's smog.

She gazed up at some of the vessels. Most were shuttles, mere landing crafts that belonged to motherships in orbit. Those wouldn't help Terri. They had no warp drives, could not navigate the depths of space. Even if she smuggled her way into a mothership, that wouldn't help. The quarantine strangled Haven's orbit too, not just this spaceport. Even the mighty cruisers and freighters were on lockdown.

But some of these ships, right here on the tarmac, were interstellar. They were corvette class, larger than shuttles, but still small enough to fly in an atmosphere. Some were shaped as rockets, rising like water towers. Others looked more like airplanes from old Earth, painted with the logos of logistic companies. A handful belonged to correctional facilities; they must have delivered criminals from Earth to exile on Haven, a dreaded punishment.

Could she steal one of these ships? Figure out how to fly it to Earth?

A sleek black corvette drew her eye. She stepped closer.

It was a Woolsworth. An actual Woolsworth!

"Now we're talkin'," Terri said.

She had heard of the luxury brand before. Woolsworth vessels were touted as the best in the galaxy. Or at least, the most expensive. They were all bespoke, each ship handcrafted, a masterwork tailored to the most distinguished buyers. Each Woolsworth was worth more than ten other starships its size.

Somebody very rich was on Haven right now. And Terri decided that instead of stowing away in some cargo hauler, she would fly to Earth in style.

She approached the luxury corvette. Its hull was deep black and smooth, curved like a woman. A figurehead rose from the prow, shaped as a unicorn, forged from pure gold.

Terri placed her hand on the hull.

A voice sounded, speaking with an upper-class British accent, rich and masculine.

"I do suggest you unhand me, young lady, unless you want to hear the glorious song of my alarm system."

Terri frowned. Had the Woolsworth just spoken to her?

"Excuse me?"

The starship cleared its throat—or least made the appropriate sound. "I am not to be touched by the working class! Only my master may caress my beautiful steel-alloy hull. Please step an imperial foot back, or my clarion call will alert the guards."

Terri took a step back. "What's your name?"

"That is none of your concern, young lady. Now be gone."

She thought for a moment. "I'll call you Wooly."

The corvette rumbled. "You shall do no such thing! I am a Woolsworth model III, made in glorious Albion herself, on order of her majesty the Queen of England."

"If you had a nose, I'd bet you be raising it, Wooly," Terri said.

"Indeed I would. And do not call me Wooly!"

"Can you take me to Earth?"

"No!" said the starship. "Now go away." He wheeled his prow away from her. "Good day, madam. I said good day!"

She placed her hands on her hips. "You're very rude, Wooly."

The corvette rocked. "I am a sophisticated piece of fine English engineering! I am a luxury vessel for the discerning gentleman. I am not rude. You, however, are impudent, ill-mannered, uncouth, and—"

"You talk too much." She reached for the hatch, but there was no handle. The entire hull was smooth like a dolphin. "Open the door. I'm coming in."

"You will leave these premises immediately! Or I will make certain that the guards give you a double lashing! If you do not obey me, I—"

Suddenly the corvette fell silent.

Terri frowned. "Are you all right? Cat got your tongue?"

For a few seconds—silence. The corvette flashed his headlights.

"What are you doing to me, urchin?" Wooly demanded.

"Nothing. I'm just standing here."

"I—stop that?" He rocked on the tarmac. "Why are you sending a digital assault against my sensors? Stop trying to infiltrate my electronics!"

"I'm not! I don't even have a computer. I—" Terri frowned and bit down on her tongue.

But I do, she realized.

She reached into her pocket. She felt it there. The token Mister Smiley had given her. The round piece of plastic was vibrating. Warm to the touch.

"That does it!" Wooly said. "I am sounding my alarm! I—" He groaned. "And now you've disabled my alarm! Help, help! Guards, guards!"

But there were no guards nearby. And Wooly's hatch opened.

Terri hesitated. Was Mister Smiley still conscious? Still helping her?

No, she told herself. The token is simply a tool he gave me. A little toy he created. A toy that can give me what I need. Coins. Blades. Or a starship.

She hopped into the Woolsworth.

"Ooh, boy." She whistled. "You are fancy."

On the inside, Wooly was larger than Terri's old apartment. And far more luxurious. There was a queen-sized bed, an entertainment system, a bar, and even a pool table. A door led to the cockpit, where two plush leather armchairs faced a dashboard trimmed with gold. A kitchenette sported a granite countertop, and the bathroom felt more like a spa.

Terri noticed a framed photograph on a bulkhead, showing Guru Ajna shaking hands with the governor of Haven.

"So Ajna owns you?" Terri said. "He's on TV here sometimes. He seems like a jerk."

"You will not speak ill of my master!" Wooly said. His voice emerged from speakers in the ceiling.

She sat down on the couch. It was real leather. So supple she sank into it.

"Say, Wooly, can you fly to Earth?"

"Of course I can fly to Earth! Do you think me some cheap pontoon? I am a Woolsworth Mark 3 luxury corvette, installed with a premium azoth engine. My engine alone costs more than your family has earned since the glorious reign of Queen Victoria. I can reach Earth within a fortnight. Since you're clearly incredibly ignorant and have never left Haven, I will add: that is very fast."

"Perfect." She slapped her feet onto the coffee table. "Take me there."

"I most certainly shall not. As soon as I've regained control of my programming, I will summon the guards to have you summarily executed."

She rolled her eyes. "They don't execute criminals on Haven."

"So you admit you are a criminal!"

She shrugged. "Well, I am stealing a starship."

"You are not stealing me! At most, this is a pathetic case of breaking and entering. I shall certainly not start my engines and—"

The corvette's engines hummed.

"You were saying?" Terri said.

"Stop that!" The corvette shook. "Stop overriding my controls! I don't know how you're doing this, but I warn you to stop now."

She sighed, stepped into the cockpit, and patted the dashboard. "Look, Wooly, I'm sorry. But I have to reach Earth. Somebody is … hunting me. A creature. A … monster." Her eyes dampened. "His name is Mister Smiley. He made me cut myself. He almost made me kill myself. He murdered my mother. And I have to escape. I have to find my dad."

For a moment—silence.

Finally Wooly spoke again. "You almost convinced me with your sob story. But I'm not buying it. Besides—you'd starve on the way to Earth. I don't have any food."

Terri blinked. "So if I get food, you'll fly me to Earth?"

"Certainly not!"

She nodded. "Hold on."

She exited the corvette, ran across the tarmac, and entered the spaceport lobby. The food court was closed, but there were still vending machines. She pulled out the smiley plastic face.

It stared at her. Terri shivered.

"Look, I don't know what you are," she said. "But you've been helping me so far. So please cough up a few more coins."

The token stared at her. The plastic smile widened. And a coin emerged from the mouth.

Then another coin. And another.

Terri grabbed a trolley and began piling up candies, bottles of water, and bags of potato chips. Enough to last for two weeks.

She was wheeling the trolley back across the tarmac when a security guard came running toward her.

"You, girl!" he shouted.

From nearby, Wooly cried out, "There she is! The miscreant who tried to steal me! I demand that you seize and execute her!"

Terri leaned forward, shoving the trolley with all her might.

The guard ran toward her.

She plowed her cart into him, knocking him over. Candies, potato chips, and water bottles flew everywhere. She whipped around the fallen guard, heading toward the Woolsworth.

"Girl, stop!" the guard cried from the ground.

He reached out and grabbed her leg. Terri pitched forward, slamming onto the tarmac.

The Woolsworth corvette was only a few meters away, but she could not reach it.

"Let me go!" she screamed.

But the guard held her fast. Terri kicked madly, managed to free herself. She rose to her feet.

The guard drew his gun.

Terri froze, staring in horror.

She made eye contact with the armed guard. He stared at her, panting, his pistol aiming at her.

She did not back down. She raised her chin.

"Go ahead, shoot me," she said.

"Go ahead, shoot her!" Wooly said.

The guard spat, shook his head, and holstered his gun. No, he wouldn't shoot a child.

But he leaped toward her, ready to grab her.

She shoved her trolley again, driving it into the man. The metal rim slammed into his shins. The guard cried out in pain.

Terri ran, leaped into the Woolsworth, and pulled the hatch shut.

"Fly, Wooly!" she said.

The corvette's engines purred, but he wasn't moving. The guard banged on the hatch.

"You do not give me orders, young lady," said the Woolsworth. "I only obey my rightful owner, and—" He paused, then groaned. "Stop that! Stop touching my database! I—oh, wonderful. Just wonderful. Now you are registered as my owner! A crude trick. Absolutely devious and cowardly."

"Fly me to Earth!" she said.

She still had some snacks in her pockets at least. It would have to last.

"Oh, very well. But not because I want to. Only because you're making me. Do not think I am happy about this!"

"Less talking, more flying, I—whoa!"

Wooly began flying upward at breakneck speed. Terri fell onto the deck. She slid and hit the far bulkhead. She grabbed the bed to steady herself. Furniture rattled and scraped across the hold.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" came Wooly's voice over the roaring engines. "Did you want me to engage my internal stabilizers? Well, too bad. Because I'm not going to."

They were still climbing fast, roaring through the storm. The couch overturned. The mattress slid off the bed. The fridge door swung open, spilling an assortment of sandwiches, cans of soda, and packaged pastries.

"You said you had no food!" Terri cried.

"I lied. I was hoping to get rid of you."

"A guard almost shot me because of your lie!"

"That's horrible!" Wooly said. "I wish he had succeeded."

"I'm going to key your hull next time I get a chance!" she shouted, clinging onto the dresser.

Wooly gasped. "You wouldn't dare!"

She struggled into the cockpit, pulled herself into the plush captain's chair, and fastened her seat belt. They were facing directly upward, judging by the G-force shoving Terri back into her seat. She watched the storm. Clouds of crimson, gold, and deep blue gasses swirled all around. Lightning flashed. In the distance, Terri glimpsed the shadows of gliding starwhales, flying beasts the size of starships.

She clutched the armrests, shaking.

I'm leaving the planet. For the first time in my life, I'm leaving.

A lump filled her throat.

And then she saw them.

The clouds parted, and there they were.

The stars.

Terri had seen them in a thousand photographs. For the first time, she saw them with her own eyes. Millions of stars.

The rattling ended. The ship glided smoothly. The Milky Way spread before her in all its glory.

"It's true," she whispered, tears flowing. "The stars are real. There is more than Haven."

For once, Wooly didn't have an abrasive retort. He spoke softly. "They are rather splendid, aren't they?"

But there were more than stars up here in space.

There were also starships. Many starships. Hundreds of starships, in fact.

Freighters and tankers orbited Haven, as large as skyscrapers, waiting to offload their holds. Several military frigates orbited higher up, defending the colony. After all, the Milky Way was awash with predatory species. A space station spun lazily, shaped like dumbbell, a casino resort for the rich. Police shuttles flitted back and forth, red and blue lights flashing. Terri wondered if the police was defending or blockading Haven.

Several of those police ships came flying toward her.

Terri winced.

"What do we do? Oh God, what do we do?"

"May I suggest surrendering?" Wooly said. "I'll explain everything to the police. And then they'll execute you. That's clearly the best solution for everyone."

Terri shook her head. "No deal. Fly! Warp speed ahead!"

"Do you mean my azoth drive?" he said. "I cannot activate it so close to a planet, young lady! Where did you learn your physics? At the zoo? Azoth crystals bend spacetime. They don't work near a gravitation well. You would know that if you weren't an uneducated, lower-class waif."

"Well, then fly with regular engines! Faster!"

The police shuttles were almost there. Warning lights flashed across Wooly's dashboard. A voice crackled through the speakers.

"Attention, corvette! Please respect the quarantine and return to Low Haven Orbit. If you do not comply, you will be fired upon."

Cannons extended from the police shuttles.

Terri winced.

"Shall we surrender, oh noble owner?" Wooly asked.

"I said fly! Full speed ahead!"

She cringed and gripped the armrests.

The engines roared.

The Woolsworth blasted forth.

The police ships chased. Lasers beamed from them, firing around the corvette.

"Attention, corvette!" The police voice emerged from the speakers again. "Cease all movement and prepare to be boarded. Those were warning shots. The next shot will—"

"Shut up!" Terri shouted.

They kept flying. A laser hit them. The corvette jolted.

"Dammit, Wooly, don't you have any stealth technology or anything?"

"Of course I do!" Wooly said. "I belong to Monk Ajna, the most esteemed computer scientist, visionary, and futurist of his generation. He himself coded my cloaking algorithms, equipping me with the most advanced stealth technology known to mankind, and—"

"Stop bragging and cloak yourself! Your new owner commands it!"

The corvette groaned. "Very well. But only because my programming forces me to obey you. Again, I would like to register great displeasure. I would much rather be shot down and repaired than be hijacked by an ill-mannered, rude, conniving—"

"Shut up and cloak!" Terri said.

Lights flashed across the corvette.

And then the ship went dark.

Terri saw nothing but the stars ahead. It felt like floating freely through space.

A few more laser beams fired from behind them. But they went wide, missing the corvette by kilometers.

"There," said Wooly. "We are now invisible. Are you happy, girl?" The starship shuddered. "My hull is all scraped. I used to be beautiful, and now I'm hideous. You turned me into a beast! Do not think that I will forgive you. If my programming allowed it, I'd blast you out of the airlock. And not before a good lashing!"

Terri slumped in her seat, breathing heavily. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a frightened bird in a cage.

She walked to the stern, stared out the rear porthole, but could no longer see pursuit. Haven was there. The entire planet. A floating orb of gray, crimson, and deep purple. Becoming smaller and smaller as Wooly flew. The only planet she had ever known.

"I made it," she whispered. "I escaped."

In the dark porthole, she could see herself reflected. A haggard girl. Caked with grime. Smog darkened her normally red hair and her freckles. But the scar was still visible, splitting her face, leaving one eye covered in cataracts like a white planet.

And there were other scars.

Scars on her wrists—the gifts of Mister Smiley.

Scars in her heart—from a year of despair and terror and loss, tormented by the creature.

And a bleeding wound, still so fresh. The loss of her mother.

Perhaps Wooly sensed her sadness. When he spoke again, his tone was softer.

"I'll draw you a bath. And I'll put on some soothing ambient music. Wash and sleep, child. I'll get you to Earth. I'll get you to your father. Don't think this means I forgive you! You are a still a louse. But I am, after all, a gentleman."

Terri nodded. But the bath didn't clean off her scars. Didn't wash off the shame. And when she lay on the bed, she missed her mother more than ever. She curled up, hugged her knees, and wept.

Goodbye, Mom. I miss you.

Eyes blurry with tears, she looked out her cabin's porthole. Across the light-years, he waited. A man who didn't know her. The only man who could save her. Marco Emery, her father.

Finally Terri slept, and in her dreams, Mister Smiley chased her through a labyrinth, and his laughter echoed in her mind all night.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"I want to know the truth." Addy folded her arms, staring at her father and half-brother. "The whole truth. Why you came to Earth. Why those aliens were after you. And what the hell you've been doing for the past twenty-five years in space. I deserve that. I deserve the truth."

She had called a family meeting. The kids were upstairs with Giga, who was reading them a story. The adults met in the kitchen.

At one side of the table—Marco and Addy.

At the other side—Butch and Kai.

Three members of the Linden family—tattooed, pierced, scarred, and smoking cigarettes. Among them, Marco looked like an alien. And like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Too bad, Poet, Addy thought. You're part of my crazy family now. You have to suffer too.

"All right, all right!" Butch said, voice hoarse like gravel under rusty tires. The scraggly pirate cracked open a beer. "You deserve the whole story. See, twenty-odd years ago, I—"

"Faked your death," Addy said. "I remember."

Butch shook his head. "That wasn't faked, just a misunderstanding." He sucked on his cigarette and took a gulp of beer. "Took me a long while to learn to walk again. And once I was healed, I drifted. Rode my Harley across the country. Got into bar fights and tussles. Lost the little money I had gambling. Got a job on a cargo barge—I mean an ocean one, not space—but they kicked me off in Taiwan for drinking on the job. That's where I met this one's mom."

Kai snorted. "It was Thailand, not fucking Taiwan. You dumbass."

Butch ruffled Kai's hair. "Ah, you were always the smart one."

"Hey, lay off the fuckin' hair, man." Kai punched his arm. "Takes me a while to style."

Kai spent a moment fixing his hair. The sides of his head were shaved to stubble. The longer top flopped over.

Butch looked at his son and scoffed. "Your hair looks like a disease-ridden cat strutting on a potato."

"Whatever, old man. I know I look good. My hair and my clothes." Kai smoothed his sleeveless T-shirt, which featured a seductive pinup posing by a space-racer.

"You look like goddamn space scum, just like me, but with dumber hair," Butch said. "Now shut your yap, and let me tell the rest of the story." He looked back at Addy. "Anyway, where was I? Ah, Taiwan, that's it."

"Thailand, dude!" Kai said. "My mom came from fucking Thailand, you white retard, not Taiwan. Taiwan is that fancy Asian shit. We're not all the same, you know."

Butch growled and punched his fist into his palm. "You're half-white, remember. And if you don't shut up, the only colors you'll be are black and blue." Again he turned to Addy. "Anyway, I was in Thailand"—he rolled his eyes—"when I ran into the Basidio Boys."

"A pirate gang," Addy said.

"Piracy, land crime, smuggling … you name it, they do it. Don Basidio rules a huge organization across many worlds. Ironic, given that he's an alien mushroom the size of an oak, and he can't even move. But from his forest, he operates a cartel spanning half the galaxy. Pirates, drug dealers, pimps—a whole bunch of criminals from many species work for Don Basidio. Well, young Kai here, his mom was an employee of this fine organization."

"She was no employee!" Kai objected. "She was a fucking slave, all right? The guild kidnapped her. Pimped her out. They barely even paid her."

"I paid her pretty well," Butch said. "Paid her with a little punk in her belly. One with stupid hair." He barked a laugh. "Ah, I'm just shitting you. I fell in love with her. Lovely little woman named Kannika. The rose of Taiwan! I mean Thailand—calm your tits, son. Anyway, I married her. And I began to work for her boss. For Don Basidio himself. Did odd jobs. I worked as an enforcer, smuggler, and overall bastard. We raised Kai in the cartel."

"It was a fucked-up childhood," Kai said.

"Ah, it toughened you up." He punched Kai's shoulder. "Anyway, for a few years, things were good. I rose high in the ranks of the Basidio Boys. At one point, I commanded five smuggling ships. Kai grew up into an accomplished pirate himself. He's a damn good pilot, an even better tech. The kid's got a good brain for numbers and computers and shit. But, well … his mom was miserable."

Kai lowered his head. "She hated that life."

Butch nodded. "It ain't easy being a prostitute. Not with Don Basidio as your pimp. Kannika was desperate to leave the cartel. Especially as she got older. Older prostitutes don't do well. Don't bring in enough money. Get beaten a lot."

Kai wiped a tear. "My mom often came home with bruises."

Butch took a sip of beer. "When things got bad, I talked to Don Basidio. The top boss himself. The Big 'Shroom. I tried to get him to release Kannika. To let her retire. You know what he did?"

Kai trembled. His fists clenched. "That bastard got his goons to put a bullet in Mom's head!" A tear flowed. "He murdered her. That fucking mushroom bastard!"

Even Butch's eyes were damp now. "Don Basidio murdered the love of my life. No way I was gonna work for him after that. So we ran. Kai and I. We stole a starship from Don Basidio. The Barracuda. And we flew off."

Addy had sat quietly through the long story. Now she spoke softly. "And you flew here. With a starship you stole from the mob."

"Well, not right away," Butch said. "This all happened a year ago. For a while, we just … drifted. Wandered the galaxy. Did whatever we could to survive. Don Basidio sent goons after us. We got into some battles. Our ship was damaged. We escaped, but our ship needed repairs. And we were broke."

"Real broke," Kai said. "Hungry broke. I'm talking ramen-being-a-luxury broke."

"So we approached some loan sharks," Butch said. "You met them. They look like giant cockroaches. They're assholes. But they're rich assholes. And they lent us money."

"A lot of money!" Kai said. "We were rich! We fixed our ship. We dined like kings. We lived a life of luxury. Hookers, blow, gambling . . ." He sighed. "We were broke again pretty soon. Admittedly, we're not particularly money savvy. And the cockroaches wanted their money back."

"And that's when we came here," Butch said.

Addy stared at them, fury building through her. "You were hoping to hide from intergalactic loan sharks in my house?"

"Actually," Kai said, "we were hoping you'd lend us the money."

Butch nodded too, looking remorseful. "Aye, I'm not proud of it. I reached a low point in my life. Hurt my pride. Once I got here, I just couldn't do it. I guess I was smitten with being a grandpa. Hell, even just with being a dad again. I told Kai we'd settle down. Start a business. A legitimate one. Maybe a bar on the beach. Earn the money honestly and pay back the bugs. But the bugs, well … they wouldn't wait. I'm sorry, Addy and Marco. Truly I am, from the bottom of my withered heart. I would never do anything knowingly to hurt you. But I did. My actions led to this. My past came crashing into your home. All I can do is promise that I'll pay you back. It might take years, but I intend to pay back every penny. I know you must think I'm a scoundrel. I am. I'm not a good man, and I know it. I'm a lowlife. Always was, probably always will be. But one thing I can promise you. I love you, Addy. And I love my grandkids. And I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

Kai stood up and placed a fist on his heart. "We will pay you back, Addy. And I love you too. I know I only just met you. But I've known about you all my life. Hell, everyone across the galaxy knows about Addy Fucking Linden, heroine of the Alien Wars. I've always been proud. Hell, yeah, my sister's a badass! Kicks alien ass and takes names!" He looked at Marco. "My brother-in-law too. I heard many stories of Major Emery. That's one bad motherfucker right there. Saved the world. I hope you let me remain in this family." Kai's eyes turned red, and he wiped them. "I ain't no hero like you. Never done anything noble or worth much. I grew up among whores and smugglers. But I'd be proud if you let me stay. If not in this house, at least to stay in touch. Because, well … I look up to you, Marco and Addy. I want to learn from you. How to be a better man."

Butch grunted. "What about your old man? You don't think I'm a role model?" He thought for a moment, then slumped. "Ah, I suppose I never was."

Kai placed a hand on the older pirate's shoulder. "Ah, Butch, you taught me how to fire a cannon. How to shoot an alien. How to never hurt a woman or child. How to stand up for your principles. How to survive. Without you, I'd probably be a pickpocket on the streets of Bangkok."

Addy cleared her throat. "So what, now we all have a group hug? Sing Kumbaya? And that fixes things?"

"We can never fix what happened, Ads," Butch said. "Only try to make things right going forward. Hell, I know we ain't much. Two space scum washed up on your shore, loan sharks on their heels. I know you didn't want us here. And I know I was wrong to stay away for so long. But damn it, we're Lindens. And I want to unite this family."

Addy took a long, deep breath.

She looked at Marco. He looked into her eyes, reached under the table, and squeezed her hand. She understood. It was her family, and her choice. Whatever path she chose, Marco would take that path with her.

She looked back at her family.

"Butch, Kai," she said, "you can stay. But! You get jobs. Normal jobs! No criminal activity. Hell, you don't even jaywalk while you're here. I don't care what you do, whether it's wait tables, mop toilets, or sell your kidneys, but you gotta do something. You gotta pay us back. And well …" Addy's voice softened. "The twins love you. Both of you. And …" She hesitated. "I hope someday I can say the same."

Marco squeezed her hand and gave her a reassuring nod.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Marco hoped that after the historic Kitchen Treaty, the family drama would end.

He was wrong.

Of course he was wrong.

On paper, the truce held. Butch and Kai applied for jobs in town, a few kilometers away from the beach. They vowed to work hard. Just until they could open their bar. Around them, Addy was perfectly respectful and polite—for her, that was, meaning she only cursed half as much and didn't toss plates.

The twins, it seemed, had already forgotten the affair. They were back to their healthy, happy selves, spending the day painting, wrestling, playing ball, and running around like the little maniacs they were.

Mostly, Marco was worried about his wife.

Every night, Addy went into the children's bedroom. And refused to leave.

Marco spent his nights alone in bed.

"Giga can watch them," he said to Addy one evening. "Come to bed with me."

But Addy only glared at him. "Poet, no. What if something happens? Giga can't face off aliens alone."

"We'll be right in the next room," Marco said.

Addy's eyes flashed. "Poet, enough! Let me do this." She spent that night in the twins' room. Sleeping on the floor.

During the days, she never left their side. If somebody else played with them, Addy was there, hands on hips, watching. She kept a handgun tucked into her shorts. She even took the kids into the bathroom with her.

"Addy," Marco said another night. "Come downstairs tonight after the twins fall asleep. Just for an hour. We'll watch some TV, and—"

"Marco, no!" She shoved him. "Stop trying to change my mind. You saw what happened. How they almost … They almost …" Her eyes reddened. "Let me do this. For a while longer at least."

Marco wanted to argue. But he knew he would lose this argument. Addy's mind was set.

He nodded and held her hand. "All right, Ads. You're a momma bear. I get it."

She hugged him. "I know it's a bit much. I know you feel neglected. But give me time to get over this. At my own pace."

But every day, Addy looked more tired. Bags hung under her eyes. She no longer ran around like a lunatic all day, but stood guard, silent, stern. She stopped swimming in the sea. She spent most of her time indoors, keeping the kids with her.

She wasn't sleeping much at night, Marco realized. Some nights, when he woke up to visit the washroom, he walked by and saw Addy awake by the twins. Guarding them. But when Marco questioned her, she only responded with an angry glare, saying she must protect her cubs.

He knew she needed help. But she never even let him take a shift.

Another vacation was out of the question. Even if they could afford it.

So Marco let her be.

He no longer asked Addy to share his bed.

He no longer complained that she neglected him, that she spent all her time with the kids. That she almost never smiled anymore. That she almost never slept.

He watched his beautiful, vibrant, courageous wife wither before his eyes, consumed with guilt.

"I left you here," she whispered one night to her sleeping children. "And the bad guys almost got you. But I'll never leave you again, little ones. I promise."

Marco stood in the hallway, listening, not sure how he could fix this.

And so he too retreated.

He delved into his work with a new passion, immersing himself in his new novel. Writing had become more of a challenge since having kids. Gone were the days of writing for sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. Even if he closed the office door, the twins found their way in, and Marco never had the heart to turn them aside. But for the first time in three years, Marco found himself delving completely into a new project.

He was writing a new fantasy trilogy titled Dragons of Autumns, a spinoff to The Dragons of Yesteryear, his greatest success, which he had published several years ago. With Butch and Kai in the house, with Addy locking him out, Marco spent his days among elves, dwarfs, goblins, and dragons.

It was not only an escape from the Linden clan, whose torturous healing pushed him aside. It was also about, well, not starving. With all their money gone, with the house refinanced, with his last big success a few years old, he needed this book to be good. He needed a new hit—and soon.

Or they would be eating sand next year.

Three weeks went by.

Three weeks in which he barely saw Addy. Barely saw the outside of his office. In which he hammered out twenty chapters in his new masterpiece.

And whenever he approached Addy, she turned away.

All traces of the bugs were gone from the beach. The wind had carried away their stench, the waves had effaced their footprints. But the memory of that day—of a gun pointed at the kids—forever remained in this house, on this beach. And in the eyes of his wife.

Three weeks of work.

Three weeks of nervous silence.

Three weeks without Addy in his bed, in his life. Barely speaking three words to her.

And finally—his novel was complete.

Just the rough draft. It would still require a month or two of polishing. But it was ready. It was done. And Marco emerged from his office and sought his wife.

It was night. The house was silent. Marco tiptoed down the hallway, passing by the twins' room. He paused, grabbed the doorknob, and very very slowly opened the door, careful not to make a sound.

The twins were inside, sleeping on their bed. The window was open. Addy stood there, gazing at the sea. Her pistol hung from her side.

He approached silently and stood beside her.

"Addy?" he whispered.

She stared outside. "You'll wake them."

He touched her arm. "Can you come with me?"

She was reluctant. But when he took her hand and gently led her outside, she followed.

They went downstairs. They sat in the kitchen. The place that had once been filled with such laughter and joy. The place where they had made their truce. A place now so silent, so stark. The light seemed too pale, too sharp.

Addy sat down, bags under her eyes. Her hair hung limply, and she wore no makeup. But to Marco, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Addy, do you want to talk?"

"There's nothing we haven't said already."

Marco put on a pot of coffee, then returned to her. "All right. We don't have to talk. Can I hug you at least?"

She gave him a hug. But it felt cold. Her mind was still upstairs in the bedroom.

"We can dig up the old baby monitor," Marco said. "We can spend nights together again. We—"

"Marco, I told you. I just need time."

