EARTH REMEMBERS

EARTHRISE BOOK 13

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

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

Illustration © Tom Edwards - TomEdwardsDesign.com

CHAPTER ONE

The woman was trouble from the first moment.

Joe smelled it on her. She stank of it. Trouble.

But Joe had always chased trouble. Truth was, he found trouble irresistible.

"Oh, and you are trouble," he whispered, gazing at the woman.

She sat there at the bar. A few barstools away. A venomous little thing in a slinky black dress. Bullets hung from her necklace alongside a beaten silver cross, and a gun clung to her thigh. A dragon tattoo coiled up her arm, her neck, rising to bite at her jawline. Around the dragon winked blood-red stars. Those were military tattoos. Every star—an enemy killed.

But it was not her tattoos nor bullets that marked her as dangerous.

It was her eyes.

Almond-shaped eyes. Dark and full of secrets. Those were the eyes of a killer.

Joe licked his lips.

I want her. She is dark fire. And I can't resist playing with fire.

He rose from his barstool. He felt the old thrill again. Suddenly he was ten years younger, a sapper in the war. He was treading across the desert toward a bomb, ready to dismantle it or die in a blaze of glory. On alien worlds, as the bullets shrieked and the monsters roared, he had disarmed seventeen booby traps, twelve roadside explosives, and twenty-eight alien suicide bombers.

The suiciders were particularly nasty. When they blew up, it was fangs and claws everywhere.

Then Joe came home from the war and became an HVAC repairman.

Not quite as exhilarating.

But he found new exhilaration in bars, in clubs, in drug dens. He traveled between these hives of sin, world to world, station to station. One day he visited a brothel in a hollowed-out asteroid where he drank with burly space truckers. Another day he hopped into a cargo hauler heading toward Alpha Centauri where he played darts with alien slugs. A third day he won a poker game in a space station orbiting a black hole.

But everywhere, Joe found true danger not in gambling, not in bar fights, not even with the dizzying, dazzling drugs—but with the women.

Women were his new explosives.

Women were like bombs. Handle them carefully and you could find what made them tick. You could take them apart. But one wrong move and … boom.

And now Joe was back on Earth. He was drinking in a fancy club in Paris, the City of Lights itself. He had tired of sleazy joints on the fringe of humanity. Those bars were full of bugs, scuttling over the floors and even climbing the drunken clientele. If you traveled far enough into space, the bugs were the clientele. But here was a place of luxury. Here was prey more dangerous than any he had ever encountered.

Prey?

No, this tattooed woman was not prey. She was a huntress.

Joe sidled toward her, slicked his hair back, and took the barstool beside her.

He nodded at her, raised his cup in salute.

She ignored him. Or maybe she didn't even notice him. She was staring at a TV mounted over the bar. Joe turned to watch with her.

A news story was playing. A school shooting in New Zealand. The camera was filming bereaved parents outside the school, weeping, their children plucked away. A headline scrolled beneath them. MASSACRE IN PARADISE.

"It's a terrible thing, isn't it? Such senseless slaughter." Joe shook his head sadly, then grinned and held out his hand. "Joe Bennett at your service. Pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle." He was American, but he made sure to add a French flourish. When in Rome … or Paris, for that matter.

"Seventeen kids," the woman whispered. "Just kids at school. Murdered." A tear rolled down her cheek. It fell into the tattooed dragon's mouth.

Goddammit, Joe thought. Can't the TV here show the space races instead? Where was the damn bartender?

He glanced at the screen above the bar again. The news now showed the police pulling a teenage boy from the school. The kid looked so small, so skinny. His eyes bugged out, and he was screaming.

"I did it for the king! For the King of Many Claws!" The scrawny kid tossed back his head, cackling. "The king will rise! The time has come, servants of the king! Rise up! Rise up for—"

The bartender finally changed the channel. The screen now showed a spaceball game instead. Thank God.

"Anyway!" Joe turned back toward the young woman. "Your name is …?"

She was still staring at the screen. The colorful spaceball game reflected in her dark eyes. But she seemed to be staring ten thousand light-years away.

"The king will rise," she whispered. "Praise the King of Many Claws!"

Joe gazed at her in wonder.

There was only one explanation. The girl was a junkie. A goddamn junkie. High on hintan herbs, maybe even shabu crystals.

He considered for a moment. Should he proceed?

He let his gaze drop to her body. She was petite, but not in a scrawny sort of way. She was graceful, her curves intoxicating, almost feline. He inhaled deeply, savoring her perfume. And he smelled it again. The danger. Now the smell was deeper, richer, lush with undertones of soil and rock. A danger less of fire. More of death.

Joe's blood heated.

She would be his. He vowed it. He would take her apart like a bomb. He would learn her secrets.

"You all right, mademoiselle?" he asked, affecting concern. "The news truly is disturbing. The world these days …"

She turned toward him. She blinked, jolted in surprise. "Oh. Hello." She frowned. "I didn't see you sitting there."

Joe frowned. Then he forced his grin back on. He held out his hand. "Joe Bennett, the Amazing Invisible Man … apparently."

She smiled. Then she laughed. Her pose relaxed. Yet the gun still hung on her thigh. The dragon still coiled across her arm and neck, and the bullets still dangled from her necklace. She was still every inch the predator.

"Lailani de la Rosa." She shook his hand. Her hand was slender, small like a child's hand, but her black fingernails were sharp as claws. "The Incredible Blind Woman."

Joe furrowed his brow. "Lailani de la Rosa … Where do I …?" His eyes widened. "I know! You are Lailani de la Rosa. The Lailani de la Rosa. Of course."

She blinked, tilted her head. "Have we met before, Joe Bennett?"

"I served with you in the war. Twenty years ago. On planet Abaddon, during the great invasion. I was just a corporal." His voice dropped to a whisper, tinged with awe. "You fought in the Dragons Platoon, didn't you? The platoon that killed the scum emperor. You're all heroes. All of you. Your names are all famous." He narrowed his eyes. "My God. You haven't aged a day."

She stiffened, took a sip of her drink, then relaxed. "I'm Asian. What they say is true. Asian women age well."

Joe squinted at her. Could he have been wrong? Was this somebody else? They also said that Asian women all looked alike.

He scrutinized her. The delicate frame, the doll-like features. It was her. He remembered her from the war. He had served in a different platoon. He had dismantled bombs in the tunnels of Abaddon, paving way for the infantry. He remembered seeing Lailani—and the other heroes—march down those very tunnels. The Dragons Platoon delved into the darkness, then emerged triumphant, slayers of the alien emperor. Earth celebrated. And Joe had never forgotten her face.

She even had the same tattoos.

Yes. This was where the scent of danger came from. This was why she reignited that old instinct from the war.

He had fought with her then. And here, twenty years later, she sat beside him in a little bar in Paris. He had begun to look his age—silver at his temples, crow's feet around his eyes. But Lailani could still pass for nineteen.

But of course.

She wouldn't age like a human. Because she wasn't fully human.

Yes, he knew the tales.

"You're a half-breed." He rose from his barstool, took a step back. "You're half alien. Half … centipede. Half scum."

He spat out that last word. Yes, he still hated the scum. The giant centipedes from deep space. Two decades had gone by. The war was over. But Joe had never forgotten his brothers. The scum killed both of them. Right before Joe's eyes.

He hated the scum. Hated those rancid alien bugs.

And Lailani was half-alien. Her father was a scum!

"Actually, no," the creature said, still sitting at the bar. She sipped her drink. "I'm not half scum. That's just what the tabloids say. According to the media, a giant centipede fucked my mom, and out popped little ol' me, half bug, half girl." She snorted a laugh. "Nonsense."

"But—but—" Joe blinked. "Everyone says that … I mean, everyone knows that …"

"I'm one percent scum." Lailani rolled her eyes. "If that. Decades ago, the scum conducted some experiments. They took human embryos—just regular little humans—and altered their DNA. Wove a few alien strands in there. That's all. I'm ninety-nine percent human."

Joe hesitated. He remembered some of those tabloid tales. In them, Lailani was a creature of fangs and claws, a bloodthirsty carnivore. Here sat … a woman. An intoxicating, tattooed woman with fiery eyes who dripped danger, yes. But a woman nonetheless. No claws. No horns. No drooling jaws full of fangs.

And she did have some killer curves. Not to mention a maddening smile.

He sat back down. "I apologize. I shouldn't have called you a half-breed."

"I think of myself as a starling," she said. "I invented the term. There's a bit of alien in me. I came from the stars. So … starling. Sometimes I miss those stars." She sighed and looked out the window. "But my travels are over. I have work here on Earth. Here in Paris. Still, that's tomorrow. Tonight … tonight I came to drink. To think. To remember."

Joe raised his cup. She clinked hers against his. They drank. The bartender refilled their cups.

"A starling," Joe said, savoring the word. "I like how that sounds. Alien, yet … alluring."

She looked at him. She raised an eyebrow. "One percent alien, you mean."

He leaned closer to her. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I've never made love to a starling. What's it like?"

She looked him up and down, sizing him up, like a woman trying to decide if a mango was ripe. A crooked smile found her lips. "Would you like to find out?"

Joe gazed into those dark, dark eyes, and he wondered who was the hunter and who was the prey.

They emptied their cups, then hopped off their barstools.

"Oh," Joe said. "Wow. You're so short."

Lailani de la Rosa, the war heroine, the infamous half-breed freak—she barely stood five feet in her stilettos. He didn't remember that part from the war. Everyone in the tunnels had crawled.

"Gee, really? I had no idea." She slung her arm around his. "Walk me to my hotel?"

They stumbled out the door, leaning on each other. The world spun. Joe could barely find the doorknob. He was quite drunk.

Strange. He had only drunk three drinks. But they were hitting him hard. That Orionite ale was powerful stuff.

They spilled out onto the street. It was night in Paris, and all her lights were aglow. Neon in every color shone in the rain, scattering beads of light through the air like ten million butterflies. Warm reds shone along the windmill blades of the Moulin Rouge. Crystal-blue drones buzzed back and forth, selling bottles of wine right here on the cobbled streets. Cars flew above, headlights piercing the rain like the marble columns in some fallen temple of heaven. The air smelled like rain and wine.

Paris. A city of beauty. Of art. Of light and dreams. Joe had been to a thousand cities among the stars. Paris was still the fairest.

"This is nothing like my home," Lailani said softly. The rain streamed down her cheeks like tears. "A far cry from the slums. But that's why I'm here. To raise money. To help those I left behind."

What the hell was she talking about? Joe didn't care. Her little black dress was soaking wet already. It clung to her body. He let his eyes linger on her curves. She was more intoxicating, more beautiful than this city.

Joe hailed a cab. They zipped down the road toward her hotel. The rain and lights danced all around, a phantasmagoria of wet color. It seemed another life. A dream. And suddenly Joe seemed to be walking through the desert again. Walking on an alien world. A place of searing heat and blinding sun, of giant centipedes that scuttled through tunnels, of the bomb exploding. Of his fellow soldiers screaming, their arms and legs torn off. Of the centipedes lunging toward the mutilated men, ripping, feeding.

I am here.

A voice in Joe's mind. Hissing. Demonic. A million voices woven into one.

Praise me.

He shuddered.

"Joe." Lailani stroked his cheek. "Are you all right? Do you want some water? Maybe tea? I can hail one of the flying drones."

He blinked, pulled back to the present. To this cab in Paris on a rainy night. To this beautiful, mysterious woman beside him. A woman with tattoos. A woman who looked half her age. A woman who should not be.

The Amazing Impossible Woman, he thought. An alien princess.

He stared into her eyes. And he saw the searing deserts of Abaddon.

This is too dangerous, he thought. I should turn back. Go to another bar. Find another girl. A silly, giggly thing with daddy issues. A human girl.

But he kept going. Like he had always kept going. Cutting wires. Peeling back strands of cables like spinal nerves. Revealing the ticking terror within. He had only ever lost one game. He had only ever failed to disarm one bomb. And the bomb disarmed his brothers—quite literally.

He barked a laugh. A crazed laugh. His eyes dampened.

Lailani wiped his tears away, her touch gentle. "Joe?"

"Memories," he said. "Just hitting me hard right now."

She kissed him.

She did not stop kissing him until they reached the hotel.

They stumbled into her room and fell onto the bed, kissing deeper now. More desperate for each other. Pawing at each other's clothes.

He pulled off her little black dress. She was naked underneath. Star tattoos formed a galaxy on her body. A hundred kills or more. A hundred bugs crushed.

She slunk toward him on the bed, moving like a tigress. Her sharp little nails grabbed his shirt. Ripped it off. Shredded the fabric.

He pulled her mouth to his. They molded together. Body and body, heart to heart, pounding as one, skin beating skin, an ancient drumbeat. A tribal dance. And she howled, head tossed back. A queen of the desert. A demon of dark fire.

He lay on his back, and she straddled him, wild and burning hot, and he clung to her thighs, and she screamed. A scream of pleasure. But as her scream went on, longer and longer, louder and louder, it seemed to him more like a scream of pain. Like the scream of his dying brothers. And this hot, sweaty bed seemed more like the desert, and the lights outside his window seemed like the trails of falling bombs.

"Lailani …" He moaned. "Oh God. Laila—"

"Do not praise God," she said. "Praise him. Praise the king."

Her voice was strange. A drop of blood flowed down her cheek.

He propped himself up onto his elbows. He cupped her cheek. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"

She gripped his head. Her fingers entwined in his hair, twisting, tugging. Her eyes blazed, and a chaotic smile raised her lips. She leaned in close.

"Praise the King of Many Claws," she said. "He is risen!"

"What the—?" he began.

She pulled him in for a kiss. A deep, hot, violent kiss. Her naked body pressed against him, and he surrendered to her strange, intoxicating fire, delved into her kiss, and—

Pain.

Searing pain!

She bit me! he realized. The bitch bit my tongue!

He screamed.

Blood filled his mouth. Her teeth kept biting! Slicing! Deeper, deeper. He tried to free himself. She clutched him too powerfully.

She jerked her head back—a single, powerful movement. Like pulling off a Band-Aid. Something ripped.

Blood flowed down Joe's chin. He screamed again. Tried to form words. Could not.

She still straddled him. His blood covered her mouth, her cheeks, her chin. She spat out a severed tongue.

My tongue, Joe realized.

It slapped onto his chest, then slid down to the mattress like a red slug. He stared at it, numb, barely comprehending.

Lailani looked down at him, naked and bloody, covered in stars. Behind her, against the hotel wall, bloomed a shadow. A shadow with many claws. Rows of claws like a centipede rising from the murk.

"He is here …," she whispered. And her mouth was full of fangs. And her little black fingernails became sharp black claws.

He tried to shove her off. She pinned him down, then drove her claws into his chest.

He howled.

Ribs snapped.

Inside his chest, her fingers curled inward. He felt it. A sickening, hot, wet feeling.

She cupped his heart in her little hand. Like a child's hand. And she ripped it out of his chest. She showed him the still-pulsing organ, smiled, and took a bite.

The last thing Joe saw was that strange, bloody smile.

Darkness spread.

He heard the scuttling of centipedes. And then the lights of Paris dimmed and shone no more.

* * * * *

Lailani straddled the dead man. His blood filled her mouth. His heart wilted in her hand.

She blinked, disoriented. It felt like waking from a dream. She was back in her hotel room. How did she get here?

I was in a desert, she thought. I heard a million voices speaking as one.

Blood dripped from her hand. She stared at the heart she held. Then she stared at the dead man beneath her, his blood soaking the bed.

Yes, she had woken from one dream. She found herself in a nightmare.

"This can't be real," Lailani whispered. "Oh God, this can't be real."

She trembled. She dropped the heart. It thumped onto the bed, slid through the blood, splattered onto the floor.

Lailani leaped off the bed, blood covering her naked body.

She looked at the dead man. At her bloody hands. The hot, coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

"What have I done?" she whispered.

She looked in the mirror. She saw the fangs. The claws. She saw the distant, punishing desert and the creatures that scuttled through the tunnels below. And Lailani de la Rosa, heroine of the Alien Wars, screamed.

CHAPTER TWO

His minicom beeped, and Marco's heart sank.

He knew what it was. What it had to be.

Another message from his stalker.

Marco was lying in bed, reading a paperback novel, waiting for his wife to come upstairs. His minicom, a portable computer the size of a playing card, rested on the dresser across the room. It served as phone, entertainment system, hologram projector, and overall nuisance.

Marco didn't need to lift the minicom. He knew what that beep meant. He knew who the message was from.

It was him again.

The strange man who just kept calling. Day after day. Hour after hour.

Marco heaved a sigh.

"Why, it must be Mr. Corvin Legrave," he muttered. "My number one fan."

Marco tried to ignore the beeping minicom. He would deal with Corvin later. If that was even his real name.

He flipped a page in his paperback. Ubik by Philip K. Dick. Vintage science fiction from centuries ago. A classic. Thankfully, the novel's dystopia had never come true. The book was surreal, deeply disturbing, but Marco found it oddly relaxing. Sometimes reading dark novels made your life seem good in comparison.

And life was good for Marco Emery these days. After years of war, he was settling comfortably into middle age. He had much to be thankful for. A moderately successful career as a fantasy author, enough to put food on the table and keep the lights on. Three beautiful children. A cozy home in northern Ontario, overlooking a lake. A loving wife. So far, no midlife crisis and nothing to complain about.

I'm turning forty next month, he thought. And I finally made it. After forty years of war and hardship, I can relax and enjoy the fruits of my—

His minicom dinged again.

"Dammit!" Marco blurted out.

He put aside the paperback and rose from bed.

Wearing boxer shorts and nothing else, he walked toward the dresser. A shiver ran through him. It was cold up here in Canada. After living on the Mediterranean coast for a few years, Marco had forgotten how damn cold his homeland was.

Maybe I grew soft bumming on the beaches of Greece, he thought.

He paused by the mirror and looked at himself. He was pushing forty and starting to show it. He still had all his hair, thankfully, but white now streaked through his temples and beard. Scars on his body told the tale of his many battles. Scars from alien claws. From alien teeth. From years of hardship and war. But more telling than the scars were his eyes. Old ghosts still haunted those eyes.

There he was. Marco Emery. A retired colonel of the Human Defense Force. Some would say a war hero.

Suddenly, in the shadows, Marco saw a different reflection. He saw himself at eighteen. A scared young man, drafted into the army, sent to fight a war on an alien world. Quite a bit thinner, just a scrawny kid. Cheeks soft and hairless. Skin as smooth as a baby's behind. Eyes so afraid. Barely more than a child, trained and sent to kill.

The vision faded. He was himself again. Veteran. Father. Husband. Author. Trying to finally find a good life.

Beep.

His minicom again.

He gritted his teeth, left the mirror, and grabbed the small computer off the dresser. It weighed almost nothing. It was barely larger than a business card. But it had more computing power than the giant supercomputers that had flown the first starships to Alpha Centauri.

The holographic interface hovered over the minicom. Marco looked at his inbox. Seventeen new messages. Just from this evening. All from the same man.

From Marco's number one fan. From Corvin Legrave.

Marco glanced over the subject lines.

I love your books!

I just reread all your books!

Did you read my new idea?

Why aren't you answering me?

Are you there, Mr. Emery?

An email every fifteen minutes like clockwork. Marco pursed his lips. It was getting worse.

He opened the latest email, glanced over it. A chill ran through him, and this time it wasn't from the cold.

Dear Mr. Emery,

I just wanted to say I reread all your books again!! did you read the book idea I sent you, I really think we should write this idea together as coauthors!! me, your apprentice, you, my mentor, what do you think? I love you're books so much, and I know this idea is a great one. the one with the cyborg girl who attaches parts of her pets to her body. the nose of her dog so she can smell out criminals. the eyes of her cat so she can see in the dark. the paws of her monkey so she can climb. can we write it together? you havent answered me in several days r u okay? Ill go reread your books now, and Ill work on my animal idea, and I know your a busy man and I love your books and I—

Before Marco could read any more, his minicom rang.

He frowned. An unknown number.

It might be from the army, he thought. Calling clandestine. It might be an emergency.

He hesitated. But he had to answer.

He held the minicom to his ear. "Hello?"

Silence. Then breathing sounded on the line. Heavy breathing.

"Who is it?" Marco said.

"Mr. Emery?" A strained voice. A nervous voice.

Marco checked his clock. It was almost midnight.

"Who is it?" he repeated.

"Mr. Emery, I'm your number one fan! My tracking pixel said you finally opened my email. I just wanted to—"

Marco hung up.

He stood there. Silent.

The minicom rang again. He did not answer. He twiddled with the settings, blocking calls from all unknown numbers.

He took a long, deep breath. He didn't like hanging up on a fan. God knew fans were hard to come by. He wasn't some famous, rich writer like Robert Prince, after all, author of a hundred bestselling thrillers. Marco was more obscure, and he wanted to embrace what fans he had. To communicate with them. Maybe he was being too rough. Maybe Corvin was calling from a different time zone, didn't realize it was so late.

His minicom pinged. An email. He glanced at the subject.

We got disconnected. Call me back?

He blocked the email address.

His minicom pinged. It came from another email address this time.

Hey can we talk? It's Corvin. I love your books!

Marco shut off all notifications on his minicom, then stuffed it into the drawer, burying it under his socks.

"Creepy bastard," he muttered.

He looked out the window and took a deep breath. The view calmed him. It always could.

The moon hung above, illuminating snowy fields, a frozen stream, and a maple forest. An owl hooted, and Venus shone among the icy branches of an oak, a celestial princess watching over the forest. The horse was asleep in the stable. The pig was slumbering in his sty. The farm was only a hundred kilometers north of Toronto, a bustling twenty-second-century city. But up here it felt like another time, a more innocent era.

I earned this, Marco thought. I deserve this peace.

For a few years, they had lived in Greece, soaking up the sunlight. That home had burned in the wars. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe Greece had never been his true home. Marco was born and raised in Canada, and in Canada he lived again. There was a nearby town with a good school for the kids. There was a frozen lake for skating. There were hockey games in the big city, only a couple of hours south, to keep Addy entertained. There was some escape from the terrible memories. From the scars that still hurt.

"Poet! Incoming!"

The cry came from behind.

Marco didn't even have time to turn around.

A figure leaped onto him.

Arms and legs wrapped around him, squeezing. Long blond hair filled his mouth and eyes. Strong fingers began pinching him all over.

"Addy!" He groaned under her weight. "Get off me. You weigh a ton."

"Nonsense!" she roared. "I'm a delicate little flower!"

He groaned, stumbling toward the bed. She clung to him like a baby monkey to its mother. But this baby monkey was a tall, lumbering, heavily tattooed hockey player who could probably wrestle a moose to submission.

"Addy, you nearly shoved me out the window."

"I don't care! I missed you!" She began kissing him all over. "I haven't seen you all evening."

He fell onto the bed. She fell down beside him, panting and grinning. He rolled toward her, admiring her.

At first glance, Addy Linden-Emery could seem intimidating. She was tall, strong, and gorgeous like a goddess risen from myth. Tattoos covered her arms, depicting birds of prey flying among stars. Each star represented an enemy killed. Her eyes were blue fire, and slender braids lay strewn through her long blond hair. She looked like an unhinged Viking warrior princess. Definitely not somebody you wanted to mess with.

On the battlefield, she was legendary. They called her the Dragoness—the warrior who had led Earth in rebellion against the marauders, who had faced the dreaded Tick-Tock King in his lair, who had saved Earth time and time again.

But Marco knew another side to her. He knew a woman who was caring and funny. And, unfortunately, relentlessly annoying.

"Addy! Why are you wearing my boxer shorts again! I told you to stop. You keep stretching them."

She gasped. "Me, stretching them? How dare you. I'm petite. Besides, I had to borrow your shorts. My own pajama pants don't fit anymore. Not since you shrank them in the dryer."

"Addy, we hang our clothes to dry. We don't even own a dryer."

"You hung them up to dry too aggressively and shrank them."

"And I'm sure your pants not fitting has nothing to do with that package of hot dogs that mysteriously went missing yesterday."

"The horse ate those. Anyway, change of topic!" Addy grinned. "While you were here, shrinking all my pants, I took the kids into the forest to hunt for freaks! It's research for my new book, Freaks of the Galaxy VI: Forest Freaks. Now that we're back in Canada, I'm bound to run into Bigfoot."

Marco glanced at the bookshelf. Three shelves were full of novels he had written. The Dragons of Yesteryear saga. The Under the Stairs novels. Les Kill. Loggerhead. The Clockwork Rose. The Goblin Bride. Those and other books he had written over the years. His newest novel, Endless Forms Most Beautiful, sat on the shelf beside an antique sepia globe.

Over the past year, Addy had authored two books of her own. They sat on the top shelf, covers facing the room—places of honor. Freaks of the Galaxy IV: More Amazing Freaks. And Freaks of the Galaxy V: Space Freaks. She didn't create the franchise. She was just a fan of the first few books. And somehow she had convinced the publisher to let her revive the series. These days, she spent most of her time combing Earth and space, searching for new freaky additions.

Marco sighed. "Addy, we've been over this. Bigfoot isn't real."

"Well, neither is our dryer, and you still shrank my pants." She raised her chin triumphantly.

"That … makes no sense."

"Anyway, I didn't find Bigfoot … yet. But the kids and I did find a freak in the forest! A deer—with two heads!"

"Is that so," Marco said.

Addy nodded. "I couldn't get a good glimpse since the deer stood in tall brush. But I clearly saw the two heads stick over the shrubs."

Marco sighed. "Two deer standing next to each other?"

Addy closed her mouth, frowned, tapped her cheek. "I suppose it could have been. I better go back tomorrow to investigate. And I'll bring a camera this time. My new Freaks of the Galaxy book focuses on animal freaks. This could be a winner!"

Lying beside her in bed, Marco wrapped his arms around her.

She's a tigress on the battlefield and Tigger at home, he thought. And this is a good home. This is a good family. This is a good life.

"I love you, Addy," he said.

She beamed. "I love you too, Poet." She began kissing him again and again. "Hey …" She waggled her eyebrows. "You can have your boxer shorts back now."

She pulled them off her legs, gave them to him. Marco tossed them across the room and turned off the lights.

He made love to his wife. To this beautiful, crazy, courageous soul. Their passion grew. The bed began to bang the wall. Addy bit his shoulder in her passion, and—

A minicom rang.

This time it was Addy's minicom.

"Ignore it," Addy mumbled, nuzzling him, continuing her lovemaking. "Keep going."

Marco tried. But her minicom kept ringing. The ringtone was the theme song to Robot Wrestling, Addy's favorite show. It included a lot of thrashing guitars, booming drums, and the screeches of dying robots.

"Don't stop, don't stop," Addy mumbled. But he could barely hear her over the music.

"I can't, I can't!" he said. "Time out. Shut up your minicom!"

Addy groaned. She rolled away from him, naked, entangling herself in the blankets. She grabbed her minicom.

"You don't have to answ—" Marco began.

Too late. Addy took the call.

"Hello?" she said, paused and listened. She frowned, handed the minicom to Marco. "It's for you."

Marco froze.

He took the minicom, held it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said stiffly.

A voice emerged from the other end. A nervous voice. "Mr. Emery?"

Marco gripped the minicom tighter. "Who is this?"

But he already knew.

"It's me, Mr. Emery! It's Corvin! You know, your number one fan! I think we got disconnected earlier, and you're not answering your emails, so I figured that I'd—"

"How did you get my wife's number?" Marco said through gritted teeth.

On the other end of the line, Corvin laughed nervously. "Oh, I had to call in a few favors. I hope that's okay. I know you don't mind, Mr. Emery. I mean, we will be coauthors soon, right? Did you get a chance to read my ideas yet? I think—"

"It's midnight," Marco said. "You called my wife's phone. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Oh." A pause. "Oh no." Another pause. "I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry, Marco. Or can I call you Marco? Anyway, about that idea I had. For the cyborg girl who cuts up her pets. Do you think that—"

Marco hung up.

He blocked the number.

He walked toward the dresser. He checked his own minicom, which still hid under his socks, notifications muted. Over the past fifteen minutes, there were thirty missed calls.

Addy padded up toward him. She hugged him from behind.

"You all right, Poet?" she said.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"The stalker again, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm telling you, dude. I'll take care of it. Just arrange a meeting, I'll show up, and pow!" Addy punched him.

"Ow!" Marco rubbed his shoulder. "What are you punching me for?"

Addy shrugged. "To demonstrate."

"You've only demonstrated that you're a violent lunatic."

She grinned. "You knew that when you married me."

"I must have been dazed from all the punches," he muttered under his breath.

They returned to bed. They made love. And when Marco woke in the morning, he walked downstairs to find Corvin Legrave in his kitchen.

CHAPTER THREE

There he sat.

Right there in Marco's kitchen.

The stalker.

The man had a sickly look to him. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes sunken, his skin pale. His greasy black hair badly needed a trim. His dusty leather jacket hung from a bony frame. Yet there was a rawboned strength to the man. There was a tenseness in his muscles that hinted at ferocity.

This man is a wound-up rubber band, Marco thought. Ready to snap.

The stranger had a gun on his hip. But he did not draw it. He wasn't attacking. Wasn't robbing the house.

Oddly, he was making breakfast for the kids.

For Marco's kids.

"Who wants pancakes?" the stranger said, his voice cheery, at odds with his cadaverous, waxy face. "Kids? Anyone?" He waggled his eyebrows. "I make them with two kinds of berries!"

The twins sat by the window, very quiet, very pale. They were eight years old, both a spitting image of their mother, tall and rosy-cheeked, their hair blond, their eyes blue. Sam was normally the quiet one, reflective and cautious, more like Marco in temperament if not in looks. Roza was wild like the wind, a miniature version of Addy.

But now both twins were still. Marco saw the fear in their eyes. They were both staring at the stranger. At the gun on his hip.

Sam looked up at Marco.

"Dad?" the boy whispered.

Addy was still upstairs, slumbering. Maybe that was good. Marco didn't want her in danger.

He stepped toward the stranger.

"Hello," Marco said, slow and cautious, hands held open. "I won't hurt you."

The stranger turned toward him. His eyes widened, nearly bugging out. A grin stretched across his face, showing sharp white teeth. The grin that seemed unnaturally wide. Almost inhuman.

"Marco!" the stranger said. "I can call you Marco, right?"

Marco recognized him. He had seen the man's avatar online.

"Corvin, give me your gun, and nobody has to get hurt."

Corvin blinked at him, then laughed. A fragile sound. Too high-pitched. Too nervous.

"Get hurt?" Corvin shook his head. "Nobody will get hurt! I'm only here to make breakfast for the kids."

Marco placed himself between Corvin and the twins.

"Kids, run upstairs to your mother," Marco said.

"We won't leave you!" Roza said. The girl puffed out her chest and clenched her fists. Perhaps emboldened by Marco's presence, she found her courage. She was ready to fight.

A regular little Addy, Marco thought. This one will be a warrior.

"It's okay, kids," Marco said. "I'll take care of this. Go to your mom."

Sam and Roza obeyed. They raced behind him. Their feet pattered upstairs toward the master bedroom, where Addy still slept. Marco's oldest child was still asleep too. A surly teenager, Terri did a lot of sleeping.

"Good, we're alone now," Marco said. "Corvin, you need to stop doing this. You need to leave right now."

Corvin raised his hands like a man surrendering to the police, but mockery draped the gesture.

"All right, all right, you got me!" Corvin said. "I've been coming on a bit too strong. I know. I assure you, I'm not a creep! No matter what the police records say. I won't use this gun." He drew the weapon, waved it around haphazardly. "I just came to make breakfast. To meet the family. After all, we're going to be coauthors, right? You the mentor. Me the apprentice. That's like family. How about we start writing after breakfast? Together we'll make magic."

"Corvin, I appreciate your being a fan." Marco's voice was strained. "But right now you need to put the gun down. And we can talk, okay? We'll talk this over. Nice and easy."

Corvin held the weapon limply in his hand. He blinked, confused.

"Marco!" Pain filled his sunken eyes. "I thought you'd be happy to see me. That you'd welcome me with a hug. That we'd eat pancakes. Laugh together. I … I admire you, Marco. I mean, Mr. Emery. I didn't mean to scare you. Oh God." His eyes dampened. "I did it again, didn't I? Acted all creepy. Scared a person I love."

"It's all right," Marco said. "We're friends. Everyone is friends here. No need for guns, right?"

Corvin looked at the gun in his hand, back at Marco. His eye twitched. A vein throbbed on his neck. But then he laughed. A strained, nervous laugh. "Of course. Of course! No need for guns."

Just then, with an enraged howl, Addy burst into the kitchen, holding a submachine gun in each hand. Three assault rifles hung across her back, a bandoleer of grenades stretched across her chest, and two handguns dangled from her belt.

"Get the fuck out of my house, creep!" she cried. "Or I'm going to fill your fucking corpse with so many fucking bullets they'll bury you in a bucket! I have ten giant fucking guns and they're thirsty for blood!"

"Addy, no!" Marco said. "It's no time for guns!"

Corvin, who was just about to drop his pistol, now aimed the weapon at Addy. His eye was twitching again, his vein bulging. Addy stood before him, aiming her guns, packing more firepower than the armies of some small nations. Marco stood between them—not the safest place in the world right now.

"Guys, guys!" Marco said. "Nobody is shooting anyone today, okay? We don't need any violence at home. And we don't need a manslaughter investigation on our hands." He glared at Addy.

Her lip peeled back in a snarl. "This is the sicko who's been stalking you, right, Marco?"

"Stalking?" Corvin took a step back, eyes wide. "I'm not a stalker! Those police reports are lies. My ex-girlfriends lied to the police. They're all liars! I'm not a stalker. I'm a writer. I'm just a writer—like Marco! I'm his number one fan."

Addy's eyes narrowed. She kept her guns trained on the lanky, pale man.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?" she said. "Are you fucking crazy?"

"I'm not crazy!" Corvin shouted—a sound so loud, so startling that Marco jumped. "They put me in that mental institution for no reason. They didn't believe me! They can't believe! They can't know! But the King of Many Claws is real. He speaks to me! He whispers ideas. Terrifying ideas. Horrible ideas. But … wonderful too. Dangerous ideas." His eyes glazed over. "The King of Many Claws will rise. And everyone will see I'm not crazy."

Sirens sounded outside.

The kids must have called the cops. Smart kids.

Corvin tensed. His eyes darted.

Marco seized the opportunity.

"Hold your fire, Addy!" Marco shouted and leaped forward.

He barreled into Corvin, slamming him against the wall.

Before the man could recover, Marco gripped his wrist and twisted. Corvin yelped. His pistol fell to the floor. Addy lifted it, tucked it into her belt.

"I could have just shot him," she muttered.

Corvin howled. He tried to shove Marco off. But Marco was stronger—or at least more skilled. He kept the pale man pinned to the wall, twisting his arm, nearly dislocating it. Corvin was helpless.

Years of military training finally pay off, Marco thought.

"Marco!" Corvin cried, eyes bugging out. "Marco, we're friends! I didn't mean to hurt you!"

Three policemen rushed into the house, pistols drawn. Marco knew all three. They were officers from Birch Hollow, the nearby town. Good boys, all of them. They were veterans like Marco.

They charged at Corvin, knocked him to the floor, and dogpiled him. Body after body slammed onto the pale man, crushing him. One officer twisted Corvin's arms, attempting to cuff him. Corvin fought like a wild animal. Marco had to lean down and help the three cops restrain him.

"I didn't do nothing!" Corvin howled, veins throbbing on his neck. His face was red, his eyes bugging out. "Tell them, Marco. Tell them we're friends! I didn't hurt anyone! I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy!"

With a sudden burst of strength, Corvin tossed off all three cops. They were big, beefy men, raised on Ontario's farms, all layers of fat over muscle and big bones. Marco was smaller, but he was a battle-hardened veteran, and he had enough combat experience for several lifetimes. Yet Corvin, gangly as he was, shoved him off too. To the pale man, Marco and the cops were like rag dolls.

What the hell? Marco thought.

One cop slammed into the breakfast table, shattering plates. Another hit the stove and screamed as it burned him. The pan of pancakes fell to the floor. Fire leaped from the stove top. Marco hit the wall with a grunt, knocking off a picture frame.

Corvin stood before them, panting, his shirt torn. Fire gripped his hair. He didn't seem to notice.

"Marco," he whispered. Betrayal filled his eyes.

Addy ran forward.

"No guns? Fine!"

With a roar, she slammed into Corvin. She had spent years on the ice, body-slamming hockey players twice her size. She plowed into Corvin like a train, slamming him against the still-hot stove.

Corvin screamed.

His clothes caught fire.

Marco cursed, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and began spraying. Foam covered Corvin, dousing the flames. Smoke filled the kitchen. The smoke alarms blared.

In the chaos, the cops leaped back into action. This time they brought out the electric stunners. Bolt after bolt slammed into Corvin, who was still reeling from the fire and foam. Finally the cops were able to cuff him.

The police dragged him, screaming and kicking, out the door.

Marco stood in the doorway, watching. Corvin tried to break free. The police pulled him down the cobbled path between the flower beds, heading toward their cruiser. They were trampling all over the petunias.

I just planted those, Marco thought. A ridiculous thought. He almost laughed.

"You betrayed me, Marco!" Corvin shouted, spraying spit. "I offered you friendship. You spat on me! I hate you! I hate you! Your books are pathetic. You're pathetic. I'm going to destroy you! You and your family! You betrayed—"

"Shut up!" a cop said.

Corvin suddenly … changed.

His eyes turned red. His muscles bulged, ripping his clothes. He snarled, revealing fangs, and claws sprouted from his fingertips.

He roared, leaped up, and knocked the three policemen aside. Still cuffed, he ran at Marco.

Addy emerged from the house, stunner in hand, and shot an electric bolt into Corvin's chest.

He fell, spasming. His claws and fangs retracted. His muscles deflated. The police dragged him into the cruiser. A moment later, they were off, taking the handcuffed man with them.

Addy gasped. "That fucker trampled your prized petunias! And you worked so hard to grow those."

Marco turned toward his wife. Addy stood there, still wearing pajamas, still carrying a dozen guns. "Why do you even have a stunner, Addy?"

She holstered the weapon and shrugged. "That's like asking a lady why she has shoes. A stunner is a necessary accessory for every modern woman."

"You're not a woman," he said. "You're a freak. And you're stretching my boxer shorts again."

"You didn't expect me to rush down here naked to save your ass!"

"Actually, seeing you naked with guns would be kinda hot."

She laughed. He did too. But then they got serious. They pulled each other into an embrace. They stood in the garden for a while, just hugging silently.

"I'm sorry," Marco finally whispered, holding her close. "I promised you a good life here in Canada. A peaceful life. I'm sorry I brought this into our home."

"Not your fault," Addy said. "But just so you know, next time you humor a stalker, I'll rip out your kidneys."

"My assumption is that you're always planning to tear out my organs," Marco said.

"Aww!" She kissed his cheek. "You know me so well."

They stepped indoors. The kids were back in the kitchen. The twins ran toward their mother, and Addy scooped them into her arms—strong, tattooed arms that would always keep them safe.

Terri was awake now. The girl was eighteen, quiet and wise. Her red hair was loosely braided. Her eyes gazed at Marco. Both the real eye and the bionic one, an implant nearly indistinguishable from the real thing.

I remember when you came to me a few years ago, Terri, Marco thought. A scared girl, a scar across your face, one eye ruined. A girl fleeing the slums of Haven. Your mother died. So you came to find your father.

Marco had only learned about Terri's existence a few years ago, but he had come to love her deeply, fully. She was a part of this family as much as anyone.

"Dad," she whispered. "I called the police. I was so scared. Are you okay?"

Marco pulled the girl into his arms. "I'm fine, Terri. We're all fine. We're all safe."

Terri wiped away a tear. "He's been emailing me too. I never wanted to say. I was scared. He scared me so much. But he's gone now, isn't he?"

Marco frowned. He stared into Terri's eyes. "Why didn't you tell me? Did he threaten you?"

Terri shook her head, then buried her face against Marco's chest. He held her, feeling like a failure.

I vowed to keep my family safe, he thought. But one of my demons nearly took them from me.

Corvin's words echoed in Marco's mind.

The King of Many Claws will rise!

Marco shuddered. He had no idea what that meant. But the damn words chilled him.

"Ooh, look!" Addy pointed at the kitchen floor. The frying pan lay there, its pancakes scattered everywhere. "Floor pancakes!"

She knelt and began to feast, stuffing her cheeks full like a hamster.

"Addy!" Marco rolled his eyes. "That's disgusting. Don't eat off the floor."

"Five-second rule!" she said, speaking with her mouth full.

"It's been way more than five seconds," Marco said. "Those pancakes have been on the floor for at least ten minutes. And there's fire extinguisher foam on them!"

She shrugged, still eating. "Foam is icing."

"Yay, floor pancakes!" the twins said. They knelt and began to eat too.

"Should I invite the pig in?" Marco said. "Maybe he can join you."

Addy flipped him off.

Marco sighed and turned toward Terri. "Lindens."

The girl, who was an Emery through and through, nodded. "We married into a loony bin."

Everything went back to normal pretty fast. After all, the Emery-Linden family had been fighting wars all their lives. They had faced alien invasions, cyborg uprisings, and more horrors than hell could boast. What was a mere stalker?

But throughout the day, as they worked on the farm, played games, made dinner, Marco kept thinking back to those words.

The King of Claws rises.

He kept remembering Corvin changing. Growing fangs. Claws.

He had seen someone change like that before.

Lailani. The woman he had almost married. A woman only partly human … and part alien. Part scum.

Were there others like her in this world? Genetic experiments? Sleeper agents?

No, Marco told himself. It's impossible. We defeated the scum! They're dead. They're gone.

But that night, Marco turned on the news, and he watched a story about a school shooting in New Zealand. Seventeen kids dead. He watched the police drag a boy away. A boy with deranged eyes. Eyes that bugged out. Like Corvin's eyes.

The kid was screaming at the camera.

"The King of Many Claws will rise. Praise him! Praise him!"

Marco closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and in his mind, he was a teenage private again, a soldier storming the alien tunnels, facing the centipedes in the dark.

CHAPTER FOUR

Spring was coming to Canada, a season of hope and rebirth, but everyone in the Linden-Emery family felt rattled today.

It was a hard day.

Corvin Legrave had not caused much physical damage. A few pancakes on the floor. A burnt dishrag. A few bruises on Marco's torso. That was about it. But even after the police dragged him away, a chill lingered in the farmhouse. Marco felt it. Saw it in his children's eyes.

"I'll take Terri up to the waterfall," Marco told his wife. "We'll take the horses."

Addy nodded. She understood. "I'll talk to the twins."

Terri tended to be quiet at home. The girl was shy, reflective, preferring the company of animals to people. Perhaps it was because Terri had lost her mother. Addy was her stepmother. The twins were half-siblings. They all loved Terri with all their hearts, of course. They accepted her as a full member of the family. But perhaps Terri still felt a little like an outsider.

Or maybe it was just her nature. Like Marco, Terri was clearly an introvert. Sharing a house with Addy—a crazy extrovert who never shut up—could be overwhelming. Terri shone with a beautiful glow like a full moon. But moonlight faded under the glare of Addy's blazing, blinding sun.

Whenever Marco wanted to talk to his daughter, he took her up to the waterfall. There, in isolated nature, far from the chaos of their household, Terri always found peace.

And right now she needs peace, Marco knew. Right now we all need some healing.

They saddled the horses. The family owned two of them. One was a young chestnut mare, lively and curious. Terri had named her Asfaloth after a horse from The Lord of the Rings, the white mount of the elf lord Glorfindel. The girl had a deep bond with the mare, and the two often rode for hours along the forest trails. The second horse was an aging piebald, grumpy and portly. His name was Horsey McHorseface. Addy had named that one.

They rode out. Terri rode confidently, bouncing in Asfaloth's saddle. Marco cursed and grumbled, struggling to control Mister McHorseface. The piebald disobeyed every command and kept pausing to eat dandelions.

Addy remained in the house with the twins. Those three found nature boring. If you asked Marco, they failed as Canadians. But he loved them anyway.

Within the comforting walls of their home, Addy would talk to the twins, soothe their trauma. Roza and Sam always gravitated toward their mother. Perhaps the twins sensed that Marco had a special bond with Terri, and they reacted by forming a particularly strong attachment to Addy. Perhaps they were simply more like their mother in temperament. Whatever the reason, it was Addy the twins always went to in trouble. In her strong, tattooed arms, they found eternal comfort.

The two horses took a dirt path, leaving the farm behind, heading into the woods. It was a warm April day. In Canadian terms, that meant it was just above freezing. The snow was melting, flowing down the hillsides in rivulets. A few early spring leaves budded on saplings, though the towering maples and oaks would remain naked for another month. A rabbit hopped across the snow. Along the hillside, a family of deer raced between birches. The air smelled of spring. Crisp. Healing.

The long winter was ending. Marco had hoped the long winter of his life would end too. Now he wasn't so sure. Corvin's screams echoed.

The King of Many Claws.

He gulped. What the hell did that even mean?

Marco rode up closer to Terri. The path here was just wide enough for both horses to ride abreast.

"It's a beautiful Canadian morning," he said.

Terri looked at him, said nothing. She was never one for small talk.

For a long while, they rode silently. They listened to the hooves, the flowing streams, and the geese honking above. A cold wind blew, streaming Terri's red hair. Marco's jacket billowed open. He shivered.

For two hours, they rode silently. Terri was often silent. Addy had once joked that the girl probably communicated through Morse code, blinking her words. But Marco understood. He and his daughter didn't need words to communicate. Just riding here together, side by side, spoke volumes. With silent companionship, he was speaking of his love for her, and of his vow to protect her. She was speaking of her fear and need for comfort. Riding together spoke more than words ever could.

It's an Emery thing, Marco thought. A Linden can't understand.

Finally they reached the waterfall. It cascaded down a hillside into a pond still fringed with ice. A deer fled into the brush. An eagle soared, holding a fish. It was a secret place. A place only Marco and Terri knew about. It was their place.

They dismounted and sat on a log. Marco opened the picnic basket.

"Let's see what we got here. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for you. Corned beef for me. Chocolate milk for you. A thermos of coffee for me."

Terri tilted her head. "I thought Addy doesn't let you eat corned beef anymore. Something about you turning forty this year and needing to watch your sodium."

Marco snorted. "Nonsense. She just wants more cold cuts for herself. Crazy carnivore. She keeps eating all my food."

"I'm glad I'm a vegetarian," Terri said. "My sandwiches are safe."

They ate in silence for a moment.

Finally Marco addressed it. The elephant in the room. Or at least the elephant in the forest.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was soft. "That Corvin was emailing you too."

She gazed at the waterfall. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Terri, I'm always here to help you. To protect you. You know that, right?"

She nodded. "I know, Dad. It's just … after what happened a few years ago. With Mister Smiley. The way he stalked me. I didn't want you to get scared. To think it's starting again. And Corvin seemed harmless at first. He would just talk about your books. Say he's a fan. He joked about coming over for dinner sometimes, which I didn't like, but I shrugged it off. But then things got weirder."

Marco frowned. "Weirder how?"

Terri lowered her head. Her cheeks flushed. "His last emails disturbed me. He started joking about how he'll be part of our family someday. How he'll marry me. Become your son-in-law. Even though he's the same age as you. That's when I blocked his email. He used another account and kept emailing me."

Marco embraced his daughter. "You should have told me."

"I know," she whispered.

"You're safe now," Marco said. "Corvin Legrave is in jail. He'll be in there for a while. Stalking, breaking and entering, threatening us with a gun—he'll be locked up for years. Especially with his existing criminal record. We're safe. But if anyone ever threatens you again, Terri, you let me know. Okay? I'm a war hero after all. I'll beat the shit out of them."

Terri laughed. "I know." She leaned against him. "You're the strongest man in the world. I believe that." She sniffed. "I'll miss you in the army."

Those words drove an icicle through Marco's heart.

He had been pushing that dread aside all winter. But with the snow melting, it was impossible to keep postponing the terror.

Terri was eighteen now. Old enough to serve. And Earth still instituted a global draft. Next year, Terri would join the Human Defense Force.

Like I did twenty-one years ago, Marco thought.

Again, the memories flooded him. Himself at eighteen. A scrawny, somber youth, not unlike Terri in temperament. He too had suffered trauma, watching a monster murder his mother. He too had been quiet.

But I was drafted during a war, he thought. I was sent to fight aliens. Earth is at peace now. Terri will be safe.

"Are you sure you don't want me to pull some strings?" Marco said. "There's no shame in that. I'm a colonel. I know people. I can get you into Julius Military Academy. Or a different officer school if you prefer. There are excellent academies all over the world."

"I'm sure," Terri said. "I don't want to be an officer. I'll serve my three years. The minimum the army requires from enlisted soldiers. Officers serve for longer, and I don't want a military career." She winced. "Are you disappointed? That I, the daughter of a famous colonel, choose to enlist as a grunt?"

"Disappointed?" Marco laughed. "Terri, I'm so proud of you. I always am. I'm proud of everything you do. And hey, I was an enlisted soldier too. I only became an officer years later with a field commission. Enlisted soldiers are the backbone of the military. If that's what you want, I'll support you."

She smiled. "Thank you. It's a bit hard. Being the daughter of a war hero and all. There are expectations. People might talk. Look at Terri Emery! Daughter of Marco Emery! Just a grunt like the rest of us." She laughed. "Screw 'em, eh? I'll do my time. I'll serve honorably. And then I'll come back here."

Marco became serious. "Terri. Don't see these three years as 'doing time.' This isn't a prison sentence. Find purpose in the army even if it's not a lifelong career. Even as an enlisted soldier, even serving for just three years, you can do well. You can enrich yourself and your planet. Whatever path you choose, I'll be proud of you."

"I don't know what I want to do in the army," she confessed.

"Neither did I at your age. And we had to serve five years back then! You'll figure it out."

Her smile returned. "But I know what I want to do after the army. I decided. I want to become a veterinarian."

"An excellent choice," Marco said. "Hey, someday you'll be a double vet. Both a veterinarian and a veteran."

She groaned. "You and your dad jokes."

Marco rose to his feet, dusted dry moss off his pants. "What say we ride back home? There's ribs for supper. And some delicious tofu for you."

"I'm glad you find tofu delicious," Terri said, "since there's a good chance Addy ate all the ribs while we were out riding."

Marco cringed. "How about we hunt something on the way back? Just to be sure."

"Dad! No!"

"Fine, fine." He sighed. "Tofu for us."

* * * * *

After their picnic, they got back in the saddle. Asfaloth walked confidently down the path. Horsey McHorseface kept swinging his head, chewing pine cones, and savaging wild apple trees. He was probably still angry about his name.

This was a good ride, Marco thought. A good talk. I hope Addy has comforted the twins while we were away. I hope we never hear from Corvin again.

But the memories haunted him.

The way Corvin had seemed to … change. For just an instant.

The flash of claws. Of fangs. The terrible strength.

It all stirred old memories. Horrors Marco had not thought about for twenty years. He had to remain strong for his children. But inside, the chill still flooded him.

The last time I saw a person change like that, it was—

No. He took a deep breath. It was still too painful.

That was long ago. That war ended.

And she was half a world away.

Marco pushed it out of his mind. For now. He knew that sooner or later he would have to examine that past. The ghosts were not done haunting him.

They were a mile from home when Terri inhaled sharply.

"Dad?" She pulled the reins, and Asfaloth stopped on the path. "What's that?"

Marco tugged his reins too. His piebald grunted, slewed off the path, and attacked another apple tree.

"Turn around, turn around!" Marco said, trying to ride back toward his daughter. Horsey McHorseface ignored him. The damn horse was as stubborn as the woman who had named him.

Giving up, Marco dismounted. He walked toward Terri. She dismounted too, and she pointed at the hillside.

"There." She shuddered. "Bones."

Marco saw it. A row of ribs rising behind a mossy log.

"Just a dead deer," Marco said. "The scavengers probably left the rib cage."

"That's not a rib cage," Terri said. "Those are claws."

Marco walked through the brush. Thorny stalks and yellow grass rose to his hips. Elsewhere in the hills, leaves were budding and flowers blooming, but this patch of land still lay in winter. A thorn pierced his sleeve and etched a line across his arm. A drop of blood splashed the snow. Marco cursed.

He stepped over the log and beheld the bones.

Terri was right. This was no deer.

The skeleton was long and lined with claws. Some kind of giant centipede.

A scum! was Marco's first thought.

But the scum had exoskeletons. These were clearly bones, not a shell. The spine looked vaguely human but longer than usual—a good eight or nine feet long. The skull was definitely human. There was no mistaking it.

Most disturbingly, the skeleton had dozens of limbs. Each tipped with a claw.

"It's gotta be a hoax," Marco said. "Somebody playing a joke on people like Addy, out here hunting Bigfoot and other cryptids. They probably took bones and arranged them into a freak."

"Dad," Terri said, voice shaky. "Didn't Corvin scream something about a King of Many Claws?"

Marco closed his eyes for just a second.

It was all coming back. Flooding him. The nightmare from twenty years ago.

The centipedes—slaughtering millions.

The woman he loved—changing.

He forced a deep breath, knelt by the skeleton, and ripped off a claw. The sound reminded Marco of cracking a lobster. Terri covered her mouth, turning green.

"We'll need a sample to study," Marco said. "We'll need a DNA test. I want to find out what the hell this thing was."

Terri returned to her horse. "I want to go home."

As they rode back home, Marco kept thinking of Lailani. The woman he had almost married. The woman who could become a monster.

CHAPTER FIVE

"I can't believe it." Addy tossed her hands into the air. "I cannot, will not believe it! After all the hours I spent in the forest, hunting Bigfeet, chupacabras, and Mothmen, you find a freak. You." She pointed at Marco accusingly. "You stole my thunder!"

Marco sat on the couch, holding the severed claw. "Addy, be serious."

"I'm very serious! I'm just a little jealous." She crossed her arms. "You just have beginner's luck."

Marco patted the couch beside him. "Can you sit down? So we can talk?"

Addy huffed. "Fine. But tomorrow I'm going to find two freaks. Just to show you." She sat on his lap.

"Addy, I meant sit beside me, not on me."

"I can't sit beside you. You left a maple syrup stain on the cushion. Do you want me to get my pants sticky?"

"Addy!" Marco groaned. "First of all, you left the stain there yesterday. I told you to stop drinking maple syrup while lying down. Come to think of it, you shouldn't be drinking maple syrup period. Secondly, you're wearing my pants. Again. And stretching them out again."

"Not my fault you have skinny chicken legs," she muttered. "Shut up and hug me, okay?"

Marco wrapped his arms around her. "Always."

Addy closed her eyes and cuddled him. "I've always felt safe in your arms, Marco. I try to be strong for the kids. For my soldiers. For the world. But I always felt safest when you hugged me."

He kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. He marveled at how shimmering and soft it was, how pure its golden hue.

"How is your hair still so blond?" he said. "We're both thirty-nine. I'm going gray, and you don't have a single gray hair."

"Shut up. I'm twenty-nine."

"Addy, we're the same age."

"Wrong! It's due to time dilation. Or some other sciencey stuff for nerds. Besides, I just have good genes."

Marco kissed her again. "How are the twins?"

"They put on a brave face. But they're scared. They insisted on sleeping in Terri's room tonight."

"And Terri agreed?" He raised an eyebrow. "The girl doesn't even like sharing a house, let alone a room."

"Terri herself suggested it, actually," Addy said. "She's scared too. Marco … so am I."

"Corvin is behind bars," Marco said. "He won't be walking free anytime soon."

Still sitting on his lap, Addy wriggled around to face him. She stared into his eyes.

"Marco, are we going to talk about it?"

"We're talking now, aren't we?"

"You know what I mean. You saw it too."

Marco nodded. "I saw it."

Addy closed her eyes. Pain passed across her face. "Marco, he grew claws. He grew fangs. He turned into some creature. It was just a second. I thought maybe it was my imagination. But you saw it too." She opened her eyes, stared at him. "And I remember seeing it before. Twenty years ago."

"Addy—" he began.

"Marco, you know what I'm talking about."

"I know, but it doesn't mean—"

"It's the same thing that happened to Lailani." Addy gripped Marco's shoulders. "You remember. The war against the scum. She grew fangs and claws. She sabotaged our starship, murdering two hundred soldiers. And she ripped out Benny Ray's heart with her claws."

Marco stared steadily into her eyes, his muscles tense. "Lailani killed nobody, Addy. Not a soul. It was the scum controlling her."

"She's part scum, Marco." Addy leaped to her feet. She stood before him, hands on her hips. "I know it's hard to hear. But the woman you loved, the woman you almost married—she's part scum. And so is Corvin."

Marco rose from the couch. Heat blazed through his body—anger threatening to erupt. "Lailani is one percent scum. At most. And yes, the scum controlled her. The scum emperor tugged her strings like a puppet master. She was helpless to resist him."

Addy laughed mirthlessly. "Why are you getting so insulted? I'm just saying that they're back. The scum are back."

"The scum were defeated!" Marco said. Too loudly. He was almost shouting. "We defeated them! We killed their emperor! Lailani was the one who pulled the trigger. We were there, you and I. We saw the emperor die!"

Addy stared at him, quiet, and let her arms drop to her sides. "And now there is a king. A king of many claws."

Feet padded. Roza crept downstairs in her pajamas. "Mom? Is everything all right?"

Addy glared at Marco, then looked back at her daughter. "Yes, sweetie. Your dad just forgot to use his indoor voice."

Marco's cheeks flushed. "Sorry, sweetheart. Let me tuck you back into bed."

He lifted the little girl, began carrying her upstairs. Her long, tanned legs dangled. Marco was amazed at how fast she was growing. He still remembered carrying her around as a baby, and now Roza was in the third grade, growing taller and braver every day.

I wasn't much older than you when I lost my mother, Marco thought. But I promise that your mother and I will always protect you.

Roza was sleeping again before Marco even carried her into the bedroom. All three kids were sharing a bedroom tonight, too scared to sleep alone. Terri and Sam were both lying in the queen-sized bed, sound asleep. Marco placed Roza down beside them, tucked her in. Soon all three kids were cozy and sleeping deeply.

Marco stood for a moment, watching them sleep.

My family is the most important thing in my life, he thought. I love you all more than I can say with words. I won't let anything hurt us again. The dark days are over. I promise.

He returned to the living room.

Addy greeted him with a hug. "Thanks for putting her back to bed. Sorry I was a jerk."

"No, you were right," Marco said. "We do need to talk about this. Long ago, the scum created Lailani. They mixed human and alien DNA. They created a sleeper agent. A hybrid I fell in love with. And when they activated Lailani, she killed."

"And you were right too," Addy said. "Lailani was being controlled. Killing was not her choice. She was just a puppet. Lailani is my friend. One of my best friends. I love her to bits. I just … I saw how Corvin changed. And I saw that claw you brought back, and it looks just like a scum claw. And Marco, I'm scared. What if it's happening again?"

Marco swallowed a lump in his throat. "We need to let her know. We need to call her."

"Who, Lailani?"