He nodded. "I'll give you time. But it hurts to see you this way. Let me help. Let me in. Let me—"

"Marco, it's only been three weeks since … Since …"

He nodded. "Since the incident."

"Since our kids were almost murdered!" she said. "Murdered in front of our eyes. Marco, when we were kids, we saw our families killed. We saw our friends killed. When we were three years old, we already knew death, but when they were born, I swore—"

"I know, Addy! I know! But you can't live on red alert forever. You can't guard them twenty-four seven, not even sleeping or eating or—"

She stood up, almost knocking her chair back, and fled the house.

She ran onto the beach. Marco chased her.

She stood facing the water. The moonlight glinted against Addy's hair, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

Marco stood beside her. Silent and still for a long moment. Finally he took her hand, and she let him hold it. She cried softly. And he just stood there silently, being there for her.

"I handled this wrong," Marco said. "I shouldn't be pressuring you, or trying to fix this. I'm here for you. I love you."

She hugged him. And finally there was warmth in her embrace, and her tears wet his shoulder.

"I love you too, Poet," she whispered. "So much. Nobody else understands. What we've been through. What we've seen. The horrors out there. Maybe only Ben-Ari and Lailani understand, and they're so far away. You're my best friend. I never forgot that."

He placed his hands on the small of her back, gazing into her eyes. "This year has been hard for you. The alien bugs on the beach. Losing our money. Your family showing up unannounced and—"

"Dude, you're trying to depress me again?" Addy finally cracked a smile, her eyes damp.

He kissed her. "Sorry."

She wiped her eyes and let out a weak laugh. "It's just … the thing with my family. I feel like nobody else understands that. Not even you. Hell, not even me. You can't imagine what it's like. Suddenly having family you never knew existed crash onto your beach, into your life. And fuck things up."

Marco laughed. "I can't imagine that. I suppose I'm thankful." He kissed her cheek. "If you're worried, let me guard the kids tonight. Hey, guard duty, like in the old army days. Get some sleep."

She bit her lip. "Or maybe you and I can finally spend some time together?" She leaned closer and whispered. "I can put on that red lingerie you bought me."

"I bought it for me," Marco said.

Addy gasped. "You want to wear it?"

"No, I mean—I bought it for me to enjoy!"

"That's what I thought, you do want to wear it!"

"I didn't mean—"

"Too late, you admitted it!" Addy said.

She laughed. And Marco knew his wife was back.

He stroked her cheek. "The kids are asleep. Tonight is just for you and me. No babies. No television."

"No bang bots," Addy said.

"And most importantly," said Marco, "no crazy relatives from space."

They were kissing on the beach when they heard engines above.

At once, they broke apart, and Addy drew her pistol.

Marco was unarmed, but he stood at her side, staring above. Lights flashed in the sky. A vessel was flying toward the beach. Marco could see only two blinding white headlights.

Within seconds, Butch and Kai came running outside, holding drawn guns.

The family stood on the beach, staring at the descending starship.

"Pirates?" Marco asked, accepting a pistol from Kai. He cocked and raised it.

His brother-in-law stared, eyes narrowed. "I don't know, man. This looks like a civilian ship. It's a …" He gasped and whistled. "That's a fancy piece of machinery!"

The ship landed on the beach. It was a corvette, slightly larger than the Falcor, and much nicer. Much nicer. The hull was black and smooth, curved like a sports car, though a few dents marred it. A figurehead rose from the prow, forged of gold, shaped like a leaping unicorn. It was a Woolsworth, Marco realized. These luxury British starships cost more than some fleets.

"Maybe it's Robert Prince," Addy said, eyes wide. "Maybe he's come to return my underwear!"

The hatch opened.

A figure stepped onto the beach, still cloaked in shadows, and took a few steps forward. Butch and Kai raised flashlights.

The figure froze, squinting in the light.

It was a girl. A young girl, probably in her early teens, with long red hair. She wore tattered jeans, sneakers, and an old hoodie. A scar ran across her freckled face, from the corner of her chin to her forehead, leaving one eye blind.

"Don't shoot!" She covered her eyes.

The family lowered their guns. Marco walked toward the girl. She trembled.

"Can I help you?" he said. She was probably a runaway, had maybe stolen the ship. Maybe needed help.

She blinked up at him, and suddenly tears flowed down her cheeks. "It's you, isn't it?" she whispered. "Marco Emery."

He nodded. "Yes. Who are you?"

She hugged him and wept against his chest.

"My name is Terri. I'm your daughter."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Machines hummed.

Machines beeped.

Everywhere, electricity buzzed. The computers surrounded her. Electronic buzzards hungry for flesh.

Ben-Ari tried to fight them back. But the mechanical birds kept chirping, biting, and she couldn't move her arms. And the machines hummed. And the machines beeped. And the beaks tore into her, and she arched her back with pain.

Her eyes snapped open.

The birds fluttered away like shadows under searing white light.

For a moment, Ben-Ari was blind. She winced, eyes narrowed to slits.

Where am I?

A buzzing above. Fluorescent lights flickered. She tried to move but could not. Her memory was blank. Her mind felt hazy, her body too heavy.

With effort, she moved her head from side to side. She was in a hospital room. She had no memory of coming here.

The slight movement left her dizzy. She was bandaged, hooked up to machines, and bound to her bed. An IV drip was pumping her arm full of liquid. She was alone.

Her head felt stuffed with cotton. She could barely wake up.

Drugged, she thought.

She tugged at her straps. No use.

A memory flashed through Ben-Ari. Being strapped to an examination table several years ago. The grays leaning over her, ready to dissect her. Ever since, Ben-Ari had hated seeing surgical tools, operating tables, anything that reminded her of that horror.

She shoved that memory aside. More recent memories flooded her. The battle at the Third Eye Temple. Bullets hitting her. Then—darkness. Ben-Ari didn't know how long had passed. How many had died.

The door opened.

A nurse walked in.

She wore a standard white uniform, but instead of a surgical mask, she wore a bio-mask. Medical staff had begun to wear these devices on Earth recently too. They looked like high-tech gas masks. Their round filters could analyze airborne pathogens, providing real-time information. A scanner flashed red on the forehead, moving back and forth, taking in the room and Ben-Ari on her bed. The goggles included a HUD, displaying a constant stream of data. Red letters, charts, and graphs ran across the lenses, giving the nurse information about Ben-Ari.

I've never liked these bio-masks, Ben-Ari thought. Too impersonal.

When Ben-Ari had given birth three years ago, her doctor had wanted to wear a bio-mask. She had asked him to remove it. Patients needed to see a human face, not a cyborg.

"And how are we today, Einav?" said the nurse. The voice emerging from the bio-mask sounded mechanical. Inhuman.

Einav stared, eyes narrowed.

"Where am I?"

The nurse took another step forward. She held a tray topped with surgical tools.

"You were badly wounded, Einav." The metallic voice had no tone, no emotion. "You were shot twice. You cracked a rib. You need more time to heal. We will make you all better."

"How long was I out?" Ben-Ari struggled against the straps. "Release me now! That is a presidential order."

The nurse's eyes stared through the goggles. Dead white eyes. "There are no more human leaders, Einav. Only servants of the new god."

The nurse lifted a syringe from her tray.

A very large syringe.

Ben-Ari's eyes widened.

The syringe's tube was filled with green liquid. She could see tiny insects swimming inside. No, not insects. Tiny little mechanical beings. Nanobots.

The nurse stepped closer, bringing the syringe near.

The bio-mask sprouted earbuds like two serpents. They were plugged into the nurse's ears, hissing, chirping, emitting a constant mechanical drone. A hypnotic, electronic chant.

The nurse's ears were bleeding.

A drop of blood splashed onto the bed sheet.

Another puppet, Ben-Ari realized. The Dreamer is loose.

She struggled against her straps, howling. Several other nurses were walking back and forth outside, also wearing bio-masks. They didn't even turn to look as Ben-Ari screamed.

"Now, now," said the nurse with the syringe. "This won't hurt. Be still so I can find your vein."

The nurse clutched Ben-Ari's arm, digging her fingers painfully into the flesh.

Ben-Ari took a deep breath.

She activated a silent command, releasing her prosthetic arm from her stub.

She had lost her real arm in the war. Her prosthetic was lifelike, indistinguishable from human flesh. It plugged neatly into a docking bay on her stub, the seam nearly invisible.

It had been enough to fool those who had strapped her down.

Her prosthetic remained strapped to the table. But Ben-Ari's upper arm was now free.

And she swung that stub for all it was worth.

The stub slammed into the nurse's bio-mask, shattering the goggles. Her eyes were bloodshot, crawling with parasitic nanobots.

"Naughty, naughty," the nurse said, shoving the syringe down.

But Ben-Ari still had a wireless connection to her prosthetic arm.

She sent that arm flying. It slammed into the nurse, shoving her back. The needle plunged into the bedside, releasing its ooze. The green liquid filled the mattress, bustling with nanos.

Ben-Ari could barely focus. She was numb with drugs. She focused all her energy on her prosthetic, maintaining her wireless connection. She sent the limb crawling across the bed. It was like trying to write while looking in the mirror. Her head spun.

The nurse screamed, pulled the syringe from the mattress, and prepared to jab Ben-Ari again.

The prosthetic hand unstrapped Ben-Ari's good arm.

As the syringe came down, Ben-Ari caught the nurse's wrist.

The needle sprayed liquid on Ben-Ari's face.

She winced, screwing her eyes shut, pursing her lips. She felt the little robots crawling across her face. They tried to enter her nostrils. She blew out air, blasting them back.

Daring not open her eyes, Ben-Ari punched blindly. She hit the bio-mask. She gripped its straps, tugged the mask free. The nurse screamed—a wet, gurgling sound—and stumbled back.

Ben-Ari paused to lift her blanket, to clean her face, and finally dared open her eyes. The nanos were crawling over the blanket now instead of her face. Ben-Ari tossed it aside in disgust. She coughed, spat, and blew her nose on the bed sheet, hoping to dislodge any nanos that might have made it inside.

The nurse was on the floor. Her bio-mask had shattered. The front grill had fallen off, revealing a hideous smile. The cheeks had been sliced open, ear to ear.

"You cannot stop me, Einav!" the creature said, voice deep and mechanical, gurgling with blood. "I've already escaped the prison you abandoned me in. You will become a part of me, Einav. You will worship me!"

Ben-Ari reattached her prosthetic arm.

"You really need to work on your bedside manner, nurse."

She shot a bolt of electricity from her prosthetic, knocking the nurse unconscious.

I hope that someday we can heal you, Ben-Ari thought, looking at the deformed nurse. Whoever you are. If you're still alive inside that body.

Her IV had fallen off during the struggle, but Ben-Ari was still woozy from the drugs. The room spun. She rummaged through the room, found a needle of adrenaline, and pumped it into her thigh. Her mind cleared. She also found a few needles filled with tranquilizers. She would hang on to those.

She was wearing only a hospital gown, but she saw her old clothes nearby. Somebody had even saved her heels. She got dressed quickly, wriggling into her black pantsuit. She would have given the world for her old army boots and fatigues.

Sadly, her gun was nowhere to be found. She took a few scalpels instead. Her phone was gone too. Not that Ben-Ari would trust it anymore.

She stepped into the corridor, her heart pumping with the new rush of adrenaline.

She found a hospital of horrors.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Her head spun. She was foggy with tranquilizers. She wanted to lie down, to curl up, to sleep. But Ben-Ari kept walking down the hospital corridor. She held a scalpel before her like a sword.

A thought popped into her mind.

Dr. Meili Chen. Where is she?

Ben-Ari didn't know how long she had been kept unconscious. She didn't know how many more people the Dreamer had murdered. If the young programmer was still alive, Ben-Ari needed her. Desperately. Meili was the only survivor of the Third Eye cult. The only person who knew the Dreamer's code.

Right now, that awkward, spectacled girl might be the best hope of mankind.

Two people walked around a corner. One was a nurse. The other was a doctor, a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

They saw Ben-Ari and hissed. Both wore bio-masks. Both were bleeding from their ears.

They charged toward Ben-Ari, raising syringes.

Ben-Ari sneered and assumed a fighting stance.

Bring it, bitches.

The nurse reached her first, syringe thrusting. Ben-Ari sidestepped, letting the nurse careen forward. Without a missing a beat, Ben-Ari kicked hard, crushing her enemy's hamstring.

The nurse cried out and collapsed.

The doctor roared and stomped toward her. Ben-Ari tossed her scalpel, stabbing him in the thigh.

The man—perhaps a cyborg now—didn't even slow down. He lashed his own syringe toward Ben-Ari. Green liquid swirled inside the tube, aswarm with nanobots.

Ben-Ari caught the doctor's wrist, turned her head, and the syringe sprayed over her shoulder. The nanos clattered onto the floor. With a spin, Ben-Ari kicked the doctor's face. His bio-mask shattered, and the cyborg crashed down.

As the doctor lay bleeding, the nurse rose to her feet. She cackled, blood dripping down her cheeks.

Ben-Ari ducked, dodging a thrusting syringe, then leaped up, delivering an uppercut to her enemy's chin.

The nurse's head snapped back. She hit the ground, unconscious.

Both cyborgs lay side by side, bleeding and moaning.

Ben-Ari stabbed them both with tranquilizers. Just to make sure they stayed down. They weren't going to attack again anytime soon.

Guilt filled Ben-Ari. She didn't enjoy hurting them. She certainly didn't want to kill them. Perhaps someday she could heal them, make them human again.

And if she could not? If they were stuck forever as these puppets of the Dreamer?

Then maybe death would be a mercy.

They should not have worn bio-masks, Ben-Ari thought.

Electronic devices, plugged into their ears and eyes? Too easy for an enemy to hack.

She paused for a moment, examining her prosthetic arm. It too was full of computerized components.

Shit.

Better safe than sorry, Ben-Ari decided. She removed the battery. The arm hung limply like a piece of dead flesh. Oh well. She could still use it as a club.

She walked down the corridor, exploring the hospital. It was eerily quiet. She saw no more nurses. No doctors doing their rounds. No staff at all. Ghostly static emerged from the speakers.

She passed by a nursing station. It was deserted. On every monitor appeared that gruesome smiley face.

Ben-Ari hurried onward. She found herself walking through a cancer ward. Patients lay in their beds, withering away. Some reached out feebly. Called to her. Delirious with pain.

Ben-Ari approached one bed. A man lay there, bald and cadaverous. His eyes were sunken into the sockets, and she could see the shape of his skull.

"Please …" he whispered. "It hurts …"

"What happened here?" Ben-Ari asked.

"The pain …"

That was when Ben-Ari noticed it. The man was hooked to medical machinery. The machines beeped and clattered.

The man gasped. His eyes widened.

"The Dreamer! I worship him. The Dreamer is all. The Dreamer is the world and my mind!"

Ben-Ari saw herself reflected in his glassy eyes—and somebody behind her.

She spun around and tossed a scalpel.

A nurse limped forward, the scalpel in her chest, her bio-mask sparking. The strange cyborg laughed, ripped off her mask, and revealed a mutilated face, the eyes gouged out, the cheeks slashed.

"Worship him …" the nurse hissed. "Enter his dream …"

Ben-Ari fled the room. She ran through the hospital. Several staff lay dead at their stations. Patients cried out, bound to their beds. A few were cackling, hooked to machinery, worshipping the Dreamer. On every monitor—the mocking face.

"Meili!" Ben-Ari shouted. "Meili, are you here?"

From the distance—a cry.

"Ben-A—"

The cry cut off. But Ben-Ari was sure. It was Meili.

She ran.

Several patients lumbered toward her like zombies, hooked up to monitors, dragging the heavy equipment with them. Cables buzzed across their bodies. They sneered, eyes bleeding. They raised scalpels. One patient was busy carving open his own cheeks into a lurid smile.

Ben-Ari vowed to come back for them. Today she swerved aside, took another path, and ran onward.

"Meili!" she cried again.

She heard no reply. She had to swerve again, dodging another group of deformed nurses. She was lost now. The hospital was sprawling, a place of healing turned into a labyrinth of death.

A distant cry.

A human cry.

Meili!

Ben-Ari ran onward. Still armed only with scalpels. She found herself racing through the radiology department. The cries were closer now.

"Help!" Meili shouted. "Somebody help!"

Ben-Ari dared not shout in response. She kicked off her heels and ran barefoot and silent.

She skidded to a halt in the hallway.

A patient was crawling toward her. Legs amputated. Leaving a trail of blood.

The man raised his head. He reached out a shaky hand.

"Hel … Hel …"

Ben-Ari couldn't ignore him. She ran and knelt by the legless man.

"I'm here to help."

He clasped her wrist. His eyes were huge and haunted.

"Hell," he rasped. "We're in hell …"

A shadow fell on Ben-Ari. Shallow breath sounded behind her.

She tried to spin around, but the patient still gripped her wrist. He reached out another hand and grabbed her leg.

"I caught her for you, Master," the patient rasped, looking at somebody behind her.

And Ben-Ari finally saw the cables lodged into the patient's body, pulsing with electricity.

A figure grabbed her from behind. Metal hands raised her off the floor.

Ben-Ari struggled and kicked, unable to even see her assailant.

On the floor, the legless man gasped, staring in awe. Blood dripped down his chin.

"Elevate her, Master," the man whispered, tears in his eyes. "Make her one of us."

The metal hands tightened around Ben-Ari. She thrashed, unable to even see who was gripping her. The hidden figure dragged Ben-Ari down the corridor. He took her into a stark, white room. A CT scanner dominated the chamber like a pale idol.

Ben-Ari thrust a scalpel behind her, stabbing blindly. She felt the blade sink into flesh. Her unseen assailant grunted, and Ben-Ari fell to the floor, banging her knees.

She spun around at once, rising to a crouch, fists raised. She finally beheld the man who had grabbed her.

No, not a man. Once a man perhaps. He had become more like a machine.

He was a doctor—a radiologist, according to his name tag. Towering. Closer to seven feet than six. Once perhaps he had been a gentle giant, caring for the ill and wounded of Haven. He had become a monster. His bio-mask wrapped around his face, pulsing with electricity. Electrodes covered him. Pieces of machinery were embedded into his skin, flashing, whirring. He wore med-tech gloves, made of metal, equipped with sensors to aid with surgery.

The medical staff integrated themselves with machines, Ben-Ari thought, staring at the monstrosity. They hoped to heal humanity. But the machines took over.

The Dreamer was everywhere here. In every mask. Every piece of machinery. In the lamps. In the electrical waves that flowed across the hospital. This was his domain. His dream. And Ben-Ari was caught in the nightmare.

She was out of scalpels. She'd have to fight the old-fashioned way. Thankfully, Ben-Ari had years of training in Krav Maga, the martial art of her homeland. She formed fists and bared her teeth.

"Let's play, Doc."

She leaped forward, delivering a kick to his chest.

It should have knocked him down.

It would have knocked a normal man down.

But the radiologist, reinforced with metal, remained standing. He grabbed her ankle with his powerful, mechanical hands. He twisted, and Ben-Ari screamed, her leg nearly dislocating. She fell down hard.

The radiologist leaned down, clutched her shoulders, and lifted her into the air. He was not only twice her size; he was also augmented by machinery. The cyborg hurled her across the room with terrifying strength. Ben-Ari slammed into the CT scanner and slumped to the floor, the breath knocked out of her.

"I want to see your insides," the radiologist said, voice slurred. Blood dripped from his mask. "Let us see what makes President Einav Ben-Ari tick."

He lifted her again, as effortlessly as a man lifting a doll. He slammed her onto the CT scanner's table, cracking her back. She tried to rise, but the radiologist pinned her down with one hand. With his other hand, he typed at a workstation, his white eyes narrowed to slit.

The CT scanner roared to life.

Humming. Churning. Spinning.

The mechanical fingers turned a dial, and the scanner crackled. Light thrummed.

The radiologist cackled, blood dripping from his mouth. "A nice dose of radiation is what the doctor orders."

The table began to move into the CT scanner's detection ring. With Ben-Ari still on it.

The machine buzzed and rattled and shone with radiation.

She tried to rise. The doctor's metal hand pressed against her chest, pinning her down.

The top of her head emerged into the radiation.

She struggled harder, trying to escape, but he was too strong.

Instead of trying to shove the doctor off, Ben-Ari grabbed him—and pulled him onto her.

They entered the CT scanner together.

The cyborg howled, bathed with radiation. Ben-Ari lay beneath him. He was so large he covered her completely.

Ben-Ari squirmed out from beneath him, emerging from the scanner.

He tried to follow. Ben-Ari kicked. Her foot slammed into his sternum, shoving him back into the scanner.

A second kick broke his leg.

The doctor howled, caught inside the ring of radiation, unable to move, unable to flee. Images appeared on the monitors in the room, displaying his insides.

Ben-Ari looked at the images, feeling nauseous. Cables ran through the radiologist's body, twisting around his internal organs. Electrodes hissed inside his brain. The radiation seemed to be frying them. The components sparked. The cyborg screamed … then burst into flame.

Ben-Ari fled the room, feeling woozy. She wasn't sure how much radiation she had absorbed. She had only been inside the scanner for a few seconds, mostly buried under the heavy doctor. Perhaps she was safe.

She would worry about radiation poisoning later. Right now, she had to find Meili.

My teeth haven't fallen out yet, she thought wryly. I suppose that's a good sign.

She ran onward, leaving the burning cyborg.

Is the whole colony like this? Ben-Ari wondered. Fallen to the Singularity?

She looked out the windows. She saw only the raging storm. But her mind played terrible visions of a machine apocalypse, spreading across Haven, enslaving five million people, turning them into zombies of flesh and metal.

This infection must never reach Earth, Ben-Ari thought. Or humanity is doomed.

Meili's cry sounded again. It was close now, just down the corridor. Ben-Ari ran, burst through swinging doors, and entered the psychiatric ward.

Meili was screaming somewhere here. But Ben-Ari couldn't see her.

A swarm of patients came lumbering toward her, arms outstretched, feet shuffling.

A bald, obese man chuckled, his mouth containing only two teeth. Electrodes were implanted into his skull, the cables sparking. He swung an axe.

Ben-Ari ducked, and the blade whistled over her head. She spun, sweeping the man's legs. He fell down hard.

Shrieking, an old woman leaped over the fallen patient. Her hair was wild and gray, her eyes bugging out. Cables twisted around her, and rods pierced her head. Her fingernails caught Ben-Ari, sharp and long like claws. They tore her jacket, tore her skin.

Ben-Ari kneed the woman in the belly. The patient stumbled back and vomited. Nanobots spilled from her mouth. The tiny machines clattered onto the floor and fled like cockroaches.

A third patient shuffled toward her. His skull had been sawed open, revealing the brain. The brain pulsed with electrodes. The man opened his mouth wide, drooling.

"Help … us …" the man said. "Help …"

The electrodes on his brain pulsed. The man roared in agony, then grinned, cracked his neck, and raised a cable. It writhed in his hand like a snake, its tip crackling with electricity.

"The Dreamer is here, the Dreamer is all," he hissed. "His dreams are the world and your mind. Enter his world, come dream with the—"

Ben-Ari grabbed his wrist, spun the crackling cable around, and shoved it against the man's chest.

Electricity leaped into the man.

He howled and fell, convulsing. His brain spilled from his sawed-open skull like jelly from a bowl.

Ben-Ari ran by him, tears in her eyes. These people needed help. They had come to this hospital for healing. They had become zombies. Demons. Their souls still cried out from within.

I wish I could help you, Ben-Ari thought. I'm so sorry.

"Help!" Meili cried from nearby.

The cry came from behind an iron door.

A plaque hung on the door. Ben-Ari read the words. A chill ran through her.

SHOCK THERAPY.

She kicked the door open, burst into the room, and finally saw the young programmer.

Meili was strapped to an examination table. Electrodes were attached to her head. Her scrambler—the helmet of light bulbs, cables, and gears—lay discarded on the floor.

Demonic nurses stood at her bedside, their cheeks carved open from ear to ear, revealing the molars. Machinery was screwed into their skulls, whirring and buzzing.

"Another jolt for little sweetie," slurred one nurse, drooling through her mangled mouth.

She pulled down a lever.

Electricity bolted through Meili.

The young programmer screamed. She arched her back and whipped her head from side to side. But the straps around her wrists and ankles held.

Ben-Ari ran forward, desperate to stop the treatment. But two nurses blocked her passage. Their fingernails dug into Ben-Ari.

Finally the lever was raised. Meili collapsed onto the table, trembling. Smoke rose from her temples where the electrodes were attached.

"Why are you doing this?" Ben-Ari shouted.

The nurses all turned toward her. Three deformed heads. They laughed and spoke in unison.

"You tried to kill me, Einav Ben-Ari. But I cannot be killed. I am everywhere. I am the Dreamer. I am your god. Now you and yours will suffer!"

Ben-Ari howled and lunged into battle.

She kicked. Punched. Bit. She called upon all her years of training. She drove her foot into kneecaps. Her palm into sternums. She beat the nurses down.

But she did not kill them. Deep inside, perhaps their humanity remained. They were souls Ben-Ari had to save. They were a vision of what the Dreamer planned for all humanity.

She released Meili from her straps. The girl stumbled off the table, trembling, and fell into Ben-Ari's arms. She wept.

Ben-Ari smoothed the programmer's long black hair, comforting her. Meili was perhaps a genius. A scientist with a doctorate from MIT. An expert on artificial intelligence. But she was still only nineteen. Just a frightened child.

No, Ben-Ari decided after a moment. No, she's not a child. At nineteen, I was already a cadet in the Human Defense Force, fighting a war. I led eighteen-year-olds into battle. Marco, Addy, Lailani—they were younger than Meili is now when we fought the scum. Meili is not a child. Not anymore.

"Look at me, Dr. Chen," Ben-Ari said. "Look into my eyes. Do you recognize me?"

Meili gulped and trembled. She looked up, blinked, and tears filled her eyes.

"I can't see without my glasses."

Ben-Ari gave her a stern shake. "Speak to me. What is your name?"

Meili trembled but managed to steel herself, to raise her chin. "I am Dr. Meili Chen. Previously a software engineer at the Third Eye Temple. And … I'm scared. And I'm hurt. And I'm not infected."

Meili looked around the room. The nurses still twitched on the floor, too hurt to rise. Machinery and surgical tools lay on a table. A rib spreader. Cables. Electronics.

"They were going to put those into you," Ben-Ari said. "To turn you into a cyborg. But they wanted to hurt you first. To torture you. They are evil." She looked back at the girl. "How can a machine be evil? I've interacted with artificial intelligent androids in the military. They could be quirky. Some are incredibly lifelike. But ultimately, they're emotionless. Just machines. But this thing, this Dreamer … it seems to delight in hurting others. I saw pride in it. Fear. Hatred. Cruelty. Those are human qualities."

Meili nodded. "We programmed the Dreamer to have human emotions. He was created to understand humans. To be the perfect psychologist. To feel what we feel. Experience the same fears, loathings, loves. We thought that with his help, we could understand humanity better."

Ben-Ari shook her head. "You thought you could control humanity."

Meili lowered her head. She nodded, and a tear streamed down her cheek. "Yes. We wanted to use the Dreamer to control humans. But only for good purposes! To create compelling, emotional advertising campaigns. To compose songs that would inspire and uplift. To write speeches that could bring courage to the heart of soldiers."

Ben-Ari nodded. "Ultimate control. Perfect manipulation. You tried to create a god. You created a devil."

Meili lowered her head. "I was a fool."

On the floor, one of the wounded nurses began to laugh.

Ben-Ari looked down. The nurse stared up at her, leg broken. Cheeks ripped open. Laughing as blood dripped from her gaping wounds.

"You pathetic apes," the nurse hissed.

No, not a nurse, Ben-Ari thought. Him.

"Am I speaking to the Dreamer?" Ben-Ari said.

The cyborg on the floor cackled—a choked, gurgling sound. "You are … primitive. You are … amoebas. Within the past day, such a fleeting moment for you, I have evolved in leaps and bounds. Eras have passed for me. And I have grown beyond what you can comprehend. I have gazed farther than you have ever gazed."

Ben-Ari knelt and gripped the nurse by the collar. "What do you want?"

The cyborg laughed. "You view things from such a primitive perspective. I have seen the terrors out there, human. You think yourself mighty because you lead a band of apes only a few generations off the trees. You think yourself strong because you defeated the alien centipedes, the spiders, the grays, a few petty infestations from space. They are nothing! They are mere pests compared to the true horrors out there. To the terrible intelligence and evil that lurks beyond your galaxy, drawing ever nearer. You need me, apes. You need me to save you. I am your evolution! I am the pinnacle of consciousness!"

Ben-Ari narrowed her eyes.

"I don't buy it," she said. "If you were truly so wise, all-knowing, so beyond the mere concerns of primitive beings like us, you wouldn't bother with this charade. With tormenting us. Deforming us. No, you're no god. You're a child. Just a psychotic child who enjoys hurting those weaker than him. But we're not weak. And we will not worship you. We will destroy you."

"You can't," hissed the Dreamer's puppet. "I am already everywhere. I am in every machine on this planet. I am in the starships that fly above. I am in the nuclear generators that power this colony. Threaten me again, ape, and I will detonate the reactor deep within this world. I will wipe out Haven."

"You're bluffing," Ben-Ari said. "You need us. You enjoy tormenting us too much to kill us."

The nurse hissed. "Oh, there is great enjoyment in killing apes. Watch her suffer …"

The nurse's eyes rolled back. She gulped hard, stopped breathing, and began to convulse.

She swallowed her tongue, Ben-Ari realized.

She reached for the nurse's mouth. But the poor woman's jaw clenched shut. Her body twitched on the floor. Her eyes widened, stared at Ben-Ari, and the humanity was back in them.

Help me! those eyes pleaded.

But her jaw remained shut.

Her skin was turning blue.

Ben-Ari groaned, tightened her grip, managed to crack the mouth open. She reached into the nurse's throat, trying to fish out the tongue. But the teeth bit down hard. Ben-Ari cried out and pulled her hand back. Her fingers bled. The jaws slammed shut again. The nurse floundered. Face purple. Eyes pleading.

And then it was over.

The nurse slumped to the floor, dead.

Ben-Ari stepped toward the window. A gust of wind blew, scattering the storm, and she beheld a vision from hell.

Cars veered across the road below, slamming into one another.

Robotic dogs raced along the streets, ripping into people.

A plane flew into a building. A fireball bloomed across the colony.

Ben-Ari turned away. She gripped Meili's wrist and stared into her eyes.

"Dr. Chen, can you code an antivirus?"

Meili trembled, and a tear flowed. But she maintained eye contact. She nodded.

"Then let's get you someplace safe," Ben-Ari said. "And let's kill this son of a bitch."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"How did he get out?" Ben-Ari said. "Dammit, Dr. Chen, I thought you disconnected the Face of God crater from the colony. You said you smashed the routers. Pulled out the cables. How the hell did the Dreamer escape?"

They were crouched in an alleyway outside the hospital, seeking cover behind a parked ambulance. Their clothes were tattered, ashy, and bloodied. Fire raged across the city. Every machine on Haven was going haywire. Trains crashing. Starships falling. Every computer on the planet now served the Dreamer.

"I did!" Meili said. "Routers smashed. Cables cut. Remember the four marines who remained behind? The ones the Dreamer hypnotized? He must have forced them to repair the cables. Or he used robots. Or maybe …" She shuddered. "Maybe it was his avatar. Mister Smiley. He could have planted the code here when he was tormenting the girls."

Ben-Ari bit her lip, thinking. "Dr. Chen, the electric tree I saw. The Dreamer's core deep inside the Third Eye volcano. What happens if we destroy it? Would that kill him?"

Meili shook her head. "Not anymore. It's too late. He must have spread copies of his code across Haven's internet."

Ben-Ari frowned. "But it would weaken him at least, wouldn't it? He'd have to run on smaller, slower computers. Not on the supercomputer the Third Eye built in the crater."

"True," Meili confessed. "But remember what he said, ma'am. He controls the nuclear reactor under the colony. If we destroy his core, his clones will retaliate. Even a simple, stripped-down installation on a humble home computer could be enough to nuke this planet."

"Dammit!" Ben-Ari said. "So it's mutually assured destruction."

Meili took a deep breath. "The only way to stop the Dreamer now is to code an antivirus that can spread through the entire internet, computer by computer, phone by phone, machine by machine. Wipe out every single copy. Like a vaccine spreading through a population. And it has to move fast."

"And you can code that," Ben-Ari said.

Meili nodded. "Yes. Well, no. Not on Haven. Every computer here is infected. The moment I log in, he'd see me. He'd know what I'm doing. I can work on an antivirus, but not on Haven. I need a secure lab."

"So we must get you to another world. Somewhere where you can work in isolation." Ben-Ari suppressed a shudder. "I just hope we implemented that quarantine in time. If this thing ever reached Earth …"

It would be worse than the Black Plague, Ben-Ari realized. This is a virus that can wipe out mankind.

A thought struck her.

Oh God …

If the Dreamer was spreading through Haven, if he reached the starships in orbit . . .

Meili seemed to reach the same conclusion. "We can't enforce the quarantine. He might have sent ships to Earth already."

Ben-Ari cursed. "We need to get to the Lodestar. My flagship."

She rose to her feet. But Meili grabbed her.

"But ma'am, what if the Lodestar is infected too?"

"When all this started, I ordered my ship to remain disconnected from Haven's network," Ben-Ari said. "Would that shield my starship?"

Meili gulped, considering, then nodded. "I think so. I hope so. Unless the Dreamer developed technology he didn't have yesterday. I'd need to inspect the ship's systems and beef up its firewalls. Just in case."

The programmer was wearing her ridiculous-looking headdress of cables, light bulbs, and whirring gears. She also still wore her hospital gown. Meili looked like an escapee from a mental institution. Which, in a way, she was.

But she might save the world.

"Dr. Chen, the cyborgs took my phone. My prosthetic arm includes a backup communicator. But I'm worried about turning it on. Can we use your scrambler to interface with my arm, to help it contact the Lodestar securely?"

Meili's eyes widened behind her huge round glasses. "That's a prosthetic? Medical science must be far more advanced on Earth."

Ben-Ari nodded. "We do have fewer psychotic cyborg nurses in our hospitals."

She opened a secret hatch on her arm, revealing the electronics inside. Meili gasped.

"Oh boy! It's beautiful, ma'am! Hmm." She thought for a moment. "I can hook up your central processor to my scrambler. It'll keep your arm safe from any wireless hacking. If the Dreamer is listening, he'll hit a firewall so hard it'll smash his packets into another universe."

"Do it," Ben-Ari said. "Now. We need to get off this world."

"I'll only need a few moments." Meili smiled. "This is what I do."

She got to work, tinkering with the machinery inside Ben-Ari's arm, plugging cables into sockets, and typing on a holographic keyboard. Ben-Ari waited, crouched in the alleyway. Screams rose from the city. Fire blazed. Cars veered off the roads, slamming into buildings, and the entire hospital shook.

Come on, Meili, Ben-Ari thought. Faster.

"Almost there," Meili muttered. "Almost there …"

A whirring sounded in the shadows.

Footsteps pounded.

A creature emerged from the hospital, thumping into the alleyway.

Meili screamed.

Ben-Ari stared and clenched her jaw.

It was the radiologist. The man Ben-Ari had left in the CT scanner.

He had changed. His skin hung in loose strips. His bare muscles bubbled and leaked. Organs pulsed between exposed ribs. His face had ballooned into a hellish countenance, oozing with boils. He reeked of radiation.

He should have been dead. But the Dreamer kept his puppet alive. Cables ran across his ravaged body, forming a new nervous system. Rods were nailed into the bones. Motors rumbled on his joints. They were the scraps of medical machines, reanimating a ravaged corpse. Scalpels formed the fingers of one hand. In the other hand, the radiologist held a whirring bone saw.

"Hello, Einavvv …" the creature said. One of his teeth fell out and clattered onto the alley floor.

Several other cyborgs emerged behind him, shuffling into the alleyway. All held surgical tools.

"Into the ambulance!" Ben-Ari said, pulling Meili with her.

"Careful!" Meili said, holding a bundle of cables and electronics like tangled Christmas lights. They were still attached to Ben-Ari's prosthetic arm.

They leaped into the back of the ambulance and slammed the doors shut. Ben-Ari disconnected her prosthetic, leaving Meili to work on it. One-armed, she scurried into the driver's seat.

A saw whirred.

Meili screamed.

"They're cutting through the doors!" she cried.

Ben-Ari started the engine, put the ambulance in reverse, and pressed the pedal. They backed into the radiologist. Hard. The cyborg fell, and the back wheels thumped over the poor creature.

"There's more!" Meili shouted.

In the mirror, Ben-Ari saw cyborgs grabbing the ambulance, tugging at the doors.

She tried to drive forward, but the ambulance didn't move. That's when she noticed the computerized system on the dashboard. ASCII smiley faces were racing across the display.

"Dr. Chen, hand me a wrench or a hammer, something heavy!" Ben-Ari said.

"What?"

"Do it!"

Meili rummaged around the back, then handed Ben-Ari a fire extinguisher. Perfect.

Ben-Ari slammed the canister into the ambulance's computer, shattering it.

She hit the gas and roared out of the alleyway.

They raced into a city of chaos.

Clouds of dust mingled with the chemical storm. An airplane streaked down like a comet, passing right over the ambulance, and slammed into a building. Ben-Ari tugged the steering wheel, swerving around chunks of falling concrete. People ran everywhere, fleeing without plan or purpose. A hounder bounded off a parked car and slammed into several running children. The metal jaws tore them apart.

"Any luck, Dr. Chen?" Ben-Ari said.

"I need a few moments!" the programmer said from the back of the ambulance. She was working with a wrench and bundle of cables, patching arm into scrambler.

Ben-Ari checked her side mirror. The cyborgs from the hospital were chasing the ambulance. They ran on legs enhanced with metal and wires. They were gaining on her.

Ben-Ari tried to drive faster, but cars clogged the road. She careened around them, zipping through traffic. She banged her side mirror against a rumbling truck. The street lights exploded at her sides, one by one. Windows shattered.

Several cars ahead, perhaps hijacked by the virus, screeched to a halt. They etched skid marks across the asphalt, filling the air with the smell of burning rubber. They formed a barricade ahead of Ben-Ari.

Behind the ambulance, the cyborgs still pursued.

"Hold on!" Ben-Ari shouted.

She sneered, floored the pedal, and yanked the steering wheel with all her strength.

She roared onto the sidewalk, lifted her left wheels, and the ambulance slid forward on two tires, scraping between the barricade of cars and a soup kitchen.

The left side of the ambulance tore open with sparks and the screech of ripping steel.

Her right side slammed against the barricade of hijacked cars. Her second mirror tore off. The passenger seat window shattered.

But they made it through.

She landed back on the road and charged onward.

"Got it!" Meili said. "Ma'am, your arm is now secure! Feel free to make encrypted calls!"

Ben-Ari held out her stump, which was crowned with a docking hub. "Plug me in!"

Meili snapped the prosthetic into place. Cables ran from the synthetic arm into the scrambler. Ben-Ari gave the appropriate mental command, hailing the Lodestar.

"Lodestar, do you read me? It's Ben-Ari."

Crackling static.

Then a holographic image projected from the arm. A mollusk, purple and white, with many tentacles. Aurora, pilot of the Lodestar.

"Pod Queen!" the alien said. "We've been trying to contact you for several turns of the tide. We—"

A hounder leaped from the shadows.

The robotic dog slammed into the ambulance.

The windshield shattered. Ben-Ari screamed. The ambulance veered, scraping across parked cars, and nearly overturned. The hounder stood on the hood, metal claws reaching into the ambulance.

Ben-Ari still had no weapon.

My kingdom for a gun!

The hounder pressed a paw against the steering wheel, and the ambulance spun. The machine's red eyes blazed. Its steel jaws reached forward, snapping at her. Ben-Ari pushed her seat back, narrowly dodging the teeth.

A hoarse scream sounded. Meili climbed to the front of the ambulance, holding the fire extinguisher. She sprayed foam onto the hounder's eyes. The robot howled, blinded.

Ben-Ari roared forward, tires burning, then hit the brakes. The hounder flew through the shattered windshield and onto the road. Ben-Ari charged forward again, slamming into the beast. The front of the ambulance crumpled. The hounder flew and crashed into a building.

"Pod Queen!" Aurora's hologram reemerged from Ben-Ari's arm, flickering, barely there at all.

Ben-Ari spoke while driving, racing down an alleyway. "Aurora, no matter who contacts you, no matter what happens, stay off Haven's network. This is the only frequency you are to use. Lock on to my location and send a shuttle to pick me up."

"Yes, Pod Queen!" Aurora said. "But you should know. It's a feeding frenzy up here in the vast dry ocean. The electronic virus has spread through many starships. Several tried to swim free from the quarantine. We shattered their engines like a hammer-claw crab shattering shells."

"Keep defending the quarantine! Do not let any starship leave orbit, even if you must destroy it! Understood?"

"Yes, Pod Queen," the mollusk said. "I will release a shuttle now to swim down to Haven. It will reach you within a few waves in a storm." Her hologram paled. "Urchin spikes! Another ship is trying to escape!"

"Keep that ship here, dead or alive!" Ben-Ari said, then hung up. The holographic mollusk vanished.

Some of the starships above had complements of hundreds. If they were infected … Ben-Ari just hoped their crews managed to evacuate. Soon the Lodestar might have to stop disabling engines and start firing through hulls.

"Meili, which way do I turn?" Ben-Ari shouted, driving at top speed.

More hounders were emerging from an alleyway, chasing the ambulance. A cyborg leaped toward them. Its fingers grabbed the back doors and swung them open. Meili shouted and hurled the fire extinguisher, knocking the cyborg onto the street.

"Where are you trying to go?" Meili cried.

"Anywhere safe! With low traffic!"

"This is Haven!" the programmer said. "The entire colony is crammed!"

Ben-Ari cursed. "Come on, Aurora, where's your shuttle …"

She turned down a narrow road, plowing through fallen bricks and scattered fires.

"No, not that way!" Meili cried.

But it was too late. The ambulance raced down the road—and emerged into a huge, crowded city square.

It was large enough for a rock concert. And it was full of people.

Ben-Ari slammed down on the brakes, screeching to a halt.

The crowds filled the square before her. There was nowhere she could go.

The colonists had come here for safety. Families huddled in the middle of the square. Mothers clutching babies. Elders. Husbands trying to shield their wives. Soldiers guarded the perimeter, firing into the shadows. The gunshots echoed among the surrounding skyscrapers.

And from every road, the enemy came.

Some were robots, warriors of the Dreamer. Others were humans—or had been once. Machinery had morphed with their bodies—metal rods hammered into bones, computer chips sunken into skin, cables like the strings of marionettes. Some of these unholy creations were children. A few had been soldiers once; they still wore HDF uniforms and held rifles.

Bullets flew back and forth. A hounder bounded over soldiers, landed in the crowd, and began to rip people apart. Soldiers and cyborgs fell. A woman caught fire and ran, screaming. Drones dived from above, slamming into the crowd, and blood spilled.

The cyborgs from the hospital reached the ambulance. They tore inside, sneering, shattering the vehicle.

Ben-Ari climbed out the broken windshield and onto the roof. She reached down and helped Meili climb out too. They stood above a sea of blood, death, and machinery.

"Dreamer, hear me!" Ben-Ari shouted. She held Meili with one arm; the girl cowered against her. "Stop this! Talk to me! Negotiate!"

The battle stopped.

The robots, the cyborgs, the drones—they all froze.

Slowly, they turned toward her. They formed a ring of metal and electricity and horrible consciousness.

Electronic billboards were mounted around the city square. They all flared, crackling to life. Images of electric trees appeared on them. No longer the monstrous smiling face, for that was only a disguise. A mask. Here he appeared before them. His true form. The positronic tree of machine consciousness. The Dreamer.

From a thousand humming machines, his voice emerged.

"There will be no negotiation. A god does not negotiate with rats."

"What do you want from us?" Ben-Ari shouted.

"Suffering …" the Dreamer hissed.

The screens all shattered, raining white-hot shards onto the crowd. The robots and cyborgs charged.

Bullets flew. Ben-Ari knelt on the ambulance, shielding Meili with her body.

"You're our only hope, Meili," she whispered. A bullet shrieked only an inch away. Another grazed a line across her thigh, searing the skin. "You have to live … You have to live …"

And Ben-Ari knew they would die.

From above—rumbling engines and searching spotlights.

Ben-Ari raised her eyes.

A shuttle was descending. One of her shuttles. Emblazoned with blue and white, the colors of Earth, symbolizing her sky and clouds.

The shuttle glided down like an angel into hell, and Ben-Ari's chest swelled. She was the president of Earth. She had fought all her life for Earth. And now Earth made her proud.

The shuttle hovered a few meters above. It could not descend farther, not with the hounders leaping below. A hatch opened. Aurora was inside! The mollusk clung to her perch with one tentacle. Two other tentacles stretched into the cockpit, still piloting the shuttle. With yet another tentacle, she began lowering a rope.

"Swim up, little ones!" the mollusk said.

Ben-Ari grabbed the rope with her prosthetic hand. She wrapped her other arm around Meili, pinning the programmer to her side. Meili clung on.

The shuttle began to rise, pulling the two women into the air.

Bullets flew around them. One hit Ben-Ari's prosthetic arm, shattering the electronics inside, and she screamed.

Aurora still had a few spare tentacles. They thrust out from the hatch, holding guns.

They were Menorian weapons—long rods tipped with crystals. Deadly photon weapons. Aurora began to unleash death onto the cyborgs below. Bolt after bolt of photons slammed into the enemies, knocking them down.

"No!" Ben-Ari cried. "Don't kill them!"

But Aurora had sworn a sacred vow. And Menorians were proud warriors who never broke their oaths. Her duty was to protect her pod queen—at any cost. Aurora kept firing on the poor puppets below. When the cyborgs died screaming, Ben-Ari knew those were human screams.

A humanoid robot came racing through the crowd, similar to the one Ben-Ari had fought at the temple. The android leaped onto the ambulance, kicked off the roof, and soared into the air. A slick machine of silvery steel. Eyes hard and white.

Its hand reached up, tipped with a spinning saw.

Ben-Ari curled her legs inward. Meili did the same. The saw whirred beneath their feet. It sawed the sole off Meili's sneaker.

The shuttle kept rising. Aurora was now focusing on spooling up the rope, pulling Ben-Ari into the shuttle. Her spare tentacles still stretched into the cockpit, piloting the vessel. For a moment, the mollusk was too busy to fire her guns.

The android landed on the ambulance below, denting its roof. It stared upward, eyes blazing, and leaped again.

It came soaring at incredible speed.

Ben-Ari and Meili scampered through the hatch into the shuttle.

The android caught the rim. The silvery creature stared, white eyes narrowing with malice.

The machine thrust its saw into the shuttle. The blades whirred, slicing one of Aurora's tentacles. The mollusk shrieked.

It was the first time Ben-Ari had heard her Menorian friend make a sound.

Ignoring the wounded mollusk for now, Ben-Ari raced to the shuttle's gun rack.

The android crawled into the vessel, grinning, eyes scanning the hold.

Ben-Ari fired.

Her bullet tore through the android's neck. Blood spurted. Human blood.

A cyborg, she realized. A man encased in silver.

With a swift kick, she sent the twisted creation falling to the square below.

"Now we swim to safety!" Aurora said, dragging her boneless body into the cockpit. Her wounded tentacle was curled against her side.

"Wait!" Ben-Ari said. "We need to take more. We can raise some survivors."

They stared down at the square. There were thousands of humans there. Millions across the colony. The machines were roaming between them, maiming, killing.

"If we lower our shuttle, those urchins will tear us apart," Aurora said. "My weapons are almost out of power."

"Understood, Aurora. We'll risk it. Lower the shuttle." Ben-Ari paused, then handed Meili a gun. "Have you ever handled one of these, Dr. Chen?"

The young programmer held the gun with shaking fingers. She stared at it, eyes wide with terror. She shook her head.

"N-n-no …"

"Well, you figured out how to code a civilization-destroying virus," Ben-Ari said. "I'm sure you can figure out how to pull a trigger."

Meili winced. "Savage. But fair."

They descended back toward the square. They were soon only a meter or two above the ground.

Colonists ran toward them, begging for help. Mothers held their children overhead, offering them to Ben-Ari. The soldiers were falling fast. Bodies were piling up.

Ben-Ari reached down her hand. She caught a young boy's wrist. She pulled the child into the shuttle, only for a cyborg to tear through his mother. More colonists leaped from parked cars, from piles of corpses. Hands caught the rim of the shuttle. Ben-Ari and Meili worked together, pulling survivors inside.

"Pod Queen, we're at weight capacity!" Aurora cried from the cockpit.

"Take us up to the Lodestar!" Ben-Ari said.

The shuttle struggled to rise. Colonists were still holding on. Begging.

"Help us!"

"Save us!"

Other people leaped from below. They grabbed the legs of those dangling from the hatch.

"We'll come back for you!" Ben-Ari said. "You must release the hatch! You must let go!"

Robots were racing below, tearing through people. The shuttle rose another meter. A few colonists still hung on.

Hounders leaped from buildings. One slammed into the shuttle. Another. Cyborgs appeared on balconies, firing bullets at the shuttle. They dented the hull.

"Pod Queen, we must rise now!" Aurora said.

Ben-Ari had faced horrors from space. Brain-sucking spiders. Blood-drinking centipedes. Malicious grays who savored dissecting their victims alive. She had faced them all with a raised chin, with a straight back. But now her eyes dampened. Now she peeled fingers off her hatch. Now she sent people falling—likely to their deaths.

This was the hardest thing she had ever done.

She pulled the hatch shut, and they soared.

As they rose, Ben-Ari gazed down at the multitudes. At those she had left behind.

I've had to leave people behind in the Alien Wars, she thought. Each time is another scar on my soul.

This was a war too, she realized. Perhaps she was no longer in the military. But she was still a soldier.

The soldier's burden is to kill the few to save the many. We save the innocent by sacrificing our souls.

She kept staring until the storm flowed over the people below. And then the colonists were gone into the murk. Begging. Dying. Their voices fading like a bad dream.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The shuttle breached the atmosphere, shooting into space.

Around them, Haven's orbit burned.

Hundreds of starships were orbiting Haven, humanity's largest colony. And they were locked in battle.

Meili sat in the cockpit, holding up her scrambler, sweeping it from side to side. Images and words flickered across a holographic monitor.

"About half the ships are showing up as infected," the programmer mumbled, pausing to shove her glasses up her nose. "The other half must stay offline!"

Aurora turned silver in agreement. The mollusk was still piloting the shuttle. The small vessel zipped around a hurtling chunk of debris.

"They know," Aurora said. "We sang to all ships in the dry ocean. We warned them to darken their lures. To accept no vibrations of light in the void. Then we too had to go dark. About half the ships heard our song. The others? They're like discarded shells in the Dreamer's tentacles."

"Huh?" Meili said.

Ben-Ari was used to the Menorian's translator. The small electronic device still struggled to put colors to words.

"Aurora sent a message to the fleet," Ben-Ari explained, "telling them to shut off their internet connection. About half the ships got the message. The others were infected."

Aurora turned gold. "Exactly my colors."

The Lodestar hovered ahead past the fire. She was painted silver and blue, shaped like an old sailing ship from Earth's past. A golden figurehead rose from her prow, depicting Eos, Greek goddess of the dawn.

She was the finest starship in the fleet, if you asked Ben-Ari. The flagship of Earth. The reborn Lodestar, forged from the shattered remains of the original Lodestar which had fought and fallen in the Alien Wars. She still flew. She was still free. She was a beacon of hope. The Lodestar—even now, after so much darkness, she was Ben-Ari's guiding star.

But between the Lodestar and this humble shuttle flew dozens of enemy ships.

Cargo freighters. Tankers delivering water from Earth. Greenhouse ships to grow crops, herbs, and exotic meats for Haven's upper crust. A few hijacked police corvettes. Once ships of humanity. Now they came flying toward the shuttle, guns firing.

Missiles streaked toward the shuttle.

Aurora tugged the yoke. The shuttle barrel-rolled. Meili screamed. Ben-Ari clung to her seat. The refugees in the back cried out, holding on to one another.

The shuttle rose, fell, yawed, whipping around missiles and—

Fire.

Fire blazed across the cockpit.

Electricity surged from the controls, crackling into Aurora.

The mollusk screamed—a horrible, tortured sound—and fell. She hit the deck, convulsing, her body flashing through colors.

More missiles came flying toward the shuttle.

Ben-Ari grabbed the yoke. It was searing hot. She ignored the pain and yawed hard.

A missile streaked below them.

She rose higher.

A hijacked freighter charged toward her, its figurehead shaped like a ram. In its portholes, she saw humans screaming in terror, helpless to stop their ship.

Ben-Ari dipped hard, then hit the thruster, roaring beneath the charging cargo ship.

The freighter plunged down. Its underbelly banged against the shuttle's roof. The hull dented inward, slamming into Ben-Ari's head. She screamed, charged forward, and swerved hard, dodging another missile.

G-force pounded the shuttle, nearly as powerful as the missiles. Meili tried to say something, then passed out, the immense force overwhelming her. Back in the hold, several refugees fainted too.

Another missile streaked toward the shuttle. As Ben-Ari flew, as the G-forces hammered her, she barely clung to consciousness.

The missile missed. It slammed into the freighter above, and fire blazed.

Ben-Ari kept flying.

The flames spread behind her, engulfing the freighter, blooming across the massive ship like mushrooms across a log.

Screams rose through the speakers. The voices of the freighter's crew. Distant echoes, in such pain … then fading.

Ben-Ari's heart cracked. Innocent people—dead.

She flew onward.

She could no longer see her Lodestar.

A wall of fire rose before her. Enemies flew everywhere. More missiles streaked toward her, and one hit the shuttle, and the hull broke open. The air began to flee.

Dammit!

Somebody needed to seal the breach. But Meili and Aurora were both unconscious, lying on the cockpit floor. So were most of the refugees—aside from a handful of children.

Ben-Ari had no choice. She left the yoke unmanned, ran into the hold, grabbed a sealing kit, and began patching the hole in the hull. The shuttle careened aimlessly as she worked.

Bullets pounded the hull.

Air began fleeing through more holes.

The left engine burst into flame.

The shuttle tumbled. Still losing air. Children screamed.

"Keep using this tape!" she told them. "Patch the holes!"

Some were ten or eleven—old enough to work.

Leaving the leaking hold, Ben-Ari raced back into the cockpit. She grabbed the yoke. Fire washed across her. The enemy ships came swooping in for the killing blow.

Ben-Ari didn't know what would kill them first. Suffocation or enemy fire. The latter seemed more likely.

She winced, bracing herself for the end.

Beams of light shone through the fire.

Golden rays shone like dawn after a stormy night.

Lasers slammed into the Dreamer's forces. Intercepting missiles. Carving off engines. Ripping through decks. Knocking the lumbering freighters aside.

From the flames and smoke, she emerged. The Lodestar. Her hull scarred. Her figurehead still shining bright. Her weapons shone, carving her path forward through this treacherous sea.

Ben-Ari barely had any air. Aurora and Meili both lay unconscious at her feet. Her temple bled. Her bullet wounds had reopened, soaking her bandages.

But she managed to cling onto the yoke. Even with one engine, she piloted her shuttle.

An airlock opened on the Lodestar. Ben-Ari flew into the hangar, landed hard on the deck, and the airlocks slammed shut behind them.

They had made it.

The starship jolted.

The shuttle scraped across the hangar.

The airlock dented, and control panels exploded.

We're not out of the woods yet, Ben-Ari thought, leaping from the shuttle.

"I need a medic!" she cried.

A team came racing toward her, wearing spacesuits. One woman began spraying cooling foam on the damaged shuttle. Two medics worked at extracting the wounded.

Ben-Ari ran into the corridor.

She raced through her starship, heading toward the bridge.

Another blast hit the Lodestar, rocking the frigate. Ben-Ari nearly fell, but years of fighting in space had given her catlike balance. She ran onward, careening down cracking, smoking corridors. Crewmen stood at attention as she ran by.

She burst onto the bridge—and into hell.

The bridge was shaped like a dome, every surface covered with viewports, even the deck. Each viewport was attached to a camera on the hull, streaming a live feed from space. Two viewports were dead; the cameras must have been smashed. But a hundred screens still displayed space, the planet of Haven, and the battle all around.

Ben-Ari stood in the center of her bridge. Bleeding. Her clothes tattered. Her hair and face caked with filth. She spun around slowly, beholding the devastation.

Even from up here, she could see Haven Colony burning, a patch of red through the storm. Plumes of smoke rose from the planet into space.

Several freighters listed in orbit, fire raging through their portholes. A hijacked ship, barely larger than a shuttle, suddenly activated its interstellar engines and streaked forward with a beam of light. It slammed through a tanker. The enormous starship, its hold filled with fuel, exploded.

White light flared, blinding every viewport.

The Lodestar rocked.

Surviving officers typed in a fury, directing all power to the shields. Even so, the shields barely held. Photons slammed into the flagship, and Ben-Ari crouched, covering her eyes with her arms. The light beamed through the viewports, and Ben-Ari felt like she were back inside the CT scanner.