"No," Marco said. "We need to call our other best friend. The president of Earth. The leader of humanity. The Golden Lioness. We need to call Einav Ben-Ari."

CHAPTER SIX

The massive starship lumbered toward Earth. The aliens aboard hissed and licked their chops, prepared to invade the planet and subjugate its pathetic native apes.

"Earth will be ours," rumbled Asmodeus, commander of the starship. "The naked apes stand no chance. We will grind their bones to dust! We will drink their blood! They will bow before us!"

One of his lieutenants, a sniveling creature named Mammon, approached meekly. His leathery wings hung limply at his sides, and his tail dangled between his legs. "Um, Master? If we grind their bones to dust and drink their blood, would they still be able to bow?"

Asmodeus grabbed the smaller, weaker specimen by the throat. "Obviously I don't mean the ones we'll kill! We will kill some, and others will bow before us."

Mammon gulped. "Yes, Master. Sorry, Master. I misunderstood. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid Mammon!" He began slapping himself on the head.

With a grunt, Asmodeus shoved the little toady aside. He should grind Mammon's bones to dust too. But the pathetic creature had his uses. Mammon was the only one aboard who understood the starship computer system. So Asmodeus let him live. He, Grand Conqueror Asmodeus, had no time for computers. He was here for conquest! For drinking blood from the skulls of his enemies! And Earth would be his next conquest.

He stared through the viewport. He watched it grow larger. Earth. A blue planet. A morsel. A backwater. Still, the conquest would be sweet, his rewards sweeter. Asmodeus spread out his leathery wings. His tail stuck out straight, a sign of aggression. He bared his fangs, drooling, hissing, waiting for battle.

"Soon we will feed upon the apes!" Asmodeus said. "It will be glorious."

Across the starship bridge, the other Korelians roared their approval. They raised their pitchforks and blades, howling for war. Their leathery wings beat the air, churning their oily stench, and their horns gleamed, ready to pierce flesh. Their red skin glistened with bloodsweat, an involuntary reaction to battle like a cat bristling, evolved to terrify an enemy.

"Glory, glory, glory!" they chanted, pounding their chests.

All but Mammon. Half the size of the others, he stepped forward again, his hooves scraping across the deck. His tail dangled like a dead snake.

"Um, Master?" Mammon held a tablet. "My computer systems are picking up some information on Earth now, Master. It appears the local apes—they call themselves humans—are quite warlike. They've fought several alien invaders before. And won every time. Should I call the royal family back on Korelia? Should we request backup?"

Asmodeus spun toward the wretch. He grabbed the pathetic, sniveling excuse for a Korelian and lifted him off the deck. Mammon squirmed, gasping for air.

"We don't need backup!" Asmodeus roared, spraying the little creature with saliva. "We are flying a conquest-class dreadnought! We have a hundred skullfighters in our hold, ready to launch! We have an army of thirteen thousand Korelian warriors, all thirsty for blood! Backup?" He laughed. "With this battleship alone, we will destroy Earth by dinner."

He tossed Mammon to the deck. The creature knelt, sniveling. "But Master! The humans drove back the Scolopendra titania, giant centipedes from Abaddon. They defeated the marauder invasion, great spiders from deep space. They triumphed over the grays, twisted beings from the future."

Asmodeus prepared to pommel his underling, but he paused as the words sank in.

Every warrior on the bridge was silent. Staring. A few lowered their pitchforks. Morale was fleeing the ship like air through a breach.

Could it be true? Could those pathetic naked apes truly be so deadly?

"How?" Asmodeus demanded. "How did such a weak species, naked things as soft as one of our larvae, defeat mighty invaders?"

Mammon pushed himself onto his hooves, struggling to reclaim some pride. He raised his soft chin. His horns were small, but they stood erect for all they were worth.

"It's their leader, Master. The president of Earth. Einav Ben-Ari. They call her the Golden Lioness."

"Lioness?" Asmodeus spat. "What the abyss is that?"

"A local predator, Master. Apparently one of significant strength and pride. This Golden Lioness is a brilliant tactician! A courageous warrior! She—"

"And what am I then?" Asmodeus bellowed. He gripped Mammon by the throat. "Do you think me chopped worms?"

"Master—" Mammon gasped, struggling in his grip. "Please—"

Asmodeus squeezed until Mammon's neck snapped. He tossed the corpse aside.

"Feed upon his flesh!" Asmodeus cried.

Across the bridge, his warriors cheered. They descended upon the corpse and tore him apart. They feasted on wings, legs, arms, entrails. Blood dripped between the metal grates on the floor. Serpents squirmed in the crawlspace below, guzzling the blood. Asmodeus did not feed his serpentine pets. They drank whatever dripped between the grates, and that was plenty. Aboard the Brimstone Hammer, they grew fat.

"I will show this Golden Lioness, this Einav Ben-Ari. I will show her true might." Asmodeus reached into Mammon's corpse, pulled out the heart, and took a bite. Blood dripped down his chin. "I will feast upon her heart!"

The warriors of Korelia roared, blood on their fangs. They raised their pitchforks high.

Morale was back.

Pity Asmodeus had to sacrifice his only computer technician. But sacrifices were necessary in war.

* * * * *

Asmodeus, proud warlord of Korelia, returned to the viewport. Earth shone in the distance, a pale blue dot. From here, Asmodeus saw no armored Dyson sphere. No dreadnoughts. No orbital destroyers. A few defensive satellites, that was all. Nothing his skullfighters couldn't pick off. This should be a piece of rancid meat, soft and delectable.

His battleship, the mighty Brimstone Hammer, flew toward Earth's only natural satellite. The moon was surprisingly large for a planet as small as Earth. Pity it was just a barren rock. Nothing much to conquer there. No matter. The true prize lay ahead, a lush planet of oceans and forests, its surface crawling with delicious apes to feed upon.

But then Asmodeus frowned.

A spaceship emerged from behind the moon!

It was flying right at the Brimstone Hammer!

Asmodeus leaned toward the viewport, squinting. He barked a laugh. The Earthling spaceship was so small! Barely larger than a skullfighter vessel. Was this truly the only champion Earth could muster? A rickety old shuttle?

"Look at that," Asmodeus rumbled, pointing his claws at the viewport. "Behold the mighty fleet of Earth!"

He roared with laughter. A second later, the other Korelians all laughed too. They had learned to laugh along with their master. The last bridge crew had failed to appreciate Asmodeus's humor. Their spines still hung in the mess hall.

There were thirteen Korelians here on the bridge, all mighty warlords. Each one had brought a thousand warriors, lowborn yet vicious killers. Those wild beasts now waited in the hold, hungry for flesh. Asmodeus had been starving them. Their roars echoed through the battleship. They knew the battle was near. It was almost time to feast.

The Earthling vessel glided closer.

Asmodeus stared. His eyes widened.

He saw it then. The symbol drawn onto the Earthling's hull. Two open hands, painted white on the gray metal.

"They already know our symbols," Asmodeus said. "Truly, our lore has spread across the galaxy. Behold, warriors! The apes painted the symbol for surrender!" He guffawed. "They surrender already!"

A lord spat. "But we wanted battle."

"We wanted a fight!" roared another, fangs exposed.

"They can't surrender so soon!" rumbled a third lord. "That's cheating."

Asmodeus pulled a lever. Mighty stabilizer thrusters engaged, slowing down the battleship. Everyone swayed on their hooves. The Earthling vessel adjusted its speed too, matching the larger ship. Next to the mighty Brimstone Hammer, the human vessel was like an asteroid facing the sun, about to burn.

A light flashed on the terminal beside Asmodeus. A transmission was coming in from the Earthling vessel.

Asmodeus stared at the terminal, hesitating. Mammon usually operated the damn thing. With clawed fingers, Asmodeus tapped a few buttons at random. He accidentally turned the bridge lights off and on, vented air from the livestock pens a few decks below, and dropped a bomb into deep space. Finally he found the right button and accepted the call.

A voice emerged through the speakers, coming from the Earthling ship. The computer translated it into Korelian Vulgaris. It was a harsh, guttural tongue of grunts and growls, a true warrior's language.

"Dear Korelian warship! Welcome to Earth! We Earthlings recognize your superior strength. We don't stand a chance against you. Please accept our gift of surrender. Within this vessel, we offer you a sacrifice—our own leader!"

The transmission ended.

The Earthling vessel slowed to a halt, hovering before the Korelian dreadnought.

For a brief moment, Asmodeus celebrated his victory. But then he frowned.

"This could be a trap. The hoo-mans are sneaky. Do they think me a fool?" He turned toward his warriors. "Run a scan! See if their ship is loaded with bombs. It could be a suicide ship."

The lords hesitated.

One cleared his throat. "Usually Mammon is the one who—"

Asmodeus roared. "I'll do it myself. Imbeciles."

He tinkered with the controls, cursing all the while. This was no job for a warrior. He tapped a few wrong buttons, blasting religious chants from the speakers, releasing the fleshhounds from their cages in the cargo hold, and accidentally firing the starboard cannons at the moon. But finally he got the scan working. Beams swept across the human vessel, seeking weapons.

The results came back negative.

No weapons aboard the Earthling ship. No nukes, no missiles, not even bullets. If there was so much as a knife on board, the scanners would have detected it.

Asmodeus grunted. This still stank like ripe fruit. He wanted to blast the Earthling ship away, to keep flying, to rain hell on Earth. But something gave him pause.

The message.

The Earthling leader—aboard that little ship!

If Mammon had spoken truth, the Golden Lioness was a famous conqueror. A legendary warrior. To take such a prize home as his slave … Asmodeus would go down in history!

His greed flowed over his caution.

"Open a hangar!" he bellowed. "Pull the Earthling vessel in."

A lord shuffled his hooves. "Master, we're not sure how. Usually it was Mammon who—"

"Fine!" Asmodeus groaned. "You're lucky you're such brutal killers, or I'd blast you all out the airlock."

He worked the controls again. Finally, after a few failed attempts, he managed to get a tractor beam going. He grabbed the Earthling ship and began reeling her in.

He resisted the temptation to walk to the hangar bay, to await the Earthling there. A true warlord should remain in his throne room. For Asmodeus, that meant staying on the bridge.

He settled in his seat—a grand metal throne, forged from the guns of his vanquished enemies. The barrels of a thousand rifles stuck out everywhere like porcupine quills. A few could still fire.

He stared at the viewport, watching the tractor beam pull the Earthling shuttle into the dreadnought. A thump sounded in the depths of the starship—the hanger doors slamming shut. The Earthling shuttle was theirs.

Asmodeus waited on the bridge, gripping the armrests. Those armrests were formed from the barrels of machine guns. They were loaded and ready to pulverize anyone who annoyed him. He had slain quite a few sniveling toadies with his machine gun throne.

Maybe today he would slay the Golden Lioness, legendary leader of Earth.

* * * * *

Finally the bridge's blast door creaked open. Two guards stepped onto the deck. They were burly Korelians, wearing black armor over their red skin. They slammed their fists against their breastplates in salute.

"Hail, Lord Asmodeus!" one guard cried. "We bring the gift of an Earthling slave."

"We checked her for weapons," said the other guard. "She's clean."

Between them, the guards held a human child.

Asmodeus frowned.

A child? A mere child led the human species?

He stepped closer, hooves thumping against the deck's metal grates. The bloodsnakes squirmed and hissed in the crawlspace below. Whenever Asmodeus killed an enemy, they drank whatever dripped down. And poor Mammon had not offered much sustenance. This human child would offer even less blood. She was so small.

Asmodeus leaned down, bringing himself to eye level with the human girl.

No, he realized. This was no child! She had a woman's figure. Yet she was so short! Not even six feet tall! Only half his height! Truly, the humans were a pathetic race. Their adults, even their warriors, were no larger than Korelian children!

He leaned closer, snorting. His breath washed over the woman, speckling her with droplets of saliva.

"So this is the fabled Golden Lioness." He laughed. "This is the infamous Einav Ben-Ari! The hoo-man champion! The queen of Earth!" He looked at his guards. "Release her. She's no threat."

The guards shoved the woman forward with disgust. She stumbled a few steps, barely stayed upright. She kept her head lowered, her eyes on the deck. Her spacesuit was blue, the material thin, clinging to her body—not an armored plate in sight. Truly pathetic. Her helmet engulfed her head, sprouting no horns, no spikes, just a smooth dome and a glass visor.

And Mammon had claimed humans were great warriors! Asmodeus laughed. He himself wore resplendent armor over his red skin. The plates were black steel, thicker than any sword could pierce. His helmet sprouted many spikes. They could almost rival his own blood-red horns.

"Behold the leader of humanity!" He chuckled. "A creature as small and soft as my newly hatched larvae."

The warlords laughed. The human kept her head lowered.

Asmodeus placed a claw under her chin, lifted her head. "Well, hoo-man? Do you have something to say?"

For the first time, he saw her face through her visor.

Asmodeus stopped laughing.

For a moment, something cold and shameful filled his gut.

Fear.

The woman stared right at him. She stood no taller than his belt, but she stared right up into his eyes.

She had a soft face. Pale skin. Blond hair pulled into a ponytail. The face of a prey animal.

But her eyes. By the lords of the underworld—her eyes!

She had green eyes. Piercing eyes. The eyes of an apex-predator.

Asmodeus took a step back, his laughter dying on his lips.

"I am Einav Ben-Ari," she said. "The Golden Lioness. The president of Earth. And I've come to tell you: My planet is defended."

She raised her arm and pointed her palm at him.

Belatedly, Asmodeus realized her hand was a prosthetic. A graceful piece of white machinery, the fingers as delicate as piano keys. On the palm, a circle of energy grew.

"You said you checked her for weapons!" he howled at his guards.

He raised his pitchfork.

Before he could impale the human, light blazed from her palm.

A shock wave of energy slammed into Asmodeus. He flew backward. He slammed into a bulkhead, shattering it.

Around him, his mighty warlords flew with him. They slammed into bulkheads, into control panels, into one another. The shock wave raised them off their hooves and pounded them down with the fury of a god.

It was like a game Asmodeus would play as a child, rolling a skull toward a formation of erect bones. Every armored Korelian on the bridge tumbled. A perfect strike.

Asmodeus howled, shoving himself back up. He had cracked one of his horns.

"Kill the hoo-man!" he roared.

He hurled his pitchfork toward her. It sliced the air.

The human sidestepped. The pitchfork missed her, slamming into a control panel. The prongs drove into the machinery. Electronics sparked. The lights on the bridge shut down.

Ben-Ari leaped behind Asmodeus's throne. His warriors threw their own pitchforks. But the metal prongs clattered uselessly against the heavy black throne, a seat forged from the thousand guns of vanquished foes. The human hid behind the seat. Coward!

The throne began to swivel.

It turned right toward Asmodeus.

The two armrests, made from machine guns, glared at him with terrible black eyes. Tunnels to the underworld.

The last thing Asmodeus saw was those muzzles light up.

The last thing he felt was the bullets plow through his mighty armor.

The last thing he heard was his own scream.

And then all was darkness.

* * * * *

Einav Ben-Ari crouched behind the metal throne, dealing death unto her enemies.

Just another day at work for the president of Earth.

These particular enemies were a nasty lot. Cruel and physically strong. Thankfully, they also happened to be idiots. Ben-Ari felt no regrets as she mowed them down.

In this cruel galaxy, there is only one capital crime, she thought. Stupidity. And the punishment is swift.

Warlord Asmodeus, commander of this dreadnought, lay on the deck, riddled with bullets. The other Korelians roared and charged at Ben-Ari.

She moved the throne from side to side. The machine gun armrests rattled, chewing through the enemy. The Korelians were a fearsome race. With their towering frame, leathery wings, and red skin, they looked like Earth's historical depiction of demons. But barraged with bullets, they died as easily as any creature.

Within a few moments, the Korelian warlords lay dead and smoking on the deck. Their blood seeped through grates. In the crawlspace below, serpents greedily guzzled the blood.

The bridge was hers. But there was still a pesky little problem. No big deal. Just thousands of Korelian shock troops inside the hold, an unholy army bred to conquer Earth.

Ben-Ari sighed. She supposed she should deal with them too.

She walked toward the mangled control panel, grabbed Asmodeus's pitchfork, and pulled it free. The controls sparked. All the navigational charts were dead. In his attempt to kill her, Asmodeus had crippled his own ship.

"Idiot," she muttered.

At least the yoke—a massive steering wheel constructed from horns—was still functional. She'd have to navigate by sight. Like an old sea captain on a schooner.

She didn't have long. War chants were rising deep inside the dreadnought. The lowborn Korelians must have sensed trouble on the bridge. These beasts were drawn to violence like flies to rotten flesh. They'd be here soon.

Ben-Ari stood before the viewport, gazing into space. Earth shone ahead, as small as a coin from here. The moon was closer, looming before her. Humans had colonized the moon, but they left the dark side barren. Everyone on the moon wanted a view of Earth. The side facing Ben-Ari now was a rocky wasteland.

That should do nicely.

Ben-Ari shoved down a lever.

Deep inside the Brimstone Hammer, great engines churned. Heat rose through the deck. The bulkheads vibrated.

The mighty dreadnought, a starship larger than any skyscraper on Earth, began chugging toward the moon. It should leave a lovely new crater.

"Invader!" The howl rose behind her, deep and echoing. "Invader on the bridge!"

Ben-Ari sighed. She spun around, ducked as a pitchfork flew over her head. The weapon drove into a bulkhead. Idiots! They nearly breached their own hull.

A Korelian trooper stormed onto the bridge. A few more of the demons crowded outside, roaring for blood.

Ben-Ari knelt by the dead Asmodeus. The alien carried a firearm on his hip. He had never even drawn it. Probably pitchforks were traditional weapons, preferable in a fight. They just kept their guns as backups. As she had thought. Idiots.

She drew Asmodeus's gun. For him, it was just a pistol. For her, the weapon was as large and heavy as a bazooka.

The Korelian trooper was now only a meter away, howling for her blood.

She fired.

A bullet the size of a zucchini plowed through the demon, leaving a smoking hole. The recoil nearly knocked Ben-Ari off her feet.

Damn! she thought. I like this gun!

A second Korelian stormed the bridge, pitchfork thrusting. She fired again. The gun pulverized the beast's head.

This was fun. But there were thousands of Korelians aboard. She'd run out of bullets before they ran out of kamikaze meatheads.

Ben-Ari shoved the metal throne. It was a beast of a chair, definitely heavier than her. Thankfully, her prosthetic arm was up to the task. She dialed up its power, felt the energy flow through the cyborg limb. With inhuman strength, she shoved the throne into the doorway. It knocked several Korelians back into the corridor.

The demonic aliens howled outside, desperate to enter the bridge. The throne was heavy, but it would not hold them for long.

"Asmodeus?" she said. "I need your help."

She grabbed the dead alien. Damn thing weighed a ton. She dragged him to the throne, lifted his muscular arms, and placed them on the machine gun armrests. She hooked his claws around the triggers.

The machine guns roared to life. A fusillade of bullets filled the corridor, mowing down the Korelians.

"Keep that up, Asmodeus!" Ben-Ari said, returning to the yoke. She had bought herself a few more moments.

During her brief absence from the helm, the alien dreadnought had slewed left. They were now flying past the moon—and hurtling toward Earth.

"Dammit!" Ben-Ari said.

She was wrestling the yoke, trying to turn the dreadnought around, when the deck rattled below her feet. Machinery was moving deep below. A monitor showed her what was happening. The hangar bays were opening! She watched from the bridge as a hundred skullfighters swarmed from the dreadnought like hornets from a hive.

The little ships were heading toward Earth.

Ben-Ari cursed.

The Korelian skullfighters were ugly vessels, all covered in spikes and cannons. They were just large enough for a single pilot. Forged of black iron, each sported two red portholes like eyes. They looked like demonic skulls, giving them their name.

Maybe I should have brought backup, Ben-Ari thought.

Her generals had begged her to take a starfighter battalion, maybe a frigate or two for good measure. Ben-Ari had laughed.

"What, to deal with mere Korelians?" she had told the generals. "They're the dumbest thugs in the galaxy. I can stomp on them myself. Save the cost. I'll take care of them alone."

Well, now she was here, trapped in an alien dreadnought hurtling toward Earth, watching skullfighters shriek toward her homeworld. Just to make things worse, thousands of demonic warriors were howling throughout the dreadnought, desperate to rip her limb from limb. Who was laughing now?

Ben-Ari sighed. Was she foolhardy? Biting off more than she could chew? As overconfident as the Korelians themselves?

Maybe, as she grew older, her temerity grew too. But damn it, this should have been such an easy task. In her career, she had dealt with worse aliens than Korelians. This should not have been so much trouble.

Yes, maybe she was getting cocky.

Oh well. She had started this job. She would finish it.

She turned toward another set of controls. Two iron handles thrust out, forged for larger hands than hers. Those must be the cannon triggers.

She grabbed them. Her prosthetic hand, with its superhuman strength, pulled one trigger with ease. Her real hand struggled a bit, but she got that trigger down too.

The deck vibrated below Ben-Ari's feet. Torpedo bays were blooming open.

Two photon bolts blasted into space, spinning, crackling, nearly blinding her. One bolt missed its mark, hurtling into the depths of space. The second bolt found a target. A skullfighter exploded, spraying shrapnel every which way. Some chunks pattered into the Brimstone Hammer.

"Not a bad starship," Ben-Ari said to herself, eyebrows rising appreciatively. "A bit clunky, maybe, but overall not bad."

The Korelians weren't the brightest warriors, perhaps. But it seemed they had some half-decent engineers.

She kept pulling the triggers, firing photon bolts at the skullfighters. A few more of the ugly little ships exploded. Anyone watching from the moon's tourist resorts would see quite the fireworks display.

Meanwhile, the Korelians in the corridor kept trying to break onto the bridge. But the throne still blocked their way. And dear old Asmodeus, even in death, kept firing the machine guns, mowing down his own people.

"For a dreadnought, she could use a wider array of weapons." Ben-Ari fired two more plasma bolts. Two more skullfighters exploded. "And she definitely needs some stealth capabilities." She fired again. Two more enemy bogeys shattered. "Still, your starship pleasantly surprises me, Asmodeus. Pity I'll soon have to destroy her."

She shot a few more rounds, taking out more skullfighters, when the throne stopped firing.

Ben-Ari looked over her head.

Dead Asmodeus was still pulling the triggers. But the throne's muzzles just smoked. Out of bullets.

Great.

The surviving Korelians howled in triumph, raced over the hills of their dead, and barged onto the bridge.

"Dammit!" Ben-Ari spat.

* * * * *

The demonic warriors raced across the bridge, pitchforks thrusting, jaws open in bloodthirsty howls.

There were thousands in this ship. Too many even for Ben-Ari.

She raised her prosthetic hand. She had just enough power for one last energy blast. She had to make it count.

A pitchfork flew. She ducked. It whistled over her head.

She spun away from the Korelians, saving her energy charge.

She faced the towering viewport. Ahead she saw the skullfighters regrouping, storming toward Earth. Quite a few of the spiky little ships remained. And Ben-Ari couldn't shoot them down. Not with thousands of demons nipping at her heels.

She thrust her thrumming palm toward the viewport and unleashed its energy.

The massive screen shattered.

Behind it, the dreadnought's hull twisted, bent, and tore open, exposing open space.

Sheets of steelglass careened into the distance, leaving a gaping hole in the starship.

The air roared out the breach. Korelian warriors screamed. They tried to find purchase, could not. They tumbled into space, still trying to throw their pitchforks. Their wings beat, finding no air in the vacuum. Their screams fell silent. Within seconds, they were dead.

The shrieking wind caught Ben-Ari too. She rolled into space with the aliens. She, at least, was wearing a spacesuit.

A skullfighter streaked toward her. A Korelian pilot sneered in the cockpit. Guns emerged from the vessel, blazing out plasma.

Ben-Ari ignited her spacesuit's built-in jetpack. She soared high, leaving a trail of fire. The enemy's plasma streamed below her, nearly spraying her boots. She felt the soles heat up. Close call.

As she raced through the vacuum, Ben-Ari reached toward a floating dead Korelian. She wrenched the alien's pitchfork from its claws, kicked off against the corpse, and hurled the weapon.

The pitchfork shot toward the skullfighter, drove through the canopy, and impaled the demonic pilot.

The skullfighter spun madly and slammed into the Brimstone Hammer, exploding against the dreadnought's hull.

Ben-Ari didn't have much time to celebrate. Three more skullfighters were racing toward her.

Her prosthetic hand was out of charge. Goddammit! Muttering curses, Ben-Ari raised Asmodeus's pistol. She opened fire. The massive bullets took out one skullfighter.

But the two other skullfighters flanked her, flying in for the kill.

Ben-Ari soared, dived, zigzagged, desperate to avoid the incoming streams of plasma. The bolts of searing death flew everywhere. Plasma grazed her boot. This time the sole melted.

Her comlink crackled to life inside her helmet. A staticky voice emerged.

"President Ben-Ari, this is Earth Orbit Patrol calling. Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"I'm fine, I got this!" she said, firing her gun again.

The blast only nicked a skullfighter on the wing. The spiky ship kept charging toward her. The pilot snarled and drooled in the cockpit. Ben-Ari groaned and dived through space, her jet pack thrumming, narrowly dodging a plasma bolt.

"Madam President, are you sure?" came the staticky voice. "We can send over a squad of Firebirds to help."

"I told you, I got this!" Ben-Ari said. "This is how I exercise. Over and out."

She sighed. Her stupid pride. A squad of Firebird starfighters would come in handy now. But she'd never live it down.

A dozen skullfighters came racing toward her, leaving trails of fire through space.

Ben-Ari forced herself to stay still. To hover in the void.

The skullfighters charged, closing in from all directions. Their cannons unleashed flaming hell.

Ben-Ari spun the handles of her jetpack. She corkscrewed upward, leaving a spiral of fire.

Instead of shooting her, the skullfighters ended up firing on one another.

Their circular formation burned, a halo of fire in space.

"Idiots!" Ben-Ari said.

She glanced toward the Brimstone Hammer. A few last Korelian foot soldiers were spilling through the breach into space. Hundreds were hovering in the void, dead or dying. The dreadnought's bridge should be empty by now.

Ben-Ari flew, zigzagging through the battle. She whipped around burning skullfighters, red-hot scraps of metal, and alien corpses.

Wherever I go, I seem to leave destruction, Ben-Ari thought, a wry smile on her lips.

She flew through the hole in the hull, reentering the dreadnought's bridge. Thankfully, all the Korelians had been expelled into space. Finally, some privacy!

Ben-Ari returned to the controls. With a few blasts of her cannons, she took out the last skullfighters.

The bastards had almost reached Earth.

Goddamn, I'm slowing down, Ben-Ari thought. In my youth, I'd have taken them all out by now, and I'd be resting at home, drinking chamomile tea.

But she was getting older.

She was forty-two now. Young for a president, yes. For a politician, she was still a baby. And most people said she could pass for thirty. Damn flatterers.

But Ben-Ari felt it. The age creeping up on her. The fear that soon she wouldn't be able to take these daring missions anymore. That soon a worthy enemy would attack. Something worse than Korelians. And Ben-Ari worried that when the next true challenge came, her strength would fail.

Ah, enough navel-gazing for now! she told herself. There's still work that needs doing. I have a dreadnought to destroy.

* * * * *

Standing on the bridge, boots planted firmly on the deck, Ben-Ari tugged the dreadnought's mighty yoke with all her strength.

Creaking, the gargantuan Brimstone Hammer yawed in space. It flew away from Earth, heading back toward the moon.

Down on the lunar surface, Ben-Ari saw glittering casinos, hotels, and theme parks. She imagined the tourists inside, pointing and gasping and snapping photos. She could even make out a few distant camera flashes. She waved as she flew by, just in case anyone had a powerful zoom.

She piloted the Brimstone toward the dark side of the moon, locked the yoke, and shoved down the thrust.

She stepped toward the hole in the hull, prepared to jump out into space. Then she stepped back, knelt by a dead Korelian, and wrenched the alien's gun free. She liked their enormous bazooka-like guns. She'd keep this one. A little souvenir.

Holding her trophy, she leaped out the shattered hull into space. She hovered in the vacuum, jetpack purring, and watched.

The dreadnought drove toward the moon, almost languidly. For a machine so massive, it seemed weightless.

At least until it struck.

The dreadnought plowed into the surface like a sword into a boulder. It shattered into a billion pieces, scattering its remains across the barren landscape. Dust flew in great clouds. Once the dust settled, there would be a nice crater to add to the lunar maps. Ben-Ari would let the scientists name it. Maybe they'd name it after her.

She couldn't fly all the way to Earth with a jetpack. She circled the clouds of dust, descended, and landed on the lunar surface. She chose a spot in the barren desert, far from the casinos and resorts. The gray landscape spread around her, and the stars shone above.

She tapped her prosthetic arm, and a holographic keyboard materialized, hovering before her. She would call Earth Patrol and request a ride back home.

Before she could dial, the comlink embedded into her helmet rang. The visor's HUD displayed the caller ID.

Ben-Ari frowned. She tapped the side of her helmet, accepting the call. "Marco?"

Marco Emery almost never called her at work. Years ago, he had served in her HDF platoon. But over time, he became more than her soldier. He became a confidant. A friend. Her best friend.

His voice came through her headset. He was calling from Earth. There was a slight delay, Earth being a light-second away.

"Einav?"

"What's wrong, Marco?"

Before he answered, something caught her eye. She glanced up. Dammit! A skullfighter! She must have missed one. And now the spiky vessel was flying toward her, prepared to strafe her!

"I had to tell you something," Marco said. "Something happened."

Ben-Ari aimed the massive alien pistol. She fired. The recoil knocked her several feet back. Above her, the skullfighter careened. Its engine blazed.

"Einav?" Marco said. "Is this a bad time?"

"It's all good," said Ben-Ari. "Just finishing up a day's work. Keep talking."

Beside her, the last alien skullfighter slammed onto the lunar surface and exploded.

"I can call back another time if you're busy," Marco said. "I literally hear explosions."

"It's fine." A snarling Korelian emerged from the burning spacecraft. Ben-Ari fired the massive gun again. The alien's head burst like a ripe watermelon. "What's up, Marco?"

She listened for a long time as Marco spoke, describing Corvin Legrave and the skeleton in the forest. Ben-Ari pursed her lips. A chill washed her.

Is this it? she wondered. The true enemy I've been fearing? The source of my recent unease?

"Meet me in Jerusalem," she said. "Bring Addy. Tomorrow, nine a.m. We need to figure this out."

CHAPTER SEVEN

The gates slammed shut, sealing Corvin in his cell.

Just like that—he was behind bars again.

"I'm not crazy!" he shouted, banging against the bars. "I'm not a criminal! I was only making breakfast. I just made pancakes for the kids. Marco! Marco!"

Across the cell block, other prisoners jeered.

"Marco, Marco!" somebody mimicked.

Another prisoner tossed a rock from a nearby cell. It flew between the bars, and pain exploded across Corvin's face. He gasped and stumbled back, tasting blood.

"Shut up, idiot!" came a voice from another cell.

"I'm not an idiot," Corvin whispered. He took three steps back, hit the wall. That was the size of the cell. Three steps by two. "I'm not crazy. I'm not a criminal."

His blood dripped. His eyes stung. Corvin lay on the concrete floor, curled into a ball, and trembled.

Once again, he was fifteen years old. Holding a hammer with shaking hands. Swinging the hammer. Again and again into his father's skull. Shattering the bone. Watching the brain leak out, all those little folds like juicy pink worms. Revenge. Revenge!

"That's what you get!" the pale teenager had shouted. "That's what you get for fucking your own daughter, you sick freak!"

His father lay dead on the floor, brains splattered. His father and his grandfather. They were the same man. The pervert who had raped his own daughter. Who had given Corvin twisted, anguished, inbred life.

The boy just kept swinging. Hammering the skull again and again. Crushing the brain fold by fold, part by part. Neocortex, amygdala, stem and lobe—he destroyed them all. He was eliminating every aspect of his father. Every memory. Every drop of aggression. Every facet of personality and identity. Every spark of consciousness. Every part of that sick, twisted brain—crushing it until nothing remained. Just paste. Corvin was still hammering away when the police arrived.

That time, Corvin had spent three years behind bars. Not a long time, considering his crime. But he had been very young. He had done a terrible thing. He had murdered a man. Taken a life. A horrible sin.

"But this time I did nothing," Corvin whispered, tasting blood. "I just wanted to meet you. To make breakfast. To be … to be friends. I just wanted a friend. But you betrayed me, Marco. Betrayed me!" He wept. Laughed. Curled up tighter. Clawed at his own cheeks. "I'll have my revenge!" He unfurled, rose to his feet, raised his arms. "I will have my—"

Another rock flew. It hit Corvin in the arm.

"Shut up, asshole!"

The days were slow in prison. Every minute seemed a year. It was a minimum-security prison. He could spend his mornings roaming the yard, reading in the library, doing crafts. He was not some hardened criminal, after all. But to Corvin, every second here was hell.

You are living it up, Marco, he thought. With your beautiful wife. Your beautiful kids. Your perfect family. Your perfect home. You doomed me to this place!

His rage rose. Nearly overwhelming. At dinner that night, he could barely hold the spoon. It shook in his hand, scattering scrambled eggs across the table. The mess hall spun around him.

"He's an idiot," one prisoner said, a white-haired man locked up for identity theft and online fraud.

"Guy's not right in the head," said another prisoner, a slender man imprisoned for embezzlement. "I have a cousin like him. Retarded."

"Hey, freak!" Somebody tossed a slice of bread at him. "Can you talk? What's your name?"

Corvin kept his head down. You had to keep your head down there. You had to be good. The other prisoners laughed.

"Told ya," said a man. "A total idiot."

Corvin's hand tightened around his spoon. But he said nothing.

Keep your head down, he told himself. Remember what your lawyer said. Be good. Be a good boy. Don't cause trouble. And you'll be out in a year.

He took the bread they had tossed at him. He ate the entire slice with one bite.

* * * * *

Keep your head down.

Corvin stood in his cell, staring at the concrete floor.

Be good.

He worked in the kitchen, scrubbing pots and pans.

Don't cause trouble.

He ignored the taunting prisoners. When they threw things at him, he took the humiliation. He took the pain.

You'll be out in a year.

He suffered day by day. Waiting. Trudging through his time.

It became a mantra. A chant. He carved it into the walls. Be good. Don't cause trouble. Keep your head down. Be good. Be good …

At night, he lay in his cell, scratching the words into the wall over and over. A thousand times. And in the morning, he found that he had sketched a great centipede. A creature with a thousand claws. Corvin's fingers were bloody. The fingernails broken down. But a god coiled across the wall. A king.

Keep your head down.

He suffered through the day.

Be good.

He ate the bread they threw at him.

Praise him.

The next night, he got on his knees. He praised the King of Many Claws. He prayed.

He did not know who this god was. Maybe the others were right. Maybe Corvin was crazy. This creature had been with him all his life. Coiling inside him. It was the king who had swung the hammer. Who had shattered that skull long ago. It was the king who drove him to Marco's house. The king who whispered to him. Who tormented him. The king demanded praise.

At midnight, the sketch came to life. The king crawled off the wall. The centipede undulated through the prison cell, wrapped around Corvin, cut him with his many claws. Corvin felt like he was cocooned in thorns.

"My lord!" he whispered.

"The time draws near, my child," said the King of Many Claws. "Soon I will call upon you to perform your holy duty."

Tears filled Corvin's eyes. "I've been waiting all my life, my lord."

"You are my son. You are blessed. You are blood of my blood. Be ready."

Corvin spent that night on his knees, worshipping the centipede. When dawn broke, igniting with a flash of fluorescent, the king was just an etching in the wall again, stained with the blood of Corvin's fingers.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lailani stood at the podium, facing the world's wealthiest philanthropists, and trembled. Everyone was staring at her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and cold sweat trickled down her back.

It was not stage fright. Lailani wasn't shy. She didn't give a fuck what anyone thought about her. And it wasn't the presence of so many wealthy, powerful people. Money didn't intimidate her. Lailani was poor, but she knew that even billionaires didn't shit gold.

And yet, as she faced the crowd, she could not speak. She felt faint.

Everyone watched her, waiting. A cameraman was filming her, broadcasting her image to huge screens across the auditorium. Millions of people were also watching from home.

Still Lailani could not speak. Her throat closed up like a fist.

It was the memory from last night. The terror in the hotel room. It gripped her. It would not let go.

Somebody in the crowd cleared his throat. Lailani recognized him. He was the CEO of a Galactic 500 company. Another man, dressed in fineries, checked his golden pocket watch. Lailani recognized him too. The Prince of Monaco. The elderly Duchess of Alba frowned—which was no small feat, considering how tight her face lift looked. She put away her checkbook.

Lailani forced herself to take a deep breath. She had been waiting all year for this fundraiser. This was why she had come to Paris. For this moment.

She opened her mouth, leaned toward the microphone.

I bit out a man's tongue.

She winced. Her heart galloped.

I tore out his heart.

She forced the thoughts aside.

Deal with it later, Lailani. Right now the children need you.

She cleared her throat, and she finally managed to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Paris. Welcome to the first annual fundraiser of Sofia's Children Foundation."

The crowd applauded. The tension broke. At least for the crowd. Lailani's insides were still trembling.

I held his heart in my hand.

She still didn't understand what had happened. Lailani was part scum, yes. That part of her was violent. Murderous. But she had a microchip in her brain. For twenty years now, the chip had kept the evil at bay. Why had it failed now?

Twenty years, she thought in wonder. Has it really been that long?

She glanced toward a screen that hovered above the crowd. She could see herself there. A petite Filipina, dressed to the nines. She wore a black gown, a golden necklace, and diamond earrings. Her makeup was perfect. Her hair cascaded, as smooth as silk, as black as midnight. Some would say she was beautiful.

But there was something odd about her. And people had begun to notice.

Lailani was not aging.

She was turning forty next winter. And she looked no older than twenty.

Because scum live for centuries, she thought. And I'm part scum. That part took ahold of me last night. And I'm scared. I'm so scared I'll kill again.

The director gestured at her urgently from the camera pit. His eyes were practically bugging out.

Lailani gulped and resumed speaking into the microphone.

"Years ago, I worked with a woman named Sofia Levchenko. Together, we pushed a cart full of books through the slums of Manila. We found orphans. We taught them how to read."

She left out a few details.

She didn't mention that this had happened a decade ago. People were already whispering about Lailani's lack of aging. She didn't want to draw any more attention to it.

She also left out who Sofia truly was. Not just a brave teacher. But a lover.

I loved you, Sofia, Lailani thought. Her eyes dampened. We loved each other. So much.

She wiped away a tear. "Sofia died in the Marauder War. But her legacy remains. Today Sofia's Children Foundation oversees seventeen brick-and-mortar schools, bringing the light of education to impoverished children around the world. We've come a long way from that little wheelbarrow full of books."

The audience cheered. A few people wiped away tears.

I ripped out his heart and took a bite, Lailani thought. She could still taste it. A coppery taste. A rubbery texture.

Suddenly panic leaped. There was still blood in her mouth! Everyone would see it!

Heart pounding, she looked at the hovering screen. The camera was still projecting her speech there. Watching herself on the screen, Lailani parted her lips. No blood. The taste was just a memory.

She shuddered to remember that morning. Taking her little starship into space. Tossing the corpse into the depths. The dead man from the bar was floating in the void now. Nobody would ever find his body in the vastness of space. You'd have better luck finding a lost diamond in the Pacific Ocean.

But Lailani could not stop thinking about it.

Will I kill again?

She gulped. Sweat trickled down her back. Her silk gown clung to her skin.

The director was gesturing at her again, making circular motions with his hands. Get on with it.

Lailani licked her dry lips, forced herself to swallow. She still tasted that hot, coppery blood.

And she liked it. She savored it. She wanted more.

She plowed on hurriedly. "Today we'll be raising money for a new school. A school we will open in the slums of Haven, a colony far from Earth, desperately in need of quality education. It will be our foundation's first school in space. I'll be auctioning off several items. They are mementos of the Alien Wars. A helmet worn by Addy Linden, the heroine of the Marauder Uprising. A salvaged gear from HDFS Terra, a legendary battleship flown by Admiral Bryan during the First Scum War. Signed copies of Chronicles of the Alien Wars by President Einav Ben-Ari. I ask you to bid generously. Every dollar will go toward building our new—"

Her voice died.

She gasped.

Something soft and wet—in her hand!

She looked down.

She was holding it. A human heart. The blood dripped down her wrist. Down her arm. Onto the floor.

Everyone was looking at her. They could all see it! Her guilt! Her evil!

"I …" She took a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, I …"

The audience members frowned, looked at one another, and whispered. The Prince of Monaco tilted his head.

Lailani looked at her hand again.

The heart was gone. The blood was gone. Her hand was perfectly clean, her fingernails manicured.

Nothing. Just a dream.

I need to leave this place, Lailani thought. Everyone here is in danger. I need to see Einav. I need her help. I—

But no.

She could not tell anyone. Not even Einav Ben-Ari, the president of Earth and one of Lailani's best friends.

She could not confess a murder.

Even Einav would not protect me, Lailani thought. Even she would want me locked away. Maybe I need to be locked away. I don't understand.

Below in the camera pit, the director cleared his throat. He held up a cue card, scribbled urgently in his own handwriting.

GET THE CELLIST ON.

Lailani nodded. She looked at the crowd. "But before our auction begins, we have a little treat for you tonight." Rehearsed words. She didn't need the cue card. "With us tonight is one of the world's most respected musicians. She has performed for the pope, for alien emperors, and across sold-out arenas on Mars. With her cello, she has brought millions to tears. And she has agreed to perform for us tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, she's flown all the way from Taiwan to join us in Paris. Give a warm welcome to the peerless Chia-Jung!"

Lailani stepped to the side of the stage. Chia-Jung, famed cellist, took center stage. Her electric cello was waiting for her, a graceful white instrument inlaid with flashing blue lights. The cello looked like some futuristic sword for an android knight. The crowd stood up and applauded.

Chia-Jung was as graceful as her instrument. A streak of white flowed through her braided black hair. She had grown up in a refugee camp following the First Alien War against the scum. Lailani had talked to her before the show. The cellist had no ego despite her fame. She was soft-spoken, kind, and humorous, though sadness never strayed far from her eyes.

She began to play. Just a single note. A deep, mournful sound. A note that shuddered through the air.

Then she kept playing. A sad song like clouds over the sea, like a fading storm and starlight above cold waters. Lailani closed her eyes and listened to the music, seeking calm between the notes.

Something woke up a demon inside me, she thought. Something activated me. That was not me. That was … a puppeteer.

Chia-Jung played on. The music filled the auditorium, sonorous, rich, warm. With a single cello, she captured a universe of beauty and bittersweet tragedy.

This happened to me before. A tear trickled down Lailani's cheek. The scum emperor seized control of my mind. And I drove my claws into the chest of Benny "Elvis" Ray and ripped out his heart. The man I loved. Father to my daughter.

The tears kept falling. For years now, Lailani had pushed the pain aside. But the reality never left her. That she had murdered the innocent. That she had stolen Tala's father.

But the scum emperor is dead! Lailani told herself. I killed him myself. I invaded his planet with Marco, Addy, and Einav. I blasted him with plasma and watched him die. I—

The music died with a discordant note.

Lailani opened her eyes.

She looked at Chia-Jung.

The cellist stood on the stage, still. The last jarring note hung in the air, its echo fading.

The audience shifted uncomfortably.

Slowly, neck creaking, Chia-Jung turned her head toward Lailani.

The cellist's lips parted, revealing fangs. She spoke in a demonic voice. "Yes, the scum emperor is dead. But now the King of Many Claws rises. And you will serve him!"

Lailani gasped. She took a step back. Her heart, which had finally begun to calm down, burst into a gallop.

Instinctively she reached to her side, seeking her assault rifle. Force of habit after years of war. Of course she had no gun here.

"Who is this?" Lailani demanded, her voice ringing across the hall. "Who is speaking through her?"

Chia-Jung grinned. A hideous grin. Deformed. A grin that tore the corners of her mouth. Her fangs shone.

"Thank you, Lailani, for killing the emperor so long ago." The voice that emerged from Chia-Jung's throat was impossibly deep. "Now the King of Many Claws rises. I am his servant. You will be too. We will worship our king. We will kill for our king. And you, Lailani, will become his greatest killer!"

Pain blazed through Lailani's skull.

She howled, clutching her head.

Somebody was trying to hack her brain! This time she had expected it. She fought it. The microchip thrummed and burned in her skull. She could barely resist.

In the crowd, the Prince of Monaco stood up. He cleared his throat. "What is this?" He thrust out his chest, and the medals across his jacket jangled. "I came here to see Chia-Jung play the cello. Not this … this … theater!"

Chia-Jung spun toward him, snarling. Her eyes bugged out, red and demonic. The audience gasped. The prince recoiled.

"The King of Many Claws is no theater performer," the cellist hissed. "He is the rightful ruler of Earth, and death shall be his prize!"

Shrieking, Chia-Jung tossed her cello's bow like a dagger.

The sharp stick, which just moments ago had moved along the cello strings with such grace, drove into the Prince of Monaco's eye and impaled his brain.

The prince collapsed, dead before he hit the floor.

Everyone in the audience began to flee.

Chia-Jung leaped up, grabbed the chandelier, and swung in a wide circle. She landed in the crowd. Her claws lashed, ripping people apart. Blood sprayed in curtains. People screamed.

Lailani watched from the stage, dazed, as the famed cellist ripped the head off an old man and held it aloft.

A voice spoke deep inside her.

Colonel Lailani de la Rosa! You are a soldier! Act like one!

It was Ben-Ari's voice. A memory from boot camp.

Lailani tightened her lips. She inhaled sharply through her nostrils.

"Yes, ma'am," she whispered.

Lailani ran across the stage, kicked off the edge, and leaped to the orchestra pit.

Midway through her jump, she thought one word. One word she always feared.

Nightwish.

With that single word, she turned off the chip in her brain.

Her fangs and claws sprouted. The bloodlust pounded through her ears. Once again she was a monster. Once again she craved to kill.

But the crowd was safe from her. Lailani focused all that hunger, that violence, on one person.

On Chia-Jung.

Howling, claws extended, Lailani pounced onto the cellist.

The two women—the two creatures—slammed together with the force of colliding planets.

Pain drove through Lailani.

At once Chia-Jung was on her. Clawing. Biting. Cackling. She bit into Lailani's shoulder, ripped off skin, guzzled blood.

Lailani screamed.

Around her, everyone was running. People stampeded over the dead prince. A shoe crushed his face. A woman fainted. Her husband carried her.

Covered in blood, Chia-Jung laughed. "You refuse to worship the king? Then die!"

She grabbed Lailani by the throat, lifted her off the floor. The cellist was a small woman, but she held up Lailani like a doll.

"Let … go of me … you freak!" Lailani rasped, struggling to free herself.

"You care for the apes?" Chia-Jung cackled. "You are like me! You are a servant of the King! Join us!"

And Lailani saw it.

A vision.

A distant planet. A desert full of sharp stones. Holes and caves leading to underground cities. Millions of scuttling, burrowing things in the dark. A hive. An intelligence.

And deeper, deeper still … down in the darkest depths … he awoke.

For many years, he had lain dormant. Now his claws moved. Now he rose toward the surface, seeking the sand and sun and the conquest of the stars.

The million voices filled Lailani's head.

Join us …

She had to turn on the chip! She had to block them! She screamed. Their voices were too loud!

Lailani tossed back her head and howled.

"I am Lailani de la Rosa! I am not an alien!"

Roaring, she lashed her claws.

She slashed Chia-Jung's face, carving the cheek open, revealing the jawbone. A jawbone lined with sharp triangular teeth. Shark teeth. The demonic cellist laughed. Her lacerated cheek flapped, and blood bubbled up.

"Join the hive. Join the king."

The cellist tightened her grip on Lailani's throat. Something creaked worryingly inside her neck.

Lailani gasped for air, found none. She managed to hiss out two words. "Fuck you!"

She let the alien power surge through her.

She unleashed the beast.

All her life, Lailani had struggled to hold this beast at bay. Now she freed all its wrath. With the power of the hive, of the alien inside her, she drove her fists into her enemy.

Chia-Jung flew backward, blood spraying. She cleared several rows of seats and slammed into a column, cracking it. She slumped to the aisle.

An old man was still trying to flee the auditorium, cane tapping, legs wobbling. Chia-Jung rose to her feet, cracked her neck, and turned toward the old man. She licked her lips.

"Chia-Jung, no!" Lailani cried, racing forward.

She was too slow. Chia-Jung mauled the old man. Ripped him apart. Like a rabid wolf.

When Lailani finally reached her, Chia-Jung rose from her kill, holding the old man's cane. She swung it like a bat.

The cane slammed into Lailani and shattered. Lailani collapsed. The pain exploded through her. If not for her alien strength, that blow would have snapped her collarbone.

Chia-Jung came diving after her. Her lower jaw unhooked like a serpent jaw, dropping down and down, all the way down her chest, revealing a gullet lined with fangs, a hellmouth large enough to swallow Lailani whole.

Lailani rolled aside.

The monstrous jaws clamped around an upholstered seat. The teeth ripped the chair apart.

Lailani searched for a weapon, found none. She hissed, crouched, and leaped. She flew over a dozen rows of seats, landed on the stage, and grabbed the electric cello. It was not round and heavy like an acoustic cello. This instrument was long and slender and tipped with sharp metal.

Chia-Jung came after her, soaring through the air.

Lailani hurled the cello.

The musical instrument drove through Chia-Jung's chest like a spear. It shoved her against a chair and pinned her like a butterfly.

The cellist twitched. She stared at Lailani, gasped, tried to say something … then slumped down dead.

Lailani snarled.

Rip off her head!

Drink her blood!

Feast upon her heart!

Kill! Destroy this city! Kill them a—

"Serenity," she whispered. The code to reactivate her microchip.

The little electronic buzzed in her skull.

Worship the king.

Kill them all.

Drink the blood of humanity.

It wasn't working. The chip wasn't coming back on! The aliens howled inside her.

Lailani turned away from the dead cellist. She leaped, smashed through the window, and tumbled into the city with a fountain of shattering glass.

* * * * *

Lailani landed on the Parisian street, covered in shards of glass, snarling like a wild animal.

Cars honked and swerved. People shouted and leaped back. A taxi screeched to a halt. The driver stuck his head out the window. He shouted something in French, undoubtedly rude, and flipped her off.

Lailani crouched on the road, claws digging into the asphalt, and bared her fangs. The driver paled, did a U-turn, and fled.

The voices rose inside her.

Kill him.

Lailani gave chase.

She bounded down the street on all fours. Cars served to dodge her. A sedan slammed into a bus. Lailani leaped onto a limo, vaulted through the air, and saw the taxi with the rude driver. He was still trying to escape.

She landed on the road, cracking the asphalt, raced forward, and grabbed the taxi's rear bumper.

She pulled the car to a halt, dug her claws into the frame, and hurled the vehicle across the road.

The taxi slammed into a café. People leaped aside just as the car plowed through the tables. Cups and plates shattered. Coffee spread like black blood.

Lailani found herself standing in the middle of the chaos, just staring at a single broken mug, at that spreading stain. Around her, cars burned, people were screaming, and a fire hydrant sprayed water.

She just stood there. Arms hanging at her side. Watching the coffee trickle down the road.

"What am I doing?" she whispered.

Serenity, she thought.

Finally she regained control.

Her chip turned on. Her claws and fangs retracted. She was fully human again.

Or am I?

She raised her hand, examined it. It was covered with shards of glass and blood. Not all of it her own blood.

She turned away from the café. She gazed down the street. In the distance, she could make out the Eiffel Tower, just the tip rising over a few buildings, shining in the night. Beautiful. So beautiful.

I could have destroyed this city, she thought. I could have brought this tower crashing down. What is happening to me?

Sirens wailed in the distance. Between the steeples of a nearby cathedral, red and blue lights flashed. A police cruiser, flying low.

Lailani turned and ran.

Every step shot pain through her. Her shoulder was bleeding. Only now did Lailani feel the pain.

She stumbled into an alleyway, coughing, leaving a trail of blood. She limped past a homeless man. He lay sprawled on the street, sleeping, still clasping a bottle of booze. Rats hissed and scuttled, and Lailani again heard the sound of ten million centipede claws. The alley became a tunnel, a pathway to an alien hell.

Kill.

Bite.

Feed.

Praise.

Lailani limped toward two garbage bins behind a hotel. She crawled into the shadows, sat down, and pulled her knees to her chin. Filth coated her silk gown and jewels. Blood trickled down her cheek, smearing her makeup.

She raised her hands. Little hands. Barely larger than a child's hands. Hands that ripped out hearts.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered.

CHAPTER NINE

Esty was at synagogue, praying for life to kindle inside her, when death roared through the pews.

She had been coming here every morning. Praying. Practically begging. And yet her prayers remained unanswered. Her womb remained barren.

Clouds hid the breaking dawn, but the chandeliers filled the synagogue with light. Every pew was full. The men prayed below, bobbing up and down, their prayer shawls forming a sea of white and blue. The women and girls prayed on the mezzanine, wearing long skirts and kerchiefs over their hair. The cantor was singing piyutim, ancient songs of exaltation. They greeted the coming day with pious song.

Esty sang with them, praising her god. Though sometimes, in the depths of her heart, she wondered if anyone was listening.

She was a righteous woman. She was a loving wife. She knew that. Yet she could not stop feeling like a failure. She was twenty years old and still childless. On the outside world, most women her age were still girls. Free. Unwed. They wore short skirts and their hair down. Theirs was a modern life. Perhaps a shallow life. Perhaps an easier life.

Esty did not know much about the outside world. She had been born and raised in Brooklyn, the daughter of a strict religious community that offered comfort, warmth, love, and endless ritual. Endless expectations. Even other Jews thought they were too extreme, with their strange clothes and constant praying. They were outsiders among outsiders. It was the only life she knew.

Her sisters had many children. Her oldest sister, Hadas, had ten children already, was pregnant with the eleventh. It was their duty as Jewish women. To prosper. To rebuild.

Their people had suffered so much. For thousands of years, fellow humans had preyed on them. The Romans. The crusaders. The Nazis. Then the aliens had come, the demons from deep space. Concentrated in dense urban communities, the Jews had suffered disproportionately high losses. So much of what they had rebuilt after the Holocaust—gone. Burned away in the alien fire. From thirteen million people before the Alien Wars, they were down to three million survivors. That was all.

Now we rebuild again, Esty thought, singing songs of praise. Like we have time and time again. That is the cycle of my people. We die. We suffer. We rebuild. We bring forth new life. But not me. I'm a failure.

A tear ran down her cheek.

Please, God. Let me bring pride to my people. To my husband. To my family. Let life quicken inside me. Let me bear a child. I don't need eleven children like Hadas. I just need one. If only one! A boy, perhaps. A boy with curly hair and intelligent eyes. He would be my life, my heart, my everything.

Tonight she would return to her little apartment. She would lie on her back, and her husband would come into the room, and she would do her duty. She would even enjoy it. Yet in the morning, she would weep. Because she would know that she had failed again.

"Please, God," she whispered. She should be singing psalms now. She was breaking the ritual. She glanced around, hoping nobody heard. She clutched her prayer book, and she whispered again. "Bless me. Let me have a child."

The song rose around her. The cantor's voice soared. Dawn broke and light shone through the stained glass windows, illuminating the Torah ark. The holy scrolls shone with particolored lights, and Esty felt a deep, soothing love. She felt the presence of God.

When the security guard ran into the synagogue, when his gun began to fire, she was at peace.

They had hired the man to guard the gates of this holy place, to protect them from those who would see their nation destroyed. Esty knew this guard. He had visited her home for Shabbat dinner. She was friends with his daughter.

As he moved through the pews, mowing people down, the guard shouted, "You worship a false god. Praise the true lord! Praise the King of Many Claws!"

But he never gave them a chance.

Perhaps he knew it was pointless. The Jews had refused to worship the Greek gods, the Christian god, and all the rest of them. They had withstood inquisition, torture, genocide, never abandoning their faith, though that faith was often forbidden. In those times, they had always chosen death over apostasy.

Perhaps, given a chance, they would have chosen death now too.

The gun roared. An assault rifle firing on full automatic.

From the mezzanine, Esty watched the cantor fall. The rabbi followed. So many of their congregation. Adults. Children. Falling. Blood splattered the prayer books. Blood washed the floors.

When the gunman turned upon her, when the bullets pierced her, Esty looked at the Torah ark. She looked at the rising dawn through the stained glass windows.

Be with me, Adonai. Let me die in the light of your grace.

Her eyes closed, and the last thing she heard was a scuttling sound like claws in the dark.

* * * * *

"Bang your heads, Wacken, Germany!" howled the man on stage. He wore black leather, spikes, and corpse paint—gruesome makeup that made him look like the living dead. His long black hair flew like a windmill, and his growls boomed through the speakers.

Across the stage, the guitar players, bassist, and drummer raised a storm of sound. In the field below, a hundred thousand German metal fans raised their devil horns, moshed, crowd-surfed, and banged their heads. Rancid Angel was the world's hottest genocide metal band, a genre that rose from the ashes of the Alien Wars. A fusion of old death metal, black metal, and raw anguish, it boasted soundscapes full of distortion and screaming.

Max was their number one fan. He was having the time of his life.

He stood in the massive crowd, not far from the stage, howling along with the band. He banged his head so hard his neck would cramp tomorrow. He shouted so loudly he'd be hoarse for days. It was a hot summer night, but he wore a leather battle jacket, tall boots, and enough spikes to shame a triceratops. Sweat trickled down his face, smearing his black and white makeup.

Max had been a Rancid Angel fan for years. He had seen the band seventeen times before, sometimes following them from city to city. This was their greatest performance yet. They were working through all their hits: "Fetal Abomination," "Desiccation of the Dying," "My Rotting Cross," and even "Behemoth Blood" off their first album. Right now they were playing a blistering rendition of "Cannibal Carnage."

The singer growled on stage, so close to where Max stood.

"I want to see everyone in a fucking mosh pit, come on!" the singer shouted.

The crowd began to mosh, running in circles, slamming into one another, shoving, falling, rising, fighting. Blood splattered the pit. A few people couldn't take it. They limped away, noses bleeding. One man cradled a broken arm. Another man had lost his front teeth. The rest kept moshing—big, bearded men, moving with brutal abandon. There was a lot of testosterone at Rancid Angel concerts. The fans were determined to blow off some steam. Even if it entailed blood and broken bones. Genocide metal was the most brutal genre of music in the galaxy. And they loved it.

"And here is our new song, 'Viking Victory!'" cried the singer. "I want to see your horns!"

Across the crowd, they raised their devil horns. This was a battle song. They began to chant the words together, singing for the glory of Vikings. Some men in the crowd raised Viking drinking horns. A few even raised axes, swords, and shields. Max raised his own weapon, a mighty battle axe he had forged himself.