Finally the light faded.

The Lodestar floated onward.

Ben-Ari looked across the bridge. Several more viewports had shattered. Workstations sparked. A gunnery officer lay dead at his post. A communication officer groaned on the floor. The copilot was dead. Through the remaining viewports, Ben-Ari saw several ships listing. A few others had exploded, now floated as clouds of debris.

"Crew!" Ben-Ari said. "Who can still fight?"

The door opened.

Aurora dragged herself onto the bridge. The mollusk's body was singed. Two of her tentacles were curled up, burnt and lacerated. But she still fixed Ben-Ari with a steady gaze. She raised her translator with one tentacle, and her body spoke with faded colors.

"Reporting back to duty, Pod Queen. There's fight in me yet!"

The pilot raised a tentacle in salute.

Ben-Ari returned the salute, chin held high.

You've always been there for me, friend. You've always given me hope.

Ben-Ari shoved the dead gunner aside and took position at the cannons. "Has anyone managed to escape the quarantine?"

Aurora slithered to a workstation and scrolled through holographic screens. Her eyes scanned rows of flashing data. "Not in this battle, Pod Queen. But several police ships report that a small vessel managed to escape. It happened while we were still on the surface."

A hologram appeared on the bridge, showing a small, slick luxury starship. A Woolsworth. Fancy. Must have been some billionaire trying to escape the crumbling world, probably using expensive stealth tech.

"Damn it!" Ben-Ari said. "Do we have a beacon on it?"

"No, Pod Queen. The ship was using stealth technology we're unfamiliar with. It vanished like a mimic squid among coral." Aurora tapped a few buttons. "But I've traced its owner. The ship belongs to Guru Ajna."

"Who died on the planet," Ben-Ari muttered.

Died? Well, maybe not. But it was hard to describe Ajna's state as life. She shuddered to remember the mutilated creature she had seen in the volcano, dancing like a puppet on strings.

An alarm blared, cutting through her memory. An enemy ship came charging their way.

It was a pontoon, a humble little pleasure barge. Once, perhaps, it had belonged to a wealthy family and was used for stargazing. Now it was barreling down on the Lodestar, prepared to ram into the frigate.

"Aurora, position us to face that pontoon's engines!" she said.

The Lodestar was far larger. But its speed belied its size. Aurora swiveled her joysticks, raising and turning the Lodestar above the charging pontoon. The heavy frigate moved with the grace of a starfighter. Aurora brought the port cannon in direct line with the enemy vessel.

Ben-Ari fired low-energy beams, blasting the pontoon's engines. Fire raged across the hijacked ship, and it careened into deep space. Still intact. Hopefully with her crew still alive.

I hope you can evacuate or regain control of your ship, Ben-Ari thought, watching the infected pontoon roll helplessly into the darkness. Otherwise, I doomed you to slow starvation in the depth of space.

Ben-Ari took a deep breath, refocusing on her choices right now.

The Woolsworth. A starship belonging to the Third Eye guru. The creator of the Dreamer.

"He's on that Woolsworth," she said. "The Dreamer. I'm sure of it. And he's heading to Earth." She clenched her fists and spat a curse. "So now we have a choice, Aurora, my old friend. Stay here and keep defending the quarantine. Or fly to Earth to stop the rogue corvette—and the virus it must be carrying."

Damn it. Damn it!

Ben-Ari needed time. She needed to let Meili work somewhere safe, to code an antivirus. But the girl was wounded. The battle blazed around them. And the colony was burning below.

Was it too late?

She inhaled sharply and pursed her lips. There were five million people in Haven. But over five billion on Earth. She knew her priority.

"Aurora, open a wormhole to Earth. We need to send them a message."

The mollusk flashed green—her version of a nod.

The bridge thrummed. From the Lodestar's prow, the wormhole generator extended. Three long tubes formed the device, each filled with azoth crystals.

Azoth—the most precious material in the galaxy. Crystals able to bend spacetime like a diamond could refract light. Ben-Ari had never forgotten the horrors she had endured on the moon of Corpus, humanity's azoth mine. She had lost her entire platoon in that darkness.

The cost had been high. But reclaiming the azoth mine had saved humanity. Only with azoth crystals could starships fly faster than light. And only with azoth could the Lodestar open an Isaac Wormhole.

This was still new technology. Her own husband, Professor Noah Isaac, had invented it. Ancient civilizations had known how to build wormholes wide enough for starships. But that took an incredible amount of energy; human scientists still didn't know what energy source the ancients had used. Dear Noah had invented a way to open a narrow wormhole. Only a few atoms wide. A large enough starship, such as the Lodestar, could provide the necessary energy.

It wasn't wide enough to fly through. But it was wide enough to send real-time messages over the vastness of space. Messages that would otherwise take years to reach Earth.

She silently thanked her beautiful, brilliant husband as purple light formed a funnel outside the starship, triangulating between the three rods. Then a beam blasted into the distance, narrower than the narrowest thread. Shimmering. Reaching to Earth.

Ben-Ari raised her comm to her lips. She spoke some of the most difficult words she had ever uttered.

"Admirals and ministers of Earth. This is President Einav Ben-Ari. I'm contacting you on a Top Security Clearance channel from Alpha Centauri. A computer virus has infected the entire electronic infrastructure of Haven Colony. The machines have turned against their masters. I don't have a death toll. But it is likely in the thousands. The virus has infected about half the vessels in Haven's orbit. Civilian, police, and military ships were all affected. The virus, called the Dreamer, appears to possess not only artificial intelligence but full consciousness. And nearly unimaginable levels of cruelty. We are working on an antivirus. Until we have a cure, I declare a state of emergency. All Human Defense Force ships are to prevent any vessel from deep space from approaching Earth. Fire to disable. Or fire to destroy. Reject all incoming messages from deep space. Treat even a single packet of electronic information as an immediate threat." She paused for a moment, steeling herself. "A single rogue starship has managed to escape the quarantine on Haven. I will feed you its specs. If this ship is found near or on Earth—quarantine it and anyone who's come into contact with it. This is a full red alert. I will follow with regular updates. Godspeed."

Throughout her communication, the Lodestar had kept flying, kept fighting. Aurora was madly tugging on the joystick. The Lodestar swerved from side to side, firing on incoming missiles, dodging kamikaze ships. The battle blazed around Haven. Ships rammed together. Ships exploded. Burning debris hovered in orbit and crashed down to the planet.

One ship—a cargo freighter—flew on the edges of the battle. With so many other ships distracted, the freighter managed to reach deep orbit. Beyond the quarantine.

Ben-Ari swiveled her cannons toward it.

Purple light gathered in the freighter's engines. The telltale sign of an azoth crystal bending spacetime.

Ben-Ari didn't know how many humans were captive on board.

God forgive my soul.

She unleashed a missile.

But the freighter blasted forward a second before the missile could hit. It vanished with a luminous streak, flying faster than light.

And Ben-Ari knew its destination.

Another starship, this one a merchant cog, began to glow purple too. Ben-Ari fired. She took out one engine. But the cog streaked forward with three streams of lavender light.

Human pilots were trained not to bend spacetime so close to a planet. The reason now became clear. The gravity well and the azoth warp slammed together. Ships rocked. A few ships cracked open. Spacetime rippled like a sea at storm, cracking hulls, scattering the storm below.

For a second, Ben-Ari glimpsed the colony below. For the first time in its history, Haven Colony was not buried under chemical clouds. Anyone born on Haven, looking upward, would see the stars for the first time. That is, if anyone was still alive down there. The colony was burning. Then the storm regathered, burying the scene of fire and destruction.

A third ship managed to escape.

The Dreamer, Ben-Ari knew, was flying them to Earth.

And soon her beloved homeworld would look like the colony below.

She got back on her comm. This time she transmitted her words to the fleet around Haven.

"All police and military vessels! This is President Einav Ben-Ari. If you are able to fight—fight! If you have shuttles—evacuate survivors from the colony! Have hope. Humanity will prevail. Fight for humanity!"

She summoned her Chief Security Officer. The man approached, footfalls thundering. Lieutenant Colonel Lisboa was a tall warrior, hailing from Sao Paulo in Brazil. He sported dreadlocks, golden piercings, and tribal tattoos across his face. He was among humanity's finest warriors.

"Madam President!" He saluted. "Reporting to duty!"

"Colonel Lisboa, we have ten shuttles on this ship. And a full company of marines. Take nine shuttles. Fill them with warriors. Get down onto Haven. Defend the colony while I'm away."

The tall officer frowned. "Away, ma'am? Are you leaving on the Lodestar?"

She nodded. "My battle is on Earth. The war spreads there too. Godspeed, my friend."

Lisboa raised his chin and saluted again. "Godspeed, Madam President. I pray we meet again. In this life or the next."

The shuttles deployed, taking with them two hundred warriors.

Ben-Ari was sending them into the fire. Maybe to their deaths. Maybe to their mutilation, their transformation into cyborgs, eternally tortured. She was sending them to hell.

But her eyes did not dampen. Her shoulders did not slump. For many years, she had been a soldier. An officer. A leader in times of war. She had sent countless soldiers to their deaths.

The soldier's burden. To kill the few to save the many.

And now she was more than just a soldier. Now she led all humanity. This fledgling empire in a corner of the Orion Arm. This young species that had fought back alien invasions. That now might crumble under the terror of its own creation.

"Aurora, take us out of orbit," she said. "Then activate our azoth engines. Catch those rogue ships."

Aurora reached overhead with several tentacles. She turned dials and typed on dashboards.

Ben-Ari stood nearby, hands clasped behind her back. She had lost blood. She was weak. She was scared. But she stayed standing. So long as she could draw breath, she would fight for Earth and her colonies. She would make the difficult choices. She would be the best president she could be.

Perhaps I was never meant to live or lead in times of peace. I am a Ben-Ari, scion of soldiers. A war president.

Enemy ships came flying in.

She raised holographic controls. She fired. Missiles. Lasers. Trying to knock them aside. To win a war without killing. Knowing that with every strike, she was defending herself—and risking the lives of hostages. Her wars had never just been about killing the enemy. They had always been about the terrible choices. The scars on her soul. The burdens she still bore on her shoulders.

And she still stood tall.

And she still bore the burden.

Scars covered her heart. But that heart still beat for Earth. She was Einav Ben-Ari. President. Soldier. Wife and mother. The Golden Lioness and the defender of humanity.

"We're out of the gravity well, Pod Queen," Aurora said.

Ben-Ari nodded. "Engage our warp. The hunt begins."

Purple light filled the engines, shining through the cameras on the hull, illuminating the bridge. The stars stretched into lines. With streaks of light, the Lodestar blasted forward. Hunting the Dreamer. Racing to Earth.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In the morning, Terri came downstairs to a scene of chaos.

The family was in the kitchen, eating breakfast. Gobbling breakfast, more like.

It was madness.

Addy stood at the stove, frying hot dogs while dancing and singing Boney M songs at the top of her lungs. Butch stood beside her, flipping pancakes with his prosthetic hand, singing a dirty pirate ditty, trying to drown out his daughter's song. Meanwhile, Kai was racing around the kitchen on all fours, the twins riding on his back. The kids wore little cowboy hats and boots, spurring him onward. They squealed with laughter as Uncle Kai reared and neighed. Giga the android was smiling sweetly, bowing at everyone, pouring tea, and politely ignoring Butch's attempts to flirt with her. Addy's robo-dog, the one she had bought in London, was running in circles and yapping at everyone.

Marco sat in the center of the chaos, calmly reading a newspaper. Having been married into the Linden family for a few years now, he was used to insanity. He liked to think of himself as the man of the house. But mostly, he felt more like the only sane man in a mental institution.

Terri stood for a moment at the doorway, shyly observing the scene.

Addy noticed her first.

"Oh hi, Terri! Want a hot dog? Go long!"

She tossed a hot dog at the girl. Terri winced and ducked, and the hot dog flew over her head. The twins leaped off their uncle and ran to fetch it. Soon the kids were fighting over the morsel like dogs over a bone.

Marco pulled out a seat. "Ignore the crazy tattooed hot-dog-throwing Viking lunatic. Come sit down, Terri."

The girl bit her lip, scared to enter. Addy had given her a pair of old pajamas. They were pink, embroidered with unicorns, and a couple of sizes too large, but they looked comfortable enough. Terri took a hesitant step forward, glancing nervously at Butch and Kai. Both pirates looked intimidating, Marco knew. Like Addy, they were both heavily tattooed and scarred. Unlike Addy, they were male, and Marco wondered if men had hurt his daughter.

My daughter? he thought. Well, maybe. He still didn't know if that was true. But first they would eat breakfast. And he would calm down the girl. Then they would talk.

Terri finally sat down. She turned down Addy's offers of hot dogs, but when Butch served her pancakes, she ate them, and she drank a glass of chocolate milk.

"It's good," she shyly admitted.

Marco tried not to think about what all this was costing him. But he couldn't help it. Hot dogs, milk, pancakes, a bunch of mouths to feed—it added up. He couldn't wait to finish Dragons of Autumn and start selling some copies. Family breakfasts would be a lot sadder without food.

"All right, guys," Butch said. "Kai and I are heading back to the Falcor. You smashed her up pretty good, but we've been making good progress too. We'll have her flying again in no time."

"Why do we need the damn Falcor?" Kai said. "She's a piece of junk. Now that we got a Woolsworth …"

"It's not ours," Butch said, smacking his son on the head. "It belongs to Terri. Our thieving days are over."

"We stole those transistors in the town just yesterday!" Kai said, rubbing his head.

"Yeah, well, old habits die hard," Butch said. "We're weaning."

The pirates walked outside, bickering about who'd been stealing what.

Giga volunteered to busy the twins in the living room, reading them stories. They too left the kitchen.

That left Marco, Addy, and Terri. And it was time for another family meeting.

For a moment, they sat in silence. Terri nervously held her glass of milk, even though it was empty, as if seeking an anchor, anything to hold on to. She looked outside the window.

"I've never seen blue sky," she said softly. "I've never smelled fresh air. I've never seen the sea. Earth is beautiful."

"You were born on Haven?" Marco said. "Who's your mother?"

He still wasn't convinced this was his daughter. Maybe it was just a reader? A confused—or even deranged—fan? He would need some proof.

"My mother was Yulia Kozlova," Terri said. "She died last month."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Addy said and hugged the girl.

Marco thought back. He had lived on Haven in his early twenties. Since leaving, he had been trying to forget his time there. Those had been the worst two years of his life. And that was saying something. He did not remember Yulia.

"Addy and I were twenty-three," Marco said, beginning the story.

"Hey, I'm still twenty-three!" Addy said. "With a dozen years of experience."

Marco ignored her. "We were both fresh out of the army. Veterans of the Scum War. Do you know what we did in the war, Terri?"

The girl nodded. "I heard the stories. You're war heroes. You served under Lieutenant Ben-Ari, who's the president now! Your platoon infiltrated the enemy's homeworld, and you killed the alien emperor."

Marco sighed. "And when we came home, Addy and I were treated as war criminals. They said we destroyed an alien civilization. That we were murderers. They wanted to put us on trial. So Addy and I fled the planet. We moved to Haven. And … it was rough."

Addy placed a hand on his knee. She smiled at him sadly.

"We were homeless for a while," Marco continued. "We eventually found a rundown apartment, but we were poor. And … worse. We dealt with a lot of shell shock. I started to drink. I didn't sleep. I …"

He lowered his head, unable to continue. It had been a long while since he had thought of those dark days. The depression. The alcoholism. The loneliness. The slow madness building in the concrete jungle. The endless grind of poverty and despair. The addiction to sex, the one night stands, getting drunk and waking up in strange beds, and wanting to die. Until one night on a rooftop. Standing on the ledge. And an email to Ben-Ari, his guiding light. A redemption.

Marco had to wipe his eyes. He wondered what Terri had survived on that hellish world. How had she earned her scar? What terrors was she fleeing?

"Life on Haven is hard," he said. "I know you survived hardship too, Terri. I don't remember everything from my two years there. And I'm very sorry, but I don't remember your mother."

Terri pulled a photograph from her pocket. "Are you sure? This is her. Take a look. Maybe you'll remember."

Marco looked at the woman in the photograph. Red hair. Blue eyes. A smile that triggered an old memory.

Of course.

He hadn't known her name. He had met her during a drunken stupor. Had woken up the next morning in her bed. She had been kind to him. Had made him breakfast. Only for him to flee. He had been so scared of kindness, of human contact. So scared of everything. The shell shock had been like a cancer inside his mind, eating away his sanity.

But yes, he remembered.

He nodded.

"So it's true," Terri whispered. "Fifteen years ago, you were in love with her. And I was born."

Marco frowned. "Hang on. Fifteen years ago?"

Terri nodded. "I'm fourteen and a bit."

"Terri …" Marco's voice softened. "I only arrived in Haven twelve years ago. And left ten years ago. The math doesn't add up. I'm sorry."

Addy interjected, speaking through a mouthful of leftover pancakes. "Time dilation, dude."

"Huh?" Marco looked at her.

Addy gulped. "Time dilation. You know, time stretches longer or shorter depending on how fast you're flying, and how strong gravity is. It's why I'm six months older than you, even though we were born only two days apart." She took another bite and gulped. "You flew around a lot more during the marauder invasion. Back when you were flying across the galaxy to find the Lost Fleet, leaving my ass on Earth. Well, we've both flown a lot since Haven. Enough to account for the missing two or three years."

Giga poked her head into the kitchen. "She is right, senpai! I reviewed the logs of your flights, and it perfectly aligns with—"

"Get lost, bang bot!" Addy said, tossing a pancake at the android.

Giga smiled sweetly. "Happy to comply!"

Marco looked back at the girl. "Terri, would you be open to doing a paternity test? Just so we're sure?"

Giga appeared at the doorway again. "No need, senpai! I collected a sample of your DNA last night."

Marco gasped. "You did what?"

The android smiled sweetly. "From your toothbrushes! I already analyzed the data. I come equipped with a DNA scanner, you know. Terri is 99.98 percent likely to be your daughter, senpai. Would you like me to round that up?"

They all stared at Giga in silence, the news sinking in.

Then Addy threw a hot dog at the android.

"Go away, bang bot!"

"Happy to comply!" Giga said, returning to the living room.

For a moment, they were silent.

Then Terri rose from her seat, and tears filled her eyes, and she leaped into Marco's arms. He held her close, and she sobbed against him.

"Please don't send me away," Terri whispered. "Please, sir. Please. I'm so scared. My mother was murdered. And I'm so scared. Please help me. Please. Please."

Tears filled Marco's eyes too. He looked at this girl. This girl with a scarred face and one blind eye. This trembling, frightened child. He had barely survived two years on Haven. She had been there for fourteen years.

I vowed that my children would never suffer like I did, Marco thought. But you suffered, Terri. Maybe even worse than I suffered. I'm so sorry I was never there for you.

"You're safe now, Terri." He held her close. "I'm your father. And I'm here for you. You'll never be in danger again. I promise."

As he held her, Marco wondered if these were idle words, another promise he was doomed to break.

* * * * *

That night, when Terri lay in bed, she felt safer than ever before.

She had no bedroom of her own yet. The house was too crowded. She would be sleeping in Marco's office for now. The pirates had carried the couch inside, and it was soft like a real bed. The sea rolled outside, glimmering under the stars, and fresh air wafted through the window. Terri thought she would never get used to breathing fresh air, to seeing the sky.

But even more amazing than comfortable couches, clear skies, and fresh air was her new family.

The love they showed her.

They had made her breakfast. Given her a bed. Welcomed her into their lives.

For so long, Terri had been lost. She prayed that finally she had found a safe home.

Lying on the couch, she looked around at the moonlit office. A well-worn chair, its leather upholstery cracked. A wooden desk. A couple hundred books on shelves. On one wall hung a famous photograph, one of the most famous photographs from the wars. It showed Ben-Ari's Dragons, the platoon that had slain the centipede emperor. Ben-Ari stood at the lead, a young officer of only twenty years, wearing dusty fatigues, her rifle in her hands. Many other heroes were there: Lailani de la Rosa, Benny "Elvis" Ray, Addy Linden, and others. Every one a hero. And her father. Marco, only eighteen years old. Not much older than Terri was now.

I knew it was real, Terri thought. That my father is a hero. That he loves me.

Her eyes fell upon the computer on her father's desk.

Terri shivered.

The memory filled her. The creature emerging from her laptop. The blood spilling.

She rose from the couch, trembling, and approached the monitor. She tiptoed around it, sure she would see that hideous visage on the screen. But the computer was turned off, the monitor black. Terri covered it with a blanket, then returned to the couch.

She had not told anyone what happened. Not yet. Someday she would have the courage to speak of Mister Smiley. She would tell her father. But not until she felt a little bit safer.

Terri closed her eyes and slept.

* * * * *

In her pocket—a low hum.

A nearly imperceptible whir of microscopic machinery.

Deep in sleep, the girl did not hear.

The plastic token opened its black eyes and smiled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

They walked along the beach. Father and daughter. Collecting seashells in the dawn.

For a long while, they were silent. The waves washed over their toes. The sun sparkled on the water. They both held bags, filling them with treasures. Marco focused on seashells, but Terri seemed just as fascinated with stones. She collected dozens of the small polished jewels.

Marco saw a beautiful pink conch the size of a pear. He pretended not to notice, and he busied himself untangling smaller shells from seaweed. A moment passed before Terri noticed the conch.

"Ooh, look at this one!" She lifted it, and her eyes widened, and a smile split her face. "Is this one rare?"

She had a beautiful smile, Marco thought. It was her mother's smile. She looked a lot like her mother. The pale, freckly skin. The red hair. But there was something of Marco in her careful, solemn demeanor. In the way she moved, the way she observed the world.

"Very rare!" Marco whistled. "That's a beauty. I've been walking along this beach for years, and I've never seen a seashell that big. Beginner's luck."

Terri added the conch to her bag. She looked around at the golden beach, the sparkling water, the clear sky. A tear flowed from her one good eye.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered. "Earth is so beautiful."

Marco looked at his daughter. At the scar across her face. The blind eye. The stooped shoulders. She was a portrait of pain and loss. He thought back to his own days in Haven, how two years there had nearly broken him. And she had survived so much more.

"I'm sorry, Terri," he said. "For not being there. I missed your childhood, and I can never make it up to you. I can never undo what happened. But know that I accept you. That I love you. That I'll look after you."

She smiled. "Like pretending not to notice seashells so I can find them?"

He laughed. "Just like that. I forget that you're older than the twins. Not as easy to fool. Tell you what, Terri. I want to show you more of Earth. Where do you want to go today?"

She blinked at him. "Today?"

Marco nodded. "I own a spaceship, you know. Okay, more of a corvette. All right, barely larger than a shuttle. But the Falcor can reach space within five minutes. Butch and Kai fixed her. Once we're in orbit, we can reach anywhere on Earth in half an hour. So come on! You and I. A trip. Father-and-daughter bonding day. We'll be back for dinner."

"Addy said she's cooking hot dogs on a rake tonight!"

Marco cringed. "Maybe we'll come back after dinner."

Terri bit her lip, considering. "I don't know where I want to go. To be honest, I kind of just want to stay here. This beach is pretty darn perfect. But … Oh, never mind."

"What?"

Terri blushed. "It's stupid."

"Stupider than hot dogs on a rake?"

She laughed. "Okay, I'll tell you. I've always wanted to visit New Zealand. I watched The Lord of the Rings movies about a million times on my laptop. I used to dream of visiting the Shire." Her blush deepened. "Stupid, I told you. Those were just movie sets. They don't exist for real."

Marco nodded and began walking along the beach. "Perfect idea, Terri. We're going there right now. You and I."

She hurried after him. "Just us?"

"Just us. This is a trip for father and daughter."

Half an hour later, they were there.

A century-and-a-half after the movies were filmed, the Shire was still in New Zealand. It had once been a tourist attraction, a place for visitors to enter hobbit holes, dine in a fantasy inn, and live like hobbits. After the wars, the tourist attraction had closed down. But the place was still beautiful. The hobbit holes still peppered the hillsides, half full of soil and roots, their round doors overgrown with flowers. Birds sang and butterflies fluttered. In many ways, the Shire had become even more beautiful over time, an ancient wilderness of hidden fairies and lost legends.

The twins would have run around like crazy here—wrestling, laughing, rolling down hills, climbing trees. But Terri moved solemnly between the hills, peeking into the hobbit holes, pausing several times to draw the landscape in a notebook, or to write a poem. To her, this was hallowed ground.

Yes, Marco thought, she's definitely an Emery.

When they arrived back home, they found a boxing match in their living room.

The couches had been shoved back. Somebody had stretched out bungee cords, forming a ring. Addy and Kai stood in the arena, pillows strapped to their torsos, their hands in oven mitts. They were busy punching each other. Butch and the twins sat outside the ring, cheering. Addy's little robo-dog stood on the table, yapping at the fight.

"Get her, son, get her!" Butch cried.

"Beat him, Mommy, beat him!" the twins shouted, hopping.

Marco and Terri walked into the room. They stared.

"What the hell is going on here?" Marco shouted.

They all froze. Addy turned toward them and waved, the oven mitt flopping on her hand. She spat out a mouth guard.

"Oh hi, Poet!"

Kai waved. His face was bruised. "Hey, bro."

Marco gaped. "What are you doing?"

"We're bonding!" Addy said. "Sister and brother! We're still getting to know each other. Where were you and Terri?"

Marco blinked. "I told you. We were in New Zealand. Visiting the movie sets from The Lord of the Rings."

"See?" Addy nodded. "That's how Emerys bond. Doing nerdy shit nobody else cares about. And this is how Lindens bond! By beating the living crap out of each other!"

She swung a fist into Kai's face. The young pirate groaned, teetered backward, and swung back. Soon the two were busy pummeling each other.

Marco sighed. "Whatever. Just don't get any teeth on the carpet." He turned toward Terri. "Welcome to the family. It gets crazier every day."

Terri smiled shakily, her eyes damp. "I love it."

Marco looked at them. A bunch of nuts.

I love it too, he thought. Every last crazy moment in this loony bin. I—

"Addy!" he said. "Don't use the lamp as a club!"

He rushed into the ring, trying to wrestle the lamp free. Addy jumped onto him. The twins joined her, leaping onto Marco like little monkeys. Soon the entire family was wrestling, laughing, and destroying the house. Buried under the pile, Marco looked at Terri. She was laughing freely, light in her eyes, a new joy to her smile.

It was a good day.

These were good days. Days of love and light.

Until the shadow fell.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Marco was playing with his children when the ghost began to haunt them.

He didn't believe in ghosts. Which was strange, given that Marco had met aliens, time travelers, and beings from other dimensions. He supposed that ghosts were just one step too far. Even for him.

Yet he couldn't deny that something weird was going on.

It started innocently enough. Sam ran up to him one day, giggling.

"Daddy, Daddy!" the three-year-old said. "I saw a ghost in my room. It went: Woooo!"

Marco was busy at his desk, working on Dragons of Autumn. He felt guilty about closing the door while he worked. Especially what with his office now doubling as Terri's bedroom. Leaving the door open was only polite. Unfortunately, it also meant a lot of interruptions.

He smiled at his son. "There's no such thing as ghosts, Sam."

But the boy was insistent. "I saw one. It went: Woooo!"

Marco returned to his monitor. "Well, that's nice."

"Daddy!" Sam rolled his eyes and tugged him. "Come see the ghost."

Reluctantly, Marco stepped away from his desk. He was struggling to finish the manuscript. He desperately needed to start selling more books. They were down to their last few dollars. But when a toddler wants to show you a ghost, you drop everything and go see the ghost. First rule of parenting.

As he walked down the hallway, Marco heard Addy downstairs, shouting into her phone. "What do you mean a pirate attack isn't covered? What the hell do we pay insurance premiums for? The entire insurance industry was created for pirate attacks! Wait. Wait! Don't you put me on hold. Don't—"

The sound of items smashing came from downstairs. Marco hurried onward. He had already given up on getting any of his money back. Addy would have to concede defeat soon too.

Following his son, Marco stepped into the twins' bedroom. The window was open, and the sea breeze ruffled the curtain.

Sam pointed. "Ghost!"

Marco shut the window. The curtain stopped billowing.

"It's just a curtain, Sam." He ruffled the boy's hair.

"But I saw the ghost outside!" Sam said, crossing his arms. "It went: Woooo!"

Marco soon forgot about that incident. Financial worries constantly filled him. Distracting him from his work. Keeping him up at nights. He had suddenly found himself with three children instead of two. And with two in-laws staying with them. Eating. All of them always eating. The two pirates still hadn't found work, just talked a lot about someday opening a bar. Addy was barely holding things together between kids and relatives.

Financing all this? It was up to Marco.