Back in real life, he was a mechanic, servicing tanks for the Human Defense Force. But here? Here he was a warrior. A Viking, risen from the mist, ready to battle the undead.

And suddenly the song became real to him.

The Vikings were real—here in the crowd, fighting the forces of the dead!

Those in corpse paint became zombies—real zombies, feasting on blood!

Max stood in a battlefield. The stage was gone. The crowd was gone. And he saw …

There! Where the band had stood! A god.

Max gasped. He stumbled back.

"Who are you?"

It rose on the stage, its hundred arms spread out. A giant centipede the size of Yggdrasil, the mythical Norse tree that held the universe. A spirit. A god from the darkness.

A voice spoke in Max's head.

I am the King of Many Claws. Kill them, my warrior. Kill them all.

Max roared—but this time it wasn't to the music. He swung his axe. The blade carved through a zombie's head.

The zombie fell, head split open.

The horde of undead screamed. The other zombies began to flee. A few attacked Max with swords and clubs. He swung his axe again and again, cutting them down. Blows rained on him. Blades stabbed him. He didn't feel the pain. Power flowed through him. The power of the Centipede God.

He killed and drank their blood.

The music died.

Max lay on a pile of the dead.

As the blows rained down, as the boots and fists broke him, he was back at the music festival. They were not zombies attacking him but men. They were killing him. Across the bloody field, he could see his victims. Not zombies. Music fans, their skulls cloven.

The survivors kept attacking. Max felt his bones snap. His skull cracked. But he laughed, because he had fought for his lord, and the claws dragged him down to hell.

* * * * *

Mrs. Laurelle loved her job as a schoolteacher. But her current batch of kids was a rotten one.

Oh, she knew that every batch was supposed to be good. Especially when you taught the first grade. All first graders were angels, were they not? Well, that's what she told everyone. Truth was, first graders could be little shits.

Some years she got lucky. She taught a class full of intelligent, well-behaved children. Other years, well …

Usually she just suffered. If the kids misbehaved. If they cursed. If they refused to do their homework. She bore it all. With a smile too! She was known as the nice teacher. The kind soul. Everyone loved her. Even if inwardly she cursed the little bastards.

Truth was, Mrs. Laurelle just didn't know how to be mean. How to stand up for herself. How to discipline bad children.

But the centipede knew.

He came to her in a dream. He had been coming many nights for a while now. In some dreams, he was a vague form, wrapping around her, hissing in her ear. Sometimes very real. So real she could feel his claws. But in the morning he was always gone.

Not this morning.

This morning he came to school with her. He draped across her shoulders like a scarf, a presence nobody else could see, but she felt his weight. He whispered in her ear. He told her what to do.

The centipede smiled as she dripped the poison into the children's milk.

He laughed as the children lay motionless on the floor.

As the police dragged Mrs. Laurelle away, she just smiled sweetly.

"Why?" a policeman said, face pale. "Why did you do this?"

She shrugged. "They were a bad batch."

* * * * *

Tom drove his truck into a crowd.

Simon derailed his train into a town.

Hailey laughed as she ignited the gas station.

Around the world, they were waking up. Some grew claws. All turned murderous. They stabbed, shot, killed however they could. They all worshipped the same god. He had risen on a world far away. He was coming to Earth. And across the planet, they were doing his work.

CHAPTER TEN

Einav Ben-Ari, president of Earth, stood in the space station, gazing down upon her world.

It's funny, she thought. You can't see the damage from up here.

She had fought in the Alien Wars. She had seen planets smoldering. Seen the artillery craters, the fires, the devastation. Earth bled today. But from up here, the planet still seemed blue and pure.

Skysphere was the official space station of Earth's president. As its name suggested, it was spherical. It was also largely transparent. Silver tubes ran through the sphere and along its surface, full of corridors, offices, and observatories. From the outside, it seemed like a glass moon hovering a thousand kilometers above Earth's pale blue sky.

Its critics called it a disco ball. Well, bully for them.

Ben-Ari had built Skysphere last year. For a while she had governed from her personal home in Jerusalem. Before her, presidents had ruled from their own countries of origin. Not everyone took that well. Why should the president of Earth live in one particular country?

For a while now, people had been calling for an official presidential office. If there was a Buckingham Palace and a White House, why should the president of United Earth not have an official residence? Or at least an official workplace?

So Ben-Ari had built one. And where else but orbiting Earth?

The president did not serve just one country, after all. She served the planet. From up here, she oversaw her charge.

Oh, she still kept her house in Jerusalem. She still slept there most nights, in fact. But when she worked—when she met dignitaries, signed laws, broadcast speeches—it was up here.

She stood now by a curving glass wall, gazing down at Earth. The space station was currently orbiting over Papua New Guinea, heading toward the Pacific. From up here, there were no borders. No nations. Up here, she was not Israeli, not a woman, not any nationality or gender or anything that set her apart. She was simply human. Up here, Earth was not a collection of hundreds of nations and tribes. It was one planet. One species.

And this species was mourning. This planet was bleeding.

The creatures had attacked. En masse. All over the world. The world mourned.

A voice spoke in her earpiece. "Madam President? They're ready for you."

She took a deep breath. "I'll be right there."

She refocused her eyes. Instead of gazing at Earth, she looked at her reflection in the window. After battling the demonic aliens yesterday, she had removed her battle-scarred spacesuit, showered, and put on a business suit. She stood on high heels, wore earrings forged from the hearts of asteroids, and her makeup was perfect. Subtle but perfect. The warrior was dormant. The politician was awake.

She still kept her hair in a ponytail. Whether fighting aliens or fighting for her political career, she wasn't changing her hairstyle.

She nodded, turned away from the view, and stepped through a hatch into the media room. Journalists from across Earth stood waiting. Ben-Ari took the podium. Cameras rolled, broadcasting her words to Earth and her colonies.

"My fellow Earthlings.

Yesterday a barrage of coordinated terror attacks hit Earth. The attacks hit indiscriminately, targeting people of all backgrounds, religions, and nations. My thoughts are with the families of the victims. I grieve for those who fell, and I vow to hunt down whoever ordered these cowardly attacks.

We don't yet know the death toll. But we know it will be high. Estimates range from ten thousand killed … to over a million deaths. We likely won't know the official death toll for a while. For now, we're focused on healing the wounded. And on stopping further attacks.

We don't know who organized the attacks on Earth. But we know the methodology.

Across Earth, many citizens, previously peaceful, seemed to have changed. Reports speak of them growing claws, fangs, becoming something other than human. And attacking.

Some of you have heard talk of a supposed ringleader. A god. A figure named the King of Many Claws. We don't know this figure's true identity or whether he exists at all. I urge you to avoid speculation.

I've ordered the full enlistment of the Human Defense Force reserves. They will be patrolling Earth's streets, hunting any more potential attackers. Our healthcare providers are working around the clock to treat the wounded, and I've ordered factories to begin producing more medical supplies. I urge you to donate blood.

Until we find the terrorist mastermind, I've ordered the closures of all sporting events, concerts, schools, religious services, and public gatherings. Please remain in your homes. Most of those who've carried out these horrendous attacks are behind bars. They will remain there, and we're interrogating them for answers. We're hunting the attackers who are still at large.

I offer my deepest condolences to those who've lost loved ones. This crisis will not break us. We are humans. We will not be defeated. We will find whoever is responsible—and bring him, her, or it to justice!"

She ended her speech. Instantly the journalists bombarded her with questions.

"Is it true the scum are back?"

"Is this another scum war?"

"You claimed to kill the scum emperor in the war. Did you lie?"

"Will the killers face civilian or military trials?"

"Is it true your close friend and confidant, Lailani de la Rosa, is part scum?"

"Madam President, have you had any contact with the scum leadership?"

"Madam President, is it true you had a love affair with Lailani de la Rosa, a scum agent?"

Ben-Ari tried to answer the questions, to keep her cool. Yes, the scum emperor is dead. No, Lailani is not a scum agent. We don't know if the scum are back. No, I'm not part centipede.

Finally she left the podium.

She walked out the media room as the journalists all cried out, as their questions washed over her.

"Are you consorting with the scum?"

"What information are you hiding?"

"Will Colonel de la Rosa face charges?"

She closed the door behind her. She paused for a moment, feeling dizzy, feeling overwhelmed.

She allowed herself only a moment of despair. Just one moment. Then she composed herself, raised her chin, smoothed her suit. She was a veteran of the Alien Wars. She had faced worse than the press.

She looked back at her reflection in the window.

"I can face this," she whispered to herself. "I can defeat this enemy."

Yet as she walked down the corridor, heading toward the shuttle bay, the journalists' questions echoed in her mind, and cold fear coiled inside her.

Lailani, you're one of my oldest, dearest friends. I love you with all my heart. But in this new war, are you my enemy?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She stumbled back into her Paris hotel room, covered in blood, her silk gown tattered, her insides numb.

Only hours ago, she had hoped to raise money to build a school. Instead, she had fought a monster. And she had become a monster.

It was an hour from dawn. Tala, her precious little angel, lay sleeping in her bed. Lailani approached in the shadows, gazed down at the sleeping girl.

Tala was nine but small for her age, often mistaken for a first grader. Her black hair was braided, her face calm in slumber. She held her favorite doll, a plush rhinoceros.

A demon gave birth to an angel, Lailani thought.

She reached down to stroke Tala's hair, but hesitated. She checked her fingers again. No claws. But what if they sprouted? What if Lailani ended up hurting her daughter, or …

A lump filled her throat. She gulped.

"No," she whispered. "I will never hurt you, Tala. Ever. I love you with all my heart."

The girl smiled in her sleep and hugged her rhino tighter.

A snore sounded from the other room. Hotels in Paris were usually cramped, unless you had an arm or leg to pay with. But the hotel had upgraded Lailani to a two-room suite. For free. The perk of being a famous war heroine, she supposed. Her fame didn't come with any money. But at least you got space in a hotel for your babysitter.

She stepped into the other room. There the bastard lay, asleep on the job.

The bed was still made. Kai Linden lay across it, mouth agape, snoring. He wore tattered jeans, leather boots, and a T-shirt featuring a cartoon hula girl posing under a palm tree. Tattoos coiled across his arms and neck. He sported a goatee, several piercings, and a black mohawk. A dagger with an alien-claw handle was tucked into his boot, and a pair of handcuffs dangled from his belt. Bounty hunters always carried handcuffs around—just in case they ran into a renegade.

He looked fearsome. But Lailani knew that Kai was a kind, gentle soul. In a dangerous world, a ruthless yet loyal killer made the best babysitter.

His eyes fluttered open. He saw Lailani and bolted upright. His mohawk flopped down and covered one ear. "I'm up, I'm up! I didn't mean to sleep. Was just resting."

Lailani smiled. "It's okay. You can sleep while babysitting."

He rose to his feet. "I promised to stand guard. I failed. Ah, hell." He sighed. "This is why I'm a bounty hunter, not a soldier. We're lazy fucks." He turned on the bedside lamp, then gasped. "Lailani! You're hurt!"

Lailani glanced at her shoulder, winced. It was still bleeding from Chia-Jung's bite.

She looked back at Kai. "I got into a fight with a world-renowned cellist after she murdered the Prince of Monaco with her own cello bow. So, you know, a typical Saturday night in Paris."

He did not laugh. "Come into the bathroom. I'll fix you up."

"Take me to the bar and fix me a drink instead."

He shook his head. "No way. You're hurt. I'll heal you."

Lailani laughed. "For a battle-hardened bounty hunter who uses a chain for a belt, you're quite the doting nurse."

"And the world's best babysitter," Kai said. "Now into the bathroom, and not another word of protest from you!"

She entered the bathroom and peeled off her tattered gown. In her underwear, she sat on the edge of the tub. Kai worked carefully, cleaning and dressing her wound. As he fussed, Lailani told him the tale. How Chia-Jung had turned into a beast. Attacked her. How Lailani had won the fight.

But some details she left out.

Like how she struggled to regain control, which had once been so easy.

Like how, only last night, she had murdered a man in his bed, just a stranger she had met in a bar. A one-night stand that became a lifelong trauma.

Like how she was so afraid.

She could not speak of those things. Not to Kai. Maybe not to anyone.

He listened to what she did share, then finished his work on her wound.

"It probably won't need stitches," he said. "But I want you to change the bandages twice a day and apply ointment. It won't hurt to visit the hospital for blood work, maybe some antibiotics. Just in case that cellist gave you something nasty." He brushed back a strand of her hair. "Lailani, I'm sorry this happened. It was meant to be a great night. It became a nightmare."

She wiped her eyes. Her voice cracked. "Can you hug me?"

He sat beside her on the edge of the tub. He held her in his strong arms.

"Hey …" He dried her tears and stroked her hair. "It's not your fault. You saved the day."

Another tear fell. She looked into his eyes. His face was angular. A piercing on the eyebrow. Several piercings in the ears. A scar across the cheek, another on the forehead. A hard face. The face of a killer. But in his eyes there was only kindness.

In some ways, he was like Addy, his older sister. Both were scarred, tattooed warriors with hearts of gold.

Of course, Kai and Addy were only half-siblings. They shared a father, not a mother. And they looked nothing alike. Addy had pale skin, blond hair, blue eyes, and noble bearings. Put her in some leather and fur, and she could pass for a Viking warrior princess. Kai, meanwhile, looked like … well, a little like Lailani.

He too had olive-toned skin, black hair, and dark eyes. The similarities were more than skin deep. Lailani had grown up in the slums of Manila, begging and dumpster-diving to survive. Kai had grown up on the rough streets of Bangkok, picking pockets. Lailani had been born to a homeless teenage girl, and she had never known her father. Kai had been born to a Thai prostitute and a Canadian conman on the run from the law.

Tough upbringings. Sad eyes. Hard souls but soft hearts. They had those in common. They understood each other. More than they could say with words.

Lailani stroked Kai's cheek. She felt the old scar, the gift of an alien blade long ago.

"Kai." She lowered her head. "I feel like … like a monster."

He placed a finger under her chin, raised her face toward his. His eyes hardened. "You are not a monster. I've known you for years. You are a kind, honorable woman. A human woman. No matter what the media says. They don't know you. I do."

Her tears rolled to her lips, salty. She wanted to tell him. So badly. That she had murdered a man. That even now she could hear the centipede claws, a scuttling from beyond the stars, echoing in her ears. Bugs in her head. Scratchings in her skull.

But she could not. Because she needed somebody to believe in her. She needed somebody to be loyal. She needed her friends.

Instinctively, before she realized what she was doing, Lailani leaned forward and kissed Kai on the mouth.

To her surprise, he kissed her back.

They kissed deeply, stained with blood, sitting there in the hotel bathroom. They had known each other for years. This was their first kiss.

Over the years, Lailani had dated off and on. Had loved off and on. Marco was her first true love, of course. She had even accepted his marriage proposal, only to break his heart. Since then she had wandered. Like a butterfly, she had fluttered from one flower to another, one lover to the next. She had fallen in love with Sofia, only to lose her to the alien jaws. Then she had fluttered again. She had found Benny. He had given her a child. And then he too had fallen. And she flew on.

In recent years, she must content herself with one-night stands. The odd stranger to come into her bed, satisfy her for the night, and then she would flutter onward to the next pretty flower.

She was not happy.

She had not been happy for a long while.

Often, Lailani wondered if Marco had been the one. Whether she was an idiot for letting him get away. But she had been so young! Only a girl! She had not been ready to commit. So she had left him, and his flower had wilted. For a long time, Marco had languished in the cold. It had taken Addy's love to nourish him, to let him bloom again.

And me? Lailani thought. I fluttered onward, flower to flower. I came and I went. I fell in love one night, fled the next. I was lost and broken.

And now here she was, thirty-nine years old and haunted and scared, kissing a bounty hunter in a hotel bathroom. Feeling safe in his arms.

She rose to her feet. There was still an hour till dawn. She took his hands in hers, and she led him into the bedroom.

She pulled off his jeans. Almost violently. Her passion scared her.

What if I change again?

She took a step back, trembling.

What if I hurt him?

He stood naked before her. He looked at her. Maybe he mistook her trembling for shyness.

"You're beautiful," he said. "You're also fucking hot."

The sound of scuttling bugs faded. This was not a one-night stand. Not a night for losing control. This night she would be his.

They made love in the bed. They kept quiet because Tala was sleeping in the next room, but that did not dampen their passion. And when Lailani climaxed, she gripped his back so powerfully he grunted. She dug her fingernails into him, and she worried she was losing control again, that she was slicing him with her claws. She gasped and released him.

"Are you okay?" she said.

He brushed her damp cheek. "More than okay."

She was still human. She relaxed in bed. He rolled over beside her, and she nestled against him, laid her head on his chest, wrapped her fingers around his shoulders.

"You're a good babysitter," she mumbled sleepily.

Dawn spilled through the window, painting their naked bodies. Lailani was about to get dressed and make Tala breakfast when her phone rang.

Unknown number.

Her heart beat a little faster. Had somebody found out? Did somebody find the body of the man Lailani had murdered? Did somebody know her shame?

She rose from bed, wrapping the blanket around her, and answered the call. She held the phone to her ear but said nothing.

A voice came across the line. "Lailani?"

Relief flowed over her. She knew that voice. It was her best friend in the world. One of the few people Lailani trusted fully and completely.

"Einav," she said. "Einav Ben-Ari, the president of Earth, calling from a burner phone." She couldn't help but smile. "We haven't talked in ages, what—"

"Lailani, can you meet me in Jerusalem? This morning?"

Lailani frowned. She had a little spacecraft, a corvette not much larger than a bus. It was parked at a nearby lot. It could jump into space, then fly back down, hopping from Paris to Jerusalem within half an hour.

"Yes, I can be there. Is everything all right?"

"Meet me on the hilltop. I need you."

The president hung up.

Tala padded into the room. Lailani tightened the blanket around her.

"Mom?" Tala said. "There's something on television. The news instead of cartoons."

Lailani went into the other room, where the holographic television was playing. A news broadcast from America. A truck driver had plowed his truck into a schoolyard, murdering thirty children and teachers. As the police dragged him away, he was screaming. Screaming about the King of Many Claws. The camera zoomed in on his fangs.

More stories appeared. Headlines scrolled rapidly. Across the world—more and more attacks. An airplane crashing into a retirement home. A rogue soldier firing on his own troops. A kindergarten teacher poisoning her children, then grinning at the camera, fangs bared.

Lailani turned off the TV.

"Pack your bag, Tala. We're going to Jerusalem."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ben-Ari leaned against her bedroom wall, her phone in her hand, eyes shut and pain in her chest.

She had just called Lailani.

Speaking to her again hurt. It hurt beautifully. But that made the pain no less real.

I miss you. I wish I wasn't seeing you again like this.

Ben-Ari opened her eyes. Light streamed through the window. The light was harsh and white, even this early in the morning. The Middle Eastern sunlight was always so unforgiving, sometimes so strong it seemed to wash out all color.

It was a humble room. The walls were limestone bricks, their color warm and comforting. Lantana flowers bloomed on the windowsill. She looked at the bed. The sheets were messy on only one side.

She had slept alone last night.

She had been sleeping alone most nights. Her husband slept in a room down the hall.

It was not his fault, of course. At first they had tried to share their bed. But Noah Isaac, a famous astronomer, worked nights, peering through his telescope at the cosmos. Ben-Ari worked whenever the need arose. One day she would be attending a meeting with the High Priest of Orion, and the next night she was repelling an invasion of angry space wasps from Vega. Noah joked that he had to study the stars before she burned them all out.

In other words, they worked different shifts.

At first, yes, they had tried to share a bed. But Carl had been very young, only a toddler, and he often needed his mother throughout the night. So Noah had begun to sleep in his study, and somehow he had never stopped. And Ben-Ari had almost gotten used to it. Almost told herself she was happy.

Until this morning.

Until this phone call.

Until she heard Lailani's voice again.

Every time she spoke to Lailani, she remembered, and every time, it hit her harder, stung her deeper with its sweet barb.

It had happened long ago, almost twenty years now. During the Alien Wars. A brutal time, yet in some ways, a more innocent time. Kemi had still been alive, and the future had seemed a little brighter. They had not yet faced the grays, the horrors of humanity's future. They had not yet fought the cyborgs, the terrors of humanity's present. They had been fighting a war in space. A war against alien bugs. In some ways, a simpler war. It had been a time of violence and struggle, but they had been happy. They had all been closer.

That day long ago, they had been stranded on an alien world. The others had gone off to explore, leaving the spaceship behind. Only two crew members remained. Einav Ben-Ari and little Lailani de la Rosa. A young officer and her soldier. Both lonely. Both scared. Both a little curious, perhaps.

They had made love. Just that one time. Lailani had probably already forgotten it. She was like a wild comet, forever blazing, traveling through the darkness from planet to planet. The beautiful Lailani had, no doubt, made love many times before and since. To her, no doubt, Ben-Ari was just one more stop along her great burning flight through the galaxy. Just one more world where she could burn bright for an evening in the sky and then streak on by.

But it was different for Ben-Ari.

She still remembered. She still cherished the memory.

Oh, she had her own history of love affairs. There were boys during her youth. There were a few lovers since. There was Noah, her beloved husband, and their relationship had not always been so cold.

But lately … lately Ben-Ari had been feeling lonely.

Lately she had been feeling trapped in this little house on the hill.

It was always the same in here. The same mixed vegetables and toast and eggs for breakfast. The same coffee. The same books on the shelves. The same flowers on the windowsills. The same sex until there was no sex at all. She supposed at least one thing had changed. Not for the better, alas.

She began to take more missions. Dangerous missions. Missions best left for young brash officers like she had been, not middle-aged presidents like she was.

Middle-aged? Yes. She supposed she was now. She was forty-two. Oh, they said she didn't look it. Her hair was still the same honey color—if you ignored that single white streak through it. Her face was still smooth—at least if she put on enough makeup. But she began to feel it. A yearning for lost youth. The feeling of something … something missed.

The missions helped a bit. Invading alien starships. Blasting monsters on alien worlds. Crashing invading dreadnoughts into the moon. It was exciting. It made her remember those younger days. It was never enough. It was getting too dangerous, but she could not stop.

And now—now this new enemy. This memory risen from the past. These stories of humans changing. Growing claws. Killing. School shootings. Buses plowing into crowds. Horrible stories.

And now—the phone call to Lailani. That old voice. And standing here in her bedroom by her cold, lonely bed, Ben-Ari remembered holding the young woman in her arms. Kissing her. Loving her for a night. And she wished she had never gotten married. She wished she was with Lailani on another adventure. She wished it was Lailani here in her home, not Noah, and—

And she felt ashamed.

She felt like a traitor.

"I love my husband," she whispered to herself. "I'm just afraid. I'm afraid that the scum are coming back. I'm afraid that I'm getting old. I'm afraid of the feelings inside me."

She took a deep, shaky breath. It was almost time for the meeting. A meeting with very old, very good friends.

She opened her closet, instinctively reached for her business suit. It was a no-nonsense garment, woven from black cotton, some would say severe. She wore it most days when she was meeting politicians instead of slaying aliens. She held the suit for a moment, then put it back in the closet.

She was not meeting politicians today. She was meeting her friends.

Instead, she put on a simple white dress. A simlat shabbat, a dress commonly worn by Israeli women on the Sabbath. It was Saturday, the Jewish day of rest, and she was meeting loved ones. It would do.

She pulled on the white dress. As the cotton caressed her skin, she closed her eyes. Memories surfaced. Even earlier memories this time. Memories from her childhood, running along the beach with her parents, laughing under the sun. She would wear white dresses then too, and her mother would weave flowers through her hair.

Ben-Ari opened her eyes. She plucked a lantana flower off her windowsill, and she tucked it behind her ear. She looked at herself in the mirror. A few freckles around the nose. Sad green eyes and a ponytail. A girl in her home. A girl lost. A girl alone.

She left her bedroom, barefoot. Her husband had woken up, was brewing coffee and slicing vegetables. Cucumbers and tomatoes, the cornerstones of Israeli breakfast. Carl sat at the kitchen table, reading a book. The eight-year-old looked like his father. The dark hair. The intelligent dark eyes. When Ben-Ari had been eight, she had spent most of her time running, climbing, fighting with wooden swords. Carl spent his days building things, taking things apart, trying to understand.

He'll be a scientist like his father, Ben-Ari thought. Good. There have been too many soldiers in my family. And maybe not enough wisdom.

"Good morning." Noah greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Good morning, Mom," Carl said.

And she thought of making love to Lailani on a distant planet. She remembered shouting in her passion.

"Should I make you some eggs?" Noah said.

She shook her head. "I have to work. I have a meeting on the hilltop."

Noah nodded. "I understand. It's horrible what's been happening. All those deaths …" He shook his head sadly.

Ben-Ari swallowed a lump in her throat. She had gotten the reports. She had been watching the news. Over the past day, hundreds of attacks. Regular people—growing claws, turning evil, killing. She didn't have the death toll yet. It would be heartbreaking.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," she said. "We'll figure this out. I have to go."

She did not mention who was attending the hilltop meeting. Did not talk about Marco, Addy, and Lailani coming here. Noah knew them, liked them, so why was she keeping these secrets? Was it truly for security purposes? Or was she just feeling guilty? Feeling like she needed something for herself, something outside this home?

It was a beautiful home. A home nestled among the hills of Jerusalem, just outside the ancient city walls. A home with a loving family and blooming flowers. Yet when she stepped outside, and she breathed the desert air, she felt peace. She felt like an animal emerging from a cage after too long in captivity.

She walked down the cobbled pathway between her cedars, olive trees, and security guards. She realized she was barefoot, had forgotten even a pair of sandals. So be it. For thousands of years, her ancestors had roamed these hills, and she imagined that most of them had walked barefoot. Why not her? Why should she place a barrier between herself and the earth she loved?

She walked to the hilltop. She walked to meet old friends and talk about old monsters.

* * * * *

The hilltop was her favorite place in Jerusalem. Maybe on Earth. Maybe even the galaxy.

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from her home. Ben-Ari had flown among the stars, but she had never found a place that brought her more peace. She walked along the path, her bare feet padding over ancient slabs of chalk and granite. Olive trees grew around her, coiling and twisting and forming beautiful labyrinths of wood. Some of these trees were thousands of years old, had grown here during the days of the Roman empire. A breeze blew, rustling wild mint bushes, filling Ben-Ari's nostrils with their scent. Turtle doves cooed above.

She hopped over an ancient marble column. It was a thousand years older than the oldest olive tree, a remnant of biblical times. The shell of a wall, its limestone bricks craggy, rose among pine cones. It dated back to the age of the earliest prophets, perhaps the home of a humble shepherd or winemaker. As Ben-Ari walked by a patch of cyclamens, she saw a little cave, barely wide enough to crawl into. But inside still lay the bones and flint tools of cavemen.

Since time immemorial, people had roamed these hills. Whenever she felt burdened by the weight of command, Ben-Ari walked this path. She was the president of the world. She was the leader of humanity. It was her job to steer this starship called Earth. Sometimes the weight was nearly too great to bear. It felt good to remember that many had come before her. That she was just a single star flashing by the sky, one note in an ancient symphony. She was not alone.

The land sloped upward toward a hilltop. She headed along an ancient dirt path among wildflowers. At the top of the hill grew a carob tree, the largest tree in sight. Ben-Ari used to play here as a girl, at least whenever her military father took her home to Jerusalem, and even then the tree had been ancient. It was probably centuries old. Its trunk twisted, forming wooden faces in the bole.

Walking up the path, Ben-Ari envisioned the tree as a wise old prophet, perhaps even a god. She was not particularly religious. She did not pray. Often she doubted the existence of God. Yet here, it was hard not to feel spiritual. The tree exuded ancient wisdom and kindness. This whole land did. Perhaps there was a reason so many religions had sprung up here among the hills of Jerusalem. Grace flowed across this landscape and filled the light of the sun.

She reached the hilltop. Her feet walked upon a carpet of fallen carobs. Her friends had not yet come. She stood in the shade of the gnarled boughs and gazed west. From here, she could see the hills of Jerusalem slope toward the arable plains along the Mediterranean coast. The west was lush with pines, cedars, and wildflowers. One could be forgiven for mistaking this land for Southern France or perhaps sunny Greece.

She turned east, and here the landscape was different. The hills were barren, rocky, golden. They flowed toward the Judaean desert, and the dunes rolled into a faded horizon the color of fables and childhood wonders. The east was dry but no less beautiful, and it hinted at ancient wonders and glories buried in its ever-changing landscapes. She stood here on the border of greenery and sand, of east and west, of crumbling civilizations and seductive savagery.

Finally she turned north, and she could see the limestone walls of Jerusalem. There she rose, a light from the desert. The holy city. Zion. A symbol of utopia throughout the ages. A city so many had dreamed of, fought for, bled and killed and died for. Perhaps it was appropriate that Ben-Ari had chosen to build her home outside the walls of that holy city. Perhaps she was not worthy of that city yet. Perhaps there was still work she must do before she may enter the gates of Zion.

She often came here to reflect. It was a quiet place. A peaceful place. Security guards stood across the valleys and surrounding hilltops, disguised as hikers. Planes and helicopters patrolled the sky, and satellites watched her from beyond the blue. There were antiaircraft batteries hidden among the boulders and olive trees. Even some of the snakes that slithered underfoot were robots, always watching, ready to zap her enemies.

She was the president of Earth, the most protected woman in the world. These hills, peaceful on the surface, were as defended as the mightiest fortress. But sometimes gazing upon the ancient, Ben-Ari could forget about the new. Sometimes by thinking of her ancestors, she could find strength to lead her contemporaries.

A hum sounded in the sky.

Ben-Ari looked up.

A corvette—a small starship—was flying toward the hilltop. Her security forces had given it clearance.

The corvette was shaped like a dagger, black and slender. Snake scales were painted along the fuselage, and the prow was painted to resemble a viper's mouth.

The corvette descended, stabilizing thrusters blasting out air. Leaves rustled on the carob and olive trees. Pine cones rolled down the hillside, scattering pine nuts. The little ship extended its treads, thumped down on the hillside, and balanced like some ancient bird in an aerie.

The hatch opened, and Lailani emerged.

God, I missed her, Ben-Ari thought, her heart filling with warmth.

Lailani climbed the hillside. The desert wind billowed her chin-length black hair, revealing the dragon tattoo that coiled across her arm and up her neck, biting at her jawline. She wore jean shorts, tall boots, and a bandoleer. Guns hung from her hips, and dog tags dangled from her neck. She was a petite woman, but few warriors were deadlier.

Especially when she turns on her powers, Ben-Ari thought.

She didn't mind. She had never minded. So what if Lailani was part alien? Ben-Ari herself had a prosthetic arm full of little tricks. She was not fully human either. She was, technically, a cyborg. Lailani was probably more human than her!

And together we must save humanity, Ben-Ari thought. Though we ourselves might fall short of fully human.

Lailani stood at attention and saluted, forever the soldier. But Ben-Ari pulled her friend into an embrace.

"Lailani! I missed you."

Lailani smiled, but there was pain in her eyes. Something was haunting her.

"I missed you too, Madam President."

Ben-Ari laughed. "You can call me by my name, you know."

"Yes, Einav. Of course."

But the way she said it—Einav—sounded forced. Almost like Lailani was speaking a foreign tongue, not sure how to pronounce the word. Ben-Ari was laughing, but inside she hurt.

She sees me as her leader first, her friend second, she thought.

That had always been the burden of her command. That she should stand apart from those she loved. She had commanded their platoon in the wars. Now she commanded their world. They were her friends, her best friends. But Ben-Ari would never be like the others. Like Marco, Addy, and Lailani. To them she was always something greater. Something distant. They were planets and she was the sun far above, giving them light and warmth but too distant to touch.

Two more figures emerged from the corvette. One was a rough-looking fellow, covered in tattoos, piercings, and many weapons. Rifles and swords bristled across his back like peacock feathers. Ben-Ari smiled.

"Kai!"

He approached. He had no compunctions about immediately pulling her into a hug.

"Einav! Good to see ya, babe."

She had never commanded this one in the army. Maybe that explained his familiarity.

Tala came out next. The girl was nine, only a few months older than Carl, and growing into a miniature version of Lailani. She ran and embraced Ben-Ari too. They were like family.

"Tita Einav!" the girl said. Tita—the Filipino word for auntie.

"It's good to see you," Ben-Ari said. "Welcome to—"

A horn sounded in the distance, playing a jaunty fanfare.

Ben-Ari frowned. Was the circus in town?

The others looked around too, equally confused. The song was coming from the west. Lailani's hand inched toward the gun on her hip. But the fanfare sounded too buoyant to be threatening.

Tala saw it first. She pointed at the western sky.

"Look!" the girl said. "Is that …" Her eyes widened. "Is that a flying hot dog?"

Impossible! Ben-Ari thought. And yet …

She squinted. Something was flying through the sky toward the hilltop. A plane? A space shuttle? It was …

"A hot dog," Ben-Ari said, eyes wide. "It is a flying hot dog." She sighed. "Addy is here."

* * * * *

To the sound of fanfare, the giant hot dog descended toward the hill. It was about the size of a Winnebago. Wings shaped like pickle slices thrust out the sides. The vessel landed with a thump on the hillside, tilted, nearly rolled downhill, and finally stabilized.

A hatch opened on the side.

Addy strutted out, thumbs hooked into her belt, her dog tags glinting in the sunlight. She wore camouflage pants, tall boots, and a tank-top that revealed the tattoos on her arms. An assault rifle, a plasma gun, and a hockey stick hung across her back. A vintage metal helmet perched crookedly on her head, the words HELL'S PRINCESS scrawled across the side with lipstick. Two blond braids emerged from under the helmet, tied with baby-blue ribbons.

"What's up, bitches?" She waved and popped bubblegum. "Addy Fucking Linden reporting for duty!" She saluted and winked. "Here to save the universe. Again!"

Marco stepped out next. "Ignore the giant flying hot dog. Addy bought it without my approval."

Addy gasped and placed her hands on her hips. "I had no choice!"

"Nobody put a gun to your head," Marco said.

"They might as well!" Addy turned toward Ben-Ari and the others. "Big Frank's Wiener Company was selling their decommissioned hot dog delivery ships. Half off! Can you believe it? I just had to pick up this puppy. I wanted to buy five, but Marco wouldn't let me."

Marco groaned. "Why would you need five hot dog ships?"

"One per member of the family!" Addy rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"Yeah, Dad, we want our own hot dog spaceships!"

The twins spilled out the hatch next. Sam and Roza were growing up fast. At eight years old, they were tall, blond, and wild, little versions of Addy. Their older sister, Terri, stepped out last, looking around thoughtfully. The teenager had striking red hair, the gift of her fallen mother, but her quiet wisdom came from Marco.

Ben-Ari and Lailani approached them. Everyone shared hugs. Addy's arms nearly crushed Ben-Ari in a mighty embrace. Marco's arms were no less strong, but gentler, protective rather than crushing.

"I missed you, my friends," Ben-Ari said. "It's been too long."

Marco's eyes were solemn. "I wish this reunion happened under happier circumstances."

Ben-Ari smiled wryly. "Why do we only meet when the world is at stake?"

Lailani padded closer. She shared embraces with Marco and Addy too. Soon it turned into a group hug. The four of them.

Ben-Ari, their leader.

Marco and Addy, the author and the wild card.

Lailani, the great heroine, tainted with whatever was ruining the world.

The four of them shared a bond nobody else would ever understand. Not their kids. Maybe not even Kai. Nobody.

We four have been fighting together for over twenty years, Ben-Ari thought. We saved the world time after time. We suffered unimaginable horrors. We celebrated impossible triumphs. When the world is falling apart, I turn to them. To my friends.

An oink sounded.

Ben-Ari frowned, turned her head toward the hot dog starship.

A pig strutted out the hatch. A big pig. It probably weighed more than Ben-Ari. Oinking contentedly, the pig joined the group, nuzzling his snout between the humans. Addy began to pet and coo over the animal.

"Um … Addy?" Ben-Ari said.

"Oh, don't mind Mister Falafel." Addy mussed the pig's ears. "He's just a big giant adorable future hot dog. Aren't you, Falafel? Aren't you?"

The pig oinked his agreement, unwittingly accepting his own doom.

"He's from our farm in Canada," Marco said. "Addy refused to part from him."

"Hey, Falafel is my therapy pig," Addy said. "I'm legally required to take him everywhere. Besides, he's the only one here who makes me look thin."

A groan, followed by a thump, sounded behind them.

They all turned around.

Kai had fallen onto the hillside. The children were all jumping him.

"Uncle Kai, Uncle Kai!"

The twins were hopping up and down on his chest. Tala was yanking his arm. Even Terri, older than the others, was giggling and mussing his hair. Ben-Ari's own son, Carl, came running uphill and joined the fun. Soon Kai was wrestling all five kids.

Finally Kai noticed that the other adults were watching. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, kids!" he said. "How about Uncle Kai takes you on a flight in a giant hot dog? While we let the serious grown-ups talk?"

Ben-Ari smiled softly. "You can stay in the meeting if you like. You're a serious grown-up too."

"Me? Nah." Kai waved dismissively. "I'll leave the talking to you. I'm better at blowing things up. And babysitting."

"The two skill sets go remarkably well together," Addy said.

Soon the hot dog was flying over the hills, Kai and the kids inside.

That left the four old friends below. Ben-Ari. Marco. Addy. Lailani. Four who had gone through hell and were just trying to cling to heaven.

The hilltop meeting began.

* * * * *

"A wave of violence has surged across the world," Ben-Ari said. "Within the past few days, thousands of people have gone berserk. Pilots flying planes into buildings. Truck drivers plowing into crowds. Schoolteachers poisoning their own students. School shootings. Massacre after massacre. I don't know the death toll." She took a shuddering breath. "But it's big. Some estimate that over a million people died."

They lowered their heads. They shared a moment of silence. They mourned.

All but Addy. Her fists clenched. Her jaw tightened. Finally she blurted out, "And we know who's to blame!"

Ben-Ari raised her head. She looked at her friend. Addy's cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing with anger.

She's always been wildfire, Ben-Ari thought.

"Addy." Marco placed a hand on her shoulder. "We're not yet sure—"

"It's people who are part scum!" Addy said. "Humans with centipede DNA. Scummers, I call them! Half-breeds. Freaks. People like—"

Addy suddenly bit down on her words. Her cheeks flushed a deeper red. She glanced at Lailani, looked away.

Lailani remained calm. The Filipina barely stood as tall as Addy's shoulders. But she could kill every one of them here, and she knew it.

"Go on," Lailani said softly. "Say it. People like who?"

Addy grumbled. "You know what I mean."

"People like me?"

"Yes!" Addy blurted. "Happy?"

Lailani took a deep breath. "Yes. There are others like me. Don't call us half-breeds. Don't call us scummers. We're human."

Addy laughed mirthlessly. "Lailani, you're my friend. I love you to bits. But you're not human. Not fully, at least."

Lailani's fists clenched. "I am human."

"And part alien!" Addy spat out. "We can't pussyfoot around the truth here. So let's cut the crap. People are dying. And it's scummers like Lailani who are killing them."

"I said don't call us scummers!" Lailani said. She gripped Addy's arm and snarled.

"Or what?" Addy said. "You'll grow claws and kill me? I still remember what you did! Twenty years ago! How you turned into a monster, how you crashed our starship, how you killed Benny and—"

Addy closed her mouth.

Lailani released her, stepped away, and the blood drained from her face.

The others watched, silent.

"Lailani, I'm sorry," Addy said. "I went too far."

"No, you didn't." Lailani shook her head. "You're right. I'm not fully human. I am part alien. And twenty years ago, I sabotaged a starship we flew on. And hundreds of people died. Yes, I ripped the heart out of Benny's chest. I murdered Tala's father. Do you think I forgot? Do you think I spend a single day without remembering?"

Marco finally joined the conversation. "Lailani, it wasn't your fault. The scum emperor was controlling you. We all know that. Addy knows that too." He glared at his wife. "Don't you, Addy?

Addy crossed her arms and pouted. "I said I'm sorry."

"All right, enough," Ben-Ari said. "I forgot how much we used to bicker. Lailani, talk to me. What do you know? About all this."

Lailani took a deep breath, her tension loosened, and she sat on a mossy boulder. Cyclamens rustled around her feet. For a moment she was silent, gazing at the eastern dunes. They sat on the border of fertile and barren land. Here a carob tree shaded them, and flowers bloomed, but just there lay the desert. The emptiness. All their lives had been like this, perhaps. Lived on the edge of death.

"I don't know much," Lailani said. "For years I tried to understand myself. Who I am. What I am. I know that I remember my mother. A human mother. I have no memory of my father. If I even had a father. My DNA is altered. The scientists studied it. They said the scum wove just a little bit of their own DNA into mine. A touch of alien, lurking among the human strands. Like lice among strands of human hair."

"And those lice lay eggs," Addy said. "And tons of little fuckers crawl out."

Lailani smiled wryly. "I assure you that I don't lay eggs. For a long time I thought I was alone. Just a freak experiment. But there are others. Many others. And they've been activated."

Ben-Ari narrowed her eyes. "Who activated them?"

Lailani licked her dry lips. "Do you remember the scum emperor?"

"Of course." Ben-Ari nodded. "We faced him in his lair. He's dead. We killed him. You killed him, Lailani."

"He created me," Lailani said. "During the war. For eighteen years, that scum DNA inside me lay dormant. Until one day, when I was on a starship, the scum emperor activated me. He made me kill. Then we killed him, and I thought that was the end of it. But now I think … I think he created many people like me. Sleeper agents."

"Scummers," Addy said.

"Don't call us scummers." Lailani's eyes flashed. "If you must give us a name, call us starlings." Her voice softened. "We're part alien. We came from the stars."

"Yeah, well, so was the asteroid that took out the dinosaurs," Addy muttered.

"Okay, I think I understand," Ben-Ari said. "The scum emperor created many starlings—Addy, hush! He created many starlings, but he only activated one. Our dear Lailani. And we killed him before he could activate the others. The rest just carried on with their lives. Maybe they were completely unaware of their alien DNA. So who's activating them now?"

It was Marco who answered, voice soft, eyes gazing into the distance. "The King of Many Claws."

Everyone shuddered. They had all seen the news reports.

"That's what Corvin Legrave said when he invaded our house," Addy said. "He was screaming about some King of Many Claws. Do the scum have a new leader?"

They all turned to look at Lailani. She shut her eyes and trembled.

"I can feel him," Lailani whispered. "I can hear him. He's calling me. Even now." A tear trailed down her cheek. "He's so strong. So hard to resist. Even the chip in my mind can barely silence him." She opened her eyes. They were damp and haunted. "For twenty years, he lay dormant. Growing underground like a tumor. Now he rises. He's rebuilding the hive we destroyed. And he wants revenge."

For a long moment, everyone was silent.

Finally Addy barked a laugh. "So? Okay! No problem! We do the same thing we did last time. We fly over to Abaddon, planet of the scum, and kick the bastards' asses. Why not? We did once before."

Ben-Ari spoke softly. "Last time, millions of our soldiers died. We won. But the cost was almost too terrible to comprehend."

"Yeah, well, I also find it terrible to comprehend a planet full of scummers," Addy said.

"We are starlings!" Lailani said.

"This isn't the time to be politically correct!" Addy roared. "You saw that they did. They just hit us hard. Killing thousands and thousands of us, all over the world. We can't just let that pass."

"We won't," Ben-Ari said. "We'll take action." She took a deep breath. "The King of Many Claws declared war. We will win this war. But not with an invasion."

She turned toward Lailani, and sadness flowed over her.

Can I do this? Ben-Ari thought. Can I ask this of a woman I love?

She didn't even need to speak the words. Lailani understood. She stepped closer to Ben-Ari and held her hands.

"Madam President, as always, I'm yours to command. I mean—Einav." Lailani took a shuddering breath and raised her chin. "I'll do it. I'll travel to Abaddon, planet of centipedes. And I'll kill the King of Many Claws."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Einav … can we speak alone?" Lailani stood in the garden, the desert wind in her hair. "Please."

The hilltop meeting had ended. The group had all come back to Ben-Ari's house for lunch. Kai was in the kitchen, helping Noah cook. Addy was playing soccer with the kids, while Marco was sitting under a cypress tree, writing in his notebook.

There was still much to discuss. They had come up with an objective, yes. Lailani would fly to Abaddon and assassinate the King of Many Claws. A brazen plan. A plan that shook Ben-Ari to her core. But the only plan that could save them.

There were endless details to work out. They would be talking, strategizing, and debating throughout the day and probably into the night. Here was a little break to process the tragedy. To savor what few moments of friendship they could before the war tore them apart.

"Of course we can talk, Lailani," Ben-Ari said. "Let's go for a walk in the olive grove."

Suddenly Lailani's eyes dampened. She began to tremble.

"Lailani!" Ben-Ari held her hand. "Are you all right?"

Lailani shook her head. "Come. Let's talk."

The two women walked, leaving the garden. A few security agents rushed to follow, but Ben-Ari waved them back. The entire hill was secured with roadblocks, drones, and constant satellite footage. She had nothing to fear.

Nothing other than Lailani, Ben-Ari thought. I'm walking alone with a scummer.

But she pushed that thought aside with a bitter laugh. Lailani was her friend. Maybe her best friend. She had nothing to fear from this brave little soul.

Leaving the others at the house, Ben-Ari and Lailani stepped into the olive grove. These trees were ancient, dating back to the time of Christ. These trees had grown here when Roman centurions had marched these hills. These trees had watched the walls of Jerusalem tumble down and the temple burn. They had seen tanks rumble and nations rise and fall. They had given forth fruit even as alien fleets darkened the sky. They were a force as eternal as the stars in the sky and the waves in the sea. For thousands of years, through crusades, holy wars, and alien wars, these gnarled trees had persevered. Ben-Ari took comfort from that. She had chosen to build her home on this hill because of these trees. They reminded her that Earth had been through a lot. That Earth had bled and suffered. And Earth was still here, these trees still bloomed, and life still thrived. On her darkest days, that soothed her.

Now she walked here with Lailani, hand in hand. Finally they stopped by one tree, an old being so twisted, so gnarled, that it looked more like a bundle of roots than a tree. And yet dark leaves grew from its branches, and its olives were plump.

For a long time, Lailani was silent. Ben-Ari waited, not wanting to rush her friend. It was just the two of them here. Two women and ancient trees.

Finally Lailani turned toward her.

"Einav, when I first landed on the hill, I know I was cold. Distant. I … I didn't know what to say."

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." Ben-Ari held her friend's hands. "You could always tell me anything, you know that."

Lailani nodded. "You've always been my mentor. More than that—my heroine. Since I first saw you at boot camp, twenty-one years ago, I knew that you were a leader I could follow. A light that could guide me."

"Is that all I am?" Ben-Ari asked softly. She remembered that night long ago. Perhaps Lailani did not.

"No. You're more than that. You're a friend. You're my best friend." Lailani hugged her. "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Lailani!" Ben-Ari held her friend. Lailani was so small, so fragile. Ben-Ari could have rested her chin on Lailani's head. "What are you sorry for?"

Lailani looked up at her, tears spiking her lashes. "Do you remember that night we shared, Einav? Long ago, on the Saint Brendan?"

Ben-Ari closed her eyes, the memories flooding back in. "I remember."

"That was the best day of my life," Lailani said. "I never forgot. Sometimes I wish that …" She looked away, blushing. "I wish I wasn't like this. That's why I always leave, you know. Why I left Marco. Why I left you. Why I left so many friends and lovers. Because … I am like this. A hybrid. A freak. A danger."

"Lailani!" Ben-Ari placed her hands on the shorter woman's shoulders. "Listen to me. You are not a freak. And not a danger. You're my friend. My best friend."

Lailani met her gaze, her eyes now dry. "And during the Scum War, I sabotaged the starship we flew on, and two hundred soldiers died. It still haunts me. Every night I can hear them scream."

"That was not your fault. The scum made you do it."

Her voice was firm, but Ben-Ari felt cold doubt rise inside her. If Lailani was not to blame for that old attack, what about the scummers today? Were they just as innocent? Those who had slain a million people? Could Ben-Ari forgive them like she forgave her friend?

"Einav." Lailani turned her head, gazed at the olive trees. "I did something. Last night in Paris. Something bad. The chip in my head that's meant to protect me. It didn't work. And …" She looked into Ben-Ari's eyes. "I killed somebody."

Ben-Ari took a step back. She felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh God."

"I had to tell someone," Lailani said. "I had to confess. I didn't mean to do it! And I don't think I did it, not exactly. He took control of me. The King of Many Claws. He used me as a weapon. Just like the emperor did twenty years ago. And I'm scared, Einav. I'm so scared."

Suddenly she was crying. She stepped closer to Ben-Ari as if expecting a hug.

But Ben-Ari took a step back. "Lailani. You have to go to the police. You have to confess to them, not to me."

Lailani lowered her head. "I thought about it. But they'd put me in jail. They wouldn't understand. Not like you understand." She grabbed Ben-Ari's arms. "You understand, right? That it's not my fault. That none of this is our fault. That none of us who killed people yesterday, the ones they're calling scummers—that none of us are guilty. Tell me you understand."

Ben-Ari's head spun.

My God. My God, she killed again. She's a danger. She's a weapon. She's like a woman wearing a suicide vest, liable to go off any second.

With great effort, Ben-Ari composed herself. Three breaths. Three moments of despair. And she let the strength take over.

"Lailani, listen to me, and listen carefully. I need you. I need you for this mission. To fly to Abaddon. To kill the King of Many Claws. So I won't turn you in to the police. But when this mission is over—you come to me. You don't fly to your home, you don't walk the streets, you don't even take a hot shower. You come straight to me. And we will work this out."

"How?" Lailani whispered.

"I don't know," Ben-Ari confessed. "We'll find a solution."

Lailani's eyes flashed. "You won't imprison me, will you? You won't imprison the other starlings? You'll find a way to cure us, not hurt us. Right?"

Ben-Ari took a deep breath. Hurt the scummers? No, she didn't crave to hurt anyone. Bring them to justice? Was that more palatable? She had to do something. She could not let them roam free. Maybe justice was the wrong word. Control? Contain? Detain? Whatever the case, she could not simply ignore this. Not simply turn away and let these living weapons roam freely.

"I'll find a way to cure you," she said, dodging the question. "That's all I'll say for now. That's all you need to know. You're my friend, Lailani. My best friend along with Marco and Addy. But you're also my soldier. And I'm your commander. You know your mission, but you don't need to know more."

Lailani took a step back, blanching. "So that's how it is. Soldier and commander."

Suddenly Lailani changed. An anger in her eyes. A snarl on her lips. The hint of fangs, quickly gone.

And then Lailani was crying. Trembling. She wiped her eyes.

"I'm sorry I'm a monster," she whispered. "I'll do my best to make you proud."

She turned and fled the olive grove.

Ben-Ari stood for a moment, watching her friend run toward her starship. And suddenly she was glad that Lailani was flying to another planet. Ben-Ari did not know how to handle a world where her best friend was her enemy.

"Lailani!" she called out.

Lailani froze among the olives. She turned around, eyes damp.

"Don't leave yet," Ben-Ari said. "Before you go into space, come into my home. Come for lunch."

It might be the last time we see each other, Ben-Ari knew.

Lailani looked at her, and a tear flowed down her cheek. She wiped it away, smiled shakily, and saluted. Ben-Ari returned the salute. And for a moment the crisis was averted. They were friends again. And Ben-Ari prayed they could remain like this. Friends. That their friendship, like these ancient trees, would endure.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Corvin spent a week behind bars before he dared visit the prison library.

He had always loved books. For all his flaws, for all his stupidity and madness, he had always been a good reader.

During his long childhood, he had escaped into books. Whenever his father beat him, Corvin would delve into a new novel. Whenever the other kids taunted him, he would escape into works of fantasy. Whenever the madness in his own mind grew so wild, whenever the voice of the King became so loud, he would flee to the written word.

In books, he was not Corvin Legrave, the son of a man who raped his daughter. Between the pages, he was no longer inbred, no longer insane. In books, he could be a knight, a pirate, or starship captain. He could ride dragons with Lessa of Ruatha, traverse Middle Earth with Frodo Baggins, learn magic with Raistlin, or explore a cyberpunk city with Alice Electric, Princess of Neon. He could be somebody else for a while. And anyone else was better than him.

For hours throughout his childhood, he hid under the bed. Or under the blankets. Or in the closet under the stairs. He traveled the seas with surly captains drunk on rum and glory. He battled cave trolls with elves and dwarves. He explored the stars and walked upon a hundred planets. He made friends among the pages. He fell in love. He wept. He laughed. He lived ten thousand lives.

In a world of pain, books were love. In a world with no honor, books were nobility. In a world of abuse and so much fear, books were light and hope.

And then, ten years ago, Corvin discovered the best book of his life.

A book titled The Dragons of Yesteryear.

A book by an author named Marco Emery.

It was the cover that attracted Corvin at first. It called to him from the bookstore shelf. A blue dragon coiled in the snow. A woman stood before the dragon, clad in indigo scale armor. A wise wizard stood beside her, his beard white and flowing like the snow.

Corvin bought the book without reading the blurb. The cover was enough. He took the novel home, along with a dozen more in a shopping bag. He was an adult by now. A thirty-year-old man. He lived alone in a crumbling little apartment, wasting away his crumbling little life. He had no wife, no children. During the days, he worked as a janitor. It was a shitty job, he would joke, but somebody's gotta do it. At nights … ah, at nights he delved into worlds of wonder.

And Dragons of Yesteryear introduced a new world. A world of wizards, elves, dragons. Of friendship, courage, honor. Of terror but beauty too. Reading the novel, Corvin felt like a kid again. Like a ten-year-old first discovering Dragonlance or The Lord of the Rings.

He devoured the book. He returned to the bookshop. He bought the sequel. And the sequel after that.

After reading the trilogy, he wept. And he reread it. Again and again. He drew the characters in his notebooks. He dreamed about them. Held imaginary conversations with them. He painted the characters on his wall. He sculpted them from cloth and clay and glass. He wrote his own stories about them. For a year, he lived among the Dragons of Yesteryear.

He began to read more Marco Emery novels. He picked up a copy of Under the Stairs, another fantasy novel. This one was dark. Surreal. Dangerous but beautiful too. It told the story of a girl who found a portal under a staircase. The gateway led to a land of strange dreams and bizarre creatures, some who became her friends, others who were terrifying foes. Corvin's father had regularly locked him under the staircase. Corvin had often imagined fantasy worlds in those shadows.

Somehow Marco had known, had written about it.

Corvin read the sequel, Dangers Untold. And the third book, The Last Birds of Summer. He spent a year reading and rereading the Under the Stairs series, delving into the phantasmagoria.

He read other Marco Emery novels. He cherished Le Kill, a cyberpunk thriller. He adored The Clockwork Rose, the tale of a robot uprising. Perhaps his favorite, after the Dragons of Yesteryear of course, was The Goblin Bride, a return to traditional fantasy. Corvin even loved Loggerhead, Emery's first and perhaps purest novel.

On his bookshelf in his crumbling little apartment, Corvin displayed his prized possessions. The complete works of Marco Emery, the genius, the greatest novelist in the world.

The man who betrayed him.

The man who broke Corvin's heart.

And so for a week behind bars, Corvin did not read. Not Marco's books. Not any author. He dared not open a book. He lived without his most precious pastime, his holiest of rituals.

But after a week, he vowed to read again. To find another hero. To reclaim a lost passion.

He shuffled into the prison library, head lowered. He had to always keep his head down. To be good.

It was a humble library. There were none of those newfangled load-a-brain transmitters, which uploaded books directly into your brain. Not even any electronic readers. Just old-fashioned paperback books. That was good. Corvin had grown up reading paper books. It was an antiquated medium, but he enjoyed the tactile feel of the paper, the smell of it, the rustle that hid the secrets within.

A few other prisoners were here. Not many. Not many people read these days. After the Alien Wars, people didn't want to read about exploring the dark, about facing monsters. They preferred to drown in alcohol. To fight on the streets. To cut one another for needles or pills. To beat up whores. To beat up sons. They didn't read, and they were not wise. There was no more wisdom in the world.

But we will remake the world.

A voice in his mind. An old voice. A million voices speaking as one.

Praise me, my son. For soon I will rise. And you will do my bidding. This world will be ours.

"You're not real," Corvin whispered. "You're just my imagination. The doctors said so."

The doctors will die too. We will kill them, my son. We will kill anyone who opposes us. The time is near.

Corvin groaned. He covered his ears. He pushed his hands so hard against his head, trying to silence the voice, to crush his skull. He let out a howl.

"Hey, idiot!" A voice from a library table. "Shut the fuck up. This is a library." The voice dropped to a mutter. "Goddamn crazy freak. Should be in a mental institution, not here."

Corvin looked at the prisoner who had taunted him. A slender old man, bald and graying. Once the CEO of a large company, he had been caught swindling investors. A real nasty sort.

Corvin gulped and lowered his head. You had to keep your head low.

He shuffled by the table. By the slender old man. The old-timer was reading a book.

Corvin dared raise his eyes just for an instant. To see what the old man was reading.

It was The Clockwork Rose by Marco Emery.

Corvin paused. He stared.

The old man raised his eyes from the book. He glared, bushy gray eyebrows pushed low.

"What the hell do you want?" the old man said. "Get lost!"

"You … you're reading The Clockwork Rose. By Marco Emery."

"Huh? This?" The old man lowered the book. "Absolute drivel. Like most of the books in this library."

Corvin took a deep, shuddering breath.

Keep your head down. Be good. Don't cause trouble.

"But … don't you find the characters compelling? Especially the characterization of Charlie?"

The old man rose to his feet. "Look buddy, I didn't come here for a book club. Get lost! Do you hear me, freak? Do you understand me?" He spoke as if to a child, mockery twisting his words. "Get. The fuck. Away."

Corvin trembled. He forced in air, forced out words. "The Clockwork Rose is not drivel. It's a work of genius. But … the author. The author betrayed me. He … he put me here. In this prison. He … he was my friend. My hero. But he did this to me! He—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm not your therapist." The old man groaned and turned to walk away. "Goddamned lunatic." He paused to toss the book at Corvin. "Here, read the goddamned thing yourself. Drivel!"

The book hit Corvin's chest, then slapped onto the floor, bending a page.

Corvin knelt and lifted it.

And he was there again. Ten years ago. Discovering Marco Emery for the first time.

And he was at Marco's house again. Only a month ago. Cooking breakfast for the twins. Part of the family. The beloved uncle, come for a visit.

The images flashed before him.

The police—tasing him.

Addy, beautiful Addy—aiming a gun at him.

Marco, his best friend, his idol—attacking him.

Corvin howled. He ran between the bookshelves, grabbed the old man, and pulled him back to the table.

"Don't you dare talk like that!" Corvin shouted.

The old man gasped, tried to fight back. "Let go of me, you delinquent!"

But Corvin was younger and stronger. He pinned the old man down. "You will appreciate this book! You will devour it!"

Corvin ripped out a page.

"What are you doing, freak?" the old man shouted. "What—"

Corvin shoved the page into the old man's mouth.

"Eat it!" Corvin shouted.

The old man coughed, spat. Corvin ripped out another page, shoved it into the gasping mouth.

"Consume this book." Corvin cackled. "Eat every page! Taste every word!" He tossed back his head, laughing hysterically. His laugh was high-pitched, uncontrollable. "He betrayed me!"

He ripped out page after page, crumpled them, and shoved them into the old man's mouth. The pathetic geezer tried to fight, to shove Corvin off. He could not. Nobody could stop Corvin anymore.

"You will consume every page," Corvin said. "Every goddamned page!"

He laughed and laughed. He kept feeding pages to the old man. Shoving them in. It was like stuffing a turkey.

The man's face turned red. Then purple. His eyes bugged out, full of tears. He tried to scream, to beg. He could not talk. Not even breathe.

By the time Corvin ripped out the last page, the old man was dead.

Corvin sighed and tossed the last page to the floor. "Pity. You never got to finish the book."

They found Corvin in the library a while later. He was sitting beside the corpse, leafing through a copy of Loggerhead. A little light reading about a broken man. A little escape from a cage of insanity.

As the guards dragged Corvin off, he was still laughing.

You had to keep your head down. You had to stay out of trouble. But sometimes a good story was just too much to resist.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I murdered innocent people.

Lailani closed her eyes.

I was the first of the scum agents. The first starling to awake. To kill. So I must end this.

Behind her closed eyelids, she saw it again. Abaddon. The homeworld of the Scolopendra titania. The scum.

The desert sprawled under the punishing sunlight. A desert larger than a thousand Earths. The boulders rose like skyscrapers, and canyons carved the land. The centipedes scurried in the depths, and she was back there again, just a girl, screaming and firing her machine gun, watching her friends die.

A voice cried out from the depths.

"Lailani! Lailani, please!"

She shivered.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a monster. I didn't mean to kill.

"Lailani! Please, Lailani!"

A hand grabbed her. The hand of a dying man. Lailani's eyes snapped open, and—

She blinked.

It was Addy grabbing her.

"Lailani, please!" Addy said. "Can I finish your plate if you're full?"

Lailani rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath. "Yes, yes, of course. Sorry, I … was thinking about something else."

They were sitting in Ben-Ari's home. Lunch was served.

The conversation in the olive grove was still fresh in Lailani's mind. It still stung. Her memories were all flooding back now, leaving her dazed. Her fear coiled in her belly. Addy had already devoured her weight in food, but Lailani had no appetite.

She didn't want to be here. In Ben-Ari's home, she felt like an outsider. An animal.

She glanced across the table to Ben-Ari. The president sat there, conversing quietly with Marco, barely touching her food. She did not look back at Lailani. Did not acknowledge her. They had not spoken since the olive grove.

A gap opened up between us, Lailani thought. I don't know if it can be bridged.

She had come for lunch, yes. The journey to Abaddon would take weeks. Another hour or two on Earth would not make a difference. Not to her mission. But maybe it could mend things with her friends.

There were still a few practical issues to discuss too. They must review schematics of Abaddon's tunnels. They still had maps from the war, though they were likely out of date. They must chart a course to Abaddon, decide what weapons Lailani would take, and stockpile enough supplies. Last-minute details. The brass tacks.

But Lailani would improvise most of the mission. And she would leave by nightfall. She would leave Earth and return to that alien world that still haunted her nightmares. The halls of the King of Many Claws. That was her destination.

"Thanks, little buddy!" Addy, who had already polished off her own plate, grabbed Lailani's plate and tucked in.

The food was delicious. The main course was grilled chicken, topped with lemon slices and fresh herbs from Ben-Ari's garden, served on a bed of wild asparagus collected from a nearby valley. There was also fresh bread and butter, dried figs and dates, and pears plucked fresh off the tree outside the window. Noah cooked and served.

"Hey, Einav," Addy said between mouthfuls. "You married a wonderful chef. Can I steal him?"

"Please steal her, Noah," Marco said.

The professor smiled. "I'm loyal to my Einav."

He placed his hand on Ben-Ari's shoulder. She smiled, laid her prosthetic hand atop his real one. But the president's green eyes seemed to gaze far away. And there was more sadness than warmth in her smile.

Lailani raised her eyebrows the slightest, looking at her president. Ben-Ari stared back but said nothing.

There's coldness between them when there was once warmth, Lailani thought. There are so many chasms opening between our group. We're falling apart.

"Anyway, Noah," Addy was prattling on, "I'll teach you a few cooking techniques of my own. Would you happen to have a rake?"

Noah frowned. "Why a rake?"

"You've never heard of cooking hot dogs on a rake?" Addy gasped. "Oh boy, I'll have to teach you some things. You need to brush up if you're to be my personal chef. And husband someday."

"Please, I repeat, take her off my hands," Marco said.

The others laughed, bickered, ate. But it all faded. Lailani and Ben-Ari stared at each other. For a moment it was just them, and everything else was noise.

You're so beautiful, Einav, Lailani thought. You're so brave. I would die for you. I will go on this quest for you. More than for Earth—for you, my Golden Lioness.

Throughout her life of wandering, of fluttering from one world to another, one bed to another, Lailani had clung to one constant.

To her commanding officer. Now her president. A woman she admired and loved.

She could not stop herself. Lailani reached under the table, and she held Ben-Ari's other hand. The real hand, not the prosthetic. It was warm and its grip was tight.

The two women looked into each other's eyes for just a few seconds. But in that brief time, Lailani relived that night long ago. The two of them, alone on an alien world. She wondered if Ben-Ari still remembered, still cherished the memory.

"And that's how you cook onion rings in a helmet!" Addy said, completing a tale which Lailani had been ignoring.

Before anyone could notice, Lailani pulled her hand back from Ben-Ari's. Her cheeks flushed.

* * * * *

When dessert was finished and everyone was full, Lailani rose to her feet. Not that it made a big difference. At four-foot-ten, she wasn't much taller standing than sitting. She cleared her throat, and everyone turned toward her.

"Tonight I'll begin my journey to Abaddon," Lailani said. "It's a long journey into danger. I don't know when I'll return. Or if I'll return at all."

Addy rose to her feet too. "I'll go with you." She drew her handguns and twirled them.

"Me too." Kai said. He had been silent throughout the meal, focusing on eating, but now he rose to his feet. "My girl is ready too." He patted his katana.

"We'll all go," Marco said.

"No!" Lailani said. "No, I must do this alone. It's too dangerous on Abaddon for humans. The scum would kill you right away. But I can go there safely. The enemy won't harm me. After all … I'm not human. Not entirely. I'm a starling. I'm proud of that. And this is a job for a starling."

Marco blinked, turned toward Ben-Ari. "We can't let her go alone. It's too dangerous. Einav, tell her."

But the president's smile was bittersweet. "Lailani is right. On this quest, we would only put her in danger. She must go alone."

"I won't be entirely alone." Lailani gave her own sad smile. "Tala will be with me, of course."

Looks passed around the table.

Marco licked his dry lips. "Lailani, we can watch Tala while you're away."

Lailani whipped her head toward him. "What?"

"Abaddon is dangerous for humans," Marco said. "And Tala is fully human. And she's only nine years old. Let her stay with Addy and me for a while. On our farm. She'll play with our kids, and ride horses, and—"

"I can't leave my daughter behind!" Lailani laughed bitterly. "You can't be serious."

Everyone looked at the kids' table, which stood nearby. Their children all sat there together. Terri, the oldest, was holding court.

"Um, kids?" Terri said to the younger ones. "Why don't we go play outside for a bit? We can climb the pomegranate tree!"

The kids all ran outside, laughing. Soon the adults saw them playing outside the window, climbing the tree, rolling in the grass, and chasing butterflies.

Everyone looked at Lailani again.

"Seriously, guys!" Lailani said, laughing. "Tala has gone through dangerous times with me before. Even during the Cyborg War, she never left my side. She's a tough little kid. She'll be fine."

"Lailani, I dunno," Marco said.

"It's not your decision," Lailani said. Her voice was harsh. Maybe too harsh.

"Of course not," Marco said. "But I'm offering. I'm urging. Okay, maybe I'm even begging. Don't put Tala in danger."

"I'm not putting her in danger!" Lailani laughed again, but her laughter was brittle now. She turned toward Ben-Ari. "Can you talk some sense into Marco?"

But Ben-Ari was solemn. "Marco is right. Tala is safest on Earth."

"I …" Lailani blinked, shook her head. "I don't know. I …" She lowered her head. "This is hard. This is fucking hard."

Marco hurried toward her and embraced her. "During the Cyborg War, I had to leave my kids behind while I went to fight. It tore me up. It fucking tore me up, Lailani, but I knew it was best for them. We'll watch over Tala. It's the least we can do. We can't face the King of Many Claws with you. But we can keep your daughter safe."

Lailani shed tears onto his shoulder. But finally she nodded. Her heart broke into ten million pieces, but she nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "But I have one request. From all of you."

"Anything," Marco said.

She looked at him, then at Addy, and finally looked into Ben-Ari's eyes.

"When I'm away, look after my fellow starlings," she said. "Make sure no harm comes to them. The crimes they committed … it wasn't them."

Ben-Ari opened her mouth, but no words emerged.

Addy spoke for her. The tall warrior rose to her feet, holding a fork like a weapon. "Like hell! Those fuckers attacked Earth! I'm going to hunt them down one by one. Alone if I must!"

Lailani spun toward her. "You can't! It wasn't their fault."

"Yeah, yeah, they were just following orders." Addy rolled her eyes. "Oldest excuse in the book. Those scummers are evil. They attacked us. And I'm going to rain down punishment on their asses. If those scummers think I gave the marauders hell, they ain't seen nothin' yet."

Lailani sneered. Rage exploded through her.

Kill her!

Skin her!

She is the enemy.

Destroy her!

You are stronger than her. She's big but you're vicious. Drink her blood!

A thousand voices—shrieking inside her. Lailani grimaced and covered her ears, desperate to shut them up.

Addy kept talking, oblivious. "We can't show our enemies any weakness or sympathy. Or they'll kill again. The scummers declared war, and—"

Lailani shut it out. She was barking up the wrong tree. Who cared what Addy thought? Addy had no authority. Lailani turned toward the president, the only voice that mattered.

"Einav, please." Lailani fell to her knees before her president. "I'm begging you. Don't hurt the starlings. Already there are stories on the news. Of army units arresting starlings. Putting them in prison camps. Even killing them. Hunting them down like wild animals."

"More power to them!" Addy said.

"Shut up!" Lailani screamed.

The scream was impossibly loud. A glass shattered. The children stopped playing outside, and birds fled. Everyone stared at Lailani. Kai dropped his spoon.

Lailani's head spun. The blood pounded in her ears.

They're my enemies, she thought. They all betrayed me. They're not friends! I'm a starling. They're human. They'll never understand me.

The voices shrieked inside her.

Kill them.

Kill them all!

Praise the King of Many Claws!

"Look at her," Addy said softly. "She's mad. She's sick."

Ben-Ari approached slowly. She placed a hand on Lailani's shoulder.

"Lailani," she said softy.

Lailani's head was still spinning. The room was swaying around her. She panted. The anger! The fury inside her! The bloodlust! It wouldn't stop!

"Colonel de la Rosa," Ben-Ari said.

And that ignited something in Lailani. An old discipline. An old code of honor.

The voices faded. She raised her chin. "Madam President, please. Do not mistreat the starlings. Let them go. They're my people."

Addy gasped. "Whose side are you on?"

But the others ignored Addy.

Ben-Ari stared steadily into Lailani's eyes. Her gaze hardened. "Lailani, until you kill the King of Many Claws, the starlings are a danger. The Human Defense Force must treat them as a threat—and quarantine them."

"You mean imprison us in camps!" Lailani roared. But it wasn't her voice. It was a deep voice. A demonic voice.

Ben-Ari's eyes widened. Her prosthetic hand rose. A hand that Lailani had seen blast through enemies. A weapon.

Lailani pounced.

Snarling, she gripped Ben-Ari's throat.

"You will not harm my people!" Lailani hissed, speaking with a thousand alien voices. Claws sprouted from her fingertips. Fangs grew in her mouth.

Strong arms grabbed Lailani from behind. Addy—gripping her, pulling her back!

Lailani howled. Maintaining her grip on Ben-Ari's throat, she swung at Addy with her free arm.

Normally, the blow wouldn't have phased Addy. The hulking hockey player was almost twice Lailani's size. But now the taller woman flew backward, hit the table, and plates shattered on the floor.

Security guards raced into the dining room. They were always watching their president, hiding nearby.

Lailani snarled. She leaped into the air, kicked one guard, and slammed him into another.

Another guard raised his gun. A bullet rang out, whistled over Lailani's head, and punched a hole through the wall.

Lailani lifted a chair like a weapon. She hurled it with immense strength, knocking this guard down too. He collapsed, his head bleeding. The gun clattered across the floor.

All the while, Lailani kept squeezing Ben-Ari's throat.

"Lailani, stop this!" Marco shouted.

"Lai—" Ben-Ari gasped, trying to pull Lailani's fingers free. "Please. Lailani!"

Her face was turning blue.

Lailani snarled at the president and licked her chops. "Do you want to be my enemy, human? Do you really want—"

"Mom?"

A voice from behind.

Tala's voice.

The girl came into the dining room, fear in her eyes, a pomegranate in her little hand.

Lailani released the president. The claws and fangs retracted.

Oh my God. What have I done?

Lailani looked around her. At Ben-Ari, who was coughing, sucking up air. At Addy, who lay sprawled on the floor, blood in her mouth. At Marco, who gazed at her with betrayed eyes.

And she looked at her daughter. At her beautiful Tala, the light of her soul.

Tears flowed down Lailani's cheeks.

"This is why I must leave," she whispered. "This is why I must go alone. I must kill him. I must kill the King of Many Claws before there is no humanity left in me. I'm sorry, my friends. I love you all. I'm so sorry."

Blinded by tears, Lailani ran. She scooped up Tala, carried the girl, and fled outside.

* * * * *

Lailani ran downhill, her boots stomping the cyclamens and anemones. Behind her, she could just make out Ben-Ari shouting at her guards to lower their guns, to let Lailani go. Dammit, she's holding a child! Lower your guns! But it all seemed miles away. Sounds from another reality.

Lailani reached the Black Rose Viperess. The dark, dagger-shaped starship stood on the hillside. She was a small starship, just large enough to qualify as a corvette, just small enough to enter the atmosphere. Even hopping to Alpha Centauri, the nearest star, was a tall order for a ship this small. And now Lailani needed to fly the Viperess hundreds of light-years away. To Abaddon. It would be a long journey.

Due to time dilation, time will pass quickly for me, she thought. Longer will pass here on Earth. When my friends see me again, will they even recognize me? Who will I become? Will I be woman or monster?

She paused outside the starship. She turned around and looked back at the house on the hill.

Her friends stood there in the yard. Looking at her.

Lailani shed tears. Lip trembling, she saluted.

Marco ran forward. He paused a hundred yards away.

"Let me watch over Tala!" he said.

Lailani tightened her arms around her daughter. "No. I can't let her go. I can't let her stay with Addy."

Kai ran forward too. He kept running until he reached Lailani. The others kept their distance. Maybe they were afraid. But the tattooed bounty hunter showed no fear. He stood before Lailani on the hillside. She was so short Kai had to kneel before her.

"Lailani." Kai reached out, held her hands. "Last night, the night we shared … that meant something to me. I'm not afraid of you. Let me go with you. I'll help you watch over Tala." He smiled. "I'm a good babysitter, remember?"

"Kai, no!" Addy cried out.

The bounty hunter turned around. He gave his half-sister a crooked smile. "I'll be all right, sis. You're worried about Tala, right? Well, I'll watch over her. Nobody will mess with the girl. Not when I'm around. If any centipede tries to harm her—pow!"

Addy was crying now too. She ran toward him. "Kai, please. I don't want to lose you."

"Hey, sis, I'll be back." Kai wiped away Addy's tears. "It won't be forever."

Addy hugged him tightly, crying. Marco shook Kai's hand, then gave him a crushing hug too.

Kai and Tala climbed a ladder, entering the Black Rose Viperess. Lailani climbed after them, but she paused at the hatch. She gazed across the hillside back toward the humble house.

Ben-Ari stood there among the cypress trees, watching. Across the distance, their eyes met.

I love you, Einav Ben-Ari, Lailani thought. I've loved you for over twenty years. But I'll be watching you. Even from space, I will see. I have many eyes and many claws. I love you with all my heart. But if you become my enemy, I will destroy you.

She closed the hatch.

With rumbling engines and furious fire, the Black Rose Viperess blazed toward the stars.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The alien sun beat down, bathing him with radiation as he toiled in the chain gang.

This was an alien world. A cruel world. A prison world. They had sent Corvin here to die.

The prison on Earth now seemed like a holiday resort. A cozy cell. A roof over his head. Three meals a day. Hell, they even had a library.

There were no such luxuries on Uruk Penal Colony.

But he had killed a man. He had stuffed the pages of a book into his mouth, suffocating him with words. A bit more serious than his stalking conviction. And so now Corvin Legrave toiled here, a prisoner on a chain gang, condemned to twenty years of hard labor.

He doubted he'd last twenty days.

Uruk was a desert planet. A ball of stone, sand, and misery. The planet supported some life. A few shrubs that grew iron spikes, essentially living barbed wire. A few insects and reptiles that drank blood. And of course, the invasive species—the condemned prisoners of Earth. Not much else. Most planets with life offered diverse ecosystems: deserts, swamps, forests, tundra. Not so Uruk. Here the desert spanned the entire planet.

This is my punishment.

Corvin swung his pickax, cracking a boulder.

This is for reading a book.

He shuffled forward, chain rattling.

This is what Marco Emery did to me.

There were ten men on his chain gang. Murderers. Rapists. Warlords. They were bigger than him. Stronger. Crueler. Their muscles rippled. Tattoos of swastikas, cartels, and gangs covered their arms. Corvin was not a small man, but beside them, he felt like a child. Scrawny. Wiry. His pale skin was burning under this punishing sun. They had shaved his long black hair—the prison barber had called it the most disgusting hair he had ever seen, infested with lice, sticky with grease. Corvin missed that hair. The sun was cooking his stubbly head.

"Faster!" A prison guard in an air-conditioned atmosuit stood on a rocky ledge, speaking into a megaphone. "Prisoner C123943, put your back into it."

Prisoner C123943. That was him. He had no name here. He was just C123943. That was all.

Where was Corvin Legrave? Where was the awkward, nervous man who laughed too much, who apologized too much?

Where was the reader, the bookworm, the aspiring author?

Where was the man, a kind man, who loved to paint across the walls?

Where was the youth, the awkward youth, who suffered the blows of bullies, who escaped into books?

Where was the child, the scared, timid child, hiding under his bed? There were monsters under the bed. They were his friends. And the true monster was his father. The man and his terrible rage.

Where was the baby? The baby born to a young, scared woman? A woman raped by her own father?

Where was the freak? The inbred weirdo? The psycho? Where was Crazy Corvin?

Those were all names his tormentors had called him. Children in the playground. Coworkers. His own father.

Inbred freak! Monster! Psycho!

"I am Corvin Legrave!" he would shout at them. But they would laugh. Taunt him.

"Hey there, Crazy Corvin!" they called. They tossed empty cans at him.

"Hey, Crazy Corvin, I heard your dad fucked your mom. Can I have a go too?"

"Hey, Corvin, don't worry, the King of England is inbred too. Maybe you'll be king someday!"

In the stories he wrote, he was King Corvin. He ruled over his tormentors. He nailed them onto the asphalt, and he smashed their heads with hammers. Again and again. Smashing and smashing until nothing remained.

But not the girls. The girls who tormented him became his slaves. They served him in shameful ways. Or they suffered. And King Corvin could mete out incredible suffering.

All night, he wrote those stories. He filled notebooks with stories of King Corvin the Cruel. Inbred. Mad. Striking back at the bullies and haters and trolls.

And during the day, they tossed beer cans at him. They laughed at him. They stole from him. Kicked him. Laughed and laughed and spat on him. There goes Crazy Corvin! Look at the freak!

He fell in love. He fell in love again and again. He approached these angels, trembled, offered them flowers. He blushed when he asked them on dates. The looks they gave him wounded him. Disgusted looks. Sometimes pitying looks. Sometimes even amused looks. Sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they called the police. And Corvin went home and wrote stories about their suffering. In his mad scribblings, they never dared mock King Corvin the Cruel.

So there was no wife, no girlfriend, no dates. He couldn't even get a girl to smile back at him. There was no family left. His mother had died of heartbreak years ago, and his father was a terror Corvin was still fleeing. There were no friends. There had a been a cat until Corvin had patted him too hard.

There was nobody.

For so many years—nobody.

And then there was Marco.

There was Marco Emery, the best author in the world.

A hero. A role model. A man Corvin loved with all his heart and soul.

"I read your books over and over," Corvin whispered in the desert heat. "I just wanted to be your friend. I just wanted to be part of your family. I'm sorry."

His tears rolled, salty, evaporating in the heat.

The prisoner before him in the chain gang, a massive brute, spun toward him. A swastika tattoo adorned his bald head.

"Shut the fuck up, freak!" the prisoner rumbled. Sweat dripped down his enormous biceps. "Get back to work."

The other prisoners called him Beef. And nobody had any beef with Beef. Not if they valued their lives.

Beef was a lifer. Years ago, he had sawed off his grandmother's head, then violated her decapitated body in horrible ways. Ways that made Corvin shudder. Over long years in prison, Beef had violated quite a few fellow prisoners too. Some he had strangled to death—once they were no longer fun.

Corvin gulped and nodded. "Sorry, Beef."

Beef loved the chain gang. Loved it. He tolerated no laziness from his fellow prisoners. There were several chain gangs out here in the desert, chipping away on different hills, sweating and grumbling and hating every second. Most of the prisoners did the bare minimum. But not Beef. He worked hard. And if you were chained to him, you better work hard too. Or Beef would crush your head.

Sweat dripping, Beef was swinging his pickaxe again and again, shattering boulders like they were mere logs. He adored this work. He savored it. He swung the pickaxe with relish, grinning whenever he split a boulder in two. Sometimes after a particularly successful blow of the pickaxe, he boomed in celebration.

"Pow! Got ya, fucker! Boom! How ya like that, fucker? Cracked you open!"

After a while, Corvin understood. The towering Beef did not see boulders. He saw faces. The faces of his enemies. Maybe just random faces, random victims to torment.

Only yesterday, Corvin had seen Beef drive his pickaxe into the face of a living, breathing victim. A fellow prisoner, a bald, mustached man here for feeling up kids. Beef had driven his axe deep into the man's skull, then pulled it backward, yanking the entire face off. Corvin would never forget the sight. The man with a hole where a face had been. Still conscious. One eye looking around in panic. Maybe looking for his missing face. Oh, where oh where can my face be? Sorry, Beef borrowed it! It's a bit dusty if you still want it back.

Seeing this sight, Corvin had started laughing. Laughing and laughing hysterically. Everyone else had stared in horror at the gruesome scene. Corvin had just rolled around laughing. Sorry, your face is a bit dusty! Would you still like it back? Finally the guards, tired of his laughter, had beaten Corvin senseless.

Well, the faceless prisoner was gone now, stuck in the infirmary. And Corvin had taken up his position in the chain gang. Right behind Beef.

Lovely.

"You better work hard," Beef told him. "You better not slow me down. I've killed the five guys before you. They were too slow. You work good. You smash those boulders. Or I'll peel off your face."

He was more motivating than any guard, that Beef. Corvin obeyed. He put his back into it, smashing those boulders. And he imagined a face on every boulder. He imagined the face of Marco Emery.

I can't read your book, Corvin.

Smash! Pow! Pickaxe to the head!

Sorry, Corvin, I won't be your friend.

Boom! Right in the kisser!

You're not part of our family.

Bam! Face torn right off!

You're going to jail, Corvin. Because I'm Marco Emery, the best author in the world, and you're nothing but an inbred freak.

Bam! Pow! Smash!

As Corvin broke the boulders, he laughed. A hysterical laugh. A high-pitched laugh. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he kept laughing. Sorry, Marco, your face is a bit dusty. Do you want it back? Do you want to kiss this ripped-off face, Addy? How about you, kids?

He laughed and laughed. Imagining Marco sitting there, face gone, head hanging low. In his daydream, beautiful Addy left her faceless husband, and she married Corvin instead. He imagined her kissing him. Making love to him every night. They all rode bikes together. Corvin, Addy, the kids. Riding bikes through the park as Marco chased them, trying to beg with no mouth.

"Sorry, freak!" Corvin cried at him. "You're not one of us. Ha! Ha ha!"

His laughter claimed him.

Beef spun around, fuming, interrupting the fantasy. "Shut up! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Ahead in the chain gang, a dozen other prisoners spun around and stared. Many other chain gangs covered the mountain under the blistering sun—rows of men strung together. Everyone was staring. Spitting. Cursing.

Corvin could hear the kids again. Freak! Inbred! He could feel the fists. His father's wrath. A father who was also a grandfather. A man who was also a monster. A mind that was broken. Laughter that was also weeping.

Beef grabbed him, lifted him off the ground like lifting a child. The chains clattered. The giant shook Corvin. Shook him again and again until Corvin's head whipped back and forth, until his spine creaked.

"You freak!" Beef rumbled. "I'm going to crush you!"

He tightened his grip. Twisting. Wringing Corvin like a wet rag.

A rib snapped.

A shoulder dislocated.

Corvin pissed himself. He actually pissed himself.

Beef bared his sharpened teeth, face red. Sweat glistened on his bald head, dampening his swastika tattoo. The prison guards watched, doing nothing. A few guards snickered and turned away.

Corvin's life was slipping away. Squeezed out like juice.

And behind the brute, behind them all, he rose over the mountains. He rose like a shining sun. A great centipede. A god. A leviathan of the desert. A being only he could see.

"The King of Many Claws!" Corvin breathed, and he accepted his lord.

The claws rose over the desert.

And other claws rose from Corvin. Not just from his fingertips. But from the sides of his torso. Sprouting from alongside his rib cage. Ripping through his prison uniform. Reaching outward. Limbs extended.

Two new arms grew, tipped with gleaming death. With alien strength, Corvin ripped off his chains and laughed.

"What the fuck?" Beef shouted, leaning back until the chain snapped taut.

Corvin's jawbone unhooked like a serpent's. It dropped halfway down his chest, revealing a gullet full of sharp teeth.

I praise you.

I kill for you.

He grabbed Beef with his four arms. His claws pierced the flesh, digging down to the bones. Beef screamed. This giant, this terror, this killer—he screamed and kicked and bled. He was no trouble at all.

The voice spoke in Corvin's head.

Take your sacrifice, Corvin, son of claws. Feast upon his flesh.

Corvin leaned forward, jaws opened wide. Like a female mantis, ravenous after mating, he bit off Beef's head.

The other prisoners on the chain gang screamed.

They tried to flee. They could not. The chains tripped them. They crawled. They screamed. They begged. Finally they managed to pull Beef's headless body off the chain, and they ran across the hills. Just like insects. Just like little ants. Just like Corvin himself had always been.

He pounced.

He caught them.

He fed.

A bullet whistled. Pain stung his shoulder.

Corvin turned his head, hissing. His claws still clung to a dying prisoner. He had devoured the face and part of the jawbone. The man was still alive, trying to beg, choking on blood. Strips of skin dangled from Corvin's fangs.

Another bullet flew. Pain blazed on Corvin's arm. He snarled.

He saw it now. A guard above, crouching behind a boulder.

Growling, Corvin abandoned his meal and bounded uphill. More bullets flew. Corvin zigzagged his way up, racing on his six limbs, scuttling like a centipede. The bullets sparked around him, sending stones cascading. As he ran, Corvin laughed, already hungry again.

He leaped over the boulder.

The guard tossed his gun and tried to flee.

Corvin tore him apart, splattering blood across the desert.

He stood on the boulder, spun around, and faced the prisoners across the mountainside. The cruel alien sun blazed above. The desert stretched to the horizon. Corvin spread out his arms, tossed back his head, and laughed.

Another bullet hit him. Another guard, somewhere below, was firing. Corvin barely felt the pain. What were bullets to the son of a god?

"Turn on your masters, fellow prisoners!" he cried. "Be slaves no more. I will lead you back to Earth. Rise now! Rise for the King of Many Claws! Kill them all!"

The prisoners roared. They swung their pickaxes. But this time not at boulders. This time at the guards.

Waves of prisoners stormed up the hillsides. Machine guns rattled. Guards shouted orders. Then screamed in pain. Finally they begged for mercy.

Living prisoners climbed over the dead. A few prisoners, still on the chain gang, strangled a guard with their chain. Another prisoner—a colossal beast of a man, even bigger than Beef but soft in the head—grabbed a guard and pounded his head against a rock. But most of the prisoners simply used their pickaxes.

It didn't take long. Only a few moments, and the guards were all dead.

This had been brewing for a long time. Corvin had simply ignited the spark.

He cut the prisoners free. They hurled the chains into pits, roaring in victory. A few prisoners seized the chance to settle old scores. To drive a pickaxe into a fellow prisoner's back. Maybe shove one into a canyon, crush another with rocks. This too had been brewing for a while.

When the scores were all settled, when the last man doomed to die screamed his final scream, Corvin pointed across the desert. A starship awaited there. A vessel of the HCPB, the proud Human Commonwealth Prison Bureau. The prisoners called them the caps. Short for captors.

It was a boxy starship, the hull so charred and scratched it looked like the surface of an alien moon. The convicts stormed into the ship.

There were a few caps in the vessel. Not for long. Their mangled corpses would feed the lizards on this godforsaken world.

Godforsaken? Maybe not, Corvin thought. On this world a god had come to him. Not the god of Earth, the god his father had worshipped. A new god. A mightier god. A god who would lead him to victory.

Corvin stepped onto the starship's bridge. The captain was still there, putting on a brave face, determined to go down with his ship. Very well. Corvin ripped him limb from limb. He scooped up the blood and he painted letters across the bulkhead, each letter as large as a severed head.

The engines rumbled.

The starship rose.

They soared through space, heading toward Earth. A starship full of a thousand roaring, bloodthirsty murderers, cannibals, and rapists. They left hell behind. They would be home soon.

"Our thirst for vengeance is not yet quenched," Corvin said. And he laughed. He laughed and laughed. "This is only the beginning."

He gazed out at the stars, seeking Earth in the distance. Behind him, across the bulkhead, the bloody words he had scrawled were slowly dripping.

MARCO I AM COMING FOR YOU.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Marco had been a writer for twenty years. And today, for the first time, he would do a book signing.

It terrified him.

He was a veteran of the Alien Wars. He had faced bloodthirsty monsters from deep space. And bookshops fucking terrified him.

He used to like bookshops. Back in his youth, they seemed like magical places. For Chrissake, he was raised in a library. Books had been his lifelong companions.

But then … ah, then he became a writer.

Even on normal days, bookshops were bad enough. Whenever Marco walked through one, he would stress. Did they carry one of his books? If not, why not? Was he a failure? Did no bookshop care to sell his babies? If the bookshop did carry his work, well, that was even worse. What if the books didn't sell? Had they been sitting on the shelf for days on end, collecting dust, enticing no readers? Was he an utter and complete failure?

Ah, sweet insecurities. On the best of days, they were a bitch.

But a book signing. Ah, if there was an eighth circle of hell, it was much nicer than book signings. Book signings weren't even a circle of hell. They were so far beneath hell they made hell seem like heaven.

He had done a signing once.

Once.

He had shown up with a cardboard box full of books. He had sold one. Just one book. To Addy. A pity sale.

Granted, that was Loggerhead, his first novel. Back then, nobody had ever heard of Marco Emery. Since then, he had written dozens of books. He had sold a million copies, give or take. That didn't make him a galactic bestseller. He was no Robert Prince or anything, the so-called Master of the Thriller, who boasted of three hundred million books sold. But Marco had his readers here and there. Maybe even a few who'd show up to a book signing.

But what if they didn't?

Oh God, what if they didn't?

What if he sold only one copy again, to Addy of all people, and what if—

"Marco!" Addy shoved him. "Stop brooding."

"I'm not brooding."

She gave him another shove, harder this time. "I can fucking hear you brooding."

"I'm not making any sounds."

"You're making brooding sounds! And it's annoying."

They sat at the kitchen table, having a family breakfast. Trying to, at least. Terri had taken one bite of toast, one sip of orange juice, and was now sitting in a nearby armchair, lost in a book. The twins weren't interested in food at all. They were running around the kitchen table, chasing the family pig, who had wandered into the house despite Marco's protestations. Addy was the only one eating, stuffing her face with bacon.

"Let this be a warning to you, Falafel!" she said, waving a strip of bacon at the pig. "This is what happens to pigs who pull the laundry off the clothesline."

Falafel responded with an unconcerned oink. One of Addy's bras still clung to his bristly back. Addy rose from the kitchen table, stomped toward the pig, and tried to retrieve the garment, but Falafel kept escaping. Finally Addy gave up and returned to the bacon, finding it impossible to part from.

In short, it was the usual morning chaos at the Linden-Emery house. Except soon, Marco would be driving two hours south. To Toronto. To a bookshop. To face the most terrifying day since the war.

"Okay, maybe I was fretting," Marco confessed. "But that's very different from brooding. I don't know, Ads. Maybe I should just cancel the whole thing. At this point I'd rather fight an army of alien bugs."

Addy slung an arm around him, pulled him close, and kissed his cheek. "Poet, you're an amazing author. You'll do great. Your fans love you."

"Some love me a little too much," he said.

Awkward silence filled the kitchen. Terri looked up from her book. The pig stopped squealing. Most amazing of all, Addy stopped eating.

"Maybe that's why I'm worried about this book signing," Marco said. "Because of what happened here. In this kitchen."

Addy placed a hand on his knee. "Corvin is in prison. He'll be in prison the rest of his life. We're safe. And hey, even if he does come back, you can take 'em. You're the strongest, bravest, most talented, amazing man I know."

"Addy, I know you're just trying to distract me," Marco said. "I can see you stealing my bacon."

She gasped. "I would never!"

"Addy! You're literally chewing my bacon right now."

She stuck her tongue out at him, displaying crunched bacon bits. "Want it back?"

"Eww, no."

"Come on!" She grabbed him. "Bacon kiss!"

"Let me go!" He tried to flee her. "That's disgusting."

She pulled him closer, began planting kisses all over him while he struggled. "Bacon is beautiful, and so am I. We're not disgusting!" Her voice rose to a roar. "Kiss us!"

"Fine, fine! I'll go to the damn book signing," Marco said. "Anything to get away from this loony bin."

Addy finally swallowed her bacon. "Works every time."

Marco left the house, entered his car, and closed the door.

He sat for a moment, not yet driving. He closed his eyes.

I'm not worried about a book signing, he knew. I'm not even worried about Corvin. I'm worried about Lailani.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. Lailani changing. Grabbing Ben-Ari by the throat.

"You were ready to kill her, Lailani," he whispered in the car. "You almost murdered our leader. Our friend. Our lioness. And now you're traveling to an alien world. And we all depend on you."

Marco wondered. Should he have gone with her? He knew it was dangerous for humans. But Kai had gone! Tala had gone! They were not starlings. Or scummers. Or whatever you wanted to call people like Lailani.

And I stayed here, Marco thought.

For twenty years, he had been fighting the wars of Earth. For twenty years, whenever Lailani had flown to battle, he had gone too. Now he was left behind. To deal with kids. Work. The farm. Simple tasks. Small concerns. And he felt … well, he felt useless.

He would go to the signing. He would sell a few books or none. And when he came back, he would ask Ben-Ari to follow Lailani. If Kai could go, he could too. He would fly fast and catch up. One more time, he would fight at Lailani's side.

I know the world thinks you're a monster, Lailani, he thought. But to me, you're still the same girl. The girl I made love to in an army tent at boot camp. The girl who fought with me against the scum, the marauders, the grays, the cyborgs. You're still a woman I love.

The car door opened.

The kids hopped into the back seat, fighting over a video game. Addy plopped herself down into the passenger seat.

Marco looked at his wife. "I thought I was going alone."

"What?" Addy laughed and mussed his hair. "I'd never let my favorite husband do this alone! I'm coming all the way to Toronto to support you, babe."

Marco frowned. "And I assume this has nothing to do with the Toronto Maple Leafs playing a game in the city tonight, does it?"

Addy gasped, placing a hand on her heart. "You wound me! You are the reason we're coming! My beloved husband is much more important than some foosball game."

"Addy, I can literally see the hockey tickets sticking out from your bra."

She shoved them deeper into her cleavage. "Um … those are … receipts."

"Oh yeah, from what store?"

Addy squirmed. "Um … I love you?"

Marco sighed. "I was hoping to listen to an audiobook on the two-hour drive to Toronto, but I suppose we can spend the time having a nice conversation." He started up the engine. "Have you heard about the recent discovery of a twentieth century space probe, the Voyager? It's a remarkable testament to early space exploration. Do you think such historic spacecraft should be allowed to continue sailing on their original trajectories, or should modern scientists collect them, preserve them so that—"

"Boring!" Addy plugged a codechip into the music player. "I don't want to listen to science, dude. We're listening to Hatebeak."

As Marco drove down the road, the sounds of Hatebeak blasted from the speakers. Very loud, very distorted, very painful sounds.

"Addy, please! Not this band with the parrot again."

Addy beamed. "It's a metal band, and the lead singer is a parrot! It's brilliant."

"It's a bloody earache."

She turned it louder, began squawking along. The kids in the back seat began squawking too.

"This is gonna be a long ride," Marco said as he drove down the country road.

"We can take the Flying Hot Dog," Addy said. "We'll get there faster."

"I'm not showing up to my first proper book signing in a flying hot dog."

She shrugged. "Hatebeak marathon it is."

It was a long drive. Addy squawked the entire way. By the time they entered Toronto, Marco was ready to rush headfirst into the book signing. Anything to get away from the madness.

* * * * *

Visiting Toronto always brought back memories.

Marco had not lived here for years. He had spent half his life elsewhere. But he had been born here. Grown up here. Whenever he drove into Toronto, it felt like coming home.

And it felt like chaos.

Six million people lived in Toronto. The Cataclysm, the first devastating scum attack on Earth, had destroyed half the city, killing millions. Finally now, seventy years later, the population was nearing its pre-Cataclysm numbers. It was a damn big crowd. Skyscrapers soared everywhere, a forest of concrete and metal and glass. Cars clogged the highways, and shuttles swarmed through the sky like bees.

The Cataclysm had been just the first blow. Toronto had suffered devastating attacks in the Alien Wars, beset by marauders, grays, and cyborgs. But many cities had suffered even worse. Refugees had flocked to Toronto to rebuild their lives. And they rebuilt the city. Toronto rose again.

In many ways, this was a different city now. Marco had not lived here in over twenty years. A condo building now grew over the old playground where Addy had once tugged his hair and kissed him. The maple tree by the bakery, a sanctuary where Marco would sit in the shade and write, was gone. A statue of General Petty, a hero of the wars, rose beside the burnt tree stump. Marco's own home, the library, was gone too. It was now a bistro.

But other things were the same. Mount Pleasant Cemetery still sprawled between the skyscrapers, an oasis of trees, grass, and flowers in a concrete city, hosting more death and more life than anywhere else in Toronto. As a young man, Marco had spent many hours walking the cemetery paths, thinking, reflecting, dreaming. Today, living in the countryside, it seemed odd to seek nature in a cemetery. But back then it had been the only green place available to him, and he had found comfort among the ghosts.

"The living change, but the dead remain the same," he said.

Addy finally shut off Hatebeak. She gazed out the car window, uncharacteristically reflective. "You know, I fucking hated this city when I lived here."

"Kids, cover your ears," Marco said. "Your mom is reminiscing."

The kids, familiar with their mother's foul mouth, giggled and obediently covered their ears.

Addy remained somber. "This city is where my mom was passed out drunk most days. Where my dad kept getting arrested. Where I spent my time on the streets, smoking, robbing stores, getting into trouble."

Marco frowned. "You never told me the robbing stores part."

"It was just little things. Candy bars. Cigarettes. Mostly food. Moms who lie on the couch with a crack pipe don't cook much. I was a little kid, and I was stealing crackers and chocolates for supper."

"Most kids would love chocolate for supper."

"No they wouldn't. Not after a week or so. I was sick a lot as a kid." She gazed outside, face hard, eyes dry. "When the scum killed my mom, it was the best day of my life."

"Addy, how can you say that?"

She turned toward him. She put a hand on his knee, staring at him. "Because that day, I left that ratty apartment where I lived. And I moved into a loft above a library. I moved into a magical place. I moved into a home. I moved in with you."

Marco squeezed her hand. "I remember. The scum killed my mom that day too. Look, Addy. We're about to drive by that very spot."

They drove another block, moving slowly in the traffic, rounded a corner, and there it was.

It was the spring of 2164 as they drove here. But Marco remembered the winter of 2136. It had been a harsh winter. Snow and wind and ice everywhere. He remembered the scum pods descending, purple and veined. He remembered their heat melting the snow.

And suddenly he was there again. It was all real, playing out before him.

The oozing pods bloomed open like eggs, releasing noxious fumes. The claws emerged. Marco, only eleven years old, had run with his mother, had pulled on his gas mask. But they were too slow.

There, just outside the car—his mother lay in the snow. The scum were ripping her apart. Feasting on her flesh. All while a little boy stood nearby, wearing a gas mask, paralyzed with terror.

That boy almost died that day, Marco remembered, thirty-nine years old, stuck in traffic, watching through the car window. But she came.

From the snowy mists of memory, she emerged. A girl. A tall, scrawny girl with scraped knees, her blond hair caked with snow. The scum rose behind the grieving boy, ready to sink their claws into him. But the girl ran, fearless. The girl grabbed the boy. Pulled him into the swirling snow. Saved his life.

"You came into my life that day, Addy," Marco said, holding his wife's hand. "And things were never the same."

They drove onward, leaving the spot behind.

Finally a smile touched Addy's lips. "You fell in love with me at once, didn't you?"

"To be honest, I found you a bit intimidating back then," Marco said. "Until that day you saved my life, I only knew you as the problem girl."

Addy nodded. "Yep, that was me. The girl from the remedial class. The criminal. The idiot. The failure." She wiped away a tear. "I hated myself so much. I thought I was such a loser."

"You had a tough childhood," Marco said. "A junkie mom. A dad in prison. When you moved in with me, I was a little scared. You seemed so … hard."

"I was rough back then," Addy said. "I know. I cursed a lot. I bullied you a lot."

"Gee, so much has changed." Marco rolled his eyes.

Addy laughed. "Well, now you love me. It took you a while to come around. But you got there."

Marco thought back to their awkward youth. Going through puberty with tears and screams and crazy laughter. Living under the same roof but always fighting. The wild hockey player. The quiet writer. During their days at school, they barely spoke. Addy hung out with the cool kids, the tough kids. Marco mostly kept to himself.

But sometimes at home, in private, they shared a few moments. Even then. Addy would unexpectedly stroke his hair, pinch his nose, and giggle. There was that one time she had teased him, said she needed to teach him how to kiss a girl. She had kissed him full on the lips, then laughed as he blushed and pinched his cheeks. There were a few times, during the night, when she would cry, haunted by her ghosts, and he would comfort her. She would sleep in his arms.

They had only fallen in love years later. After both had loved others, had suffered broken hearts, had fought wars. Yes, Marco had loved other women. Kemi. Lailani. Anisha. Tomiko. He had been engaged to Lailani, only for her to break his heart. He had married Tomiko, only for their marriage to fall apart. He might have married Anisha, but his shell shock had driven them apart. There was that one-night stand with a woman with wild red hair, a night that had given him Terri. He had never seen the woman again.

For years, he suffered alone.

Until I realized that happiness was always at my side, Marco thought. That Addy was the one.

A car honked behind him. Marco realized he'd been daydreaming at a green light. He hit the gas and drove onward.

The spell was broken. They were back in the present day.

"Okay, kids, you can uncover your ears," Marco said.

"We heard the whole thing anyway," Sam said, and Roza giggled.

Marco smiled sadly. He looked at his three kids in the mirror, then at Addy.

"I wish my parents could be here," Marco said. "To see their grandkids."

Addy mussed his hair, kissed his cheek. "I want to say that they're here in spirit. I don't believe in any of that supernatural mumbo-jumbo. But we're here. You and I. We know what we lost. And what we created. We're the in-between generation. Between war and peace."

"Peace?" Marco said. "Only a few days ago, the scummers attacked Earth. No, we're still squarely in the war phase. But maybe that's the nature of the world. There is always hardship. But we soldier on. Because the sacrifices, the pain, the grief, even the loved ones we lose—it's all worth it. Life's beautiful moments are worth the pain."

Addy grinned. "Like tonight's hockey game! You want to ditch your book signing and come with us?"

He took a deep breath. He could feel the cardboard box full of books moving around the trunk. "I gotta do this. Sell some books. Meet some readers. You go have fun at hockey."

Addy laughed. "Didn't think you'd want to come. Nerd."

"Hooligan."

"Geek."

"Meathead."

"Most amazing husband in the world."

"Cutest wife in the world."

"Eww, you guys are gross," Sam said.

Roza giggled again.

Yes, they could have flown the Flying Hot Dog. But Marco had needed this trip. At a time of uncertain future, he turned more and more toward the past. Or maybe he was just getting nostalgic with age.

He saw the Air Canada Centre ahead, the city's premier hockey arena since the twentieth century. The game wasn't for a few hours, but Addy wanted to take the kids to the Hockey Hall of Fame, then skate in a nearby rink, then finally watch the game. They'd make a day of it. Marco was sure it would involve plenty of hot dogs.

Thousands of fans crowded the streets, wearing hockey jerseys, cheering. Many were already quite drunk, despite the early hour. Flags of the Toronto Maple Leafs rose everywhere, filling the city with blue. No wonder there had been so much traffic.

Marco pulled over. "It must be a big game tonight."

"Dude, have you been living under a rock?" Addy said. "Tonight is the Stanley Cup!"

"So … a big game?"

"The biggest!" Addy said. "And finally, my beloved Maple Leafs are going to win."

Marco frowned. "I thought they haven't won since 1967. Two hundred years ago."

"A hundred and ninety-seven years, but tonight the losing streak ends," Addy said. "We're gonna win big. I know I say that every year, but this time I mean it." She hopped out of the car. "Come on, kids!"

The twins hopped out and joined Addy on the sidewalk. Like Addy, the twins were wearing their Maple Leaf jerseys.

But Terri stayed in the car. "Addy, can you handle the twins yourself?" the teenager said. "I'd like to go with my dad to the book signing. If it's all right with you."

"You sure you don't wanna come?" Addy said.

"Books are more my thing than hockey." Terri turned toward Marco. "Is that okay, Dad?"

"Of course. Hop into the front seat. The bookshop isn't far." He waved at Addy and the kids. "Bye, guys!"

But Addy didn't hear him. She had spotted a hot dog stand on the roadside. She was busy shoving through the crowd, practically knocking people over.

"Outta my way, outta my way!" Addy roared. Panting, she reached the hot dog stand. "Ten hot dogs please!"

The hot dog vendor paled. "Ten hot dogs, ma'am?"

"Don't you give me attitude." She slapped dollar bills onto the counter. "Hand over the meat!"

Sighing, Marco drove off.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Book Barn was nothing like Marco's old library. This was not a place of dim lights, quiet solitude, and dusty old books with fraying covers and dog ears. The Book Barn was large, well-lit, and every book boasted colorful spines like flowers calling pollinators. Saddling the corner of a Toronto shopping plaza, the Barn commanded prime real estate above a bank, under a hip clothing emporium, and beside a hologram theater. It got a lot of traffic.

The Book Barn was among Canada's busiest bookshops. It was a trendy place. The booksellers had fresh, modern haircuts. There was a café right inside the bookshop, overlooking a bustling downtown street. An animatronic tree stood in the children's section, complete with robot squirrels and birds. Kids could sit underneath the plastic branches, and the tree would read them books. Every day, the Barn hosted another activity, ranging from book readings to book signings to creative writing classes.

If you loved books and lived in Toronto, you knew the Book Barn. What the Air Canada Centre was to hockey fans, the Book Barn was for bookworms.

That made things worse.

Much worse.

My failure will be all the more spectacular if I can't sell a book here, Marco thought.

He set up his table. Terri helped. They arranged hardcover copies of his new novel, Endless Forms Most Beautiful.

The novel was a fictionalized retelling of the universe's entire history, spanning billions of years. The narrator was a consciousness that hopped from one form to another. In the first chapter, the consciousness simply floated in the void, enjoying the nothingness. He was quite annoyed when the Big Bang happened. Later on, this consciousness hopped into a bit of rock, where he experienced the formation of planets. Finally our dear narrator became a single-celled organism, and thus began a whole new adventure. He evolved into an ammonite, then a fish, then a tiktaalik who crawled onto the land, becoming the first fish to breathe air. He roamed the Earth as a dinosaur, hopped into the mind of an Australopithecus, and finally became a modern man. The novel ended with a look into the future, exploring a possible post-human world.

It was a new kind of novel for Marco. He normally wrote fantasy series. This was … well, he wasn't sure what genre it belonged to. But he was proud of Endless Forms Most Beautiful. It was his longest novel, clocking in at seven-hundred-and-five pages, and it explored his fascination with cosmology, physics, evolution, and transhumanism.

Even Addy had read and enjoyed it. "A fish that can breathe air!" she had said. "Now there's a freak for you."

Marco arranged a pile of his hardcovers on the table. He considered for a moment, then rearranged the books. He examined the setup. He balanced a few books upright. Then he put them back down.

"Dad!" Terri said.

"You're right, I'm fiddling." He leaned back in his chair. "All right! Now to let the sales pour in."

They were both silent for a moment.

Somebody walked by, heading toward the self-help section.

Nothing else happened for a while.

"Dad?" Terri squirmed. "Mind if I head over to the coffee shop? I brought my pencils and sketchbook, and I'd like to sketch the street outside. I'd sketch here if there was a window, but …"

"Go ahead," Marco said.

"Want me to get you a coffee?"

"I'm fine. Run along. I look forward to seeing your drawings."

Terri gave him a pitying look, then hurried toward the coffee shop.

Wonderful, Marco thought. My own daughter gets to see me crash and burn.

He straightened one of his books. He waited.

Somebody walked by, and Marco perked up. But the shopper hurried toward the self-help section. Not before giving Marco a pitying look too.

Marco sighed. Maybe he did need a coffee. He was going to fall asleep at this rate.

At least I'm still a hero to the twins, he thought.

And finally it happened.

Somebody walked up to his table.

The man boasted an impressive beard, an equally impressive beer belly, and a denim jacket inlaid with military patches and pins. He wore a silver chain heavy with many army dog tags. Sometimes veterans, even years after the war, carried the dog tags of dead brothers-in-arms.

"Hello, Mr. Emery," the man said. "My name is Bill. I love your books. After I got out of the army, it was a tough time. I lost many brothers. I know you're a veteran of Abaddon too, sir. I just wanted to say thank you for writing your books. You know what it's all about."

Abaddon. The scum homeworld. Marco had fought there twenty years ago, facing the aliens on their own soil. He had never forgotten the terror. The faces of the fallen.

Now a new evil rises there, Marco thought. Now Lailani is flying back to that hell. I should be with her. I shouldn't be here, signing books when I should be fighting alongside my friend.

But then Marco also remembered the meeting on the hilltop. Remembered Lailani changing. Grabbing Ben-Ari by the throat. Nearly killing her. He thought of the scummers rising across Earth, murdering countless people.

His friend? Was Lailani still his friend? Twenty years ago, she had turned on her own people. Had crashed a starship and murdered hundreds. Marco had forgiven her, realizing the scum emperor had controlled her. But could he trust her?

Yes, he thought. Of course I can! She's my best friend. She's as close to me as my family. I can—

"Sir?" the bearded fan said. "Are you all right, sir?"

Marco cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I spaced out there. Hearing about Abaddon … It brings things back."

The bearded fan seemed contrite. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's not a problem. I really appreciate that you read my books. And that you served with me. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The man bought a copy of Endless Forms Most Beautiful. Marco signed it. The man did not offer a hand to shake. Instead, he stood at attention and saluted. Marco, a colonel in the reserves, returned the salute.

I sold a book, Marco thought in wonder as the fan walked away. I actually sold a book.

Of course, he had sold over a million books in his career. But never in person. And he had never actually signed one. Oddly, despite having been writing professionally for fifteen years, he felt a sort of validation.

Then for a long time, nothing else happened.

Book shoppers walked back and forth. A few approached Marco's table, asked questions, but didn't actually buy anything.

But then somebody else approached. A slender man in his sixties, sporting round spectacles and a sweater-vest. He talked to Marco for a while about evolution. He was a chemistry teacher at the local high school. Endless Forms Most Beautiful sounded just up his alley. He bought a copy, shook Marco's hand.

Then a woman approached, wearing a flowery dress and a necklace of crystals. A rainbow-colored marijuana leaf was tattooed onto her shoulder.

"I've been a huge fan since The Dragons of Yesteryear days," she said. "I adore your books. Thank you so much for writing them. Would you mind signing my Dragons of Yesteryear copies? My name is Sharon, by the way."

She held up old dog-eared paperbacks. Marco signed them gladly. She didn't buy the new book, but Marco deeply appreciated her kind words.

After Sharon left, Marco glanced toward the coffee shop. Terri looked away quickly, pretended to keep sketching in her sketchbook. She was smiling.

A few more readers showed up. Two more were fans. Others were just casually browsing, had decided to give Marco a chance. After three hours at the table, Marco had sold seven books. It wasn't a lot. He knew that. But it wasn't nothing, and maybe he was slowly getting the hang of this book-signing thing.

Sharon, the woman in the flowery dress, came back a while later.

"Mr. Emery? I ran into Bill. The guy with the beard and jeans jacket, remember him? I saw he was holding a copy of Endless Forms Most Beautiful, and we started chatting. A few of us are going out for dinner later. Just a quiet Martian place across the street. I hear they serve amazing Martian potatoes. Want to join us?"

Marco glanced toward the self-help section. Bill was hiding behind a bookshelf. His beer belly stuck out.

Marco looked at Sharon. He considered for a moment. Instinctively, he wanted to say no. He was an introvert. And he felt particularly awkward around fans, felt like he needed to be somebody wiser, more dignified than himself. What if they saw the real Marco, not the image they had built up but the actual man, and he disappointed them?

But, hey, screw it.

"I'd love to," Marco said. "If my daughter is interested."

Terri, who was still sketching in the nearby coffee shop, waved. "I am!"

"All right." Marco nodded. "I think I'm almost done here. And I'm getting hungry. Actually, hang on. I think one more reader might be approaching."

A man walked through the bookshop, wearing a heavy coat despite the warm spring evening. His head was lowered, and a hood hid his face. Probably shy. That seemed to be common around here.

Addy is screaming with twenty thousand hockey fans, Marco thought. And here we are, a bunch of shy bookworms. A quiet dinner together is the most exciting thing we'll do all year, I bet.

The man in the coat approached Marco's table.

"Hello, Marco. I'm a huge fan of your books."

The man raised his head. The hood fell back, revealing the face.

Corvin stared at Marco and laughed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Marco felt the blood drain from his face. His heart pounded. Sweat dripped down his back.

"Corvin!" he said.

The stalker stared at him, face frozen. Then suddenly he burst out laughing. A high-pitched laugh. Deranged. His face was pallid, the color of a corpse. Yellow framed the eyes. His head had been shaved down to greasy stubble. He looked thinner than ever, the skin clinging to the skull like a desiccated corpse. When he grinned, it looked like a skeleton's grin.

"Don't worry, Marco! I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to buy your new book!" He picked up a hardcover. "Hmm. Endless Forms Most Beautiful. Bit of a pompous title, don't you think? You really should have cowritten that book with me, Marco."

Marco rose to his feet. In the nearby coffee shop, Terri stood up too, her body tense. Marco only saw her from the corner of his eye. He kept staring at Corvin. Was he armed? Was he prepared to attack? Or, in some twisted way, was he really only here to buy a book?

"What are you doing here?" Marco said.

"Ah, yes." Corvin nodded. "I should be in prison. You're right. You see, I couldn't stay in prison. It was hard there, Marco. You have no idea how fucking hard it was." His voice rose louder, harsher. "The backbreaking work. The small cell. But most of all—the feeling of betrayal. The knowledge of who sent me there." His fists shook, crushing the hardcover. With obvious effort, Corvin took a deep breath, calming himself, and then gave a pleasant smile. "You see, Marco, I just couldn't stay away from you."

Marco took a deep breath. If it came to blows, he could probably overpower Corvin. Marco wasn't violent by nature, and he wasn't particularly large, but he had twenty years of combat experience. He had battled alien armies. He could take Corvin in a fight.

But he did not want a scene at the Book Barn. Not all publicity was good publicity, despite what they said. His best course of action was to deescalate the situation.

"Corvin, I'm sorry. When you stopped by my home, I was rude to you. I apologize. I—"

"You called the police on me," Corvin hissed through a strained smile. He tried to keep his voice cheery, but it sounded deranged. "Why did you do that, Marco? Why did you call the police on me, your best buddy? I thought we were such good friends. I thought we were family. Why did you have to go and do a thing like that?"

"Corvin." Marco inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. "You have to be fair here. You broke into my home. You startled me. You—"

"You sent me to die in prison!" Corvin said, spraying saliva. "You spat on me! You rejected me! Like all the people before you. Like all the girls. Like the kids at school. Like the bullies, the haters, the people who pretend to be your friend. Only to mock you! To abandon you! You're just like them!" His voice was a hoarse scream by now. "You're a piece of filth like all the rest!"

Everyone in the bookstore stared. A few people whipped out their phones—some to call the police, perhaps, most to film the altercation.

Corvin spun from side to side, eyes bugging out. "Nobody call the cops! Or you fucking die!"

He drew a gun, aimed it overhead. People screamed.

"Get down, everyone!" Marco said. "Terri—get down!"

Corvin strutted from side to side, waving his gun around. He tossed his head back and laughed. He spoke again with that forced, cheery voice. "Don't worry, Marco. I won't kill you. I don't want you to die. After all, you didn't kill me. You just made me suffer." His voice dropped. His grin turned into a grimace. "You hurt me so bad. So now, Marco … now I will make you suffer."

"Corvin, put the gun down!" Marco said. "Nobody has to get hurt today."

Suddenly Bill emerged from behind the bookshelf. When Sharon had asked Marco to join them for dinner, the heavyset veteran had hidden away, shy. Now he stormed forward, his fists clenched, his face red behind his beard.

"Hey, punk!" the large veteran said to Corvin. "How about you leave Marco alo—"

A gunshot boomed across the bookshop.

Marco had heard millions of gunshots in his life. But only on battlefields or in firing ranges. Hearing a gunshot here in the bookshop made him jump. The sound echoed. His ears rang.