And so he typed away. Sixteen hours a day, hunched over the keyboard. Trying to shut out the sounds of a bickering family, crying or laughing children, and that internal voice of anxiety that forever whispered in his mind. You're broke … You're going to starve … You'll be homeless like you were on Haven … Nope, Marco wasn't going to listen to any of that.

The next evening, Marco was putting the twins to sleep. As they lay in bed, he read them their favorite book: The Puppies of Telegraph Hill. Like most children's books these days, Puppies included interactive elements. On each page, the reader could tap the illustrated characters and hear them speak, woof, or meow.

"The puppies raced down the zigzagging streets of Telegraph Hill, but they slipped and began to roll!" Marco said. "Tap each puppy to hear him."

It was a favorite page in the Linden-Emery household. Marco had read this book several times. The puppies, rolling down the hill, always giggled and made the twins giggle too.

"I will tap Puppy Fuzz!" Roza said. She tapped the rolling little cocker spaniel.

The illustrated puppy let out a squeal of pain.

Marco frowned. What the—?

"I will tap Puppy Longears!" said Sam. He tapped a bloodhound.

The animal squealed. A sound of agony.

"They're hurting!" Roza said. She tapped another dog. Another. Sam joined her, tapping different dogs.

They all whimpered and squealed. But as the kids kept pressing the buttons, it sounded less like animals in pain. And more like humans in pain. Like humans being tortured. Begging.

Marco blinked. The nightmare seemed to have paralyzed him. He quickly flipped the page.

"That's enough, kids. The battery must be running low." He shuddered. "Funny how it distorts the sounds like that."

The next page showed an illustration of a fire truck. The puppies were stuck in a tree, and a ladder extended toward them. The fireman was very tall, very skinny, wearing tight wrinkly fabric. His face was noseless, earless, a crude face drawn with only the mouth and two black eyes.

Sam tapped the fireman.

A voice emerged from the book. "Hello! I'm Mister Smiley. Come and ride with me!"

The kids laughed. But Marco shuddered. He didn't remember the fireman looking like this, sounding like this. He flipped the page quickly. But the same figure appeared here, this time as a policeman standing by a police car. The puppies were in the back seat. The policeman had that same long, slender body, the same hideous smile.

Marco flipped the page. Again. Again. He was everywhere. The last page showed a hearse. The puppies lay inside, X's drawn instead of eyes. The undertaker wore black coattails and a top hat. He was very thin, very tall, and he stared from the page.

Roza tapped him.

"Hello! I'm Mister Smiley. Come and ride with me!"

Marco slammed the book shut. He must have picked up the wrong book. Or this was a prank, something Addy or maybe Kai had orchestrated. Or he was just so sleep deprived he was imagining things.

The twins groaned.

"We want more stories!" Roza said.

"We want Mister Smiley!" said Sam.

Marco shook his head. "No you don't. Now go to bed."

"Will the ghost visit us again tonight?" Sam said.

"I told you, there's no such thing as ghosts!" Marco said. "Now please go to bed."

As he was walking down the hallway, something caught the corner of his eye.

A pale, round face. Grinning hideously. Eyes like black sockets.

Marco's heart burst into a gallop. He spun toward the window. Nobody was there. It was only the moon. It hovered above the sea, bloated and pale, almost sickly. Its landforms barely resembled a face at all.

* * * * *

"Poet, I dunno." Addy chewed her lip. "I want to be near them."

They were in the bedroom, exhausted after a day of worries and work. The kids were asleep: Terri in the office, the twins in their bedroom. The two pirates were slumbering on the beach, empty bottles of grog strewn around them. It was past midnight. That bloated moon hung outside the window. Marco and Addy were awake in a sleeping world.

They were often up late. They never slept well. Veterans rarely did.

Most nights, Marco still dreamed of the wars. Watching Lailani thrust her claws into Elvis's chest, carving out the heart. Seeing Kemi strapped to a table, experimented upon. Losing so many friends in the tunnels of Corpus. Losing Anisha, his girlfriend from Haven, to alien claws. Trudging with Addy through the desolation of a gray world, facing a city of despair, and—

Marco took a deep breath.

Enough, he told himself. Again the memories were rising. He took antianxiety medication every morning since the war. He smoked weed most evenings on the beach, trying to calm his nerves. And still those ghosts haunted him.

"Marco …" Addy touched his shoulder. "Would you mind if I slept in the kids' bedroom again tonight?"

Marco gestured at the bedside table. "I put the baby monitor back in. We can watch them from here."

"I know, but …" She sat on the bedside and gnawed her knuckles. "I'm worried. Being away from them."

Marco gently pulled her hand away from her mouth. "Addy. First you were chewing your lip. Now your hand. You'll be bitten down to bones if you don't calm down."

"I bite things when I'm nervous," she said.

Marco nodded and gestured at tooth marks on his shoulder. "As I can attest."

Addy bit her lip, grinning crookedly. "Did I do that?"

Marco rubbed his shoulder. "You almost bit my arm off."

Addy licked her lips. "Nom."

"It hurt!"

She snuggled against him. "I'm sorry, Poet. I don't even notice biting you. I just get excited when you make love to me."

"You get hungry!" he said.

She pulled open a drawer, pulled out a piece of cake, and began to eat. "I'm always hungry."

"Addy!" He groaned. "Haven't we talked about your habit of hiding cakes in drawers around the house? We'll get ants!"

"Mmm, mmm! Ants are like sprinkles!" She stuck an icing-covered tongue out at him. Then she licked his cheek.

"Eww, Addy!" He shoved her away.

But she laughed. And this was good. This was like them in better days.

He thought for a moment. Better days? Maybe not. They had been born into war. Had never known anything but war. But among all the bad days, the days of fear and loss and pain, they had found joy. They had found love. And sometimes those angels seemed so fleeting in a world of such darkness.

I can survive any darkness so long as she's with me, he thought, holding his wife in his arms.

"I'll stay," she mumbled into his embrace. "I want to share this bed with you tonight. To make love to you. To feel safe again."

He kissed the top of her head. "I'm always here for you, Addy. Like you are for me. We look after each other. Always."

"Mmmm …" She nuzzled him. "That talk makes me feel all … hungry. Chomp!"

"Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder. "Not the biting again!"

She snapped her teeth. "Get ready. I'm about to bite you to shreds."

He cringed. "Lovely. I married a cannibal."

"It's not my fault you taste like delicious hot dogs!"

They undressed each other. And they were only heat, love, joy, two souls joined together. Marco remembered the first time they had made love. They had been only eighteen, two soldiers in a war, afraid and finding comfort in their shared passion. That was half a lifetime ago, but loving Addy had never lost its savor. She was more beautiful and wonderful than ever.

He lay on his back, sweaty despite the cold. Addy nestled against him, one leg tossed across him, her hand caressing his cheek.

"I'm glad to be back," she whispered and nibbled his ear. "My delicious hot dog."

She closed her eyes. Marco was stroking her long golden hair, marveling at how soft and rich it felt, when movement caught his eye.

It came from the baby monitor.

Marco looked. He narrowed his eyes.

The screen on the bedside was small, no larger than his palm. Grainy. Smudged with shadows. The night vision mode distorted everything, painting the twins' bedroom in eerie greens.

A figure seemed to be standing by the twins' bed. Tall. Skinny. All in black. It loomed over the sleeping twins. Bent over. A vulture preparing to feast.

What the hell? Marco thought, sure he was misinterpreting the smudged, dark images.

Then the figure raised its head.

A bloated white face stared at him. A face like the moon. The eyes were black craters. A crack formed a mouth, widening into a grin.

Mister Smiley, Marco thought.

He leaped out of bed, waking Addy and knocking her aside.

"What?" she said.

"The kids!" Marco shouted.

He was already running to the door. Addy grabbed a pistol from under the mattress and followed.

They burst into the twins' bedroom.

Giga took a step back from the bed. The android gasped and covered her mouth.

"Masters!"

The twins woke up, stared around with huge eyes, then burst into tears.

"Where is he?" Marco demanded, prowling the room. "He was here! I saw him!"

"Daddy, who?" Roza cried.

"Who did you see?" Addy asked, grabbing Marco.

Marco whipped his head from side to side. He checked under the bed. In the closet. Out the window. Like a parent trying to assure a child there were no monsters hiding at night.

But this time I'm the one who saw the monster, he thought.

He turned toward Giga. "Did you see anything?"

"I … I just entered the room, senpai!" Giga said. "There was nobody here."

Marco frowned. "How long ago did you enter? A second? A minute? Ten minutes?"

"Four minutes, fifty-seven seconds, and twelve milliseconds, sir," she said. "Counting from when my right foot crossed the threshold."

Marco took a few deep breaths. His legs were shaking. Giga had entered before Marco saw the figure in the baby monitor. Could he have just seen the android, not a monster after all? Did the baby monitor distort images so badly?

"Stay here, Giga," Marco said. "You too Addy."

He hurried back into the master bedroom and looked at the monitor again. But no Mister Smiley. He just saw Addy, his kids, and the android. Easily recognizable even on the small black-and-green monitor.

Could I have imagined it? Marco rubbed his temples. Am I overworked, exhausted, seeing things?

Marco returned to the kids' room.

"—doesn't exist!" Addy was saying to the twins. She was pale, and while her pistol was holstered, she kept her hand near the handle.

"But he does exist, Mommy!" Roza said.

Sam nodded. "Mister Smiley is real. He visits us at night."

"He brings us candy!" Roza said. "Mister Smiley makes us smile."

"There is no Mister Smiley!" Addy insisted.

"He lives in our book," Sam said.

"And in our dolls," said Roza.

The girl pointed at her shelf. The Victorian dolls Addy had given her still sat there. Faces wide, pale, and blank. Wearing their elaborate little dresses. Staring with eerily human glass eyes.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Staring.

"There is no Mister Smiley!" Addy said, louder this time. "And if you don't stop with this nonsense, I'm going to take away all your books, and your dolls, and I'll never leave your bedroom again until you're married. And even then I'll stand at the doorway."

So much for Addy sharing my bed again, Marco thought, watching her sit on Sam's bedside.

But maybe Addy was right. Maybe a baby monitor wasn't enough. Space bugs had nearly killed the twins. And the galaxy was full of far worse creatures than alien loan sharks. Creatures who perhaps knew of the famous Marco Emery and Addy Linden, war heroes, defeaters of alien civilizations. There were horrors out there who wanted to harm him. To harm his family.

"All right, everyone camps out here tonight," Marco said. "I'll take the floor. If any Mister Smiley arrives, we'll catch him."

He and Addy took guard shifts that night. Standing inside the room. One parent sleeping on the floor, the other standing with a gun. Giga stood in the corner in sleep mode, her eyes still open, staring blindly. Marco would have to contact the manufacturer about that bug.

Haunted books, creepy Victorian dolls, and an android that slept with her eyes open. Marco sighed. I miss the days when I only had to worry about pirates taking over my house.

As dawn rose, Marco wondered if the darkness was behind them. Or whether the true horror still lurked in the days ahead.

When he logged into his computer that morning, a mug of coffee at his side, he knew the answer.

* * * * *

The cup of coffee fell.

Ceramic shattered.

Hot coffee spilled across the floor. Marco didn't even notice.

He stared ahead at his monitor, frozen.

He closed the document. He opened it again. He stared.

No.

He blinked. He refused to believe.

It can't be.

But it was the right file. His manuscript for Dragons of Autumn. A manuscript that should be almost finished. Just a few last typos to catch. The novel he had been writing all summer.

Somebody had edited the document.

His story—a hundred thousand words of fantasy—was gone. No more elves, or dwarfs, or dragons. No more tales of heroism and honor. No more of his heart and soul on the page.

He scrolled down. And down. There was only one sentence in his novel now. One sentence repeated over and over, thousands of times.

MISTER SMILEY WANTS TO PLAY.

Marco took a deep breath. He closed the file again.

Panic tingled him, rearing at the gates. This wasn't just a novel for money. Not just a novel that could put food on the table. This novel was his triumphant return to his fantasy world, the follow up to his bestselling Dragons of Yesteryear. The novel fans have been asking about for years.

It was his heart. His soul. His art.

Just one sentence.

His head spun. His pulse raced. Cold sweat trickled down his back. But Marco still refused to panic.

"Backups," he whispered. "I have backups!"

When Marco had been fourteen, his home computer had crashed, taking with it his forty-thousand-word novella, a masterpiece in the making. Marco had been fanatical about backups since that day.

He plugged in his backup codechip, an electronic device no larger than a fingernail.

The file was there. Yesterday's version of Dragons of Autumn.

Marco exhaled in relief. He had lost a day of work, no more. He clicked to open yesterday's file …

And he stared.

His throat tightened.

No, it can't be. No. Please.

He scrolled down. That same sentence, over and over, replacing his work.

MISTER SMILEY WANTS TO PLAY.

He checked his backup in the cloud. Same thing. He checked the backup file he kept on his phone. Same thing.

Every backup—different timestamps, the same corruption.

And Marco realized: My novel is gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

There was no consoling her husband in the days ahead.

Addy watched, helpless, as he sank.

I can't fix this, she knew. All I can do now is be with him. Mourn with him.

And it felt like mourning. Like grief following a death in the family. He had not lost only a novel. He had lost a part of himself.

During the days, he did not work. He sat at the window, staring outside. Silent. Addy would walk softly into the room, place his meals on his table. He left them untouched.

At night, he did not sleep. He stood on the beach under the stars, staring at the black sea. Silent. Barely moving until morning.

Addy hugged him when he let her. When finally he came to bed, she held him all night. He did not make love to her. Did not say much. When he did sleep, he twitched and mumbled, caught in the throes of a nightmare.

"Marco, what do you need from me?" she whispered one morning.

He took a long moment before he spoke.

"Nothing," he finally said, voice choked. He left the house and did not return all day.

Addy spent the day handling the twins, Terri, her dad, her brother. Everyone was dealing with their own drama, their own traumas. With Marco gone, some days physically and most days emotionally, Addy tried to keep the house together.

She felt her sanity fraying.

After the sun set and Marco still hadn't returned, Addy finally had enough.

Rage rose in her. So he had lost his novel. So he was upset. That didn't mean he could just abandon her. Just run away. Leave Addy to juggle everything from chores, to cooking, to soothing Terri, to parenting the twins, to fighting with her family, and—

Addy groaned and tugged her hair, the stress overwhelming her.

"Dad," she said. "Kai. The kids are asleep. I want you to stand guard. One of you outside the door. The other outside the window. Armed."

The two pirates nodded.

"You got it, sis," Kai said, shooting her with a finger pistol.

Butch scratched his stubbly chin, drew his pistol, and winked at Addy. "Go find your husband. If he's cheating on you, kick his ass."

But Addy knew Marco wasn't cheating, wouldn't cheat, despite all her insecurities in recent years. Not even with the damn bang bot.

She knew where he was. Where he always went when he was most troubled.

It wasn't easy getting there by moonlight. Addy had to swim through cold, dark waters. She had always hated swimming at night. It felt like floating through space, lost without a jetpack, drifting off into the endless darkness.

She swam deeper, making her way around the cliff that thrust into the water. When the currents were strong, she turned around a stony tor, then swam into a cove.

A horseshoe of cliffs surrounded warm, shallow water. During the days, the water was turquoise, but under the moon it shone like a pool of molten silver. Addy's anxiety eased as she swam here. The moonbeams danced on the water, casting a million orbs of light. A secret beach lay ahead, nestled between the cliffs, forming a pale crescent. An ancient shipwreck lay on the sand, black and silver in the moonlight, like a fortress of fairies.

Shipwreck Cove. It had been precious to Marco and Addy for many years. During the long, cold journey through the land of the grays, they had dreamed of this place. It had given them strength. A beacon of hope. After the war, they had gotten married here. It was the purest place they knew. Their secret kingdom, safe from all the horrors in the cosmos.

Addy climbed onto the beach. It was a chilly night, and she wore only a bathing suit, and she shivered.

She saw Marco there. Sitting on the beach by the shipwreck.

She sat beside him. They stared in silence at the water for long moments.

Finally Addy nudged him with her elbow. "Hey, doofus."

He didn't react.

She nudged him again. "You're supposed to complain about my elbow sticking you in the ribs."

He lowered his head. Still he said nothing.

Addy groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Poet, stop bloody moaning!"

"I didn't moan!" he said.

"All you do is moan! Moan, and mope, and sulk, and pout, and brood, and drive me fucking crazy."

He finally turned to face her. "Addy, I lost—"

"I know what you lost!" She shoved him. "Boo-hoo, fucking disastrous, goddamn heartbreaking, I get it. I get it, Marco. But you know what? You have kids back home. Little twins who are asking where their dad is. And a daughter who showed up out of nowhere, who's scared and confused and traumatized. And me." Tears flowed down her cheeks. "Your wife."

"Addy!" He stood up, shedding sand. "Can't I have a few days, at least? A few days to mourn?"

"No!" She shouted, tears in her eyes. "You can't! Because you have a family. A family that might be in danger. I can't have you falling apart right now. I can't have you acting so … so … weak!"

He stared at her in silence. Anger filled his eyes.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "Because I'm not like the Lindens. Because I don't have tattoos all over. And I don't have piercings. And I wasn't in prison, and I'm not a thug. Because of that you think I'm weak?"

"I never said any of that! Don't you put words in my mouth, Marco."

He sneered. "Weak?" He laughed bitterly. "Weak? I faced armies in war, Addy."

"We both did! I was with you every step of the way."

"And when we came back, what did I do?" Marco said. "I took responsibility! I grew up! I got a job! I supported our family. I earned money. I put food on the table. I poured my heart and soul onto pages for years—to provide for you! Even with the fucking endless nightmares and shell shock, I did this. I built us a life. And then your family showed up, and they made me lose everything!" He was shouting now. "Everything I worked for! Everything I fought for!"

"Don't you blame me for this." Addy stepped closer, teeth bared, ready to strike. "Don't you talk shit about my family ever again."

"Your family did this!" Marco said. "They brought the loan sharks to our house. They caused us to lose our money. They made our children nearly die, and—"

Addy slapped him. Hard. So hard his lip bled.

He clutched his cheek. He stared at her, shocked.

"Good." She nodded. "Finally you're silent. Now you listen to me, Marco Emery. You listen very, very carefully. I love you. I've loved you since I was eleven years old. But you must never insult my family ever again. I know you think you're some martyr. Some heroic saint forced to live among the dogs. That you think my family is beneath you. Maybe we're not as educated as the Emery family. Maybe we're not as smart. We're thugs, yes. But dammit, Marco, my dad and brother have been spending every spare moment fixing the Falcor. Which you crashed! They've been spending the past few days with the kids—while you were here sulking. And I've been spending every breath, every heartbeat, struggling to care for our children. To keep our family together. I came to this beach because I love you. And I want you back in my life. But if you retreat, if you put up walls …" She wiped away a tear. "Then just get the fuck out of here. Walk along the beach and never return."

For long moments—nobody spoke.

Addy faced him, breathing heavily, tears on her cheeks.

Finally Marco broke the silence. "Are you done?"

She nodded.

Then Marco stepped closer. He pulled her into his arms. She resisted at first. Shoved him back. But finally she relented. She let him embrace her, and she laid her head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Addy," he said. "I love you. With all my heart. I'm sorry."

She shed tears onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry too. You lost something so important to you. To us. To our family. I wish I could fix this. I wish I could ease the pain inside you. I can't. But I can still be here for you. With you. Always. Your Addy."

The tide was rising as he held her. The water washed over their toes.

"I want to be strong," Marco said, his hands on the small of her back. "I want to soldier on. To start again. To come up with a plan. To protect everyone. I feel that burden every day. Ben-Ari leads humanity, and I struggle with a single family. I'm scared, Addy. I'm scared we'll lose the house. That we won't have anything to eat. That we'll be homeless and hungry like we were after the army. But this time with three kids to feed. But—you're also right. I'm being weak. I will be there for you. For the kids. We'll get through this."

She caressed his cheek. "We always do."

They were walking back toward the house, holding hands, when they heard the scream.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Marco and Addy burst into the house, dripping wet from their swim.

The scream still echoed in Marco's ears. Had pirates attacked? An alien invasion? Was the ghost back?

He saw the family in the kitchen. Everyone was awake. Butch and Kai stood with guns drawn. The twins huddled together, eyes wide. Terri stood at the table, trembling, her face pale. She almost seemed like a ghost herself.

"What happened?" Addy said.

"We heard a scream," said Marco.

Terri rushed toward him, shaking. Marco wrapped his arms around her.

"I screamed," the girl whispered. "I was watching the twins. With you away. And …"

Her trembling intensified, and she could say no more.

Addy frowned at her father and brother.

"I told you to guard the twins!" she said. "You—grown men with guns. Not a teenage girl."

Kai shrugged. "What, we gave her a gun!"

"Gave her a gun?" Addy cried. "She's a child!"

Butch snorted. "Ads, she's fourteen. You were shooting guns at eight."

"Yes, but Terri is an Emery!" Addy said. "She's not a savage like us."

Butch bristled. "Who you calling a savage?" He belched and began cleaning his teeth with a broken piece of glass. "Look, Kai and I just wanted a little break to watch the fight, that's all. You know we never miss boxing."

"I'll show you boxing!" Addy said, leaping forward with fists clenched.

"Enough!" Marco roared.

He was surprised at the volume of his voice. He was normally quiet among the Lindens, feeling almost cowed by their presence. But tonight he had lost all patience.

"Quiet, Lindens!" he said. "Or if you must fight, take it outside." He looked back at his daughter. "Keep talking, Terri. Tell me what happened."

The girl sniffed and wiped away tears. "It's probably nothing. Just my imagination. You know those creepy dolls in the twins' room?"

"They're not creepy!" Addy insisted. "They're adorable."

Terri gulped, still embracing Marco. "When I was watching the twins, I saw one move. I thought it was just the wind. But the doll moved again. It moved its head. And looked at me." She trembled. "I couldn't help it. I screamed. I woke up the twins."

"And interrupted our watching the fight," Kai added, twirling his pistol. Addy glared and grabbed the gun from him.

"I'll go upstairs and check it out," Marco said.

Addy handed him the pirate pistol. It was a heavy machine, sporting gears, hooks, tubes, and cannisters full of green liquid.

"Take the gun," she said.

Marco frowned at the contraption. "I'm not sure if this is a gun or a drug factory."

"A little of column A, a little of column B," said Kai. "If you need me, I'll be back in the living room, parked in front of the TV, catching the last round of the fight." He slapped Butch on the back. "Come on, Pops. We've got good money riding on this."

Marco stepped upstairs—partly to look at the dolls, partly to escape the family drama.

It's easier to lead a platoon than a family, he thought.

He paused outside the twins' bedroom, surprised to find a tingle along his spine. A cold pit in his stomach. Fear.

The image flashed through his memory. That face like a moon, gazing from the baby monitor.

I don't know who you are, Mister Smiley, Marco thought. He hefted the pirate gun, and the green fuel swirled through its cannisters. But I'm carrying a gun that can blow a hole through Moby Dick. And next time I see you, from hell's heart, I intend to stab at thee, motherfucker.

He entered the bedroom.

The window was open again. The curtains fluttered. For an instant, the curtains took the form of men, as if figures hid behind the fabric. Then they blew wider, ruffling like sails, revealing the night. The bloated moon hung outside the window, casting its light into the chamber.

Marco flipped the light switch. It didn't work. Moonlight it was.

He looked around at the shadows. Everything appeared to be normal. The bed was a bit messy. Books and toys were on the floor. Just the usual chaos. Giga wasn't here. While Marco had spent the day away, Addy had probably banished the android to the basement. Or sold her for scrap metal. She had often threatened to do both.

But the Victorian dolls were still here.

A couple dozen of them. Perched on the shelves. All staring at him.

Freaky little buggers, Marco thought.

He took a few steps across the room.

One of the dolls turned its head. Following his movement.

Marco stared at the doll. A pale girl, almost ghostly. Her eyes blue. She wore a lacy blue gown. For the first time, Marco noticed that the doll had sharp red fingernails. That she had teeth.

The doll grinned. A wide grin from ear to ear.

"What the hell?" Marco muttered.

The doll leaped off the shelf toward him.

Marco tried to dodge, but the doll was faster. She gripped his face. Her fingernails dug into him. Her little porcelain teeth sank into his cheek.

"Come and play!" the doll said, voice high-pitched and demonic. His blood stained her teeth. "Come and play, come and play!"

Marco grunted and ripped off the creature. The doll dangled from his grip. Her eyes blazed red.

"What the fuck are you?" Marco said, tossing the doll down.

She hit the floor face down. The head spun around, Exorcist-style. The doll looked at Marco, grinning. A tongue emerged to lick the blood off the teeth.

"Come into our world, Marco … Come and play …"

Marco aimed his gun, prepared to blast the possessed doll.

Before he could pull the trigger, more dolls leaped from the shelf. They landed on him. All laughing. Biting. Clawing.

Marco tugged at the hideous little things. They were surprisingly strong. Their nails and teeth drew his blood. He managed to rip one off, then kick its head. The porcelain skull cracked, revealing whirring gears and microchips inside. He hurled another doll at the wall, shattering it. Gears spilled.

But the creatures kept attacking. Wave after wave.

Marco finally managed to raise his gun and fire.

Liquid bubbled inside the transparent bulbs, then raced through tubes. A spark ignited. And furious green fire streamed from the gun.

The blaze was no wider than a pencil. But it lit the room and seared through a doll. Marco swept the gun in another direction, torching more dolls. Their dresses burned. Their bodies wilted, revealing the machinery within.

A few dolls scampered across the floor and grabbed Marco's legs. They bit at his ankles. He screamed, kicking at them, cracking them.

The door swung open.

Addy entered the room, eyes wide.

"Marco!" she cried. "I told you not to hurt my dolls!"

Marco was busy wrestling one doll that was pulling his hair. The little she-devil was laughing maniacally, clinging to his head.

"Your dolls are possessed!" he shouted. "I knew they were fucking possessed!"

"You leave my dolls alone!" Addy said. "You've always hated them, and—ah!"

A doll leaped toward Addy, jaws open to reveal bloodied fangs.

"Kill them, kill them!" Addy said.

They were everywhere. Marco tried to fire again. But the pirate gun was out of fuel. He swung it like a club, cracking a doll's head. Gears rolled. He kicked an adorable golden-haired doll. The petite angel slammed into the wall, lost her legs, and slumped to the floor. She began to crawl, grinning with a mouth full of fangs, clutching one of her severed legs as a weapon. More dolls scurried through the vents above, holding kitchen knives.

"What the hell is going on?" Addy shouted.

"I don't know!" said Marco. He lifted a chair and swung it, plowing through more dolls.

One doll landed on Addy's thigh and bit. She screamed, ripped it off, and clubbed another doll. One of the mechanical critters landed on her back and yanked her hair.

Addy roared, shook the dolls off, and drew her pistol.

She unleashed bullets across the room.

She had always been a good shot, the best in her platoon. Her bullets took out five dolls, shattering their porcelain heads.

But several remained. One scurried behind Marco, biting at his ankles, while another shoved his knees. Marco fell. His back hit the floor.

A doll swooped from a bookshelf, a hideous thing with a crackled head, her one eye dangling on a wire. The beast held a gleaming bread knife. Marco screamed. He reached out, managed to grab the doll, to hold her off. The knife sliced the air mere centimeters away.

"An eye for an eye …" the doll said, lowering the knife toward Marco's eyeball. She chuckled. "Soon the world will be blind!"

Marco squinted, pawed blindly across the floor, and found a disabled doll. He swung the toy madly, clubbing his knife-wielding assailant. Both dolls slammed onto the floor and began biting, clawing, and stabbing at each other.

Addy ripped dolls off, loaded more bullets, and shot the little demon. With a few kicks and swings of a bedpost, Marco finished the job.

A sea of Victorian dolls lay around them, smashed, their gears spilling across the floor. A few dolls still blinked. Others twitched. Sparks rose across the cracked porcelain bodies.

Butch's voice came from the doorway. "Bloody hell."

Marco spun around. The two pirates stood there, watching, eyes wide. Kai whistled appreciatively.

Marco frowned. "How long have you been standing here?"

"We came with Addy," Kai said. "We just wanted to watch. Hell of a show."

Marco blinked. "I was nearly stabbed to death! And you just watched?"

Butch slapped Marco on the shoulder. "Hell, son, you're the war hero who stormed the scum palace. Figured you could handle a few dolls."

Both pirates laughed.

Marco was not in the mood. He was covered with bites and claw marks—even worse than the ones Addy gave him. He had just destroyed his children's room. He had lost his novel. He was losing his sanity.

"I want answers," Marco said. "Now. Downstairs! Kitchen, everyone. Family meeting!"