Bill stared up, met Marco's eyes.

Blood bloomed across the big man's chest.

The veteran collapsed.

Everyone in the bookshop screamed and started to flee. Other than Marco.

With perhaps more courage than brains, Marco lunged at Corvin.

Corvin kicked over the table. Copies of Endless Forms flew everywhere. The table slammed into Marco's chest, knocking him back.

Corvin laughed hysterically. A high-pitched sound, the kind of laughter you might hear in an abandoned insane asylum past midnight when only ghosts haunted the halls.

"Watch, Marco!" he said. "Watch them die!"

He fired again—this time at Sharon, who was fleeing between bookshelves. She fell, scattering crystals. Blood watered her flowery dress.

Corvin fired again. Again. Killing two more fleeing people.

Marco didn't have time to wait for the cops. He shoved off the table and leaped at Corvin.

This time he slammed into Corvin from behind, attempting to tackle him to the floor.

Corvin was taller than him. But the killer was also rail-thin, sickly and pale. Marco should have knocked him down with ease. But it felt like slamming into an oak tree.

Corvin spun toward him. His grin widened, baring fangs. His eyes turned yellow, then red. He doffed his jacket, revealing two hidden arms.

Four arms! He had four arms!

Claws tipped all four hands. He looked like some Hindu devil, Kali reincarnated.

"What the hell are you?" Marco said. He knew scummers. Hell, he had almost married one. But Lailani had never grown multiple arms like this.

Corvin spoke again. This time his voice was different. It was one voice woven from a legion. "I am a servant of the King of Many Claws. I am doing his work. And he has commanded me to kill."

The pale creature ran toward the coffee shop.

"Terri!" Marco cried out.

But the girl was gone. Hiding somewhere.

Smart girl, Marco thought.

Corvin leaped onto the café's counter, shattering glass jars. Coffee beans spilled everywhere, cascading like miniature avalanches. Corvin looked down behind the bar. The barista was cowering there.

"Please, sir, pl—"

Corvin fired his gun. He laughed. Blood dripped from behind the bar.

Marco ran after him.

Corvin hopped off the bar, landing in blood. Windows rose from floor to ceiling, spanning the entire café, revealing the city below. With another gunshot, Corvin shattered the towering windows. Shards of glass flew onto the street several stories below. Cars honked. People screamed. Cameras flashed.

Marco leaped onto the creature.

Corvin swung his arms. Four fists slammed into Marco, knocking him down. He hit the ground, groaning. He had taken punches in his life. But this was different. The scrawny man fought with alien strength.

Marco tried to rise, felt dizzy, wobbled. His vision doubled. But he saw enough. Corvin approached the broken windows, reloaded, and opened fire on the street below.

From up here, several stories high, he had his pick of targets. Thousands of people filled the streets below.

Thousands began to flee.

Where the hell were the cops? Marco wished he had brought a gun. Addy was probably carrying, but she was a dozen intersections away, roaring in the hockey arena. Hell, maybe every cop in the city was watching the Stanley Cup.

Marco rose again. He saw stars. His face was bleeding. His nose was possibly broken. He swayed toward Corvin, who still stood at the window. As Marco approached, he saw the bodies outside. A mother. A child. An old woman. Finally sirens were blaring in the distance, but Marco couldn't wait. Every second counted.

He picked up speed, ran the last few steps, and plowed into Corvin, attempting to shove him out the window.

Corvin did not fall.

He spun from the window, grabbed Marco with four hands, and lifted him overhead.

Marco screamed as claws cut him.

"I am strong now, Marco!" Corvin said. "You can no longer hurt me. Nobody can hurt me now! But I can hurt others. I will hurt you, Marco. I will not kill you. You will live! You will suffer like I suffered."

He hurled Marco. Thankfully not out the window. Marco crashed onto a table, shattering it. He howled in pain. Coffee mugs fell and shattered.

Corvin scuttled toward him on his six limbs, moving like a centipede. His jaw opened obscenely large, revealing fangs. The creature leaped.

Marco swung a chair, shattering it against Corvin's head. But the beast only laughed, snapping the chair's legs between his jaws like breadsticks. The scummer leaped onto Marco, knocked him down, and bit his shoulder.

Marco roared. He struggled, kicked, tried to shove off the alien hybrid. But Corvin pinned him down, so much stronger.

"Let him go!" rose a cry from behind.

Terri emerged from hiding. She must have been hiding behind a nearby bookshelf.

"Terri, no, get back!" Marco cried.

But the teenager ran closer, grabbed a chair, and slammed it onto Corvin's back.

The chair shattered. It was enough to disorient Corvin. He dropped his gun. The weapon clattered across the floor.

Still pinned down beneath Corvin, Marco punched upward with all his strength. His fist connected with Corvin's chin. The bizarre scummer fell to the floor, and Marco leaped to his feet.

"Terri, get out of here!" Marco shouted. "I'll hold him off!"

Corvin rose like a rearing centipede, his four arms spread out. Blood tipped his claws.

For a moment the three of them stood there, a grotesque tableau of a Mexican standoff.

Marco, dripping blood.

Corvin, grinning silently.

Terri, standing still. The fallen gun lay at her feet.

She knelt for the gun.

Corvin leaped toward her.

"Terri, ru—" Marco began when she fired.

Her gunshot boomed. A bullet flew.

Did it hit? Marco gasped. Did she get him?

No! he realized. The bullet went wide!

And Corvin was still lunging through the air. Terri had no time to fire again. The scummer landed on her, wrapping her in his four arms.

Marco ran toward them.

Corvin gave him a last look. He grinned, gripping Terri in his claws.

"Suffer, Marco," he hissed.

With that, Corvin leaped out the window, taking Terri with him.

"Terri!" Marco howled, running toward the window.

Instinctively, he skidded to a halt. It was a long way down. The jump would kill him.

But Corvin had no such concerns. With alien strength, he grabbed a streetlight pole, swung around it, and vaulted onto a building across the street. He still held Terri in his arms. As Marco watched, helpless, the creature leaped with his daughter onto another building, then down into an alleyway, disappearing from view.

The cops burst into the coffee shop.

"He has my daughter!" Marco said, panting. "Oh God, he has my daughter. Come on! I need a shuttle. Come, hurry!"

His pulse pounded in his ears. His eyes stung. Terror crackled through his body like electricity. He ran out the bookshop. Onto the street. Toward the police shuttles. He could barely see, barely hear. The city lights blinded him, and the world spun around him.

He has Terri. Oh God, he has my daughter.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It only took a minute to explain the situation to the cops. But it was the longest minute in Marco's life.

He had to explain what happened.

Who Corvin was.

What Corvin had done.

That Marco was an HDF colonel in the reserves. Here was his ID. This was why he needed a police shuttle now.

Every second that Marco wasted explaining, every heartbeat, every breath—he cursed the delay.

Finally he rose in a police shuttle. Three policemen flew with him. The siren wailed, and the spotlights scanned the dark city.

But they were gone.

Corvin was gone.

Terri was gone.

Tears flowed down Marco's cheeks. He had never felt such horror. Not in the wars. Not in the tunnels of alien hives. It filled him. Consumed him. Terror.

Corvin's parting word echoed in his ears.

Suffer.

Within moments, a hundred more shuttles rose across the city. A hundred police cars blockaded roads. A thousand policemen scanned the city, building by building. All looking for Terri.

"I will find you, Terri," Marco whispered as he flew in the shuttle, spotlight scanning the dark roads. "I will bring you home. I promise." Rage flooded him, and he clenched his fists. "And I will find you, Corvin Legrave. If I have to uproot every star in the galaxy, I will find you and I will kill you."

* * * * *

The next few hours passed in a daze.

Eventually, when the aerial search yielded nothing, Marco ended up in a police station. He talked to Detective Paterson, a man with hangdog eyes, a thick mustache, and a brown tie. He talked to Ben-Ari on the phone. He spoke to the media, urging Corvin, if he was listening, to contact him to talk. Just to talk.

Throughout it all, Marco somehow kept his cool. Perhaps it was his military training. The years on the battlefield. Perhaps it was the paralyzing horror. But he went through the motions. He did not collapse.

It was only when a police cruiser brought Addy and the twins over that Marco lost control.

Seeing his family, Terri not among them, brought tears to his eyes. Addy raced toward him. She pulled him into an embrace. And Marco allowed himself to cry. Just for a moment. A moment of silent weeping.

Then Marco dried his tears and stepped back. He would remain strong for his family. For the twins who seemed so scared. For Terri, wherever she was.

"The best thing you can do now, Colonel Emery, is return home," said Detective Paterson. "We'll send a team with you. You'll have police security around the clock, and I'll stay in constant touch."

"I'm not interested in going home," Marco said. "Let's get more cruisers in the air. We'll continue the search."

The detective seemed sympathetic. "Sir, our team is continuing the search. We won't stop until we find your daughter. But Corvin Legrave might try contacting you at home. We need you to be there."

How could Marco go home? How could he just leave Toronto, return to his farm, without Terri? How could he just leave her here? It seemed so wrong. He needed to do something! Not just … just go home to wait!

"I—" He began to object.

Addy gripped his arm. "Marco."

He turned toward her. Her eyes were soft but determined. The twins were curled up in chairs behind her, asleep.

"Marco, let's go home," Addy said. "I'll drive."

You don't understand! Marco wanted to say. Terri isn't your daughter!

But he knew that was petty. That was his fear speaking. No, Addy was not Terri's biological mother. But she loved the girl as much as Marco did.

Marco nodded, silent, unable to say anything at all.

They drove out of the city, and they took the long, dark road into the northern shadows.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The journey to Abaddon was long and cold and dark. Lailani dreaded the destination. She hoped the flight would last forever.

The Black Rose Viperess was a sleek starship, slender and fast. Shaped like a dagger, she sliced the darkness, flying faster than light into the depths of space. The stars stretched into lines all around. On the inside, the ship was small and utilitarian. Four bunks which unfolded from the bulkheads. A stainless steel table. A kitchenette and washroom. Not much more.

Lailani had bought the Viperess last year. The original owner had hoped to race her in the asteroid belt, only for the Space Race Guild to lower the allowable size limit. The Viperess was suddenly too large for racing, too small for intergalactic journeys. Well, Lailani was small herself. To her, the Viperess was cozy. So Lailani picked her up for cheap and refitted her.

The Viperess was never meant for comfort. She was built for speed.

Lailani had grown up homeless on the streets of Manila. She wasn't spoiled. Even such austerity seemed palatial to her. But she had built a comfortable home in the Philippines. A small home. Just a bamboo hut. But a good home. A home to share with her daughter. A better home than Lailani had ever known. And here in the darkness of space, Lailani missed the sunlight, the bamboo walls of her hut, and the whispering waves on the shore.

I used to eat from garbage bins to survive, she thought. Now I command a starship. I used to cower in the trenches, afraid of every centipede that crawled. Now I'm flying to slay a centipede king. I used to think I'm human. And now … now I don't know what I am.

Tala approached her. "Mom, are you sad?"

Lailani realized her tears were falling. She wiped her eyes. "Yes. I guess I am."

Her daughter hugged her. "Mommy, I love you."

The girl was nine, becoming her own little person, gaining more independence every day. She didn't hug Lailani as much anymore, nor call her "mommy" or say "I love you." Today, here in the dark, those gestures meant a lot.

"I wanted you to have a good childhood. I wanted it so much." Lailani brushed back the girl's long black hair. "I'm sorry we have to fly here. In space. So far from home."

"Mom, I love it!"

"You do? You don't miss the beaches? Your school? Your friends? Fresh fruit and the song of birds?"

"No way! I'm in space. I've never been to space before. Space is cool. Can we stay here forever?"

Lailani laughed. "Here I was, thinking I'm a bad mother for taking you along. Turns out you're having the time of your life. Tito Marco wanted you to stay behind. In his house. Can you believe it?"

Tala thought for a moment. "I love Uncle Marco. And I could have spent time with Roza, Sam, and Terri. But … I'm happy I'm here. To see space. To fly with you on one of your adventures."

"My adventures aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"They taught us about you at school, did you know?"

Lailani frowned. "They did?"

Tala nodded. "Yep! We had a class about the Alien Wars. They taught us how you served in the famous Dragons Platoon, commanded by the Golden Lioness. That means Auntie Einav, right?"

Lailani nodded. "Yes. That's right. Your Tita Einav commanded us."

"And you killed the scum emperor!" Tala breathed, eyes wide. "Pow, pow! You shot him dead! It's in the history books! You saved Earth."

"Well, I had help." Lailani smiled thinly.

Maybe the history books made her sound heroic, made the whole damn war seem glorious. She was not. And it had not been.

It was hell, she thought. I was scared. Of the enemy. Of myself.

She closed her eyes, remembering the war against the scum. How she had grown claws for the first time. How the scum had controlled her. How she had ripped out Elvis's heart, how—

"Mom?" Tala whispered.

Lailani opened her eyes.

She looked at her hands. The claws were sprouting again.

Kill.

Eat.

Destroy!

"Serenity!" Lailani whispered, and her claws retracted. The fury, the hunger, the bloodlust—they faded.

Once more she had begun to change. To become part centipede. Involuntarily.

She touched her temple, winced. There was something wrong with the chip inside her skull. It wasn't protecting her anymore. It wasn't keeping the monster at bay.

That night in Paris returned to her. Sprouting claws during sex with a stranger. Ripping out his throat. Hiding his body.

Again I murdered a man. What is happening to me?

She should have seen a doctor about the chip. But how could she? The starlings had attacked Earth. Had killed a million innocents. Scummers, the humans called them. Little scum.

If I walked into a clinic, said I'm part scum, the doc would call the police, Lailani thought.

No, there was no use seeking help from humans. Not anymore. She had to fly to Abaddon. To find this new leader of the scum, this puppet master. Until she killed him, he would taunt her mind.

"Tala, I'm sorry," Lailani said. "I'm sorry that I scared you."

Tala stood a few steps away, shaken.

"Mom, they taught us something else at school," she whispered. "That … that you're not fully human. That you're half-scum. Half-alien. The other kids say you're a monster. Is that true? Not the monster part. The part about being half-scum."

The girl trembled.

Lailani embraced her, but Tala stiffened, stepped back from the embrace.

She's scared of me, Lailani thought. Another tear flowed. My own daughter is scared of me. And maybe she's right to be scared. I'm scared of myself.

"I'm one percent scum," Lailani said. "Not half. But yes, I'm part alien. You're old enough to know the truth."

Tala's eyes dampened. She wiped them. "Like the scummers that attacked Earth? That killed a million people? I saw it on the news."

Lailani knelt before her. "I don't like the term scummers. Okay? Let's call them starlings. I'm a starling too. Mostly human. Kissed by the stars. We're human with just a touch of alien. We're not all bad. And when we do bad things, it's because somebody else is controlling us. We're like puppets. Marionettes on strings. We're going into deep space to find the puppet master. And to stop him."

"To kill him?" Tala asked. "Like you killed the scum emperor?"

Lailani nodded. "Yes. I killed the emperor twenty years ago. Since then, his successor lay underground, dormant, growing. Now he's risen. He's controlling the starlings. That's why bad things happened. Why we hurt people. We never meant to, you have to understand that. He made us do it. So we'll stop him."

"Did you do bad things too, Mom? Did you kill people?"

"No," Lailani lied. "Not me. And I'll never hurt you."

Tala looked at her feet. Her tears fell. She looked back into Lailani's eyes. "The kids at school said something. They said … that you killed my dad."

Lailani closed her eyes, took a shaky breath, then looked at her daughter again. "The scum emperor killed your dad. He's the one who killed Benny Ray. And I killed that alien. I killed him for what he did."

Tala looked away, a tear on her cheek. "Because he made you do it, right?"

"Right," Lailani whispered, suddenly unable to speak any louder.

Tala looked back at her. "Mom, am I a starling too?"

Yes, that was the fear. The shadow that had been haunting Lailani's dreams. The chill that forever filled her, dark and still, buried under the churning storm of her emotions.

That her daughter too was like this. Cursed. A freak. A hybrid. A girl kissed by the stars. Was it hereditary? This condition, this disability, this terrible power? Lailani did not know. Maybe nobody knew.

Lailani sat on a bunk, patted the mattress, and Tala sat beside her.

"I don't know," Lailani said. "Most starlings don't manifest until much later in life. I only discovered I was a starling when I was eighteen. Until then, I lived as a regular human girl. When you grow older, we'll see. Whether you are human or starling, I'll always love you. If you're a human, that's okay. And if you're a starling like me, that's okay too. You'll always be my daughter, and you'll always be valuable and loved."

Tala hugged her. "I love you, Mom. You're so cute."

Lailani laughed. "I'm so cute?"

"Mm-hmm. I heard Kai say that. He's right."

Lailani raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Kai has been saying I'm cute now, has he?"

The shower door opened, releasing a cloud of steam. Kai stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist. He was drying his hair with a second towel.

"My ears are burning!" he said. "Kai what now?"

Lailani sported several tattoos. A rainbow on one arm. A dragon on the other arm, crawling toward her jawbone. A panoply of stars, each star commemorating an enemy slain in battle. But her body seemed downright minimalist compared to Kai's canvas. His bare torso boasted dozens of tattoos, large and small, ranging from anime characters to space monsters.

When the towel shifted, she noticed a gun on a holster.

"You shower with a gun?" Lailani said.

"Always," Kai said. "It's waterproof. Got it especially for the shower."

"Paranoid much?"

Kai finished drying his hair, then ran a hand through his mohawk. The shaved sides of his head revealed more tattoos. Cat paws walking across one side of his head. A serpent slithered across the other. Most of these were bounty hunter tattoos. They symbolized old clans and alliances, kills, successful raids. It was an entire language inked onto his skin, telling the story of his life.

Soldiers and bounty hunters are alike, Lailani thought. We both travel into the darkness and we light a fire.

"So … you think I'm cute," Lailani said.

"The kid tattled?"

"Yep."

Kai looked at the girl. "You spilled my secret. How dare you?"

Tala giggled.

"So it's true," Lailani said. "You do think I'm cute."

"Needy much?" Kai winked.

"Yes." Lailani nodded. "I'm needy. Love me. Shower me with love. Tell me I'm cute and smart and brave and any other compliments you can think of. Pamper me with your words. Because it's dark and scary out here, and it makes me feel stronger."

Kai pulled mother and daughter into his arms. "You're both major cuties."

"Actually, I'm a colonel, not a major." Lailani smiled wanly. "I know I look like a kid, but I'm actually forty."

"Okay, Colonel Cutie," Kai said.

Lailani closed her eyes, feeling safe in the embrace. It felt almost like a family. And she wondered if she would ever have a man again in her life. Ever find somebody to be a father to Tala.

She let those questions fade from her mind. His embrace felt good, and that was all that mattered now. It felt safe and right. And she missed home more than ever.

Earlier, she had hoped the journey would never end. But now she craved to reach Abaddon. She was desperate for it. She could not wait to kill the King of Many Claws and finally go home. To finally be happy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Home felt wrong.

Marco had moved back to Canada two years ago. It was his homeland. A country he loved. A good place to raise kids. He had found a quaint town with a good school. Just outside of town, he found an old cottage nestled between a forest, a stream, and a fallow farm. The owner was moving into a retirement home in Toronto, a hundred kilometers south. Running a farm was tough at her age, she said, and she wanted to be closer to her kids, who were businessmen in the city. Marco promised to fix all the broken things around the cottage and restore it to its former glory.

The whole family loved it. Marco claimed one room as his office. He sat by the window and wrote while a stream gurgled outside among wildflowers. Sometimes he paused from writing to watch cardinals fly or deer roam by. There was a frozen lake where Addy could play hockey during the long Canadian winters. Marco went out for hikes every day, winter or summer, and wandered for hours among the trees, thinking of story ideas. Terri painted the landscapes. The twins ran around like crazy, climbing trees and fishing and getting into all sorts of trouble, coming home covered in mud and burrs.

But most of all, Marco enjoyed the nights. Some nights he would sit outside on the porch, sipping a beer and gazing at the stars. But most nights he stayed indoors. Perhaps after so many years in space, he had seen the stars enough times. On cold nights, he would sit by the fireplace and read a book. Addy would curl up against him, just watching the flames and stroking his hair. Sometimes Marco would look up at the bookshelf, and he would see his novels there. Fifty-three books, covering an entire shelf. On the shelf below it—framed photos of his family. His books and his family. His life's work.

At these times, Marco felt truly happy. Truly at home. He felt that after so many years of pain, he had made it. It was all okay.

I bled on the battlefields, he would think. I suffered horrors in the depths of hell. I nearly committed suicide on Haven. I almost died so many times. But I'm sitting here by a fireplace in a good home. My beautiful wife is curled up against me. My children are sleeping upstairs. My books sit on the shelf, books I always dreamed of writing. I'm happy. I'm finally at home.

But now it was all different.

Now it all fell apart.

Now this house no longer felt like a home. It felt like a cage.

Marco wanted to be out there! To hunt Corvin. To seek his daughter. Not stay trapped in his home!

Nothing here could comfort him. Not the fireplace. Not his books on the shelf. And the photos of his family only shattered his heart. Terri was in those photos.

"She's alive," Marco told himself over and over. He spoke aloud for everyone to hear, but he was mostly speaking to himself. "If Corvin wanted to kill her, he would have killed her at the coffee shop. She's alive and that means we can find her."

The police had secured the farmhouse. Two officers patrolled outside. Two officers remained inside the house, one on the main floor, the other upstairs. They set up alarms, security cameras, turned the house into a fortress. At night, Addy took the twins into the master bedroom. She slept with a handgun on the bedside table. The weapon was childproof; its biometric trigger would let only her finger fire it. A policeman stood just outside the door.

Marco could not sleep. He sat on his front porch rocking chair, gazing into the night. Just in case Terri came home. Just in case she escaped, ran all the way here. He kept looking into the night, waiting to see her coming. Finally he dozed off. When he awoke it was dawn, and his daughter was still missing, and it seemed so cruel that the birds should sing, that the flowers should bloom, that spring should seem so beautiful in hell.

* * * * *

For days nothing happened.

The police found nothing.

Marco was a war hero. Many people knew his name, more for his exploits in the Alien Wars than his books. The media picked up his story. Police forces around the world investigated Terri's disappearance. Manhunts spread across Toronto, then Canada, then North America, finally the world.

And nothing.

No leads.

Corvin had vanished into thin air.

Had they left Earth entirely? Earth had busy spaceports. Thousands of starships rose and landed every day, connecting Earth to the stars. What if Terri wasn't even on Earth anymore?

Marco spoke to the media. A hundred cameras broadcast his words to billions of people. But his words were for Corvin alone.

"Corvin, I know you read my books. I know that when we met in person, things got ugly. But whatever sins you think I'm guilty of—Terri is innocent of them. This is between you and me. I beg you. Let my daughter go. Let Terri come home. And you and I will resolve our differences."

That didn't help. Marco didn't think it would.

A day later, Marco got on camera again. This time he spoke to anyone who'd listen. He offered a reward. A small fortune for any information on Corvin's whereabouts. The police got a lot of calls. Thousands of people claimed to have information—if Marco would pay up. The police began to sift through the calls, dismissing one after another as baseless attempts to win the reward. It would take days to go through the rest.

So far, no leads.

Marco spent the time restless. Pacing. Trying to keep constantly busy. The silence was too painful. The anxiety too real.

After three days, President Ben-Ari came to visit Marco's home. She walked through lines of security guards, pulled him into an embrace, and just held him for a long time.

"We'll find her, Marco. I promise."

And then she flew off again. Marco was her friend. Probably her best friend. But she was still the president of the Human Commonwealth, the leader of Earth and several other planets. She could not drop her job for one missing girl. But to Marco, Terri was more important than all the stars in all the galaxies in the universe.

He didn't sleep. He barely ate. He tried to put on a brave face for the twins. They kept asking when Terri was coming home.

Hell? No, this was not hell. This was purgatory. This was the unknown. Was Terri dead? Alive? Was she ever coming back? Was Corvin hurting her, torturing her? They had no answers. No knowledge.

Purgatory is more torturous than hell's deepest, hottest circles, Marco thought.

Or was it?

Finally, on the seventh day, purgatory ended, and Marco plunged deep into the darkest pits of despair.

* * * * *

It was past midnight when Marco's minicom rang.

He was awake, sitting at the kitchen table. He looked at the small computer. Letters flashed on the screen.

UNKNOWN NUMBER REQUESTING VIDEO CALL.

Only a few close friends knew Marco's number. In the media, he gave out a different number, a hotline the police had access to. But he remembered one fan with a knack for obtaining phone numbers.

It's him, Marco knew. His heart pounded. It's Corvin.

Detective Paterson was sitting beside Marco, drinking coffee. He painstakingly patted his mustache with a napkin after every sip. Addy was upstairs in the bedroom, guarding the twins. A few policemen were patrolling the house and garden.

Marco glanced at Detective Paterson. The mustached man had been taking the night shift all week, drinking coffee in the kitchen, smoking cigarettes on the patio, and updating Marco on the investigation. The detective stared at the minicom, nodded, and stepped behind the door.

They had set up monitoring on all their electronics. If this call was important, they'd record and analyze it.

Marco took a deep breath, then answered the call.

A holographic screen materialized above the kitchen table. It was two dimensional and flickery. The caller was using an old phone.

There was nobody in the video. Marco saw a room. It was dimly lit. Beige walls. A single bed with messy white sheets. A fan. A crude drawing hung on the wall, depicting a deer with an oddly human face and rheumy eyes. It looked like something a child might draw, but somehow sinister, leering, plotting.

Marco squinted, looking for clues.

Suddenly a face popped into view, taking over the screen. A hideous face. Pale. Gaunt. Skeletal. Black eyes bulged, and the jaws opened in a rictus grin, displaying rows of lumpy teeth.

"Hellllooooo, Marco!" the hideous apparition cried, voice oddly cheery. He sounded like a deranged carnival barker.

It was Corvin. He was back in his human form. But that wasn't much better than the fanged scummer. In some ways, his human form was even more disturbing.

"Where is she?" Marco said. "Show me my daughter!"

Corvin tossed back his head and laughed with abandon. A high-pitched laugh. The laughter of a psychotic clown.

"What? No hello? No how are you, Corvin, my dear bud? Haha! Did you not miss me, Marco, old buddy?"

Marco rose to his feet in the kitchen, clutching his minicom, glaring at the camera.

"Let me talk to Terri," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Corvin laughed again. He laughed and laughed. It went on and on. Then at once, as if a flip switched, the laughter stopped. Corvin stared at Marco, his face mirthless, merciless.

"Do you want to see her, Marco? Do you want to talk to her?"

"Yes."

"Beg me."

Marco took a deep breath. "I beg you."

The laughter returned. "Pathetic! That is not how you beg. I could make you grovel, you know. I could make you get down on your knees. You're mine now, Marco. You're my puppet. But I didn't call to humiliate you. I called you because I care." He pouted. "I care so much about your poor little feelings."

"Show me my daughter!" Marco said.

"Very well. Ha ha ha!" Corvin looked off camera. "Come here, Terri! Here, girl, here!" He looked back at Marco. "She's a little shy. Let me turn the camera around."

Corvin reached up, grabbed his camera, adjusted it. The image swept across the room, turning toward a chair.

Terri sat there, bound and gagged.

Marco's eyes dampened. He forced a deep breath. Forced himself to calm down.

She was unhurt. She was tied to a chair. Probably terrified and traumatized. But physically unharmed.

"I'm going to get you out of there, Terri," Marco said. "I'm going to get you back home real soon, okay?"

Terri struggled in her bounds. She tried to speak, but the gag muffled her.

Corvin's face popped into the video again, hiding Terri. His deranged laughter filled the room.

"She's well, Marco! I wouldn't hurt a fly! I even got her some treats from home. Do you want to see?" He raised a cardboard box, rattled it. "Look, Marco! Look! Maple-glazed donuts. Just like from home! A little treat for a homesick Canadian girl. Ha ha ha! They are sweet, they are good! I'm going to have one myself."

Corvin took out one donut. He shoved it into his mouth, ate the whole thing with one bite.

"What do you want, Corvin?" Marco said. "Is it money? You got it. Is it to coauthor a book with me? Fine."

Corvin grinned, crumbs falling from his mouth. "Oh, I don't need your money or pity, Marco. I'm going to take care of your daughter. Better than you ever could."

He ripped the gag off Terri.

She began to scream.

Corvin grabbed her cheeks. Held her jaw open.

"Eat, eat!" He shoved a donut into her mouth, crushing the confection. "It tastes like maple! Yes, yes, a treat from home!"

He gagged her again. She turned red, swallowed, and tears flowed from her eyes.

Marco gripped the phone so tightly it cracked. But the holographic screen kept streaming.

"Tell me what you want!" Marco demanded. "What do you want me to do?"

Corvin looked at him, wiped the crumbs off his mouth, and grinned. "I only want one thing from you now, Marco. Not money. Not friendship. Not writing a book. Just one thing." His eyes narrowed. His smile widened. "I want you to suffer."

He raised a pair of scissors.

Terri screamed into her gag.

"What are you doing, Corvin?" Marco said.

The pale man walked toward Terri, who was struggling against her bounds. He gripped her hand. The scissors gleamed.

"Corvin, stop this!" Marco shouted. "We'll talk about this. You want me to beg? Whatever you want—talk to me! Corvin!"

Grinning, Corvin placed the scissors around one of Terri's fingers.

Marco had to look away.

But he heard Terri scream into her gag.

"Marco?" Corvin said. "Marco … look at the screen, Marco. Look at your daughter. Look at what you did."

Marco looked through damp eyes. The camera zoomed in on Terri's face. Her eyes were full of tears.

"Terri, I'm going to get you home soon," Marco whispered. "I promise. Hang in there. I'm coming for you."

Terri blinked rapidly. She paused, then blinked several more times. And then the call ended.

The holographic screen vanished.

Marco sat down. He sat for a long moment at his kitchen table, shocked and silent.

Addy must have heard his shouts. She had joined him in the kitchen, Marco realized. She must have seen at least part of the video. She leaned over and embraced Marco. The kitchen seemed to close in around them, and Marco could not breathe.

But there was one thing he knew that Corvin did not. One thing that gave him hope.

Terri had been blinking in Morse code.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Sol Invictus flew through the darkness of space, carrying the president of Earth toward Ceres, the solar system's most notorious jail.

This was not how Ben-Ari had imagined her starship's maiden flight.

Throughout her career, she had flown on many starships. She had commanded several. She fondly remembered the Saint Brendan, her first command, the plucky little starship she had commanded as a junior officer during the Marauder War. She would always love the Lodestar, a starship dedicated to exploration, and would forever be proud of its grand enterprise.

But the Sol Invictus was special. She was a class above. Ben-Ari had commissioned her four years ago. She was finally complete, a state-of-the-art starship, utilizing cutting-edge technology. She was as fast as a racer, as deadly as a warship, as stealthy as a spy, as graceful as a cruiser.

And now, for the first time, the starship was flying.

The Sol Invictus was the presidential starship. Her only purpose was to carry Einav Ben-Ari, the President of the Earth and the Human Commonwealth, wherever she pleased.

She was a work of art, the Invictus. Long and slender. Shaped like a crystal, her hull was silver and white, glimmering when the starlight caught her. She led the next generation of starships, incorporating technology only dreamed of until now. She did not serve in the Human Defense Force, the great military of Earth. She did not fly for HOPE, Earth's exploration fleet. The Sol Invictus spearheaded a new fleet. Only a squadron of Silverbird starfighters protected her. She was a class unto herself.

During the years of design and assembly, Ben-Ari had imagined flying diplomatic missions aboard the Sol Invictus. Like her father before her, she would reach out to alien empires and forge alliances. She would visit new worlds, establish new colonies. She would carve out humanity's space among the stars. From the bridge of this starship, she would transform a frightened, meek world, traumatized by so many wars, into a galactic empire. Not an empire of conquest but of exploration, curiosity, and hope.

Yet now Earth bled again. Fresh graves filled her cemeteries. The scummers had attacked. And a million lay dead.

Ben-Ari was a war president. An officer through and through. Under her command, Earth was defended. Military satellites guarded her orbit. Fleets patrolled the solar system and Earth's colonies beyond. The army was stronger than it had ever been.

Yet the scummers had bloodied them. Because this was a new kind of enemy. An enemy within.

And so now Ben-Ari flew the Sol Invictus on her maiden flight. Not to some alien empire or new colony. But to Ceres. A dwarf planet in the asteroid belt. A hollowed-out rock with a jail inside.

She flew to see the imprisoned scummers. She flew to determine their fate.

It rose before her. Ceres was a small world. Some people called it a dwarf planet. Even that was stretching it. To Ben-Ari, it just seemed like a large asteroid. It wasn't even a thousand kilometers in diameter.

Then again, I come from Israel, Ben-Ari thought. A country only a few kilometers wide. An afternoon walk from side to side. Maybe Ceres is a dwarf planet after all.

She stood on the bridge of the Sol Invictus, staring at the lumpy gray rock ahead. It grew larger and larger. They would be there in moments.

Last century, humans had carved out the inside of Ceres, building a jail. Over time, it had been abandoned, considered too cruel, too inhumane even for murderers and rapists. Ben-Ari had ordered it reopened. And she filled with the scummers. Here they awaited trial. No bail. No hope of escape. No chance of harming others.

A voice rose behind her.

"Such a cold world. Such a miserable little place."

Ben-Ari turned from the viewport. She saw her husband step onto the starship bridge.

Noah Isaac still dressed like a professor, even here aboard this starship. Corduroy pants. A tweed jacket. A vest embroidered with the planets and stars. His hair was tucked behind his ears, streaked with gray. He was a slender man, handsome. Not a soldier, not physically strong, but with a towering intellect and deep wisdom.

Ben-Ari looked at him, and in this cold dark place, her heart swelled with love, and she regretted this distance that had grown between them. She hugged him. Noah held her, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead.

"Are you all right, Einav?" he said.

"Yes. I am. I know this is hard." Still holding him, she looked at the dwarf planet. "I had to imprison them here. Away from Earth. To keep Earth safe. They're extremely dangerous."

"They're sick," Noah said. "They're not criminals. Remember that. They're simply sick. The Scolopendra titania infected them. Controlled them. That's the only reason these people killed."

"People?" Ben-Ari frowned. "Part of their DNA is scum DNA. They aren't fully human."

"Neither are you," said Noah.

She tilted her head, stepped back from him. "Sorry?"

He smiled thinly. "None of us are fully human. Not even people like me and you, who carry no Scolopendra titania DNA. In fact, only ninety-two percent of our DNA is human. We got the remaining eight percent from viruses. Over time, viruses infected us. They burrowed into our cells. They changed our DNA. And we passed them on to our children. You, me, everyone—we're not fully human. We're part virus. And don't even get me started on how much of our bodies are bacteria! The starlings—or scummers as some call them, though I prefer not to—simply have a bit more foreign DNA than the rest of us."

"Noah, they murdered a million people. They flew planes into buildings. Buses into crowds. They poisoned children. They blew up warehouses. They derailed trains full of noxious chemicals. You can't compare that to a virus. Nobody opens fire in a school because they got the sniffles."

Noah raised an eyebrow. "During the plague, sick people spread their sickness. They killed over a hundred million people."

"It's not the same thing," she said.

"True, the plague was a bacterial infection, not a virus."

"That's not what I mean!" Ben-Ari said. "And you know it. This wasn't accidental. This was murder. This—"

She bit down on her words, forced a deep breath. Noah only looked at her, calm. Dammit! Why didn't he ever get mad? Why did his calmness always infuriate her so much?

"I'm a soldier," Ben-Ari said. "I see things as a soldier. You're a scientist. You see things as a scientist." She felt herself soften, and she hugged him again. "That's why I married you. Because of your wisdom. Because you're different from me. Can you forgive a soldier?"

"You're more than a soldier, Einav. You're a leader. A wise leader. A strong leader. And a compassionate leader."

"Strong, yes. Wise, I don't know. Compassionate?" She thought for a moment. "No. I'm not compassionate. I can't afford to be compassionate. Leave compassion to the poets and preachers. Let leaders deal with steel and fire. Now come, we're entering orbit. Let's visit our prisoners."

* * * * *

She stood on the mezzanine, gazing into the heart of Ceres.

She gazed upon purgatory.

A cavern had been carved inside the asteroid. The round chamber would dwarf football stadiums. In here floated the scummers.

There was no gravity in Ceres Jail. Not for lack of technology. Graviton tech was widely available today. Grav-plates were regularly installed on starships, space stations, and asteroid colonies, manipulating gravitons for optimum comfort. But grav-plates were a luxury. One the prisoners in Ceres Jail did not deserve.

So they floated in the round chamber. Thousands of them.

A manacle encircled each prisoner's ankle. A chain connected him or her to the craggy round wall. There were no cells. No cages. Just a single chain per prisoner, stretching from wall to ankle. The prisoners floated in the void like balloons on strings.

Every once in a while, two prisoners would bump into each other. Sometimes their chains would entwine. Some prisoners purposefully folded their chains, keeping close to the wall. Others floated back and forth, kicking off the wall, pulling themselves back, again and again. Ben-Ari didn't know if they were exercising or simply bored.

At least the mezzanine where she stood had a grav-plate; the floor simulated Earth gravity. There were also grav-plates in the humble guard cabins. But the prisoners never got to use them. They floated in the void. They seemed to Ben-Ari like souls in purgatory, awaiting judgment. Waiting to learn if they were sent to heaven or hell.

I will be the one to decide that, Ben-Ari thought. Today I am a goddess to lost souls.

She had wanted to see them before making her choice.

"Look at them," Noah said, standing beside her. "This is inhuman."

"They're not human. And don't give me that spiel about viruses again." She turned toward a guard. "I want to speak to them. Bring me a rope."

The guard wore a black armored uniform, complete with helmet. Full riot gear. Ben-Ari just stood there in a business suit and a ponytail.

Still, I have my prosthetic arm, she thought. And it carries enough firepower to destroy this entire jail. She smiled wryly. Maybe Noah was right. I'm not fully human after all.

"Ma'am, we have an interrogation room. Let me know which prisoner to bring, and I'll get them chained and ready."

She shook her head. "No interrogation room. I'm not looking to interrogate anyone. I'll talk to them here. Bring me a rope. A chain will do too. I intend to float among them. Hell, I'll even take a bungee cord."

The guard's eyes widened. "Madam President, these are dangerous criminals. Murderers. Mass murderers."

"I know who they are. Bring me a rope."

He saluted. "Ma'am."

A few moments later, Ben-Ari floated off the mezzanine, leaving the grav-plate behind. She swam through the cavern like an astronaut. Only a rope tethered her to the mezzanine.

She needed to get up close. And not in a controlled interrogation room. She needed to see who these people were.

So she floated among them. No armor. No weapons. A business suit, a ponytail, and curiosity. That was all.

They seemed so … normal.

Ben-Ari had been to jails and prisons before. Hell, she had spent two years in prison herself for leaking information during the Marauder War. She had written her memoirs in prison. She knew what convicts looked like. They had a hardness to them, and not always physical. The image of big, burly, tattooed prisoners with shaved heads and bushy beards was actually not that common. Convicts looked like anyone else, but there was something in their eyes. Something just a bit rough, a bit dangerous, a bit broken. Perhaps she had that look in her own eyes.

But these people, these scummers … they did not look like convicts. She saw young women with soft, teary eyes. Frightened men. Old men. Youths. Some were crying. Others were praying. A few whispered among themselves, and a few even chatted and laughed. Most watched the president floating among them. They seemed like people you'd find in a park, not a jail. They were ordinary.

And they had driven trucks into crowds, crashed planes into buildings, opened fire in schools, and murdered between them a million souls. But Ben-Ari wondered whether Noah was right. Whether these people had done none of those things. Whether they too were victims. Puppets of the King of Many Claws. Just puppets, not killers.

But they killed once, she reminded herself. And they can kill again. They are like those medieval travelers, carrying the plague. Maybe they mean no harm. But they can destroy civilization.

A young man floated toward her. His chain caught him, pulled him back toward the wall. He reached out to her.

"Ma'am!"

A guard on the mezzanine raised a shock gun.

"No!" Ben-Ari said to the guard. "He means me no harm." She turned toward the young man. "Who are you?"

"Ben," he said. "My name is Ben. They said … they said I shot up a restaurant. But ma'am, it wasn't me. Please. You have to believe me. It wasn't me. It was the voices in my head. They made me do it. The voice of the King of Many Claws. He made me. He made me kill. It wasn't me. Please. You have to let me go. I have a wife. A baby. Please."

Another prisoner floated toward Ben-Ari. She was a young woman. Pretty. Long chestnut hair and teary green eyes. Ben-Ari remembered her face from the news. The world had seen her face. Only two weeks ago, this beautiful young woman, a kindergarten teacher, had poured poison into milk cartons and served the drinks to the children. Only one child had survived, but she was never expected to wake from her coma.

"I'm sorry," the schoolteacher whispered. She hung limply from her chain like a dying animal. "I didn't mean to hurt them. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Ben-Ari moved onward through the round cavern. She hovered among the prisoners as they reached out to her. As they begged. Some apologized. Some confessed. Others screamed.

"It wasn't me! I'm innocent."

"The voices made me do it!"

"Let us out! Let us out of here! This is inhuman. Let us out!"

"We're people, dammit! We're people, not monsters!"

Ben-Ari was almost at the end of her chain. She paddled through zero gravity, heading toward another prisoner. He was a boy, only thirteen, with sunken eyes, greasy hair, very pale skin. She recognized him too. A school shooter. Shot up seventeen kids and five teachers. When the police found him, he was sitting on the corpses, laughing and laughing and eating a severed leg.

Ben-Ari swam toward him. She reached the end of her chain, only three feet away from the kid.

The boy stared at her. Not blinking. Eyes dark and hard.

"Why did you do it?" she said.

He just stared. Silent.

"Talk to me," Ben-Ari said. "I'm here to judge you. To determine your fate. Whether you go to prison for life. Or walk free. So talk. Why did you do it?"

Slowly a grin spread across his face. "They were human."

Suddenly he shrieked. A terrible sound. Demonic. Rising higher and higher in pitch. His eyes ran red with blood, fangs sprouted from his mouth, and he leaped off the wall, flying toward her.

Ben-Ari tried to retreat, to paddle backward in the air. But there was nothing to push off against. She floundered.

The boy grabbed her. He dug claws into her arms. He leaned toward her neck, fangs gleaming.

Ben-Ari struck him. Again. Harder and harder. She bloodied his lip, his cheek. Maybe she even broke his jaw. But he would not release her.

Gripping her, he leaned in, fangs bared, ready to bite out her throat.

She grabbed his ear. Twisted and twisted it. The pain must have been excruciating. But even then, the demonic boy did not release her.

Thankfully, he didn't bite out her throat either. Instead, he leaned toward her ear.

He's going to bite it off in retaliation! Ben-Ari thought. An ear for an ear!

But instead, the boy just whispered, "The King of Many Claws rises, and a queen will follow. It has been foreseen. You will bow before them!"

"Get off her, you fucking scummer!"

A guard came flying toward them, wearing a jetpack. He slammed a beefy fist into the boy's face.

The kid tumbled backward, his claws ripping through Ben-Ari's arms. A tooth flew.

Another guard zoomed forth. He slammed into the boy too. Then a third guard came. They dogpiled the kid, fists flying.

Ben-Ari pulled herself along the rope back to the mezzanine. Noah was there, eyes wide. He began tending to her wounds at once.

"Horrible, horrible thing …," he mumbled, pale. "But I've got you. You're all right. The wounds aren't deep. You're all right."

She looked at her husband. He was a kind man. A wise man. The best man she knew.

But Marco would have leaped into the pit and pulled me back, she thought. Addy and Lailani would have done the same. My husband waited on the mezzanine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"Morse code?" Addy said. "Are you sure?"

"Almost sure." Marco paced the kitchen. "Do you remember how you used to tease Terri? She would rarely talk. You'd joke that Terri probably communicated with me by blinking in Morse code. Well … I think she remembered your teasing. And I think that's exactly what she did."

Addy spread out her arms. "Well? What did she say?"

"I don't know Morse code," Marco said. "I can download a guide easily enough. But … I'd have to … I'd have to watch the video again."

Addy's eyes softened. "I'll watch it again. You don't have to."

"I'll watch it with you," Marco said. "Maybe I'll see something I missed the first time. Some clue. But first …" He took a shaky breath. "Let me put on some coffee first."

While the pot was brewing, Marco stepped onto the deck. He stood in the night. The crickets were chirping, and the stars spread above. Marco closed his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek. Hand shaking, he lit a joint, took a few puffs. Just to calm the shaking. To steady his mind. It was odd. They said cannabis confused most people. It had always clarified Marco's thoughts. Maybe because his normal mind was so jumbled he needed that fog. Only in the mist could he make sense of a chaotic world.

The wind moaned. The maple trees creaked, and Marco thought of maple donuts. He let out a single sob. When he went back indoors, he would be strong. He would be the man of the family. But out here, for just a moment, he felt so afraid.

He returned to the kitchen. Detective Paterson was back, already drinking the coffee, wiping his mustache after every sip, and talking on his phone. He ended his call and looked at Marco.

"Mr. Emery, I have my guys working on the video. If there's a clue to Terri's whereabouts, we'll find it. These criminals often leave digital footprints in the file's metadata."

"Not Corvin," Marco said. "He's too smart for that. But maybe I'll find something."

He joined Addy at the kitchen table. The twins were still sleeping upstairs.

They watched the video again. It hurt just as much the second time.

But this time, Marco had downloaded a Morse code guide. And at the end, just before the video feed cut out, he translated Terri's blinks.

G E R M

Addy frowned. "Germ? Is she sick?"

Marco took a deep breath. He thought he understood. "Corvin hung up before she could complete the word. Germany. She's in Germany."

* * * * *

Dawn broke.

While the police puzzled over the video, Marco went for a walk.

Walking in the forest always helped him think. Whenever he had to solve a problem, he went to the forest. He would hike the narrow trails between the birches and maples, walk along streams, climb onto hilltops and down into valleys. It was in the forests of Ontario that Marco came up with his story ideas. Where he solved plot holes. Where he thought about his past and the future he wanted.

Sometimes he walked here with Terri. Today he walked alone.

It was April but still cold, the temperature just over freezing. A light snow was falling over the wildflowers, winter's last hurrah before spring gave it the boot. Marco wore a plaid jacket, and he held a walking staff. It was made from a gnarled branch he had found a year ago, a veritable wizard's staff. Sometimes on his walks he came across hunters or hikers from nearby farms. They were always polite. But Marco wondered if they thought him eccentric—some wild, bearded man roaming the hills with a wizard's staff.

"Germany," Marco said to himself. He was climbing a pebbly path up a hill. "You're in Germany, Terri. A country of eighty million people. We're going to have to narrow down the search."

He sat on a fallen oak. He pulled out his minicom, an electronic device slightly larger, more powerful than his phone. He had the video loaded there. He watched it again, in higher contrast this time, searching for clues. Maybe a tag on the pillowcase. A receipt for the donuts. Something. Anything. But Corvin had left no clues. According to the detectives, he had digitally masked his call. The video's metadata was encrypted and impossible to crack.

There was nothing. No clue. Just Terri's blinking eyes.

G E R M

Marco put his minicom in his pocket, his fingers shaking. This time he had skipped over the gruesome part. But he knew it would haunt him forever. He kept seeing it in his mind's eye over and over. The scissors. The blood.

Marco closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then kept hiking.

He stepped off the beaten path, trudged through the brush, and climbed a steep hill covered in pines. He had never hiked this hill before, but he needed to go deep into the woods today. To explore new paths in the forest and his thinking.

G E R M

Beige walls.

A child's drawing.

Maple donuts.

Scissors.

Marco passed by an enormous oak, one of the largest trees he'd seen in this forest. Lightning must have hit the tree long ago. Half the trunk had peeled off like a giant splinter, now lay across the hillside. Animals had dug burrows in the fallen bole. But the other half of the trunk had survived, still reached toward the sky.

Terri is hurt. But she's alive. I will find her.

Finally, breathing heavily, Marco reached the hilltop. From up here, he could see for miles. A stream flowed through a valley of birches and goldenrods. Across the valley, a waterfall cascaded into a pond. He could not see home from here, but he knew every stream and hill in these lands. Wherever he stood, he could look, and he would see landmarks. A distinctive hilltop. A familiar tree. A stream he knew well. He was never lost here.

He inhaled sharply. He pulled out the minicom. The battery was down to ten percent.

He played the video again.

This time, as Terri blinked, Marco zoomed in. He focused on her face. Then just her eyes.

She blinked the letters at him.

Marco zoomed onto her right eye. The real eye. And he noticed a square of light reflected in her eye.

A window.

A window!

Marco's fingers tingled. He squinted, played around with the contrast, the brightness, the hue. The image was pixelated.

Finally he managed to focus on the window in her eye. He tweaked the settings, increasing the sharpness, the contrast. And a shape emerged.

A view. A view out the window. A shape. A dark rectangle. What was it? A building? It was too blurred to tell.

That wasn't much help. Hard to pinpoint a location in Germany that happened to have a rectangular building. Marco's hopes dashed.

But then he frowned, swiped, and moved the zoom to Terri's other eye. The bionic eye.

Marco had not known about Terri until four years ago. She had come to him as a teenager, scared and haunted, a refugee of the Cyborg Wars at Alpha Centauri. When she knocked on his door, trembling and skinny, she had a scar across her face and just one eye.

Marco had accepted her as his daughter, loved her, nurtured her. And a year ago, he had paid for an implant. A bionic eye, indistinguishable from a real eye. The bionic eye could actually see, connecting directly to her optic nerves. If you didn't know any better, you'd never guess it was fake.

But there was one important difference.

Her bionic eye reflected the world in sharper detail.

Marco zoomed onto that bionic eye, and he saw it reflected there. The window Terri faced in the little beige room.

And outside the window—a building. A sign on the building. A symbol appeared on the sign, depicting a green serpent coiling around a goblet. Marco recognized it. The Bowl of Hygieia, an ancient symbol.

Beside the symbol appeared words in German. Hygieia-Apotheke.

"A pharmacy," Marco said. "A clue."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

They flew home aboard the Sol Invictus.

They did not speak much.

Ben-Ari needed this time alone. To think.

Their fate is in my hands.

This was a military matter. This was a time of war. The scummers would not stand trial in a civilian court. There would be no jury. No media circus. This was war, and she was commander-in-chief.

I will have to choose, she thought. Whether they are guilty and belong behind bars. Or whether they walk free.

The Sol Invictus could fly faster than light. Azoth crystals shone in her engines, able to refract, creating a warp bubble around the starship. Ben-Ari could be back on Earth within hours. She chose to fly slowly. When she returned to Earth, she would need to announce her decision. And she needed to sleep on it.

That night, she could not sleep. She stood in her cabin, gazing out a porthole to the stars. Her son, Carl, was sleeping in the cabin next door. Noah was lying in bed, but he was still awake, reading a book. The Door to Dawn: Bending Space, Time, and Civilization, by Ilana Teitelbaum.

Fifty years ago, as a young woman, Teitelbaum had created the first azoth drive, allowing faster-than-light travel. For that she had won the Nobel Prize—and opened up space to human exploration. The invention also had important military applications. Without azoth, Earth would never have won the Alien Wars.

Ben-Ari had met Professor Teitelbaum at a fundraiser a few years ago. Noah and Teitelbaum, who was now in her eighties, had talked at length about science and technology. Ben-Ari had stood there, barely keeping up, feeling so dumb. And she wondered then, as she often did, why Noah had married her.

I have an IQ of 142, Ben-Ari thought. They tested me in officer school. My intelligence score was in the top one percent. I'm smart. Many people would consider me brilliant. But next to Noah and his colleagues, I must seem like a blithering idiot. She looked at her husband, lying there on the bed, reading his book. Why did he marry me, a soldier? He could have married a scientist. Did he just choose me as a trophy wife, a hot blond chick with a gun? Does he think me a moron, a brute, a cruel warrior who can do nothing but fight and kill? Why do I feel so petty, so insecure?

Noah noticed she was staring. He lowered his book.

"Are you coming to bed?" he said.

"Noah … I don't know what to do."

He rose from bed. He held her hands. "You know what I think, Einav."

"You think they're innocent."

"Innocent? Well, with their hands, they committed the murders. But did their minds? Are they truly liable? They were controlled, Einav. They're not innocent. But they're not guilty either."

Ben-Ari looked away from him, lips tight. "So they were just following orders. That's the excuse Nazi camp guards gave."

"The Nazi guards had free will," Noah said. "These people did not."

Ben-Ari returned to the porthole. She gazed at the stars streaming outside. "Noah, have you ever heard of Charles Whitman?"

"No."

"He lived in the twentieth century. A student at an American university. One morning, he murdered his family. Then he went to his university, climbed a clock tower, and opened fire with a rifle. He murdered seventeen people from that tower before the police got him."

"Horrible story," Noah said. "A tragedy."

"I've been thinking about Charles Whitman all day," Ben-Ari said. "The police shot him dead. Afterward, they found a note Whitman left. He wrote about voices in his head. About thoughts compelling him to kill. Thoughts he could not control. Thoughts that seemed to come from another place. In his note, written on the eve of his killing spree, he asked for an autopsy after he died. So after the police killed him, they ordered an autopsy. And the pathologist found something. A brain tumor. A pecan-sized brain tumor. You see, Noah … it was the tumor that made him kill."

"Like the King of Many Claws made these people kill," Noah said.

"And yet we consider Charles Whitman a mass-murderer," Ben-Ari said. "In every article you can find about him, that's how he's identified. Had he lived, Whitman would have spent the rest of his days in prison."

"I'm not sure that's fair," Noah said. "It was the tumor that drove him to it."

"But we all have our tumors, don't you see? Charles Whitman had a literal brain tumor. Another killer might suffer from psychosis. Is that any different?"

"That's why prisoners can plead insanity," Noah said. "They always could."

"Fair enough. But what about other cases? Cases not as obvious as that? How about a brain without a tumor but with a congenital predisposition to aggression? And what about nurture rather than nature? Consider a killer who was brought up poor. Who suffered abuse. Who was raised with violence, drugs, despair. He grows up broken. Grows up hard. Grows up a killer. He kills. Was his upbringing his fault? It set him on this path. Is that any different from a tumor or mental illness?"

Noah thought for a moment. "Maybe not. But such a person still had free will."

"Did he? I don't know if any of us have free will. That's something the philosophers have not yet determined. Maybe in a sense, we all have a tumor. We're all controlled. By our physical health. Our mental health. Our upbringing. Maybe we don't truly make choices. We're the product of a million tiny tumors."

"Determinism," Noah said.

She nodded. "Yes, it's Philosophy 101. And I'm not a philosopher. But I must go to the philosophers for my decision. Are the scummers guilty?"

"No," Noah said. "They're not."

"Maybe not," she confessed. "Yet if I free them, will they put others in danger? One of the scummers, that little boy, tried to rip me apart. If I release him because he doesn't have free will, I will endanger society."

Something hard crossed Noah's eyes. "And if you imprison innocent people, you are endangering civilization."

Again anger flared in her. "This isn't a police state. Don't paint me in those colors. What endangers our civilization is the scummers. I'm here to defend civilization!"

His eyes softened. "I know, Einav. I know. You've fought for civilization for twenty years. While I remained in academia, you fought on the front lines."

Her anger deflated. She hugged him. "Thank you for letting me talk. Thank you for listening. And for your advice."

Yes, she needed to listen to the philosophers. But here on this starship, even with her beloved husband, she felt so alone.

He does not understand, she thought. He did not see the things I did. Did not see the horror. Did not kill. He never had to choose life or death for another. I had to make that choice a thousand times.

She loved her husband. He was kind, brilliant, an amazing father. But he would never understand.

She needed to talk to a soldier.

* * * * *

Ben-Ari left her cabin, walked through the dim halls of the Sol Invictus, and took an elevator to the observatory. The glass bulb protruded from the top of the ship like a cockpit, large enough to stand in.

Standing there, Ben-Ari felt like she was riding a great starwhale. The Sol Invictus thrummed beneath her feet, gliding through the dark. She rode the beast. The Milky Way spread above. The asteroid belt was far behind. Ahead she saw Earth, a blue crescent in the night. She felt like she could reach out and grab it. A crescent so small, so fragile. Yet on that sliver of blue all human civilization had risen, and billions mourned the dead.

She was almost home.

She pulled her minicom from her pocket, aimed the little computer at Earth, and dialed a number.

After a long moment, he answered.

"Einav."

"Hello, Marco."

There was a slight delay. The signals were traveling at the speed of light, and Earth was still a few light-seconds away. The Sol Invictus could open communication wormholes to Earth, but they were serious energy hogs, and Earth only had a handful of wormhole receivers, mostly located in government offices and military bases. Talking to Marco using regular electromagnetic waves was fine for now.

"Is there any news of the investigation?" Marco said. He sounded so tired. Close to despair.

"I'm sorry, no," Ben-Ari said, and her heart broke for him. "I'm sorry to disturb you during such a hard time. I know Terri is still missing. I know you're still looking for her. I called not with news. I called for advice."

A few seconds later, his reply came. "Talk to me. I'm here for you."

She closed her eyes for a moment. They stung. Even with his daughter missing, even through the grief and terror, he snapped to attention. He was there, ready to serve her. He had always been there for her during the Alien Wars, and he was here now. He was a soldier. Her soldier. He understood. And he was her best friend.

"Marco, it's about the scummers."

And she spoke to him. About seeing the prisoners in Ceres. About her husband's words. About tumors and philosophy. Marco listened silently while she told her tale.

"What is your advice?" she finally asked.

He thought for a moment, then spoke carefully. "You realize that I'm biased. That a scummer kidnapped my daughter."

"We're all biased. What do you think?"

"I think that Noah is very wise, and I'm glad he has your ear. We need his wisdom during these hard times. He's a scientist, a philosopher, an inventor. But not a leader. A leader sometimes must make the difficult choices. Sometimes make sacrifices, even sacrifices of the soul. Your prime duty, Einav, is to protect the people of Earth. That's why we voted for you. That's why we follow you. During the wars, you made sacrifices. You sometimes sent soldiers to die, knowing they would die. You sacrificed them so that Earth would survive. I won't tell you what to do. But I will remind you of your prime duty. To defend humanity."

She nodded and wiped her eyes. "I miss you, Marco. I'll do whatever I can to find Terri. We'll never give up the search."

"I miss you too, Einav."

I love you, she wanted to say. Almost did say. It felt so natural.

And she remembered a time a few years ago. Her and him on the bridge of a starship. She had been wearing sweatpants, drinking tea, feeling not like Marco's commander but just his friend. Just a woman. She remembered smiling at him, feeling so close. Contemplating what could have been. What might have been. What perhaps almost had been.

But it was not. It could never be.

"Goodbye, Marco." She hung up, and again she felt isolated, lonely, far from her friends.

Marco and Addy are searching for their daughter. Lailani is flying to Abaddon. And I'm alone.

She missed Addy's jokes and warm hugs. She missed Marco's kind eyes. She missed Lailani's courage, the strength that burned inside her fragile little form. She missed the days when the four of them fought together against the universe. They felt like they could conquer the cosmos.

She went to the bridge. She increased speed. An hour later, she was at Earth, and she had made her decision.

She spoke to the media from her home in Jerusalem.

"My fellow Earthlings, we all still mourn the fallen. We are all still healing, still grieving, still rebuilding. Only a few years have passed since the great Cyborg War, and already we suffer more loss. My heart is with the fallen and their loved ones.

"Yesterday, I visited Ceres Jail. There, in the heart of a hollow asteroid, we keep many of those who carried out these horrifying attacks. Some of the attackers are still at large. And I vow to you: Our police forces will not rest until they're caught.

"The prisoners in Ceres are not mere criminals. They are enemy combatants, serving the King of Many Claws. They are prisoners of war. Therefore it is my duty, as commander-in-chief, to determine their faith. And I've decided. They will be removed from Ceres Jail at once, loaded into starships, and transported out of the solar system. I'm exiling them to New Siberia, a penal planet light-years away. They will remain there for the rest of their lives.

"I know this cannot bring back the dead. I know this cannot heal the wounded. But I hope that it prevents further attacks. I hope it keeps Earth safe. I fought for you as an officer during the wars. And I fight for you now as president. I will not rest until this mysterious and heartless enemy is defeated.

"If you have any news of more scummers among us, report them to your local police station or military base. Together, we will eliminate this threat, root and stem. We will overcome."

She ended her transmission. She turned away from the camera, and she saw Noah standing there, staring at her. She walked past him, saying nothing, and stepped outside into the garden. A desert wind caressed her cheeks, scented of sand and spices. The cyclamens and anemones were dying. Summer was coming. The summers in Israel were so harsh, wiping out life. Soon these flowering hills would be barren, and only the oldest trees with the deepest roots would survive until the winds of winter returned.

She walked over yellow grass, crumbling soil, and slabs of limestone and granite. The carob tree rose on the hilltop, an old prophet, and Ben-Ari saw a young girl swinging from its branches. A young girl with a blond ponytail, bright green eyes, and fewer cares on her shoulders.

She walked up to that tree, that old companion, and placed her hand on the gnarled bark. As a child, she had imagined faces in the bark, old gods and listening friends. From here, she gazed down at the desert, at the dunes and golden walls of Jerusalem's Old City. And she knew why this was so hard.

I used to fight monsters. Now the monsters have human faces. Human hearts. And I fear that I will become the monster.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Marco burst into the house, panting.

"Hygieia-Apotheke!" he blurted out. "She's across the street from Hygieia-Apotheke! A pharmacy."

It was noon. Marco had been hiking since dawn. The twins, who normally played in the yard, were indoors today, uncharacteristically quiet. They sat in the living room, knees pulled to their chests, watching holographic cartoons. But Marco knew they too were thinking of Terri.

Addy was standing by the kitchen window, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and old jeans stained with paint. Her hair hung in a loose braid. A cigarette butt dangled from her lips, and several butts smoldered in an ashtray. She didn't smoke much anymore, and definitely not indoors, but these were unusual times. She blinked at him, rubbed her eyes.

"A pharmacy?" She blinked, refocusing. "Show me."

He opened his minicom. He showed her the video again, zoomed onto Terri's bionic eye.

"It's a clue," Marco said. "Maybe a good clue."

Addy squinted. "I can't see an address on the building."

"We need a map of all Hygieia-Apotheke locations in Germany," Marco said. "I hope there aren't many."

He and Addy sat by the kitchen table. Detective Paterson was back at the station. Security stood outside the farmhouse. It was just Marco and Addy here the kitchen, along with a pot of coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and an internet connection.

Marco loaded up a map of Germany. He searched for Hygieia-Apotheke pharmacies.

It returned 2,107 results.

Marco blinked, stared again. "There are … over two thousand Hygieia-Apotheke locations in Germany. Fuck."

Addy rubbed his shoulders. "We just need to narrow things down. If we can determine the right city, we'd have much fewer results. Then we can just visit each local Hygieia-Apotheke and search the buildings around it."

"We don't know what city she's in," Marco said. "There are …" He typed on the minicom again. "Fifteen hundred cities in Germany. And thousands of towns. It's a big country. How the hell do we narrow this down?"

They watched the video again. And again. They zoomed in on the pharmacy.

But they only saw a small chunk of the building. Only the sign, no address. Other than the building, the reflection in Terri's eye just showed a tree, a streetlamp, and dark sky. It could be anywhere.

Marco cursed and switched off the minicom.

Just then the doorbell rang.

They were expecting no one. And the police came and went freely. They didn't use the doorbell. Up here on the farm, nobody ever visited.

Marco ran to the door, heart pounding.

* * * * *

"Sign here, sir. And … here." The mailman patted Marco awkwardly on the shoulder. "I saw the news. It's a terrible thing, Mr. Emery. I sure do hope they find her safe and sound."

Marco signed the electronic clipboard. He took the box from the mailman. "Thank you, Sam. I'll see you around town."

Sam the mailman nodded. "You bet, Mr. Emery. If you ever need anything beyond the mail, you just call the post and ask for me. My wife can cook a casserole, we can babysit, whatever help you need—you let us know."

Marco thanked the mailman again, promised that if he needed anything, he would indeed call.

All the while, his heart was pounding. The package was light. There was no return address.

He already knew who it was from.

He walked into the kitchen, afraid to even breathe. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. Marco placed the package on the kitchen table.

A few policemen stepped forward.

"We'll scan it first, sir," said Detective Paterson. "Just to make sure it's not anything dangerous. We can check for explosives, noxious chemicals, biological agents, anything that can harm you."

Marco nodded. He waited as they performed the tests. But he already knew what was in the box.

The tests came back clean. No dangerous materials in the box.

"Addy, step outside the kitchen please," Marco said.

"Marco, let me stay."

"Ad—"

"Let. Me. Stay." Addy held his hand. "I'm here for you. Always. In good times and bad."

They opened the box.

Inside there was a smaller box and a letter.

Marco unfolded the letter. Words were scrawled in large, jagged handwriting, the kind of handwriting you'd see scratched onto an insane asylum's wall.

HELLO MARCO

HELLO BUDDY BEST FRIEND FAMILY MAN

HELLO TRAITOR SNITCH BULLY TROLL

HELLO BEST AUTHOR IN THE WORLD HA HA HAAA

THEY SAY I'M CRAZY DO YOU KNOW? THEY LOCKED ME UP ONCE DO YOU KNOW? JUST BECAUSE I KILLED MY DAD DO YOU KNOW?

CHILDREN CAN BRING SO MUCH JOY. SO MUCH LOVE. SO MUCH PAIN.

BEING A DAD IS SO CRUEL. SO HARD. MY DAD WAS HARD. MY DAD WAS CRUEL. WHAT KIND OF DAD ARE YOU?

I WANTED TO BE YOUR FRIEND SO BAD. I WAS YOUNG AND NAIVE. NOW I REALIZE HOW MUCH YOUR BOOKS STINK. YOU ARE A HORRIBLE WRITER. YOU ARE A HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING. BUT I DON'T HATE YOU. YOU CAN HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER BACK. PIECE BY PIECE. HA HA HA!!!

YOUR FORMER NUMBER ONE FAN,

CORVIN LEGRAVE

Addy shuddered. "Creepy fucker."

Marco didn't acknowledge her. He was looking at the smaller box inside the package.

"Marco, you don't have to open it," Addy said softly.

But he did.

He opened it.

And he saw.

A tear rolled down his cheek. He closed the box with his daughter's severed finger.

Addy embraced him, crying softly. "Oh, Marco … Why did you look?"

"Because I found something," Marco said, voice soft and strained. "On her finger. I found another clue."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ben-Ari was walking through the Old City of Jerusalem when fire blazed and screams filled her world.

She did not often enter the city, preferring to live outside the ancient walls. But these were strange times. This was a new type of war. A war that pitted brother against brother, man against man. She had exiled thousands of people. Had sentenced them to life on a distant, frozen world. Not through any fault of their own. Not because they chose evil. Because they had committed evil. Because they were puppets of evil. Because they had killed and might kill again.

She did not regret her choice. But many attacked her for it.

The media across Earth, which had adored her during the Alien Wars, turned against her. She still shuddered to remember that morning's news conference. The hundred angry faces, loud voices.

"Is it true the King of Many Claws, an alien scum, controlled these people as puppets?"

"Why did you sentence innocent people to exile?"

"Shouldn't we be looking to cure, rather than imprison, the scummers?"

"President Ben-Ari, under what authority do you undermine civilian courts?"

"With your approval rates dropping, are you worried about the election this November, Madam President?"

She had tried to answer them. To explain.

"The scummers are a threat," Ben-Ari had told them. "A military threat. I will protect Earth from any threat."

That had not appeased the journalists. The next day, the headlines lambasted her. A few publications called her a dictator.

And so here she was. Walking in the Old City of Jerusalem. Walking among the people. Talking to them. Shaking hands. Kissing babies. A PR stunt, that was all. An attempt to gain a few points in the polls. She loved her people. But she hated this performance.

I never had to appease my soldiers in the Alien Wars, she thought. I did what was right. But now I'm a president. Now my choices must be more than wise. They must be popular. That's politics.

She walked along Via Dolorosa, an ancient, cobbled alleyway that snaked through Jerusalem. Via Dolorosa. The Sorrowful way. The Way of Suffering. It had many names. It was said to be the path Jesus had walked toward the crucifixion. Signs along the way marked the fourteen stations of the cross. Legends spoke of every station. Here Christ was condemned to death. Here he fell for the first time. Here he met Mother Mary. Finally, here he died on the cross.

This was an ancient place. Every cobblestone told a tale. Every brick on the surrounding walls had seen holy men and crusaders, blood and hope, piousness and greed. They were thousands of years old, these bricks. The stories they told went down in the lore of men.

It was a long and narrow road, the Way of Sorrow. Ancient buildings rose alongside, built of limestone bricks the size of treasure chests, carved by hand from biblical quarries. Buttresses sprang back and forth between tiled roofs, crowning the road, forming a partial tunnel. Awnings and pennons thrust out in dazzling colors, splashing the monochromatic brickworks with royal reds and desert yellows and deep ocean blues.

Via Dolorosa was too narrow for cars. It was paved when luxury travel meant a donkey, a stick, and a carrot. Thousands of people walked the Sorrowful Path today, following those ancient footsteps and hoofsteps.

It was always crowded here. Pilgrims visited every day, flying from around the solar system to walk where Jesus had walked. Most of the pilgrims were human, but some were alien too, for Christianity had spread to worlds beyond Earth. Towering Altairens ducked under arches, hiding their green skin and four arms within monks' habits. Orionite mollusks dragged themselves across the cobblestones, leaving trails of slime. They held plastic-wrap prayer books in their clammy tentacles. The birdlike Kraekians shuffled forward, talons scraping, beaks swinging from side to side. Wooden crosses hung across their feathered chests.

There were also quite a few locals. Just people going about their business, maybe looking for a bargain. After all, today Via Dolorosa was not only a holy site. It was also a bustling marketplace. Shops had sprung up along the road, from the first station to the fourteenth. A half mile of holiness and haggling.

The shops were small, built into ancient alcoves that lined the alleyway. They had no fourth walls. They were open to the road, proudly displaying their wares. Many shops sold religious artifacts. Crosses, prayer beads, phylacteries, commemorative plates painted with scenes of the crucifixion. They sold charms. Bracelets said to bring good fortune. Crystals and medallions. Bottles of holy water and books of spells. They sold relics, these shops. The real finger bones of Christ, right here, guaranteed. Actual slivers from the cross—certificate of authenticity available for an extra cost. A real thread from the Shroud of Turin, yes ma'am best prices in town, buy one get one free.

But there were other shops too.

Some shops sold spices. Fresh spices! Turmeric that bit and sizzled, and saffron that soothed the soul, and cumin that made one lean back and sigh and remember better days. Shops that sold fresh fruit, fresh fruit, best fruit in town! Come taste my figs, sir! Try my dates, ma'am, best dates in town! Other shops sold pastries. Delicious fresh pastries, still steaming from the ovens, topped with sesame seeds and za'atar. One shop sold fresh apple strudels dusted with cinnamon. The smells grabbed every nose that passed by—and pulled hard. People bought these treats, climbed onto rooftops to eat, and sipped thick coffee from tiny silver mugs, coffee so potent it could wake the dead yet smooth and deeply sweet.

There were shops that sold ornamental hookahs, little camels carved from olive wood, jeweled fish with scales that chinked and emerald eyes that blinked. Curving scimitars, their hilts inlaid with opals and rubies, and knives with antler hilts. Shields that shone with precious stones. A wooden snake that twisted and moved and hissed if you only held its tail. An obsidian spider that leaped from a box on a spring, stinging your finger with a tiny metal fang. There were wooden boxes here full of aromatic tobacco, ambergris, and myrrh. Glass bottles where colorful sand formed scenes of deserts, camels, palm trees—all woven of colored sand, trapped forever in the glass. Vases with curling spouts shaped like the necks of cranes. Silver coffee mugs and little jugs shaped like cat skulls. Ancient scrolls of wisdom. Cushions with Persian embroidery and tickling golden tassels, rugs that swept from ceiling to floor, and dresses sewn through with chinking coins.

Most of these were tchotchkes. Knickknacks. Trinkets for tourists. But among the kitsch hid true works of art, sculptures and paintings and pottery made by master craftsmen.

Ben-Ari walked here, absorbing the smells of spices, coffee, and baked goods, the color of the pennons and mosaic signs, the song of the city.

"What, thirty shekels for this scarf? It's not worth ten!"

"Best apricots in the Holy Land! Get your apricots! You, ma'am, step right up!"

"Beware, sinners! Beware, sons and daughters of Jerusalem! Beware, for the day of judgment comes, and God shall strike the sinners dead! Amulets for fifty shekels, just fifty shekels for salvation!"

She walked among them. Smiling. Shaking hands. An old man with a mustache, fez, and wrinkly brown skin asked to hug her. She let him. A young Hasidic man approached, could not shake her hand due to his faith, but he bowed and blessed her with a prayer. A group of pilgrims from the Philippines asked for photos. They took a selfie together. Jews, Muslims, and Christians all lived here, haggled here, prayed here, coexisted here.

It only took three alien invasions to unite us humans, Ben-Ari thought. And now the scummers are ripping us apart.

She looked around her, seeking enemies. Would the scummers strike her here? Her security guards walked behind and before her. Her drones were flying overhead. She wore skintight graphene armor under her clothes; the material was as thin as cotton yet could stop a grenade. Still, there was danger anytime she visited a new place, especially a crowded labyrinth like this. She was not perfectly safe here. She knew that. But today she needed to prove something.

That she was one of the people.

She shook hands. She hugged. She kissed those babies. A few young soldiers, teenage privates on patrol, stood at attention and saluted her. She returned the salutes, a small smile on her lips. She remembered herself so young. Just a teenage cadet, not yet grown into her uniform.

I hope you don't have to fight a war, she thought. I hope you don't have to endure what I endured. That you don't have to bury brothers.

She was nearing the last station of the cross. Here, on this ancient path, did Jesus take his last few steps, whipped and bent under his burden. Ben-Ari walked by a merchant selling beads and crystals, a fortune-teller, and a shop selling prayer shawls and Coca-Cola. The crowd thickened. A crow cawed above, then fluttered away. A donkey reared in terror, his bray almost like a human scream.

A voice rose from the crowd: "Why did you exile my son?"

Ben-Ari turned to look.

A shabby man came running toward her, eyes blazing. Her security guards emerged from the crowd. They leaped onto the man. Bent his arms. Pulled him back.

"You can't shut me up!" the man cried as they dragged him away. "My son! Why did you imprison my son?"

With a free hand, he held up a photo. A young man with dark hair and a thin mustache. Ben-Ari remembered him.

"Your son set fire to an office building," she said. "He killed seventy people."

"My son did nothing! It was that king he always talked about. That alien! That scum! The scum did this, not my son! The scum!"

The agents dragged him away. Ben-Ari kept walking, heading in the other direction. But her smile was gone. She was shaken badly. The media drones buzzing above didn't help. She knew the world would see this confrontation. They were probably watching it already. Live from Jerusalem via satellite: It's the Ben-Ari Stinks Comeback Special!

She snickered to herself.

The mood was changing. People muttered in the crowd.

"She exiled them! All of them."

"To another planet. A frozen hellhole. Like a gulag."

"It wasn't their fault."

"Shut up, Amir! Of course it was their fault. They killed those people."

"They never stood trial."

"Who died and named her queen?"

Somebody spat on Ben-Ari. Somebody else threw a rotten apple.

"Come on, ma'am, we better hurry," an agent said, gripping her elbow. "Let's get you home."

But the way back home was long. And the crowd was growing thicker and thicker, the faces angrier and angrier.

"She's a dictator."

"Bring our people home! Bring them home! Bring them home!"

"You scum lover, shut up! They killed babies."

"My uncle was exiled. He's a good man!

"Down with Ben-Ari! Down with Ben-Ari!"

Somebody threw a rotten piece of fruit. It hit Ben-Ari, stained her suit. Somebody else threw a rock.

Her agents leaped into action, chasing the rock-thrower. Somebody hurled a tile from the roof. It shattered at Ben-Ari's feet.

One of her security agents tossed a stun grenade. Sound and furious light filled the alleyway, designed to shock, not kill. But some people, mistaking it for a real grenade, screamed and began fleeing. It became a stampede. A man fell. Boots crushed his back. People were running everywhere. A soldier fired his gun in the air. People mobbed him, knocked him down, beat him. Blood splashed the ancient cobblestones. A young man, face twisted with rage, tried to leap at Ben-Ari, to reach past her agents, to claw her.

"I'll rip off your face, you whore!"

"Head to the last station of the cross!" Ben-Ari said to her guards. "Come—with me!"

They hurried down the street, elbowing their way through the crowd. They made their way toward the Church of the Holy Sepulchre up the road. The church was among the oldest in the world, built in 326 AD. According to tradition, it rose on the site of the crucifixion. A holy site to Christians around the world, it attracted many pilgrims. A crowd was here, praying in the courtyard and queuing to enter the crumbling place of worship.

The riot spread into the courtyard. People were shouting. Another stone flew. A guard opened fire with rubber bullets, and people screamed and fled.

Ben-Ari stumbled toward the church. A priest emerged from the doorway, sporting black robes, an elaborate staff, and a long white beard. He beckoned her. She hurried into the church, seeking sanctuary.

Inside was a place of shadows, candlelight, and incense. Pilgrims were here too. A group of them knelt around the Rock of Golgotha, kissing the holy stone. Some were weeping. Other pilgrims stood farther back, golden in the candlelight, worshipping at Jesus's tomb.

Ben-Ari took a deep breath, struggling to calm her frayed nerves. She had faced aliens in battle. This was worse. This cut deep. She didn't like fighting fellow humans.

There was safety here in this church, among the holiest sites in Christendom. There was sanctuary in this ancient place of death and rebirth.

Did I make a mistake? she wondered. Should I have listened to Noah instead of Marco? Should I have freed the scummers?

This could cost her the election, she knew. To hell with the election. She would do right by Earth. Not by the polls.

"Who died and made me queen?" she muttered to herself, then laughed wearily. A bitter sound.

A voice rose from deeper in the tomb.

"Hear me, sinners! You all worship a false god. Worship the one true god—the King of Many Claws!"

Ben-Ari spun around, drawing her handgun.

She saw him there, standing on the Rock of Golgotha. A young man with wild eyes, with lacerations across his arms. A man with fangs and claws. He made eye contact with Ben-Ari, smiled, and pulled open his shirt.

Fuck.

She saw it there. Strapped to his chest. A suicide vest.

"Everybody out!" Ben-Ari cried as she fired her gun.

She was aiming for the head, hoping to kill him at once. But she hit his shoulder instead.

The suicide bomber fell off the holy boulder, then rose again, grinning. He reached for his chest.

Ben-Ari ran and leaped behind an altar.

It was a single pop.

Like a champagne cork flying free. But endlessly louder.

The church shook. Every window shattered. Bricks rained. Ben-Ari screamed.

Shrapnel flew around her. One piece grazed her side, ripping her clothes, even the graphene armor she wore beneath her suit. More pieces of metal slammed down around her, cutting into the ancient stone floor.

It was over within a split second. That was it. A split second from holiness to hell.

Ben-Ari rose from behind the altar. Her ears were ringing. She swayed, dazed. The altar had shattered. She tasted blood, touched her ears. The blood was pouring. She heard only ringing, ringing, a siren.

She blinked a few times, and she saw the dead. They lay across the church, torn apart. People with no limbs. Limbs with no people. People with no faces. A head. She saw a severed head. The eyes were blinking, the mouth moving silently. The head lived for a few seconds as she stared. She realized it had fangs. That it was smiling. The head of the suicide bomber. It died with a smile.

Ben-Ari knelt by a wounded woman with no legs. Through the ringing, the haze, the spinning room, Ben-Ari tried to stop the bleeding. To make a tourniquet. She felt so dizzy. She fell.

It probably only took moments. But waiting for the ambulances felt like ten eternities.

A few hours later, they dismissed Ben-Ari from the hospital. The armor had saved her life. She suffered from ruptured eardrums. With modern medical technology, they stitched them right up. The shock wave had also shattered the small bones in her left ear. The doctors replaced those with artificial bones, 3D printed to perfectly match her ear. Last century, she would have remained deaf. Today fixing an ear was like fixing a broken tooth.

The shell shock would be harder to cure. But she was used to that weight. She had been carrying shell shock all her life.

Used to it? No. Maybe not. It never got easier. You never became jaded to death. At least she never did. It had always been her curse.

Around the world, there were more attacks that day. She watched them on the hospital television.

A second wave of attacks. They used bombs. Trucks. Assault rifles. Knives. Whatever they could find. They attacked the world. Every nation. Everywhere. On this horrible day, the scummers struck a second time. And they killed a million more.

That night, when she returned home, Ben-Ari walked up to her husband. She grabbed his arms, stared into his eyes, and said, "Build me a scummer test. A way to tell human from scummer. Can you do this?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Then build me the test. And I will uproot every last one."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"A clue?" Addy said. "What kind of clue? Marco, in the box, it's …" She covered her mouth. "Her finger."

Then Addy covered her eyes. Marco felt it too. The crushing grief. The overwhelming worry for Terri.

Both he and Addy had fought in wars. They had seen soldiers blown apart. Seen civilians slaughtered, ripped limb from limb. But they had never seen their own child mutilated.

The pain was worse than ten thousand battles.

"We must remain calm," Marco said, more to himself than to Addy. "If we panic, we'll miss something. We must be strong. And we'll do this. We'll overcome this."

Addy nodded, wiped her eyes. "Okay. What's the clue?"

Marco looked at the severed finger. His eyes dampened again. He closed them for a moment.

He remembered walking hand in hand with Terri among the hills.

He remembered Addy teaching her how to skate, how the two women had bonded on the ice.

He remembered taking Terri fishing, teaching her how to gut a fish. She hated that. Absolutely hated it. But later they had ice cream and played checkers and laughed, and the day was saved.

He opened his eyes, looked at Addy.

"Terri never wore nail polish."

Addy's eyes opened. She looked at the finger, back at Marco. "But the finger—" She gasped. "It has nail polish! A dud! It's not even Terri's finger!"

"It is," Marco said. "She had nail polish in the video too. I completely missed it. All those times I watched the video, I missed it. Only when I saw her finger here, in this box, did it dawn on me. Nail polish."

Addy tilted her head. "Why would she be applying nail polish now of all times?"

"Corvin must have put it on her." Marco forced in a deep breath. Under the table, his fists clenched. "He must like nail polish on girls."

Addy's face flushed. "You don't think he—"

"I don't know," Marco said, interrupting her before she could speak the horror aloud.

But the question filled his mind.

Was Corvin raping her?

Marco simply didn't know.

"Corvin wants to hurt me," he said slowly. "That's all he cares about. Not about Terri. He cut off her finger, mailed it to me, to torment me. Maybe he put on the nail polish just because … because in his twisted way, he thought it would make a better gift. Maybe he isn't attracted to Terri at all. Maybe there's nothing sexual about it. This might all just be his sick way of dressing up a severed finger."

"We should get a DNA test on the finger," Addy said. "Just to be sure."

Marco nodded. "We will. But Addy, let's focus on what matters now. The nail polish is a clue."

"How?" She frowned.

"Nail polish comes in a variety of shades. Every manufacturer sells its own hues."

"You seem to know a lot about nail polish, dude. Something you want to tell me?"

He ignored the jab. "We need to take this finger to a lab. Not just to confirm that it's from Terri. But to find what nail polish this is."

Addy tilted her head. "Why? Even if we knew what nail polish it is, how would that help?"

Marco smiled. "I have a feeling our dear friend Corvin bought the nail polish from his local neighborhood Hygieia-Apotheke. And maybe the donuts too."

She frowned. "Don't pharmacies sell, you know, medicine?"

"They do," Marco said. "But most of their sales come from other products. Pharmacies today sell candy, ice cream, lighters, batteries, nail polish, donuts, lottery tickets, and so on. They're basically convenience stores with drugs. If we can find what color nail polish it is, we can find what Hygieia branches carry it. If it's a rare color, well, that would narrow things down significantly, and we can—"

"I get it, I get it, you're a genius and I'm an idiot," Addy said. "But I can still beat you at arm wrestling."

"Actually, Addy, that's never been established since you cheat every time. You tickle me."

She flexed her biceps. "Undefeated champion of the world, right here!"

He rose to his feet. "Put those muscles away and whip out your fingernails. Let's go look for nail polish."

Addy stood up, placed her fist on her hip, and raised her chin. "To the Flying Hot Dog!"

* * * * *

It was indeed Terri's finger. That part didn't take long to confirm. A day at the lab, and they knew.

Identifying the nail polish was trickier.

As it turned out, forensic labs didn't simply have cupboards overflowing with all the possible nail polishes in the world. Somehow Marco and Addy would have to figure it out on their own.

"Come on, Addy, you're a girl," Marco said. "Can't you identify this nail polish color by sight?"

She punched him. "You know I don't wear nail polish."

He groaned and rubbed his arm. "You'd ruin your nails anyway from all the times you punch people."

She winked. "You should have married a girly girl."

"I did," Marco said. "Tomiko divorced me, remember?"

Addy punched him again.

"Ow!" Marco winced. "What was that one for?"

Addy shrugged. "When you mention your ex-wife, I get violent. Now get in the Flying Hot Dog, loser. We're going shopping."

They went shopping. For nail polish. For lots and lots of nail polish.

They wandered down the aisle of a local SmartShop, filling baskets with bottle after bottle of nail polish. The tiny glass containers clinked. Here in the store, it was hard to tell if any color matched Terri's nail polish. People tended to give you strange looks when you whipped out severed fingers in stores.

So they brought the nail polish home. All of it.

In the comfort and privacy of the farmhouse, they began to compare.

Marco cleared his throat. "Okay, Ads, I'm going to need to apply some nail polish on you."

She frowned. "What? Why?"

Marco shrugged. "So we can compare the color to Terri's fingernail."

Addy tilted her head. "Why not just look at the color through the bottle?"

"Well, the colors usually look slightly different once applied onto fingernails. It has to do with how the light moves through the glass bottle, and the thickness of the liquid, and the slight changes when the polish dries, and—"

"I get it, dude," Addy said. "You want to wear nail polish. There's no shame in it."

"I didn't—I said that you—"

Addy grinned. "You're doing it with me, dude. We'll work faster as a team. Whip out your beautiful claws for me, baby!"

"I hate you."

Addy kissed his cheek. "You looove me, liar."

They sat cross-legged on the living room floor, applying nail polish. A different color per fingernail.

"My, my, aren't you pretty!" Addy said, examining Marco's fingernails. He wore ten different shades, one per finger.

"Addy, stop taking photos."

"But you're so sexy! Can you put on lipstick too?"

"No!" he snapped. "Put your camera away!"

"Fine. I already got enough photos. I'm printing and framing these."

How quickly we resort to banter, Marco reflected. Gallows humor. Soldiers' humor. It's how we survived the wars with our sanity intact. Well, partly intact. I'm not sure about Addy.

It was gruesome work. But they lifted Terri's finger from the box of ice. And they compared it, one by one, to the nail polish colors from SmartShop.

Nearly all the colors were off. Some shades were too dark, others too light. Some had too much red, yellow, or purple.

A handful of shades came very close.

"Marco, hold out your pinky. Come on! Pretend to be an Englishman sipping tea. Pinky out! Ah, perfect." Addy squinted at his fingernail. "I think this might be it. The same shade of red."

Marco examined it, holding Terri's finger near his. "I'm not sure. It's very, very close, but it's hard to tell. The light from the window is hitting one fingernail just slightly differently, I think. I want to be exact. I need your camera. Take a photo of both colors side by side."

She snapped a photo of his pinky, then of Terri's finger. Marco uploaded both photos into his minicom. He projected a hologram, showing both nails side by side. His and Terri's. He zoomed in, examining one shade after another. Down to the pixel.

"Not an exact match," Marco said. "See my pixels? More blue pixels. Terri's nail polish has a higher proportion of reds and yellows."

Addy frowned. "Why am I even seeing blue pixels? The nail polish is deep red."

"Primary colors. They mix all the shades we see. Did you sleep through elementary school, Addy?"

She punched him. "Did you sleep through high school, and is that why you're so short?"

"That … makes no sense."

"Neither does blue in red nail polish."

Marco groaned. "Give me the next bottle."

They kept trying. They found no matches.

They drove back to the city. They visited Super Pricers next, bought a bunch more colors.

Nothing.

They visited nail salons, which sold other brands of nail polish, colors unavailable in the big box stores. Marco and Addy both got into the chairs for manicures and pedicures. Addy couldn't stop giggling the whole time, snapping photos of Marco getting his nails painted, complete with cotton between his toenails.

"Addy, this is serious," he told her.

She nodded. "I know. I'm sorry." Then she guffawed, covered her mouth, and snapped another photo. "You're just so pretty!"

Still—no match.

They must have tried every nail polish in Toronto. Nothing matched the color on Terri's fingernail.

Finally, that night, Marco said, "We're approaching this all wrong."

Addy blew on her fingernails. Each one was a different shade of red. "I kinda like this. I might end up being a girly girl after all. Of course, I'll break every nail during my next hockey fight, but hey, an excuse for another manicure."

"Addy." He grabbed her arms, stared into her eyes. "We've been trying Canadian nail polish."

Addy rolled her eyes. "Duh. We're Canadian. Why do you think I'm so fucking polite, dipshit?"

He ignored the barb. "And Terri is being kept in Germany. She's probably wearing German nail polish."

Addy's eyes widened. "Different shades!"

Marco nodded. "We need to start over. This time in Germany."

Addy placed a fist on her hip, raised her chin, and pointed at the sky. "To the Flying Wienerschnitzel!"

Marco tilted his head. "What?"

"That's what I'm calling my Flying Hot Dog spaceship now. Since we're flying to Germany, it needs a German name. The Flying Wienerschnitzel!"

"Ah, see, Addy, that's actually a common misconception. A Wienerschnitzel is not a hot dog. It's a schnitzel, a type of breaded pork cutlet. The word Wiener, in this context, refers to Vienna, the dish's city of origin. It has nothing to do with wieners the sausages, which is probably what you're thinking of."

"Marco?"

"Yes, Addy?"

"Shut up or I'll beat you up."

He heaved a sigh. "To the Flying Wienerschnitzel."

* * * * *

The ship flew into orbit, then dived back to Earth, hopping from Canada to Germany within an hour.

It's faster to travel from Canada to Germany than from our farm to Toronto, Marco thought in wonder. That's traffic for you.

He flew the giant hot dog—Wienerschnitzel if you asked Addy—to Berlin. He watched the city from above. It sprawled to the horizons, one of the largest cities in Europe, home to millions.

Are you somewhere in this city, Terri? he wondered.

He looked at the houses and buildings. Countless numbers of them. Was Terri looking out one of those windows now, seeing a giant hot dog flying toward the city? Did it give her hope? Or was she in another German city entirely?

Or maybe she wasn't even in Germany. Even though the video had cut off after GERM, Marco was sure Terri had been blinking the word Germany. He could think of no other word she would be blinking.

But was Terri mistaken? If Corvin had indeed dragged her out of Canada, might Terri be confused about where they were? Maybe Terri had heard somebody speaking German out the window. But hell, that could be other countries too. Austria. Switzerland. There were parts of Belgium and Italy where German was the native language. Did those places have Hygieia-Apotheke pharmacies too? Was Marco barking up the wrong tree?

Still, Germany itself seemed the most promising place to look. He would trust Terri's knowledge or instincts. He directed the Flying Wienerschnitzel toward Berlin's spaceport. People below pointed and laughed. It was not every day you saw a flying sausage. Not even in Germany.

Marco landed and turned off the engine. When he stepped into the hold, Addy and the twins were waiting. Addy was wearing a traditional German outfit—an apron over a skirt, puffy sleeves, and a bodice with very revealing cleavage. She wore her blond hair in two braids, and she held a stein of beer. The twins were wearing lederhosen.

"Why are you dressed up like this?" Marco asked.

"Oktoberfest," Addy said.

"It's April."

"Shut up and get into lederhosen."

"I'm not wearing lederhosen!"

Addy rolled her eyes. "Oh, nail polish is fine, but lederhosen is too much."

"Addy, these costumes are offensive. How would you feel if Germans visited Canada and dressed up as Mounties?"

"I'd probably join them," Addy said. "We'd all get drunk on Canadian beer and ride moose."

"Addy, you tried to do that anyway last year."

"And it would have worked if that moose hadn't run away so fast!"

They walked through Berlin, a city even larger and busier than Toronto. Marco didn't like crowds. He was already missing the Canadian countryside. They walked down a bustling road, worming their way through a crowd. People gave Addy confused looks. She only waved and blew them kisses.

"Guten Morgen, Guten Morgen!" she cried for all to hear.

"It's afternoon," Marco said.

She shrugged. "I don't know how to say good afternoon in German." She waved at a passerby. "Guten Morgen!" Suddenly she grabbed Marco's wrist—painfully. "Poet! Look! A shopping mall! Let's go shopping for nail polish."

She began dragging him down the street. Marco resisted. "No, Addy, we're done shopping."

"Isn't that why we're here? To shop for nail polish?"

"I have a better idea," Marco said. "Come on."

* * * * *

Marco pulled Addy down the sidewalk, heading toward the towering glass building. She lagged behind, carrying two steins of beer, a string of sausages, and a family-sized box of currywurst. The twins skipped along behind her, waving German flags.

"Poet, can we move to Germany?" Addy said.

"No. We're Canadian."

"Poet, this country is heaven." Her eyes rolled back with pleasure. "So many sausages. Everywhere … sausages. Sausages as far as the eye can see."

"Addy, you're drooling."

She smacked her lips and bit into a bratwurst. "Quiet! I'm enjoying a foreign culture." She took a few more giant bites.

"You're eating the napkin."

Addy shrugged. "It has mustard on it. That makes it food."

"No it doesn't," Marco said. "I have mustard on my shirt—thanks to you tossing a hot dog at me two blocks south. Does that mean you're going to eat me? Addy! Addy, stop biting me!" He shoved her off.

She pouted. "But you're delicious."

Marco pointed at the glass building. "Look. Do you see that? That's the headquarters of Ozeanschönheit, Germany's largest cosmetics company. Somebody in there might know what shade of nail polish we need."

"The headquarters of what?"

"Ozeanschönheit," Marco said.

She frowned. "Say it again."

"Ozeanschönheit, Addy! It's not that complicated."

She grinned and pinched his cheek. "I know. I just think you're cute when you speak German."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, the German language is positively adorable. Now come on."

They entered the building. Marco looked around. The lobby was enormous, rising several floors through the building. Mezzanines spread above like ribs, revealing glimpses of offices. Banners hung from the upper balcony, flowing all the way down to the ground floor, depicting models in lingerie, their makeup meticulous.

"I'm prettier than them, right, Poet?" Addy said.

"Of course. Well, maybe tied with the redhead."

"Shut up! I'm much prettier than her." She dropped her voice to a growl. "Say I'm prettier!"

"You're as pretty as a sausage, happy?"

"Aww, thanks, Poet. That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."

They walked toward the front desk. Several employees, who were walking about on their business, paused to give them shocked looks.

Addy leaned toward Marco and whispered, "Poet, they're looking at you!"

"At me? You're the one carrying two beer steins, showing cleavage the navy could lose a boat in, and dragging a string of sausages across the floor."

She gasped and reeled up her string of sausages. She dusted off some dirt and hairs. "They're still good!" She stuffed them into her bra. "For safekeeping."

"Addy, I told you a million times, stop storing hot dogs in your bras."

"And I told you a million times, stop storing bacon in your pockets."

"I don't!" Marco said. "You put bacon in my pockets! Last week a dog chased me for three blocks."

Addy shrugged. "Sorry, but my pockets are full of marzipan. I had to use yours."

They kept walking through the sizable lobby. Finally they reached a surprisingly small white desk. A receptionist sat there. She was a young, serious-looking woman, very thin, with a neat white suit, a neat hair bun, and very neat makeup.

Addy waved. "Guten Morgen, Gesundheit headquarters!"

"Ozeanschönheit," Marco whispered, nudging her with his elbow.

"Huh?"

"We're in Ozeanschönheit headquarters, not Gesundheit!"

"Oh. Right." Addy cleared her throat, turned back toward the receptionist, and spoke with a thick German accent. "Hello, fellow German woman! I am Inspector Helga von Schneider from the Ministry of Cosmetics Testing." She snapped her heels together and saluted. "We are very, very unforgiving, even for Germans, and we must examine all your nail polish. Now!"

The receptionist's hand inched toward a big red security button.

Marco pulled Addy toward him. He whispered urgently into her ear, "What are you doing?"

"Pretending to be German. Play along."

"You're literally just speaking English with a German accent! And quite offensively, I might add. It's not going to fool anyone."

"Fine, fine." Addy turned back toward the receptionist, smiled, and spoke with an exaggerated American accent. "Hello there! Actually, my name is Karen, a soccer mom from the United States of America! Go football! We suck at hockey! Anyway, I must ask to speak to your manager."

The receptionist gave her a confused look.

"Why are you being Karen?" Marco whispered, pulling Addy back toward him.

"It's another character!" she whispered back. "You told me not to be German, remember?"

"Why do you need a character at all!" he whispered through clenched teeth, struggling not to raise his voice. "Just be Addy!"

"I thought we had to be characters."

"Why did you think that? Nobody said that!" Marco turned toward the receptionist and gave an apologetic smile. "Excuse my wife. She's insane and we think she's inbred. Please don't call the police. We're from Canada, and we have a little problem with nail polish. I hope you can help."

At first the receptionist seemed cautious, but as Marco spoke, her face softened. He described his ordeal, explained that he was a colonel in the Human Defense Force, and mostly a worried father.

"I can put you in touch with the right person," the receptionist said. "I'm sure he'll be sympathetic."

"Aww, thank you!" Addy said. She reached into her cleavage, pulled out a sausage, and held it toward the receptionist. "Would you like a brat?"

The receptionist mumbled something about following her and walked away. The Linden-Emery family followed.

They talked to one person. Then another. And a third. They had to fill out a form. And another form. And sign and stamp. And read a manual. And sign an NDA contract.

Finally the receptionist led them into a large room, and Marco's eyes widened.

"Bingo," he said.

The white room was full of white shelves. And on the shelves—thousands of nail polish bottles. Each one a different shade.

"The mother lode!" Addy whispered in awe.

"I'll leave you to it," the receptionist said. She smiled sadly and wiped her eyes. "I hope you find Terri."

Marco's eyes dampened too. He blinked rapidly. "I know we will. Thank you."

Addy and he spent hours in the room, trying on color after color.

Finally, halfway through the shelves, Addy raised her finger. She compared it to Terri's fingernail.

Velvet cake red.

A perfect match.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Lailani paced the starship hold, a restlessness inside her. They were a day from Abaddon. And she felt as tense as a predator preparing to pounce.

She could not sleep tonight. The lights were dim. Tala lay slumbering in her bunk. Kai was in his bunk. She could see a little light through the curtain. He was probably still awake. He was probably hoping she would come to him.

No. No! She could not.

Yet over the past few days, it had grown. That unspeakable thing between them. His hand casually brushing her hair. Her lips kissing his cheek. Their fingertips touching, their hands sometimes coiling together.

No, I can't go to his bunk, Lailani thought.

She remembered last time. Her encounter in Paris. Losing herself to the passion, the desire. Abandoning all her defenses. Letting the alien in. Killing. Murdering.

If I go to Kai's bunk, if I surrender to him, will I rip out his heart?

She had ripped out many hearts. Sometimes literally, but sometimes just figuratively. Marco was a good example of the latter. He had asked her to marry him. And she had ripped out his heart and crushed it in her hands.

Maybe she had done the same to Einav Ben-Ari. Lailani still fondly remembered that one night with her commander, that sweet memory from years ago. And she remembered grabbing Ben-Ari's throat. Squeezing. For a second—ready to kill.

Why was she thinking about Marco now? About the man in Paris? About past lovers? She should be thinking of the danger. The monster inside her. She should be thinking of the mission tomorrow. Abaddon awaited.

But the light stayed on in Kai's bunk.

Air blew from a vent, and the curtain swayed, revealing a glimpse of him. He lay on the bed, the lamplight dancing across his inked skin. He was reading a book but not flipping the pages. He was waiting. Waiting for her.

Lailani paced the hold.

I can't. I'll hurt him. I'll kill him. There's a disease inside me.

She tried to ignore him. She turned away.

They had made love once before. Just one time. A moment of weakness! Since then, they had never touched again. That was her modus operandi after all, wasn't it? One-night stands. If she slept with him a second time, well … that made him something more. That made him not just a fling. But what … a boyfriend?

No. She could not. Too much! Too many strings. Too much responsibility.

Yet the tenseness grew inside her, screaming for release.

Fine!

Lailani stomped across the deck, pulled back the curtain, and entered his bunk.

Kai put down his book, looked at her from his bed. "Hello there. May I help you?"

"Shut up." Lailani pulled off her shirt. "Stop being coy." Her pants came off next. "You know you want me here."

She stood naked before him. She could see herself reflected in the mirror, her skin light brown, boasting several battle scars. Her hips were slender, her breasts small, but she knew Kai desired her. She had seen his desire for days aboard this ship.

He rose to his feet, walked toward her. He was of average height for a man, but he towered over her. She didn't even reach his shoulders. He ran his fingers through her hair.

"I'm glad you came."

He was only wearing boxer shorts. His clothes lay tossed across a chair. She looked at his tattered, patched-up jeans. The handcuffs dangled from his belt. What was it he had said? All bounty hunters carried handcuffs. You never knew when you'd run into a renegade with a good price on his head.

Lailani lay on the bed, naked. "Handcuff me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You into that?"

"It's for your safety. I'm a starling, after all. I don't want to lose control."

"We were okay last time. You didn't lose control."

"Last time we weren't so close to Abaddon," Lailani said. "Handcuff me. Then make love to me."

And then get out of my life, she almost added. It was her usual mantra. How she usually treated lovers. But she did not add that last demand. Not this time. Maybe she wouldn't have to.

These were strange days. And she was not herself.

He dutifully obeyed both her commands. And she did not change. She did not hurt him. And afterward, when he had freed her, she curled up against him and slept in his arms, and she loved him. For the first time in many years, she loved a man.

The dark hours passed. The ship's lights turned on, mimicking dawn. And Abaddon shone in the distance, a yellow world like a demon eye.

* * * * *

Finally, after long weeks in space, the Black Rose Viperess flew toward Abaddon, homeworld of the scum.

The planet loomed before the Viperess. It was massive. It would dwarf Earth. Hell, it would probably dwarf Jupiter. But this was no gas giant. It was a rock. An enormous rock the color of old bones dug up from underground. Craters pockmarked its surface. Canyons plunged deep, large enough to fit Earth inside. Mountains soared, so tall that were they to sprout on Earth, their peaks would shatter satellites. The scientists said Abaddon was impossible. That its size disobeyed the laws of physics. Yet here it loomed. The Impossible Planet. Her homeworld.

Lailani saw no signs on life on the surface. No forests. No oceans. No cities. Just a desert of stone, sand, gorge, and cliff. A land as cruel and unforgiving as its denizens. Despite its appearance, life had thrived here. And creatures still lurked here. Billions of them.

Human scientists called them the Scolopendra titania. The creatures had a name they gave themselves. A name of clicks and hisses and pheromones. No human tongue could pronounce it. Most humans just called them the scum.

The scum. The dreaded aliens who still haunted the darkest human tales. Giant centipedes. The beasts who had attacked Earth seventy years ago, wiping out billions. The greatest genocide in human history. A tragedy worse than the Black Death. Its perpetrators lived here.

Not on the surface. Even they hated the blinding, searing sunlight of this world. No. The scum lived underground.

Lailani could feel them. Hear them. Hear the terrible chirping, clacking, hissing in her mind. They were calling out to her. They were all her brothers.

Welcome home, sister.

Join us.

We caught a big juicy tunnel whale. His insides are so sweet. Come feast with us. Join us in the dark.

Lailani cried out and clutched her head, desperate to shut them out. But they were everywhere here.

The images flooded her. The claws racing in the dark.

"I am not a centipede!" she cried. "I am a woman!"

She fell back, breathing heavily. Kai caught her, tried to soothe her. Tala gazed with concern from behind a chair. Lailani barely noticed them.

"I'm all right. I'm fine. I …" She took a deep breath. "I'm here again."

She was back on the Black Rose Viperess. For a horrible moment, she had been there on the planet. She had seen through the centipede eyes. She had raced through the dark with them, sucked on the putrid flesh of their bloated, rotting prey.

That was not her.

That was only one percent of her DNA. And she had to control it. To keep it at bay. To remember that she was ninety-nine percent human.

But that ninety-nine percent felt so fragile. Like a beautiful Persian rug with a little centipede gnawing at its edges, fraying the threads, threatening to ruin the entire work of art.

She took a few more deep breaths, calming herself. She slumped into her chair. Abaddon was near. But she was still here on the starship. She was still human.

"I remember flying here twenty years ago," she said softly. "I was only nineteen. I know I still look nineteen. That's the scum in me, giving me long life. But I've aged since then. I've aged inside. I've lived and fought and built for twenty years. And now … now I feel like a scared girl again."

"You've become a strong warrior," Kai said.

"Twenty years ago, I flew here with millions of strong warriors. And millions died. We won the war. But millions of our fellow Earthlings fell. The Battle for Abaddon ended with our victory. But only a Pyrrhic victory. To me it felt more like … like genocide."

"Millions dead in one battle?" Kai said. "Damn. I can't even imagine. I was just a little kid back then. Too young to fight. I never knew it was that bad."

Lailani smiled wryly. "You baby."

"I'm twenty-seven and look older than you. You're a perma-babe."

"A perma-babe?"

Kai nodded. "A woman who is permanently a total babe." He winked.

Lailani rolled her eyes. "You're a perma-dork."

"Guilty as charged."

She took another deep breath. She felt a little better. More in control. She held Kai's hand. Tala approached and hugged her.

The Black Rose Viperess flew closer to Abaddon. The planet was so large now it covered half the viewport.

"What's that?" Kai pointed. "Is that a moon?"

"Not a moon. A scum pod."

Kai's eyes widened. "What the hell is a scum pod?"

They flew closer. The pod hovered in space between the Black Rose Viperess and the planet. It was a fleshy sphere, veined and throbbing, large enough to engulf a town. The translucent hull revealed centipedes inside. They were crawling everywhere. Thousands of them.

"A scum spaceship," Lailani said. "They inflate huge bubbles of organic material. They can fly them among the stars. It's how they attacked Earth long ago."

Kai shuddered. "It looks like a giant, infected booger with bugs inside. This species is disgusting."

"Don't say that!" Lailani snapped, sudden rage filling her. "The scum aren't any more disgusting than humans. We use what we can. What's available to us in the desert. We're not just bugs."

Kai and Tala were both looking at her. Silent.

"We?" Kai said softly.

"They," Lailani said and pursed her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm …" She winced. "I can hear them. From inside the pod. The scum have a hive intelligence. The only individual is the leader. The king or queen of the hive. Everyone else is part of a whole. When I fly closer to them, I feel …"

She swayed. She fell to the deck.

Strange metal ship approaches!

Humans, humans!

Enemies!

No. No! There is one of us aboard.

One of us!

The King of Many Claws told us she'd come.

She's here, she's here!

Let her pass. Let her fly. She is of the hive.

Lailani's eyes were rolling back. She clacked her mandibles. She crawled across a fleshy hull. Down below, she scuttled through tunnels, all the billions of her. She—

"Lailani!" Kai pulled her to her feet. "Are you with me, Lailani?"

She nodded, shuddered, and shoved the hive away. "I'm here. It's hard to control. To ignore them. There are so many. They know we're coming. They'll let us pass. The King of Many Claws is waiting."

"Fuck!" Kai blurted out. "Sorry, sorry for cursing around the kid, but—dammit! There goes our stealth mission. We need to turn back."

"No," Lailani said. "No, he doesn't know our intent. He doesn't know we mean him harm. He's … inviting us down."

She walked briskly across the deck and sat at the control panel. She tapped a few buttons, plotting a course to orbit the planet.

The Black Rose Viperess engaged her stabilizer thrusters. Through the viewport, Lailani saw the vents blast out steam. The starship slowed, adjusted course, and entered a low orbit. Below her, Lailani could see the mountains and valleys roll by.

Other scum pods floated around them. Some were enormous—easily the size of football arenas. Others were tiny, barely large enough for a single centipede. Thousands of the blobby vessels orbited Abaddon, bobbing in space, defending their world. Below on the surface, volcano vents peered upward like black eyes. Lailani remembered seeing those volcanoes bloom open in the war, blast plasma into space, and roast human starships.

But nobody was attacking the Black Rose Viperess.

She is one of us.

Come, Lailani. Come to us.

Come to me.

Come down, sister.

Yes. An invitation. The king knew she was coming. Maybe he even knew she was coming to kill him. He was inviting her nonetheless. If he knew—this could be a trap. Or perhaps he was simply cocky, dismissing her as no serious threat. If so, his pride would be his downfall!

"How do we find him?" Kai asked. "This is a big planet."

You know where I am.

Lailani closed her eyes.

"I know."

You remember.

"I've seen it."

Then come to me. Come, sister. I've been waiting for so long.

She was there underground. Hearing the click of his mandibles. The clack of his claws. Smelling him. Thinking with him. One with him.

"Lailani?" Kai shook her. "Lailani, my god. You're so pale. You're trembling."

She looked at him.

He stumbled back, eyes wide.

"Your teeth," he whispered.

She felt them in her mouth. The fangs. Something itched on her side. Another itch. Itching spots all along her rib cage. As if warts were growing there. As if new limbs were trying to sprout.

Suddenly terror filled her.

She yelped. Her hand jammed against the yoke. The starship jolted, knocked out of orbit.

"Mom!" Tala cried. "What's wrong?"

Lailani shivered for a moment. Human again. Just a human once more.

We're in danger here, she thought. We're in so much danger. I'm in more danger now than I ever was during the Scum War.

She knew where he was. Why he wanted her here. To him, she was nothing but a fellow scum.

"Then you'll die, scum!" she hissed.

She shoved the throttle. The engine roared. She pushed the yoke, nudging the ship's nose downward.

They dived toward the planet.

Kai and Tala hopped into their seats and buckled up. Lailani remained standing, holding the yoke, as the Black Rose Viperess plunged into the searing white atmosphere of Abaddon.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Marco was walking with his family down the streets of Berlin, looking for a bite to eat, when the thugs burst out from the alley.

Three of them blocked the sidewalk. Towering men, beefy, covered with tattoos. Swastikas covered one man's arms. Another man had a cruel smile with only three teeth. The third man hefted a baseball bat studded with rusty nails.

Marco paused on the road. Instinctively he took a step forward, placing himself between the thugs and his family.

"Marco, more behind us!" Addy said.

Marco glanced over his shoulder. Three more thugs with shaved heads stepped out from a doorway. They wore leather jackets and carried guns and hammers.

Marco's hand inched toward his coat where he carried a hidden gun. He didn't draw it yet.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said. He didn't want to cause trouble in a foreign country, to kill a man and potentially end up in jail. His mission was too important. His heart pounded, and cold sweat trickled down his back. He forced himself to appear calm.

Normally, Addy would be firing her guns by now. She too hesitated, showing uncharacteristic circumspection. Perhaps she was thinking the same thing.

The skinheads stared at Marco. The brute with swastikas spat. "You're Marco Emery. I recognize you."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Marco said.

The thugs laughed. A cruel sound.

"Listen to him talk like a fucking pansy," said the man with three teeth.

One skinhead hefted his baseball bat. "Corvin Legrave freed us from prison. We owe him a favor." He swung his bat in a wide arc. "He asked for just one thing. For you to squeal."

Dammit. Marco had faced enemies in battle many times, but that had been with an army. There were six men here, and only Marco and Addy to fight them. All six looked like hard, scarred, experienced brawlers. All six were massive. Marco stood only five-foot-eight, and Addy was no taller. They seemed as small as children by these giants.

And my own children are here.

That was why Marco's heart pounded. Why sweat trickled down his back.

The twins were here. Roza and Sam. Only eight years old. They were pale, standing very still between their parents.

This must not get violent, Marco thought. Not with them here.

"Ah, I get it," Marco said to the convicts. "Corvin gives the orders, and you obey."

One of the brutes raised a rusty pipe. "Shut up, pipsqueak."

Marco heaved a theatrical sigh. "Look, fellas. We can play this game if you like. I mean, I've faced alien armies before. And armies of cyborgs. And won a few galactic wars. Sure, I could kill every one of you, add a few lines to the resume. And I'm sure my wife will help. You might have heard of her too."

Addy puffed out her chest. "Addy Fucking Linden, at your service. Just the woman who raised Earth in rebellion against the marauders." She winked.

Marco nodded. "That's her. I saw her do it. I'm sure by now you've guessed that we're carrying a lot of weapons. Addy practically has an armory in her backpack. But really, we're guests here in Germany. And we don't want to kill you."

"So why don't you fuckwits just run back to your Daddy Corvin and kiss his ass?" Addy said. "I mean, you do that all day anyway, don't you?"

The brutes glanced at one another. The man with three teeth leaned toward the thug with swastikas.

"Hey, Gunt, are they telling the truth?" old three-teeth said. "About being badass war heroes and all?"

The tattooed giant—Gunt—spat. "Who the fuck cares? Look at them! So small. Pathetic worms. Let's teach them some mann—"

Marco shot him in the leg.

Gunt howled and fell, leg spurting blood.

Not a second later, Addy drew a gun too, aimed, fired. The guy with three teeth collapsed, screaming, a bullet in his knee.

That left four skinheads standing. Better odds, at least.

The four thugs charged, wielding their weapons.

Two men lunged at Addy, one swinging a wrench, the other lashing a knife. Two other convicts rushed Marco—a pale man with a hammer and a bearded man with a gun.

Everything happened at once.

Marco fired his gun.

So did his bearded assailant.

More gunshots sounded—possibly Addy firing nearby.

Pain blazed across Marco's arm. A bullet grazed him!

He fired again and again. He hit the bearded man. The goon fell, and his gun clattered across the sidewalk.

Meanwhile, the pale skinhead reached Marco. The man roared, swinging his hammer.

Marco had been busy dealing with the bearded gunman. Now it was too late. He tried to retreat, had no time. The pale man's hammer slammed into Marco's side, narrowly missing the hip bone.

Marco howled in blind agony.

He raised his gun.

The hammer swung again, hitting his hand. The gun flew from his grip. Marco roared.

The pale man grinned. "Corvin wants you alive. But I can break you real good first."

He raised his hammer, prepared to swing it down, to crush Marco's shoulder.

A gunshot fired.

The hammer fell to the ground.

The pale man screamed, his arm ripped open.

Who shot him? Addy?

Probably. Marco didn't have time to look. He grabbed the fallen hammer and swung. The tool slammed into the man's head, cracking an eye socket.

The pale man squealed, his eye crushed, gushing blood. He turned to flee.

Two more brutes, the ones who had attacked Addy, ran too. Both were bleeding. One man was cupping his crotch and hopping down the road.

"Yeah, you better keep running!" Addy said and flipped them off. She wiped blood off her mouth and laughed. "Chickens! Go run to your mommies, losers!"

Marco frowned. Was Addy the one who shot the pale man, saving Marco's life?

No, he realized. Addy had already holstered her weapon. Her gun was cold.

Marco turned his head.

He saw little Sam, all of eight years old, holding a smoking pistol with both hands. Marco's fallen gun. Sam was shaking as he held it.

"Sam," Marco said, ignoring the pain on his side. "Give me the gun, okay, son?"

Sam was shaking so much Marco was worried the gun would fire again. But the boy handed it over. Marco took the weapon, unloaded it, tucked it into his belt. Then he knelt and hugged the boy. Addy meanwhile was comforting a crying Roza.

"I shot him, Dad," Sam whispered. "I'm sorry."

"You did good, son. It's hard. I know it's hard. You did good."

But none of this was good.

His eight-year-old son shouldn't have seen this. Shouldn't have had to do this.

Terri shouldn't be kept captive.

Scummers, people like Lailani, shouldn't be bleeding the world.

None of this should be happening. But then again, when had the world ever acted as it should?

* * * * *

Marco took his family back to the hotel. They gave up on eating out. They ordered room service.

They were quiet during dinner. The kids didn't ask to play video games. Nobody told jokes. Today was a stark reminder that they were dealing with a madman. That this was not a vacation. It was a battle against evil. A battle to save Terri and maybe save the world.

Marco looked at his son, and his heart broke.

How long will this trauma haunt you, Sam? he thought. How can I make this better?

He felt powerless. Marco wanted to protect his children from war. From the kind of violence he himself had experienced as a child. He did not know how.

He put the twins to bed. Amazingly, they did not ask to sleep in their parents' bed. They had each other. Sam and Roza shared a special bond, perhaps even stronger than their bond with their parents. They gave each other strength. If there was any blessing here, it was that Sam and Roza had each other.

Like I had Addy as a kid, Marco thought. When the world burned, she was there.

His heart broke for Terri, who was captive, maybe being hurt, abused, definitely feeling very alone and scared.

My children are bearing the brunt of this nightmare, Marco thought. He would have suffered a thousand deaths to keep them safe. All he could do was keep going. Keep fighting. Never give up.

He entered the other room in their hotel suite. Addy stood by the window, staring down from the thirtieth floor at the neon streets of Berlin. She spoke softly, her back still to him. The window reflected her face. A blank face. Pale. Floating like a ghost over the city lights.

"It looks a little like Haven from up here," she said. "Do you remember Haven, Marco? Remember how we lived there, shared a little apartment?"