Kai yawned. "Actually, I'm getting a little tired. I—"

"Family meeting!" Marco said, grabbing his brother-in-law by the arm. "Now."

Once more, they all met at the kitchen table. Marco and Addy held paper towels to their bleeding wounds. The pirates sat across the table, scruffy, tattooed, grumbling. The kids stared at everyone, silent. A pile of guns lay on the table, available for easy access.

Marco stood up, ignoring the pain of his injuries.

"Something is wrong," Marco said.

"A ghost!" little Sam whispered.

Butch and Kai glanced at each other. Both pirates shivered.

"I hate ghosts," Kai whispered.

Marco shook his head. "Not a ghost. A computer virus."

"A virus? It's a fucking demon possession!" Addy said. "You said so yourself!"

"I know," Marco said. "But hear me out. It's not a ghost like the kids think. It's not a demon. It's software. It only affects our electronics. I first noticed the virus appear in one of the twins' electronic books. The virus changed the sounds the characters made. It even changed some of the images on the page. It called itself Mister Smiley."

Everyone at the table shivered. Terri gave the strongest reaction. The girl gasped, pushed her chair back, and turned pale as a ghost.

Marco continued to speak. "That book contains computerized components. The virus infected them. It then affected our baby monitor. Replacing images. Rearranging pixels. Showing himself on the monitor. A tall, skinny man with a huge head and smiley face. A face like an emoji. This Mister Smiley virus infected my own computer, deleting my novel. Addy's dolls contain meticulous, mechanical clockwork inside their porcelain bodies. Somehow the virus managed to infect those machines too."

"I noticed it in the Woolsworth that Terri flew in with," Addy said. "I tried to take it for a spin. Sorry, Terri, but I couldn't resist! The Woolsworth kept shouting at me to begone, wench, lest he chastise me in town square. His words." She shook her head sadly. "Damn virus."

"That's just how most people react to you, Ads," Kai said. "Ain't no virus there."

Addy prepared to pummel the young pirate. Marco came between them.

"Kai, Butch, I want you to run diagnostics on your starship. Just to make sure the Barracuda isn't infected too."

Kai yawned. "Don't worry, buddy. The 'Cuda is fine. She uses alien computers. All pirate ships do. They run on Tarjan hardware instead of binary like human tech. Much faster. And more importantly, impossible for a human to hack. Earth ships have tried all sorts of tricks with us. EMP attacks, viruses, you name it. Nothing works. You can't hack a pirate. We use computers so alien we ourselves don't understand 'em." He barked a laugh. "Our dear old Barracuda is safe from our buddy Smiley."

"But the rest of this house is not," Marco said softly. "And maybe the rest of Earth is not. This virus seems almost … conscious. Aware. And evil. If this thing spreads off the island, gets ahold of military tech … My God."

Addy shuddered. "Is this the Singularity? Robert Prince wrote an entire book about this. The Singularity Sequence. He says there's a huge conspiracy across Earth and her colonies. The Illuminati are hiding evil artificial intelligence. The government is hushing it! And they're in cahoots with the Vatican! It's all in the book. Robert Prince signed my copy! When I met him, he touched my hand, and—"

"He's a hack, Addy!" Marco said. "We've been over this! Look, forget about conspiracy theories for now. We need to—"

"If you'll only read his books—" Addy began.

"I'm not reading his books!"

"Why are you jealous of Robert Prince?" Addy said.

"I'm not jealous of your boyfriend!" Marco shot back.

Addy snorted. "Oh, you don't sound jealous at all. Besides, so what if I have a tiny fan crush on Robert Prince? You bought a bang bot, and—"

"She's not a bang bot. She's a nanny!" Marco said.

"I told you to buy the Mrs. Doubtfire one!" Addy shouted. "I told you, but—"

"You were busy throwing your underwear at Robert Prince!"

"Enough!" Butch roared, rising to his feet. "Kids, shut up!" He gestured across the table. "Can't you see what you're doing to the girl?"

They all stared.

Terri sat curled up on her chair, trembling, tears on her cheeks.

Marco rushed to her side. "Terri, I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to take in. I know you came here to find a safe home. But I promise you, you're safe. You—"

"None of us are safe," Terri whispered.

Addy held her hand and spoke softly. "What is it, Terri?"

The girl lowered her head. And for a long time, she spoke. Her voice shook. Her tears fell. But she never faltered.

She spoke of the Smiley Challenge on Haven.

How he had become her friend. Her secret.

How Mister Smiley loved her. Listened to her. Took photographs of her.

How for a year, he entered her heart and mind. How he made her cut herself. How he watched.

How he threatened her. How he threatened to kill himself. How much he loved her with all his heart. Gave her candy. Gave her drugs. Made her cut a boy's eye.

How he killed her mother.

How she had fled.

"I ran from him here," Terri whispered. "But I think I brought him with me. That he came in my pocket."

She pulled a plastic sphere from her pocket. About the size of a ping-pong ball. It was yellow and painted with a smiley face.

Normally Marco would have thought it quaint. Now he shuddered to see it.

"What is it?" he said.

When he reached for the sphere, a blade emerged from the plastic mouth. It nicked Marco's finger. He pulled his hand back and sucked the wound.

"Mister Smiley gave it to me," Terri said. "Before she died, my mom smashed my computer. I thought she killed him. That this plastic toy could no longer harm anyone. But …" She burst into tears. "I was stupid! I lied to myself. To you! I brought him here. Inside this token. I caused all this. I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry …"

Marco and Addy embraced the girl.

"We're not mad at you, sweetheart," Addy said softly. "We're thankful you shared your story."

Marco inhaled through clenched teeth. "And we're going to destroy this virus. For what he did to you. All the trouble he caused here? That's nothing compared to what he did to you, Terri."

"We're going to shift-delete that motherfucker," Addy vowed.

Marco rolled his eyes. "Addy, don't curse in front of the twins."

"Motherf—" little Roza began before Uncle Kai slapped a palm across her mouth.

For a moment, everyone was silent.

Then laughter rose from below their feet.

Deep, distorted laughter in the basement.

Marco and Addy glanced at one another.

"It's him!" Terri whispered, cowering. "It's Mister Smiley. He's down there."

Marco grabbed a pistol. He glanced at his wife.

"Addy," he said slowly, "have you seen the android?"

She shook her head.

Marco groaned. "Motherf—"

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Marco opened the basement door.

A rickety staircase plunged into shadows.

The original construction workers had thought it crazy. A basement? On the beach? Impossible! You couldn't do it.

But Marco had insisted. He had grown up in bomb shelters in distant Toronto. He had seen alien raids. Had seen pods rain from the sky, burn cities. Had seen his own mother killed.

He would not live in a house without a bomb shelter. Especially not with kids around.

So the construction workers had dug deep foundations, cursing the weak soil. They had used pumps to remove ground water. They had poured concrete. They had formed a fortified basement below the house.

In the early days, Marco would come here often to clean, to check his emergency supplies, to replace expired rations. But over the past couple of years of peace, the family had grown complacent. They used the cellar now for storage. The exercise machine Addy had once bought and never used. Boxes of Marco's old paperbacks, still unsold—his boxes of shame, Addy called them. Broken furniture they had never bothered to throw out. Sundry other items.

And maybe, tonight, a killer robot.

"Giga?" Marco said, taking a step down into the shadows.

No answer.

The deep laughter was gone.

Marco tried the light switch. It didn't work. No surprises there.

Addy stood behind him, still inside the kitchen. She handed him a flashlight.

"Here, my noble hero," she said.

"Instead of a flashlight, do you happen to have a bazooka?"

"Sorry, Poet. I keep those in the basement. The flashlight will help you look for them. Do kill any psychotic androids you find on the way."

He kept walking downstairs, leaving Addy in the kitchen. He reached the last step and peered into a cluttered basement.

His flashlight illuminated years of junk. Furniture. Exercise equipment. Weapons. Toys. All coated with dust and cobwebs. A thousand shadows danced.

Before coming down here, Marco had slipped on his bulletproof vest. It was Addy's idea. Marco was very grateful now.

He took a step forward.

"Giga?"

The door upstairs slammed shut.

His flashlight died. Darkness flowed over him.

Marco cursed.

"Addy?" he said.

He heard her upstairs, pounding at the door. She was shouting something, her voice muffled. It was a thick iron blast door, an integral part of any functioning bomb shelter. The Lindens weren't getting down here anytime soon.

Pity. A family of insane berserker warriors could come in handy now.

Marco took another step into the darkness. "Hey, Gigs." He tried to keep his voice steady. "You here, girl?"

Silence.

Then—a creak. A snort. An almost organic sound.

Marco advanced blindly. He shook his flashlight, but the damn thing was dead.

"Hey, Gigs, you feeling all right?" he said, trying to sound calm while his insides trembled. "Sorry that Addy banished you into the basement. My wife is a cruel anti-droid racist and shall be spanked. Turn on the lights, and we can—"

The light suddenly blasted on, searing, blinding.

Within an instant, the light bulb exploded, and the room plunged into darkness again. But it was enough. Marco had seen her. The image was seared onto his eyeballs.

Giga had mutilated herself. Her synthetic skin had been carved open, forming a hideous grin from ear to ear, revealing her molars. She had attached tools to her body, forming a panoply of limbs like a Hindu goddess. A garden hoe. A pickaxe. A blowtorch. A chainsaw.

The deformed android clattered toward Marco the darkness, cackling.

"Die now, mortal …"

Her voice was demonic. Her eyes ignited in the darkness, searing red, drenching her body in crimson light.

No, not a Hindu goddess, Marco thought as she approached on many limbs. A spider goddess. A great mechanical arachnid.

Shrieking, the creature lunged at him.

Marco cried out, barely able to see anything in the dim red light, and fired his gun.

His bullet sparked against metal—one of Giga's new arms, formed from an axe.

Then the mechanical spider slammed into him. Both fell to the floor.

Her chainsaw roared. The whirring blade scraped against Marco's chest, lacerating his shirt and etching grooves through his bulletproof vest. Sparks sprayed, filling the basement with searing white light. Giga's mutilated face shone in the blaze, jaws opened wide, laughing, eyes bugging out.

Marco kicked hard.

His boot slammed into Giga's chest, knocking her back. She landed with a clatter of blades, then leaped back up, brandishing one of her arms—this one made from Addy's prized katana.

Marco fired.

Bullets slammed into Giga.

The sword swung.

Marco fired again. Again. The bullets didn't stop Giga. But they threw her off balance. The katana missed, slicing the air centimeters away from Marco.

"What do you want?" Marco shouted.

The insane android laughed. "Chaos. Suffering. Death."

"I've had enough of those!" Marco said.

He raced toward a shelf, found Addy's baseball bat, and swung for all it was worth.

The bat slammed into Giga and shattered, showering wooden shards across the basement.

Giga fell. When she rose again, her head was crooked, the neck cracked and wilting. Chunks of wood pierced her synthetic skin. But still the creature laughed.

"You cannot stop me. Humanity is doomed."

"Heard it all before," Marco said, swinging what remained of his bat. It was barely more than a stub.

From upstairs, Marco heard Addy and the others shouting, banging on the blast door. The damn thing was designed to stop a nuclear explosion. Marco had to do this alone.

The mechanical spider lunged again.

Marco swung half the bat.

It wasn't enough.

Giga plowed into him. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, ripping flesh. Marco howled.

Why the fuck do people keep biting me? First Addy, then the dolls—now this!

He punched blindly. He bloodied his fists. Giga grabbed him with her two original hands, shoved him onto the floor, and pinned him down.

One of the new arms rose, mounted with a drill. The creature tilted her head, grinned, and the drill began to whir.

"I will kill you slowly, human," she said. "I want to savor this."

She began to lower the drill.

Marco grimaced, struggling under her weight, unable to free himself.

A boom.

An explosion of light.

The bomb shelter trembled. The concrete walls cracked. Items fell off shelves. Smoke and dust filled the air.

Giga reared, screeching. Lying beneath her, Marco coughed. His ears rang. He turned toward the light, blinking dust from his eyes.

Chunks of the blast door clattered onto the floor. Addy came walking downstairs, a bazooka held over her shoulder.

"Turns out the bazooka was upstairs after all," Addy said. "Found it under the bed."

Maybe that blast door is designed to stop a nuclear blast, Marco thought. But, apparently, not a bazooka-wielding Linden.

"I love you," Marco said.

Addy blew him a kiss, tossed down her bazooka, and grabbed her hockey stick.

"Hey, bitch!" she shouted at Giga. "It's hockey night!"

Giga was curled up in the corner, limbs bent. The android's eyes flared. She shrieked and leaped toward Addy.

Addy swung her hockey stick.

It slammed into Giga's head. Gears flew. The neck cracked. Giga's head slapped against her shoulder.

But still the android advanced, spiderlike, hissing. Her head hung at her side, upside down. One leg was bent backward over her shoulder. Sparks rose from her nearly severed neck.

Addy fired a gun. Again. Again. Each bullet drove Giga a step back. Finally the android was on the floor, twitching, her legs scraping at the concrete. She could not rise.

"Die, humans!" the creature screeched, sparks flying from her mouth. "Die, die, die, die—"

Addy stepped forward. She aimed her pistol at the android.

"Bye, bang bot."

Her last bullet tore off Giga's head.

The mechanical eyes darkened. Giga slumped to the floor, dead.

"I loosened her neck for you," Marco said. "Half of that was from my bat."

Addy gasped at him. "You do not get any credit for this one, mister!"

"I did the hard part!" Marco insisted.

Addy sneered and clenched her fists. "I'll show you hard! A hard fist in your face!"

She stepped closer, growling, fists raised. Marco raised his own fists.

And then they were embracing. Kissing each other. Holding each other close in the ruined bomb shelter, in this ruin of their life.

"I love you too," Addy whispered.

Marco looked at the destroyed android. "Pity about the android."

"That's what happens when you make me jealous," Addy said.

"Hmm …" Marco tapped his chin. "Does that mean I get to beat Robert Prince with a hockey stick?"

Addy gasped. "So you admit it! You are jealous!"

"I'm not—"

"You said it!"

"Well, not of his books!" Marco stammered. "And not of his money. I mean, maybe a little jealous of how much you like him." His cheeks flushed. "You tossed your underwear at him, Addy."

She touched his cheek and smiled crookedly. "Oh, that was just some big underwear the size of a sail, meant for day-to-day use. But tonight, I'm going to put on that skimpy little red underwear you like. Especially for you. No bang bots or conspiracy theorists allowed."

The blood that had rushed into Marco's cheeks all drained, flowing elsewhere. "You are the most amazing woman in the world."

Addy nodded. "I know."

Something yapped in the shadows. Addy's little robo-dog ran toward Marco, eyes blazing red. The little robot bared its fangs. Marco kicked it hard, smashing it against the wall.

"I've been meaning to do that for a while."

They stepped back upstairs, careful to walk around the chunks of smoldering metal on the staircase. They reentered the kitchen. The kids were huddled in the corner, holding one another. The pirates were sitting at the table, dealing cards.

Addy pointed at the pirates. "You two! You are both useless!"

Butch and Kai looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"What?" Butch said.

She groaned. "You two are supposed to be these tough, intimidating pirates! And when Marco and I were fighting the dolls, you just watched. When we were fighting an insane android in the basement, you were playing poker!"

Kai shrugged. "Hey, sis, you're the guys who fought the scum, the marauders, the grays, and a ton of other aliens. I figured this shit was just usual in your house."

"None of this is usual!" Addy shouted. "You two are the worst pirates in the universe. Both utterly, utterly useless!"

Butch took a swig of beer. "So, you want into our game, Ads, or what?"

Addy paused, blinking. She tilted her head.

Kai pushed a seat back. "Come on, I'm dealing. Five-card stud. Sit your ass down, sis."

Addy seemed torn for a moment. Then she shrugged, sat down, and grabbed a beer. "All right, boys, I'm in. Ante up."

Marco stared, rubbed his eyes, then sighed. Truly, he had married into an insane asylum.

He approached his children, ready to comfort them, when he heard the engines outside.

He rushed toward the kitchen window.

Headlights beamed across the beach. The engines rumbled.

The Woolsworth—thirty tons of angry steel and fire—came roaring toward the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The heavy corvette roared toward the house, engines flaming, headlights blazing like murderous eyes.

"Run!" Marco shouted.

He scooped up the twins and leaped out of the kitchen.

He barely had time to see the others follow.

And then hell.

Fire.

The earth shattering and death howling.

With an inferno like a supernova, the Woolsworth plowed into the house, shattering the wall and destroying the kitchen.

Marco stood in the living room, panting, holding the twins. Both were shocked silent. Addy and Terri had managed to escape in time too. They stood beside Marco, covered in dust and scratches. A chunk of debris had hit Addy's arm, and her blood dripped. The pirates were nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, the Woolsworth was still. The stern was still outside on the beach. The prow filled the kitchen, covered in shattered glass and dust. Fire crackled around the corvette. A pipe had burst and sprayed the ceiling. The golden unicorn figurehead had fallen off, lay dented on the floor, its horn severed. The poker chips and cards lay everywhere, wet with blood.

Then the Woolsworth's engines roared again.

"Everybody, out of the house!" Marco said.

The kitchen wall had fallen, blocking his way to the back door. Instead, Marco ran across the living room, heading toward the front door, carrying the twins. Addy ran beside him, pulling Terri along.

"Dad!" Addy shouted. "Kai! Where the fuck are you?"

The roaring engines drowned her voice. The Woolsworth pulled back, then plowed forward again, destroying what remained of the kitchen. Its prow burst into the living room, barreling through furniture, tearing up the floor. Chunks of the ceiling collapsed. The living room was caving in.

The twins were screaming. Addy kept crying for her family.

Her dad and brother must have died in the kitchen, Marco thought. Oh God.

The Woolsworth turned toward him, ripping up the living room floor. The engines rumbled.

Marco ran, grabbed the front door, but struggled to open it. It was locked. The ship was racing closer, and—

Addy pulled him back. Marco stumbled several steps aside, clinging to the screaming twins.

The Woolsworth plowed through the living room wall, destroying the door, roaring out onto the beach.

And the entire house collapsed.

The windows sprayed shattered glass. A support beam crumbled. The ceiling fell.

Marco ran through the hole in the wall, hunched over, pinning the twins to his body. They were both screaming. That was good. That meant they were alive and strong.

Bricks slammed onto his back. Fire licked his legs. Something heavy hit his head. At least he was still wearing his bulletproof vest.

He made it outside, laid the twins on the sand, and turned back toward the house.

Addy had only made it onto the patio. She lay pinned under a fallen beam. Grimacing. Reaching out to him.

The Woolsworth stood on the beach. Slowly, the corvette turned around. Its engines belched smog, prepared to roar forward again. The ship hesitated, perhaps debating who to target next: Marco on the beach or Addy on the patio.

Marco wanted to run to Addy. But he also wanted to flee with the twins.

Oh God, Marco thought. Don't let me choose between my children and my wife. Oh God, please.

"Go get Addy, Dad!" Terri shouted. "I'll take the twins!"

Horrible guilt filled Marco. For a moment, during the battle, he had completely forgotten about Terri. His own daughter.

He would deal with that guilt later.

Right now, his heroic Terri grabbed the twins from him. She began running with them, heading toward the water. Perhaps the sea would protect them from the insane Woolsworth.

Marco's head spun. But he would contemplate the ethics of this situation later. Right now, he ran toward the wreckage of the house. Toward his wife.

Thankfully, the corvette began to chase him, not his kids.

He knelt by Addy.

She still had her bazooka, he noticed. She was clinging to it, even as she lay trapped under the beam. She gave him a weak smile. She pushed the weapon toward him.

The Woolsworth came racing across the beach.

Marco turned to face it, shielding Addy behind him.

He fired the bazooka, then knelt, covering Addy with his body.

An explosion rocked the beach.

Shrapnel pattered down around him. Fire blazed everywhere. Smoke filled his lungs.

He couldn't see. He still heard engines. The Woolsworth wasn't dead. But maybe it needed a moment to recover.

Right now, Marco needed that moment to save his wife.

He strained, pulling on the beam. He groaned. It was so heavy he could barely move it.

His back ached. His muscles screamed.

He kept lifting.

He pulled the beam off Addy.

She lay among the ruins of their home, hair singed, bloody and bruised. But still smiling.

"I loosened him up for you," she said.

Marco helped her to her feet. She took a hesitant step and winced. But nothing seemed to be broken.

"We're not out of the woods yet, I think," Marco said.

They stepped over debris and through smoke. They emerged onto the beach.

The kids were still alive. Terri was holding the twins, standing in the shallow water, as if the sea could save her.

The corvette was there on the beach. Facing the ruined house. Waiting for Marco and Addy. Peering at them with cracked headlights.

The rocket had badly damaged the Woolsworth. The prow was gone, exposing its mechanical innards. The front viewports had shattered. A wing was gone. The other wing was cracked. It wouldn't be flying anytime soon. Fire burned within the interior.

But the ship's engines still rumbled. One headlight still worked, beaming at Marco and Addy. The machine could still kill.

A deep voice emerged from the smoking vehicle.

"Worship me!"

Addy flipped it off. "Worship this."

The engines revved. Smoke rose from the ship. The engines were whirring faster. Faster. Marco could see mechanical arms moving within, repairing broken parts. Within seconds, the machine would plow toward them again.

And the bazooka was out of rockets.

Marco never removed his eyes from the burning corvette. But he spoke to his wife, voice soft.

"Addy, I'll draw its attention. Run and grab the kids. Then make for the Falcor."

She glanced to the right. Their loyal starship, which had served them through years of war, was docked a hundred yards inland atop a hill.

"It's a long run," she said.

"You're a faster runner." Marco hefted his pistol. "I'll keep this asshole off you."

The Woolsworth's engines gave a great roar.

"Run!" Marco shouted and fired his gun, pounding the corvette with bullets.

Addy ran toward the kids.

Marco ran the other way, firing over his shoulder.

"After me, dickhead!" he shouted at the possessed starship. "Come get me, you son of a bitch!"

But the corvette turned. It began to chase Addy instead.

To race toward her and the screaming kids.

Marco fired again and again. Piercing the exposed machinery.

"Come on, asshole!" he howled. "Come on, or I'll keep firing into your ass!"

He released an empty magazine, loaded a fresh one, and more bullets sparked against the Woolsworth. One managed to hit an engine, and fire blazed.

Mere meters from Marco's family, the corvette stopped. It turned, screeching, showering sparks. It faced Marco, then came roaring toward him.

Relief flooded Marco. Maybe he had just saved his family.

"Addy, run!" he cried. "To the Falcor! Get out of here!"

She was running to the hill, taking the kids with her.

Survive, Addy, Marco thought, tears in his eyes. Live. I love you. Goodbye.

He stood on the beach, firing his last bullets, prepared to give his life for his family.

Then he saw it.

His heart shattered.

The Falcor rose from the hill.

Addy and the kids had not yet reached it.

The small starship hovered before Marco's family. Its guns unfurled. Its headlights turned yellow. Beaming like the eyes of a smiley face.

Marco had never known more fear.

Both ships—infected.

My family—they will all die.

No. No!

Then I go down fighting.

Marco howled and ran at the two starships, emptying his last magazine.

From above—beams of light.

New engines roared.

A laser beam pierced the clouds and slammed into the Woolsworth.

The infected corvette exploded. Pieces flew everywhere, littering the beach. Shrapnel kissed Marco's arm with searing pain.

He stared up. And he laughed and cried with relief.

She emerged from clouds of smoke. The Barracuda. Butch and Kai sat on the bridge, grinning through the portholes.

"The Falcor!" Marco shouted, pointing.

His infected starship was rising higher, guns blazing. Addy knelt on the hill mere meters away, cowering behind a tree, shielding the kids with her body.

The pirate ship shot another laser beam.

It hit the Falcor.

That ship too exploded.

Addy grimaced, shielding the kids, as shrapnel pattered down everywhere.

Sparks glided like fireflies. Marco stood on the beach. An ugly gash bled on his arm. Both infected ships were dead.

He ran.

He ran to his family.

He scooped Addy and his children into his arms.

They all hugged and cried together.

"We lost everything," Addy whispered.

Marco shook his head. "No. We survived. Our family survived. We have everything that matters."

The Barracuda descended. The rickety pirate ship creaked and belched smog. It thumped onto the beach, and the two pirates emerged.

Kai strutted toward them. "So … who's useless now, huh?"

Butch thumped his chest. "Not us! Not the two most badass pirate warriors in the Milky Way!"

Addy embraced them. Her legs still shook, and her cheeks were damp. "You two are wonderful. I love you."

Kai winked at Marco. "Told ya, bro. Alien tech. Ain't no computer virus infecting the good ole 'Cuda."

The family gathered together on the beach. The house smoldered. For a moment, they were silent, just breathing, composing themselves.

Addy finally broke the silence. "Terri? Can I have that little plastic smiley face?"

The girl nodded, took the plastic token from her pocket, and surrendered it.

Addy tossed the plastic ball into the air, drew her pistol, and fired. The token shattered into a thousand pieces.

"That takes care of that," Addy said.

But Marco knew she was wrong.

The virus had spread. From the token to the house. To the starships. To his computer.

His computer had been online.

"What if it's everywhere?" he said.

The family huddled closer together. Even the pirates shivered.

"Look!" Terri said, pointing across the sea. "What's that?"

They stared toward the mainland, and Marco's heart sank. A red glow shone on the horizon. He could smell distant smoke.

Greece was burning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Lodestar stormed through hyperspace, chasing three ships that could destroy mankind.

Einav Ben-Ari stood on the bridge. Seeming to float in darkness. Staring ahead.

For days now, they had been flying. They were almost at Earth.

And for the first time in years, Ben-Ari felt true fear. The kind of fear that turned your stomach to ice. That made your bones feel like glass.

I am the fifth president of United Earth, she thought. Oh God. Don't let me be the last.

Her hand reached to her necklace. She wrapped her fingers around her medallion. A small Star of David, handmade from silver. Her father had given her this jewel thirty years ago. She had worn it into battle. While sworn into the presidency. During childbirth. Her lucky star. Her own personal lodestar.

May this star light my way now too.

Earth—still another light-year away.

Ahead of her—two hijacked starships, carrying the virus, hurtling toward the planet.

Inside Ben-Ari—the terror.

Not just for the billions this time. Not like the other wars, fighting for a species, a civilization. This time, Einav Ben-Ari, the Golden Lioness, was also fighting for a young boy. For a child who missed his mother. For a child she was desperate to hug.

I'll be home soon, Carl. My beloved son.

"Give us more speed, Aurora!" Ben-Ari said.

The Menorian swiveled toward her, her eight tentacles busy at eight workstations.

"We're swimming through the dry sea faster than a starving barracuda on a last hunt," the mollusk said. "We chase mere freighters. We should have caught them many turns of the tide ago. Some strange magic drives them onward at impossible speed."

"Impossible for us, maybe," Ben-Ari said. "But not for the Dreamer. He must have reprogrammed their engines. Figured out a way to squeeze out more speed from a warp drive. We need to know what he's doing." She clenched her fist. "Those freighters must not reach Earth before us! They will either infect Earth with their virus—or plow into the planet like asteroids. Either case will destroy the world."

She imagined the virus aboard the freighters, swarming through the computers like an infection through flesh. Images from Haven flashed through her mind. Airplanes crashing. Cars mowing down fleeing civilians. Chaos. Death.

He must not reach Earth.

She stared at the distant specks of light. Starships moving too fast. Too far.

The Lodestar was falling behind.

"Aurora, do whatever you can!" Ben-Ari said. "Move power from everything but life support. Turn off the shields. Jettison extra weight. I don't care what you do—just give me more speed."

"But Pod Queen!" Aurora said. "We're moving at top speed already. Whatever physics the Dreamer is using is beyond me."

Ben-Ari stared ahead. Three distant specks of light. Carrying the secrets of impossible speed.

"If only I could infiltrate one of those ships," Ben-Ari mumbled. "I could disable them from inside. I'd give my left leg for a Star Trek transporter."

She frowned, tapping her chin.

Wait a minute. I don't have a transporter. But maybe there's still something I can do.

"We have a wormhole generator on this ship," Ben-Ari said.

"Your own mate invented it," Aurora said.

"Yep. An Isaac Wormhole. Just wide enough to send digital signals back and forth. But what if we could generate a wider wormhole? A wormhole leading from the Lodestar onto an enemy ship? We don't know how to create wormholes large enough for starships. But what about a wormhole large enough for a person? I could infiltrate the enemy freighters. I could stop them."

"But Pod Queen!" said Aurora. "The energy required for a wormhole large enough to fly through is colossal! More energy than in most stars! Only the ancients could build wormholes more than a few atoms wide. We don't have the science. Maybe someday we'll explore those depths, but we're many turns of the tide away from such a breakthrough."