"I remember."

She turned toward him, face still haunted. A single tear hung from her chin. "I made a mistake then, Marco. I told you that I would never date you. Never sleep with you. Never be anything but a friend. I loved you even then. With all my heart. But I held back. And maybe my love could have helped you. I'm sorry."

His throat tightened. For a moment he could not speak.

Finally he just said, "That was a long time ago."

He did not like thinking of Haven. Of that colony in space where they had moved after the war, two shell-shocked veterans. On Haven, they had struggled with homelessness. Despair. Depression. Marco had come close to suicide, and whenever he thought of Haven today, that old despair crept back in. There was always a hint of that bleakness left inside him. When you suffered from trauma, from depression, from suicidal thoughts, you were never really healed. You could get better. You could find joy again. You could find light and love and beauty in the world. But the scars always remained. The feel of it, that coldness, that wretched hopelessness, that demon inside—you never forgot it. You carried the wounds for the rest of your life.

Addy embraced him. "I love you, Marco. So much that I don't even know how to describe it."

"You love me more than hot dogs on a rake?"

She laughed, wiped her tears. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

He kissed her. She held him tightly, kissed him back. And then they were pawing at each other's clothes. Desperate for each other. They fell onto the bed, and they made love—hard, fast, sweaty, digging fingernails into the mattress. Even with the pain. With the fear. The relentless terror of monsters and ghosts. They needed each other, and their sex became a need, a hunt for comfort and relief. There was nothing tender about their lovemaking tonight, and when they were done, when they lay on the damp sheets, Addy wept.

"Addy!" Marco held her. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you, or—"

She clung to him. "No. You never hurt me. You make me feel safe. And I'm scared."

He kissed her cheek. "It's been a rough day. It's been a rough year."

She closed her eyes, her arms around him. "Sometimes I think it's been a rough life."

"There's been a lot of pain," Marco agreed. "We lost our parents as children. We were drafted into war as teenagers. We fought for years, and we lost friends, and our daughter has been kidnapped. It's been a rough life. But I have you in my life. I have my family. You bring me more joy than my life has brought me pain. I would gladly suffer a world of demons for a few angels."

"We'll get our missing angel back," Addy said. "I know this. Deep inside, I know. We're close, and we'll get Terri back. And then we'll heal. We'll all be together again. In our home." Her voice cracked. "And we'll heal."

He held her, stroking her hair, until she fell asleep in his arms.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"Will this work?" Ben-Ari hefted the little device. "This can tell human from scummer?"

She stood in Professor Noah Isaac's famous lab in the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. It was here that Noah, her dear husband, had made some of his greatest discoveries. Including the groundbreaking Isaac Wormhole, which allowed Earth to communicate in real time with her colonies in deep space. It was the most important invention since the azoth drive. FTL communication changed human civilization and made Noah Isaac a household name.

It was a cozy lab. A comforting place. Blackboards filled the room, covered with formulas and diagrams. Hundreds of books covered shelves and rose in towers. Historic artifacts nestled among the books, collecting dust. An authentic telescope used by Galileo, a gift from the president of Italy. A tiktaalik fossil—the first fish to crawl on land and take a breath of air. A letter by Einstein, authentic and sealed behind glass. Dozens of other treasures hid between books and journals and stacks of sticky notes.

Ben-Ari loved this place. A place of knowledge. Of wisdom. A place outside the violence she dealt with every day. Being a soldier, being a president—these were professions of blood. Here was a room of science. A room of hope.

She looked at the device in her hand. It looked like one of those antique barcode readers from the old movies. She hefted it. Good, heavy weight to it. The same weight as a pistol.

"It's a simple revamp of an ordinary DNA tester," Noah said. "It collects a sample of human DNA, then runs a little nanobot through the DNA strands, a tiny molecule that traverses allele by allele, searching for Scolopendra titania markers. It works well enough here in the lab. Though we haven't run full-scale testing yet. That would take a year."

"I don't have a year. Will this work? Yes or no."

"Depends how you define works." He thought for a moment. "At this point, I estimate an accuracy of only about ninety-five percent. In the future, I can develop more accurate tests, but that might take a year of work. For now, ninety-five percent accuracy is what we got."

"For now, that'll have to do." Ben-Ari hefted the detector. "So I just point it and Bob's your uncle?"

"You have to get close," Noah said. "The device can pick up DNA from air a person exhales. For extra accuracy, I recommend collecting sweat, saliva, a strand of hair, any tissue you can. But if you can't, yes, just point and Bob's your uncle."

She pointed it at him. She pressed the button.

For a moment nothing happened. Then a little screen lit up on the device. Letters appeared.

HUMAN

"Well, good to know I married a human," Ben-Ari said.

"Ninety-five percent chance you did, yes." Noah smiled.

After the attacks a few days ago, there were many scummers imprisoned on Earth and inside Ceres, awaiting a flight to exile on New Siberia. Many more scummers were still at large.

Before hunting them, she wanted to run one more test.

Ben-Ari took a convoy of armored cars. They drove out of Jerusalem and into the desert, raising clouds of sand. She approached a prison on a mountain—a box of concrete and barbed wire, surrounded by tanks and troops.

She walked into the prison, saluted the guards, and approached a scummer. During the second wave of attacks, the man had run a van over a group of children. He was considered too dangerous even for Ceres. So they kept him here, chained and constantly guarded.

The brute stood in a cell, chained to the wall. A giant of a man. Covered in hair. Hands, feet, neck, torso—wrapped in chains. The hirsute man grinned at her, showing his fangs.

"I won't talk, bitch!" he rumbled.

As Ben-Ari stood there, he bit off his own tongue, spat it onto the floor, and laughed with blood.

Yep, this one was definitely a scummer. A perfect test subject.

Ben-Ari raised the detector and pushed the button. The device didn't even need a moment.

Ping!

HOMO SAPIENS—SCOLOPENDRA TITANIA HYBRID

That meant "scummer." Ben-Ari would talk to Noah about simplifying the description.

She returned to the lab.

"It works," she told Noah. "I need a million of them."

* * * * *

For long hours, Noah was quiet. At home that evening, he barely touched his dinner. The professor walked in the garden, staring at the flowers. He was deep in thought, that much was clear. Ben-Ari had seen him like this many times. Whenever he was facing a particularly deep problem, a puzzle of astrophysics or mathematics, it was out to the garden, and he stared at the flowers. Sometimes all day. That was how the brilliant mind of Noah Isaac ran its calculations. By staring at the mathematical shapes of flowers, the symmetry of petals, the Fibonacci spirals of florets, the harmony of nature's formulas and constants.

Finally, late that night, the professor came back inside. Carl was sound asleep in his room, surrounded by wooden dinosaurs, Lego astronauts, puzzles with scenes of space, books by Dvora Omer and Galila Ron-Feder, and all those wonderful comforts of childhood. Ben-Ari was sitting on the living room couch, listening to Puccini, reading a novel, and sipping a cup of chamomile tea. Even in these crazy times, she forced herself to relax before bed. To unwind. To eventually sleep. During her younger years, she would push herself past the limit again and again. She had learned some self-care. Noah had his mathematical flowers. She had her books, her opera, and her chamomile.

Or maybe I'm just getting old and tired, she thought with a wry smile. She had just turned forty-two. Maybe she had outgrown all-nighters.

Noah walked halfway across the living room, then paused, stared at the rug for a moment. Finally he looked up at her.

"Yes, we can mass produce them," Noah said. "The hybrids detectors. They're cheap. They're easy to pump out. But … Einav, are we doing the right thing?"

She frowned, put down her novel. "What are you talking about?"

"Maybe we shouldn't do mass testing."

"What?" Ben-Ari rose to her feet. "Noah, why?"

"I worry. About a slippery slope."

"A slippery slope?"

He nodded. "The end of these events are hard to predict, even for the wise. So we mass test the population. To what end? To arrest hybrids?"

She forced a deep breath. It was strained. "That's the idea."

"Einav, we'd be arresting people who've done no harm."

"People who are a threat!" she said. "People the King of Many Claws can control, can turn into weapons!"

"I know. I know! I just … I worry. About our society. About the government forcing tests on the population. Finding those who are genetically impure. Dragging them from their homes. It all seems like a police state."

"Noah!" She grabbed his arm, stared into his eyes. "You're twisting this around. We're not some fascist government, exterminating those we deem impure. We're protecting the population."

"That's what every fascist government in history has said. We're protecting the population. From Jews. From Romani. From scummers."

She slapped him. Hard.

He took a step back, eyes wide.

"Don't you dare," Ben-Ari hissed. "Don't you fucking dare compare what we're doing to Nazism. That's a lazy comparison. And you know it."

He touched his cheek. It was red. "Einav …"

"When the coronavirus pandemic hit Earth last century—we tested!" she said. "We tested everyone! When the bluepox pandemic hit in the early twenty-second century, we tested every human, and we isolated those who were sick! This is no different."

"We isolated the sick," Noah said. "We didn't arrest them."

She took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. "Then we'll isolate the scummers. We'll call it enforced isolation. Does that satisfy you? Does that meet your moral standards?"

"If they're dragged from their homes, guarded with guns, it's semantics. Euphemisms won't hide the truth."

"Then what would you have me do?" she cried. "Do nothing?"

"We can search for a cure," Noah said. "It's harder to create a cure than a detector. Given a few years, we can—"

"We don't have years!" she shouted.

A voice came from behind her. "Mom? Dad? Is everything okay?"

Ben-Ari turned around. Carl had climbed out of bed, stood in the living room in his pajamas.

She hurried toward him. "Everything is all right."

"Are you arguing with Dad?"

"No, sweetie," she said. "We're just debating something. I'll tuck you back into bed."

"Mom, I'm eight. I can tuck myself back into bed."

"You're growing up to become an independent little adult," she said. "But I am a Jewish mother, and I need to tuck my baby boy into bed."

As she was leading him back to his bedroom, Carl looked over his shoulder back at the living room.

"Dad, listen to Mom," he said. "You're really, really smart. She's smarter."

"And you're a smart aleck," Ben-Ari said, nudging him into the bedroom.

That night, she walked again to the carob tree. She walked alone. She felt very alone these days. She had a loving husband. A beautiful and intelligent child. She had an entire planet that she ruled. And she felt so alone.

She stood by the tree, and she gazed between its gnarled branches at the stars. Many of those lights in the sky supported human colonies. There shone the moon, home to thousands. There, that little red speck, was Mars, home to bustling towns. Farther out shone Alpha Centauri, Earth's oldest and largest colony, home to millions. Many more colonies spread out beyond them. She recognized them all.

I rule this planet under my feet, and I rule the lights above, she thought. I lead a galactic empire. Me, Einav, the little girl who once played under this tree and swung from its branches. I lead an interstellar species. And I feel alone, and afraid, and in over my head.

Maybe she just missed her friends.

She was used to doing this with Marco, Addy, Lailani, Kemi, all the others.

You mentored me, Sergeant Singh, and you died in the tunnels of Corpus. You were my right-hand woman, Kemi, and you fell fighting the marauders. You were my best friend, Lailani, and you placed your claws around my throat, and now you fly in a darkness that I cannot reach.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Enough navel-gazing. Why was she doing this? She was strong. Confident. Intelligent. Maybe even wise. She could handle this. She could lead this world to safety.

But it felt harder this time. Because the enemy wasn't just out there among the stars. Wasn't just an alien invader, drooling and snarling and vowing to wipe out humanity. It was here among the people. Inside them. It was inside the minds of boys and girls, begging her for a pardon. It was inside Lailani, a woman she loved. And it was in the riots. The fear. In people suspecting their neighbors, their own brothers. Not knowing who would strike next. It was tearing this civilization apart from within.

We've proved ourselves strong enough to defeat any external enemy, she thought. So they burrow at us from the inside.

And it was in her marriage. Her own home. It was pulling her apart from Noah. From her own feelings of bliss and comfort until her home felt like a prison.

But she had made up her mind. She would mass produce these scummer detectors. She would test the world and the worlds beyond. There were billions of people in this galactic empire. She would scan them all.

I will find your agents, King of Many Claws, she thought, staring at a distant star, at a world called Abaddon. The scummers are the claws that grip us from the inside. And I will rip them out one by one.

When she returned home, Noah was asleep in his study. She looked at him for a moment from the doorway, then went to the bedroom and slept alone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

"We know Corvin is here in Germany," Marco said. "We know he lives beside a Hygieia-Apotheke pharmacy. We know he bought Ozeanschönheit nail polish. Velvet cake color. And I'm willing to bet he bought those donuts at the same place."

They sat in the hotel room, reviewing their notes. Addy still wore her pajamas. She sat cross-legged on the bed, eating breakfast sausages. The twins sat in front of the TV, watching Schnappi, a cartoon about an adorable crocodile. They didn't seem to mind that Schnappi only spoke German.

It had been a rough night. Marco had barely slept. For hours, he had lain in bed, wondering where Terri was, what she was feeling, whether she was very scared. Finally Marco had fallen asleep with Addy in his arms, but even then nightmares had haunted him.

He hoped the nightmare ended soon. Maybe even today.

They were getting close. He could feel it.

I'm almost there, Corvin. I'm right on your tail, you son of a bitch.

"So what do we do now?" Addy said. "There are two thousand Hygieia-Apotheke pharmacies in Germany. How do we find the one Corvin shopped at?"

"Hygieia-Apotheke must have a central database, collecting all transactions across all its stores," Marco said. "We'll need access to that database. Then we can run a query. We can look for all sales that included both velvet red nail polish and maple-flavored donuts. That way we can pinpoint the exact store."

"What if Corvin bought the donuts elsewhere?" Addy said.

"Then we'll look for donut shops near pharmacies, and that can help narrow things down. But I'm hoping we get lucky and Corvin simply hopped across the street, visiting one store for both his nail polish and donut needs."

"So how do we access this delicious donut database?" Addy said, licking her lips.

"We need to visit Hygieia-Apotheke headquarters."

Addy's eyes brightened. She leaped up. "Inspector Helga von Schneider returns! Where's my dirndl?"

"Your what?" Marco said.

"My dirndl!" She cleared her throat. "The dictionary defines dirndl as the traditional German dress, consisting of a close-fitting bodice featuring a low neckline, a blouse worn under the bodice, a wide high-waisted skirt and an apron."

"Addy, no more stereotypical characters."

"Can I be Admiral Edith von Kaiser? I'll need a monocle and saber."

"No!"

"How about international supermodel sensation Heidi Huber?"

"Addy, you're going to get us deported."

She placed her hands on her hips. "Oh, so the others are realistic, but you don't think I could pass for a supermodel."

"Nobody said the other characters were realistic! The only realistic character for you would be a mental patient."

Her eyes widened. "So I can go as a mental patient? I'll need a straitjacket! Kids, get me a sheet and some belts!"

"No!" Marco said. "Kids, belay that order. Addy, this isn't a Halloween party. Just go as yourself."

"I'll still need a sheet and belts."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "We're going to infiltrate a German pharmaceutical company. You never know when you'd need to roll somebody in a sheet and tie them with belts."

"We're not going to infiltrate anything. We're just going to ask politely. Like Canadians. And no, you can't go as a Mountie."

They took the light-rail. It brought them to a skyscraper in the city center—the headquarters of Hygieia-Apotheke. They took the elevator to the top floor. From up here, they could see the city for miles around, a blend of medieval architecture and Neo-Revivalist skyscrapers of glass and graphene, built after the Alien Wars. And somewhere out there, in this city or one beyond the horizon, Terri was waiting. Corvin was waiting.

The receptionist was a robot, only vaguely humanoid.

"Welcome to Hygieia-Apotheke headquarters," the robot intoned. "We bring you the health of tomorrow—today!"

Health alongside lottery tickets, batteries, nail polish, and donuts, Marco thought but said nothing.

Addy approached the robot. She launched right into her robot impersonation, complete with robotic arm movements and a mechanical voice. "Hello, fellow cybertronic being. I am A.D.D.Y. model 2—"

"Addy! Enough!"

She wilted forward, arms at right angles, mimicking a switched-off robot.

The robot picked up a phone, spoke to somebody in German, then swiveled toward Marco and Addy.

"Vice President Weber would like to speak to you."

The robot led them out of the lobby, down a hall, and into a corner office. Vice President Weber was a tall, white-haired man with pink cheeks and a huge smile. He raced around his desk toward them, positively giddy.

"When I heard it was you, I had to meet you myself!" Weber said, his accent thick. "I'm a big fan of your books!"

Marco smiled politely, resisting the urge to pump out his chest. "Thank you, sir. It's always nice to meet a fan." He held out his hand.

Weber shook it, but he frowned and tilted his head. "And you are, sir?"

"Marco Emery. I know, I know, I'm a bit shorter than most people expect. And I grew a beard since the early author photos. But I assure you, I'm the guy. Would you like me to sign any books?"

"I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding, Mr. Emery," Weber said. "I'm a huge fan of your wife." He turned toward Addy, beaming. "Miss Addy Linden herself, here in my office! Miss Linden, I have both your books. Freaks of the Galaxy IV and V!"

He gestured at his table. Two glossy coffee table books stood there. One's cover featured a woman with eight tentacles instead of arms. The other cover showed a legless dog riding a skateboard, winking at the camera. Star-shaped stickers on both covers promised EXTRA FREAKS!

"I can't believe I'm seeing this," Marco said.

Addy gasped. "Somebody bought my books! Somebody actually bought my books! Poet, Poet, I'm a famous author! Famouser than you!"

"It's not a contest, you know."

"I know, and I beat you!" She turned toward Weber. "Should I sign your books, sir?"

She signed both. She sealed each signature with a kiss, imprinting her lipstick on the page. She almost never wore lipstick, but she had left Ozeanschönheit headquarters with a garbage bag full of free samples. At least she was putting the lipstick to good use.

Marco spoke to Weber then, explaining the situation. About his missing daughter. About Corvin. The hunt to find them. And why they needed the pharmacy database.

Weber listened sympathetically, hugged both Marco and Addy, and spoke in a kind, gentle voice. "Of course I'll help you. If there's any hope for good to triumph in this world, it's through the help good people offer one another. Evil has many collaborators. But the bonds of honor are ten times stronger than the bonds of fear."

He pulled up a holographic console. A massive, three-dimensional database filled the office. Rows after rows of data raced everywhere like luminous ants. They zipped all around Marco, above, below, even along the floor and ceiling. The text moved so quickly Marco could only catch glimpses. He couldn't read the German, but emojis accompanied many of the words. He saw little cartoon lollipops, Band-Aids, needles, scratch cards, and more. Marco assumed that each icon categorized a specific item.

"Here we go!" said Weber. "The Hygieia-Apotheke database. This displays our sales from our 2,751 locations across Europe."

Addy was running around the room, chasing little icons. She reached a holographic lollipop and bit down hard.

"Addy, what are you doing?"

"Playing real-life Pac-Man!" She began chasing another icon, teeth snapping. "It's fun! I'm already Pac-Man, so you can be Ms. Pac-Man. It suits you. You're already wearing nail polish."

Marco decided to ignore her. "Mr. Weber, we're looking for a store where a customer bought two items. Nail polish, made by Ozeanschönheit cosmetics, in velvet cake color. And maple-flavored donuts. The kind that come prepackaged in a cardboard box. The date is between April 20 to 22. Actually, let's expand that search. Start a week earlier. In case Corvin shopped early."

Weber pulled up a holographic control panel and began to type. Across the room, thousands of lines of sales raced everywhere, glowing across the walls, the table, the chairs. Addy was still chasing the holograms, trying to bite little lollipops. The twins were playing too, hopping up and down, trying to catch holographic candies.

"All right, let's first input that date." Weber adjusted two floating clocks. "Let's just look at April 1 to 22. Cast a wide net. And … ah, here we go."

Some of the lines of code vanished, leaving only sales in April. Addy bit down hard on nothing. Her teeth snapped together as a holographic lollipop faded.

"Dammit, I almost had that one!" she said.

Weber typed on a floating keyboard. "And now let's pull up all the sales of Ozeanschönheit nail polish, red velvet color. And … here we are."

Most of the holographic receipts vanished. The only bits of data filling the room now had nail polish logos.

"Can you add the donuts?" Marco said. "Remember, it has to be one customer buying both items. Same receipt."

Weber nodded. "Let's add those donuts. Maple flavor. Appropriate for Canadians."

Most of the holographic receipts vanished.

Only three now floated in the air.

"There you go," Weber said. "This month, there have been three cases of a customer buying velvet red nail polish and maple donuts at the same time."

With the data no longer racing back and forth, Marco was able to take a closer look. Each translucent receipt showed the time and location of sale.

One sale happened here in Berlin.

The second sale happened in Marl, another Germany city.

The third sale occurred in Switzerland.

"How do we know which store Corvin shopped at?" Addy said.

"Easy," Marco said. "We find out which one is near a house with beige rooms."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Lailani did not need a map. Did not need to look at the surface below, the endless desert of gorges and jagged peaks. She knew where she was going. She felt it. Felt him. She heard his call in her very bones.

She flew the Black Rose Viperess through the blinding white sky of Abaddon, streaming over canyons and mountains, following his call.

Come to me. I await. I am here. Come.

"I'm coming," she whispered.

She closed her eyes. She flew blindly, hands just nudging the yoke. She did not need to see. She knew where to go. Every movement, every yaw and pitch, every breath—it was part of the hive. They were all with her. They were all there, just below the surface. They heard the rumbling of the starship. The vibrations in the earth. They were one. And she was of the hive.

She felt his presence looming. A dark sun under the surface. Pulsing. Calling her so powerfully until the desert faded. The mountains seemed small, the canyons like mere cracks. There was only him. A black pulsar. Calling. Calling. Taking over the world. Sending signals across the light-years. Calling his children even on distant Earth. This planet was but an egg. He was Abaddon. He was the true soul of this place. He was the world. He was the universe. All else—the sky, the stone, the bowels of the earth, the stars above and the souls who flew between them—all existed merely to serve his purpose.

Kai and Tala could not see. But if they could, if human eyes could perceive this presence, if their optic nerves would signal their brains to translate a vision, they would behold a huge dark sphere. Half buried in the planet, half rising into space, like a Venn diagram the size of a small star. The sphere constantly vibrated, pulsing, more powerful than any magnetic field, a great terror that cast out dark energy. Lailani could see it. In every fiber of her body, she experienced it. Its dark webs caught her. She was no larger than an atom, drawn to its relentless pull. She flew toward its thrumming center.

And there he lay. Directly below her. She flew the starship down and landed on a rocky patch of desert.

She turned off the engine.

After weeks of flight, they were here. After hearing the humming engines for so long, the silence seemed eerie. Louder than white noise could ever be.

Lailani took a shaky breath, rubbed her temples.

But I can hear him. And he is louder than all the noise in the cosmos.

Kai looked out the front viewport. Then he looked out the side portholes.

"I don't see anything out there," he said. "Just more desert."

"He's here," Lailani said. "Beneath us."

"All right! Let's go kill the fucker." Kai slung a katana across his back. "I'm up for a good fight." He added a few assault rifles to the katana. "Being cooped up in this little starship with you has made me murderous." He hooked a few grenades and handguns to his belt, slung a bandoleer across his chest, and grabbed a plasma gun the size of a small child. "How do I look?"

Lailani looked out a porthole. Hot wind blew, scattering pebbles across the desert. The sun blazed above, blinding. A jagged mesa soared in the distance, shaped like a crude centipede larger than a skyscraper. Burrows perforated its surface like holes in a termite mound. The structure was craggy, irregular, slightly tilted. A casual observer would mistake it for a natural geological formation. But it was a hive. An entrance to the vast sprawling tunnels beneath.

Those tunnels coiled underground, countless miles of them, delving deep, reaching far. They had more space than the surface of Earth. More than a hundred Earths. They were a labyrinth of dreams. They were hell.

She had been here before.

"Last time I came here with an army," Lailani said softly. "Now I come alone."

"Not alone." Kai squeezed her hand.

"We're with you," Tala said.

"And we're an army," Kai said. "I have enough weapons for an army, at least."

"No." Lailani turned from the porthole to face them. "You're staying here. On the ship."

"What?" Kai said. "Like hell!"

"Like hell!" Tala said.

"We didn't fly hundreds of light-years to stay on the ship!" Kai said. "We came here to help you."

Lailani held his hands. His warm grip and kind eyes held the terror at bay, pulled her back into the present. Into her humanity.

"Kai, you're tougher than an army, and you're a good man, and I love you."

Kai blinked. "You love me?"

Lailani nodded. "I do. Which is why you must stay on the ship. Down there in the tunnels … back in the war, the scum killed millions of us. I know you're a one-man army. The scum devour armies. I'm part of the hive now. I hear, smell, sense, think with them. They will let you live on the surface. They know you're my mate. But down below is the holy of holies. Only one of the hive can travel there. Only me."

He tightened his grip on her hands. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened. "I can't let you go alone."

She pulled a hand free, caressed his cheek. A human hand. No claws. She was all human now. Here with him.

"I need you to protect Tala. I can't take her into the tunnels. Not yet. Not while the king lives. Stay here, Kai. I need an army to look after her." She smiled shakily. "Will you still be my babysitter?"

Kai took a deep breath. She could see the conflict raging behind his eyes. But finally he nodded. He gave her a salute.

"Babysitter Kai Linden, reporting for duty."

Lailani smiled. "Best damn babysitter in the galaxy."

She pulled on her spacesuit. The skintight fabric was reinforced with graphene, a material lighter than silk and stronger than diamonds. She pulled the visor down, enclosing her face behind a plate of steelglass. Both her armor and visor were strong enough to withstand grenades. She wondered if they could withstand the claws of a scum king.

She chose weapons next. A plasma rifle. The same weapon she had used in the Scum War to slay the centipede emperor. This time it might not be enough. She added two handguns, one on each hip. She slung a bandoleer of grenades across her chest. An atomic dagger in each boot, the blades powerful enough to slice diamonds. That would have to do. Not as many weapons as Kai carried. But then again, he was twice her size, his back broad enough for an assortment of rifles and blades. The man was a walking weapons rack.

Lailani knelt and hugged Tala. "I'll be back soon, sweetie. I love you."

"I love you soooo much, Mom." Tala hugged her tight. "Go kick that scum's butt."

Lailani laughed, brushed back an errant lock of Tala's hair, then walked toward the hatch. She was about to step outside when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Wait," Kai said. "Take this."

He handed her his katana. Lailani took the sword.

"Your favorite weapon," she said.

"It's an authentic samurai katana, centuries old," Kai said. "The hilt is made from ray skin and wrapped with Japanese silk. The blade is folded steel, forged by a master smith. It's maintained its edge for generations. I've killed a lot of bad buggers with this sword. Marco did too; I let him borrow it once. You should have it."

"Forever?" Lailani said.

"Not bloody forever!" Kai said. "You better bring my sword back! In one piece!"

She hung the sword across her back. "Thanks, Kai. May we add another notch to this sword today."

"Don't you even add a notch! I want her back in pristine condition."

"Her?" Lailani said.

"Her name is Thorani."

"I'll take good care of Thorani-chan. I guess I'm not going alone after all."

She entered the airlock, leaving Kai and Tala in the hold. For a moment she stood, silent, missing them already.

Then Lailani opened the outer hatch. The hot air blew across her, searing and dry, swirling devils of sand. She felt that horrible heat even through her spacesuit. Her visor dimmed automatically to its lowest setting, blocking the radiation, but Lailani still squinted in the punishing light.

I'm spoiled, she thought. Twenty years ago, I came here wearing dusty fatigues, ill-fitting boots, and a clunky helmet with no visor. Now I have a sophisticated spacesuit and an authentic samurai katana. The comforts of age!

She stepped out of the starship. The wind gusted, rattling the grenades across her bandoleer. And after twenty years, her boots walked again on the dry surface of Abaddon, homeworld of the scum. Homeworld of her dreams and nightmares. The world that had haunted her. That forever called her.

She was an Earthling, and Earth flowed through her veins and lit her life. But she was also of this place. She was a starling. A human kissed by starlight. And a part of her had always known that this dry, punishing land was also her home. Her mother had been born on Earth. Raped on Earth. Forced to bear a hybrid child on Earth. Lailani had never known her father. Never known the creature of claws and fangs that had implanted her into a human woman. But if Earth was her motherland, as Lailani walked across the desert, she knew that here was her fatherland.

"Father," she whispered into the wind. "I'm home."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Marco and Addy returned to the hotel room with three leads.

Three pharmacies.

Three places where somebody bought nail polish and donuts.

As soon as the family entered the hotel room, the twins ran to the TV to watch another Schnappi episode. Addy pulled her pajamas back on, even though it was the middle of the day. She approached the microwave, where she began warming sausages for lunch.

"How haven't you had a heart attack yet?" Marco said.

Addy shrugged. "I don't have a heart."

"That certainly explains some things."

Marco passed on lunch. His doctor would thank him, and his stomach was a knot anyway. Instead, he booted up his minicom, and he pulled up a holographic, three-dimensional map.

Berlin filled the hotel room in full color, larger than the king-sized bed. This was a real-time map. An actual satellite stream from space. Watching the hologram, Marco could see little cars racing back and forth. A train moved down the tracks. People cheered in a football arena. Everything in the holographic map was happening right now, captured by satellite, displayed in vivid high definition here in the hotel room.

It was so amazing the kids even looked up from Schnappi. During the commercial break, at least. Addy didn't seem to notice the map. She was busy feasting on sausages.

Marco pulled up a virtual keyboard. It floated before his fingers. He typed in the address of the first pharmacy. The one here in Berlin. The holographic map zoomed in theatrically. Streets raced by around him. Skyscrapers moved across the hotel walls. Marco felt like some bird diving through the sky at ludicrous speed.

Finally the hologram reached its destination. A Hygieia-Apotheke branch in Berlin. Just a few miles away from the hotel, in fact. The holographic pharmacy hovered before Marco, as large as an oven. The surrounding buildings rose across the rest of the hotel room. The street ran across the carpet. Miniature cars and people were moving back and forth, no larger than toys. They were actually outside right now, just a few miles away, unaware that Marco was streaming them in his hotel room.

This app is a godsend for stalkers like Corvin, Marco thought. He felt guilty just watching the little holographic people. Real people. Not even thinking about the satellites above, recording them for all to see.

He examined the buildings around the Hygieia-Apotheke. In the video Corvin had sent, the pharmacy reflected in Terri's eyes. She was across the street, looking through the window at the pharmacy.

Marco swiveled the map around, placing the pharmacy behind him, and looked across the holographic street.

He saw a gas station. A McBurger. An "electronic companion" store, selling secondhand sexbots. A kebab joint. A bus stop. That was about it.

None of those places looked like a hideout Corvin would use. To be sure, Marco zoomed in closer, peering into the holographic windows. All those places had white walls, aside from the sexbot store, which boasted red walls. No walls that matched the beige walls in Corvin's video.

"Wrong pharmacy," Marco said.

"Can we go there anyway?" Addy said, wiping mustard off her lips.

He frowned. "Why?"

"I want kebabs."

"You just ate about a hundred hot dogs," Marco said.

"That's why I want kebabs now!" Addy said. "Ever heard of variety?"

"Ever heard of salad?"

Addy shuddered. "Don't use bad words around the kids."

Well, one pharmacy was down. But there were still two more locations to check. Marco typed in the next address. This Hygieia-Apotheke was in Switzerland. The holographic map zoomed out. Berlin shrank and shrank, finally becoming a pinpoint on the carpet. The map curled inward, forming the sphere of Earth. It felt like riding in a rocket to space. Then the map began to zoom in again, diving toward Bern, Switzerland.

"Poet, what are the Swiss known for?" Addy asked.

"Knives and chocolate."

Addy gasped, eyes wide. "My two favorite things! Let's go there!"

"Hang on, Ads. Let's take a look at the hologram first."

The hologram glided over Bern, Switzerland. It was a medieval city, its historic buildings still largely preserved, even after the Alien Wars. Quaint houses with tiled roofs lined canals. Boats sailed back and forth on the calm water, moving under arched bridges. It reminded Marco of Venice. He too was starting to wish he could visit.

Then the map glided over the Old City, moving toward a more industrial area. The hologram zoomed in. Marco found himself facing another Hygieia-Apotheke location. He spun the map around, searching for buildings with beige rooms. He saw an auto-service lot, a gym, and a kindergarten. There was an apartment building behind the car lot. Could that be the place? But the hologram's resolution was too low. Marco could not see through the building windows.

"I'm not sure, Ads," Marco said. "This might be it. Let me check the third location first, and—" He frowned. "Addy! What are you wearing?"

She had rummaged through her suitcase, assembling an outfit involving a red skirt, puffy white sleeves, and a handkerchief over her braided hair.

"I'm Heidi! Of the Swiss Alps! I even have an alphorn." She grabbed a paper towel roll, put one end on Marco's ear, and sang into it. "Riiiicola!"

"Ow, you almost tore my eardrum." He shoved her cardboard horn away. "Start taking this more seriously."

"So I assume you don't want to hear me yodeling."

"Definitely not."

Marco loaded the third and final Hygieia-Apotheke, the one in Marl, a German city near the Dutch border. This pharmacy seemed to be in a poorer area. There was rude graffiti on the walls, including a swastika. Marco zoomed out a tad, exploring the street. Alongside the pharmacy, he saw a pet shop, a shawarma eatery, and a post office. Behind them rose the steeple of a mosque, train tracks behind a barbed wire fence, and the local chapter of Germany First, a rising political power. Even today, after the Alien Wars, there were still racial tensions in Germany, humans against humans.

Marco moved his hands like a conductor, swiveling the hologram around, so that he faced the opposite side of the street. There he saw a row of squat houses with weedy little yards. They were built in the utilitarian Neo-Brutalist style, their walls raw concrete without a speck of paint. Neo-Brutalism was a popular architecture style these days, celebrated for its efficiency, low cost, and robustness. But the gray boxy houses reminded Marco of prisons.

"Is this the place?" Addy leaned forward. "I can't see through the windows. Any beige walls in those houses?"

Marco leaned forward too. The sun was reflecting against the house windows. He could not see inside.

"I can't tell if the walls are beige. It's either this place or the apartment in Switzerland. Hard to tell."

Movement caught his eye. The holographic train track stretched across the hotel room—running under the bed, over the coffee table, and finally behind Marco's back, where it passed by the mosque. A little holographic train, no larger than a toy, was moving along the tracks. The train was part of the live satellite feed, translated in the hotel room in 3D hologram.

Marco turned off the app. His minicom, lying on the floor, sucked up the holographic city like a black hole. Marco lifted the small computer and loaded the video of Terri again.

He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the shower and sink. He didn't want the kids to hear.

He played the video at full volume, shuddering at Corvin's deranged, high-pitched laugh.

And then he heard it.

Corvin's cackling almost overpowered the sound. But it was there. A rumbling in the video's background.

A train.

"Gotcha," Marco said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The graves were still fresh. Earth still mourned the second wave of scummer attacks. Buildings still smoldered. Blood still stained the world. As Earth reeled, millions of soldiers and policemen marched street by street, home by home. Carrying guns. Carrying shields. Carrying Noah Isaac's detectors.

Ben-Ari stood aboard Skysphere, her space station, orbiting just above the sky. From up here, with the naked eye, she could see little more than clouds, blue oceans, and sprawling continents. But Skysphere revealed to her the secrets of Earth. Here she was a goddess, tallying the fall of every sparrow.

A thousand holographic screens surrounded her, forming a sphere of light. It was like standing inside one of those Dungeons and Dragons dice Marco had, but instead of twenty facets, it had a thousand, each one glowing with another video from Earth. A stream from the streets of Jerusalem. Another from New York. From Paris. Shanghai. Tokyo. Cape Town. From hundreds of cities across Earth. Other screens streamed videos from the colonies in space.

From here aboard her space station observatory, Ben-Ari had a thousand eyes, and she gazed upon her empire.

What she saw shook her soul.

In some cities, people lined up voluntarily at testing centers. They entered one by one. Obeyed the law. Stood before the detectors. Got tested.

Most people came out negative. They were not scummers. They smiled, nodded. "Of course I'm a human." They walked home.

But some people tested positive.

"It's not true!" a man cried. "I'm a human. A human! The test is wrong! Test me again!"

But the police grabbed him. Tased him. Dragged him off.

"Why would I volunteer for testing if I'm a scummer?" a woman shouted. "I'm a human. A human! Stop!"

The police grabbed her, pulled her away.

Not all scummers have been activated, Ben-Ari knew, watching the scene. Some don't know that they're scummers. Lailani didn't know for years.

Yet as she watched the police handcuff people and drag them off, she wondered. How many of these tests were yielding false positives? Noah had estimated five percent, but he wasn't sure. Was Ben-Ari imprisoning innocent people? And conversely, were they missing some scummers? And … here was a disturbing thought: Could she herself be a scummer, unknowingly carrying the gene, like Lailani had carried it for years before it manifested?

Ben-Ari didn't know. Maybe the tests weren't perfect. But this was the best they could do.

She turned to watch a few other screens.

Not everyone showed up voluntarily for testing. Many people stayed home. Libertarians. Anarchists. The disabled. The indigent. A few people who were simply stubborn.

So the police came to them. They knocked on doors. They broke down doors.

"Mandatory scummer test, ma'am. Just breathe into this device."

"Sir, tests are required by law."

"Sir, stand back! Stand back!"

Ben-Ari watched, wincing, as a bearded old man grew fangs, leaped onto policemen, and ripped out throats. She watched, helpless, as three policemen fell. As the others fired their guns. As children fled from their rooms, screaming, trying to wake up their dead grandfather.

She watched a thousand cities. Soldiers and policemen fighting door to door. House to house. Dying. Finding more and more of the enemy's agents. Dying again and again. There was no front line. The battle was everywhere.

She wished she could be there with them. Fighting at their side. But she was president now. She watched from on high. Every death chipped another piece off her heart.

That is a leader's job, she thought. We sacrifice the few to save the many. We kill to protect. We deal in blood. That is what Noah will never understand. He knows the secrets of the stars and the cosmos in a drop of water. But he doesn't know this pain. He doesn't know the terrible weight of it. That is his luxury. He doesn't need to deal with blood. He doesn't need to kill.

She watched, eyes dry, as the police filled buses with chained scummers. As they loaded thousands into starships. As a few scummers broke free, shattered their chains, slaughtered anyone nearby before the bullets tore them down.

Ben-Ari stepped across the deck, passed through the sphere of holographic screens, and emerged from her bubble of omniscience. She walked through her space station toward an observation deck. She approached a steelglass window the size of a barn wall, affording a majestic view of Earth and the stars.

Shuttles were rising from Earth. Boxy, armored shuttles. Thousands of them.

They were carrying scummers.

As Ben-Ari watched from her space station, one shuttle slammed into another—perhaps a scummer commandeering the vessel. The explosion ripped through space. A piece of shrapnel hurled through the darkness toward Skysphere. The chunk of metal slammed into the steelglass window. Ben-Ari winced, but the window held.

She watched the shuttles rise. More and more of them. The boxy shuttles flew into the hangars of waiting freighters. Once these lumbering starships had ferried supplies to and from the colonies. Today they would transport scummers to exile on New Siberia, a frozen planet far from Earth. There the scummers would remain. Not free even there but kept behind walls and barbed wire. Prisoners for the rest of their lives. Their sin? Being born to kill. Being born a weapon. Being born an enemy of Earth.

She called it Operation Lamb's Blood. A reference to an old tale. To an angel of death traveling over Egypt, home to home. Passing over the homes of the slaves. Bringing devastation to the homes of the masters. Yet now, watching the operation unfold, Ben-Ari thought she had given it a wrong name. The name of a plague, while this was meant to be an operation to scour. To clean. Not to strike terror. As the starships rose into the sky, carting off prisoners, she envisioned ancient chariots on a night long ago, racing into the dark.

She did not know how many scummers still hid on Earth, how many more operations she would need to order. She did not know when more sleeper agents would awake, would strike again.

"I did what I had to do," she said to no one. "I could not wait for you, Lailani. Not as Earth bled. So I hunted your people. Your fellow starlings. I hunted them mercilessly. And I hope that someday you can forgive me."

* * * * *

She flew back to Earth and landed on the hills of Jerusalem. She opened the hatch of her shuttle, and before she stepped onto the land, Ben-Ari removed her heels. She walked barefoot. She wanted to feel the soil of Earth today. Of her homeworld. Her homeland. Her home.

She walked through the garden among the cyclamens, the chalk stones, and the clay sculptures Noah sometimes sculpted, shaped like animals and desert spirits. She walked by the olive trees where she used to sit in the shade, nursing her son, and by the cypress trees that sheltered her home from the desert winds. She walked along the cobblestones as beetles and lizards scuttled among the fallen needles of the old pine. The turtle doves cooed in the branches of her pomegranate tree. She saw every detail of her garden today, and it was all beautiful and seemed so fragile, so ephemeral, and Ben-Ari realized that the curse of beauty was that it never lasted. That one could only savor it for a while like a mandala before the wind blew the colored sand away.

Finally she entered her little limestone house among the desert flowers.

Noah was standing in the living room. Next to him was a suitcase.

Ben-Ari stood there, looking at him.

For a long moment, he stared out the window, silent. She waited, a tear on her cheek.

Finally, gazing outside at the dunes, Noah spoke. "We're famous, you and I. You are the soldier, the war heroine, the president. I'm the scientist, the thinker, the educator. Around the world, they know our names. And centuries from now, they'll write about us in the history books. I've been thinking about our place in history. And Einav … what you've done here … I can't be part of it." He turned to look at her. "Genetic testing. Dragging people from their homes in the middle of the night. Exiling thousands. It reminds me of dark times in history. Of imprisoning Japanese Americans in camps during World War II. Perhaps it's too late for my reputation. I already took the first steps along this road. The rest you must travel alone."

"So that's what you're worried about," she said, a silent tear falling. "History books. Not about me. Not about this family. About your reputation."

"I tried to understand you," he said. "I was your teacher. Then your lover. Finally your husband. And throughout it all … we were strangers. In times of trouble, you turned to Marco. I turned to my work. We lived together. We laughed together. We had a child together. But there was always a wall between us."

She shook her head in silent wonder. "You never get mad." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You analyze. Even now, you're not yelling. Not breaking things. You're not fighting. You're calculating. Like I'm one of your science projects." She closed her eyes in pain. "What about Carl?"

"He'll come with me, Einav. I already rented an apartment in the city. There's a bedroom for him."

Her eyes snapped open. She took a step toward him, lip peeling back in a snarl. "Don't you dare. Don't you take my son from me."

"I'm not taking him full time," Noah said. "He can spend weekends with you."

"I'll fight you!" she said, voice louder now. "At court if I must. You won't take my boy!"

"Do you really want to go to court, Einav? Now, during a war? For what? Why? You're a war president. You spend half your time in space, fighting monsters. Who do you think the courts will grant custody to?"

She trembled. Her tears flowed. She closed her eyes again.

"Get out," she whispered.

"Einav." She heard him walk closer. Felt his fingers touch her hair. "We can resolve this amicably. We can—"

"Get out!" she hissed. "Get out before I scream. Go. Take Carl. Go. Take my son. Take my heart. Take my life. Take everything we've built. Go. Go! Get out of my house!"

She fled into her bedroom. She closed the door. She could not bear for Carl to see her this way. She waited behind the door, trembling. She heard Carl calling for her, begging to see her. The boy ran into the room, weeping, and she hugged him so tightly, and she shed tears, kissed him, vowed to see him in just a few days.

"I don't want to go," Carl sobbed. "I want to be with you, Mom. Please."

But what they wanted no longer mattered.

And he went.

He left.

Both of them did.

Noah and Carl—they left her.

And when their car was driving down the road, Ben-Ari stood in the front doorway, watching them leave. Then she fell to her knees, lowered her head, and wept.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

She walked across the alien desert, leaving her starship in the sand. The horizons shimmered with heat. The cruel sun beat down, baking her armor. Lailani barely noticed the heat, the light. The presence below overwhelmed her. That black, pulsing vibration. That hive intelligence, blooming from underground like a magnetic field. There was so much here hidden from human eyes. But there were more senses in the universe than those humans possessed. To a starling like Lailani, there were two worlds here. A world of stone and a world of cruel consciousness.

Finally she was far enough from the starship. To keep her daughter safe, she had deliberately landed a mile away. She stood on a patch of dry soil strewn with stones. Here it was. The epicenter. He was directly beneath her.

Lailani stood still, eyes closed. For a moment she just breathed, letting it flow over her.

Then she knelt, and her fingers grew claws.

She parted the soil. She dug through the hard earth. When she reached stone, her claws cracked it. She gripped the land with both hands, pulling it apart, opening a wound on the surface of Abaddon. She was like a parasite digging into a host. Heat bathed her, bubbling up from below, and she tore through layer after layer of soil and stone, the skin and flesh of this planet.

Finally she revealed an artery underground. A tunnel. A scum tunnel.

She dived in and vanished in the darkness.

She had never crawled down this tunnel. During the war, she had taken one of the other billion paths. But she knew the way. She had roamed this labyrinth in her dreams.

At first she walked. The tunnel was tall enough. And she was not even five feet tall. She moved quickly, almost jogging, heading deeper underground. No scum rose to stop nor greet her. She saw none of that great alien race. Other animals lived here. Bloated insects that hung on the walls, bellies distended, full of honeydew. Naked little mammals that scurried back and forth like white blood cells, hissing, biting at one another, little cannibals in the dark with vestigial eyes. Serpents coiled in nooks, protecting clutches of eggs.

Prey animals. All of them just prey, meager morsels, and Lailani could imagine the taste of them, the sweet honeydew as the ants popped in her jaws, the juicy little rodents, the stringy serpents. They were not much to eat. A scum was always hungry. A scum was too large. Too ravenous. A scum forever looked at the stars and dreamed of the prey beyond the void. It was hunger that drove them. More than greed or pride or dreams of conquest it was simple hunger. On Earth there were fleshier meals. Humans tasted so sweet.

These were not her thoughts. But they filled her mind nonetheless. She was part of the hive now. And the hive lived in these tunnels, still deeper, still hiding away, but they were here. And they thought. And their thoughts filled her. She was but a single neuron in the sprawling underground brain. The planet was a massive stone skull. They were the consciousness within. Perhaps the scum were never more than organs, and it was Abaddon itself that reached into the darkness to feed, a cosmic predator, a world that devoured worlds.

Come deeper, sister.

Come, feed.

Come, praise.

Come, bow.

Come, he awaits. He is King. Come, sister. Come.

She walked deeper, and the tunnels grew narrower. Now Lailani had to crawl. She burrowed through the darkness. She scuttled. Her claws scratched the rocky surface, adding to the billion scars in the stone, the marks of so many claws.

Lailani? Yes, that had been her name. But now she had no name. Now she had no individuality. Now she crawled like a centipede, and she was one among billions. She had no soul. No self. No name. She was Abaddon. She was a neuron. She was the hint of a thought racing along the tunnels of the world. A single spark of intelligence in the darkness.

She was so hungry.

She passed by a honeydew ant—a bloated little creature the size of a clementine, its belly obscenely distended, full of sweet honey. During the war, Lailani had seen human prisoners turned into living honeydew larders. The scum had hung them from the walls, pumped their bellies with the stuff. Back then, it had disgusted her. How she now desired to find such a feast!

But she had an ant. She plucked it off the wall, hefted it in her hand. Its translucent belly jiggled, swirling the honeydew inside. Lailani pierced the belly with her fangs. The abdomen walls tore as easily as Saran wrap. She guzzled the sweet innards as the ant squirmed and tried to flee. Finally she discarded the little creature with its kicking legs, and it scurried into a tunnel to nurse its wounds. She had sucked it dry.

She kept crawling, honeydew on her lips, feeling stronger now. Again her sides itched. More limbs were begging to sprout. She kept them at bay. There was still a part of her that was human. She would not surrender to this place. Not entirely. She would crawl and feed and think and praise, but she would not forget who she was.

"Lailani," she whispered. "I am Lailani de la Rosa. Of Earth. Mother of Tala. Friend to Einav and Marco. Lover of Kai. I am a starling. I am mostly human. I will not forget my name."

A shriek sounded in the darkness deep below, vibrating through the tunnels. The walls shook. Dust and soil fell from the ceiling. All across the tunnels, they laughed.

She is strange.

She is starling.

She is not like us.

She will be.

And finally, from the deeper, hotter burrows, they emerged. The Scolopendra titania. The scum.

They crawled along the tunnel around Lailani. Enormous aliens. The size of Earth's crocodiles, but quick, almost graceful, pattering above and around Lailani and barely grazing her. She crawled onward, moving among them. She was traveling an underground highway.

The tunnels took her through the hive. She crawled by nurseries—chambers full of writhing, wriggling eggs, the maggots visible inside. She passed through larders—cellars the size of airplane hangars, where living prey hung on walls and stalactites, bellies bloated with rotting nutrients. She saw factories underground—chambers where scum spewed and wove sticky membranes, constructing starships. Slender centipedes, their bodies pale white and their limbs fuzzy, arranged intricate networks of strings and valves. They were weaving fleshy computers, which they implanted into the sticky starship hulls, moving as deftly as surgeons. Lailani rubbed her skull, imagining the chip in her brain.

Humans imagined scum hives as just endless miles of centipedes, but there was more here. There were scum of different types. Diggers who maintained the tunnels. Nurses who fed the maggots. Soldiers who patrolled near the surface, warding off the great digging serpents and terrible reptiles. There was intelligence here. There was madness and genius to the layout of the labyrinth, to the factories that built the starships.

Lailani could see those bloated, organic vessels floating among the stars. She was part of their network too. She heard the rustling trees on alien worlds, tasted the saltwater oceans, smelled the blood of victims. The hunt was still ongoing. They spread from world to world. Finding prey. Devouring enemies. Learning. Weaving the DNA into strands like rope, winding it, coiling it, protecting it, bringing it home. They ate to feed the hunter's craving. They also ate to learn. You are what you eat, and the scum were eating the universe.

Mindless killers? A hive full of bugs? No. There was more than that. There was a civilization. There was an empire. The hive was a great brain, and the podships were its many arms.

It's a miracle the humans ever beat us, Lailani thought.

Us? The humans? Which side was she on? Lailani's head spun. She was a girl and she was legion. She struggled to tell them apart.

Deeper and deeper she crawled, abandoning all memory of the sky and stars. She traveled across vast caverns, larger than football stadiums, where centipede armies drilled with clanging claws. There were thousands of these chambers buried underground, and each contained a force to subdue a world. Lailani did not move by them all, but she felt them like dewdrops on a web.

Past one of these armies, she came upon a door set into the floor like a manhole cover. It was massive—the size of a helicopter-landing pad.

Scum were experts at weaving carbon, and they built little from stone, clay, or metal. Yet here was an elaborate stone door—a true work of art. Its limestone surface was engraved with a map of stars, representing the scum empire. Some of the stars, the hundreds the scum controlled, shone with embedded diamonds. Other stars, which the scum had lost in battle, no longer glittered. The claws had ripped out those diamonds, hurling them aside in rage. Those stars were now mere indentations in the limestone door. They had fallen from the empire, so they no longer shone.

Sol, the sun of Earth, was one such star. A failed conquest. A lost world. Lailani recognized it on the engraved door. No diamond glittered there. The claws had ripped it out twenty years ago, when humanity had won the war. Lailani could still see the scars around Earth's pockmark. The scum had not just removed the diamond. They had clawed it out with a fury, leaving gashes in the stone.

I beat them back then, Lailani thought. I killed the emperor. They want that diamond back. Oh, how they yearn to see their precious door restored!

Seventeen scum surrounded the door on the floor, representing the seventeen signs in Abaddon's zodiac. They were powerful centipedes, these seventeen, elite warriors, each one larger than Earth's greatest pythons. They wore armor forged from iron and flint, and their many claws were gilded. On each scum's helmet shone a constellation of opals. Only the highest of the highest scum may don armor, may consume art. Here were the lords of the hive.

They turned toward Lailani. They hissed. Their mandibles clattered. Their legs scratched the stone around the doorway, a centipede's sound of warning, heralding a charge.

Lailani walked toward them, stopped, and raised her chin.

"Open this doorway, servants of the king. I've come to him."

One of the scum nobles screeched. Another thrust toward Lailani, snapping its mandibles. Vestigial eyes moved under its skin like loose tumors. The guardian reached out tentacles, poked her, sniffed her. Another centipede reared behind her, draped across her shoulder, smelling, tasting.

One of them clicked and hissed rapidly, and his legs pattered against the floor. No human would understand. But this was a language. And Lailani understood.

"You … are … devious!" the scum was saying. "You … are … not … of the hive!"

"No," she said. "But you will part before me nonetheless. I've come to him. I've come for him."

All seventeen guardians reared around the doorway, claws spread wide. Hundreds of claws gleamed, each longer and sharper than Lailani's katana. One claw alone might not shatter her armor. The hundreds of them would slice her apart.

She stood within their circle of fury. A humble starling among the greatest lords of Abaddon. But she would not be cowed.

"Nightwish," she whispered, purposefully turning off her microchip, inviting the alien in.

She raised her hands. Claws sprouted from her fingertips, longer than they had ever grown. Claws like daggers.

"You will stand back!" she cried with a thousand voices woven into a single sound. "Bow before me."

A scum clattered, slicing the air. "We will rip you apart!"

"We are not slaves like the workers and nurses who crawl above," said another.

"We have minds of our own."

"We need not obey."

"Yes, the king wants her whole, but so what? Are we not great lords?"

"Who says we must obey him?"

"Maybe the king has grown weak. To let her crawl so deep!"

"We should kill her."

"She is strong."

"We are stronger!"

Lailani let them bicker among themselves for a while. Finally she cried out, "If your king is weak, and I am strong, then let me through, and I will relieve you of the shame of serving a weakling. If I am weak, and he is strong, then I'm no threat. You might as well let me through."

The lords conferred, touching whiskers and passing pheromones back and forth.

Hopefully they buy into my logic, she thought.

They did.

They stepped back.

The circle of claws dilated.

"If you are strong, kill him," a centipede hissed. "If you are weak—die."

The guardians knelt and pushed the round stone door. It rolled into a hidden chamber, hiding its map of the stars, revealing a shadowy pit.

Lailani jumped into the darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

"There are thirteen concrete houses on the street," Marco said. "All looking at the Hygieia-Apotheke. Corvin is in one of them."

They sat in a little restaurant down the street from their hotel, eating shawarma. Addy had demanded to satisfy her cravings.

"How do we know which house?" Addy bit into her shawarma. Gravy dripped down her chin.

"We can search house by house," Marco said.

Addy shook her head. "No good." She swallowed another bite, then gulped down Coke. "We'd need to storm the right house. If we start with the wrong house, Corvin would see—and make a run for it."

Marco nodded. "Okay. We found the country. The city. And finally the street. Now we need to know the house."

Addy stuffed a bunch of fries into her mouth. "Bring up the map again. Let me take a look."

"Swallow first."

"Too busy to swallow. Map!"

Marco loaded the map again, this time a smaller view. The holographic street rose on the tabletop, displayed in glorious color by live satellite. The train chugged between the salt and pepper shakers. The concrete houses rose on the plates. The twins, who were busy eating, laughed and pointed at moving little cars. A holographic woman walked right into Addy's plate of fries, completely unaware.

We have complete satellite surveillance of Earth, Marco thought. Ben-Ari better keep winning elections. This technology would be a nightmare with the wrong leader.

"Let's look at these house by house," Addy said.

She took a bite of shawarma, wiped her hands, and reached across the table for the hologram. She grabbed the little houses and pulled them, adjusting the map like a tablecloth, zooming in and changing the angles. She zoomed onto the first concrete house until she reached maximum resolution. The house rose on the tabletop, the size of a microwave—the first house on the street. They could zoom in no more.

The holographic pharmacy rose behind Marco, lodged into his seat's backrest. Part of the hologram danced across Marco's chest.

"Marco, lean sideways!" Addy said.

"Why?"

"Shut up and obey me."

Marco dutifully leaned sideways, revealing the holographic pharmacy. Addy pulled her minicom from her pocket, positioned it alongside the holographic house on the tabletop, and snapped a photo of the pharmacy.

"If Terri was looking out this house at the pharmacy, it would look like this." Addy showed the photo to Marco. "She'd be looking at the southern corner of the pharmacy. A nice view of the green trash bin outside."

"That's not what we saw reflected in her eyeball," Marco said. "I remember. Hang on, let me bring it up."

He grabbed his minicom and loaded the video of Terri's captivity. He zoomed onto her bionic eye, capturing the image reflected there. He compared that reflection to the photo on Addy's camera—the view from the first house.

The two images were similar. This was the right street. But when Marco overlaid both images, they didn't match. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't align them. The angles were off.

"Well, Terri wasn't looking out the first house's window," Marco said.

A few other diners looked over from their seats, shrugged, then returned to watching the football game on the ceiling holofeed. The German team was losing to Brazil.

"Let's check the second house," Addy said.

She moved her hands like a conductor, zooming out a bit, then swiping the map one house left. She took another photo, this one mimicking a view out the second house window.

It was a closer match to what Terri saw. But not perfect.

They kept going. Testing house after house.

Finally they got it.

The seventh house on the street.

When you looked at the pharmacy from that angle, it was a perfect match. The exact image reflected in Terri's eyeball.

Addy tapped the hologram. "That's the house. That's where Terri is. Let's go get her."

Marco put money on the table, paying for the meal, and rose to his feet. "First let's go home. To Canada. We're going to need our weapons."

* * * * *

Thanks to the Flying Hot Dog, they were back in Canada within an hour.

Hang in there just a little longer, Terri, Marco thought. I'll be there soon. Tonight you'll sleep at home.

They returned to the farmhouse, a somber homecoming. They all sat at the kitchen table, analyzing the data, coming up with plans. But Marco already knew what he had to do.

"I'm going in alone," Marco said. "And that's final. No police. No snipers on the rooftops. Not even you, Addy. Just me."

They were all staring at the holographic map of Marl, Germany. A fresh pot of coffee was brewing. The ashtray was full of cigarette butts. Addy sat at the table, her tousled hair in a loose braid. Bags hung under her eyes, and a cigarette dangled from her lips. Looking at her, Marco realized that Addy had been as stressed as him. She joked around. She wore silly costumes. She provided comic relief during these horrible times. But deep down, she was terrified. He saw it in her eyes.

Detective Paterson was here with them, his sleeves rolled up. He took a sip of coffee, folded a napkin, and wiped his mustache. Other policemen were here too, both Canadian and German. Commander Schultz from the German SWAT team struck a particularly imposing figure. He was a large, powerful man, wearing a black uniform and carrying enough weapons to take down a scum army.

"I don't recommend going alone, Colonel Emery," Schultz said to Marco. "My team are experts at hostage situations. We will lock down the street. Place our snipers on rooftops. We will break into the house and rescue your daughter."

"No good." Marco shook his head. "Corvin would hear you breaking down the door. Even a few seconds is enough. Enough time for him …" He gulped. "To kill Terri. I must go in by myself. He'll let me in. I must face him alone."