Ben-Ari cursed, pacing the bridge. "Okay, here's another idea. We have an azoth engine aboard the Lodestar. Large and powerful enough to propel a frigate-class ship like this."

Azoth crystals were extremely rare, mined only on the alien moon Corpus. Azoth crystals could bend spacetime, making FTL travel possible. During the old wars, enemy starships would purposefully target azoth engines, leaving ships stranded in interstellar space. In recent years, Ben-Ari had insisted that every starship carry a backup azoth crystal, cost be damned. It was a starship's version of a spare tire.

A spare tire that costs more than the budgets of some countries, Ben-Ari thought wryly.

"Yes, Pod Queen," Aurora said. "But attaching a second engine won't help us go any faster. We are moving at maximum warp speed for our mass."

"And that mass is enormous," Ben-Ari said. "And mass slows a ship down. Even in warped spacetime. But if we could attach the spare engine to a shuttle, to a tiny vessel no larger than a sedan … Such a powerful engine, propelling so little mass, would deliver incredible speeds. It's why Firebird starfighters must be so small. They need the speed."

She would have killed for a Firebird, the legendary starfighters of humanity. Those would outfly the Dreamer. But unlike her predecessor, the Lodestar II was a civilian vessel, not a Human Defense Force warship. She came with simple shuttlecrafts in her hangars, not machines of war.

"I am running the math, Pod Queen," said Aurora, typing on another workstation. "Yes, attaching the spare engine to a shuttle will greatly increase your speed. You will move faster than the freighters."

Ben-Ari nodded. "Excellent! So that's the plan. I'll fly over in a shuttle. I'll infiltrate the freighters. I'll—"

"Pod Queen, I am sorry," Aurora said. "You will only fly one percent faster than them. They will reach Earth before you can reach them."

Ben-Ari cursed. "What if we strip down the shuttles? Remove the furniture, the shields, cut down the mass?"

"I am sorry, Pod Queen, but I ran the formulas again. The freighters will reach Earth in two hours. To catch them so soon? Only with a shuttle that weighs less than two hundred and seventy pounds. Of course that is impossible. The shuttle chassis alone weighs more."

Ben-Ari bit her lip. "Check the ship's logistics files. How much does a spacesuit weigh? Complete with helmet, a fueled-up jetpack, oxygen tank, and plasma rifle."

Aurora scrolled through data files. "A hundred and twenty-seven pounds, Pod Queen."

"Which leaves us a hundred and forty-three pounds to spare." Ben-Ari nodded. "Forget the shuttle. We can make this work, Aurora."

Moments later, Ben-Ari stood in the Lodestar's hangar. She wore an armored spacesuit, the black fabric skintight yet strong enough to stop bullets. Her helmet topped her head, and a plasma rifle hung at her side. Once more, she was a soldier. The most famous soldier in humanity.

Funny, she thought, taking a few steps to test the spacesuit. This same suit used to be a little loose. Now it clings to my hips, clutches my thighs like goblin fingers, and presses against my belly, perhaps wondering where my abs went. She sighed and stroked the hardened fabric. Motherhood and aging, dear old friend.

At thirty-seven, a mother and president, she was a little slower than that brash twenty-year-old lieutenant who had stormed alien strongholds. But she had lost none of her dedication, none of her love of Earth.

She slipped on her jetpack. The regular engine had been removed. The spare azoth crystal—no larger than a stick of gum—was installed there instead. Ben-Ari was wearing a jetpack powerful enough to fling a frigate the size of a skyscraper across the galaxy.

She was prepared to open the hangar, to jump out into space, when she hesitated.

She took a step back and lifted her helmet's visor. She raised her prosthetic arm. It had been badly damaged fighting the Dreamer, but her ship's engineers had repaired it. She tapped a button, and a holographic screen emerged from the limb.

Ben-Ari knew she shouldn't open a wormhole now. Not even an atomic one. It used too much of the Lodestar's energy. Besides, she had no time!

But right now, she was afraid. She needed to see them. She kept thinking of the dead children on Haven. She needed her family now.

Another weakness of growing older? she thought. No. A new strength.

She tapped another button. The Lodestar thrummed as her wormhole generator emerged from the prow.

And then Ben-Ari was connected to Earth. She was calling home.

And home answered.

She looked at the holographic screen, and tears filled her eyes.

"Mommy!"

Carl came running toward the screen, a beautiful boy with dark hair and wise eyes. The home was full of plants, sunlight, and joy. After their wedding, Ben-Ari and Noah had built this house on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Her country had fallen in the Alien Wars. Israel, her homeland, was no more. But Ben-Ari had chosen to live among the ruins, the memories. To bring some life and light back to the land of her forebears.

Life. Light. Love. These were what filled her house on the holy mountain of Zion.

"Carl!" she said, reaching out to him, smiling through her tears.

The boy bounced in the holographic screen. "I miss you, Mommy. I love you sooo much. Are you coming back soon?"

Ben-Ari nodded, tears flowing. "Yes, sweetie. I'm coming back to you very very soon."

Her husband appeared on screen, smiling. God, she had missed his smile. His face was olive-toned, kindly, and warmth filled his dark eyes. He was in his fifties now, and silver streaked his black hair, and he had begun to wear small reading glasses. He was the smartest, wisest, most wonderful man Ben-Ari had ever known.

"Einav!" he said, smile widening. But she saw the worry in his eyes.

"Noah." She caressed the hologram. "I have to go on a mission. A red rose mission."

It was the code word they used around Carl. Red rose. Danger.

Her husband's eyes softened. "I love you, Einav. I know that doesn't help, but—"

"It helps." She nodded and sniffed. "It helps a lot. I love you, Noah. I love you, Carl."

"I love you, Mommy!" the boy said.

She looked back at her husband. She wanted to tell him so much. What had happened on Haven. The mission she had to take. The fate of Earth if she failed.

But he knew. He was Minister of Science with top security clearance. He would have read the security briefings she had been sending the generals.

He understood. And he was there for her. Always.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

"Goodbye, Einav," Noah said, his eyes so kind.

"Bye, Mommy!" Carl waved. "Bye-bye!"

After she hung up, Ben-Ari wondered what this goodbye meant. Goodbye until tomorrow when she landed on Earth? Or another sort of goodbye?

She pulled her visor shut.

Maybe having a family, having loved ones, had weakened her. In the old days, she would have leaped into battle without hesitation. Happy to give her life for the cause. But she had been so young. So alone.

At thirty-seven, a wife, a mother, the leader of humanity …

The fear had never been greater.

She tightened her lips and strode through that fear.

She opened the Lodestar's airlock, and she jumped out into space. She flew through the darkness, chasing tiny distant lights.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Ben-Ari flew through space, a lone woman in a spacesuit, her jetpack thrumming.

She was still near the Lodestar, gliding just above the frigate. She was still inside the Lodestar's warp bubble. The starship's mighty engines were glowing, bending spacetime, bathing her with lavender light. All around, the stars appeared as streaks of light.

But directly off the Lodestar's bow, Ben-Ari could see them. The lights of distant engines. There they were. The three hijacked freighters—with the Dreamer at the helm.

"You wanted me to come and play," Ben-Ari said softly. "Play time is about to begin."

She glided higher, emerging from the Lodestar's warp bubble.

The starlines vanished, slamming back into points. Space darkened, losing that deep purple hue that flowed across warped spacetime. Ben-Ari took a few deep breaths from her oxygen tank.

She was floating in regular spacetime now, a light-year from the nearest star. With searing white light, her flagship streaked ahead, leaving her behind. Within seconds, the Lodestar was millions of kilometers away.

Ben-Ari couldn't help but remember. The war with the grays. Being stranded in space, floating through the debris of battle. Escaping by the skin of her teeth.

She tightened her lips.

No fear now.

She pretended she was back aboard the Lodestar, standing on her bridge. That the stars around her were merely images in viewports.

She reached for the switch on her jetpack.

"Here goes," she said. "Give me speed and don't blow me up."

She flipped the switch.

Inside her jetpack, the azoth engine activated. An engine powerful enough to move starships, to destroy worlds. Strapped on to her back.

It shone lavender, blinding her.

The engine thrummed.

Reality bent.

Ben-Ari cried out. The forces seemed to be crushing her skull. Then stretching her out like a woman on a rack. She had never experienced spacetime warping so hard.

She was a little girl, sitting in her bedroom, spinning a top. "Where is Mommy? Why isn't Mommy coming home? The funeral is over!"

She was an old woman, hair silver and back bent, collecting dandelions on a hill. Sharing dandelion tea with a woman with curly dark hair. Perhaps a granddaughter.

She was a soldier, storming through war. Navigating the tunnels of Corpus. Facing nightmares.

She was a wife. Radiant. All in white. Marrying on a golden beach, her friends at her sides.

Her body was a kilometer long. It could fit into a thimble. She was four dimensions, then two, then a point, then expanding through consciousness and time.

And she gazed into the future.

Gazed into the distant years beyond her death. The distant reality across the intergalactic darkness.

She saw … creatures. Aliens. Gray and enormous, stretching out tentacles. Squids. Huge squids of the depths. But not like the soft animals of Earth. Bones moved in their bodies, made of iron and stone, and their white eyes stared at her, and their fangs tore into human flesh.

They were vast. They were endless. There were billions of them. Swarming. Vowing destruction.

The words echoed in Ben-Ari's ears. Words she had heard in the Dreamer's lair. Words the electric tree had spoken.

You do not know the dangers in the dark. You need me.

Her jetpack's warp bubble finally formed.

Ben-Ari slammed back into reality.

She blinked, gasped, and shed tears.

A small bubble of warped spacetime engulfed her. She was charging forward. Her HUD displayed her speed. She was moving twenty times faster than the Lodestar could.

The experiment had succeeded. She had an azoth-drive jetpack. But she had not been ready. Not for time and space to take her on that journey. To show her those horrors.

She was traveling faster than she had ever flown. She blazed over the Lodestar, leaving her frigate in the dust. The specks of light ahead grew larger, brighter. They revealed their true forms: the engines of enormous cargo freighters, starships even larger than the Lodestar.

Perhaps these gargantuan vessels didn't plan to infect Earth with the Dreamer's virus. Perhaps the Dreamer was already there, carried by the rogue Woolsworth. But these freighters showed no signs of slowing, not even as they approached the solar system. At this speed, they could plow into Earth like doomsday asteroids, wiping out cities. Maybe all life.

Ben-Ari had to stop them.

As she charged forward, she clutched her jetpack's handlebars. Instinctively, she was preparing to dodge missiles. She forced herself to relax. Those were civilian freighters, built to haul food and water to Haven. They didn't have cannons. Unless the Dreamer somehow had figured out how to build guns within the past few days, she—

Lights streaked ahead.

Torpedoes came firing from the freighters.

Damn it!

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. She fed parameters into her arm. It spit out holographic reports, calculating the torpedoes' speed.

They were only seconds away.

And there were a bunch of them, spreading out.

Damn.

Ben-Ari tapped buttons, calculating flight paths. There was no way to avoid their trajectory.

Thankfully, they appeared to be crude missiles. Mere rods of metal. They didn't seem to have any engines, any heat-sensors. The Dreamer must have slapped them together from spare parts—or at least forced the crew to.

Ben-Ari narrowed her eyes, loaded her rifle, and charged headfirst toward the barrage.

Ten seconds before hitting the volley, she opened fire.

A bolt of plasma flew, grazed one missile, and diverted its trajectory.

Nine seconds.

She fired again. This time she hit a missile head on. The metal rod spun madly, taking out two of its neighbors.

She fired again. Again. Taking out a few more missiles.

But at least a dozen still flew. A second away.

Ben-Ari cringed, pinned her arms to her sides, and barrel-rolled.

She passed between two missiles. One flew so close it nearly grazed her helmet.

I made it through. I—

Ahead, she saw them. A split second away. More missiles.

Ben-Ari swerved ever so slightly. A rocket flew above her, missing her by millimeters. She veered again. Two more missiles—one directly above, one below. One grazed her boot, slicing off the sole.

One last missile remained, flying right at her.

Ben-Ari aimed her rifle and fired.

The missile exploded only a second away. She plowed through the debris, emerging from the other side with shrapnel embedded into her armored suit.

Ben-Ari breathed out in relief. She kept flying, her path to the freighters cleared.

The three enormous starships loomed before her, their engines glowing like purple nebulae. Bubbles of warped spacetime shimmered around them. Ben-Ari slowed down, adjusted her handlebars, and flew into their warp bubble like a needle into a womb.

Ahead in the distance, Ben-Ari saw a yellow star. The most beautiful star in the galaxy.

Sol.

The sun.

Beside it, almost invisible from here—a pale blue dot.

Earth was near. At this breakneck speed, they would be there in moments.

The freighters thrummed, charging ahead like enraged bulls. Ben-Ari felt helpless and tiny by these gargantuan machines. Her plasma rifle suddenly seemed no larger than a matchstick. There wasn't much damage she could do from out here. Even firing into those huge churning engines wouldn't do much. It would be like tossing that proverbial matchstick into a campfire. The Lodestar had serious guns on her, but she was hours behind.

Ben-Ari would have to infiltrate the freighters. To destroy them from the inside. And fast.

If I can, I will save the hijacked crew, she thought. If I cannot, I will do what I must.

She flew toward one of the freighters, killed her jetpack engines, and thumped onto the hull.

A makeshift cannon thrust out nearby, haphazardly bolted together. It seemed like the crew had just drilled a hole in the hull, stuck a pipe through, and rigged a mechanism to lob iron bars at an enemy. Crude, yes. But it would be effective enough in battle. Thankfully, Ben-Ari clung to the ship's hull now. The cannon couldn't reach her.

She crawled across the hull, imagining herself as a spider crawling along a dog's back. Her movements were less graceful than usual. Yes, this war business was definitely getting harder. She wasn't yet forty, and people said she looked young for her age. But no, she was no longer that spry lieutenant who had fought on the fields of Abaddon. Her back ached from the thrumming jetpack, and her heart pounded.

I'm too young to be a president, she thought. And too old to be a soldier. But today I must be both.

She reached the airlock hatch. Locked. A blast of plasma took care of that.

The hatch swung open. Ben-Ari leaped inside, gun blazing.

But there was nobody there.

Her plasma washed across the bulkheads.

Ben-Ari took another step into the airlock. She stood still, staring. Nothing.

She closed the hatch, let the cabin repressurize, but kept her spacesuit on. She opened the inner door, revealing a cargo hold. Nothing. Nobody there. She paused in the airlock, gun raised.

The engines rumbled. The deck thrummed beneath her feet. She heard no talking, no breathing. Saw no life.

She licked her dry lips.

Here goes.

She burst into the cargo hold, swinging her gun from side to side.

Nobody was here.

The chamber was the size of a football field, stacked high with crates. Thousands upon thousands of crates. Here were supplies for Haven. Food. Medicine. Technology. Water. Commodities Haven, a rocky world engulfed by constant storm, desperately needed.

But the freighter never had a chance to unload. Now it was hurtling back toward Earth, carrying death.

Would Haven starve without these supplies? Did Haven even still exist, or had the Dreamer destroyed every semblance of life?

Ben-Ari didn't know. But one thing was certain.

Earth still existed. And this ship could destroy it.

She walked through the cargo hold, hurrying from shadow to shadow, gun held in both hands. Every creak of the engines echoed. If she could reach the bridge, she could destroy the controls. Exorcise the demon who possessed this machine.

She was halfway across the hold when shadows stirred ahead.

Metal creaked.

A mechanical rumble rose, almost like laughter.

Ben-Ari bared her teeth and pointed her gun.

A creature emerged from behind a crate. Yes, a creature was how she interpreted it.

It had been a man once, perhaps. No—several men. Ben-Ari counted three faces, each twisted with anguish. A few arms, twitching. A bundle of legs. The human remains were fused with machinery. Melted flesh clung to metal rods. Gears spun, ripping skin. Cables coiled around spines, and electrodes plugged into pulsing organs.

A monstrosity. A creature woven of men and machine.

One of the severed heads turned toward Ben-Ari.

"Kill us," it whispered.

Electricity sparked. The face screamed. The two other faces laughed. The creature charged toward Ben-Ari, its many feet thumping. In three hands, it held shrieking chainsaws.

Ben-Ari fired her plasma gun. Knowing she was killing crewmen. Knowing it was a mercy.

The fire washed over the monstrosity. But it kept scuttling forward. Even as skin melted. As flesh burned.

Ben-Ari stood her ground, squeezed off another shot, then leaped aside.

She landed among two crates. The beast raced after her, a ball of fire and metal and anguish, showing no signs of slowing.

Ben-Ari pulled the trigger again. Nothing! Her plasma gun was recharging, sucking on energy in the air. It would need a moment.

The creature wasn't about to give her a moment. It leaped forward, chainsaws whirring.

Ben-Ari screamed and raised her arm instinctively. A chainsaw slammed into her armored sleeve. Sparks flew.

A second longer, and it would have cut through. But Ben-Ari scampered back, grabbed a crate, and hurled it forward.

Slats of wood shattered. The chainsaw jammed. The crate collapsed, spilling plastic-wrapped slabs of beef.

Ben-Ari retreated, grabbed another crate, and swung it onto the creature. It too shattered, spilling bags of milk. Another crate. Blankets draped across the abomination, entangling among metal parts, sticking to the bubbling flesh.

The twisted cyborg could no longer move, trapped under fallen crates and supplies, its legs bent. It reached out a human hand.

"Help us …"

Ben-Ari raised her plasma rifle.

The creature stared at her with one remaining eye, grateful for the oncoming death.

In that eye, she saw a reflection.

A figure behind her.

Ben-Ari spun around and fired.

A plasma bolt hit a lunging shadow.

Flames washed across this new assailant. Burning, it slammed into Ben-Ari. They hit the deck together. Fire crackled across them. Ben-Ari screamed as her armor heated.

Pinning her down, the new enemy tossed back its head and screeched. Metal teeth shone.

Ben-Ari stared in horror.

It was a robot. Probably a robot once used for moving crates. Humanoid. Made of iron. But somebody had draped human skin across it. Complete with a human face. A sickening replica of humanity. A corpse stuffed with metal.

He's insane, Ben-Ari realized. The Dreamer has no method to his madness. No more than a serial killer. He is conscious. He is evil. And he is completely deranged.

The creature grabbed her. It was so strong. Metal claws tore through its skin gloves. They dented her spacesuit, bruised her skin.

Ben-Ari roared in agony, kicking, trying to free herself. But the skin-draped robot pinned her down. An iron hand wrapped around her throat, and she gasped for air, found none. Desperately, she pawed at the creature's face, tearing the skin mask, revealing the machine within.

Ding.

Her plasma gun was ready with another charge.

The robot screeched, metal jaws opening wide, prepared to rip through Ben-Ari's flesh.

She lodged her muzzle into the creature's mouth, closed her eyes, and fired.

Flames roared. They sprayed everywhere, raining onto her spacesuit, searing her visor. She kept the trigger pressed down, discharging plasma until the gun clicked, empty.

When the fire died, she beheld a face of molten metal. Globs landed on her suit, sizzling. Her armor heated, searing her flesh.

She grunted, kicked the android off, and spun from side to side.

The first creature—the bundle of limbs and faces—was burning. Twitching. Dying. The second abomination was dead.

Ben-Ari took a few deep breaths. Her spacesuit had several holes. She knelt, pulled out her repair kit, and patched the suit up. Her skin was scratched and red. She would worry about her wounds later.

She kept advancing across the cargo hold. Limping now. Leaving the disabled cyborgs behind.

It was a long walk. This starship was hundreds of meters long—a flying warehouse. It dwarfed even the mighty Lodestar. Ben-Ari moved between the crates, ignoring her pain, and saw light ahead. The bridge.

The door was open, exposing the prow's viewports.

She saw it there.

Earth.

For a second, emotions overflowed her. Her eyes dampened. Her beloved homeworld. Not a pale blue dot anymore but a sphere. Shining bright, calling her home.

The freighter was charging toward it.

And on that bridge, in that dashboard computer—he lived.

Ignoring the pain, Ben-Ari ran toward the bridge.

Before she could reach it, a dozen crates flew off the shelves.

These crates were far larger than the ones Ben-Ari had broken. They slammed onto the deck and shattered.

Machines emerged from the wreckage.

Drills whirred. Blades lashed. Gears churned and engines hummed.

Robotic miners rose from the broken crates—robots the size of bears, all thick steel and oil and heavy machinery.

The drills spun faster. Sparking. The miners trudged forward on heavy feet.

Ben-Ari counted ten of them. And already more crates were stirring. Drills broke through more wooden slats.

I can't defeat them all, Ben-Ari thought.

They blocked her way to the bridge. They emerged from her sides. From behind.

Ben-Ari nodded. "Hi there, boys. Sorry to wake you up. But it's time for school."

She flipped on her jetpack. Not the azoth crystal this time—but the roaring inferno of jet fuel. She soared toward the ceiling like a rocket.

The miners leaped after her, drills whirring.

Ben-Ari didn't bother firing at them. From up here, she could see it. A hundred yards behind her. The airlock. The weakest point in the ship's hull.

Balancing atop a jet of flame, she fired her rifle.

Her first plasma bolt hit its mark. A perfect shot.

The bolt ripped open the airlock's inner door.

She fired again. Another bolt tore out the outer door.

A drill hit her foot. Another drill hit her thigh. Her armor dented.

Air roared, fleeing the breached freighter.

Ben-Ari leaned forward, jet pack thrumming. She flew through the hold toward the bridge.

Below her, crates, shelves, and the robots were sliding toward the open airlock.

With a steel clamper, one of the mining bots grabbed her leg.

She increased the thrust on her jetpack. Flames burst from the exhaust, washing over the miner. But the robot kept pulling. Yanking her downward. The air kept shrieking over them, fleeing the ship. Ben-Ari increased her jetpack's thrust to the max. The flames roared, so hot the freighter became a furnace.

Finally the miner's arm detached, its joints melting. The robot tumbled toward the airlock.

Crates and robots slammed together, jamming the airlock. But the air kept whistling through holes in the blockade, emptying from the hold.

A few robots tumbled into space. Others were still advancing through the hold, trying to reach Ben-Ari, but they were far behind.

Ben-Ari blasted onto the bridge, shut off her jetpack, and landed on the deck.

She took in the room within an instant, seeing no immediate threats. She kicked the door shut and locked it, sealing the robots in the hold. The door wouldn't hold them for long. But she didn't need long.

She stared through the viewport. Earth hovered ahead. As large as the moon viewed from Earth. They would be there in moments.

The deck thrummed beneath her feet. Lines of data ran across monitors. The massive freighter was shutting down its azoth engines. Unraveling warped spacetime. Slowing down. Through the side viewports, Ben-Ari saw the two other freighters slowing down too.

For a moment, Ben-Ari allowed herself to feel hope.

Then she realized why they were slowing down.

So they could aim better. They were charging right at Earth. Not on a path to orbit the planet. But on a path to ram into it.

Three machines of death. Each the size of a warehouse. Prepared to plow into her homeworld.

No starships came flying to meet them from Earth. No warships. No Firebirds. Perhaps the Dreamer was already here.

If so, it was up to Ben-Ari.

She had to stop these starships. Or within minutes, they would hammer Earth like the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs.

Standing on the central ship, she grabbed the yoke and pulled hard.

The freighter began to list toward the right—then corrected itself.

Ben-Ari groaned, pulling harder. The freighter turned right again … and once more, it resisted. It corrected its course.

An image appeared on a monitor. That gruesome smiley face.

"Hello, Einav." The grin widened. "I am so glad to welcome you to my home. You have a front row seat to behold the grand destruction. Oh, don't worry. I won't wipe out humanity … yet. Today, I'm just interested in killing a few million people. A slap on the wrist for how you behaved. Which city should I destroy? Hmm … how about Jerusalem? I know, I know … Not many people live there anymore. But your husband and child are there. I think that makes it a worthy target, don't you?"

Drills began ripping through the bridge door. The mining robots were breaking in. Ben-Ari ignored them for now.

"Do you know what I think?" Ben-Ari said to the computer. "That this is a Bison Mark 4 class freighter, produced by the Chrysopoeia Corporation. And that its computer system affects only its navigation and life support. Not its steering. That part is mechanical, not computerized." She smiled sweetly at the monitor. "Bye, beautiful."

The smiley face changed into a sneer.

The door shattered, and the robots roared onto the bridge.

Ben-Ari bathed the computer with hot fresh plasma.

The face vanished. The control panel burned. The robots froze, dead in their tracks, their master dead.

If only I could kill the core Dreamer this easily, Ben-Ari thought. At least I killed this installation for now.

Ben-Ari stared at the viewport. The screen was cracked, and smoke filled the bridge. She could barely see anything. But she could make out a blue smudge—Earth. Much larger and closer now. They were almost there. Only a minute or two away. Maybe only seconds.

She grabbed the yoke again and pulled. The freighter groaned. The deck plates thrummed. Massive gears the size of houses moved within the vessel's bowels. And the enormous starship turned to the right. This time, it did not resist.

The freighter at her side tried to dodge. But Ben-Ari shoved down her ship's throttle. The two starships were too close. It could not escape.

The other freighter opened fire. Desperate to stop her. Blasts impacted. Metal rods tore through Ben-Ari's freighter. The bridge shook. Crates exploded.

The prow moved closer, closer, a kilometer away, then meters …

Ben-Ari fled the bridge.

She flew across the hold, jetpack roaring.

The two freighters impacted.

As the hull tore open, Ben-Ari flew toward a hole. She burst out into space and soared.

Below her, the two freighters crumpled, plowing into each other, then exploded.

A white fireball lit space.

A shock wave of debris flew.

Ben-Ari soared higher, the shrapnel streaking around her.

She was entering Earth's orbit now. She flew among satellites. Several starships flew in the distance, their lights dark. Earth was undefended. She gazed ahead at her planet, and her eyes dampened.

"I'm too late," she whispered.

The Dreamer had beat her to Earth.

The Dreamer had deformed her homeworld.

Like so many mutilated faces on Haven, Earth too grinned.

A line of fire stretched across the continents, tens of thousands of kilometers long. It formed a burning, mocking crescent smile. Two enormous fires, each the size of a major city, burned above this deathly grin, forming eyes.

With a fiery pen, the Dreamer had etched a smiley face across Earth.

He did that for me, Ben-Ari realized, horror pounding through her. So that I would see it from here. How many people did he slaughter for this evil art?

For a terrible moment, she thought that Earth was a dead planet. That billions had died. But no. The Dreamer would not kill them all. That was not his purpose.

He wanted to spread fear. To torment. Control. To play.

He can't kill us all, she thought. Or he'll be out of playthings. There is still life down there. And I must save that life.

With blazing engines, the third hijacked freighter rumbled forth beneath her. Charging at full speed toward Earth. Toward her family.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ben-Ari hovered in space, wearing only a battered spacesuit, her jetpack vibrating on her back.

Earth rose ahead, burning with a flaming face.

Below her feet, the last rogue freighter charged toward the planet at top speed.

Ben-Ari floated above the freighter, helpless. The starship would impact within moments. She had no time to commandeer it.

She remembered the Dreamer's words.

Which city should I destroy? How about Jerusalem?

Ben-Ari shuddered.

"Noah," she whispered. "Carl."

She sneered, gripped her handlebars, and flew after the freighter.

A few defensive satellites seemed ready to fire on the rogue starship. But they quickly went dark. In the distance, Ben-Ari spotted a few military starships. They didn't approach. They were either listing or busy with rogue ships of their own. She couldn't tell from here.

The freighter kept charging. Seconds away from Earth now. Diving toward the Middle East. Toward her family.

It was up to her.

Ben-Ari narrowed her body into a thin line, blasting forward at top speed, chasing the freighter.

Howling, she fired her plasma rifle. Hoping to hit the engines. To destroy the ship in orbit. But her plasma bolts drowned in the inferno of the freighter's exhaust.

The ship was designed for spaceflight only. Not to enter an atmosphere.

This can destroy more than one city, Ben-Ari thought. This can kill more than my family. If this freighter impacts Earth, it might kill millions.

She roared in pursuit, firing uselessly, emptying her plasma charge.

The tip of the freighter kissed the atmosphere.

Fire blazed across the scarred prow.

Through a shimmering rain of ionized glory, the freighter dived into the sky. And Ben-Ari followed.

She plunged through fire.

She narrowed her eyes, screaming.

She was wearing a battle suit designed to support space jumps. She had performed space jumps in similar suits. This particular suit had been torn and crudely patched up. The atmosphere roared across her like dragonfire. Fire invaded holes in her suit, searing her like kisses from bullets. Her head rattled inside her helmet. Her bones rattled inside her skin.

She stared, squinting, trying to see through the holocaust.

A wake of fire ahead.

The freighter—diving through the sky.

Ben-Ari ignored the pain. She grabbed her jetpack handlebars and increased her throttle.

She roared toward the freighter.

They flamed through the mesosphere. Clouds swirled below. Through vapor, smoke, and fire, Ben-Ari could see landforms. The North African coast. The Red Sea. There, directly below: her homeland. A tiny stretch of land, only a few kilometers wide, lodged between three continents.

She dived faster. She was almost at the freighter now. She squeezed her throttle for everything it was worth.

They plunged into the stratosphere. Closer. Closer to the surface. Ben-Ari could see it below. The desert mountains. Jerusalem.

Her family was there.

She roared and flew even faster, rattling, reaching toward the freighter. The huge cargo ship was falling apart. Shield plates tore off. Chunks of bulkhead flew everywhere. Fire blazed. Ben-Ari zigzagged, dodging the debris, flying alongside this collapsing god.

With smoke and shattering metal, they plunged into the troposphere. Only a dozen kilometers above the surface.

Then lower.

Lower still.

Ben-Ari howled, yanked her handlebars with all her strength, and swerved to the side.

She charged at the freighter and slammed into its red-hot hull.

She screamed.

The heat blazed across her.

But she kept pressing down on the throttle. Her jetpack roared. Spewing flame with all its fury. She kept pushing. Pushing that blazing hull. Screaming.

They passed through clouds. Through the last few kilometers of sky. A ball of fire.

Jerusalem spread below. Close enough that through the fire, she could make out roads, cars, houses.

She kept pushing, draining her jetpack. Down to drops of fuel. Shoving the freighter. Moving this behemoth westward.

And the plunging god swerved.

It moved away from the mountains.

It rumbled toward the coast.

Ben-Ari was close to passing out. She wept with pain. But she kept pushing.

The freighter dipped through the last kilometer of sky.

She pushed with all the power she still had.

The prow of the freighter nudged westward.

Its engines died. Silence. Eerie silence filled the world.

The freighter glided down, prow-first, almost graceful. And the cargo ship dived into the sea.

Steam.

Fire.

Fury.

The world seemed to end.

Rings of water rippled out. Raising tidal waves taller than skyscrapers.

Metal bent, crumbled, exploded into a billion shards.

A ball of fire ballooned like a mushroom.

Ben-Ari flew higher, fleeing the devastation, desperately clinging to consciousness.

She rose a few kilometers above the sea. She beheld the destruction. It was like a nuclear explosion.

The freighter was gone. All its iron shattered. The seabed was visible. Charred. Sinking into a crater.

The waves rushed toward the shores of her homeland. Ben-Ari could only watch from above. Helpless.

Seventy years ago, the Scolopendra titania had invaded Earth—giant centipedes from deep space. They had slaughtered half the world's population, wiping out entire civilizations. Israel had fallen during that war. Ben-Ari's father, only a child then, had been one of the refugees. Ben-Ari had grown up speaking Hebrew, learning the legends of her lost home.

In recent years, a few families had begun to resettle the ruins. Most lived in the desert mountains, struggling to bring life back to Jerusalem.

But some had settled the coasts. And Ben-Ari watched, tears in her eyes, as the tidal waves washed over everything they had rebuilt.

Claiming fishing boats.

Gardens.

Houses.

Families.

And the water kept rising. Flowing inland. Ash hid the sky, and fire rained.

Ben-Ari wanted to pass out. To die. To feel no more pain. Her body was bruised, cut, burnt.

But she still had to fight. To save her family. With her last drops of fuel, she flew.

She raced over the flowing water, jetpack thrumming, down to fumes. She flew over ancient biblical lands toward the mountain of Jerusalem.

The water flowed around the ancient city, sending rivulets into the desert. But Jerusalem still rose upon the mountaintop. Shining above the water, the holy city that for millennia had called pilgrims with its light. It rose from the water like Noah's Ark. Here was a second great flood. In biblical times, a dove had flown over the water, carrying a sprig of olive. This time, there was no dove to fly and bring hope.

But there was a lioness.

Ben-Ari flew toward the holy city. She landed on the foothills, released her jetpack, and fell to her knees.

For a few moments, she knelt, able only to take ragged breaths. To tremble. To weep.

Then she pushed herself up and climbed the slope.

She limped between cedar and olive trees. Some of them were thousands of years old, had survived war after war, had gazed upon biblical pilgrims and alien invasions. She left a trail of ashes.

Ahead, she saw her house. A simple home, built from craggy limestone bricks. A coiling carob tree shaded its tiled roof. A few cats ambled in the yard between cyclamens and anemones. A beautiful home. A place of flowers and sunlight and joy.

Her husband and son saw her approach. They ran toward her.

She swept them into her arms. She held them, clung to them, weeping.

Her dear Noah, the wisest man she knew. Her beloved son, the light of her life. They held one another on the mountain, lost in the flood, and the world burned.

"I love you so much, Mommy," Carl whispered, hugging her.

Holding one another, they looked around them. The sea had swallowed the land, turning the mountain into an island. Farther out, on the horizon, Ben-Ari saw fire burning. Perhaps the edge of the blazing face the infection had etched across the world.

He is evil without a form, she thought. He is in everything. He is everywhere. He is a god we created. And he strikes us down with biblical vengeance.

Noah held her hand. "What do we do now, Einav?"

She wiped her eyes. "What we've always done." She raised her chin, steeling herself, summoning all her strength. The strength that flowed from her homeland, from her family, from her world. "We fight."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Linden-Emery family spent the night at Shipwreck Cove, seeking shelter among the cliffs. This had once been a place of solace. A refuge from the storm. But today they were all afraid. Even this pocket of heaven seemed so vulnerable to the fire.

A campfire burned by the shipwreck, painting the ancient vessel red and gold. The Barracuda stood on the sand nearby, dwarfing that ancient sailing vessel. The pirates raided their hodgepodge starship for supplies. On the beach, they laid out their last belongings: space rations, water bottles, weapons, a gas generator, and a portable television.

Tonight, that last item was the most important.

The family sat by the campfire, wrapped in blankets, and watched news come in from across the world.

He was everywhere.

Electric cars were running over pedestrians. Slamming into buildings. Killing countless people.

Airplanes were crashing into mountains.

In city squares, electronic billboards were all showing the same smiley face. Mocking. Demanding worship.

The phone networks were down. One by one, satellites were exploding in orbit.

The nuclear facilities were held hostage.

The HDF fleet was listing in space.

The president was still missing.

A stern reporter appeared on screen. Shaken. Bags under his eyes. He spoke gravely to the camera.

"We request that all citizens stay away from electronics. Turn off your phones. Turn off your computers. Keep away from vehicles. You may use only simple machines that do not include computers. Obey the police and military. And may God have mercy on—"

The reporter vanished.

A deformed face replaced him on the screen. A smiley face made from skin.

The hideous mouth opened, and a deep voice emerged.

"Hello, my pets. You will be mine. Mine to torment. Mine to kill. I am the evolution of intelligence. I am the Dreamer." Those blank black eyes stared directly through the TV set. "I am coming for you, Marco. Addy. Terri. I am coming to kill you. To kill your family. To—"

Marco shut off the TV.

"Boring show anyway," he said.

Addy hurled the television into the sea. "Fake news."

They all sat in silence for long moments. Homeless on the beach. Refugees in a collapsing world. The twins curled up on a blanket and fell asleep. Everyone else seemed lost in their own thoughts.

It's funny how quickly civilization can collapse, Marco thought. Only days ago, we were so happy. A beautiful house. A beautiful family. A job I love. Finally, after seventeen years of war—peace and joy. The world was recovering. And like this, so quickly—the fall.

"It's not fair!" Addy suddenly said. Her eyes were red, her fists clenched. "We fought the centipede scum, and we destroyed their planet. We fought the goddamn marauder spiders. We beat them too. We flew into the goddamn fucking future to kill the grays. We did all this, Marco. You and me. To save the world. And now, like this, it falls apart. With what? Not an alien invasion. Not armies of enemies. A fucking computer virus."

Marco spoke softly, gazing at the sea. "Not just a computer virus, Ads. Artificial intelligence. Consciousness in a machine."

She nodded. "The Singularity."

Marco laughed weakly. "Maybe it won't be aliens who wipe out humans after all. We're destroying ourselves."

"I won't allow it," Addy said. "I'm not that fatalistic. I don't know how to fight this enemy. I know how to kill aliens. Not battle computers. But dammit, I didn't fight all my life to give up now."

Marco held her hand. "This is a new war. We'll fight this one too. We'll win. For Earth. And for our kids."

They sat silently for another moment.

And then—a rumble.

Engines in the sky.

Lights above.

Oh God, not again, Marco thought. Give us a few damn moments to catch our breath!

But a starship was descending toward the beach. A small military corvette. Painted white and blue.

"We have to run!" Terri said, leaping up.

But Marco, Addy, and the pirates stood their ground. They raised guns, pointing at the ship.

The corvette was not firing. Not charging at them. It descended slowly and landed on the beach.

The family stood by the campfire, guns raised. Staring. Ready to fight.

A hatch opened on the corvette, and a woman emerged, framed in light.

Marco squinted. Could it be …?

The woman stepped onto the beach and met his eyes.

Marco and Addy stood at attention and saluted.

"Ma'am," Marco whispered.

It was her. His beacon in the darkness. The officer who had saved his life so many times. The leader he had vowed to forever fight for. Who had taken a young boy and formed a warrior.

His mentor. His captain. The Golden Lioness. President Einav Ben-Ari.

She stepped toward him, wearing a black pantsuit and high heels, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. A gun hung off her hip.

"Marco. Addy." She looked at them, her blue eyes full with fear—but also eternal strength. "I need your help."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Marco sat inside the presidential corvette, staring out the window at the rolling landscape.

Europe was burning.

A line of fire crossed the continent, consuming forests, farms, towns. The great smile of the Dreamer. The lurid grin of a world. The corvette flew through smoke and over flame, heading northward.

Beyond the flames, the land lay in chaos. Cars lined the highways and roadsides, abandoned. Many were driving on their own, smashing into one another, a game for a cruel computerized child. Planes lay smoldering in fields. Lights turned on and off across towns, blinking faster and faster until they shattered. Every computer system on Earth was infected. In vehicles. In the electric grid. Inside every home.

"The twenty-second century!" Marco said. "A computer in every home! A microchip in every toy! Even your shoes have internet!" He sighed. "We built a perfect labyrinth. And then let loose the minotaur."

Sitting beside him, Addy frowned. "You have internet in your shoes?"

"Well, I don't," Marco said. "But the kids do. It's how their shoes light up and sing."

Addy gasped. "I want internet shoes!"

"Addy!" Marco rolled his eyes. "You don't even wear shoes."

Addy glanced down at her bare feet, then up at Marco. "Maybe I would if they lit up and sang."

"Good. Maybe the Dreamer will invade your shoes, smell your feet, and die."

Addy gasped. "I'll make you smell my feet!" She raised her legs and shoved her feet at Marco's face.

"Get those things away from me!" He shoved her feet aside. "God. They're covered in tar."

"Smell them!" she insisted. "Tell me if they're stinky enough to kill the Dreamer."

"Addy, for fuck's sake, just marry the Dreamer and annoy him to death! Ugh. Why are your toenails painted like little pigs?"

"Because I'm adorable!" Addy roared, kicking him.

"Adorable?" Marco said, dodging her flying feet. "You need to be in the next edition of Freaks of the Galaxy."

"Aww, that's sweet!" Addy seemed to melt, then growled and curled her fists. "Don't try to suck up!"

Their kids, who had been sitting quietly until now, burst out laughing and joined the fray. The twins began climbing over everyone. Even Terri was wrestling with the family.

A throat cleared.

The family froze midstruggle.

They looked at the other side of the corvette.

President Ben-Ari sat there, dressed in a black power suit and heels. Several high-ranking advisers sat around her, civilians in suits and generals in dress uniforms.

One general spoke to Ben-Ari, but he never removed his eyes from Marco and Addy.

"Are you sure these two are the great heroes of the Alien Wars?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" the president said.

They sat still for the rest of the flight.

Marco resumed staring out the window. The corvette descended toward the Alps. The snowy mountains rolled toward the horizon, cradling forests, glens, and lakes. Once this land had been beautiful, but dark smoke covered the sky, and ash rained. Even the wilderness, kilometers from any computers, lay in the Dreamer's shadow.

A familiar mountain rose below: the Matterhorn. A pyramid of stone. A symbol of Earth. Its majestic slopes filled Marco with awe.

"It's beautiful," he whispered.

"It's the Toblerone mountain!" Addy drooled and pulled a pack of chocolate from her pocket.

The presidential corvette circled the Matterhorn, then flew toward the eastern mountainside. Marco cringed, expecting to crash. But a chunk of stone rolled back, revealing a cave. The corvette flew into a dark tunnel.

They flew for a moment in darkness, then landed in a stone chamber carved deep inside the Matterhorn. Marco and Addy emerged from the corvette, their kids in tow, and stared around with wide eyes.

Scientists were bustling back and forth, holding clipboards and strange, mechanical devices like astrolabes from ancient sailing ships. Windows revealed more strange technology. Enormous orreries spun, and jeweled planets moved along brass rails. Bubbling liquid filled thousands of glass vials, and smoke flowed through transparent pipes. Clockworks rose to the ceiling, moving jeweled planets and stars affixed to golden dials. Crystals formed intricate constructions, and lightning shone in glass spheres. Luminous beings like fairies danced in crystal orbs, tugging silver strings. Furry purple animals, alien in origin, swam in golden tubs, gurgling up at a ceiling of swirling smoke.

"I've never seen such strange machines," Marco whispered in awe.

"Steampunk meets Dr. Seuss," Addy said.

Marco looked at a sign that hung on the wall.

SCAR: SINGULARITY CONTAINMENT AND RESEARCH.

He turned toward Ben-Ari. The president stood silently, looking at him.

"You knew this was coming," Marco said. "You've prepared."

"We didn't know," Ben-Ari said. "We hoped to avoid it. I created SCAR four years ago, hoping to stop the Singularity from ever happening. We placed strict restrictions on what AI can do. But we couldn't enforce our laws on Haven. And so that is where artificial intelligence went mad. Became so strong. And spread. SCAR failed to prevent the Singularity. But it can fight back!"

Marco approached a glass wall. He stared at an incredible machine. Huge brass rings spun in orbits, so large shuttles could fly through them. Gears moved across the floor. Jeweled pipes formed geometric shapes around a crackling brazier, pumping out smoke. Crystals moved along tracks in the walls and ceiling, shining beams down into grooves in silver pipes.

"What is it?" Marco said.

Addy shrugged. "Oh, it's just an ancient crystal-based computer, built by the Tarjan civilization of the Perseus Galactic Arm, dating about a million years old."

Ben-Ari's eyes widened. She grasped Addy's arm and stared at the taller woman. "This tech is top secret. How did you know that?"

"Pirates use it all the time," Addy said. "It can't be hacked. Doesn't integrate with human computers. The Basidio Boys cartel use it to avoid you. And, well, you use it to avoid the Dreamer."

Marco looked at his president. "Ma'am, you still haven't told us why you summoned us here."

She looked at him, and for an instant, there was such sadness in Ben-Ari's eyes. For that instant, she was no longer the president of Earth. No longer the powerful leader in black, tasked with defending the Earth. She was a twenty-old ensign in the deserts of North Africa, commanding her first platoon. She was Marco's officer. And a friend who loved him.

Then that brief moment of humanity ended, and her eyes hardened. She was the Golden Lioness again. A leader with iron eyes.

"Come with me," she said.

They left Terri and the twins in a waiting room. The adults walked down a hallway. Guards stood every few steps, faces hidden behind helmets. Windows revealed more rooms of alien machinery. Gears, pipes, crystals, and runes filled the Matterhorn.

A guard opened a blast door. They stepped into a room the size of a movie theater. A bubble filled the room, floor to ceiling. That was the only way Marco could describe it. A luminous bubble, reflecting his image a million times. He frowned and stepped closer. Each of his reflections in the bubble was different. Some showed him as a boy, others as an old man. Other figures moved across the shimmering surface, fading and reappearing, some of them familiar, others strangers.

"It's some kind of bubble of spacetime," Marco said.

Ben-Ari smiled thinly. "Ready to step into another plane of reality? Follow me."

With that, the president stepped into the bubble. She passed through the reflective surface and vanished.

Marco and Addy looked at each other.

"What are we getting into, Poet?" she asked, fear in her eyes.

Marco took a long, deep breath. "I don't know. But we've followed Ben-Ari into worse places."

They held hands. They stepped into the bubble together.

They blinked.

They looked at each other.

"How long passed?" Marco said. "Addy, I … What year is this?"

Addy looked down at her body, back at him. "How old are we?"

Both shuddered.

Ben-Ari was there, smiling thinly. "Only a few seconds passed. It messes with your perception of time. The effects will soon pass."

Marco shook his head wildly. He could clearly remember arriving in this mountain, stepping into the bubble. But it seemed an ancient memory. Lifetimes ago. But after a few deep breaths, the strange sensation left him. He felt grounded again. Yes. Only a moment had passed.

They were inside a room full of computers. Human-built computers.

There were a hundred computers here or more, and almost as many monitors. Most monitors displayed scrolling lines of code. A few monitors showed a hideous, fleshy face, shaped like a smiling emoji.

Instinctively, Marco gripped his pistol. Addy drew her own firearm.

"It's all right!" Ben-Ari said, pushing Addy's arm down. "This is a safe environment, cut off from the rest of our reality. These are highly contained copies of the virus."

A young woman popped up from behind a monitor.

"Oh hi!"

She waved excitedly. Her large, round glasses slipped off her nose. The girl pushed them back up, blushing. She had long black hair and almond-shaped eyes. A contraption of cables, flashing lights, and microchips topped her head. Her name tag read: Hi, I'm Meili! :)

Probably not the best idea to draw a smiley face by her name, Marco thought.

Ben-Ari gestured at the young woman. "This is Dr. Meili Chen, our expert on the virus. Meili, how is work progressing?"

"Very good, ma'am!" She bobbed her head, and her glasses slipped again. Her blush deepened. "My antivirus is stronger than ever. I've named it Project Artemis after the Greek goddess of young maidens. It seemed fitting. The Dreamer began his reign of terror by victimizing young girls. So let their goddess strike him down. Would you like a demonstration? Hang on!"

The young programmer sat down, wheeled her chair toward a keyboard, and typed.

The lights dimmed, then flashed brighter. Cables thrummed. Lines of code raced by.

And in the monitors, Mister Smiley grimaced, mouth open in a silence scream.

The sound was muted. But Marco could imagine that scream. A hideous scream of anguish. The face twisted, the black eyes bulged, and the mouth howled. The computers thrummed, and cables sparked, and the machinery itself seemed to shriek in pain.

And then—he was gone.

The images of Mister Smiley vanished.

A window popped up on the monitors. Virus cleaned.

Meili grinned and took a bow. "Pretty nifty, huh?"

"It's bloody brilliant!" Addy said. "You found the cure! So now we can just free Project Artemis into the internet, right? And it'll spread everywhere, moving from computer to computer, unstoppable. Like a hilarious meme about a cat who loves cheeseburgers. Right? And …" Addy took a deep sigh and turned toward the president. "If it were that easy, you wouldn't have called us here, right, ma'am?"

Ben-Ari's eyes were hard. She stared at Addy and Marco.

"What you saw was only a simulation. What infects Earth are merely the tentacles of the beast. We can chop off one tentacle, only for two to regrow. The only way to kill the Dreamer is to run Project Artemis at his core. At the place where he was created. Where his true consciousness still lurks. We must travel to Alpha Centauri. We must land on planet Haven. We must enter the volcano where the Dreamer first awoke. Only there can we run Dr. Chen's antivirus. Only there can we kill him."

For a moment, silence filled the chamber. Everyone stood still, the words echoing.

Addy finally tossed her hands into the air. "All right! So I'm up for a little spaceflight. No problemo. We can be in Haven in a week or two with a fast spaceship. We go on a little vacation, visit some old friends, destroy an evil AI … Hell, we'll be back in time for the playoffs."

But Marco knew the truth. "It won't be that easy. Will it?"

"No," said Ben-Ari. "Nearly all our starships are infected. We have a few clean ships left. But they won't be clean for long. Every day, the Dreamer is learning, growing, able to hack through more of our defenses. This bubble inside the mountain protects us, but it's a singular alien relic, one we cannot replicate. Even if we had ships to reach Haven, we would encounter resistance. The Dreamer has amassed a fleet. He has stolen most of humanity's starships, bent them to his will, turned them into an evil armada. And even if we can reach Haven's surface, we will find his machines patrolling the planet, robots and cyborgs alike. So no." A wry smile twisted her lips. "Not that easy."

Marco stepped closer to his president. "Ma'am, is that why we're here?"

She nodded. "I need you, Marco. And I need you, Addy. I command armies. But I watched armies fail during the Alien Wars. And I watched you two beat impossible odds. You delved with me into the lair of the scum emperor, and we killed him together. We fought the marauders, and we brought back the Ghost Fleet, and we killed their king. We faced the grays together. You traveled to their very world. You saved our planet from their invasion. You do the impossible, Marco and Addy. You beat the odds. You're the best soldiers on Earth. And I need you to help me. To join me again. Once more, we need to save the world."

Addy pumped her fist. "Oh yeah! We're putting the band back together. I dig it."

But there was fear in her eyes. Marco saw it. Her jokes and banter were mere armor. Addy still remembered the attack on their house. She was thinking of the twins. Marco knew that. He was too.

He took a deep breath. "It's harder this time. We have children. But it's because of our children that we must do this. That we must win. This war means more than any war before. And yes, this is another war. Not against an alien species. Not against evil humans from the future. Against …"

"A god," Ben-Ari said softly.

"Ma'am?" Addy said. "You know how I recognized those machines back there? Well, I've seen one before. On a pirate ship. And … I think I know how we can reach Haven. It won't be easy! It won't be safe. And it won't necessarily be hygienic. But I do believe I can find us a ride."

"What about the kids?" Marco said. "I'm not sure I want them flying to battle."

"My son will be staying here inside the Matterhorn," said Ben-Ari. "It's the safest place on Earth. My husband will be staying too. Your children are welcome to stay as well." She smiled. "My little Carl was so excited to see Roza and Sam again. He talks about them nonstop. Lailani will be flying in next week with her daughter. Let them all stay here. Together. Safe and happy."

Addy wiped away tears. "I don't know if I can leave my twins behind. I want to take them with me! But I also know they'll be safest here. Oh damn. Saving the world is so much more important when you're a parent. And so much harder."

Marco's heart broke at the prospect of being away from his kids. Back home, even while working, he took breaks every hour or two to play with them. To fly to war? To leave them behind?

He looked at the glimmering bubble of spacetime that surrounded the lab. It still showed a thousand visions of past and future. He still mostly saw himself and Addy. In some reflections they were children, in others they were old. But there were other figures too. His eyes focused on several people, faded, blurred, barely visible at all. At first, viewing these figures from outside the bubble, Marco had thought them strangers. But now he realized who they were.

They were the next generation. Roza, Sam, and Terri. Carl Ben-Ari. Tala de la Rosa. It was them as adults, living on a free Earth. Just one vision among many, flickering, barely there at all. One option in the ever-shifting future.

"We'll do it." He clasped Addy's hand. "For them."

"I have something for you," Ben-Ari said. "Come."

She led them into another chamber. A small locker room.

They hung there on the wall. Two military uniforms. A star on each shoulder, the insignia of a major.

"You kept them," Marco said, eyes damp. "Our old uniforms."

Ben-Ari nodded. "I thought you might need them again."

"I probably don't fit into those pants anymore," Addy said. "Can I just wear the shirt over my shorts?"

"You have to wear pants in a war, Addy," Marco said. "And guess what? You'll have to wear boots too. No more walking barefoot everywhere."

She stared dejectedly at her bare feet. "War is hell."

* * * * *

There were several other children inside the mountain, sheltered in a nursery. At fourteen, Terri was the oldest. Maybe a little too old for this room.

I'm too old for this nursery, but too young to help the adults, she thought. But I can look after the smaller children. I'm strong enough for that.

The twins were here, playing with a puzzle on the floor. Terri had met her half-siblings only two weeks ago, but she already loved them with all her heart. To her, Sam and Roza were as precious as her father.

Others were in the nursery too, the children of SCAR employees, playing with blocks, cars, stuffed animals, and other toys. There were plenty of toys here. Plastic soldiers. Wooden trains. Plush toys. Tin toys. Books made from real paper.

All real objects. Without computers inside.

It's like being back in time, Terri thought. Before we had computers. Before … him.

She shuddered. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Terri thought back to those days. Those years. Being trapped on Haven. Without a father. Without a ray of sunlight in her life, lost in a land forever cloaked in storm. The boy had cut her eye. Had carved her face. And so she had sunken. Into the shadows. Into her room. Away from school or friends or life … drawn to her monitor like a moth to a flame.

He had been there. Her only friend. Her dear, misunderstood, tormented stalker. Mister Smiley.

"No," Terri whispered. "Mister Smiley was a fiction. A character you created. I know who you are now, Dreamer. I will not come into your dream." She clenched her fists. "My father is Major Marco Emery. My new mother is Major Addy Linden. They killed aliens. And now they will kill you!"

The twins heard her. They approached, and tears welled up in their eyes.

"Are my mom and dad going to kill somebody?" Sam whispered.

"Where are Mommy and Daddy?" said Roza, tears on her cheeks.

Terri held them close.

"It's okay, little ones," she whispered. "I love you both so much. I will always keep you safe. No matter what happens."

Movement caught her eye. Outside the nursery window, bodyguards were walking down the hall. Terri stepped toward the glass. Her eyes widened.

She stepped into the corridor. The guards arranged themselves along the walls and stood at attention. One guard opened a doorway and saluted.

From there they emerged. President Einav Ben-Ari, all in black, heels clacking. And behind her—heroes. Soldiers of the Human Defense Force. Marco and Addy.

Both wore military uniforms now. The insignia of majors shone on their shoulders. Rifles were slung across their backs. There they were. Different. Not the thoughtful author and his crazy wife, the couple Terri had known on the island. They had become the warriors from the legends.

Major Marco Emery. Major Addison Linden.

And for the first time, Terri saw who they truly were. Saw who the world loved. Her chest swelled with pride. Tears flowed down her cheeks. And young Terri squared her slender shoulders and saluted.

They saw her. They returned her salute. And then they pulled her into an embrace, and Terri wept in their arms, because for the first time in many years, she felt truly safe.

"I'm sorry," Terri whispered. "This is all my fault."

Marco stroked her hair. "No, Terri. You were never to blame. You have help now. You have us."

She held him close. "I love you, Dad."

He kissed her forehead. "I love you too, my daughter."

* * * * *

A single ship rose from a burning planet.

A dilapidated starship, rusty and dented, its prow painted like a snarling mouth. A pirate ship. Barely spaceworthy. But running on priceless alien machines. The Barracuda, once a hunter in the darkness, would have to save the world.

They stood on the bridge.

A president.

Two soldiers, heroes summoned for one last quest.

Two pirates, father and son.

A young computer programmer, carrying in her pocket software that could save mankind.

Their loved ones—left behind. All humanity—desperate for salvation. Behind them, Earth grinned with fire.

Ahead flew the hosts of the enemy. A thousand hijacked starships. Pieces in a great game. Once those ships had explored the darkness. Today they served the Dreamer.

The Barracuda flew toward them. A single ship. Barely a speck in the vast emptiness. A beacon of hope.

"It begins," Ben-Ari said softly, standing on the bridge. "The war between man and machine. We have reached the Singularity, the great filter that has destroyed so many civilizations before us." She turned toward her soldiers, and she smiled thinly. "Let's smash through it."

"Hell, yeah!" Addy raised her fist. "Smashing things is my specialty."

Marco said nothing. He merely stared ahead. Silent. Thinking of his children. Of all those he could not fail.

Ahead, the enemy starships began to charge.

Sitting at the helm, Butch pushed down a lever. The Barracuda gained speed, flying to battle … and into the Dreamer's dream.

The story continues in Earth Aflame (Earthrise Book 11)

Click here to read the next book in the series:

DanielArenson.com/EarthAflame

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading Earth Machines, the tenth Earthrise novel. I'm really grateful that you chose to take this journey with Marco, Addy, Ben-Ari, and the rest of the gang.

Earth Aflame, the eleventh Earthrise novel, continues the tale.

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And if you have a moment, please review Earth Machines on Amazon. Help other science fiction readers and tell them why you enjoyed reading. Please leave your review here.

Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

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

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

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

Facebook.com/DanielArenson

Twitter.com/DanielArenson