Addy stood up and drew her handgun. "I'm going with you."

"Addy, no."

She snarled. "Marco, he's a scummer! He's stronger, faster, deadlier than any human. You can't face him alone. You need me."

"Addy, last time you met Corvin, you pointed guns at him. If he sees you knocking on the door, that's the same as seeing the cops. He'll feel threatened. And he'll kill Terri."

"And if you show up, he won't?" Addy said.

"I don't know," Marco confessed. "But I think I stand the best chance. He hates me, yes. He loathes me. But once he was a fan. Maybe if I show up, if I ask to talk as a fellow writer, to write his book with him, maybe … maybe he'll let me in. And maybe he'll keep Terri alive."

"And if he kills her just to torture you?" Addy whispered, eyes damp. "And if he kills you next?" The gun trembled in her hand. She sniffed, wiped her eyes.

Marco closed his eyes, took a shuddering breath. "That's a possibility. But what are the other options? We can do nothing. Just wait for him to keep cutting off parts of my daughter. Or we can storm the place with SWAT teams, and he'll kill her at once. Or I can do what I said. I can go alone. I can try to negotiate. All three possibilities terrify me. All three might end with Terri dying. But this path offers just the slightest bit of hope. So it's a path I must walk. Alone."

Addy holstered her gun and hugged him. She sobbed softly, and her tears wet his shoulder. "I love you, Marco."

"I love you too, Addy."

She wiped her eyes again, stroked his cheek. "Go get that son of a bitch, okay? Go kill him good. Make me proud."

* * * * *

Marco stood in his bedroom, preparing for battle.

He stared into the mirror.

A middle-aged man stared back. Silvering temples. A short beard streaked with white. In two weeks, he was turning forty. He saw a husband. A father. An author. An officer.

But he saw another image too.

He remembered himself at eighteen. A young private suiting up for war. Just a kid, torn away from home, given a gun, shipped off to an alien world. It was him against the bugs. Just him and his gun. Oh, there was the rest of the army. They had artillery, starfighters, bombers, tanks. But at the end of the day, down there in the tunnels, when the centipedes reared before him … yes, it was just him and the gun. Him versus the beast, only the trembling barrel of a gun between them. Only a bullet between life or the alien jaws.

He had felt so alone then. So scared.

And he felt alone now.

And he felt scared.

The fear was worse than the loneliness, because he loved Terri more than himself. And if anything should happen to her, it would be worse than ten thousand deaths in alien tunnels.

So once more, two decades after those days of war, Marco suited up for battle.

He put on graphene armor. The fabric was designed in a lab. It was as light as cotton but harder than diamonds. It made medieval plate armor seem as fragile as clay. Graphene armor cost more than Marco's starship. But the German SWAT team had a suit, and they let him borrow it.

"Make sure it doesn't come back with holes," Commander Schultz had joked. "We're still paying this off."

"If it comes back with holes, demand a refund," Marco had replied.

He would take no weapons. No guns, no knifes. Not even hidden ones. Marco had to come in peace. In case Corvin frisked him, he needed to be clean.

But he did pull on a pair of mech gloves. These too came from the German SWAT team.

Marco had used mech technology in the army. When invading Abaddon, planet of the scum, he had fought inside an entire mech suit. It was essentially a wearable robot, a clunky suit of pistons, steel beams, bulletproof glass, and enough ammo to flatten an average city. A tank was probably more discreet.

But that was twenty years ago. Technology had improved since then. The mech gloves were no bulkier than regular gloves. Cables ran along the gloves like veins, delivering power to every finger. A longer cable ran up Marco's arm like an artery, connecting to a battery strapped on his back.

He flexed his fingers. Comfortable enough. Marco tested the gloves, attempting to lift the cabinet. It was a heavy piece of furniture, its drawers full. But Marco lifted it with ease. It felt no heavier than a chair. He put the cabinet down as gently as he could, wincing when it thudded against the floor a little too hard, cracking a floorboard.

Yes, these gloves were definitely cool toys.

If it came to blows, would this be enough? Could Marco win?

He didn't know. In his human form, Corvin was ordinary. But when he transformed into a scummer, he gained terrifying strength. Marco had heard what happened at the penal colony. How Corvin had butchered the guards, shrugging off their bullets. Marco remembered the scummer facing him in the bookshop, four arms spread out. He remembered the massive force in those claws.

I'll have to face that creature without guns, without Addy, without any backup at all. Marco took a deep breath. I hope it doesn't come to blows. But I think it will. And I'm not sure I can win.

First he'd have to gain entry to the house—without putting Terri at risk. That required more stealth than strength.

He needed to hide the graphene suit, the battery, the gloves. He put on jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. He pulled leather gloves over his mech ones. If Corvin frisked him, the battery would be easiest to find. It rested against the small of Marco's back, strapped down with tape.

He thought for a moment. He unstrapped the battery, placed it into his jacket's inner pocket instead. If detected, he could pass it off as a spare minicom battery. Hopefully.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. He looked normal enough. Just a guy in jeans and a leather jacket. No weapons to be seen.

This was his uniform now. This was his battle gear.

And it was time for war.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Lailani fell through the darkness. She seemed to fall and fall.

Perhaps leaping blindly into a pit on an alien world wasn't the smartest idea.

There was some light, at least. A dim orange glow. Enough that Lailani could see a vast cavern. A cave the size of a cathedral. Lava gurgled underground, blazing through cracks in the floor. The magma flowed under the stone like water under ice floes. Rivulets of lava flowed down the walls like fiery tears, leaving streaks of basalt. The entire chamber seemed to be melting, hardening, reshaping. It was like falling through a hollow candle.

Before she could hit the ground, Lailani summoned her power. She landed with a thump and hiss, her claws digging into the stone. One claw touched lava. Lailani screeched, pulled the claw back, and flicked off the droplets. They hit the ground and hardened into little black rocks like meteorites.

Crouched on a slab of basalt, Lailani whipped her head from side to side, sniffing, squinting, seeking him. Was he here? Was this his lair?

She saw nobody.

She stood alone.

"Hello!" she cried. Her voice echoed through the cavern. As the echoes bounced among the walls, her voice changed, turned into a strange bark, a pained laugh.

Stone creaked.

Dust fell from above.

Another circular door opened, this one high in the basalt wall. Lava gushed out, cascading in a waterfall, then flowing to a hidden drain. In the red light, Lailani saw it.

A massive stalagmite, as tall as an oak. It rose like a giant's blackened hand reaching from the grave. The stream of lava embraced this stony hand like a fiery bracelet. Somebody had flattened the top of the stalagmite, forming a shape like a mesa.

Upon that flat top rose a throne. A throne of dark iron. Dozens of armrests thrust out from its sides, tipped with claws. The lava gurgled, painting the throne in red and furious umber. It appeared almost like a living creature, a rearing centipede of black metal. Mushrooms grew around the throne's base, their gills blazing red.

No, not mushrooms, Lailani realized. The tubular growths had mouths. Teeth. They were animals attached to the stone. Strange tube worms of the depths.

Above the throne spread a sky of diamonds. Huge diamonds as large as fists. They shone on the ceiling, forming all the constellations of Abaddon's night sky. From that throne, a ruler would gaze upon the cosmos.

"It's a throne room," Lailani whispered to herself. "But where is the king?"

Yet another stone door rolled open, this one on the floor. And from a hidden burrow below, he emerged.

The head came first. Enormous. A head the size of a grand piano. Long feelers grew from the cheeks like whiskers, twitching, tasting the air. They framed a drooling mouth full of teeth. Bulbous black eyes completed the hideous visage, blinking and staring in the shadows, full of horrible intelligence.

There he was. The King of Many Claws.

After the hideous head came the body, segment after segment emerging from underground. The exoskeleton was black and red, the color of burnt corpses. The claws could fell skyscrapers like an axe felling trees. More and more segments emerged. It seemed endless. Coil after coil of the centipede filled the cavern.

Lailani took a few steps back, heart pounding. She had never seen a scum this large. The emperor had been small, not much larger than Lailani herself. This beast could constrict a blue whale. She began to worry that he would fill the chamber, crush her against the basalt walls.

Finally the full length of the beast emerged. He slithered across the cavern walls, circling again and again. This was a chamber the size of a starfighter hangar. But the colossal arthropod filled even this cavernous space. The King of Many Claws scraped across the walls like a garden centipede in a jar.

His antennae twitched. A voice emerged. Not a voice formed in a throat like a human voice. The king vibrated the air with his antennae, forming human words.

"So you accepted my invitation. You came to see me."

Lailani cocked her plasma rifle. Energy pulsed through its transparent tube, thrumming, glowing green. She aimed the muzzle at the beast's head.

"I came to kill you!"

The centipede slithered around her. Lailani spun on her heel, keeping the muzzle trained on his face.

"And yet you still do not fire," he said. "You could have nuked me from orbit. You could have flooded these tunnels with radiation or poison. But you came yourself. You came alone. Because you know who I am."

"A monster!" Lailani shouted. "A monster who possessed my body, who made me kill! A monster who puppeteered starlings across Earth! The blood of a million souls is on your claws."

"Starlings?" The centipede laughed. The sound rumbled through the cavern. The walls shook. Stones cascaded from above. "Is that what you call them? I call them … my children. I call you … daughter!"

Lailani stared into his pitiless eyes.

And she saw a memory there. Not her memory—his! A memory she shared through their astral connection.

She saw a younger centipede, not yet so big. Mixing elixirs. Weaving DNA. Experimenting. A prince who would become king.

The vision faded.

"Yessss," hissed the King of Many Claws. "I am the creator of starlings. I invented a way to take human embryos, to change them, to weave the soul of a centipede into a human body. Yes, I—this bloated bug—am your father."

"You're lying," she whispered, trembling. "My father was an American soldier. My mother told me! You might have taken me as an embryo, injected something, infected me, but—"

"No, daughter. I created you! I created all the starlings. Your brothers and sisters. Of course … not all your siblings lived. Behold those who came before."

The centipede reached toward a wall of stones and soil. He clawed, ripping stone from stone, opening a gap. The cavern shuddered. Lailani took a step back, afraid the ceiling would collapse.

Why aren't I firing? she asked herself. Why don't I kill him?

Because she had to know.

She was so afraid to learn the truth. About herself. About her kind. Yet she could not resist the danger.

The King of Many Claws opened a passageway to a hidden chamber. A second cave. A colossal tomb.

No. Not a tomb. A laboratory.

Inside, Lailani saw them. Starlings. A hundred starlings pinned into the stone walls. Failed experiments.

Some had long centipede bodies and human heads. Others had human bodies and centipede heads. Most were deformed, twisted things. A human head growing from a back, upside down. Claws twisted inward, piercing the flesh, overgrown with scabs. Some had many human limbs, shriveled, curling toward the rib cage or spine, growing no claws—soft limbs like the curled-up legs of a cooked shrimp. They were all somewhere halfway between centipede and human. All sniveling creatures in so much pain, begging to die.

Lailani gazed at her brothers and sisters and wept.

"You were the first success, Lailani," said the King of Many Claws. "The first specimen who grew right. A starling, as you call yourself. You were perfect! We sent you to Earth as a child. We planted your seed in fertile soil. And we nurtured you."

"I grew up in a shantytown!" she shouted, eyes leaking tears. "I was born to a teenage prostitute. I grew up homeless, stealing to survive, eating garbage, always in danger of rape and violence and disease." She trembled. "You didn't nurture me."

"Oh, but we did, daughter." The king made another loop around her, claws rustling the soil. "From decay, from rot and dead things, from waste and mud and rancid corpses grows the strongest tree. So it is with souls. We had to make your life hard so that you would become hard."

"And I turned against you!" Lailani said. "I killed your last leader, and I'll kill you too!"

She fired her rifle.

A plasma bolt flew.

The King of Many Claws moved at remarkable speed for his size. He dodged the plasma bolt. It slammed into the wall behind him, exploded, and showered sparks.

The giant centipede coiled around Lailani, tightening like a noose. His body trapped her, squeezed her. She screamed.

"Listen to me, Lailani! I called you here so that you may join me. Sit on the throne, daughter! The throne of Abaddon is your birthright. Sit and rule at my side. See your domain."

His antennae touched her, and visions shot through her mind. The hive. The billions of scum here in this world and on the worlds beyond. They were attacking a hundred planets, killing, consuming, growing. Beyond them lived the starlings. Not just human starlings, but hybrids created with other species too. Outcasts. Freaks. Hybrids. The future. All infected with the hive.

All this can be mine, Lailani thought. Mine to control. I would be a goddess to them.

"Yes … you want this," hissed the king. His tongue emerged, long and wet and obscene, and licked her face. "You crave it. Think of all that you could do with this power. The humans would fear you! They would never dare harm starlings again. Not with you on the throne."

"Why do you need me?" she said. "You rule alone now! You would share all this?"

And she still wasn't firing. She wasn't killing him. What was this strange power he had over her? Why were his tempting words holding back her rage? Even now he controlled her. She could not resist him. His body was mighty, but his powers of persuasion were tenfold stronger, and his temptation and gifts were mightier than her guns.

"Do you know why I created you, Lailani?" the king said. "Why I created all starlings?"

"To be sleeper agents," she said. "To kill humans. To serve the centipedes."

"To replace centipedes!" the king said. "We evolved on this world. Beings of many claws and ruthless hunger. We conquered other worlds. But we could not conquer Earth. The humans defeated us. Because the humans are individuals. We centipedes think as a hive. We are slow. Cumbersome. But in the war, individual human soldiers made their own decisions in the heat of battle—and won battle after battle!"

"We're plucky that way," Lailani said.

"I realized then, daughter, that the way of the centipede is over. That it is time for a new step in evolution. A blending of centipede and human. A being that has the strength, the hunger, the ruthless might of a centipede—with the individualism of a human. And so I experimented. I mixed DNA. Most of my experiments failed. But then … then I created you. A perfect specimen. I placed you in the womb of a human woman. And I created others like you. You are not sleeper agents. Not our servants. You are our future! And you, Lailani … you will be the first to rule this empire. You will do what we centipedes could not. You will destroy Earth!"

A vision of Earth rose before Lailani, ablaze, its people dead.

Tears shone in her eyes.

And finally the spell was broken.

"I will destroy you!" she shouted.

She unhooked a grenade from her belt and hurled it at the centipede.

It exploded against his head, ripping off an antenna.

The King of Many Claws screamed. A horrible sound. A sound that cracked the stone walls. Lava spurted through holes.

"Then you must die!" the king roared, bared his fangs, and drove in for the kill.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Marco walked toward the concrete house, the wind billowing his leather jacket.

The wind was cold. Marco walked slowly, eyes narrowed, staring at the house ahead.

The curtains were drawn. Was Corvin watching from inside? Peeking? Aiming a rifle?

It was past midnight, and smog hid the stars. A few neon signs lit the street. A sexbot store. A bail loan shark. The famous pharmacy. The cold wind blew again, scattering paper cups past Marco's feet. He walked by the swastika graffiti, the one he had seen in the video. A drunkard sat beneath it, legs sprawled out across the sidewalk. The man gulped down booze, then gave Marco a lazy salute.

Marco stepped around a trash bin, past a sleeping prostitute, and reached the concrete house.

He took a few steps toward the door. He paused outside. The house lights were off. There was no car on the driveway. Was Corvin watching him? Peering from behind the curtains, maybe through the door's peephole?

Marco held up his gloved hands, showing that they were empty.

He knocked on the door, then stepped back again, hands raised. If anyone was watching from the windows or a hidden camera, they would see him.

"I just want to talk!" Marco called out. "It's just me here. It's Marco. I'm alone. I'm unarmed. I come in peace. I just want to talk."

For a moment nothing happened. A sleeping prostitute rolled over on the sidewalk, crushing a syringe. A dog barked in the distance.

Marco was about to knock on the door again when the lock clicked.

The door creaked open, revealing shadows.

Marco frowned. Who had opened the door?

With a shudder, he stepped into the house.

He saw nobody inside. He could barely see anything in this darkness. The neon lights, glowing across the street, barely penetrated the curtains. There was no other source of light.

"Corvin!" Marco called.

He took another step into the house.

The door slammed shut behind him. He heard it lock.

Marco wheeled around, facing the door. He saw only shadows. He pawed through the darkness, felt nobody. He heard no breathing. Was he alone?

He felt for a light switch, found one, flicked it. Nothing happened. He found the doorknob next. Twisted it. Locked. He was trapped inside.

He turned toward the room again. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. He could now make out the vague shapes of furniture. A couch. A table. A piano.

I should have brought a flashlight, Marco thought. Ben-Ari did teach me to carry a flashlight everywhere.

He fished out a lighter from his pocket. He had been smoking more lately. Sometimes he needed some cannabis to calm the trauma, to silence the ghosts. He held up the lighter. The flame cast a faint light over the living room.

The first thing Marco saw was a cat on the mantel, staring at him with gleaming yellow eyes. But it wasn't moving. Stuffed. A few other grisly items topped shelves. A shrunken head. A severed hand in a jar. A framed photo hung on the wall, showing Corvin and Terri, sitting side by side. He was grinning, tugging her cheeks with his fingers, forcing her to grin too. A frozen tear shone on her cheek.

Marco looked away from the photo.

"Terri!" he called out.

His voice echoed.

Laughter sounded deep in the house. A clown's laughter. It echoed.

Calliope music began to play. Circus music. Marco started, reached for his gun, remembered he wasn't carrying.

Creaks sounded deep in the shadows.

A little robot rolled forward. A mechanical clown, no larger than a baby. A child's toy.

The robot was driving a little clown car. The car's headlights pierced the darkness. Its speakers were playing the jaunty music. The car rolled up toward Marco, stopped by his feet, and the music died.

The robot turned his head to regard Marco. Its neck creaked. The face was made of cracked porcelain, and the glass eyes moved back and forth, whirring. Marco could make out camera lenses inside. The robot seemed very old and dusty, and bugs scurried through its tufts of orange hair. Instead of a proper mouth, the clown had a round speaker. It looked like a little manhole cover. The manufacturers had painted big red lips around the speaker, clown lips, forming a crude red grin. But as Marco stared, it seemed less like red makeup, more like blood.

That speaker crackled to life. A voice emerged from the robotic clown.

"Hellooooo, Marco! It's me, Corvy the Clown! I've been expecting you. Welcome, welcome to Cirque Legrave!"

Marco looked around, raising the lighter, trying to see deeper into the house. But the darkness was like a living being, a foul miasma, blocking his vision, wrapping around him.

"Corvin, come out in person!" Marco said. "We'll sit down and talk, okay? I know I've treated you poorly. I know you wanted to write a book with me. I want to reconsider that offer. Come out and we'll talk."

It was a lie, of course. The only thing Marco was considering was throttling the creature. He didn't think Corvin would fall for it.

The robotic clown tossed back its head and laughed. Marco shuddered. It was a laugh like shattering glass. Like snapping bones. The laugh of the devil himself.

"You can't fool me, Marco!" the clown said, voice amused, almost singing with delight. "I know your little tricks, yes I do! Ha ha! Now, now, no funny stuff! No cops. No hidden weapons. I'll know. I have eyes everywhere. Ha ha!"

Marco ignored the clown. He took a step deeper into the house, pulled his foot back at once.

A bear trap snapped shut, slicing only air.

The little clown laughed. "Ha ha, you found my little toy! I have another toy. Do you want to see it?" The clown raised a bread knife. Its eyes glowed red. The light reflected in the blade. "I like to play with blades! Do you? I hope not. If you try to cut me, I'll slice off another finger. Ha ha ha!"

"Corvin, tell me where Terri is," Marco demanded, hating that he was talking to a damn robot.

"Ah, so soon?" the clown said. "Our game has only begun! Come now. I have more playthings. Come, come see them! Come see the wonders! Welcome to my nightmare."

Cackling, Corvy the Clown turned his little car around and drove off.

Marco followed, but slowly. He held his lighter low, sweeping the floor for more bear traps. The way was clear.

He suddenly wished he had a comlink. A way to speak to Addy and the police. They were waiting only a block away, hidden around the corner. But in this concrete house was another world. Another dimension. Marco felt like he was on another planet, isolated from everyone he knew.

The clown was gone, but Marco still heard the jaunty music. It sounded distant now. Impossibly distant. As if it came from a mile away, not just another room. He walked. Kept walking. The house had seemed small from the outside, barely a thousand square feet, but Marco seemed to walk vast distances in the darkness. Was this house actually the size of a church? Or was the darkness just playing tricks on him?

His lighter flickered. The fuel wouldn't last forever. Finally the little flame illuminated a wall coated with peeling wallpaper. The wallpaper featured dark blue flowers, innocent at first glance. But as Marco stepped closer, he saw faces in the flowers. Anguished faces. Melting, screaming faces.

He smelled something foul. A stench. Rotting meat.

He walked along the wall, trying to follow that distant music, until he found a door. It was a little swinging door. Like in some old-timey saloon.

Marco swung the door open and stepped into another room. The stench nearly overpowered him. His lighter flickered, the light nearly gone now. Marco could only see vague shapes.

A man! A towering dark man in the corner!

Marco started.

A cold draft blew out his lighter, plunging the room to darkness.

Suddenly fluorescent lights blazed on, blinding him.

Marco winced. The lights buzzed. Hummed. Crackled. A fly flew toward the fluorescent, burned itself, and fell down dead.

Marco stared at the man in the corner. But it was just a coat and hat hanging on a peg.

It was a kitchen. The floor tiles were sickly green, the color of old, chewed-up broccoli. A slab of beef was rotting on the counter, stabbed with several bread knives. Flies were crawling over it. The stench nearly made Marco gag.

He turned away from the rotting meat. He found himself facing the fridge. It was an industrial machine, built of rusty black iron, humming and rattling. It vibrated over cracked floor tiles like the engine of hell.

Somebody had hung a child's drawing on the fridge door. It depicted crude stick figures, drawn with crayons. One of the stick figures looked like a man with centipede legs. Beside it stood another stick figure. This one's head lay by its feet. Somebody had scribbled childlike words above the two figures.

CORVIN + MARCO

A second piece of paper hung beside the drawing. More childlike words appeared here.

OPEN FRIDGE! TREATS INSIDE!

Marco dutifully opened the fridge.

Nausea filled him.

He stepped back, struggling not to throw up.

Severed body parts filled the fridge.

Three heads rested on the upper shelf. Three girls. Skin frosted white, eyes open and blue. For a terrible second, Marco thought one was Terri. But no. All three girls were blond, not redheaded like Terri.

Severed hands covered the other shelves. They were all pointing toward the back of the fridge. Corvin must have arranged them that way.

Marco had missed it at first. The body parts had shocked him too much. But now he saw it.

The back of the fridge was missing. Carved out. Beyond the shelves of severed body parts was a tunnel. A staircase stretched underground. The fingers were all pointing there.

Words were painted onto the side of the fridge with blood.

COME PLAY

To reach the staircase, Marco had to remove the body parts first. He grimaced. But he did it. He lifted the severed heads. The hands. He put them on the kitchen counter. He tried to work quickly. Not to think.

And as he placed one head by the sink, he got a closer look at the rotting hunk of beef on the counter.

It wasn't beef after all.

It was a woman's torso.

This time Marco couldn't resist it. He made it to the sink in time, and he threw up.

Come on, soldier! he told himself. Get a grip. Calm down. You've fought wars. You've seen mangled bodies before. Keep your cool, soldier.

He took a deep breath. He stepped through the fridge, onto the staircase, and down into the depths of hell.

CHAPTER FORTY

In the depths, they battled.

Woman and centipede.

A tiny figure and a slithering giant.

Bombs and bullets. Scales and claws. Lailani and the king.

In the darkness, buried deep under the world, they clashed.

The plasma showered everywhere. Lailani screamed as she fought. She leaped from wall to wall. She fought with the fury of a starling. With claws on her fingertips, fangs in her mouth, rage in her heart. With a strength he had given her. With the blessing of her curse.

She was small but she was so strong.

He slammed against her with his massive girth. She flew through the air, hit the wall, cracked the stone. He drove his claws into her armor, and she screamed. He gripped her, hurled her into a stream of lava. The terrible heat began to melt her armor, to creak her visor.

She rose from the inferno, dripping lava. Her plasma rifle was out of charge. It would need a few moments to recharge itself.

She drew twin handguns instead. She fired. Bullets slammed into the King of Many Claws, but he kept coming. His jaws closed around her. Tightening. Bending the graphene armor. Lailani howled.

He released her from his jaws, only to grip her with claws instead. He raised her toward one bulging eye.

"Look how pathetic you are," he hissed.

He was pinning her arms to her sides. She leaned her head toward her chest. With her teeth, she grabbed a grenade off her bandoleer, spat it at him.

She turned her head, wincing.

The grenade exploded.

Shrapnel pattered her armor.

Her visor cracked. Hot, foul air streamed against her face.

The King of Many Claws bellowed. Lailani glanced at him. The grenade had shattered his eyeball, had dug deep grooves into his exoskeleton. His claws curled inward, clutching his wounds, and she fell.

She hit the ground at a crouch, reloaded her handguns, and fired upward. The bullets sparked against his exoskeleton. Half his face was gone, but he was still very much alive.

All around, they emerged from holes. Scum. Thousands of them. They covered the cave walls, watching, hissing. They did not intervene to save their king. This was an ancient challenge. A duel for the throne. This cavern had seen many such battles, though always between centipedes, never with a starling. The scum observed.

The king reared, then came whipping forward, ready to crush Lailani. She leaped aside. His massive head hit the ground only a meter away, cracking the stone. He recovered at once and slithered toward her, teeth snapping, ready to sever her limbs.

His mouth caught her handgun. The bite ripped the gun from her hand, bending the muzzle.

Lailani fired her second pistol.

The king roared, his maw like some tunneling machine designed to chew stone. Lailani leaped back for fear of losing her arm to the meat grinder. She fired again, but he kept advancing. Her gun clicked.

"You cannot kill me," hissed the Centipede King, snapping his teeth again and again. Snap. Snap. Inching ever closer. Jaws like a bear trap. Snap! Snap! With every snap moving closer. Lailani kept retreating, desperate to flee this relentless machine.

She grabbed her plasma gun. It was finally recharged. She flipped it to automatic and spewed a stream of plasma.

"Die already, you son of a bitch!" she screamed, bathing him with the inferno.

But he was a being born and bred in a chamber of lava. Plasma would not stop him. No more than a spring mist could halt a charging bull.

His jaws chomped again. The enormous mouth ripped the plasma rifle from Lailani's hand. The king chewed the gun, bending the metal.

Not smart. The weapon, loaded with plasma, exploded in the king's mouth.

Fire blazed, roared between teeth, and consumed the gums. The king screamed in surprised pain. But still he did not retreat. The pain only enraged him. He bared his burning fangs at Lailani, forcing her to retreat.

Lailani's back hit the wall.

The gargantuan centipede paused. He reared before her, flames crackling in his mouth. He was so big. His segmented body rose and rose, extending toward the ceiling. His head loomed far above, and he chuckled, dripping boiling blood and drool. His underbelly towered before Lailani like a tree trunk, coated with a thick exoskeleton. Lailani had emptied four magazines into that exoskeleton and barely dented it.

I should have brought a goddamn nuke.

She panted, her back to the wall, out of ammo.

All across the walls, the watching centipedes cheered. Their king was victorious!

"You should have joined me, Lailani!" the King of Many Claws boomed, voice filling the chamber. "We could have ruled this empire together. You could have become my heir. Now you will become one of my failed experiments. You will be the most miserable of them all!"

Lailani drew Thorani, the katana Kai had given her. An authentic samurai sword, a thousand years old.

"No," she said, holding the antique blade before her.

The king chuckled. His segmented body shook with his laughter. "What is that? A blade? Your guns could not hurt me! You think a mere scrap of steel could harm a god?"

"Plasma washes off your body," Lailani said. "With bullets, I can just hit your exoskeleton. You're made of segments stronger than any armor." She looked at his body, at where two segments met. At the thin line between them. "But every armor has a chink."

He recoiled, perhaps understanding.

Lailani screamed and leaped into the air.

She soared through the darkness, howling, and swung her katana in a single fluid arc.

A thousand years ago, a master smith had forged this blade from folded steel. For generations, its owners maintained it. Today the samurai blade passed between two segments of the king's body. It was like slicing crumbling dry mortar between two hard bricks.

Lailani leaped back, landed at a crouch, one leg stretched out, the other folded beneath her. She stared upward, bloody blade in hand, panting.

For a moment the enormous centipede still reared before her.

Then his upper half tilted backward, revealing a gaping wound. His blood flowed down his lower half like a waterfall. He wilted.

Lailani sprang up. She sliced her blade again and again, carving through the open wound, until she cut him in two.

Both halves of the giant centipede crashed to the ground, twitched, and moved no more.

Lailani fell to her knees, breathing heavily, dripping the blood of Abaddon.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Marco took the dark staircase down to the basement. The light from the kitchen faded above. Only his lighter lit the darkness. It flickered, consuming its last drops of fuel.

The staircase delved deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep for a little house on an ordinary street. This staircase wasn't just leading to a basement. It was taking Marco into a dungeon. Down into the belly of the earth, past graves and old secrets buried deep in the soil. Down to an earlier age. To a darker world. To a place of old gods and terrors in the dark.

Laughter sounded below. The insane cackle of a madman. The echoes sounded deeper, distorted. Demon laughter.

Terri, are you down here? Marco thought.

He knew he was walking into a trap. Corvin wanted him to come this way. Well, Marco would play his game. For now. He had a few surprises up his own sleeve. Literally. The electric cable ran up his sleeve, connecting his mech gloves to the battery in his pocket.

He was not truly unarmed. With this technology, he had the strength of ten men. And with these powerful hands, he would snap Corvin's neck.

So I'll play your little game, Marco thought. And I intend to win.

He finally reached the dungeon.

His lighter flickered. Barely any light remained. He raised the flame. Glimpsed figures, and—

The light faded. The lighter was finally out of fuel.

Moans sounded in the dark.

Marco cursed, tried to ignite the lighter again. Nothing.

He heard heavy breathing. Another moan. Figures filled the darkness, breathing all around him. He felt their breath in his hair.

He took a step, reached up, felt something soft. Something like skin.

Somebody screamed.

Marco took another step, spinning from side to side.

"Who's there?"

The breathing continued around him. Deep. Heavy. He smelled blood. Somewhere in the darkness, somebody laughed. Several people surrounded him! He could not see!

Marco took another step, felt blindly in the darkness with both hands, seeking a wall, a light switch. Finally found something else—a slender chain. He pulled it, and a light bulb turned on.

Marco finally got a good look at them. Several women hung from chains in the dungeon.

They were gagged. Bruised. A few were bleeding. They squinted in the light, moaned into their gags.

Marco felt sick. He might have thrown up, but he had already lost his breakfast. He quickly looked over the women, searching for Terri.

She wasn't among them. They were strangers.

He rushed toward the nearest woman. She was naked, her body a painting of bruises and cuts and burns.

"Help me," she whispered, tears running down her cheeks. "Help me. Please. Help."

Marco reached toward the chains binding her. Maybe, with his mech gloves, he was strong enough to break the chains.

He wrapped his fingers around a chain. Before he could apply pressure, the woman screamed.

The calliope music played again.

Laughter sounded behind Marco.

He spun around, heart pounding. The robotic clown was back.

Marco placed himself between the twisted robot and the chained women.

The clown swayed his finger side to side. "Uh uh uh, Marco! I said no funny stuff. Remember? No unchaining my lovely pets. You broke the rules, little Marco! You broke the rules of our game!" The clown's eyes turned red. "For that you must suffer the penalty."

The clown raised a remote control with a comically large red button.

"Corvin!" Marco warned.

Laughing, the clown pressed the button.

Electricity cracked. It raced down a chain—the same chain Marco had wanted to break.

The chained woman bucked and screamed. The electricity raced into her. Her hair caught fire. Her skin blistered. She bled from her mouth, then her eyes. And still she screamed.

"Corvin, stop this!" Marco cried.

But the clown was still laughing. Deep below, Marco heard more laughter. A man laughing in sync with the clown. Corvin must be another floor deep, controlling the robot.

Marco ran toward the clown, yanked its remote control free, and the electricity stopped flowing.

"You're too late, Marco!" the little clown said. "Look at her. Already dead. Oh … poor poor girl. Dead because of you."

Marco roared, lifted the robot, and slammed it against the wall. The machine shattered. Gears spilled everywhere. The broken clown laughed. Marco reached into the cracked metal skull, pulled out cables, yanked out the plastic eyes. But the clown kept laughing and laughing, the sound twisted, demonic. No matter how hard Marco beat the thing against the wall, it kept laughing, even as its head was completely destroyed.

A distorted voice emerged from the ruined robot like a tape played on slow speed.

"She's here, Marco … Your daughter. She's with me. Just another floor down. Come down, Marco. Come and play. And no more funny stuff! Ha ha ha!"

Marco stepped on the doll's crushed head. Finally its voice died.

He turned back toward the chained women. One woman hung from her chain, smoldering and dead. The others were still alive, screaming into their gags, weeping, trembling. Marco could not free them. Corvin might still have cameras in the dungeon. He would see and electrocute them. And maybe kill Terri too.

"I'll come back for you," Marco said. "I promise. I'll come back."

He turned to walk away.

The women screamed. They begged through their gags.

He walked onward, leaving them behind, the guilt like claws inside him. He found another staircase and descended into a lower circle of hell.

* * * * *

Marco walked down the narrow concrete stairs. Corvin had dug deep underground. It must have taken him years to build this bunker. Marco wondered how many victims he had slain here. How many women he had dragged into the depths.

It ends tonight, Marco vowed.

He reached a blast door. The kind you saw on a fallout shelter. Words were painted on the door with blood.

TERRI'S ROOM

Marco grabbed the handle, turned it, and pulled the heavy steel door open. Dim light shone from inside.

Marco entered the room, fists clenched.

He saw Terri at once. She lay on a bed, gagged, her wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts. She wore a Victorian-style nightgown, and her fingernails were painted. Bandages wrapped around the stump of one finger. She saw him, made eye contact, but made no movement or sound.

Marco froze. He dared not take another step.

He saw it now.

An anvil hung above Terri.

An actual anvil. Like something from an old blacksmith's shop. A huge hunk of metal, large enough to crush every bone in Terri's body. The chains holding it up seemed so slender. They creaked.

A booby trap? Some Looney Tunes contraption given perverted life? Would Marco accidentally set it off?

Marco noticed something else. Scissors. A pair of scissors rested on the nightstand beside Terri. He recognized them. The same scissors from the video. The ones that had cut off her finger. Corvin had probably left them there just to taunt the girl. The blades were still stained with old blood.

Marco took a step toward his daughter.

A voice spoke from the shadows. "I wouldn't do that if I were you … Not unless you want that anvil to fall onto your dear little daughter." The voice dripped mock concern.

Marco spun toward the dark corner. He could just make out a shadowy figure sitting there.

"Corvin," he spat out.

"Hello, Marco, my old friend. So nice of you to come."

A lamp turned on, illuminating a table at the back of the room.

Corvin sat there, wearing a shaggy brown tuxedo and yellow tie. He was in his human form. Just two arms. On the tabletop stood a bottle of wine, two empty glasses, and a chessboard. The pieces were arranged in their opening positions.

There were two chairs. Corvin sat on one. The other, across from him, was empty.

"Chess, Corvin?" Marco said. "Is this all a game to you?"

"Ah, life is but a game!" Corvin said. "And we are all just pawns. I myself am a pawn to the King of Many Claws."

He gestured at the chessboard. And Marco noticed that the black pieces were shaped like centipedes. The white pieces were shaped like humans.

He looked away from the gruesome chessboard. "Corvin, the game is over. I found you, and I've come to take Terri home."

"Oh, I knew you'd come," Corvin said. "I left those clues for you, Marco! The maple donuts. The nail polish. The reflection in Terri's eyes. Oh yes, I knew you'd find me. In fact, I'm surprised it took you this long. See, I wanted us to play a little game. Just you and me. A game of cat and mouse. Or should I say: centipede and man?" With his foot, he pushed out the empty chair. "Sit down, we'll share this bottle of pinot, and we'll play. I hope you're not too tired. The stakes are quite high."

"First let Terri go," Marco said.

"If you win, I'll let her go." A predatory smile spread across Corvin's face. "But for every human piece I capture …"

He plucked a white pawn off the board.

The chains rattled.

The anvil fell an inch. The chains caught it. The slab of metal swung. Directly below, Terri screamed into her gag.

Corvin put the white pawn back on the board. The chains retracted an inch into the ceiling, lifting the anvil.

"Enough of this!" Marco said. He took a cautious step toward the anvil. Could he grab it? Were his mech gloves strong enough?

"Careful, Marco!" This time Corvin pulled three white pieces off the board.

The anvil fell again. Three inches this time. Terri squirmed below, pulling against her bonds. The anvil swung on its chains, dangerously close to the girl.

"Dad!" she screamed into her gag, voice muffled.

"One more step, Marco, and I knock over the board!" Corvin said, rising to his feet. "The anvil will fall and crush her! Play me. Play me, beat me, and she'll go free."

Marco hesitated. He had played chess in the army. He had been decent at it, at one point in his life. But he hadn't played the game in years. For all he knew, Corvin was a grandmaster.

"Why, Corvin?" Marco said. "Why lure me here? Why the booby traps? The chessboard? Why all this?"

Corvin licked his lips. "I told you, Marco. I want you to suffer. You refuse to play? Very well! Watch her die!"

He knocked the chessboard off the table. Pieces scattered everywhere.

Marco reached out and caught the anvil as it fell.

With his mech gloves, he had practiced lifting his dresser at home. The anvil probably weighed ten times as much.

For a horrifying second, Marco was sure his gloves would fail. That the anvil would fall through his hands and kill Terri.

But power thrummed from the battery, pulsing into the gloves, and Marco caught it. He caught an anvil that probably weighed as much as a horse.

He pulled the anvil with all his augmented strength, ripping it off the chains. Plaster and chips of concrete rained from the ceiling, pattering against Terri. Without losing a beat, Marco roared and hurled the anvil at Corvin.

The massive slab of steel slammed Corvin against the wall, crushing him.

Marco stood there, panting. Even with the mech gloves, that had been a heavy load.

Probably gave myself a hernia, he thought.

Terri moaned on the bed, struggling in her bonds. But Marco didn't free her yet. He stared at the anvil.

It was moving.

* * * * *

Laughter sounded from behind the slab of metal.

A claw reached around the anvil. A centipede claw. Then another. And another. Soon four claws gripped the anvil, lifted it, and revealed Corvin in his scummer form.

Half his face was crushed. The skin had ripped right off the skull. He grinned, a huge grin from ear to ear, revealing rows of fangs. Even his molars were sharp incisors. His eyes blazed red. Like the clown's eyes.

"So you've chosen death!" he shrieked and hurled the anvil.

It came flying right at Marco. He couldn't dodge it. Or it would fly past him into Terri.

He had to take the hit.

Marco raised his hands protectively, palms out, and a freight train of agony plowed into him.

The blow shoved Marco backward. He reeled, fell to the floor. The anvil slammed down onto him with a sickening thud and crunch.

A rib snapped.

Marco couldn't even scream. He couldn't even breathe.

His mech gloves had absorbed some of the blow. His graphene armor had absorbed more. Combined, they had saved Marco's life. But it hurt like hell. The anvil was still atop him, crushing him. He gasped for air, found none. He lay on his back, buried under the devastating weight.

His vision blurry, Marco made out a hideous beast on the ceiling. A centipede with a dripping human face. A demon. The incubus leaped from above, lunging at him, jaws open to feed.

Still buried under the anvil, Marco swung his fist around the metal slab.

His fist connected with the scummer. It was a blow that could fell a tree. Corvin flew backward and slammed into the table. The bottle of pinot fell and shattered. The wine mingled with the blood already pooling on the floor.

With his power gloves, Marco managed to shove off the anvil. He rose to his feet, groaning in pain, taking short gasps of air. He was wounded internally. One rib broken. Maybe more damage. It felt like his knuckle might be broken too.

He trudged through the blood toward Corvin. The creature lay on the floor, moaning. Marco's fist had dislodged several teeth. Corvin's six clawed limbs were curled inward defensively.

Was Corvin dying?

Marco raised his boot, prepared to stomp the creature like a bug.

So fast Marco's eyes barely caught it, Corvin leaped up. A terrible screech echoed in the room. The mutilated mouth sank into Marco's chest, piercing the armor, puncturing a pectoral.

Marco screamed. He had never felt such pain. The jaws tightened. The creature was going to rip out his heart.

Marco grabbed Corvin's head with his mechanical gloves. He squeezed. Squeezed. The scummer's skull gave a sickening creak.

Corvin opened his mouth to scream, releasing Marco. The scummer's fangs had savaged Marco's armor. Blood poured down his chest.

Locked in struggle with the beast, Marco glanced toward his daughter. Terri still lay on the bed, bound with ropes. But she had managed to grab a shard from the broken wine bottle. She was desperately trying to manipulate the glass in her hand, to reach the rope around her wrists. She cut her fingers and yelped.

Marco had no time to help her. Corvin was attacking like a wild animal, his claws lashing, trying to rip Marco to shreds.

Marco pushed against Corvin's chest, holding him off. The claws worked in a fury, lacerating Marco's leather jacket, scratching his armor.

One of the lashing claws caught the battery in Marco's pocket, yanking at the cable.

The battery flew through the air, hit the wall, and thumped onto the floor.

At once, the power in Marco's gloves died.

Corvin looked at the battery, then at Marco. He tossed back his head and cackled. A tooth fell to the floor. His laughter became louder and louder, more and more deranged.

Marco leaped toward the fallen battery.

Corvin grabbed him. With alien strength, he lifted Marco off the floor, then slammed him against the wall. Marco groaned in agony.

"I said no funny stuff, Marco!" Corvin said, voice high-pitched, the voice of a psychotic clown. "Now … how shall I kill you? Rip out your heart? Too fast. Reel out your entrails? Hmm … too stinky. Ha ha ha! I know! I will flay you. I will flay you alive as your daughter watches!"

Marco looked over the scummer's shoulder.

With the shard of glass, Terri had managed to cut one rope, to free one hand. Now she was able to move faster, sawing through the other ropes.

Marco had to keep Corvin distracted just long enough.

I'll gladly die here if Terri can escape, he thought. I just need to give her time to run. Only then can I die.

Corvin drove a claw like a dagger into Marco's shoulder. It punctured the armor, then the skin. The pain nearly blinded Marco.

"Corvin!" Marco managed. "Before you kill me, there's one thing you're forgetting."

"I don't think so, Marco. Ha ha ha! It's too late to talk your way out of this."

The claw dug deeper. Marco roared in pain, regained some control.

"Corvin, the book idea you sent me! About the girl who cuts animals! I already started writing it."

Corvin paused. He frowned, still holding Marco pressed against the wall.

"You … you started writing my idea?"

Marco nodded. "Yes. When I said I didn't like your idea, I lied. It's brilliant! I wanted it for myself! A girl who cuts pieces off animals. Who sews them onto herself. Giving herself animal powers. I stole your idea!"

Corvin howled in rage, spraying saliva and blood. "Thief!"

"I came here today to confess," Marco said. "Because I can't do this story justice. Not alone. I came to ask for your help. To help me complete the tale. As a coauthor. As … as a friend."

Corvin stood very still. His claw still punctured Marco, pinning him to the wall. But he wasn't cutting deeper. He tilted his mutilated head.

"Is this a trick? More funny stuff, Marco?"

Marco glanced over Corvin's shoulder again. Just a few steps away, Terri had freed both arms and one leg. She was sawing through the last rope now.

"No, Corvin, no tricks," Marco said. "I—"

But Corvin must have seen his glance. Or maybe he had seen the reflection in Marco's eyes.

The scummer wheeled toward Terri. One of her legs was still bound to the bed. Corvin roared and leaped toward her.

Marco lunged, grabbed Corvin, pulled him back.

He didn't have his battery, just his own regular strength. It wasn't much. But Marco pulled with all he had, holding the scummer back.

"Hurry, Terri!" he cried.

She sawed off the last rope. She was free!

Corvin flailed madly, all six limbs thrashing. Marco tightened his grip, giving Corvin a mighty bear hug from behind. He couldn't hold the scummer much longer. It was like trying to subdue a wild bull.

"Run, Terri!" he cried.

But she did not run.

She lifted the scissors off the nightstand. The same scissors that had cut off her finger. That Corvin had placed by her bed to taunt her.

Corvin pulled one arm free, then another. Marco desperately held the screeching beast in place.

"Run, Terri! He's breaking free!"

But she leaped forward instead—toward Corvin!

Roaring, she thrust the scissors.

The scissors drove into Corvin's face. One blade into each eye.

He stumbled backward, screeching with ten thousand voices. Through his mutilated mouth, a hive cried out in agony. It was not just his scream. It was the scum. It was the swarm of centipedes on Abaddon.

Corvin was still standing. Blind, the scissors in his eyes. He began to laugh.

"You can kill me!" the swarm said. "I am but a pawn. A king has fallen. But a queen rises. A Queen of Many Claws has awoken. You know her, Marco. Her name is Lailani."

Marco grabbed the battery from the floor, plugged it back in. Power surged through his mech gloves. Marco lifted the anvil.

He drove the anvil into Corvin's face. Again and again. Hammering the scissors in deeper until the blades hit the back of the skull. Until there was no skull left, only shards.

Marco dropped the anvil onto the floor. It cracked the concrete.

Corvin collapsed, dead and mutilated.

Marco pulled Terri into his arms. He held her for a long moment, and then they stumbled upstairs to freedom.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The decaying little street in Marl, Germany became a circus.

Police cars were everywhere. Helicopters hovered above. Ambulances parked along the road, and medics rushed back and forth, pulling survivors from the house. The women emerged thin, pale, wounded and afraid, but the joy of freedom shone in their eyes.

The media arrived only moments after the police. They began interviewing anyone they could. Policemen. Medics. Neighbors. They were already dubbing Corvin's concrete home the House of Horrors.

Thankfully, the media couldn't reach Marco. He sat on a stretcher on the sidewalk, firmly behind the police tape sealing off the scene. A few medics were fussing over him. He answered as best he could. Yes, it hurt here. No, he wasn't allergic to any medication. Yes, he could breathe all right. They gave him some painkillers. Damn good stuff too.

"I better take you to the hospital, sir," said a medic. "You wanna have your chest looked at. That's an ugly cut you got there."

"Am I dying right this instant?" Marco asked.

"No, sir."

"Then give me a moment, okay? Go tend to the women. They need you more than I do."

The medic nodded and hurried toward another young woman, whom the police were escorting out of the house. The House of Horrors was full of hidden chambers. Marco had explored only part of those dungeons. So far, the police had pulled out seventeen women, all injured, weak, and traumatized. Some were downright skeletal. They might have been languishing in Corvin's dungeon for years.

Marco hoped they could find some healing. Some joy in the rest of their life. He knew the trauma would haunt them forever. He hoped that some light could shine through.

The police also pulled out bodies.

There were more dead than survivors in Corvin's House of Horrors.

Marco looked at his daughter. Terri sat beside him, wrapped in a blanket. He reached out and clasped her hand.

"I don't know what you went through in there, Terri," he said softly. "But I'll help you heal."

A voice roared from down the street.

"Let me through! Let me through, dammit, don't you know who I am? I'm Addy Fucking Linden! A war heroine! And famous author! And famous hockey player! Okay, maybe not that last one. But I can still bodycheck you if you don't move!"

She ran through the crowd, shoving people aside. The twins ran after her. When Addy reached Marco, she practically yanked him off the stretcher and gave him a crushing hug. She began planting kisses all over him.

"Ow, ow, Addy, gently! Gently!"

"I don't do gently!" she roared. "Poet. Poet, are you okay?" She released him. He thumped back onto the stretcher. "You look a little pale."

"Actually, I'm injured, and—"

"Screw you, you're fine." Addy turned toward Terri. "Terri!" She pulled the girl into a hug next. "Oh God, Terri. Let me just hold you."

The family sat there together, embracing, crying, until the medics finally convinced Marco to get into an ambulance. The entire family squeezed into the ambulance with him. Marco hoped he wouldn't need to stay long in the hospital. He wanted to go home. To bring everyone home.

As the ambulance moved through the city, siren blaring, Marco closed his eyes, and he could still hear Corvin's last words. They echoed in his mind like ghosts in a dungeon.

A Queen of Many Claws has awoken. Her name is Lailani.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Lailani stood in the cavern, panting, her katana dripping blood. She stared down at the halved body of the King of Many Claws. In death, he seemed smaller. In life, he had seemed as large as a blue whale. In death, he was barely a python.

"How easy you fell," she said softly. "You who slew millions of souls."

It seemed too easy. Barely a battle at all. She had fought tougher foes than this! Was this truly the mighty King of Many Claws? Just a bug she had so easily crushed under her heel?

The upper half of the centipede twitched.

Lailani started.

He was still alive! Impossible!

The head rose from the ground. Its one remaining antenna twitched, burnt. A buzzing voice emerged.

"You … did well, daughter. You … are ready to rule. The throne … awaits."

Lailani inhaled sharply. She understood.

"You let me win," she whispered.

"You … proved yourself," he said.

"You wanted me to come here," she said. "So you activated the scummers and killed two million humans, knowing I'd fly here to stop you. You wanted me to fight you. So you goaded me to fight. You wanted me to rule, so you let me cut you in half. I understand how you did it. But why?"

His blood was flowing. His life was fading.

"I cannot rule this world …," hissed the dying centipede. "I am … of the old. You are … the new. You are … a starling. Be proud. You will build an empire." Twitching, he raised one of his legs. He ran a claw across Lailani's cheek, not cutting, just caressing. "I … love you … daughter."

She took a step back. "I don't want your throne. I'm human! Not pure, no, but still human."

He laughed hoarsely. He was barely breathing now. "You're not human. Nor are you centipede. You are … greater than both. You are … the next step in evolution. The prophecies speak of a girl born of alien womb, a hybrid goddess with the blood of the stars. Only she can rebuild our empire. Only she can destroy Earth, our old bane. She is you, Lailani. You slew me … now take my throne. And rule!"

"I'm not some centipede goddess!" she cried, eyes burning. "Destroy Earth? Are you kidding? I fought all my life to defend Earth! I'm from Earth!"

"Earth is no longer your home. You will see, daughter. You will … see …"

The light in his eyes dimmed.

His head hit the ground.

The King of Many Claws lay dead.

Lailani kicked the corpse.

"Liar!"

She scoffed. What a liar! Claiming she was not human. Nonsense! That Earth was not her home? Ridiculous. That he, that twisted creature, was her creator? She was a child of God, not this demon.

She spat on the body.

She turned around, prepared to march back to the Black Rose Viperess.

And she saw the scum facing her. Thousands of them. Giant centipedes, warriors of the fallen king. They all reared before Lailani, claws pointing upward. Then they bowed.

"Mistress!" they hissed.

"Queen!"

"Hail the queen!"

"Praise the queen of Abaddon!"

"Get out of my way!" Lailani cried, marching between them.

They parted before her. Yet as she marched between them, their antennae stretched out, vibrating, and brushed against her.

She gasped.

Her eyes rolled back.

Through their touch, she saw.

She saw the vast network of consciousness spreading across the hive, filling the underground labyrinth, stretching toward the stars, reaching even distant Earth. There were scum on Earth, she realized. Only a few, buried underground, dormant, waiting. And there were many starlings. They too were part of the hive.

She was connected everywhere. To a hundred worlds. To billions of little minds, neurons in a great brain. But all her attention focused on Earth. That was what she sought. That was what they showed her.

She was one with the starlings.

She gazed through their eyes. She heard through their ears. She felt their pain. Their fear. Their grief.

"Get in!" an armored soldier shouted, shoving a girl.

"Please, please, I want my mom!" the girl cried.

"Get behind those bars, scummer." The guard raised his baton, ready to strike.

"My husband is still out there!" a woman cried. "Let me out of here!"

"Back, back!" a soldier roared.

More soldiers moved in, wearing riot gear. Shock grenades exploded. Tear gas blew. One man charged at the police, and the batons fell, cracking bones.

"They're starlings," Lailani whispered. "The police are arresting them."

She saw soldiers marching home to home. Grabbing people. Holding up little devices. Most devices blinked green. Clear. Others shone red.

Scummer. Scummer! Danger! Enemy!

"Come with us." Strong hands grabbed trembling starlings. Guns fired. Blood splashed Earth.

Tears flowed down Lailani's cheeks. She watched through the hive. She saw thousands of starlings rounded up. Called scummers. Pulled from their homes in the middle of the night. Handcuffed. Some were beaten.

They were taken to a camp. A hellhole on a distant frozen planet. Concrete walls and barbed wire surrounded it.

A sign hung above the camp gates.

HYBRID REHABILITATION FACILITY

That was a euphemism. She saw the pain. She heard the people shouting, weeping, trapped behind barbed wire. Lailani knew what this place was.

"A concentration camp," she whispered.

She took a step back, pulling her consciousness back to the cavern. She faced the centipedes again.

"Lies!" she shouted. "You plant false visions in my mind. Get out of my head!"

They bowed before her, trembling, and spoke together. "No lies, Queen. The hive sees. The hive grieves. The humans hurt us. Earth is so cruel."

"Earth is not cruel," Lailani said. She wiped her eyes. "Earth is afraid. They see starlings as monsters. They see me as a monster. We killed millions of them. They will always fear us."

She thought of her daughter. Of sweet Tala, waiting in the Black Rose Viperess. Waiting to return to Earth.

Was Tala a starling too? Would they hold a device to her head, and would it shine red? Danger, danger! Scummer! Monster! Would the Earthlings dehumanize her? Call her a creature, place her in a camp?

"I just wanted a good world for you, my daughter," Lailani whispered. "I came here to save Earth for you. But is Earth still our home?"

A cry rose from some murky future, echoing through the hive.

"Mommy, please!"

A little girl, carried away by armored men, desperate.

"That's my daughter. She's not a monster! Don't take her from me! Please!"

A mother weeping, the police holding her back.

Echoes. Just echoes. Visions.

Lailani took a step back from the centipedes. She trembled.

"I need to save them." Her voice shook. "All my life I fought for humans. But now … now the humans turned against me. Now I must fight for starlings."

She looked back at the throne. It rose there atop the stalagmite, a dark fire on a black cliff, a beacon calling her through a storm. It shone black. It shone with no light human eyes could see. It shone with dark energy. And Lailani saw.

His soul is in that throne, Lailani thought. The soul of the king. And of emperors before him. It was this throne that called me, not the King of Many Claws. It was this dark beacon that summoned me from Earth. This eternal fire guided me through the void.

The throne became all she saw. It was the pulsing black heart of an impossible world.

"Sit," a centipede hissed.

"Rule."

"Be our queen."

"You will be so strong."

Lailani trembled. No. She didn't want that throne. She needed to go back to Earth. She had no business remaining on Abaddon.

But how could she fight for the starlings? Throughout her wars, her friends had helped her. Einav. Marco. Addy. They had faced the enemy with her.

"And you turned against me," she whispered, and she tasted her tears. "You betrayed me. You promised you would not harm the starlings, then you imprisoned us in a concentration camp. I love you, my friends. But now I must stand against you."

She could find a new source of power. If not among her friends—then here. She could become a protector of starlings. An advocate. A powerful voice to defend them from humans. And if Earth could no longer be their home—she would protect the starlings here. She would build them a new home on this world or a world beyond it.

She would not sit on this throne forever. Just for a little while. Just until her people were safe. Just until Tala was safe.

Lailani walked toward the throne, her steps slow, hesitant.

The centipedes all bowed around her, silent.

She climbed the stone mesa. With her claws, it was easy enough. She scuttled up the monolith and reached the top.

The throne rose there. A towering throne forged of dark iron, slender and curved, lined with many armrests like blades. A throne built for a centipede. Yet as Lailani examined it, she wondered. Why would a centipede need a throne? Or any kind of chair for that matter?

Had they built this throne for her?

The king's words returned to her. You are a new step in our evolution.

She did not care. Let the scum scheme and connive. She was doing this for Tala.

She climbed onto the throne, sat down, and placed her arms on two of the armrests. From on high, she gazed down on the cavern. Thousands of new centipedes flowed in, rising and bowing, rising and bowing, forming great waves of adulation.

The hive opened up around her like fractals, unveiling more and more of the cosmos. They accepted her as queen. They bloomed. They unfolded like little paper boxes, revealing more and more facets and dimensions. She saw it all—a hive through space and time. Until now, she had seen only glimpses, she realized. Her sight was now unlimited.

From her throne, Lailani gazed upon an empire of claws.

It was too big.

It was too much.

Too many eyes. Too much pain. Too much power. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

Lailani tightened her claws around the armrests, tossed back her head, and screamed.

The story continues in Earth in Darkness (Earthrise Book 14)

Click here to read the next book in the series:

DanielArenson.com/EarthInDarkness

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading Earth Remembers, the thirteenth Earthrise novel. I hope you enjoyed hanging out with Marco, Addy, Ben-Ari, and the rest of the gang.

Earth In Darkness, the fourteenth Earthrise novel, continues the tale.

Want to know when I release new novels? Here are some ways to stay updated:

 * Join my mailing list at (and receive three free ebooks): DanielArenson.com/MailingList

 * Like me on Facebook: Facebook.com/DanielArenson

 * Join my Facebook group: http://tinyurl.com/kg472wy

 * Follow me on Twitter: Twitter.com/DanielArenson

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

Earth Remembers

Earth in Darkness

Earth, Our Home

SOLDIERS OF EARTHRISE

The Earthling

Earthlings

Earthling's War

I, Earthling

The Earthling's Daughter

We Are Earthlings

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE

The Heirs of Earth

A Memory of Earth

An Echo of Earth

The War for Earth

The Song of Earth

The Legacy of Earth

KINGDOMS OF SAND

Kings of Ruin

Crowns of Rust

Thrones of Ash

Temples of Dust

Halls of Shadows

Echoes of Light

THE MOTH SAGA

Moth

Empires of Moth

Secrets of Moth

Daughter of Moth

Shadows of Moth

Legacy of Moth

REQUIEM

Dawn of Dragons

Requiem's Song

Requiem's Hope

Requiem's Prayer

The Complete Trilogy

Song of Dragons

Blood of Requiem

Tears of Requiem

Light of Requiem

The Complete Trilogy

Dragonlore

A Dawn of Dragonfire

A Day of Dragon Blood

A Night of Dragon Wings

The Complete Trilogy

The Dragon War

A Legacy of Light

A Birthright of Blood

A Memory of Fire

The Complete Trilogy

Requiem for Dragons

Dragons Lost

Dragons Reborn

Dragons Rising

The Complete Trilogy

Flame of Requiem

Forged in Dragonfire

Crown of Dragonfire

Pillars of Dragonfire

The Complete Trilogy

ALIEN HUNTERS

Alien Hunters

Alien Sky

Alien Shadows

OTHER WORLDS

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